#and it's better to leave someone with an unanswered question than with a false answer

[chemblrish]

Hey so you said you were doing physical chemistry- my school teacher ochem and inorganic at the same time so I am just gonna ask:

What the hell is up with the d orbitals? Like how they let transition metals change colour and act as catalysts? If you can, thank you!

Hey there!

Ohhhh the d-block elements are really cool! The d-orbitals are funky, what you're asking about here is pretty interesting. I wish I could help you with both of these concepts, but unfortunately we haven't covered catalysis yet, so I really don't feel qualified enough to talk about it. I can explain the part about changing colors though. It's all about the electrons, as usual <3

[Btw I'm actually studying this sort of thing in inorganic chem :D pchem is a whole different bag of bananas.]

So, the d-orbitals. I'm going to assume you're familiar with orbital diagrams - they'll come in handy here. With that in mind, please consider the following ions: Ti(4+), Cu(+), both of which are colorless, and then: Ti(3+) (purple) and Cu(2+) (blue). Sc(3+), Y(3+), and Zn(2+) are also colorless. See a pattern here? If not, let me help you out:

As you can see, all the colorless ions have either full or totally empty outer d-orbitals, while the colorful ions have unpaired electrons on their outer d-subshell.

Quick and necessary digression: why are things colorful anyway? You probably know what the general mechanism here is, but just in case you don't, the simplest explanation is that when a photon hits an electron in an atom, the electron can then jump up to a higher shell. Electrons don't like staying up there though, so an excited electron will quickly jump back down to its original shell and release a photon in the process - which we see as colors .

[Yes, it is more complicated than that. Yes, I did greatly simplify it. Please don't throw anything at me, dear physicist friends.]

Now, back to our orbitals.

If an ion's outer d-orbital is full, it means the electrons there have no space to "move". They can't jump from one square (or rather from one orbital) to another because as per Pauli's exclusion principle, there can only be two electrons in a single orbital. Similarly, if there are no electrons whatsoever in the d-orbitals, there's nothing to "jump". Duh. The substance is colorless.

However, unpaired electrons mean there's at least one square (orbital) that can still accommodate one extra electron without breaking Mr Pauli's heart. As photons hit the d-orbital electrons, they keep "moving up and down" and releasing photons in turn - which gives them their color.

This, too, is a huge simplification. In fact, the d-orbitals can also split into levels of different energy and it's those levels that the electrons actually jump between. It's called the crystal field theory and you can look it up if you really want to start crying violently and having nightmares every night. If you aren't in uni yet though, it really isn't necessary. I think my explanation should be enough. I sure do hope it can be helpful :)

#i need you to know i looked up catalysis too #but none of the textbooks i checked out had any satisfying explanations #and it's better to leave someone with an unanswered question than with a false answer #so i hope you won't be upset! #inbox #chemistry asks

[juniperwoodwell]

Final Farewell.

This is a story about a lost, unrequited love. The people in the story are real but the names are not. The love was real, for the girl at least.

It's exactly 739 words. No warnings needed, perhaps tissues if you cry easily.

This is my goodbye to someone I loved. Enjoy.

Three months. Ninety days. Two thousand two hundred eight hours. Am I counting? No, of course not. I googled it. But looking at it—the time feels so small, and the memories feel like years of worth. The big question: do I miss you? Yes, some days when I think of your smile or see a dog that reminds me of the one you looked after (Kodi). Other times I subconsciously pretend you never even existed. It hurts less that way, and I don't have to face the cruel, cold reality that I will never—writing it is even too cruel.

Frysian, to the one I first loved and loved first. Had I known that our story would have ended so abruptly, I might have decided to end it before it began, but I'm not bitter at how it did. I'm not bitter at all, which is surprising if you know me. And you did, very well indeed. You made a promise to me that you would always be with me, but like everyone else, you're gone too. I'm not surprised by this; I expected it from day one, yet I foolishly believed you. Again, not bitter.

Those numbers before were how long I knew you. The next ones are for how long I've missed you.

Ten months. Three hundred thirty days. Seven thousand nine hundred six hours. Again, am I counting? No, of course not. It was foolish of me to have fallen in love with you, but I was young and wounded from a past not yet forgotten. I needed someone to lean on, and you lent me your shoulder. Perhaps it was a honeymoon phase type of love I had for you, but would the loss affect me as much if it were true?

Had—that is false, of course it is. If I wasn't still loving you, I wouldn't be here writing this. I don't know if I could categorize the love I have; it's less romantic than I'd expected. Maybe it started there but has evolved into something more melancholic—a deep yearning to embrace you often clouds my mind whenever I think of you.

I don't know your reasons for leaving—or better put, disappearing. I pray to all that is Holy that you are still alive. Knowledge of that would bring me final peace. You taught me how to grieve; now I'm grieving you. Our memories seem so fresh in my mind, and I feel nauseous. Why did you leave me? Was it intentional, or perhaps the cruel fate of life?

I'm running out of ways to say I miss you, and I'm running out of words to describe it too. So many lessons you taught me on learning to let go and move on, but as I sit here, I'm realizing that I don't want to listen to your advice this time. I don't want to let go. You were too good. I think I would have spent my life with you, even if it was just talking.

Perhaps I put you too high on a pedestal without knowing you were afraid of heights. Or maybe I was too young to have loved someone so deeply that it scared you away? Was it my fault you left?

So many questions without answers; that is what I would be bitter about—but the best description of how I feel when I think of my time with you derives from the Portuguese word "Saudade" is an emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone. It is often associated with a repressed understanding that one might never encounter the object of longing ever again. (Wikipedia).

Doesn't that really hit the nail on the head? I think so.

You were mine for such a short time, but what a great time it was. Now it's time for me to say goodbye and allow all the questions to go unanswered—allow this piece of me to find its place in the depths of my heart and reside there for the rest of my days. First love, I hope you will find your Forever and Final love one day; I wish you only the best on this adventure we call life, and I pray you find peace in the next. [We're the beginning of the end. I'll see you again, my loved one.]

Yours most sincerely, Eneth.

#writing #writers on tumblr #romance #unrequited love #love story #true story #grief #author #sadnees #lost love #letting go #moving on #poems and poetry #peace #angst

[thetomcruiseblr]

anon from before here. listen, I was only on the fringes of the fandom and not personally involved in your drama, so I'm probably not the person to talk to.

you did not answer my question about nobody loving Rooster except you, so I assume it's because you do know that it's a false generalised statement. also, you ARE allowed to love the thing you love, just maybe not on the server. again, another statement that is not true. I sympathise with the fact that it's hard to be in fandom on your own, but that door is closed now. it sucks, but learn from it and move on. you say you still have some people to talk to, so that's a start.

please stop painting yourself as a martyr. no one asked you to be one or create content to make up for whatever it is you did. from what I see, people just want to move on and have fun in their corner. let them be. enjoy the things you like with whomever you can find. stop making public posts with false generalised statements that only seem to be there to get a reaction out of someone.

again: let them be. if you care about those people, let them go and try to find some peace for your own. I don't think you're a monster, but I do think you need to get some professional help. it's been months and you can't let go and you seem like you're stuck in a loop of navel-gazing and denial and like you can find your own way out of it.

Of course, it's a generalized statement - I really don't know what they feel about Rooster, only that from my recollection, it seemed that most people liked Maverick better. And I did once, too. I genuinely would love to talk to people about Rooster and Maverick and gauge their thoughts on these characters - I haven't been able to do that with more than a handful of people for this entire year - but obviously I'm only going by the thin sliver of discussion that I am privy to anymore.

And of course the fun part was being able to talk to writers about their writing! I could write comments, but I know they won't be answered, and that was what I was here for - to be able to engage meaningfully in fandom with its content creators. That's the part that makes me sad - I've just always wanted to support people, and I am no longer allowed to (in a way that is engaging to me - obviously, I can leave unanswered comments, but that really does nothing for me). I know they're doing the comment bingo thing, and it's like *sighs* I can't even participate in stuff like that anymore. I just wanted to love a thing with other people.

I am letting go and trying to find peace, but when they are probably 90% of the content creation, and the people that I had spent the most formative months of my fandom with, it's hard to pretend that I didn't know them, or that a very significant chunk of my life didn't happen. I have been forced to sign an NDA for a fandom, which is something that I genuinely have no idea how to navigate around. Nonetheless, if I ever mention any people, it will only be good things about them. They were wonderful people, and I wish they didn't feel the way they do about me, but that's okay - I can't change how others feel.

But I am going to keep making public posts because when you are kept in solitary confinement, any sort of interaction - even if it's to call me an idiot, loser, freak, or monster - is welcomed. I'd love to post genuine RoosMav works on here, like art, etc., like I used to, but I know they are just going to be ignored like everything else I do. And like I've said - people can always block me.

It's just sad to me that this is all because of fandom. Where we are supposed to be having fun. I've still tried to be as normal as possible by commenting on the occasional works, but it is hard to have the heart to do so in a genuinely enthusiastic capacity anymore.

#R00sMav

[the-most-slytherin-hufflepuff]

Chapter 4

I managed to finish the chapter on time. Please read the tags for warnings. This one is about three times longer than usual so I hope you enjoy it. Credit for the characters goes to @lumosinlove . The inspiration from the fic came from @heyitssmiller and her wonderful anons. 

@callithemuse

Leo didn’t realize what he had done until the morning after. He had made a deal with what were essentially two strangers. They didn’t seem bad, but then again. neither did Walburga. 

He immediately stopped that train of thought as soon as it began. Leo did not need a reminder of his disgusting caretaker. He got a few days free from her and he would make the best of  it. 

 Finn woke up with their head resting on Logan’s chest. The panic of waking up in an unknown place had started to settle in before they remembered the events of the previous night.  

They were curious about the blonde boy. Leo was funny and sarcastic but he always seemed to measure his words, like he was afraid something would happen if he slipped up. 

Finn decided to get up knowing that Logan would wake up soon, he somehow always knew when Finn was awake. When they looked around Finn saw Leo sitting in front of the mural with the floating lanterns, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hey,”- Leo flinched at Finn’s voice- “are you alright.” 

Finn sat down besides Leo. They hadn't really stopped to appreciate the painting last night, but now that they took a better look at it they were amazed by the sheer amount of detail it had. 

Leo was seated by the lake’s edge. He was leaning back on his elbows, his eyes pointed upward, looking at the floating lanterns as they flowed through the orange sky. 

The Leo in the painting had a soft smile on his face, body completely relaxed, meanwhile the man sitting next to them seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

  Finn found it odd that the only person in the painting was Leo. Surely the man had someone that took care of him, maybe his parents or someone like Celeste. Someone that he would like to share the lights with, but he was completely alone. 

“Leo”

Leo hummed in acknowledgement and turned to look at the person besides him. He was only half listening to Finn. 

“Where are your parents?” Finn thought the question was innocent enough, but judging by the way Leo’s shoulders tensed it was a sensitive topic. Finn felt bad for asking, but their curiosity won. They waited in silence for the blonde’s answer. 

“I don’t have parents.” Leo’s voice sounded hollow.

That was not the answer that Finn was expecting. They thought that Leo might have lost one or both his parents when he was younger like they had, but based on the tone of his answer that didn't seem to be it. 

“What do you mean you don't have parents?”. Finn’s tone was soft. 

Leo sighed. He didn’t like talking about his mother. For as long as he could remember, Walburga had been an unpleasant woman. The only times she would show any affection towards him was when she brushed his hair every night.

 Leo used to cherish those moments. He would always sit down in front of the woman, and she would brush his hair while singing. He liked it, the glow of his hair illuminating the room in a soft golden halo, Walburga’s soft melodic voice lulling him into a false sense of safety. 

Leo turned his head to look at Finn, only to see them already staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

“I-”

Leo cut himself off, he looked down at his hands resting on his lap. Was this something he wanted to tell someone he just met? He looked back up at them, only to be met with soft brown eyes. 

“I live with my mother,”- Leo stuttered on the last word, could she even be called a mother?- “well, she’s more a caretaker than she is a mother.”  

“Where is she?” Leo shrugged at Finn’s question. He didn’t know where Walburga was, the only thing he knew was that it would take her at least a week to come back and that was all that mattered to him. A week without her here meant he could leave and come back just in time for her to not notice he had gone. 

Finn decided to drop it, for now. It was clear that Leo didn't like talking about his family, Finn could understand that. They knew from experience that pushing someone never led to anything, even though they wanted to know more about Leo. 

Logan woke up with the memory of the previous night’s events still fresh in his mind. He found it strange that someone would willingly live alone in the middle of nowhere. Logan at least had always had Finn, Dumo and Celeste, he couldn't imagine himself living alone in a hidden tower with no one. 

“You’re awake, good.” Leo’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “We have to get going”.  

Logan got up and walked over to Leo and Finn. He helped his partner off the floor while Leo got up and went to the window. 

“How are we supposed to get down there if there’s no exit”. Leo gave Logan a long look and swung his hair over the hook above the window like it answered his question.  

Finn caught on to what Leo was suggesting a moment before Logan. 

“You’re not serious?” Finn really hoped Leo was joking. “You want us to use your hair like a rope?” 

“ Yeah, pretty much.” Leo shrugged, like going down a massive tower by someone’s hair was normal. Then again maybe to him it was. 

“Is that even safe” Logan threw Leo a suspicious look

“Yeah, I do it all the time.” Leo’s nonchalant tone didn’t do anything to calm the other two. 

“How the hell do you think I painted the high walls and ceiling.” 

“With a ladder”- Logan stated- “like a normal human.”

“Like a boring human you mean.” Leo said with a dismissive tone. “Now, are we leaving or not?” 

 The look of enthusiasm on Leo’s face reminded Logan of a younger Finn, back when they were little and amazed by everything. He found it adorable. The thought confused Logan. He loved Finn, had for most of his life, but Leo was starting to grow on Logan and that scared him. 

“Sure. Do we just”- Finn made a pause- “go down your hair like a rope?” That is something they never thought they would have to say. 

“Yup.” Leo said, popping the p. 

Finn grabbed onto Leo’s hair, it was soft beneath their palm, and started lowering themselves to the ground carefully. When Finn’s feet touched the grass Leo looked at Logan. “Your turn.” 

He was nervous while going down. Even though Finn was fine, Logan still worried he would fall. When he reached the ground Logan let out a breath. He was fine. 

Logan looked up at Leo. He was standing on the edge of the tower’s window, looking like he was at war with his own mind. Logan couldn’t tell who was winning. 

“You coming?” Finn shouted, their voice echoing off of the stone walls that surrounded the clearing. Leo didn’t answer. 

After a minute of thinking Leo grabbed onto his hair and jumped, a laugh escaping him. He caught himself before he hit the floor and gently put his feet on the ground. 

Leo couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled out of him as he laid down and ran his hands through the grass. He stayed there for a moment and allowed himself to breathe, he was out of the tower and he didn’t know if he wanted to go back. 

Finn and Logan looked at Leo with sad eyes. They were both thinking the same thing, has he never left that tower? 

Leo got up with a smile on his face. In that moment both Finn and Logan swore Leo wouldn’t return to that tower. No one should be kept that isolated for so long.

“Let’s go”, and with that Leo started running towards the ivy wall, laughter filled with mirth.  

Logan and Finn looked at each other, chuckling. They began running after Leo. Logan reached the inside of the cave before Finn. Leo was sitting on the floor of the cave, his back against the stone wall, with his head between his knees. 

“Leo,”- he didn't seem to hear Logan- “Leo are you ok”. Logan put his hand on Leo’s shaking shoulder, but he only tried to make himself smaller, shrinking away from Logan’s palm. 

“Hey Leo,”-Finn kneeled besides him- “breathe for me, sunshine” 

Leo took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down. When his breathing returned to normal he looked up to see Logan’s face. He turned his head to look at Finn. Were they worried about him? 

“Are you ok?” Logan asked softly. 

Leo shook his head. “I don't wanna talk about it.” His voice tight with emotion

Logan got up from his position in front of Leo. “Come on, Gryffindor isn’t that far away.” 

“What’s Gryffindor?” Leo asked after Finn helped him stand up.

“Right you don't know where that is”- Finn said- “Gryffindor is the kingdom that the floating lanterns come from. You can light one if you want.” 

A blinding smile took over Leo’s tear streaked face. “I would love that”. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They had been walking through the forest for about half the day when Leo heard something snap behind them and froze. Something was wrong. 

“Did you hear that?” Leo said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hear what.” Finn had the mind to keep their voice low. 

Leo kept walking. If someone was following them he didn't want them to know he had heard them. He noticed the way Logan’s shoulders tensed and Finn looked around like they were expecting them to get attacked. 

Leo could hear people sneaking behind them, the leaves on the floor crunching beneath their feet. 

“Could it be them?” Logan whispered

“Who the fuck is them?” 

Both ignored Leo’s question in favor of walking a little faster. Not exactly running, but enough that if someone was following them they would notice and try to catch up. 

Logan heard the footsteps behind them speed up- “run”- he said loud enough for Finn and Leo to hear. The three of them started running, the footsteps behind them got louder and faster. 

“Shit” 

Leo tripped on a protruding tree root. Finn helped him get up while Logan gathered his hair in his arms. “Why the hell is your hair so long?” 

Leo ignored him. They had to keep running, their persecutors were getting closer and Finn and Logan’s reaction before they started running put him on edge. 

“Where are we going.” Leo’s question went unanswered. 

Finn was getting tired. They had been running for a while and the Carrows were getting closer. If the twins caught them they would be in big trouble. 

Logan gasped as something sharp graced his bicep. He saw as the knife embedded itself into the ground in front of him. He ignored the sting on his arm, he couldn’t afford to slow down. 

Leo saw a waterfall. They had to jump, if they didn’t they would get caught by whoever was following them. Leo could catch them, they would be fine, but they had to jump. 

“Hey,”- Leo’s voice managed to catch Logan and Finn’s attention- “we have to jump.” Logan looked at him like he was crazy. Leo couldn’t blame him, he was telling them to jump off a cliff. 

They reached the edge of the waterfall and stopped running, all three of them gasping for air. They had maybe a few seconds before the Carrows caught up to them and Finn really didn’t fancy dying. 

“Can you catch us all?” Logan was looking at Finn like they had also lost their mind. 

“Yes.” A look of determination settled over Leo’s face. 

Finn nodded and grabbed Logan’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

 They could have sworn a fire lit in between their and Leo’s hand when Leo laced his fingers with theirs, but they didn’t have time to think much about the feeling. The Carrows had stopped running and they could see them walking toward the three of them out of the corner of their eye, swords drawn. 

“Ready?”- Finn and Logan nodded nervously- “Jump.” 

The three jumped. Logan tightened his grip on Finn’s hand. He heard Leo give a low grunt and they stopped falling. They were dangling above a small river, the loud waterfall splashing on them. Logan’s injured shoulder hit the cliff wall, the pain making him gasp. 

“Lo, baby, are you ok.” Finn’s voice sounded strained with the effort of holding them both up. 

“I’m fine” 

Leo lowered them towards the water’s edge slowly. When they were all standing on solid ground he let go of Finn’s hand and dropped to the floor, exhausted. 

Logan felt blood dripping down his arm from the knife wound. He instinctively brought his hand up to cover the cut, but his fingers were still intertwined with Finn’s. 

“Logan what-” Finn’s voice was worried as they observed the wound. 

“It’s nothing, sweetheart.” 

 “Don’t lie to me Lo.” 

Leo stood up, walking over toward the arguing couple. “I can help”. 

He was nervous. No one, other than Walburga, had ever seen his powers, and he was about to show them to Finn and Logan.

 Logan was hurt, and he wasn't going to let him be in pain if he could help, not after what they had just been through together. 

“Let’s build a fire first”- Logan looked at Leo skeptically-” it’s getting dark.” 

After building the fire Finn and Logan sat in front of Leo, who was twisting the brown strand of hair between his fingers. 

Leo took a deep breath and got closer to Logan until they were sitting face to face. “Do you trust me?”, he asked softly

Logan thought about it and was surprised to find that he did trust Leo, even if he had met him just last night. “Yes.” 

Leo got up to get water from the river besides them. He needed to clean Logan’s wound before he could heal it. 

He ripped a piece of his shirt and dipped it in the water. When he came back he saw Logan and Finn talking. The conversation stopped abruptly when Finn saw him. 

 Leo took the wet cloth and tried to clean the cut as gently as possible, flinching when he heard Logan’s breathing stutter. 

“Please don’t freak out”. He said as he wrapped his hair around Logan’s bicep. Their faces twisting in confusion that quickly turned to shock when Leo started singing. 

Flower gleam and glow

Let your powers shine

Leo’s hair began to glow golden. A soft gasp left Finn’s mouth. 

Make the clock reverse

Bring back what once was mine

Logan stared in awe as the golden glow got closer to him. 

Heal what has been hurt

Change the fates design

Leo’s soft voice the only sound around them. It was like time had stopped.

Save what has been lost

Bring back what once was mine

The glow reached Logan’s arm. It felt warm and safe, like falling asleep in Finn’s arms.

What once was mine

Leo unwrapped his hair from Logan’s arm and let it fall softly onto the ground. Logan looked at where the cut used to be, now there wasn’t even a scar. He gasped softly, eyes snapping up to meet Leo’s. He looked scared. 

“T- thanks” Logan stuttered.

“How-”, Finn’s voice was shaky, “how did you do that.”

Leo smiled shakily at them , shoulders relaxing. He was ok. He could trust them. 

“I’ve always been able to do that.”- Leo explained- “Walburga, my caretaker, she used to say people would kidnap me for it. That's why I had you tied up last night.” 

Finn nodded.

“Why is this part brown?” Logan asked while running his fingers through Leo’s short hair.

“Huh? Oh, someone tried to cut it when I was a baby, that’s why Walburga keeps me in the tower.” Leo continued explaining at their confused looks. “When you cut it, it loses its power.”

Finn felt their heart break, the woman that was supposed to love Leo more than anyone kept him trapped, isolated for years, because she wanted him to still have his power. 

She could’ve cut it when he was little, given him a normal life, but she didn’t. They glanced at Logan and saw him reach the same conclusion.

 Leo noticed the sad look in their eyes, he had reached a similar conclusion years ago, he was used to it. Used to Walburga loving his hair and not him and it was ok, because he never knew any different. 

“You’re not going back there”- Finn said- “are you?” they added it as an afterthought a look of pure determination in their eyes. 

“I don't know,” he whispered. A tear left Leo’s eye. He didn’t want to go back, but what option did he have. 

“You can’t” Logan’s voice was soft. 

“Where would I go.” 

Leo’s defeated tone made Logan’s chest ache. “You can stay with us. I’m sure Celeste wouldn’t mind.”

“You mean it” 

“Yes.” It was Finn who answered Leo’s question. 

Leo gave them a teary smile. There was a small chance he wouldn’t have to go back, and that was enough. They kept talking well into the night, a warm feeling settling in Leo’s chest. 

He knew it had nothing to do with the fire blazing near them. 

#lumosinlove #o'knutzy #leo knut #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #tw mentions of injury #tw mentions of blood #tw mentions of past abuse #o’knutzy tangled au

[digitalvoidheart]

A Pixelated New Moon

This is a random idea I came up when extremely down in the dumps and also wanted to try writing angst for the first time... (also new moon is a moon completely shadowed soit's basically something in the oneshot)

Also, this is a random au I made up where everyone's life is in a multiplayer game. I know not very original but pls enjoy!

Players/Characters:

♠ Moon (passive nightmare)

♠Nightmare (corrupted nm and a separate being)

♠Horror

♠Killer

♠Dust

♠Cross

Moon knew his team was unstoppable and was proud of it.

Horror, even with that cracked skull from a false 1v1 (his opponent had an accomplice hidden for a sneak attack, Horror came out victorious eventually), his agility is unaffected and he can pack a punch with his attacks.

He may say that he lacks in the defense department but when it comes to combat, he usually attacks when the team is surrounded, creating a soundwave-like attack with his bone weapon constructs, giving him the title of the team's main offence.

Next comes Dust. He's a mysterious one if Moon had to be honest. Not only did he refuse to narrate his backstory or history of his previous teams, but his level on all skills seemed to be on par. No one knows what he specializes in wether it is defense, healing or combat because he has activated his hidden card. A special item which hides the stats of the player. An expensive item but with the high level he's in, it's possible for him to own one.

He could protect the team in one second, heal Horror the next and attacking side by side with Nightmare on the next, all mid battle. Moon found it very impressive.

Another dangerous member is Killer. He may not have the same knockout attacks as Horror, nor the magic abilities like Dust, but he makes up the team by his traitorous speed. His slump posture may make it seem he's lazy but he's far from that.

He could land a good amount of slashes onto his opponent in the least amount of time, immobilizing them temporarily sometimes. He doesn't fear much, proven by the wide cocky grin plastered on at all times and the fact that he chooses close range attacks while his target shaped SOUL was always within the enemy's grasp? Deliciously terrifying.

Lastly, Nightmare. The leader of the team, one who plans ahead, always knowing way the opponents are thinking. He has the highest level compared to everyone under his wing, the aforementioned trio having a small reduction to reach his level, and Moon a LARGE one.

He didn't even know why he was needed in the team. Horror's attack, Dust's magic and Killer's speed made up the perfect balance of a team. His constant request for why they need him always went unanswered by Night. He can't even leave without Nightmare's consent, that being the rules of the life-or-death game they play. Any player who wishes to leave their team has to have their removal granted by the team leader. His permission for leaving went deaf as his questions.

The trio always had their answers on them for him, albeit it's a little untrue.

"Need ya for...shieldin' me. Got low defense, r'member?" You don't need me. You've got Dust.

Dust's minute responses were similar "You're useful..." No Dust, I'm just a burden. You don't need to heal me midbattle either. Use it for Nightmare or Horror instead.

"Pretty sure 'cuz you hold up a shield better than any of us" Funny, Killer. And I'm at least another 25 levels below you guys...

He's pretty sure no one knows of his secret to try up his levels, so that's out of the options. Everyone has their share of G, albeit higher than his for earning more EXP than him for being on the offense. So why do they want him if it isn't money or battle?

His answers come to him when they enter the next quest. The blue screen appearing before each of them reading :

-

Welcome to level XX!

Here, you will be separated into two groups. Team one with any number of players will be challenged with X number of quests through the white gate while team two with one player will pass through the abyss through the black gate.

Choose wisely!

-

Oh... A sacrifice.

"I'll go" Moon smiled even when the heavy words sent a metaphorical spear to his SOUL. He can do this. It's for the team. He might not know what the quest in the abyss is but no one's returned once entering the abyss r-right? They needed him so they could pass this level. So why did it hurt to line the facts together?

"No." Nightmare deadpanned, his decision locked with no room for argument. "We'll rest up at the checkpoint and discuss who to go where tomorrow."

What? I-I'm not th- a sacrifice?

Moon's voice failed him from the assertiveness of his leader. And like that, he was lead to the previous checkpoint where they discussed at the inn for whom to go, and honestly? Moon wasn't listening at all.

This could be his chance to detach his leeching body from their assets and give them a higher chance of success! Maybe they can even find a better player with a higher level than himself to benefit the guys more. But why do they need to discuss who to go when the answer was right in front of them?

While Nightmare and the others planned for who to go, Moon made his own plan to carry out during their slumber. As the moment arrived at midnight, he slipped out to carry a few errands quests the inn offered for G and his own personal plans.

He won't let their efforts go to waste. Not when he was around.

***

The next day, the team of five made their way back to gates of the next level.

Moon spared a glance at Nightmare to see him nod at the trio. As one of them stepped closer to the black portal. It was Killer. A valuable and speedy asset to the team.

Moon let out a sigh and exhaled his message to them.

"I'm sorry"

Killer was pulled away with blue magic as his purple cloaked companion whisked past his fallen figure and into the abyss. The portal closed before any of them had time to figure out what had happened.

---

The rumours were false. The Abyss wasn't heavy. Sure, it was dark but you could still see yourself in a white outline only. And apparently, he wasn't the only one.

He watched as players teleport into the Void, some calm, others screaming and shouting for someone (probably they were betrayed by their own team) before they all are faced with a monochromatic screen. Upon his distraction, he didn't notice the exact replica of the screen in front of him as well.

-

Welcome to the abyss!

This is a test of patience and trust for your team. You will watch as your team completes their quests and at the end, choose your fate

-

It didn't say much but the pixelated screen then glitched, showing a live view of his team. They look upset and unhappy, except Nightmare.

He looked furious. If he wasn't mad with Moon before, he was now. Maybe he might allow him to leave the team. That is if he can leave the abyss in the first place.

Looking back, he noticed the distraught player a small distance away from him as they tapped on their screen.

He watched, wide-eyed as they disintegrated into pixels. Like monster dust. Death...

Although, he was quickly distracted by another monster watching through his screen.

A skeleton monster they were. The same outline white around him didn't tell the colours the monster possessed but his right eye light and lightning-bolt scar on his right cheek were red. Does that mean eyelights remain their colour?

Getting a response from the new guy was difficult. He refused to speak.

After multiple attempts Moon sighed "Could I get your name at least?" More silence from the skeleton and Moon gave up.

"It's Cross"

His head shot back at the red eyed skeleton. Before he decided to shut up himself and watch his team.

He turned in time to see Horror summon a shield himself to protect Dust from an attack. So it was a fluke. The incapability to defend himself...

"I knew it..." he said to no one but Cross turned to his direction from the screen. "They really didn't need me. It was all a lie..." tears welled up in his sockets, blurring the view of his team effectively.

"B-but why did they wanna keep me if i wasnt for a sacrifice?" He croaked. He watched as Nighmare and the guys cleared the stage in a blur.

Another thing he was. A deadweight.

Completely forgetting that he was crying near a complete stranger, he swiftly wiped his tears and residual magic from his face. He pulled up his cloak's cowl only to hear Cross speak once more.

"You're their anchor." Moon turned to Cross.

"W-what?" What did he mean by anchor?

"Having high levels means you are more likely to loose control of your mind, resulting in messes you never intended on happening. "

Eyes never leaving the team, he continued, "You were basically kept so that they have a distraction from overdoing things. Like that grey hooded guy," he pointed at Dust "he seems to keep healing the guy with a cracked skull mid battle to avoid losing his sanity from his bottomless well of magic"

Moon looked at Dust, then averted his gaze to his feet in shame.

Cross explained how the others may have benefited from him and Moon took it all in.

And even if it seemed like minutes, Moon felt like he'd been talking with him for hours and have been friends for longer.

He didn't want to leave Cross. He could take him with and show him to the team. Maybe they will accept him and-

Ping!

Moon looked up to see hi- Nightmare's team has passed through all quests and now are waiting in front of a transporter. The screen glitched once, twice before turning back to the message screen. This time, it displayed a volume symbol and a female voice spoke.

"Player Moon, your team has successfully passed through level XX. You have an option to go back to your team which costs 78000 G, or stay in the void till you disintegrate. Choose wisely on what will benefit your team."

W-what? Already? He can go back! He has enough G for three tickets from scraping all the G from his secret task job in checkpoints! He can redeem himself, apologise to Nightmare and-

"Congratulations" Cross' voice pierced through his thoughts. He was smiling, but Moon knew better.

"Come with me" he demanded.

"That's against the rules, little Moon" Cross countered. He looked over Moon's shoulder at the screen, which had apparently heard him, giving a robotic 'affirmative'. "Besides, I don't have a team to go back to nor the G to buy myself out"

Moon's eyelights began wavering as he paced. Looking at his options, he only had three.

He took deep breaths to calm himself from the edge of panic. Opening his eyes, he looked at Cross.

He was hiding sadness behind a stoic mask, wanting to be strong with Moon returning safe to his team. It crushed his Soul to know that the determination in it was slowly burning out to a flickering flame.

Cross' stats were a considerably good amount, higher than Moon's obviously. His understanding and calm during a panicked situation is admirable.

But if only one of them can leave...

Who should?

☆********☆

I'll do 3 endings after my exams so look forward to it!

1

2

3

Btw to all angst writers... HOW TF DO YOU DO IT WITHOUT HAVING TO BE SAD?!!! I was only able to write this cuz I was sad. :(

#Void writes #digitalvoidheart #Moon #Nightmare #Killer #Cross #Horror #Dust #Game au #Tw depression #First time writing angst #Tell me how it is #C y'all after exams

[rjhpandapaws]

I Will Always be with You

Ch 1: There are Some Answers that Not Even Fate May Know

Names/Translations:

Daniel: Daniel

Sixty: Balance, Silas

Tw: Death, Description of death that is a little graphic, and religion

Balance hated his purpose, there was really no other way to put it. Not even its importance could change that; ore rather, he hated it so much because of the weight of it. He did good things, often it seemed; but the bad things out weighed them in his opinion. He didn’t have the luxury of impulse like his brothers did, not in the same sense if at all. Given what he was meant to do, he could see every possible outcome the moment he or anyone else made a choice. The “dark age” Wisdom’s grief fueled library destruction had caused; the fact that he would have to lure Hennek to his death once Curiosity had saved his life; and, the Ntaniel would die the moment Balance had decided to get to know him. He was simultaneously the most powerful being of Fate, and utterly powerless when he needed it the most. While he was able to see and know every possible outcome of almost any given decision, and even influence them to some degree; he could not prevent the making of a choice, and he could not prevent death. Only bargain with her. As fluid as the course of humanity was, Balance couldn’t help but believe that all of it was little more than an act. There were an infinite number of paths yes, but every moment of them was predetermined to some degree.

The reason he hated his purpose the most though, was all of the unanswered questions. He got asked so many questions. Most of them he wasn’t allowed to answer, and others he simply didn’t have the answers to. The Beginning never answered the questions that he asked her, she always said that it wasn’t his place to be curious and to leave it alone. There had to be answers though, after the absolute tongue lashing Curiosity had given him after Sealgair had died; there had to be a reason for all of this. Why was The Beginning letting them remember their past lives and their deaths? If Ntaniel came back, would he remember Balance at all? What about his death? That had been a violent and traumatic event, so Balance sincerely hoped not. Was it all humans; or did all of them have some sort of memory of their past lives? Why didn’t The Beginning stop he and his brothers from going back? From having gone at all? What was the worth of being a power of the universe if you couldn’t save the life of the human you loved? If you weren’t allowed to? How many times were they going to fall in love only to fall victim to the fragility of humanity? 

He wouldn’t be getting answers to any of his questions, he knew that. He couldn’t answer Curiosity because he didn’t know why he had done that; he just felt like he had to, like he didn’t have a choice. As The Beginning had aptly put it; he was not meant to be curious. He knew when Ntaniel was coming back. It would be in the age of Catholics, Kings, and Cathedrals. He would be raised in a monastery and not come to love Balance, well, not any more than his faith. Balance was determined to be loved, and love Ntaniel. Challenge his Fate as it were. For all of the things he could see, Balance couldn’t see details; at least, not when it came to Ntaniel. While he knew the overview of his life, even down to how he would die; a fire this time; he was not permitted to know the choices Ntaniel would make. Probably because The Beginning was aware that he would try and save Ntaniel’s life; as one was known to do when in love. The knowledge of the way Ntaniel was going to die wasn’t enough to stop him from going down to him once Ntaniel was back. He planned to wait until Ntaniel was a teenager, he had no intention to keep his distance in the way that his brothers had. A poor decision looking back; his sight was always blocked when it came to decisions involving Ntaniel.

The sheer number of things he would change, undo even, if only he had known. The irony was not lost on him in all of this. Had he only known he would have stayed away, only observed Ntaniel in this life, despite the fact that he had promised to always be with him. Being with him seemed to be the start of everything going wrong. Balance didn’t know what life at a Catholic monastery would be like, but he hadn’t expected it to be so empty; for lack of a better word. Ntaniel was called Daniel in this life and he was usually Balance’s only company. Balance had no way of disguising his name, so he chose to call himself Silas. He and Daniel were close friends, more like brothers honestly. It wasn’t the sort of love that Balance had wanted, but it was the love that he was going to get so he wasn’t about to complain. He was, after all, with Daniel, and that had been all he had ever wanted when Daniel had been gone. Daniel was the best thing about the monastery. Balance wasn’t one for faith as it was, but this odd, complex thing that the humans had built for themselves was nothing more than a mess. The falseness of it not withstanding of course, but he still practiced. If only just to appease Daniel. 

Then came the war. It was not Wisdom’s doing this time. From Balance’s understanding it was an act of the Church. Which was why he was so confused when the monastery went up in flames. The one thing he did know was that he needed to get to Daniel. He was going to do everything in his power to save Daniel. Make a deal with Death if he must, they were somewhat close, though he wouldn’t go as far as to call them friends. He got to Daniel shortly before she did and he stopped her at the door. “Not like this, please.” He begged. Her hollow blue eyes stared back at him. He blonde hair was over her shoulder hanging out from the hood. “It will cost you something.” She said with the usual lack of emotion in her voice, “What are you willing to give me? Who’s life will it be this time?” Balance hesitated for a long moment. Right, sparing a life always cost something. “There is an army to the north of here. I will give you all of them, just please don’t take Daniel.” He watched Death think about it. Her tilted just so, and then she smiled. That fake overly pleasant thing that Balance hated. “He will get one year for every soul I get, but his death starts on this day and you will be punished when its over. The Beginning is not happy with this.” Then she was gone.

He got Daniel out of there, and despite the state of the monastery, the flames did not touch them. Daniel lived a great many years after that, longer than most humans of that time, and Balance tried to ignore what that meant. The thing was that Death came back every single one of those years on the anniversary of the fire, and Daniel could see her. Daniel didn’t ever come to tell him, but he didn’t need to. His reaction whenever she came around was enough. They moved around a lot. It was Daniel’s way of attempting to out run her. It was futile of course, no matter where they went she always found it, and no one ever outran Death. As frightening as it was, the hardest thing for Balance was seeing how much it shook Daniel’s faith. As false as it was, Daniel’s faith was important to him. He had built his life around it, facing something like this was not something he had been equipped to deal with. Balance helped as best he could. Daniel became somewhat of a legend for having so many close calls but such good luck. To humans it must have been strange. Daniel’s mind was leaving him, it was a means of coping with all of this. As promised, small parts of Daniel died as time passed. Gradually he became someone that Balance didn’t know.

By the later years Daniel was closed off and distant to the point where they didn’t do much more than exist separately in the same space. Balance hated every moment of it. This was not what he had wanted when he had begged for Daniel’s life. He had wanted Daniel to be able to have a life, that had been the whole point. He had been cheated, they both had, and it was his fault. Daniel’s last day would be one that Balance would always regret. He and Daniel had gotten into a particularly nasty fight and Balance had needed to clear his head. He was so used to being in a human form at this point that he stormed out instead of just changing forms. For the first time in a little over a century, he had left an opening for Death, and she had taken it. When he came back in the evening ready to apologize and make amends he found their small house to be fully ablaze. He could hear Daniel still inside; he was laughing and it was near hysterical from the sound. Balance ran for the house, but Death stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I gave you your time.” She said with that same lack of emotion to her voice, but there was something almost like pity in her eyes, “He belongs to the flames now.”

Balance screamed, or cried, or both; honestly he couldn’t remember at this point. He watched as the house burned to nothing. He could have left and saved himself the hurt, but he didn’t want to leave Daniel alone. He had promised to be with him after all, and that meant to the very end. When he was pulled away it was not by his own volition. It was time to give The Beginning what she was owed. Changing Fate was always met with punishment, that was the whole reason for his existence. To punish those who dare challenge their Fate. He was left to wonder what would happen since this time he had been the challenger. It couldn’t be any worse than having to watch Daniel burn. There would be nothing worse than that.

#In All Your Forms AU #IYAF #I Will Always Be With You #IWABWY #daniel60 #dbh daniel #dbh sixty #dbh fic #dbh #tw death #tw religious mention

[saphyhowl]

Own Story

Ok so I finally got the courage to write my story. I was a bit afraid to post it but I still got through with it. I have no idea how to protect my writing so I hope I can figure out where to regularly post it and not be afraid that someone will take it. Although I doubt my story is that great. I just want to protect it because I am like a mother hen. 

Here it goes... Please tell me how you like it, leave a comment or a like, I will be forever grateful to you :3 Also please please please don’t pay attention to my bad spelling. It’s a story I wrote by hand in french and translated it here. I am no translator so there will be mistakes. It’s not a final version, it’s an ongoing work. If you feel like stuff is missing that’s normal I am still working on lots of aspects, but don’t hesitate to let me know what you think might be crucial to you to understand the story.

I have a very low self esteem when it comes to my own work. It took me a very long time to get where I am today. I am not trying to get pity or anything, I am just putting you in a context so you understant that all this is historical for me and I hope we can celebrate that historic moment together.

*****************************************************

He should have felt it during the morning, when he woke up. The crispy air from the night still hung in his bedroom, rendering it impossible for him to fall back asleep. Nothing pleased him today. No urgent letters for him. Everything was calm. Although Cynan enjoyed the calm routine that had settled in his life, he could not help to feel as if he should act to prevent what seemed to him an upcoming storm.

After seven years of conquest and negotiation, his friend  Meanas could ascend the throne officially. He could finally hold a coronation ceremony without any fear of revolution. Cynan had organized everything with the help of the other members of the counsel. The invitations were sent and had been answered. The preparation had already begun, all was well. After seven years of constant uproar, Cynan almost worshipped the calm and order that had finally settled in and so did Meanas.

As he sat at his desk, basking it this holy stillness, he read utterly slowly the law document he needed to approve. This was part of the many tasks Cynan, advisor of the future king. He should have sensed it in this moment as well, when the sun finally can warm one enough, hinting that the season of spring was approaching. He should have known that as the sweetest and mild season of the year was nearing, his life would enter a season of bitter regret.

***

“If my heart could run, then it would have already passed the coach that was meant to bring me to him. 

I am of an impatient nature.

I play the scene out in my mind, like an actress before her performance. 

How delectable it is just to imagine their faces when I finally reveal myself in front of them.

I could appear here and there. I could keep him as the last person I meet.

I could hide until the very end and wait until the coronation. Then, I would make the most vibrant of appearances.

Oh no, even better! I could visit him first. That would stir the glowing embers of our past and hint towards a possible story for us. Whatever that story would hold, that I would decide depending on my mood.

So many possibilities lie out there and only a few can be chose as I have only one life.

However, my emotions should not lead me astray and distract me from my true goal.

I did not return to revive past passions. I came here to set this place on fire, to start a new era.

Seven years of preparation and now everything will play out. 

But to open the festivities, I must first get my hands on an invitation,”

The coach came to a halt in front of a mansion. Zelina descended and took in the view of the garden before walking towards the entrance, where a quite surprised butler awaited her.

***

Her arrival could not be compared to a thunderstorm. The situation occurred way too fast for Cynan to be overwhelmed. His butler announced her and when she entered his office her aura invaded the room like a rising tide. Cynan had been too dulled out from his peaceful day to prepare himself mentally to face the young woman in front of him.

Two old friends meeting again for the first time.

“You still have an awful taste. Your curtains are a disgrace,” Zelina said as she scanned the room visibly bored.

Silence.

“After all this time, I would have thought you had developed a more luxurious taste,” she added.

 Zelina took one step forward and then another. She walked idly in the room with a candid expression.

“What is the reason for your visit... Madam?” Cynan asked.

Zelina suddenly turned her head towards Cynan and her golden eyes squinted with hatred.

“Madam…” she repeated.

Cynan did not react.

“Meanas’ coronation. Would that be a pleasing enough reason for you, Sir?” Zelina finally answered.

“King Meanas,” Cynan corrected.

“My apologies,” Zelina said as she bowed down excessively.

Zelina refused to refer to Meanas as a king.

“Lady Zelina, you are not invited to this joyous event,” Cynan stated.

Zelina smiles causing Cynan to doubt his capacity to stay unfazed for long.

“Oh but I do know that,” she said.

Zelina sat in the chair in front of Cynan’s desk and started playing with her fan. Cynan examined her and slowly he shifted into contemplation. That smile of her, her voice, her gesture, they were all familiar to him. Thousand memories rise again in his mind. He is tempted to dive into them and daydream. As he battled against the temptation of reminiscence, he did not notice Zelina looking at him as well. However, she was not reminiscing, she was waiting for the right timing.

“I simply came as a friend.. An old friend. One cannot forget a friend who did so much,” she added.

Zelina placed her hand on the table in an attempt to draw closer to Cynan. He stared at her hands. She was still wearing her many bracelets.

“And I mean, you know…” Zelina hesitated.

Cynan raised an eyebrow as he noticed her false bashfulness.

“Say, was it intentional to choose only one emissary for the South?” she asked.

Zelina had found the right moment and had struck with her words. She knew his weakness, Cynan was a skilled warrior and noble but not a tactician.

“Lady Zelina, this should not be of concern for you,” Cynan answered.

“Many southern families were quite shocked and felt offended,” Zelina added.

“I thought you came as a friend Zelina,” 

“And it is as a friend, Cynan, that I inquire about this issue!”

Cynan sighed and Zelina took it as a sign to continue.

“You know much the merchants' families take pride in their origins. I tried to explain to them that there must have been a reason to send only one emissary. And that you, Cynan, would have chosen the emissary as impartially as possible,”

Cynan remained silent. Her way with words had gotten more skilled after all those years. Sadly for him, there was no impartiality coming from him. Meanas had wished to choose one emissary to demonstrate that under his reign the South was meant to be one unified province. Despite all the tribes in the South, only one person would represent the South. The emissary, chosen from one of the most influential families, would then be promoted to Governor of the South. This would allow Meanas to have one sole correspondent in political and economic matters regarding the South. However, Cynan had no intention in sharing this intention with Zelina, who was herself from an affluent family from the South. However, her family belonged to another tribe. Cynan never investigated further the intrications between the southern tribes. Now that Zelina had returned, he realized how foolish that had been.

Zelina stood up to leave Cynan to his thoughts.

“Why did he not invite me, Cynan?” she asked.

Cynan did not answer nor did he accompany her. The question floated in the air unanswered.

Through his office windows, he caught a glimpse of her crossing the gardens. She passed by a lilac bush. She stopped in her tracks, turned and contemplated the bare branches, noticing the growing flower buds. Cynan continued to observe her as she took off again. His gaze returned towards the lilac bush. With the mild season approaching the bush would bloom again.

***7 years ago***

  “Gardening really?” Zelina asked as she had stopped on the path leading towards the mansion. She made her umbrella twirl as she thought about what Cynan had just shared with her.

Cynan carressed the lilacs and smiled lost in his thoughts.

“There is nothing more beautiful than helping mother nature in her creations,” he explained.

Zelina shrugged her shoulders unimpressed by his wise words.

“If I weren’t a noble then I would have become a farmer. However since I am a noble, I have to satisfy myself with mere gardening,” Cynan continued explaining.

Zelina twirled her umbrella once more and peered at him through the laces. 

“If I were not a noble, I would not exist as I am before you. I have used over and over again all the privileges that have come with my status to build myself. I clung myself to anything a noble like me could get their hands on. Wishing to escape this world that created me would be idiotic and would turn my life into something insignificant, where I could not be the fully fledge me,”

Cynan listened to her attentively and did not respond immediately.

“I did not know you had such strong opinions about your title. Our aspirations vary a lot,” He finally said.

“And yet we somehow get along,” Zelina added.

A smirk appeared on her face. 

“If I ever find myself in dire need of a gardener, I know to whom I can turn to. I’ll make sure to order my lilacs with you,” Zelina said as she made her way back towards the mansion twirling her umbrella.

Cynan bowed excessively. “You are too kind Madam,” he whispered.

***Back to the present. In Zelina’s coach***

“He called me Madam. How monstrous! Poor soul, he does not know what awaits him. Ugh, now I must wait for all of this to stir and boil. Let my words sink in. I must get under his skin. If only Cynan would have more spark then I would not have to wait so much. The day Cynan bursts will be one to remember. I must ensure to be the one to wake the dragon sleeping in him. But that would be only a collateral benefit from what I truly intend to achieve.

#own writing #my story

[braningrabbitadvertisingagency]

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  Packaging design is a burgeoning industry with many start-ups coming up, and it's easy to see why. With the degree of digitization in this day and age, the packaging sometimes even becomes more noticeable than ads for new brands – which means that designers must pay close attention not only to creativity but also practicality when designing packages.

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[crqstalite]

SHAN, Act I.

17 ATC. THE DEFIANCE. 15:00

It's quiet.

As soon as they hit hyperspace, Andronikos can't do much more than just sit back, the tension flowing out of him as his shoulders lower. Staring out into the blue abyss that's before them, nothing matters. His hands drop from the controls, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. Maybe if it hurts worse than it already does, he'll wake up from this blasted dream.

Or this nightmare, with how things were going in the last hour or so. Either way, he desperately wanted out of it.

Lexulle had come back from worse. Much worse than just some attack on a cruiser. Ghosts tried to take her physical form when she was barely an apprentice, tried to tear her apart from the inside out. Her own master had tried to kill her before that, a hundred-something year old woman trying to kill someone who was just barely out of their teenage years. Still, she was able to move past that and triumph over those that couldn't find it in them to believe in her, if not with nightmares that cropped up every couple of months. Or at least, as far as he was concerned they were every couple of months.

Still, Lexulle never just died. She was too strong to be bound to a grave that early in her life. He refused to believe that whatever the hell was out there had taken their Darth Occlus -- his Lexi.

She wasn't his, not really, but it didn't change the fact that he cared about her, and that she cared for him just as much. He swore no matter what happened he'd be there for her, and against his better judgement, he'd just left her for the mercy of whatever ship had just appeared out of the bowels of the galaxy. One hell of a protector he was. He should've stayed, he would've stayed if she hadn't pleaded with him to leave with her crew in that blasted desperate voice that could've gotten him to do anything.

He wants to believe she'll be back, on some Imperial shuttle in a few hours, meeting up with them at a little halfway planet. Maybe a little worse for wear, but alive. Jokingly answering questions and just being her. Being the Lexi he knows, ready for an outing with Malcom or a photo shoot the very next day, just as beautiful as she always is with as many scars and bruises as she'd managed on this mission alone. He doesn't want to accept that reality might have more in store than just that. Doesn't even want to think about how she might be floating around in space with Marr, no hope of ever going home.

The shell-shocked expressions of the rest of the crew behind him are quiet, at least. No questions are asked, and no one moves. No one says anything, not even a simple Jedi line out of Ashara. Even the kid is quiet, though Andronikos had still hear him sleepily whimpering. No one knows what to do. With the exception of the time that Lexi had been literally fighting a war for her own body, she was always there to give them direction or the next thing to do. Years ago he would've balked at being under the leadership of someone other than himself, now that's all he can ask for. Wanting Lexulle at the head of the ship instead of an empty space that his brain keeps filling with her.

There also happened to be no protocol, Imperial or otherwise, for when your Captain went missing in a fight against some unknown force. Not one he could wrack his brain and remember, at the very least.

"We're two days out to Dromound Kaas," He finally breaks the silence, keying in the coordinates for the Imperial homeworld and rising from his seat once they've been accepted, "I suggest you all pack your things you might need for a day trip, soon as we hit airspace without Lexulle they'll kick us from the ship once they find out. Probably start an investigation soon as we're in the spaceport."

"But she's coming back, Andronikos. They wouldn't retake the Defiance without confirming that she's really gone," Ashara responds firmly, voice cracking as she smooths out the dark curls of the boy who sits in her lap. She lifts those big blue eyes to him, near pleading without words and he's glad he doesn't crack right there and then in front of her, "Would they?"

He doesn't have all the answers. But hoping they let them keep an Imperial interceptor ship (seven years old but the Empire did like their hardware) without the Sith it's essentially tied to is false hope. He thinks that if they simply don't report she's missing until she gets back, they could have the Defiance to themselves for a couple days. Lexulle would have his head for so openly breaking a law, but it's the first solution that comes to mind. They'd just ignore whoever was hailing her as long as it took.

He doesn't want to leave. Other than the military, this the only place he's been longer than a few weeks at best. He's actually happy here, things are stable enough that he can say he actually lives her instead of it just being a layover to his next 'home'. But he'd never say that to anyone else, not in the presence of anyone else. The question hangs in the air, unanswered and unwilling to be touched.

"Under a few jurisdictions, we'd be evicted within the week if Lexulle didn't return." Talos answers for him. Of course he would know, he probably had Imperial Law as a bedtime story as a kid, "Not that I don't have any belief in Darth Occlus' ability to do the impossible, but Andronikos is correct. We may have to spend a few days in the apartment while she gets everything back as it should be."

"And if she doesn't come back? What laws come into play then?" He asks, steeling his voice against breaking. It's a fair question, not one he wants in practice but now is the best time to familiarize himself with the law of the land. He can hear Ashara want to say something else, but Talos beats her to it.

"Chances are, we'll be permanently evicted. The Defiance doesn't legally belong to us, and though Xalek and Ashara are Sith, neither of them have completed their trials yet. Khem Val is a Dashade, the Sith will be looking for him. Andronikos has minimal ties to the Empire and will most likely be ignored for the most part, but surely I'd be put back with the Reclamation Service." Talos answers, a frown on his face, standing from his seat in a gentle parade rest. He can't meet anyone's eyes, even as Andronikos turns to him to ask another question. That's unusual enough in itself.

"We live here though! We have for six years, they shouldn't be able to just take it from us!" Ashara says, not even lowering her voice anymore. She's frustrated, understandably. There's a glint of gold in her eyes, which terrifies him to no end. He'd only seen Ashara angry a few times since he'd known the Knight, and had seen what she was capable of. Malcom wakes, but she doesn't notice, "They can't make us leave, they can't! Even if she is really gone..."

"Sith will be back." Is all Khem grunts out rather matter-of-fact before leaving the bridge, Xalek on his heels. The Dashade doesn't leave any room for discussion at all, leaving those in the cockpit in silence. He should probably check in on the Kaleesh at some point before they leave the Defiance. Considering how highly he thought of Lexulle, even going as far as to refer to her as mother even though she was both shorter than him and not even a decade separated them, Andronikos could predict he was probably on just as short a fuse as the rest of them were. If not more, and that was a terrifying thought by itself.

But she wasn't dead. That was an idea he wouldn't even begin to entertain as bleak as things got. They drop out of hyperspace just back into the civilized galaxy within a couple of hours, and only he, Ashara and Malcom stay on the bridge. He wakes up a few times, his green eyes wet with tears and his dark hair mussed by hours of sleep. Eventually, Ashara asks to take the controls so that Andronikos can put Malcom down for a bit. He's reluctant to, it's only her second or third time piloting the ship without him in the immediate vicinity, but he knows she's right. She needs her own time alone, after being under Lexulle for so many years and the way their relationship was as Master and Apprentice, he can't imagine she's doing much better than Xalek. Gently, he manages to slip the toddler out of the Togruta's arms and gives her detailed instructions to get them on course to the next planet. She doesn't respond with words, but he knows she understands. He ends up laying down in the crew quarters with the kid for a while, Malcom bumbles in and out of restless sleep for a bit before being out cold for another few hours.

He doesn't give himself even a minute to process what was going on. Maybe that wasn't right, but if he stopped moving for even a moment, started considering the actual fallout from this mission at all, that usually lead to regrets and alcohol, and that wasn't what the crew needed right now. He was Captain again, and he had to keep things together for as long as they needed to be.

Wordlessly, the crew goes about their daily tasks, along with cleaning and packing what essentials they needed over the next few days. It was kind of spooky watching as the Defiance was cleared out of most things, making it seem as if no one lived there full time. The crew quarters, which weren't really junky before was stripped clean of things that made it the Defiance's crew's quarters. No weapons or clothes were to be found. It was like being thrown back in time to when he'd first joined the crew after Tatooine, still curious how he'd make his mark on the galaxy after everything with the Republic and his piracy days being firmly behind him as long as he worked for a Sith. A Sith he was at the time, hellbent on showing her a good time and loosening her up (in the end, he was the one who was shown a few new things) but came to respect after some time. Slowly but surely the crew had grown into a family around Lexulle and her march across the galaxy. Where he'd once been annoyed by the Force trinkets and knick knacks that Talos, Ashara and Xalek often collected that littered the corners of the room, his heart aches to see them ominously glowing a last time in the dim red light of the quarters. All the nights they'd spent up and awake much longer than they should've, the days they'd spent in medbay patching each other up and all the memories they'd made together are fading fast, just as quick as packs can be made and crates are filled. It's as if it's all disappearing right before his eyes, all the years being erased.

But it's not permanent. That's what keeps him grounded, knowing that he is coming back. This isn't for forever. A couple of days at most, so while he takes his guns with him, the bed sheets stay. The larger, non essential things stay where they are, packed away in the cargo bay for later. For safe keeping, as Talos reassures him. They're locked behind a pass code, in case Imperial officials get any ideas. He tries not to brush the smaller man off too much, he's only trying to help to the best of his ability. Everyone was, everyone was only trying to make the conversion easier. Andronikos just needed to figure out how to cultivate that into something more productive and healthier for the crew.

Even if he didn't entirely know how to.

That included Malcom. Stars, he knew how to watch the kid, where to find him when he went running off, when to feed him and when he was getting up to things he had no business being in, but he didn't know how to deal with the three year old's emotions shortly after Marr's ship and the subsequent battle. Lexulle's son always had that frown on his face that broke him in two, her previous lightsaber hilt always in his hands. Some parts he'd lost, so it was far from functional, but it provided some comfort to the boy. He liked to run his hands over it, hell liked to sleep with the thing like a metal plushie and even though Ashara had managed to take it from him, afraid he'd scratch his delicate cheeks, he'd managed it back within the hour. It was a part of him, just as much as his mother was. There were always tears that someone wiped away, but Andronikos was beginning to believe there wasn't any end to the hiccups and cries for his mother. He takes refuge with Ashara at first, before he comes toddling to him begging for Andronikos to bring his mother back. It's not healthy for him, but he let's the boy cry late into the night, falling asleep just before midnight in Imperial space on his chest while Andronikos sits up piloting the Defiance. He wishes for nothing more than to soothe him with his mother back, just as all of them do. Andronikos, sadly, isn't a miracle worker though. Only the stars know if Malcom is right, if Ashara...if anyone is right with their misplaced hope.

He doesn't get a lot of sleep those few days either. He can't. In essence, he won't.

So he doesn't.

Malcom isn't his son, he's far from it. But, he's not Theron's either. He grits his teeth at this thought, partially upset with the SIS agent for being such a fleeting idea of perfection for her and partially frustrated with himself for hanging on to this for so long. He's always been there for her and for him, but Lexi had always said she wasn't willing to commit long term to anyone but her son. Specifically because of all the unknowns.

Sometimes he wishes he was included in that exception, but she didn't ever say things like that lightly. She would've told him if that's what she wanted, and she was the boss. Especially after his own botched admission to wanting to be with her, he figures it's time to drop the subject. They were friends, maybe in that grey area, but he was firmly no longer on her mind. He doesn't know why he misses her in that way, he doesn't know why he can't just move on from her.

The only solace he gains from these petty thoughts he tries not to bury beneath alcohol and late sabaac nights with the crew is that Theron is not one of the people she wants to be with either. As long as her frustrated rants still meant the same thing three years later, he was the furthest thing from her mind. The way he should be, really. Maybe he didn't do anything outside of actually impregnating her, but Andronikos couldn't help being upset with him. Malcom would probably spend years never knowing his actual father, maybe his entire life if Lexulle kept it from him that long. Maybe because she grew up knowing both her parents, and then having them ripped away from her at such a young age didn't do her any good. Not knowing instead of yearning for him would do the kid some good. Less emotional impact as well.

Once the other rooms are done and packed up, Andronikos takes it upon himself to clear out the last one the day before they hit Imperial airspace -- Lexulle's personal quarters. He'd done that on purpose, not bothering with the room full of memories until the very last second that he could and reliably still have everything packed up.

He'd been a staple here for a few years, almost a sort of home to him. Given it was under the cover of relative darkness most of the time, but he still remembered it like the back of his hand. Yet, it was only short two years until he'd popped the question late one night, off a battle high after Voss. Then, he'd had to leave as not to make a bad situation worse. He hopes he still remembers where she kept everything as he slowly takes the room in.

He flickers the dim light on, and while there are a few of Malcom's toys littering the floor, it remains the same as he'd remembered it. The same deep purple comforter, same dresser, same weird Sith paintings on her wall. Gathering a couple of the toys and stashing them away in a box that seemed to hold the rest of them, he doesn't bother bringing them. The kid had sixty million other ones in the apartment, he wouldn't miss three or four or...twenty apparently. The room is clean, though her doublesaber is missing from where it was usually stored on her nightstand. Her holocom is gone from it's charging port, but her datapad remains with the matching stylus poised to write again laying across the screen.

He grabs that as well, though extremely careful not to drop it with his shaking hands. She wrote and drew and surely gave her life blood to the thing. It probably knew more about her than any physical being did. When she got back, she'd be looking for it. For a moment, he considers trying to figure out how to get into it, but breaches of privacy he rarely entangled with. And with her fate so up in the air, not a single word for the last day and a half, he doesn't need his curiosity sated by this. If he really cared about her, he wouldn't.

So he doesn't. He slips it into a pack without another thought. If she wanted to, one day she'd tell him herself.

Once the rest of the room has been straightened and accordingly packed away, he moves over to her dresser. A tad dusty, but otherwise clear. A few other force knick knacks decorate it, as well as something he thinks is a datacron pulsing red at him. He decides firmly against touching that. If she needed it, it would be here for her when she got back to do whatever Sith did with odd boxes of fate. A couple parts glint in the darkness, surely Lexulle had found the pieces that were gone from her old saber over the years and collected them.

His attention moves to the glinting box on the opposite side of the dresser. Her jewelry is in an ornate black box that he'd bought for her after their excursion to Alderaan (put him out of a hundred credits but all that had mattered then was how her eyes lit up at the gift). It was nothing special, and with the way they weren't mutually exclusive, he'd thought she would've let it gather dust somewhere with all the other gifts that people had bought her over the years, hoping to earn her permanent affection. Yet, as he grows closer, it's nearly pristine and still in the same condition as when he'd bought it. He's genuinely surprised, but it puts a sad sort of smile on his face.

It feels too personal to go rummaging around in her things, like something he hasn't earned the right to do, but he can't help himself to click open the silver latch, quietly as if she might walk in at any time. What greets him isn't immediately identifiable as per se, things a very influential Sith Lord would wear. There's her typical ruby necklace she wore, shaped like a kyber crystal and hanging off a delicate golden chain. She owns many in varying colors, but the red one had always been her favorite. Unlike the others, this one had been the last thing her father had given her before he'd died at the hands of some Jedi. At least, as far as he knew.

He wonders why she didn't wear it today, or technically two days ago. There's an assortment of other surely expensive pieces, all in red or gold or both. A few he can pick out, putting the jewelry with the suitor that had presented it to her. One he remembers rather clearly, a Zabrak who'd brought her an entire ring set while they were packing up to leave Rishi. He'd thought she discarded it, with everything with Theron going down that she wouldn't care for them. Then again, Lexulle was very much a fashionable Sith, if she was going to just throw away such a collection in the name of one man, then he'd probably be extremely concerned.

As he goes about the rest of his day, he finds all he can think about is the SIS agent. Not with contempt (well, with contempt), but with curiosity. He'd thought Theron was the one that would tie her down, albeit very loosely, but at least keep her grounded. Her flights of fantasy and infidelity, while hilarious in retrospect, were surely taking it's toll on her. She'd never had someone to call her's, hadn't even called him her boyfriend or lover at any point in time. It had become rather exhausting after so many years for him, hence why things didn't last with Casey. He'd warned her not to get involved with something she couldn't finish, something that she couldn't see to the end. A Republic spy no less, and she was on the Dark Council, had been for nearly a year at that point. He'd known that things with Theron wouldn't end well, known that she was just going to end up unsatisfied. But she didn't care and continued on with the little fling. He'd caught her with the man plenty of times on Yavin that she didn't know about, and the flirts didn't go over his head as well as Lexulle had probably hoped while he stood nearby. No wonder they were an entire six hours late for their flight back to Vaiken to refuel and restock before they hit Dromound Kaas again. He filled in the blanks as he waited near the Defiance, chatting up a few Imperial soldiers before he and the Republic were the last ones left. Andronikos didn't have anywhere to be during this entire Revan mess, nor did Ashara, but she had been on the orbital station during all this.

It was the middle of the night when she came back, dark hair mussed clothes hastily donned, and half of them in her hands. He didn't ask any questions, didn't say anything as she sat in the passenger's seat in the Defiance, knees brought up to her chest and staring out into the starry abyss. There weren't any tears, there wasn't any angry sobbing or even a breakdown where she told him exactly what happened. All there was...was just quiet. As if pieces had been broken off of her deliberately, as if she wasn't her in that very moment. What Theron had done, what he'd said was a mystery to him for months. All he knew was that the next time he ever saw the agent he'd hurt him for hurting his Lexi.

He tried not to bring him up again. And for a while, it seemed like Lexi was willing to put the entire idea of him behind her, subsequently burning it with a metaphorical match. She was herself for a while, less prone to visiting every cantina she came across, but more her than she had been in what felt like months.

And then that proceeded to immediately end when she'd come to him in the middle of the night later that month, shaking in her nightclothes like a leaf, crying into his arms that she was pregnant. He, hadn't been intending to ever deal with any emotional breakdowns on this partnership, but all he could do was hold her. He didn't know what else to do, and to say he felt powerless in that moment would've been the biggest understatement of the millennia. They weren't prepared for a baby. Not in the slightest. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to yell in the void about, but...well there wasn't much else he could do. There wasn't anything he could do to turn back the clock, to keep her from meeting Theron in the first place (as much as he wanted to). He couldn't blame this on her, couldn't put this on anyone. As much as he wanted to find someone to be angry at, there was no one.

He could try blaming fate for once, but that wasn't helping anyone.

She was stubborn enough that staying on the Defiance was her one wish, even though she had a perfectly good apartment -- hell even one of the best ones in the city back home, she wasn't interested. Putting her life at risk was apparently not about to be deterred by the fact she would be due only a few months from then. Absentmindedly, he wonders if it simply runs in her family. Not that he'd met anyone in her family except for that blasted ghost she kept telling him about. It wasn't even like she could fight later down the line, though she was determined to continue honing her lightsaber abilities. Blazes he'd wanted to stop her then and there, but then Ziost had happened.

He desperately wanted Ziost to never have happened, especially so early on. The false hope that it gave her, that twinkle in her eyes that he hadn't seen in nearly a whole month. He doesn't know why she didn't tell him then and there, why she let him stay in the dark about his own child. Considering what little he already knew about the mysterious and apparently alluring Theron Shan, it was just something he didn't expect from her in the slightest. It seemed odd, unlike her even. Still, the massacre that went down those few days, he could understand why bringing that up would've only lead to trouble. More than they were already in, at least. Lexulle didn't like people worrying about her, didn't want people thinking they knew better for her own life. It had gotten him shoved off plenty of times beforehand, and with the way Lana was already overly concerned about sending her out to begin with, adding Theron to that would've set her off.

The look of emptiness in her eyes put a hole in him as they watched the planet die just before them in the viewport. She'd let him hold her for a few minutes, though the lethargic way she leaned against him made him realize that none of this was right. Much as she didn't want to say it, this kid was an accident, plain and simple. One she hadn't planned for, or was even ready for. Lexulle hadn't been ready to be a mother.

They left in silence, him and Khem flanking her. She didn't say a word to anyone for the longest time. Seeing the regret in her eyes, the hurt, it was unbearable. A few times he'd been able to talk to her, get any sort of conversation from her. Only when they were relatively alone, of course, but he learned more about her then than he'd been able to in the years past. She wasn't young, twenty eight at that point. But up until then she'd only really been looking out for herself, had to only look out for herself, and was just warming up to the idea of looking after them at the same time.

Someone she couldn't leave, or at least one that she didn't want to, must've thrown her for a loop.

He lingers, looking over the room. He considers picking something else, maybe to pacify the kid for a few more hours until they can land. Her hospital bracelet and Malcom's matching one remain in the jewelry box, but he decides firmly against that. Lexulle would kill him for losing one or the other. Well, anything from that day could've killed him if she didn't have the restraint. A few bones were surely still out of place, his fingers had hurt for days after Malcom was born.

Look at him, reminiscing like an old man. Looking for any purchase in this mess they've made.

"Andronikos?" Ashara's voice sounds from outside the door alongside a knock. He slides his pack over his shoulder as her knocks become more incessant. He gives a lingering glance to the box, before delicately shutting it and heading towards the door.

"Yeah, what do you need?" He asks once he opens it, and she shifts Malcom on her hip. Blazes, those big green eyes had no business being on this kid, so full of innocence and hurt, "I was just finishing up in here."

"There's something you need to see," Is all she says, lowering her gaze to the ground, to the interior of her room, to Malcom, but anyone else but him, "Some place called Zakuul has...well Imperial security has already locked the transmission down but Talos managed to grab it before they took it off the Sith frequency."

"Zakuul?" The word sounds weird on it's own, unfamiliar, but if they had anything on Lexi, then he's willing to listen, "What do they have to say?"

She gestures with her head to Malcom, "For his sake, I think you should watch it without him."

That sends a chill down his spine. That was something the crew only ever said if it concerned Lexi having to leave for something or the other, or something that Lexi didn't want him hearing. At nearly three, Malcom had gotten rather good at understanding messages and stringing them together in his own thoughts. No conversation was safe from him any longer. And that meant that nothing in this message was considered good. From a weird planet, or person or group of people, he has his reservations. Considering his Sith, even more.

The Togruta leaves, heading back towards the crew quarters to surely find a way to distract Malcom from the rest of the crew, who's standing around a slightly glitching holoterminal. Talos is fumbling with something in the panel, Xalek with his arms crossed and a sour expression behind his mask. Khem, is very loudly doing something in the cargo bay. He prays silently it's not because of what he'd just witnessed, "Talos. You found something?"

"The Imperial Citadel picked this up while we were in hyperspace a few hours ago, surely Ashara told you who sent it?" He questions, running a hand through his unkempt hair. This is the most distressed he's ever seen the man, his blonde hair all over his head and not even wearing his Reclamation Service uniform. He's slept, maybe more than Andronikos has, but he's been restless. He surely had let the stress get to him, not even stopping for a moment. Tinkering away in the cargo bay, always working on something. To take his mind off of things, in a less destructive way than some other members of the crew. He and Andronikos hadn't been all that different, in that regard.

"Some 'Zakuul'?" He fills in, watching as the holo-image flickers to life. A man appears, completely grainy and indiscernable nearly, but scarred and with a mask over his face. Then, he fizzes out again, "They managed to pick this up?"

"Recovered from the ship's long range sensors when they sent in recovery teams about two days ago from Ilum, off some odd channel that the destroyer managed to pick up. It's not extremely clear, but piecing together the message is...concerning," Talos says offhandedly, clicking over a couple more buttons.

"Recovery teams? You mean they might have found her?" Andronikos asks, ignoring the last statement. He tries not to get his hopes up, but it's impossible not to. At some point in between when they'd left and now, that meant the Empire had managed to get people back out here to the ship. And if they had recovery teams, there was a chance they might've found Marr and Lexi.

Dead or alive, but he'd burn that bridge when he got to it.

"...Valkorion, is dead -- murdered by an Outlander who...great society." The transmission continues to fizzle out, but he's piecing together the story. Zakuul was some planet out in the far reaches of space, probably the thing that she and Marr had run into, "....assassin will receive swift and just punishment....act of unprovoked aggression..."

"What's he going on about?" He asks Talos in a moment of silence, "Who's Valkorion?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Revel," He answer solemnly, messing with another few dials and buttons, "We're not even supposed to have this, no one outside the Council is."

"So they know Lexulle is gone?" He drags a hand down his face, a groan escaping him. Great, now there was no way out of this, "I thought we would've had more time."

"The eviction transmission came in this morning. I considered deleting it entirely but..." There's so many cogs twisting and turning in his head that Andronikos can nearly see it, as he thinks up any solution for this problem they've found themselves in. No more Defiance for a while then.

"We're about to hit Kaasian space. Yeah." He says, as the transmission returns.

"...Emperor, I can promise you this...full power of the Eternal Throne...they will answer for their warmongering ways,"

"So he's got an Emperor complex, great," Andronikos rolls his eyes. They'd had enough problems with the blasted Emperor for one lifetime. Talos seconds his opinion with a quiet response, though Andronikos can't make out what he says, "Where is this Zakuul anyways?"

"Speculation is that they're further out in Wild Space, hence the attack on Darth Marr's ship and all of the unknowns about them," Talos responds, "I believe administration was trying to keep this further under wraps, but their communications still arrived here at the ship. I believe they only discovered these a few hours ago, and then sent it to Council members."

Andronikos doesn't answer. The way it continues with the static, he's beginning to think that was all they'd managed to get from the holo. It doesn't confirm that either of the Sith are alive or dead, but he's considering taking this as a declaration of war from this 'Zakuul'. The way that he says 'Emperor' and just how long it had been since the last Emperor had gone astray, he's figuring it might be a cult on the rise. Revan's wasn't any fun to deal with, and he thinks this is one is even less. Might be more powerful but at it's core -- he still doesn't want to deal with it at all, "That it?"

"That's as far as we got last time," Talos responds, clicking a few more buttons with a little bit more force than truly necessary, "It's extremely spotty, if I can barely get this much out of it I'm sure the Imperials are doing just as well. I'm not sure what Intelligence or the Sith intend to do with it just yet. With such little information on Zakuul at the moment--"

"And the Core Worlds will burn."

Talos jumps back, as the audio grows nearly unbearably loud with the grizzly voice. The only clear thing out of the entire transmission, and it had to be the most ominous as well. It winks off a moment later, though the words are already etched into his memory. With such certainty as well, and then ships they'd seen earlier being way more high tech than anyone should really ever be having...he's maybe edging onto the idea that this wasn't just a cult. Making a jump from just being after the Empire to the entire Core Worlds, to say the least it didn't make him feel any better.

Another transmission comes through fifteen minutes later just as Dromound Kaas comes into view, this time everyone surrounding the holo with anticipation in their eyes as the sight of an Imperial officer appears in blue. He holds Malcom to the best of his ability, held together by sheer will and less sleep than was truly appropriate. Though everything is fuzzy with sleep deprivation, the words ring clear.

"Darth Lexulle Kallig has been confirmed missing in action alongside Darth Marr of the Dark Council. The current occupants of Kallig's Imperial Interceptor, code name the Defiance, have forty-eight hours to vacate the ship...."

He has a little too much satisfaction shutting off the man's drawl, and turns to address the rest of the crew before Malcom starts, "What does vacate mean? And where's mummy an' Marr?"

He hesitates. At first he can't find the words. Malcom isn't as old as the others, he'll take whatever he says extremely literally, "Vacate means we gotta go, kid. As for Lex...just means they don't where she is yet. But they're looking, which is all that matters."

He seems to accept that answer, mulling it over and making sense of it. Andronikos turns to the rest of the crew, "You heard the man. Get your things and get ready to leave."

-

He's attended a few funerals in the past, usually out in the middle of nowhere for friends that lost their lives in ship accidents. They were pretty far and few in between, but the idea that a bunk would be empty for the forseeable future always hurt a bit. Never dwelled on it long, especially after the first few times he'd had to leave a crew, but names were the hardest. Calling for someone who wasn't there anymore.

The darkest one was when he lost one of his squad members after a battle gone wrong before he'd defected from the Republic. He didn't remember much from that point, had drank himself silly first, but it was enough to put him off ever making a big fuss about anyone in his life again.

People died. That was just what happened. Galaxy wasn't the safest place for any sentient being, and you signed that contract when you joined a crew or did much of anything. Life wasn't handing out easy lives to people either. Became shoot or get shot very quick.

He could barely handle this. Sith mingling around and acting like they owned the place. He wasn't a fan of Dromound Kaas, but had only come on Lexulle's request. Somehow she'd made it less stuffy, less elitist than the times he'd been here without her.

Now it feels like he's being choked, or some gundark is using him as a footrest. He's not going to cry in front of anyone, much less cry at all. It's unbearable though, his chest tight as he runs a finger over the plaque with her name in script. Her assumed birth date and the same day they'd had to leave her is just below it.

They'd given Lexulle and Marr a memorial. A service of some sort. Marr had gotten one in the military district, surely to pay homage to his service to them. Apparently that's what he'd done, and he'd been good at it for as long as he was alive. He had to give it to the man, he'd done nothing but be a leader, and Lexulle had looked up to him, trusted him too. Safe to say the man had earned his respect a long time ago.

Lexulle's wasn't as populated, though was in the cultural district. People had surrounded it with flowers of all types, though the more popular color was a deep purple. Jungle plant, one he'd seen while wandering around with her. For as much as she did with ghosts and stuff, not to mention the fact she'd killed another Darth for their seat, he would've figured the Sith would've put her somewhere less desirable. Yet, it was a proud memorial with a statue going up in a few months. Nothing as large as the one in the Colossus, not even one as big as Marr's, but with the plan sent to Ashara, he'd like to think she'd be proud of it. Even the cult from Nar Shaddaa had sent both Rylee and Destris to put offerings around it, and not a single coin went missing as far as he was concerned. People respected her, less because she was Sith and more because of who she was, more than he'd thought with the way she spoke of the Empire. Maybe because she was less 'stab first ask questions later' than he'd thought.

Malcom had made it so that he would bring her flowers everyday with the money Lexulle had left for him. His mother had left him a hefty sum of money, labelled with detailed instructions for someone who would be with him after she was gone. He and Ashara had gone over it plenty of time, nearly eliciting tears from him. She knew she wouldn't be around forever, and from the sound of it she would've accepted it wholeheartedly. Andronikos couldn't find a reason to decline the boy's request. It was the only way he knew how to handle it all, how to cope with everything. No three year old should've had to suffer the way he was, but he did his best to take it in stride. It was too much to ask for him to stop crying at the funeral, they had all shed plenty of tears that day.

He felt so hopeless walking into the apartment, Malcom sleep and stuffy-nosed from crying most of the day. Much as he didn't want to say it, he was going to be looking up to all of them to help him, introduce him to the world. He couldn't help it if Malcom saw him as a father figure, and would probably have to take it no matter what.

He couldn't help but wonder if like Kallig, she'd come back as a ghost. Given, no one except for Khem, Ashara and Xalek were force sensitive, but it didn't seem that impossible. She'd come back for her son in the afterlife, he's sure. Not by his standards, at least. Maybe that was just a copout so that he'd feel better,but still wanted to hope she wasn't really gone. That all of this was just a really bad dream he'd wake up from in a couple hours.

Ashara didn't bother sticking around that week. First she went back to the Sanctum, clearing out Lexulle's things and taking on what she could. He barely saw the Togruta those first couple of days as she buried herself in Sith affairs. Xalek followed her, but he couldn't see the Kaleesh actually handling any amount of paper work. Not to say he couldn't, but that he most likely wouldn't be amused by the thought. Talos was all too happy to stay locked away in his personal quarters or wherever the Reclamation Service met during the day, though he often returned for meals. Khem didn't have anywhere to truly go, so he acts as a protector of sorts. Not nearly as talkative as he once was, but Andronikos is glad he's here. He's less likely to be jumping at shadows with the Dashade lingering around every corner.

The apartment grows more and more desolate by every passing day. Ashara rarely visits anymore, Xalek is learning under someone else now. Talos...Talos chose to be anywhere other than the apartment. It's just him and Khem, and more often than not, just him. Only him to watch the rain fall, to try and get Malcom to eat anything. To even teach Malcom. Though he is Lexulle's son, it's more difficult to try and get him into an academy without the Force backing him. He's told to watch for the signs of budding force sensitivity, levitating objects without knowing it, breaking things without explanation. Andronikos doesn't understand any of that mess, so he takes it upon himself to get Ashara to find him some holonovels on Sith and whatnot.

Malcom isn't interested in learning about Sith anymore. Where most boys were (apparently) interested in the military, Malcom wanted to be part of the Sith Guard as soon as he heard about it from his mother. Now, all he wants to do is find a way to fix Lexulle's lightsaber and then find her. No dreams of schooling, of the Guard, of anything else. Just Lexulle.

There's only so much he can do to keep Malcom from asking questions he can't answer. As much as they visit the memorial and Malcom talks circles with the plaque, after a few months he isn't satisfied anymore with just bringing flowers. Andronikos tries to comfort him, but the three year old is beginning to gain a sense of dissatisfaction. Real anger even, and he finds himself blaming the Empire, Zakuul, even the Republic at one point for taking his mother from him. Andronikos knows how to deal with adults, can say to take leave and deal with themselves before coming back aboard. But Malcom is nearly four, and he desperately needs someone to be there for him as he figures himself out. He throws fits here and there, confused why the stars would take his mom and why no one else wanted her back but him. He struggles to try and explain that everyone else was under the impression she'd been killed by Zakuul, but Malcom doesn't want that for an answer.

Had he been any older, he was sure the boy would go stomping up to Intelligence headquarters himself and get answers that way. The kid was stubborn, just like his mother, and wouldn't take any old run around for an answer. Admirable, yes, but terrifying in practice. He's beginning to think it's a good thing he isn't force sensitive, or he and Khem would have their hands much fuller than they did already.

He finds a little cargo ship off Hutta sometime before Malcom's birthday. It's not top of the line by any means, but Andronikos isn't about to complain about it. Enough to hold him, Khem and Malcom comfortably enough. He knows somehow that he isn't sticking around Dromound Kaas much longer, doesn't plan on being tied to a single planet. Fixes it up to at least be able to fly the galaxy, give the kid a taste of the worlds beyond the Sith home. Maybe he'd find an interest in culture, like his mother did. Anything to get his mind off the memorial being his home. Anything to keep him from growing up in someone's shadow.

They celebrate his dim fourth birthday days before Zakuul attacks the Core Worlds. He'd managed a cake from a bakery nearby, had even bought a blaster he could have when he was old enough not to shoot his foot off. Dipped into his own savings for the newest model from Czerka, bright red and rapid fire. He'd been grateful, as grateful as any kid could be for something he couldn't use yet. Figured by the time he was ten, Andronikos would take the kid out somewhere in the jungle and steady his aim. Sarcastically, he reminds himself these are really things his father should've been doing with him, as much as Lexulle talked about his blasters and how well he used them. He hadn't heard much about Theron, probably because he did work in SIS, but he's beginning to see his traits in Malcom, his eyes becoming more hazel as the years wear on, his hair and just in his face as the baby fat begins to recede. A few shades lighter than Lexulle, but it's clear enough to him who's son he is.

He's just finishing repairs on the ship he comes to name the Sky Prince, a nod to his last ship and the boy who's opinions are only getting firmer by the day, when it's said ships are appearing in the atmosphere. Andronikos doesn't stick around to figure out what the hell is going on. It's nearly too late to get out of the system, but within the day he's got their meager supplies packed up and ready to leave Dromound Kaas. He heads for the Outer Rim first, correctly he guesses they're after the main worlds first. They drift for a long time, the news only growing more and more grim as the war with Zakuul wears on.

Rishi is their home for a few months. He celebrates Malcom's fifth birthday in the company of pirates, unfortunately. For that alone, he unloads a blaster and shows the kid how to aim and shoot, in case someone decides to take him as easy pickings. The kid is still missing a lot of knowledge that Andronikos wasn't able to teach him, but he knows his numbers, most Basic, some Huttese and a few phrases in ancient Sith. Knows enough to get to a market and back.  For as much as this was sprung on him, Andronikos doesn't think he's done half bad. He's more talkative than he once was, though still oddly clingy to him. The parenting holonovels he'd been recommended by the Academy are worn from front to back, and he still can't fully understand everything about kids. Novel assumes it's because he lost his mother so early on and is trying to find an emotional replacement of sorts.

The Empire and Republic fall quick to Zakuul. He doesn't know all the little military details and doesn't bother himself with getting tangled up in them again. He isn't ready to stress about that again. Other than the occasional wild animal tearing up the small house, he, Malcom and Khem manage to fall into a routine. Andronikos still keeps an eye out for any budding force sensitivity, but he doesn't bother trying to force Malcom one way or another. Once he's tall enough, he keeps the double saber on his belt with a makeshift holder. He doesn't know what the kid intends to do with it, but if it made him happy, he couldn't stop him.

Six years old is met with Zakuul tightening it's grip on the galaxy. Suddenly, Andronikos finds himself having to use old contacts and the black market for supplies again. Both Dromound Kaas and Coruscant have essentially been blockaded, so trade routes are closing down. Getting anything done becomes difficult, and there are a lot of days that Andronikos has to go hungry in order to get Malcom anything. As much as the kid tries to get him to have half of anything he's found, Andronikos can't find the willpower to. Star Fortresses go up in that same year, above Voss, Belsavis, Nar Shaddaa, Alderaan, Hoth and Tatooine. What they did, well, Bothawui very quickly answered that question. He wasn't a fan of most of the planets on that list, but he did curse for Nar Shaddaa. That planet was the key to getting much of anywhere in the galaxy, and most of the black market dried up because of it.

Seven years old is when he gets a haircut. Seven years old is the unluckiest year Andronikos has, Malcom going missing at nearly every turn. He uses a blaster for the first time, and while his aim needed to improve substantially to be much of a threat, he manages to get a buff pirate off his back. After that, Malcom isn't so brave anymore, rarely going out by himself and mostly slicing himself into a coma. Andronikos doesn't know where he picked up the skill at, but he's managed them a fair amount of money from that alone, and it keeps him out of trouble metaphorically. Credits have finally dried up, and he isn't willing to dip into Lexulle's fund just yet. They move back into the Sky Prince, and they fly under the radar for a couple months. It isn't pretty, but it's manageable for the time. Khem absentmindedly makes a request to stop somewhere with Force users, as if the small populace on Rishi wasn't enough for him. He tries not to argue with the Dashade, entirely aware of what he could do if Andronikos makes him angry enough.

Eight is when Malcom decides that he doesn't want to be there anymore. Eight is the darkest year for Malcom, almost five years after he lost his mother. He's angry at the world, angry at the whole galaxy. He's growing up, and with everything he's seen, everything he's lost, Andronikos understands. He lost his meager family, he's under the impression his real father didn't want him, and he's still grieving over the loss of his mother. Ashara's left, Xalek is gone somewhere, and the last transmission he got from Talos was a year ago. Malcom has still never referred to him directly, but the emphasis on real father gets him thinking a bit. It makes him think that maybe he does see him as a father figure. Given Andronikos doesn't want to have that conversation yet (there's a lot Andronikos doesn't want to talk about yet), but he can't hide everything from Malcom for much longer. He asks one day if he knows his father, and why he couldn't have been here for him.

That puts a hole in his heart. He wishes he could answer that, but he abides by Lexulle's last wish. If she didn't want him knowing, didn't want him on a wild goose chase, he could live with that. Malcom doesn't resent him for his lie, only making the note that he feels like he can only trust Andronikos.

That hurts. Not him, but for the fact he feels that alone that he says he's the last person in the galaxy he can trust.

He's almost nine when there's a stir about Zakuul, about the so-called Outlander being pulled out of carbonite. A week before he turns nine, he gets wind of a new Alliance being built somewhere out in the Unknown Regions. Most informants don't know much more, and he's not about to go to Acina for answers. He and Malcom don't do much for his ninth birthday, but he has his suspicions about the Outlander. The first time Andronikos hears him mention he thinks it might be Lexulle, he tries to let him down easy. He gives up for a bit, but he's stubborn enough to say it again, louder the next time as they go about their supply runs. As much as Andronikos wants to support him in that thought, he can't find any hope left to do so.

For the most times in his life, he has so many 'I don't know's to answer to him. He's clueless on this new Alliance, and Malcom is aging into someone else. Hateful, no, but he wants revenge. He's a spacer, knows the ins and outs of the black market and gets in and out of places Andronikos really doesn't want him in to begin with. But he's happier than he has been in years (maybe that's too strong of a word, the kid's never particularly happy), delving into the holonet and learning to slice and repair things. His focus isn't Lexulle anymore, it's on surviving and improving himself.

Andronikos has done it before, but when Malcom comes back with a new find for the first time, holocom lit with more zeroes than he's seen in years, he finds himself ruffling his hair and saying 'I'm proud of you'. It's not the first time, but even he can feel how much paternal love there is behind it. His hazel eyes widen, and hugs him. A toothy grin on his face as he promises more soon, he smiles himself.

He goes by Malcom Revel for a few years. Kallig wouldn't get them anywhere, is his reasoning for no longer officially using his mother's surname.

He's done an okay job. He just hopes Lexulle is proud of who her son has become. Bitterly, he wonders if Theron would be too. Where he'd be interested in getting criticism from Lexulle, he wouldn't want a word out of the SIS agent.

It's exactly twenty three ATC, late that evening when he and Malcom start their first raid on an Eternal Throne ship. A few other pirates have helped to assemble a crew, and Malcom leads them through it all, sitting upside down in the cockpit on the ceiling with zero gravity on. With how successful it is, he's beginning to think the kid might have a future in Intelligence.

He's proud as hell of him.

23 ATC. UNKNOWN REGIONS. 22:00.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #star wars #shan #theron shan #female sith inquisitor/theron shan #female sith inquisitor #andronikos revel #female sith inquisitor/andronikos revel #lexulle kallig #malcom ngani kallig #malcom ngani shan #swtor oc #oc #original character

[walkingshcdow-a]

Hey, sorry to bother! I wanted to ask if you had any advice on how to write angst. It's probably what I struggle most with, and I really enjoy your writing and how you write yours. Thank you!

Hi! Sorry for the delay - you’re not at all a bother! I don’t know if you saw my post when I received this, but I was waiting on a copy of one of my favorite writing advice books before answering your question because it has been my guidebook to writing angst and when I went to reference it, I realized I’d left my copy on campus or at my parents’ house. But before I get into all that, I want to thank you for reading and enjoying my angst writing! I know I haven’t messed with angst in a while (since January 2020, suspiciously…) so it will be good to refresh my memory as to what I believed does and does not make good angst. Like all my writing advice, you can take it or leave it. 

Let’s get started!

So the first thing to remember is that good angst (indeed, good writing) is rooted in character and character emotions. Secondly, all characters feel all feelings over the course of a lifetime to some degree* but that those emotions will manifest very differently in two different characters, or even in the same character under different circumstances. Some people will tell you to use an emotions wheel and be done with it. 

But that does you no good if you don’t understand the nuanced difference between “resentful” (which is under “angry” feelings) and “hurt” (which is under “sad” feelings) or don’t see how anger and sadness can overlap to create both these feelings in the character(s) you’re writing. It also doesn’t help that I can stand over here, screaming until I’m blue in the face, that my character is sad, but if my writing lacks authenticity and freshness, I’m telling the reader how my character feels, not showing them. There is, of course, a place for telling - sometimes you need a shorthand filler sentence, especially when outlining. So, what can you do?

If you go on Amazon right now, you can order a cheap, used Ann Hood’s “Creating Character Emotions”. (A new copy will run you about $24, but used copies are being sold for under $2!). I am neither Ann Hood nor a paid spokesperson for her, however, this book has been my writing bible. Full disclosure: I usually skip the first part of the book. The intro and first part are worth reading a small handful of times, but it’s when Hood gives you writing workshops on each emotion that you get your money’s worth. Each chapter in the second section of the book is divided into four parts: an introduction/reflection on the emotion being discussed, “Bad Examples” where she shows you what not to do and why, “Good Examples” from published literature that showcase the emotion and why they work, and lastly, writing exercises and objectives. I still use these exercises to this day as a crutch when I haven’t seen a character experiencing a particular type of emotion and I want to know what he or she would look like feeling a certain way. I used an exercise from the section on “Anger” to showcase my OC, Masha’s, fury at being relied on by her 4-6 siblings (have I ever specified how many she has? No…) as an extra parent and source of financial support as well as her jealousy that her youngest sister, who she regards as being selfish and immature, is having a baby before she does and that she’d kept secrets from her ten years ago and was now telling her that she hadn’t confided in Masha sooner because Masha would have been judgmental, which then fed into Masha’s anger being towards herself for having played a part in the dysfunction of their relationship. Is it my most angsty piece? No, but it was a great character dive and it allowed me to explore other feelings that nestle within “anger” (as well as “sadness”, “fear”, “badness”, and “disgust”). I’ve used these exercises this way to generate some really awesome angst in the past and I actually plan to use some of the exercises with my creative writing students in the fall.

What if you don’t want to order a book?

That’s fine! But here are some takeaways from it that have taught me to be a better writer of angst (and of many things) over the years:

Emotions are like nesting dolls - there are always more on the inside than you see on the surface. You could (though I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it) have a character say, “I’m mad!” but if you opened her up, you’d see that she’s frustrated things didn’t go her way and jealous someone else was promoted instead and worried what it’ll mean for her family if she doesn’t make more money than she does now and she’s, at the heart of it, wondering if she’s even good enough. Characters, like people, aren’t always self-aware enough to pinpoint exactly what they’re feeling and why to say it out loud (or even in first-person narration) without being somewhat unreliable. You, however, are the author. You have to know as many of the layers as you can and you have to get it across to the reader without saying “Actually, she was feeling frustrated and jealous about the other person’s promotion and scared that she won’t make enough to support her family and worried that she isn’t good enough.” That’s a laundry list, not good writing. You want to instead show emotion through action and fresh language/imagery. What can your character do to show his feelings? Say you’re writing a funeral scene. A man’s wife has died and he is very sad. If you have him throw himself on the casket, weeping, you’ve shown some action, but is it the most appropriate one for that character? Or is it just another cliche? In my fic, “Kiss of Death”, Nadir Khan awakens to find Erik, who has been his best friend and almost-lover, has passed away in the night. It is only in Erik’s death that Nadir knows his kisses will not distress Erik and it is only now that they can never have the conversation of “So, what are we?” that Nadir finally knows the answer. He kisses Erik and buries him himself, saying “Au revoir, mon amour”, mimicking canon dialogue upon their last parting in Persia (“Au revoir, mon ami”) to show the change in the relationship. Nadir is a practical man, somewhat serious, but kind and loving and also religious. It wouldn’t make sense for such a man to throw himself onto Erik’s casket and weep. But it makes sense for him to conduct the funeral himself and to say bittersweet farewell - and one that indicates he believes he will see Erik again in the next life. What can your characters say or do that is unique to them? The less “emotion language” (re: “Nadir was sad. Nadir missed Erik. Nadir was angry. Nadir regretted not saying he loved Erik sooner.” Yikes. Who are you trying to convince: your reader or yourself?) the better. 

The second thing that comes to mind is often fresher and more interesting and more accurate than the first. A lot of times, we’ve been conditioned to think in cliches. And cliches make great placeholders, but when you edit, think about ways you could say it better, more specifically, and more emotionally. You want to use fresh language and imagery! Don’t be scared to let a paragraph or a story sit with you until you have the right words. Connotation is everything! You want to choose words that are appropriate to the character and their feelings, but also the feelings you want the reader to have about your writing. What emotion do you want a reader to walk away with?

Make your setting and “props” work for you. If your character has been grieving, show the state of their house. Unopened mail, empty wine bottles in the recycling, and stray tissues on the floor do more for you than “Sarah was grieving.” I did a modern AU with Nadir (always Nadir!) in which his son, as per canon, dies. The props I remember using were the stack of video games Reza had not put away before being taken to the hospital, the unanswered message machine (it was set in the early 00s), an origami swan that Erik had folded up in agitation and slipped into Nadir’s pocket to make him smile later. These all did more for me than “Nadir was sad his son died” than him thinking he wasn’t ready to put away the video games because it would be like admitting his son was gone, him not answering his siblings’ telephone calls, him not smiling at something that had never before failed to make him smile just a little. Pick props and settings specific to your character and make them count for something!

Angst writing should be done not because you are here solely to torture your readers with feels. That should be a bonus! What you should be focused on is character development and plot, like you would with any other story. The advice that Hood gives (and the advice I give, even though it’s just Hood Lite) can apply to any type of writing. The key thing is to remember who your characters are, what does the “angsty emotion” look like for them in particular, and what can you as the writer offer to the readers to make more of an impact. One thing you can always offer is upping the stakes. Sure, it’s angsty for your lovers never to get together, but it’s better if there is a good reason for it. Yes, it’s sad when a major character dies, but what did that character mean to those left alive? How does the angst move your story along (both the emotional story and the plot)? 

As with my other writing advice, I can only recommend reading and watching a lot of media and seeing how stories are handled when dealing with the emotions you want to write. What can you do to emulate your favorite writers and one-up those that ring false for you?

Happy - or angsty, I suppose! - writing! If you have any questions or want to talk about anything else, hmu!

Peace!

#x. asks #x. anon #x. answered #;;told by an idiot | {out of character} #;;signifying nothing | {personal} #Anonymous

[nelvana]

In which partners reconcile

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which the dusknoir is met Previous: In which the trouble with evolution is discovered

    Gardevoir felt like something was missing. She wasn’t sure quite what, since she couldn’t think of any unanswered questions, and if she did think of anything, she always found someone with the answer.

    So, instead, she made sure to keep herself occupied with learning. There was so much to ask others about this world and time, and even to relearn with her own powers. It could be sometimes hard to keep track of everything with having so much information arrive so suddenly, but she was deeply fascinated in finding more.

    Eventually though, she seemed to hit a question without an answer. Gardevoir didn’t know where Damien came from. While, in most cases that would be personal information and she knew that she should let it go, especially since she didn’t like invading others’ boundaries, this had caught her attention like a lure just forcing pokemon to go investigate.

    He had holed up when she casually brought it up for the first time, in that moment not thinking much of the question. So, she had carefully asked Nelvana instead to make sure she hadn’t done something wrong. Surprisingly, Nelvana had grown uncomfortable as well, struggling to come up with an answer before finally responding.

    “Sorry… I promised not to tell you that. He wants to let you know about his past himself,” Nelvana told Gardevoir, “but I think he’s waiting for the right time, he’ll tell you soon,” she added to try providing her with some comfort despite not having an answer.

    Gardevoir had meant to let it go then, she really had, but she just couldn’t. Something drew her to this unanswered question, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was what she felt had been missing. It was a stretch, but even considering it for a moment seemed to push her to try investigating further.

    So, after being unable to stew in her thoughts any longer, she decided that it couldn’t hurt to see if anyone around Pokemon Square knew him better. Damien’s old teammates, Ekans and Medicham, weren’t around the area anymore, but after that meeting in town to convince them of his changes, she figured someone had to be a bit more familiar with him.

    Unfortunately for her… no one seemed to know much. Gardevoir started by asking Kangaskhan, who apologized and told her that she didn’t know anything. This put a damper on Gardevoir’s spirits, the thought crossing her mind that shopkeepers wouldn’t know much about the past of their clients. Regardless, she had already started, so she decided that she might as well keep asking around.

    The search eventually led her over to the Kecleon Shop, where the brothers there didn’t have anything to tell her that anyone else hadn’t already said. They, however, seemed a bit more curious as to why she was asking.

    “So, you’ve been going around town asking about ol’ Gengar, huh?” Green-Kecleon questioned good-naturedly, leaning over the counter.

    “Ah! Yes, I suppose I have been…” Gardevoir admitted, “in hindsight, that probably wasn’t that hard to figure out, hm?”

    Both brothers laughed kindly and shook their heads, and Gardevoir couldn’t help but chuckle as well. Of course a town as small as this would take note of someone going around and asking everyone the same question.

    “May we inquire as to why that’s on your mind?” Purple-Kecleon requested, mimicking his brother and leaning on the counter as well, just on one arm though.

    “Indeed! This sounds like a more appropriate question for him, or someone on Team Galaxy, than us around here,” Green-Kecleon added.

    Gardevoir sighed, “well… they can’t tell me, I’m afraid.”

    “And why is that?” Green-Kecleon continued curiously, putting together that this was more of a matter than just them not knowing as well.

    “Nelvana said that he… doesn’t want to tell me yet,” Gardevoir told the reluctantly, embarrassed at the situation. “I know it’s disrespectful to go looking for the answer without just waiting for him to tell me himself, but…”

    The pair glanced at one another, sharing a silent conversation between just the two of them. It took a moment, but then one smiled and nodded with sudden new clarity, and with a quick whisper, the other was caught up as well.

    “Well, I understand this may be… important to you. Psychics have their ways, after all,” Purple-Kecleon began, “you’re a sweet ‘mon too, but…”

    “How about this?” Green-Kecleon sat up, pressing his hands together in front of him. “If you are this attached to finding this out, why not ask him yourself? Have you tried that yet?”

    “Er, well, yes, I have just tried asking him,” Gardevoir responded.

    “What about letting him know how you feel about this?” Purple-Kecleon continued, “he may be more inclined to let you know if you tell him how interested you are. By the way things are sounding, he probably plans on letting you know anyway, so there’s no harm in assuring him you’re ready to hear now and seeing if he’s alright telling you,” he explained.

    Gardevoir paused, mulling this option over. Yes, it did sound like it made the most sense, and would be a kinder way of going about this than just going around and trying to find the answer on her own. She nodded.

    “That’s a good idea, thank you both,” Gardevoir replied, bowing slightly to the brothers in thanks. “I’ll see about asking him when he’s less busy,” she told them.

    “Glad to be of assistance!” Purple-Kecleon hummed, standing up straighter.

    “We hope that this all turns out alright,” Green-Kecleon added.

    Nodding and giving thanks again, Gardevoir turned to leave the stand. She knew that Damien was currently working down at the Makuhita Dojo; moving some equipment, she believed. However, like she told the kecleons, she figured that it would be best for now to wait until he got a break before bothering him with her questions, especially seeing as how important her question seemed to have become for the both of them.

    Until then, Gardevoir began to ponder what to do with her time next. She had already finished her training with Ceebee for now, and she wasn’t quite sure where the rest of the team had made off to. After all, she had become quite occupied with a lot of things right up until now, so even what they had been doing this morning they could have left and moved on to something else by now.

    Then, an odd sort of thought struck her. One that made her completely stop for a few moments, before suddenly spinning back around and heading north to the Whiscash Pond.

    Damien could speak human.

    Gardevoir made her way up the past in a sort of haste she couldn’t recall putting herself through. She made her way over to the pond, where at first, Whiscash himself was nowhere to be seen. Disappointment flooded through her, but she continued walking, albeit slower, across the stones over to the center of the pool of water. After about a minute, the pokemon she had been looking for rose up to the surface, looking up to her with a warm and drowsy expression.

    “Ah… hello there Gardevoir!” Whiscash greeted softly, “what brings you over here? I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you to do for me at this moment, but you’re still always welcome to just visit,” he told her.

    “Yes, thank you. I… I actually wanted to ask if you could do something for me,” Gardevoir replied, “I was wondering if you could tell me the Ninetales Legend,” she requested.

    “Ohohoho! The Ninetales Legend?” Whiscash repeated, “are you not already familiar with that?” he asked with a chuckle.

    Gardevoir nodded, “yes, of course I am. I was just wondering what the legend has become; if there are any differences between this telling and what actually happened.”

    “I see!” Whiscash hummed, “very well then, l shall recount the legend for you…”

    And so, he did. It was strange, in a way, to hear a story of something that she had been through being told back to her as if she hadn’t in involved. When Whiscash would mention her in the legend, she knew it was her, and because of how names carried weight she could hear it being her, but it was still told as if she was anyone else. Everything matched up to her experience, and even to what Ninetales had told her about her partner fleeing, but then something new came up.

    “…Ninetales then made the prediction that the human would be reborn as a pokemon. And that when they were reborn, the world’s balance would be upset,” Whiscash concluded.

    “The human would be reborn?” Gardevoir repeated, feeling the blood pool out from her face.

    “Mhmm! Is that not what happened?” Whiscash asked, “well, I do suppose the part about the human causing the world’s balance to be upset was incorrect, so that would not be terribly unusual.”

    “No, I… I was in a lot of pain at the time, I probably wouldn’t remember that part too well,” Gardevoir replied, speaking without putting much emotion into it, just putting the words out there. “Is that it, then?”

    Whiscash nodded, “it is! I do hope that answered any questions about what the legend became. It is so fascinating to see how stories grow overtime…”

    “Yes, it is…” Gardevoir agreed, still feeling far away from the conversation itself within her own thoughts. “Thank you for your help, Whiscash, I must be going now, but I’ll see you later.”

    She turned away to leave, feeling herself come back into focus about what she was actually doing, and yet still feeling shocked at the information. There was always the chance that that part of the story had been twisted over time, as that tended to happen with stories, but deep down, she knew that that wasn’t the case here. Ninetales had never mentioned that part to her, and yet that fact didn’t make her believe that it could be false at all.

    Gardevoir continued through town, unwilling to wait any longer now that she had this information, and made her way down south to the Makuhita Dojo. Makuhita himself wasn’t around outside that she could see, but the doors were always open for visitors, so she made her way inside, spotting the fighting-type mopping the main floors.

    “Oh, hey! Looking for something?” Makuhita paused in his work to properly greet Gardevoir, leaning on his mop as he did so.

    “Is Damien busy right now?” Gardevoir asked quietly, hesitation as what she was doing beginning to set in.

    Makuhita, much to Gardevoir’s regret and relief, shook his head, “he’s just moving some boxes down in the basement right now. If you need him for something, it’s probably about time he had a break anyway,” he told her, “haven’t heard from him for a bit now, feel free to check on his progress for me too while you’re at it,” he added with a laugh.

    “Okay, thank you, I’ll try not to distract him for too long!” Gardevoir replied with nervous cheer.

    She wandered across the main room for a few paces, glancing around at her surroundings, before turning back to Makuhita.

    “Ah, where is the basement…?” she asked him.

    Makuhita blinked, and then laughed, “oh! Sorry ‘bout that, I’ll show you, it’s right down here.”

    Leaving the mop to rest against the nearest wall, Makuhita left his cleaning to walk over to Gardevoir, and head over the rest of the way across the room. Just behind where her line of sight had been, was a door open just a crack, leading down some stairs to a dark room.

    “There you are! It’s a bit dark down there right now I’m afraid, haven’t got electricity hooked up yet, but it’s quite alright down there otherwise,” Makuhita told her, “I should get back to my mopping, but just let me know if you need any more of my assistance!”

    Giving Gardevoir a friendly pat on the back, Makuhita turned to go back to the wall where he had left his mop. She watched him head off and grab the item, wetting it in a nearby bucket before going back to washing the floors again.

    Finally, she exhaled, turning back to the cracked open door and fully opening it do that she could go down herself. The door and stairs were both stone, a strange contrast to the wooden walls and other general flooring.

    Before she could steel her confidence and make her way down, however, Gardevoir was struck with sudden light headedness. She leaned against the doorway, hoping that this dizzy spell would pass soon. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to last any more than a minute before, just as suddenly as it happened in the first place, she was left back to normal. It was quite confusing, and she couldn’t quite figure out how or why it happened; she certainly couldn’t recall this happening before. Passing it off as being something to do with her having a physical body again and deciding to bring it up later, Gardevoir stood up straight again and turned her gaze back down the stairs.

    Pushing forward once more, she began walking down the stairs. As strange as the sudden light headedness was, in a way it had helped her focus on the task at hand. Gardevoir slowly walked all the way down to the basement, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the general lack of light.

    Damien was over by the far wall across the bottom of the staircase, his back to Gardevoir and the way back upstairs. He didn’t seem to notice her yet, far too occupied with what he was doing, which was simply moving boxes, like Makuhita had said. There was a large stack of boxes lined up against the wall, and even more strewn about on the other side, some not even taped shut. A roll of tape lay on the floor, currently not in use as Damien continued in his work, reaching down to grab yet another box from the messier bunch.

    “Shinobi?”

    Before the name was completely out of Gardevoir’s mouth, she could see Damien sharply flinch, dropping the box he had been picking up. It landed directly on his right foot, and he flinched again, this time in pain, and let out a strained yelp. However, he did not reach down to try soothing the pain, only roughly shoving the box aside so he could awkwardly spin around to face Gardevoir with a frantic look.

    Gardevoir flinched as well, frowning at the sight of Damien’s evident pain from dropping a heavy box on himself, “oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is your foot-“

    “No!” Damien blurted out, interrupting Gardevoir’s apology. “I m-mean, I’m fine, but…”

    “Oh.” Gardevoir blinked, realizing what Damien was really so upset about. “They didn’t tell me, I… I figured it out on my own, Shinobi,” she told him.

    Damien winced again, opening his mouth and then closing it again, unsure of what to say next. An awkward silence following what Gardevoir had said, as she waited for some sort of response. It felt right now, now knowing that knowing that Damien was really her partner, Shinobi, was what she had been missing. At the same time though, guilt and worry now ate away at her as she wondered if she really should have just waited after all.

    “Please… don’t call me that,” Damien muttered, unable to meet Gardevoir’s gaze. “I’m not who you think I am.”

    “…ah, alright, sorry then,” Gardevoir murmured.

    “How did you…” Damien waved one of his hands in front of him, once again finding his words failing him. “How did you, uh, figure… it…”

    “I had a feeling,” Gardevoir told him, piecing together what the question he was trying to get out was. “I suppose, us gardevoirs never forget that psychic connection to their trainer,” she continued, deciding not to mention how Whiscash had inadvertedly helped her put the last of the pieces together for her mystery, and that Keahi blurting out how Damien also spoke human had led her in the right direction to get there in the first place; she would take any blame for figuring how his secret before she was supposed to.

    “I was a terrible trainer,” Damien spat, furrowing his brows before relaxing himself again and slinking back. “You… should have just left behind that ‘connection’.”

    “Don’t say that!” Gardevoir replied.

    “I was a terrible trainer,” Damien repeated, and reluctantly Gardevoir had to admit that he was right, though she wouldn’t say that to him aloud.

    “Why didn’t you tell me? About… you being you,” Gardevoir asked instead.

    “I didn’t want to mess up again! I wanted to just… I don’t know, enjoy some time with you? It was easier to do that if you didn’t know who I was,” Damien answered, staring down at the floor. “I thought you would be happier thinking I was long gone. I… was going to tell you eventually, I just wanted some time.”

    Gardevoir chuckled softly, “you still have that time,” she assured him.

    “No, I don’t!” Damien blurted out, “I left you to die! I ruined your life! How can you enjoy being around someone who did that to you?”

    The sound of movement upstairs caused them both to freeze and go silent, only moving to look over up the stairs to see if anyone was coming down. After a few moments of no one else showing up or even calling out to the pair, they slowly relaxed again. Damien still avoided looking at Gardevoir directly, now instead turning back towards the wall and the boxes all around him.

    “You should probably go,” he mumbled.

    “Damien,” Gardevoir pressed, the name suddenly feeling strange to say when she knew he had another. “I’m not going to just leave like this.”

    Damien didn’t say anything in response this time, deciding to try seeing if she would just leave if he stayed silent. Gardevoir frowned, and instead carefully took a step forward.

    “I’m not mad at you for what you did,” Gardevoir assured him, “didn’t Nel tell you that?”

    There was a long pause, but then Damien let out a shaky sigh, “she… she did. I didn’t believe her; still don’t really. You must be mad,” he insisted.

    Gardevoir chuckled again, smiling sadly, “you don’t believe her or me? When have you ever known either of us to lie about something like that?” she questioned.

    “I don’t know! Never? But that doesn’t change anything!” Damien turned back around again, now with teary eyes. “I didn’t care about you! I didn’t even consider trying to help you until weeks ago! I treated you and everyone around me terribly! How can you not be mad at me?”

    “You care about me now,” Gardevoir pointed out quietly.

    “But… But I hurt you,” Damien whimpered, his gaze flitting away again with shame. “Why… Why do you… just forgive me so easily? Why…?”

    “Because I see no reason to stay mad at you; especially not for so long, it’s been hundreds of years,” Gardevoir responded, “because you’ve been working so hard to make things right. You have been trying so hard to be better, and you were ready to live without me knowing who you were before. Maybe some would see that last part as cowardice, but not me. You would have had to live with that, but you were prepared to do that for the chance that I would be happier,” she explained, “I’m not mad at you, and I forgive you, because I want you to be happy too.”

    Damien slowly made eye contact with Gardevoir again as she spoke, more tears collecting in his eyes as he listened to her. He didn’t make a move to try wiping the liquid away, far too shocked to do anything more than just stare.

    “I forgive you, Damien,” Gardevoir finished, smiling softly at him.

    “I don’t… I don’t u-understand…” Damien gasped, choking on his own emotions as he spoke.

    Crumpling down to his knees, Damien began to sob. He tried pushing himself back against the wall to hide himself, but gave up and ended up just burying his face in his hands instead. It didn’t take long for Gardevoir to carefully approach him, crouching down and gingerly wrapping her arms around her old partner, pulling him in for a hug. At first, Damien tried pushing away, but he soon melted into the embrace, crying into her arms.

    “I’m sorry,” Damien sobbed, “I’m so, so sorry…” he said, continuing to repeat the words until they faded away into hiccups and gasps for breath.

    “It’s okay, I forgive you,” Gardevoir told him again, continuing to just hold the gengar close.

    They remained like that for a long time. Even after Damien eventually stopped crying, he didn’t move out from Gardevoir’s arms, even slowly, hesitantly, reaching out to hug her back. After a bit, she slowly began tracing out circles in his back, carefully over the spikes that were all collected back there. In a way, Gardevoir felt whole again; she had found her partner, and he really did care for her now. And deep down, she figured Damien felt the same, even though he seemed to be having trouble working through believing that she really did still care for him.

    Eventually though, Damien pulled away again, and Gardevoir let him go. He stood up, rubbing away any remaining tears from his eyes and glancing away again. Gardevoir brushed herself off and then stood up herself, still smiling.

    “Oh, uh… thank you,” Damien told her.

    Gardevoir merely hummed, not thinking that she had to say “you’re welcome” or “no problem” for something like this, but still wanted to let him know that she heard him and appreciated his words.

    Damien paused, and then his eyes widened as something seemed to click in his mind. He wandered over across the room to, as Gardevoir now noticed, where his bag lay. She watched him curiously as he crouched beside it, opening it up but accidentally spilling out its contents, including some discs. Damien cursed quietly under his breath, muttering quietly about how he needed to make use of some of the TMs he had, and then finally got the items under control. He put everything back into the bag, except one object, which he pulled out and then hid behind him as he returned over to Gardevoir.

    “So, I guess since… you know who I am, or was, or whatever…” Damien began, and then exhaled. “I feel like I should give this to you. Ninetales had been holding onto it and gave it to me as Nel and I went through. But… I don’t think it’s right for me to have it; this is your’s.”

    Moving his arms over to in front of him, Damien revealed what he had grabbed: Gardevoir’s broken pokeball. He held it out to her, and she carefully accepted the item, studiously looking it over. She had never held the pokeball before, but she knew it when she saw it. It was the very same she had been originally caught in, and while time hadn’t done it that well, it felt as familiar as her own hands. She slowly rubbed her thumb over the line marked on the top of the button; a way that he would use to identify each ball without looking, each pokeball had a number for the order the pokemon inside had been caught.

    Gardevoir met Damien’s eyes again, “you’re giving this to me?”

    Damien nodded, “yeah, I… I don’t think I’d have any reason to really keep it. Kinda implies I’m still your trainer or whatever. And… that isn’t the case. The pokeball is your’s now, if you want it.”

    After another moment to think it over, Gardevoir nodded back and smiled, “I’ll hold on to it; thank you.”

    This evidently took some sort of weight off of Damien’s shoulders, as he let out a long exhale and he visibly relaxed with a smile. There was another moment of silence, as they no longer had much to discuss on this topic anymore. It occurred to Gardevoir that she had been down here for awhile now, and it was probably about time she let Damien go back to his job anyway.

    That, however, would not get the chance to happen. In their silence, they could suddenly hear voices from upstairs, and then the hurried noise of footsteps running over to the stairs. Tsuki came into sight, only walking down a few of the steps to peer down at the pair, her expression creased with fear.

    “We’re having a meeting; you two need to come back to the base,” Tsuki told them immediately after spotting that she had gained their attention.

    “What’s going on?” Damien questioned, reaching to grab his bag again regardless of his confusion.

    Tsuki swallowed, “I’m… not quite sure, but I have an idea,” she answered, “either way, it is incredibly important, and we all need to be there to hear what is to be said.”

    Gardevoir nodded, though worry had settled in like a rock in her stomach, “alright, we’re coming.”

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which the dusknoir is met Previous: In which the trouble with evolution is discovered

#galaxies above #pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd #writing #my writing #fanfiction #drawing #art #my art #digital art #damien #shinobi #gengar #human #gardevoir #makuhita #team galaxy #absol

[trueloveseyeroll]

The Dancing Thief (11/13)

Summary: Pretending to be a noblewoman might be the dumbest thing Emma has ever agreed to do. And she’s not sure if meeting Lord Killian Jones made the whole thing better or worse. (Better. Definitely better.)

Rating: T (language and mild violence)

Beta: The wonderful @forget-me-not-s​

Artist: The lovely @captxinswans - check out her amazing artwork for chapter 1, chapter 2 and chapter 8!!

Word count: 4302 (62k words in total)

Chapter 1

AO3

For the past months, Killian’s life had been a whirlwind. The signs of dealings between his father and Lord Gold had made him wary, and meeting Emma had turned his world around in a most unimaginable way. Then, King George had fallen ill, which only succeeded in putting everyone on edge – bloody hell, someone had even tried to assassinate him! However, Killian hadn’t been too shocked by the attempt on his life – Emma saving him had rather overshadowed the assassination itself.

Now, Killian stood at the door to a townhouse about forty minutes away from his home on foot. Belle stood by his side, giving him some comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone. She, too, found the whole ordeal rather strange, but simultaneously, it felt like they were at the cusp of something important. Something likely to be historical even.

“Nothing to do but knock, I suppose,” Killian said, stepping forth to do just that. He took hold of the door knocker, banging it thrice against the wood, and that simple action alone lifted Killian’s spirits. He was no longer standing in the corner, reading books or discussing politics with his friends. He wasn’t just scowling at Lord Gold from afar or confronting his father with no clear plan. No, coming here to the townhouse gave Killian a sense of control, a feeling that he didn’t have to be passive anymore.

The door opened.

Killian came face to face with Emma, and at once, all control, every concept he ever had of anything, just blew away. Her soft curls fell against her shoulders and down her back, a simple knit sweater and a pair of trousers keeping her warm. He’d seen her in ballgowns and in tight, dark garments fit for a thief, but the sight of her in such comfortable and common clothes didn’t fail to take his breath away. She was simply stunning. And as she smiled softly at him, everything seemed to settle down inside him, but in a much better way than before.

She really was turning his life upside down.

(And he couldn’t be happier about it.)

“Hi,” she said, her eyes quickly turning to his right. “You must be Belle.”

“Yes, I am. And I guess you must be Emma?”

“Yeah.” Her hand lingered on the side of the door. “Yeah, uh, come on in.”

Killian and Belle followed her inside the foyer, and he could sense that Emma found the situation strange as well. Awkward was perhaps a more fitting word.

“So, uh,” Emma began to say, but what she meant to tell Killian and Belle would never be known, as Will entered the foyer in just that moment.

“Belle! Lord Killian! Glad you could make it!” He pressed a light kiss to Belle’s cheek and Killian wondered what it might be like to greet Emma in such a way. Absolutely brilliant, that’s what it would be. He caught her looking at him, and the blush added to the quick aversion of her gaze made him wonder if she was thinking along the same lines.

Killian was quickly thrown out of such thoughts as Will made to kiss his cheek instead. In jest, obviously, but Killian kept him away with an outstretched hand.

“Were you always a coachman?” he couldn’t help but ask. Such behaviour didn’t exactly seem fitting for a man used to working with nobles.

Another man answered as he entered the room. “For the past many years, yes.” Killian recognized Emma’s steward from the balls - Robin, was it? “Unfortunately, our employer, the Dowager Lady of Sherwood was a bit too encouraging towards Will’s boyish indecorum.”

“But at least she kept him out of the worst sorts of trouble,” another voice said, this one belonging to a woman with long black hair, half of it pinned behind her head. She had pale skin and a beautiful, kind face.

Killian looked at Will, whose ears were turning the colour of his surname. Having friends discuss you in front of a lady you were halfway in love with was bound to cause a bit of embarrassment.

“And I’m sure you already know he can be a perfect gentleman when it counts,” the dark-haired woman smiled at Belle.

“When it counts?” Will repeated, offended. Belle merely laughed and said he’d been lovely so far, the compliment only succeeding in further reddening Will’s ears.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Belle,” the woman said. “I’m Snow, a former maid at House Sherwood. And you must be Lord Killian Jones,” Snow said, gracing him with her warm smile. “I’m very happy to meet you as well.”

Killian nodded in respect, returning the polite greeting.

“Emma and Will have told us a lot about the two of you - all good things, I promise - so it’s only fair I tell you what role I play in the scheme of things,” Snow said. “I’m the one who initially asked Emma to infiltrate the noble court in order to help my fiancé.”

“Your fiancé?” Killian asked, wondering if the man would be present this evening as well.

“Yes. And I’m afraid things could go terribly wrong if his identity is revealed to the wrong people, which is why Emma and Will have been so cautious. But I’m sure our trust in you isn’t misplaced.” Snow could have made the statement sound questioning or even threatening, but her words were nothing but genuine.

“And I’m sure that with all of this secrecy, you may as well already have guessed who he is,” Emma said, wryly.

“Aye, well, I have an idea,” Killian admitted.

“And do I live up to that idea?” In the doorway stood a man with longer hair than Killian had imagined, but it was the same shade of blonde, and though there was a bit more stubble than he remembered from seven years ago, the face was the same.

“Prince David,” Killian greeted, bowing his head.

“Well, exiled prince anyway,” David said. “Though I don’t mind the gesture.”

Killian heard a faint snort come from Emma.

“So the rumours of your return were true after all,” Belle said. While Killian was sure she had had an idea that she was about to meet Prince David, she sounded more awed than he’d expected. Then again, Belle hadn’t met any of the royal family before - only the book-enthusiastic nobles such as himself.

“Yes. Although the reasons for my return seem to have drifted away from the truth in most of the retellings.”

“Not here to place dung-beetles from Agrabah under the pillows of all who wronged you?” Killian asked humorously. He’d enjoyed hearing that one.

“Not all, at least,” David said. But there was only a slight hint of amusement in his tone as he stood there with crossed arms. Or perhaps Killian just wanted to think there was some amusement there.

“Right, well, moving on from the topic of dung-beetles, I think supper is just about ready,” Robin said, clapping Killian on the shoulder before heading through the door from which he’d come. Killian assumed the clap was another way of saying ‘good luck’.

Snow went to help Robin, but David made no move to go anywhere, still surveying Killian with his arms crossed. Killian allowed himself to survey the exiled prince in return.

Emma looked between the two, unsure of what to do or say. Thankfully, Will decided to break the silence by clearing his throat in a very non-subtle manner. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’ll be heading in the direction of the food.”

Taking Belle’s hand like the gentleman Snow said he could be, Will led her to the dining room. David made to follow them, but he didn’t seem keen on leaving Killian and Emma alone with each other. While Killian wanted nothing more than a moment alone with her - a chance to tell her how stunning she looked, or perhaps lay that kiss on her cheek (or her lips) - he thought it best to humour David, who, apparently, didn’t seem to like him all that much.

----------

Emma didn’t know her parents, and had never really known what a family was either. She’d been a part of a few thieving crews, but had never stuck around for long. The crews she had found had just never been worth staying for; getting attached was not something Emma made a habit of.

But the crew she had found in David, Snow, Robin and Will - and Ruby, too - was special. She couldn’t see herself leaving them behind easily. And when Killian entered the townhouse, she couldn’t help but feel like she was introducing him to her family.

David certainly took the role of disapproving father to heart.

Killian complimented the townhouse, and Snow informed him it was owned by her godmother Johanna, while she brought in a pot of stew. She apologized for the simplicity of the meal, explaining that their funds were small, and they had greater priorities than rich food.

“Nonsense, Lady Snow, it smells heavenly,” Killian said, and Belle agreed. Both offered to help with any last-minute things, but Snow waved them off, telling them to sit.

Emma took her seat next to Killian’s, wishing they could have had a moment to themselves. The awkward greeting in the foyer just hadn’t felt like a real ‘hello’.

Robin came in with a warm, sliced loaf of bread and a flagon of wine. He set both down on the centre of the table before taking his own seat. At the townhouse, they were all equals. Despite previous or false titles, none waited on others, but everyone helped each other.

Snow offered Belle the first serving, and soon everyone was eating, but unanswered questions lingered in the air, making for a strained meal. Emma took a few heavy gulps of wine, hoping to calm her nerves.

Finally, Killian said, “I presume I know the answer, but perhaps someone could clarify the reason you’re all in Misthaven, infiltrating the court no less?”

And so they all began explaining.

----------

“George’s illness has been a complete coincidence - whether fortunate or unfortunate, we don’t yet know,” David said at last.

Emma looked at Killian and Belle. Neither of them looked like they were about to bolt from the table, and she supposed that was a good sign. Still, she was well aware of how crazy their plan sounded. And it wasn’t much of a plan anymore - at least not a detailed one.

“It’s causing agitation amongst everyone, for sure,” Killian commented.

“About that - have you learned anything from the assassin?” Emma asked.

“He hasn’t been very forthcoming as of yet.” Killian’s grip on his spoon tightened, and Emma could only imagine what it might feel like, knowing someone out there had paid to have him killed. It certainly angered her to the point that she’d gladly knock the assassin around a bit more until he started speaking. “After a few days without food and water, however, he might reconsider his loyalties.”

“Isn’t there a way to get him talking faster?” Emma asked, unsure if they had time to wait around for a few days.

“Aside from physical torture or bribery?”

“Well, if you offered a large enough sum, and he refuses to speak, we’d know that his emplyer is either rich enough to offer more, or powerful enough to frighten him into silence,” Snow said.

“Which would likely mean Cora or Gold.”

Emma sensed those two were already high on Killian’s list of suspects.

“I still wonder what anyone would gain from your death - and what Zelena had to gain from informing Emma about it,” David said.

“Why, David, I’m flattered you think no one would prosper from my death.” Killian sat up a bit straighter, smiling widely at David.

“Don’t push it.”

“A rival of House Jones would gain from having your father rattled and without a direct heir, just as the decision of the regent is to be made,” Robin said, answering David’s former question.

“While my father has always been interested in wealth, he’s never been much for power though. I’m not sure he’d even want to be king regent.”

“Fear is still a powerful tool,” David said. “Having an important noble figure murdered would cause panic amongst the nobility, and whoever manages to calm everyone down would be favoured in an election.”

Emma couldn’t imagine anyone being better at calming down a crowd than David. Cora and Gold would only unsettle her further. Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely that everyone amongst the nobility thought so.

She finished the last of her bread, having absent-mindedly torn it into small pieces during the conversation. She wasn’t one to waste crumbs like that normally.

Snow noted that everyone had finished eating, suggesting they move to the drawing room. A pot of tea - and a few cups of hot chocolate - couldn’t hurt anybody.

Once seated in the comfortable couches, Emma in the same armchair as always, though now with Killian sitting in the one next to it, the conversation turned to the future. They still needed to figure out how David could make his appeal to the nobles, after all. At least without being seized by guards first.

“So far we’ve just been focused on sorting out allies and foes,” David said. “But it seems the time for playing it safe is over.”

Emma rolled her eyes at the way he glowered at Killian from behind his cup of chocolate.

Killian seemed to notice the snide of David’s remark as well. After all, it wasn’t the first of its type that David had thrown his way.

“I’m sorry, mate, but what is it I’ve done to cause you to have such little faith in me?” Killian finally asked, the question having weighed him down since the first scowl he’d been treated to.

David didn’t even need time to think about how to answer. “You’re a young man with a reputation for trouble - drinking, lacking propriety and flirting with every girl you see. The passions of young nobles like you can change as quickly as you can turn your heads; so in short, mate, you’re unreliable.”

“David!” Snow admonished.

“No, it’s alright,” Killian told her, although David’s words had a way of making him feel like shit. They were true after all. But only partly. “He’s just speaking his mind. And I know that’s what people tend to think of me, but they also tend to forget that losing your brother - your hero - is something only alcohol seems to remedy. And that my lack of propriety is a lack of interest in the small things nobles find so important. I’m bloody well spending my time at balls reading books on politics, discussing ideals with my mates, ideals you seem to believe in! And I’ve never felt the way I do about Emma, and I value the trust she’s put in me more than anything else, but sure, I can see why you’d think me unreliable.”

The cup in his hands was ready to break under the pressure of his grip by the end, and Killian had no clue where those words had come from. They’d just spilled out. And while he wished he could take them back, that he could have kept his temper in check, he felt a sense of relief at having let it out.

Surprise washed over David’s features, giving way to something that looked like guilt. “I’m sorry, Killian. Captain Liam Jones was a good man - and no doubt an equally great brother.”

The fact that David knew - and remembered - Liam’s preference for being called Captain rather than Lord, touched Killian in a way he never would have expected.

“Aye, he was the best man I’ve ever known. And he always believed that you would make a great king someday. As do I.”

David took his words for what they were - honesty. “And I’m sure you’ll do your best to help me make it there.”

“I will.”

----------

The evening had grown late, and everyone was tired after the hours of conversation. Inviting Killian and Belle over had been worth it though, especially after an understanding formed between David and Killian. Emma kept replaying Killian’s words in her mind, the emotions so clear on his face as he spoke. There was nothing but honesty there.

“You know I feel the same, right?” Emma asked. She’d pulled Killian aside, leading him into her bedroom for a moment alone to say goodbye. “That this... it’s so different from anything else I’ve ever felt. Good different. It’s like...”

She trailed off, incapable of describing it. Killian probably could. Growing up as a gentleman and reading all those books gave him a language like no other, but this time, she didn’t give him a chance to use it.

She just leaned forward and kissed him.

Emma doubted she’d ever tire of kissing Killian. And it wasn’t lost on her that once again, there was a bed right next to them. Her bed.

Killian was the one to pull away, but he kept his forehead against hers, his nose still right next to hers. “I probably shouldn’t push my luck too far with David by staying in here for too long.”

Emma laughed. “No, I’d rather not have to see him drag you out of here and throw you on the curb.”

But both of them were a bit too weak, leaning in for one more chaste kiss.

This time when they pulled away, Emma made sure to take a small step back, just to limit the temptation (as if that were truly possible). Killian seemed to notice something over her shoulder and he nodded towards it.

“Are those the paints I sent you?”

Although she knew the answer, reflex had her looking over her shoulder to see the paints lying on her desk. “Yeah. I never got to thank you for them - it was a very sweet thought.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Killian said, a hand going up to scratch a spot behind his ear. “But I suppose you might not paint that much after all.”

A smile got the better of her lips at his understanding. “No, I’m afraid that was one of the lies I had to tell. I didn’t really think scouring for food or shelter, or climbing buildings was a good answer for a lady.”

Killian smiled as well. “No, perhaps not. But I’d love to hear the real stories someday. Anything you’d wish to share.”

“Perhaps I should tell you the story of what really happened when I was away for those two weeks.”

Killian quirked an eyebrow.

“Some other time,” she said with a slight roll of her eyes, trying to turn him back towards the door.

“Swan, you can’t send me away with a mystery such as that!” he pouted, doing his best to sound as dramatic as possible.

Emma laughed. “I can and I will. Now hurry before David comes and throws you out.”

Killian gave her his best puppy dog face. And she had to admit, it was rather good. “How about instead, you show me your work? I see you’ve opened the paints.”

Emma’s face reddened at the thought of the painting hidden in her wardrobe. “I didn’t paint anything,” she lied. “I just opened them for fun.”

Killian saw right through her. “A really quick glimpse?”

“I threw it away.”

He just kept looking at her, and Emma knew he wasn’t likely to let it go. Maybe a kiss could distract him... but it was bound to distract her as well.

“Fine. But promise me you won’t laugh.”

“I swear on everything I hold dear,” Killian said. Emma shook her head at his antics, turning to find the painting in the wardrobe.

“Here - just a quick glimpse.”

The puzzled look on his face wasn’t really something she could blame him for.

“It’s lovely... a flower, right?”

Emma sighed. “A swan actually.”

“Oh... oh yeah, I can see-”

“Just shut up and go,” Emma said, rolling her eyes at him. He was sweet - too damned sweet.

He stepped over to give her one last kiss. Leaving her with every nerve buzzing and her knees weak, he looked just about as wrecked as she felt.

“As you wish.”

----------

With Killian as a part of the team now, Emma felt lighter than she had in weeks. Possibly her entire life. She’d didn’t sleep easier though, her head too full of thoughts. Thoughts of Killian, of the plan and the assassin starving in the cells of Keep Jones.

Still, just knowing that she’d be seeing Killian again soon - without pretences of a ball - brought a smile to her face at any moment.

And that’s when she knew she had to be careful.

Good things just didn’t happen to Emma. Her own parents didn’t want to keep her, and since then, it seemed no one in the world wanted to. She had spent years doubting that Granny and Ruby actually wanted her around, and when she’d finally come to believe it, Granny had died. Thieving crews had come and gone, people, opportunities... nothing ever stuck.

Who was to say the bonds she’d made the past few months were stronger than her bad luck?

Two evenings after Killian’s initial meeting with David’s crew, they had planned for Killian to bring over Thomas, Phillip and Eric. Killian was sure they’d support David. He wouldn’t have suggested letting them in on the plan if he wasn’t.

First though, he had to explain things on his own, as regretfully, they all still believed Emma to be a spy for someone less agreeable.

Six hours before the young lords were meant to arrive, Emma was putting on her boots, ready for lunch at The Red Wolf. When Ruby had heard there’d been a dinner with Killian, but without her, she hadn’t been too happy. Words like “betrayal” had been thrown around. No matter that she’d been too busy running the tavern anyways. But now, on top of making sure she’d be able to dine with them in the evening, Emma thought a lunchtime visit was a nice consolation.

She never made it out of the door though.

Snow came barging in, looking all for the world like she’d been chased by a ghost. Upon seeing Emma, she stopped to catch her breath. “Good. You’re still here.”

“Yes?” Emma’s gut twisted. “Is everything alright?”

“Is everyone else here, too?” Snow asked before having time to even register Emma’s question.

Emma nodded. “In the drawing room. Snow, what’s -”

But Snow had already left for the drawing room, and Emma sensed she’d get her answers if she followed. From the look on Snow’s face, however, she was sure that things definitely weren’t alright.

She hadn’t made it past the doorway before Snow spoke to all of them.

“King George is dead.”

  ----------

  King George is dead. The words echoed in Killian’s head and all around him, as no one talked about anything else. Servants whispered in the halls and the guards exchanged concerns for the future.

The king was dead, and there was no one to replace him.

Just two days ago, Killian had been sitting in a townhouse, trying to make plans for Prince David’s appearance at the council meeting. The meeting that would determine the future of the land. But now, the meeting had never been held, and people were already panicking.

Which, of course, was the perfect opportunity for Lord Gold.

Killian sent word for his friends as quickly as possible. There was no time to wait for dinner plans - they had to make real plans, important plans, and they had to do it before Gold managed to convince everyone that a quick vote with himself as the winner was the best course of action.

Killian would rather die than see that crocodile on the throne.

With the prince’s permission, Killian had told his friends about David and his hopes to take the throne - and Emma’s part in it all. All three of them had apologized. Especially Eric had been rather guilt-stricken. Killian wouldn’t deny that he took pleasure in seeing his friends so regretful, be he knew holding grudges against his best friends would be a terrible mistake. They had only been trying to look out for him after all.

And now, together, all of them would try to look out for the future of the country. They had the chance to turn George’s death into something truly good - a future where the land could prosper, where the people were given choices and support. A future where less people had to live the way Emma did.

They gathered in the townhouse, the drawing room soon becoming terribly crowded with nobles and commoners, all united in one goal. Killian sent word for his friends amongst the knights and the guard; Phillip, Thomas and Eric did the same. They sent for Aurora and Ella, the young lady Grace and her father, Lord Jefferson, as well. Ruby and her barmaids did everything they could to spread word amongst the people, to walk the streets and shout for King David.

There was so much to do, so much uncertainty and danger to face, and so little time.

But surrounded by friends and strangers who wanted nothing more than the good of the people, Killian had to believe it would work. He was a born pessimist, so perhaps Snow’s speeches were getting to him, or perhaps it was having Emma at his side that made him feel invincible. It mattered not. The only thing that mattered was that David succeeded.

#csbb #my writings #cs ff #cs fanifc #the dancing thief #chapter 11 #only two chapters left!!! :o

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

I’m so glad it was you - Part 6

It’s a bit shorter than usual but it was a good stopping point. The next part is the last one I think so it might take a little bit longer to arrive!

PorscheMan422 - I can’t explain what happened yesterday. All I can say is I’m sorry.

PorscheMan422 - I’m still here if you want to talk.

They’ve been there for days now, the messages, waiting for him to answer or delete them. He can’t make up his mind one way or the other, has more important things to worry about.

He can’t put it off any longer, has thought of nothing else all week, has been tempted to reach out to him all week for advice, but this is something he has to do for himself. He can’t put it off any longer, had been glad of the weekend off so he didn’t have to face Matty or Adam but now he had no choice.

“Aaron, what’s going on? Mum’s expecting us.” He blew out a breath, guilt weighing down with every passing second and Adam’s impatience was just the last thing he needed.

“I...well, you know how it’s been here the last few months and I’ve tried, done all I can but...” He looks over at his Gran. “I’m not going to renew the lease on this place when it runs out in March.” He’s waiting for something, he doesn’t know what really, anger, disappointment, all the things he’s feeling about himself.

He can tell they’re upset but he shouldn’t have underestimated them. They’re full of concern for him but it just makes the whole thing even worse.

“Don’t worry about us mate.” Adam tells him when he says he’ll keep them on until they close. “We’ll be alright, what about you?”

“Back to the pub I suppose, I don’t know, haven’t wanted to think about it. Maybe I’ll take off and travel the world.”

It’s when they’ve gone home that his false bravado fails and he just slumps onto the sofa next to his Gran.

“I reckon that’s a pretty brave thing you just did.”

“What, admitting I’ve failed?”

“Yes, because you’re clever enough to see when enough is enough and not try flogging a dead horse. That’s not a failure love.”

“I really thought this could be something, Gran.”

“It was, is. This place, it’s you that did it, you can do that again, I know you can.” He wished he had her confidence because right now he would gladly close and never look back.

*****

A few weeks later he’s on the way to the bank when he passes by Whites. He’s done it plenty of times but this time something draws him inside. He wanders around, the place full of people and he’s just standing there when he hears one of the staff and a customer talking.

“Can you tell me about the beans.”

“They’re coffee beans.” He can’t help the snort he lets out.

“Young man, I don’t like your tone. I mean, what kind of beans are they?”

He should walk away but there’s a part of him that can’t help himself.

“I expect they’re Arabica, they’re the most popular. It’s possible they’re Robusta.”

“Well what’s the difference?” He’s aware now of all the eyes on him, everyone watching.

“Robusta is cheaper, but it has a bitter taste and twice the amount of caffeine. It’s used more in instant coffee.”

“Well, thank you. At least you seem to know what you’re talking about.” The member of staff behind the counter looks stunned as she walks out and he stares at Aaron who just shrugs and leaves.

*****

Robert can’t believe his eyes and ears. He’d never thought he’d see Aaron here of all places, and he’d almost laughed out loud when he corrected the staff probably would have had Chrissie not been standing there.

She doesn’t say anything until they’re in his car on the way back to the office in Leeds.

“Do you know who that was back there? He seemed to know his stuff.”

“Aaron Dingle. We just put him out of business.” He knew all about it, Vic had wasted no time calling and berating him for it.

“That never used to bother you. You’ve changed.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just sick of being the bad guy.” She was right, it had been coming for a while, his discomfort at putting people, Aaron in particular, out of business. “Or having Vic on my back is getting old.”

“Why?”

“Aaron’s her friend.”

“You know we should hire him.”

“What?” It takes everything he has to keep his eyes on the road and not stare at her in amazement.

“He clearly knows his stuff, and he’ll need a job.” The words just keep coming and he doesn’t know what to say, was he ever this oblivious?

“Yes, because of us. There’s no way in the world he’d accept a job from us.” 

They don’t speak again until they’re in the office, on the way up in the lift. It’s only gone a couple of floors when it stops and the lights flicker. It’s just them and another couple of people he vaguely recognises.

“Well that’s just wonderful isn’t it!” Chrissie complains, pressing all the buttons in her frustration.

“They’ll fix it soon enough. We just have to wait. Hey,” He nods at the other man who is pulling at his tie. “Are you ok?”

“I don’t like small spaces.”

“Here, sit down. They know we’re here, we’ll be out soon.” He’s trying to ignore the tapping of Chrissie’s shoes against the floor as he crouches next to him.

It takes ages and they’re all sitting on the floor waiting, Chrissie still muttering under her breath while he’s trying to keep the man, whose name is Tom, calm.

“If we get out of here, I’m going to propose to my girlfriend.” 

“How long have you been together?”

“Three years.”

“What’s been stopping you?”

“We broke up last year. She met someone else.” Chrissie snorts quietly and he wants to tell her to be quiet but it’ll just start her off, he knows it.

“But you’re together now?”

“Yes, but how do I know it won’t happen again?”

“You’ve come to the right place to talk about failed relationships. He’s your expert. Isn’t that right Robert?”

“Chrissie, shut up. Honestly, it was three long years ago.” Before she can answer the doors open and he scrambles to his feet before he’ll say something he’ll really regret. He was never going to escape what he’d done if he stayed here was he?

He doesn’t finish the day, goes straight home, collecting Seb from nursery on the way. While he’s playing Robert stares at his phone, his message still unanswered weeks later. 

Did Aaron know it was him, was that why he’d not answered? Or was it simply because he hadn’t turned up. It seems desperate to message again but he can’t help himself.

PorscheMan422 - You’re still mad at me, that’s ok, I understand, but I miss you. I was thinking, more often than not we talk about nothing. I don’t even know your name, but it’s something and those somethings have made the last months bearable.

As he types he watches Seb playing and it’s like he can see properly for the first time. There’s more to life than what he has right now, and that he’s not as happy as he could be.

PorscheMan422 - I got stuck in a lift today with my ex and it was like everything became clear. I know, I know, no specifics. There was this guy, Tom, who knew what he wanted, even though he had doubts, and no matter what he was going to get it. I’ve been carrying on working for my ex’s family, for the sake of my son. Ok, I enjoy the work but not as much any more. I want to get what I want, like Tom. Do you think that’s possible?

He puts the phone down, not expecting a reply and gets down on the floor to play with Seb, seeing his eyes light up. He’s been too busy, too preoccupied to do this as much as he wanted, but now, that’s going to change.

*****

The lights are all off when Aaron checks his phone again. He’s taken to doing this a lot, sitting in the dark empty shop at night, thinking about what could have been.

There’s four weeks left on the lease, but they close in two days. There’s no point in prolonging it he’d told Matty, but the truth is he can’t face it any longer. He can’t face the endless questions from customers about what he’ll do now. Travel he tells them with a fixed smile on his face but he won’t, he’ll likely as not end up back at the pub with his Mum, working at the garage.

He sees the message notification and he’s replying before he thinks about it. It’s been weeks but right now he could do with someone to talk to. Maybe he’ll have some advice.

GreaseMonky92 - Didn’t you tell me once that there’s a whole world out there and I should do what was right for me? I could say the same to you.

GreaseMonky92 - I’m going to lose my business this week, well it’s already gone, I’m just clinging onto it now. It’s a coffee shop, did I tell you that? It was my second chance. I didn’t do well at school, well...there were reasons, and I could’ve been like so many others with nothing. This place was my second chance to do  something, to make something of my life, but now it’s gone. Next week it’ll be a phone shop or a barber’s, just a memory. Should I not have bothered going for what I wanted?

He hits send and makes himself get up and lock the door. If he could get through the next couple of days maybe everything would look better.

*****

It’s surprisingly easy to leave, handing Lawrence his resignation lifts something from him and he turns down the expected offers to stay, better money, less hours. He promises contact with Seb but apart from that he’s done, doesn’t even complain when Lawrence says he doesn’t need to work his notice.

He takes Seb to Emmerdale to tell Vic and she tries hard, he’ll give her that but she can’t stop the smile erupting onto her face at the news.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I have no idea. Spend some time with him for a bit. He’ll be at school soon enough. I’ll be alright for a bit.”

“What about Aaron? Have you heard from him since the day in the park?”

“Yeah, he was angry, had a right rant about me not turning up but then he sent another about the shop closing. How can I tell him Vic? He hates me already, this will only make it worse.”

“Well you won’t know until you try, will you?? You know today is the last day?”

“You said March!” He perches on the arm of the sofa while she potters about making a cup of tea absentmindedly switching on the TV for Seb.

“He didn’t want to prolong it he said. You should tell him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could lose him.” That was the fear, not having him there to talk to. It was unbearable.

“And if you keep putting off meeting, how long do you think he’ll put up with that? You’re just as likely to lose him anyway.”

“But...”

“Try. That’s all you can do.” She’s right, because the way it is now they’re barely talking anyway.

“Can you watch him?” He knows himself well enough that if he doesn’t do it now he never will.

“Of course.” He says goodbye to Seb with a quick ruffle of his hair, the little boy barely noticing as he’s transfixed by the TV. “If I were you I’d open with the fact you’re no longer working for the Whites.

He just laughs and kisses her cheek before running to the car, a plan already forming in his mind.

#robron fic #fic: i'm so glad it was you #seb white #please excuse my useless coffee conversation #but it was all i could find

[jswdmb1]

Why?

“Let's go down to the water's edge

And we can cast away those doubts

Some things are better left unsaid

But they still turn me inside out”

- Annie Lennox

I think I finally hit the low point of my current emotional trough over the weekend.  I can’t explain how I know this other than when you have fought depression for as long as I have, you develop a pretty good sense of when you have bottomed out and I feel like it has happened.  This may sound like a bad thing, but it has actually lifted my spirits.  The worst part of depression is feeling like you are sinking deeper and deeper and that there is no end in sight.  While I may be at the bottom of the canyon, I can now see my way out.  Of course, that doesn’t make it easy, but at least there is hope.

But, other than that quick update, I do not want to talk about myself right now.  Instead, this recent election cycle has me pondering a completely different topic: the death of the question.  When I am deep into a depressed cycle, I tend to spend a lot of time by myself with my thoughts and some interesting things come from that.  One came the other day when I saw the “high”lights of the press conference the other day at the White House.  I’m sure you all know how that went down, so no need to rehash it here, but I found it fascinating that we have come to the point that politicians no longer ask questions or are good at avoiding answers.  I remember when a tough question would get asked in past press conference, and the response would be a complete pile of bullshit, I would think to myself why can’t they just answer the question.  I now long for the carefully worded nonsense because it was at least an answer.  It at least entertained the notion that the question was worth asking.  Those days are over.

I don’t think this phenomenon is limited to politics.  As a matter a fact, I think it is just a spillover from our society’s general shying away from asking questions.  I have noticed this in my own life in both positive and negative ways.  For any of you that know me personally, you know that I ask a lot of questions.  Some are simple like why as in “why should I rake the leaves when they are likely to mostly blow away?”  Others are more inquisitive like “how did my chair in the living room turn into the dog’s bed?”.  Still some are purely trivial (not so much to me, but usually to those I am asking), such as “who was the second maid in between Mrs. Garret and Pearl on Diff’rent Strokes?”.  Finally, of course, there is the rhetorical question where I know there is no real answer such as “what happened to the bones in the McRib sandwich?”  These questions come to me throughout the day, and get asked whether someone is around or not.  It can be incredibly entertaining or miserably annoying depending on your point of view.

Now, the first thing you are going to say is “why don’t you Google that shit?” (hey, now you’re asking the questions!).  Yeah, I suppose that could work in some cases.  Certainly for the Diff’rent Strokes question (Adelaide) or the thing about the McRib (you can look that one up, I would rather not know), but not always.  Some questions are meant to be asked in order to lead us down to more questions and not necessarily quick answers.  Isn’t that what has driven the human mind and our development over thousands of years?  Isn’t that what got us to the moon?  Isn’t that what lead us to develop amazing medical procedures and medicine to cure a variety of deadly ailments?  Isn’t that what led an advertising executive in 1984 to write the line “Where’s the Beef?” for an unassuming Clara Peller in that Wendy’s commercial?  Progress would be absolutely stopped without the question, particularly the hard ones.

But, I am afraid we are shying away from asking questions at all, even easy ones.  People are good at making statements, whether they are true or false, about whatever supports their personal goals or beliefs or whatever, but who is out there really challenging themselves by asking questions.  The press is trying with our current state of politics, but we as a people have not been very supportive of them.  It is unfathomable to me that a first amendment protection could be eroded so quickly and decisively in this country with mostly a shrug from the collective society.  A good chunk of that society even agrees with the notion that the press should be restricted and questions should be silenced.  That is a real danger.  Not only for our freedoms, but for the stifling of any future development for us humans as a species.  Without the tough questions, how are we going to get at global warming?  How are we going to solve real geopolitical disasters in places like Yemen and the Ukraine?  Who is going to take the chance to ask what will it take to cure diseases not yet solved like cancer and AIDS?  The generation coming up are likely candidates for all of that, but if they witness the decline and fall of the question, they are not going to even know how to ask never mind find the answers. 

I realize that asking questions can be very unpopular, and even dangerous.  I know in my working career, that my love of the tough question rarely helped my cause.  But, I couldn’t help myself, I just have to know more than what is on the surface.  I also love to be asked questions.  There is a button at the top of this blog where you can ask me a question and I’ll turn it into a post.  I have never received one question from that button.  Now, it might be because no one actually reads this blog (a good possibility I grant you), but sometimes I think that we just aren’t conditioned to ask or answer questions anymore.  That really saddens me, and I can tell you that getting a question through that button would do a lot to help me through this down mood I have been in (hint, hint).  Don’t limit yourself with your questions.  Maybe it is something you have always wanted to know?  Maybe you just want to be funny?  Maybe you just want to see if someone else feels the same way you do?  As we have always heard, there are no dumb questions.  I sincerely believe that.  The only thing to me that is dumb is jumping to an answer without having the courage to ask someone else first.  

So, let’s break this trend.  Start asking me questions and I will do my best to give you answers.  You may not like the answers, but I promise that I will take each and every question seriously and every one of them will get an answer on this blog.  I do understand that many of you are not as willing as I am to share things publicly, so there is no need to give me your name and I’ll never disclose your name on this blog.  I get that privacy is important to some (again, not me, but some) and I will respect that.  Ultimately, I am only interested in the purity of the unanswered question and the challenge in providing some guidance towards an answer.  It will be some work, and won’t always be pretty, but it will give us both a sense of satisfaction that we at least tried.

I’ll close out this post with a brief story that I think puts my mood and this topic together.  I spent much of the weekend in a terrible funk, often sitting alone with my thoughts.  I finally got sick of myself and my self-pity and turned on the television, and on it was a show about the Voyager space program.  I won’t go into details about what it was (you can Google shit too, you know), but it was a twenty or so year project to send an unmanned spacecraft to the four outer planets (I won’t give yo the names as they likely will be the subject of one of my upcoming trivia nights).  The end result of the mission was incredible with humans seeing far flung worlds up close that no one before us would have ever dreamed getting close to.  The scientists who were interviewed for the show went into the many details of the project, but all shared one common trait - they all asked more questions than they answered.  The whole mission idea came from the fact that the planets aligned perfectly at that point in time to be able to see them at once in any practical manner.  Someone had to ask a ridiculous question after finding that out (”hey, let’s send a spacecraft out there to see them all!) that I’m sure got plenty of scoffing at the time.  And yet, it lead to more and more questions that over the course of several decades led to the success of a mission that still is going to this day and sending us data from the uncharted waters of space (after reaching the outer plants, one of the Voyager spacecraft moved outside of our solar system - the first time humans have ever reached that point).  

When the program was over, I was overwhelmed with wonder.  These people I’m sure suffered from many day-to-day problems that we all have.  They may have been depressed, or had money problems, or struggled with relationships, but that didn’t stop them from looking at the big picture and the true miracle that life on Earth even exists and we should explore beyond it to find out why that is true.  It was all put into perspective by one photograph.  After Voyager 2 left Neptune (okay there’s one freebie for you), the famous Carl Sagan convinced NASA to have the ship turn around one last time to get a shot of the solar system from the other side.  It took pictures of all of the other planets, but at first it appeared Earth was missing.  Then, in one photo, buried in a ray of sunlight, a technician noticed a tiny speck.  That speck was Earth.  The place that means everything to us and all of our little problems on it are just a speck in a relatively small and remote part of the universe.  That really puts things into perspective for me.  It makes me realize that maybe this life is just a bit more important than the trivial matters that have me down on a daily basis and it is worth it for me to at least try to climb up and out of this hole I have been in.  It won’t be easy, but I promise that I’ll keep asking the questions that move me forward.  Now let’s hear some of yours.  Hit that button and ask away.  Maybe we’ll get to solving the big problems of the world, or maybe we’ll just have a little fun.  I guarantee you for sure that it will be good for the both of us.  I know that I am looking forward to it.

Peace,

Jim

[macismakingmistakes]

PSA to all everyone

Guys! Gals! All my non binary pals! I don’t care who you are or what gender you are, but listen to this common sense fact that applies to anyone!

Don’t. Leave. Questions. Unanswered.

Whatever you do, if someone asks you out or confesses their feelings to you,

Please!

Don’t dance around the situation and avoid answering the question directly

if you like them, good, if you don’t,

That’s okay!

you’re allowed to have your own feelings but please for gods sake address that you either like them back or do not.

Leaving them without an actual answer or feeding them with false hope for a future together is worse than simply rejecting them, trust me!

And just to add the cherry on top, don’t act like this doesn’t change things between you and them, whether that be for the better or worse.

Acting like nothing happened/changed is one of he worse things someone can do.

Now on go on and be a better human!

psa over

#crush #love #romance #advice #dating #boys #girls #nonbinary

[deepfriedtwinkie]

Kingsman: A Journey Unfinished

post-TSS fic below the cut, ~2k words, Merlin’s POV re: Harry

(wasn’t Merlahad in my head but it’s certainly Merlahad-friendly; it basically works either way)

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It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

It was Eggsy who’d reminded him, after the plane had landed back at headquarters, Roxy waiting for them on the tarmac near the transport he’d sent for her. They’d cheered their victory, Lancelot and Galahad hugging for ages, and then the boy had broken away, sobered, turning to him. Asking:

“Ain’t there gonna be a funeral? For Harry?”

Merlin tenses at the memory. Yes, there should be. There’s supposed to be.

There always is. The death of a Kingsman is a blessedly infrequent occasion, but when it happens, there’s rarely any living kin to speak of. Someone’s got to bury them, and there’s no honor in leaving it to the state. As a Kingsman is welcomed by his brethren, so shall he depart the earth. Every suit is black on those days. Every topcoat.

Merlin himself has only been to a sparse number of these. It’s only recently that colleague casualties have begun to plague his tenure with any regularity. They lost an Arthur—his and Harry’s training agent, Chester’s predecessor—to diabetic ketoacidosis in the mid-eighties. A Gareth fell to Botswanan militants in ’92. A Percival to a literal fall in ’94. Then Lancelot—prior to James; a man named Duncan Billingsley—killed in a car crash in 1997. James, they buried on a Thursday, stitched back together as best they could do. Lee Unwin, they turned over to the Westminster Public Mortuary, who, in turn, released his remains to the custody of his widow; he received no Kingsman ceremony, though the circle K mark still graces the base of his headstone, earned through his bravery.

Five funerals. Only five, and five too many. Never in all his years has he seriously pictured attending Harry’s. Harry Hart, damn him and all his reckless shite, was…indestructible. Stubbornly so. That funeral was always the most hypothetical. The very last one he’d ever expected, or wanted to attend.

Until now. Now, it’s the one thing he wants to attend more than anything.

Now that he can’t.

He removes his glasses, setting the frames down on his desk, working his hands together. They cup his face, and he sighs. His exhausted mind replays the comlink feedback from not five minutes ago.

“Come in, Merlin; this is Llamrei. We’re on the ground.”

They’d been in the air before even he and the recruits had. The salvage crew. He hadn’t waited. Not even for the toast. He hadn’t toasted. He’d arranged for pickup instead. For God’s sake, he’d sent them immediately.

“We have blood on the car park, positively identified.”

In front of South Glade Mission Church. Analysis would have taken only seconds. But they shouldn’t have had to analyze. The source was supposed to be where they’d left him…

“Area is clear. Repeat, area is clear. No remains or sign of Agent Galahad.”

No remains or sign of Agent Galahad.

He’d sent them immediately. He couldn’t have sent them any sooner, couldn’t have shortened the ocean or sped them to Kentucky any faster. And it wasn’t enough. Somewhere in that window of time…

What the hell happened?

There’s nothing in this world he despises more than a question with no answer. Ordinarily, they annoy him. Vex him. Irritate him to no end. He designs workarounds to circumvent them. When possible, he cracks them. When advantageous, he hacks them. Unanswered questions and his hatred thereof have inspired no less than his every development, every schematic.

For all that work, this is one that he can’t fix. He’s met his match, and it’s Harry’s brains on a car park, no chance he survived, yet no body to return to his home.

How did we fucking lose him?

“You check the area,” he’d ordered them. “And then you check it again.” The situation wasn’t without possibilities. The moment of Harry’s death may not have coincided with the termination of his feed. He could have crawled for a bit. Back inside, or away for help. Even between the cars, or underneath, to keep himself from being discovered. Sensationalized.

But he hadn’t. Merlin had watched with his own eyes as Llamrei transmitted. Their full sweep returned a topographical scan of the area covering a half-mile’s radius.

Harry was gone. Harry is gone, and a day that was already hell is now infinitely worse.

He picks up his glasses, easing them back onto his nose. He straightens his tie, palming it flat beneath his jumper. His own emotions, his own frustrations mean extraordinarily little now. Especially because it’s very likely that they’ll never subside. Not without answers that are maddeningly beyond his reach. There’ll be time to grapple with them later. He wouldn’t rule out a pint of scotch for supper tonight.

He’s already failed to bring Harry home to rest. He is not going to fail at the one task Harry left in his hands.

“Look after him, Merlin.” He remembers Harry in his housecoat and slippers, fresh out of his coma, more concerned with dramatic entrustments than even his return to civilization. “Should I be any less lucky the next time round, I ask you, as a personal favor. Please. See that he fulfills his potential. Don’t let him be discouraged by my death. Or dwell on it, for heaven’s sake.”

He’d told Harry to shut up. And called him a prick, if memory serves. Which it always does.

He hates the prick even worse now for making him do this.

Merlin rises, putting his computer to sleep. For once, he doesn’t collect his clipboard. Instead, he goes by instinct to the right coordinates of wall, pressing his palm to the hidden censor. Bluegreen fingerprints etch out a glow beneath his touch. The panel recesses. From the cubby it reveals, he carefully procures one of the agency’s dozen coveted decanters, pinching together three shot glasses in his spare hand.

The others have toasted. Bedivere. Gawain. Lamorak. Fucking dead Chester. This is for the three of them who haven’t, not fittingly. It’s arguable they’re the ones who need it more than the rest combined.

His gut is no less sour as he walks with measured steps toward the Lancelot suite. He’s just very good at hiding it. After all this time, he fucking ought to be. With the crystal stopper, he taps twice, lightly, on the heavy door.

“Permission to enter,” he requests.

“Granted,” Roxy’s voice returns.

Merlin enters. Exhaustion has taken hold of the kids in his absence. They’re both sat on the foot of the bed, Eggsy’s elbows on his knees, medallion in his hands. Roxy’s angled toward him, her near hand on his back. J.B. and Marthe lounge at their feet, panting as if they’d put in the same work as their human counterparts.

Wordlessly, he hands Roxy the first shot glass. Her brow quirks, but she accepts. The transaction flags Eggsy’s peripheral, as he knew it would, and when the boy looks up, Merlin proffers him the second one.

“What’s all this?”

Merlin uncorks the ceremonial booze. “We’re honoring Harry,” he explains.

“But…I already…”

“No, you didn’t. It doesn’t count as a proper memorial when someone’s trying to poison you. A good tip you might want to remember for the future.” He pours Roxy’s shot first, then Eggsy’s, and then his own. If they’re a little heavy-handed…well. Harry can come fucking fight him, now can’t he.

He plans to wait at least until they drink. That is, he does until Roxy sizes him up, careful scrutiny all over her face, and he knows he’s been made.

Nothing’s going to go as planned today, then. Not aside from the exploding heads, anyway.

“There’s something you’re not telling us,” she diagnoses.

For a moment, he’s perfectly still but for his eyes, shifting from one of them to the other. They’re hanging on his every word, both of them. Merlin sighs. His manners only take precedence because his autopilot knows no better. “May I sit?”

Roxy nods once. He takes the chair by her door and moves it closer, parking himself just the other side of the dogs. The shot glass and decanter go on the ottoman. His hands knead without permission.

“What’s wrong?”

He pays Eggsy for his question with eye contact. He has to force it, but he can’t deny it’s been earned, no matter how difficult.

“I’m afraid this will be the extent of any funeral for Harry.”

There’s only a split second where the thought of telling the truth crosses his mind. Then, willingly, without regret or hesitation, he lies.

“After the test at the church, Valentine…sent in a cleanup crew.”

It’s certainly not impossible. In fact, it’s the closest to a logical idea he’s got. Except that the bodies in the building were still there. Maybe Valentine took Harry’s body specifically to learn who he was. It’s a longshot. But it’s better than the alternative. Eggsy filling his own head with false hope, waiting for months like a cocker spaniel at the window. Waiting against all odds for a triumphant return that’s never going to come.

“My recovery team canvassed the property, but there wasn’t anything left. No weapons. No blood. And…no bodies. Neither inside nor out. No one was left. Suppose he didn’t want to attract the media before the countdown to V-Day was finished.”

He watches them react. Concern paints Roxy’s face, but her eyes only widen momentarily before checking on Eggsy. The boy’s eyes aren’t dry anymore. He swallows hard. Merlin has to remind himself again that this is the best recourse in the long run.

“So… You’re sayin’ that… They took his body. So…that’s it.”

Merlin nods. “Mass cremation, most likely.” It’s insurance. None of them want to picture it, but he’s in the business of protection now. He’s the one doomed to lack closure. The kids don’t have to. It’s a sick, wasting illness he’s got no designs to spread.

Roxy’s eyes shut, a single tear driving down her cheek. She swipes it away, nodding. Eggsy is stoic, jaw so tightly locked that the tendons in his neck protrude. He stares at the carpet for what feels to Merlin like a solid hour, and then his head bobs too, and he throws back the contents of his shot glass in a single gulp, wincing once it’s down.

He holds it out, spare hand beckoning. “Let’s have another, then.”

Not an hour ago—fresh from champagne and strawberries, effectively grounded in the back of the plane—he’d have denied him that. But not now. The look on his face is enough. Suddenly Merlin sees through Harry’s eyes, and for the first time, there’s a pull that lets him understand firsthand, more than he thought he did already. For all intents and purposes, this boy is Harry’s son. Everything he gave the world.

It’s more than enough reason to give him another drink. A generous one, at that.

Merlin’s still blinking away the resemblance manufactured by his brain when Eggsy lifts his second shot. “To Harry,” he says solemnly. “Just the fuckin’ best of us.”

Roxy’s goes up next. And Merlin follows, lightly clinking them together at the rim. “To Harry.” It’s by no means a good enough goodbye, but as the only one he’s ever going to get, at least it’s in good company.

Together, the three of them drink. Merlin leads an unannounced moment of silence afterward, and then he stands. He doesn’t cork the coveted brandy or collect their glasses. Let them finish it. There’s always more. Some things can be replaced.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

“You can stay, y’know, Merlin.” Eggsy’s looking up at him now. “You really came through for us both in all this. You don’t ’ave to go.”

It’s only a borderline plea, which is good, because it frees him to choose the side of the border where he can ignore the pleading part entirely. Roxy’s with him. That’s enough for the moment.

“Actually, I do,” he says. “Someone’s got to start new Arthur proceedings. The sooner the better.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. But thank you.”

Truthfully, it can wait ’til morning. The real problem is that this is going to be far more difficult than anticipated. Making it through the long haul means getting out of this room right now, before he and his lie both unravel around the younger agents’ little fingers.

Eggsy doesn’t press. “Alright,” he says.

“Sleep well, Merlin,” Roxy offers.

“And…thanks.”

All Merlin can do is smile faintly, nod one more time, and perform an about-face, pulling Roxy’s door shut in his wake. He heads down the center of the corridor with concrete in every step, his fifty-plus years weighing like eighty in his bones. Had he his clipboard, it would probably be smashed. ‘Accidentally,’ to be sure.

Are you happy, you bastard? The deed is done; a new mission begun of an old one never to end. Wherever you are, I hope you’re fucking happy.

He sits at his desk until Llamrei returns, and then he goes to bed, extinguishing an era with the light.

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#Kingsman #Kingsman: The Secret Service #Agent Merlin #Harry Hart #Eggsy Unwin #Roxy Morton #fanfic #oh look Aud did a thing