#I’ll be back to drawing and stuff after things settle down WEE

[peekychu]

Busy week!!!!!! Me and @the-64th-gamer are in da house like CARPET and we have so many things to do!!!!!!!! Life is awesome!!!!! We adopted a funny djunkleskog and he’s everything to me

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 8: The Outside World

Chapter Summary: Jamie reflects during the aftermath of the fight, then they suit up and begin Claire's first trip into Inverness.

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Chapter 8: The Outside World

***

Jamie Fraser hadn’t known that four simple words— “I don’t need you”— could possibly have torn into him with such vicious aim and rocked his whole world on such a scale. But that was before Claire. The consequence of loving her was that she held his heart in her wee palms, with all the power to shatter it with a single blow. 

He’d known it was a mistake to berate her over going outside. With a clear head, he never would have said those things to her. But after tearing apart the house, anxiety building and building along with the fear that he’d never see her again— and thinking that he’d be back to facing that empty void in his heart alone— his brain had gone straight out the window. 

So he couldn’t blame her for lashing out. He’d deserved it. He had wanted so desperately to protect her that he hadn’t looked at what he was doing to her. 

While sitting there on the couch, having collapsed into a trembling mess, he’d thought he’d mucked it all up. Until she’d taken his hands, his face— touching him with such affection... 

And given him a second chance. 

As he held her in his arms, clasping her to him as if she might suddenly change her mind and push him away, he vowed to himself that he’d use it well. 

Every time he’d held her, even in the mundane moments like sitting beside the space heater, that golden cloud that surrounded her— the warmth of her presence— had encompassed him as well. As he held her now, though, he noticed it seemed weaker. He pulled back a little to study her, furrowing his brow as the now familiar shimmering aura was less visible. 

“What is it?” she asked. 

He shook his head, unsure. This was uncertain ground, and after going through what they just had, he didn’t want to tread on it. “Ach, it’s nothin’, dinna fash.” 

She seemed to accept it, laying her head down on his shoulder and letting out a sigh. His heart stuttered in its steady rhythm as he felt the gravity of her trust and the soul-stealing tenderness of her touch. 

He didn’t have the strength to even think about moving. He would simply wait until she was ready, letting her make the first move, and he would be grateful all the while for everything she was willing to give him. 

In the end, she’d wanted to be held for a long time. There wasn’t a clock around so Jamie couldn’t have said for sure how long, but the minutes passed in a comfortable but weighty silence— each of them enveloped in the other. When she finally stirred, it was to lift her head and give Jamie a brave smile. 

“You know, I told myself that today I would do everything I could to learn about the human world.” 

“Is that so?” he asked. Unable to resist the consuming urge to brush back the single curl that hung over her face, he lifted a hand and gently tucked it behind her ear before continuing, “did ye have anythin’ in mind?” 

She gave him a bit of a helpless look, accompanied by a self-conscious half smile, “I’d hoped maybe you would have some ideas about what we should do.” 

“Weel,” he gave her an assessing look, “seein’ as ye’re currently drownin’ in my clothes, I’m thinkin’ it wouldna be a bad idea tae go out and get ye some of yer own that fit properly. What do ye say, mo nighean donn, are ye ready for a trip to the human world?” 

***

It took Jamie a short while to get them ready to go. Since Claire didn’t have any shoes, Jamie had to track down something that could remotely protect her feet. Jamie was a big man, with feet to match, and Claire’s feet reflected her own dainty features— they were nearly half the size of his. He’d settled on a pair of old hiking boots, kneeling down in front of Claire and lacing them as tightly as he possibly could. But the moment she stood up and took a few exploratory steps, they flopped so terribly on her feet that she’d stumbled and nearly fallen against Jamie. He’d grabbed her by the arms, helped her upright, and then went back to the drawing board. 

He’d emerged again from his basement bearing sandals with adjustable straps. However, knowing her proclivity toward getting chilled, he’d first bundled her wee feet into two layers of socks before strapping her into the sandals. 

She was sitting at the kitchen table, patiently allowing him to prepare her shoes while he knelt on the ground in front of her and tried to make sure they were secure. 

As he straightened, he couldna help but laugh at the ridiculous nature of the situation— Claire sitting there, slightly swinging her sock-and-sandaled feet that he’d just dolled her up in. 

“I’m a right Prince Charming, it seems, but ye’re the strangest Cinderella I’ve ever seen,” he chuckled to himself. 

He was answered by a perplexed look. She was so lost that she didn’t even try to echo the words, just gave him big doe-eyes of confusion. 

That sent him laughing again. “Dinna fash, Sassenach,” he gave a dismissive wave of his hand, “jes’ a wee bit o’ human stuff. So… are ye ready tae face the outside world?” 

She gave a decisive nod, looking like she was steeling herself to face the guillotine, and stood up with surprising grace. 

Despite her elegant air and fierce determination, the situation only grew more ridiculous to Jamie as he took in the sight of her standing in all her splendor— his tee-shirt huge on her tiny frame, sweatpants pulled up nearly to her oxters and drawn tight (yet the hems still puddled on the ground), and with socks and sandals as the pièce de résistance. 

It was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen. 

“Ye look verra bonny, Sassenach,” he stifled yet another laugh, his heart clenching with the force of his affection for her, “but I do think it’s a good thin’ we’re goin’ tae get ye yer own clothes.” 

Her lips quirked as she glanced down at herself and then up at him. 

“I take it this isn’t the typical outfit for human females?” she said, good-naturedly laughing at herself. 

Jamie shook his head. 

“I can assure ye it’s not. But we’ll fix ye up soon enough. Here,” he offered her his arm, “take my arm so ye dinna trip over yer pants.” 

She did, her wee hand slipping into the crook of his elbow and holding on to his bicep. 

With that, Prince Charming led his princess out to the waiting car. 

*

Claire seemed somewhat taken aback when they approached the vehicle and shot him a wary glance. Her hand tightened on his arm, making him stop short. 

“What… is it?” she asked timidly. 

“My car? Do ye no remember ridin’ in it when I took ye home from the stones?” he asked. 

She shook her head. “I don’t remember much, it’s all pretty foggy. Other than you, of course,” she blessed him with another one of those mega-watt smiles. 

“Och, weel, ye were pretty ou’ of it, I cannae blame ye. This is a car. We get inside, and use it tae travel long distances quickly because it moves verra fast.” 

She nodded slightly, but still looked reluctant to go any nearer. Nevertheless, she drew herself up and set her shoulders with fierce determination. 

“I said I’d be brave today and I will be,” she announced firmly. 

“I’m proud of ye, a nighean,” he couldn’t help but say, “and I’ll be right by yer side the whole time. I promise, I willna let anythin’ happen to ye.” 

Much to his delight, that seemed to reassure her. She let go of his arm and walked decisively toward the car. He caught her up and slipped in front to open the door. With nothing more than a shaky inhale and a second of hesitation, she plunged in. 

He shut it behind her and quickly walked around to his side to slide in. Once he was settled, he looked over to her. 

“See, no’ sae bad, right?” 

She seemed to melt a little at that, relaxing back into the seat and nodding. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, “not so bad.” 

But in less than 30 seconds, she was eating her words. As soon as Jamie put the car in reverse and began backing out of the driveway, both of her hands shot out to scramble for purchase on the nearest available surface— one of which was the door, and the other Jamie’s arm. Surprisingly sharp wee nails dug crescents into his forearm, and he struggled to keep his hand in place. 

His first impulse was to stop. She was quite obviously panicking, chest heaving and eyes huge as she gripped him, but they needed to get this over with. Of course it’d be terrifying at first— she’d likely never moved faster than her own two feet could carry her— but he had full confidence that she’d grow used to it and settle soon enough. 

Once they were on the road, Jamie could spare a little more attention for her. She had mercifully  let go of his arm, and both of her hands were now gripping the dashboard in front of her, knuckles white. He let go of the steering wheel with one hand in order to reach out for her. Twining their fingers together, he glanced over and gave her a reassuring squeeze. 

“Ye’re doin’ great, Sassenach,” he told her. 

She didn’t answer for a long moment. When he looked over at her again, she was white as a sheet and staring straight ahead. With a start, he realized that her hand seemed clammy in his. 

“Are ye alright, lass?” he asked in alarm. 

“I feel sick,” she forced out weakly. 

With the expertise of one familiar with motion-sickness, Jamie slammed on the brakes (thank God that the country roads were almost always completely abandoned), grabbed a grocery bag he’d left in the back seat, and shoved it underneath her. 

Her head bowed over it, a curtain of curls falling over her face, and her chest heaved with shaky breaths. But she made no indication that she was about to be sick. 

Of course she wouldn’t throw up, he realized all of a sudden, she didn’t eat. 

Still, it was a good thing he had stopped. Although she wasn’t in danger of losing her lunch, she looked as if she was on the verge of passing out. The puir lass was paler than a ghost. 

Jamie quickly dropped the bag and instead moved his hand to rub soothing circles on her back. 

“Ye’re alright, a leannan,” he told her gently, “puir wee thing. I ken the motion is somethin’ awful.” 

She let out a tiny whimper that broke his heart and made him ready to abandon this foul machine on the side of the road, walk her home, and never return for it. 

Instead of taking hasty action against his car, though, he grabbed his water bottle from the cupholder, poured a bit of water into a cupped hand, and dribbled it over the back of her neck. Then, he gently pressed his wet hand at various spots around her neck and up onto her cheeks. 

“Ye’re doin’ great, mo nighean donn, deep breaths,” he encouraged, his other hand continuing the circles it was making on her back. 

“I’m alright,” she mustered. She managed to raise her head and give him a tremulous smile. To his relief, color had begun to return to her cheeks, and she no longer seemed to be in danger of passing out. 

“Good,” he murmured, “why dinna we take a break and walk about outside for a minute, aye?” 

She shook her head doggedly. “I’m fine, let’s keep going.” 

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Christ, ye are brave,” he chuckled, “ye sure?”

She gave him a nod of assent, and then sat back in her seat, looking like an astronaut waiting for lift off. 

He stifled the urge to ask her again if she was certain. While they could turn around and leave shopping for another day, she’d have to face the reality of cars eventually if she was going to stay in the human world. So, they would continue on their way— even if her suffering was driving a hole in his heart and he wasn’t sure he could live with the knowledge that it was him doing it to her. 

Jamie accelerated very slowly and tried to minimize as many bumps and jostles as he could on a road of this condition. Claire seemed much better this time around, hands clasped together in her lap instead of clutching the dashboard (although her knuckles were still white, he noticed). 

After a few minutes, she even managed to relax a bit. Since she seemed to be doing alright, Jamie took the rest of the drive to Inverness to explain to her what to expect: what stores were, what they would be looking for, etc. Claire didn’t take her eyes off of the road in front of them but gave him a few nods and hums of understanding. 

The little thrift shop he had in mind was in a pedestrian-only part of Inverness, so he parked at the nearest parking lot and steeled himself for the trial of taking Claire through the town. He had every confidence in her ability to handle it, but that still didn’t reduce his desire for her to be a wee cheetie he could tuck inside his coat. 

The second the car was parked, a sigh of relief came from the passenger side. 

“Ye made it, Sassenach,” he congratulated her, turning to her and reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. 

He had meant it to be a quick motion, but she caught his hand and held it on her lap. He could feel a slight tremor in it, and his heart went out to her. 

“I ken it’s scary,” he said softly, “but it’ll be alright. We humans arena so bad, ye’ll see.” 

“If they’re anything like you, I think I’ll love them,” she breathed. 

The words twisted his wame into a mushy mess. Oh lord, did she even know what using the word “love” in relation to him did to his puir heart? 

But he shoved his wayward reaction aside and focused his attention on the brave wee lass getting ready to face her fears. 

“I’ll be right wi’ ye,” he assured, “the whole time.” 

She gave a wordless nod, but still didn’t release his hand from her shaky one. 

“Are ye ready, mo nighean donn?” 

The term of endearment perched on his tongue and in his mind had actually been “mo ghraidh,” but he managed to choke that one off before it left his lips. 

“As I’ll ever be,” she said tremulously, but put on a brave face. 

With one last squeeze, he reluctantly withdrew his hand from hers so he could get out. He quickly made his way around the car to the passenger’s side so he could open her door and offer his hand to her again. 

She took it, squinting out into the daylight, and with that, Sorcha emerged out of the car and into her first experience with the real human world.

***

Next

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 33 ~Epilogue~

WARNING: VERY VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Five Years later

 Claire stepped into the shower and gasped as the spray of heat hit her skin. It was the perfect temperature and pressure. She groaned when the steam started to build up, and the water ran down her body like a caress. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as her fingers busily worked the tangled knots in her hair. Today was the first day of their holiday, and they were going to Lallybroch for Sunday lunch. And then tomorrow, they were heading to Oxford to visit her parents' grave before flying to Italy. 

Jamie had barely roused when her phone began to buzz with a message from Geillis telling her Joe would be picking uncle Lamb up before heading for Lallybroch. After a quick reply with a thumbs up, she'd kissed Jamie on the lips and decided to get up. Although it was still early for Sunday, she'd taken the opportunity to get ahead for the day.

She'd just squeezed shower gel into the sponge when the door suddenly opened.

"Jamie?"

"Hmmm?"

She peered through the thick steam and got a glimpse of her sleep-mussed husband. Enjoying the view, she waited, as he took off his boxer briefs and stepped into the shower. His large naked body dominated the massive space, and she smiled at the sight of his impressive morning erection and display of hard muscles in full masculine glory. After all these years, she never tired admiring his beautiful physique, fit and toned from running the rugby academy and personally coaching his young and upcoming talents and training with them.

"Morning Sassenach. Thought I'd join ye."

His almost transparent blue eyes held a mischievous gleam that made her wary. She fidgeted on her feet, suddenly loathing the unflattering light that highlighted her stretch marks and full hips when he looked so perfectly toned. Although she was comfortable in her own skin, and Jamie made her feel cherished, standing under the bright light made her conscious of the extra pounds her body hadn't managed to shift ever since giving birth to their daughter, Faith. 

She crossed her arms over her breasts and attempted to act unconcerned. "Umm, I'll finish off. Faith might wake up and come looking for us."

He ignored her words, moving closer until the spray caught his chest and they were only an inch apart. "I've checked in on her, and she's still fast asleep. I dinnae think she'd be waking up any time soon. She went late to bed last night, mind?" His lips twitched, and his eyes lit up. "Why are ye covering yersel', Sassenach?"

She scrunched up her nose. "I'm not. Umm, I'm done. I'll go prepare breakfast."

He barred her path, arching an eyebrow. "Are ye still worried about yer weight? We've talked about this before. Ye're perfect."

"No! No, it's not that ..."

"Ye've nae idea how beautiful ye are. But ye're no' going anywhere. No' just yet anyway." He uncrossed her arms and with his index finger, traced lazy circles around her sensitive nipple, making her catch her breath. Almost five years into their marriage, not much had changed with Jamie's art of seduction, and he always knew what buttons to push.

"Jamie! We have all the time in our holidays to do this. I still have a lot of stuff to prepare, and you know how long it takes to get Faith ready," she said lamely.

"Relax, mo chridhe," he whispered, his finger travelling down her abdomen. "Our bags are packed, and I'll take care of Faith when she wakes up."

She puffed a breath. "Are you sure it's alright to leave Faith behind? Shouldn't we be taking her with us on our holiday?" she asked, a fleeting concern settling in her belly. "I know she'll be with your parents, but she's never been separated from us since birth. I still think she's too young to be away from us."

"Ye overthink too much, Sassenach. Faith is four, and ye heard her last night. She's excited to spend time with ma and da. And ye ken how much wee Jamie and Maggie adores our Faith. She'll have fun in Lallybroch, and there's plenty of things for her to do there." Jamie had a point. With Jenny's children for a company and the abundant activities for youngsters in the village, Faith probably wouldn't even miss them.

She wanted a last-ditch effort to argue, but Jamie's wandering hands was making her brain fuzzy from hormones. Without conscious volition, her hands travelled up his chest, massaging his shoulders and then moving down to skim over his hard abs. She grinned when the skin underneath her touch quivered. There was probably nothing in this world and time that would make her resist his advances even if logic strived to surface, except of course if Faith decided to wake up and walk in on them. "Why do I even bother reasoning with you," she admitted, clasping his cock and fisting him with deliberate slowness underneath the spray of water.

"Aye, why do ye even bother when ye ken it makes sense. Ah, Christ ...that feels so good," he hissed, biting his lower lip. He suddenly jerked in her hands and muttered a string of curse. "We have plenty of time before the bairn wakes up. What do ye think about making a baby brother or sister for Faith ...ummm ... starting right now?"

Make babies. Make babies. The words ricocheted around in her head like ping-pong balls. Lately, that was all Jamie had in mind, always citing Faith's need to have a sibling to grow up and play with. It sounded so oddly sexy, it caused her veins to charge with electricity and ignite every corpuscle in her body. "Oh, I don't think I'll need that much convincing," she said provocatively.

Jamie lunged forward, a low roar of satisfaction vibrating from his chest, stopping just short before their bodies touched. His hands slapped the tiles above her head, his lips delivering the barest brush on her temple. He smiled before dropping his head further and kissing her deep and hard for the longest time. When her legs wobbled with the attempt to stay upright, his arm caught her by the waist and laughed. "Ach, Sassenach," he said choppily. "I've only just kissed ye, and that body of yers reacts like I'm touching ye for the first time. Ye're killing me here."

Trying to keep herself alert and straining her ears in case Faith woke up, was a challenge, but when it came to the act of foreplay and making love with Jamie, she always almost lost herself. He was holding himself only a hairsbreadth away from her, and yet her body was screaming to be touched. With a swallow, she placed the palms of her hands against Jamie's hard stomach and coasted them over the muscular curves. "You're torturing me," she breathed, starting to become frustrated with the ache in her core. "Did you bring the baby monitor?"

"Aye," Jamie whispered, straightening up and taking the sponge to soap her body with sweeping motions, before cleaning himself. Her senses became heightened from the spray of the shower, the warmth of the steam, and his expert hands as he caressed and touched her naked flesh. Slowly, he pushed her against the wall and knelt down on the tile floor, the water rushing over his head as he leaned in and brushed his lips to her intimate flesh. "Does this ever cease ...the wanting ye? Even though I'd made love to ye last night, I want ye again and again, and my fingers are always aching to touch ye."

"Oh, Jamie," she whimpered, sliding her fingers into his hair and guiding him closer. "Enough talk and touch me now."

"Ye're no' complaining about having a bit of time for a nooky now are ye?"

"N-no," she stuttered.

"No," he echoed on a groan, his finger sliding into her wet fold, causing her to suck in a shaky breath. "Mind, the better to serve ye, Sassenach."

"Damn it, Jamie!"

He moved his lips against her softness, his broad shoulders rising and falling, as he open-mouthed kissed the flesh enfolding her core, parting it with his tongue. His teeth brushed her nub gently, and Claire nearly hit the ceiling. Her response encouraged Jamie more, his fingertips digging into the flesh of her buttocks, drawing her lower body closer to his mouth. The firm, smooth slide of his tongue separated her flesh further and travelled over her nub in a leisurely lick. "So bloody responsive, ye drive me crazy."

Claire's head fell back on its own, her back curving away from the wall. "Oh, God, oh God ..." she babbled imploring gibberish, a scream beginning to build in her chest.

He hooked her leg over his shoulder as his other hand reached out to knead her breast, deft fingers pinching her nipple. When he began to suckle her nub more urgently this time, scruff brushing against her swollen bundle of nerves, she nearly lost it, making him chuckle. She glanced down at him beneath heavy lids as she pressed her hips closer to Jamie's mouth and writhed on his tongue, the sight of his arm busily fisting himself, making her see stars. Her stomach shuddered as her vision started to blur, the pressure bordering and coiling in her middle.

"Jamie ...please ..." she sobbed. "Inside me ...now."

He made a strangled noise and stood, his fingers sinking into her hair, to tug her head back and keep it still. Pressing their mouths together, his tongue plunged in for a deep kiss as his other hand cupped the juncture of her thighs, the pad of his thumb stroking her nub. When she began to whimper and thrash, he turned her around.

"Place yer hands against the wall," he commanded, hoarsely.

Her tummy dropped to the floor. Closing her eyes, she obeyed, her need intensifying a hundredfold as Jamie eased her legs apart. 

He shoved her wet curls to the side and nibbled her earlobe, his cock poised at her entrance. "In as much as I love to hear ye scream, Sassenach, we have to be really quiet," he muttered thickly.

She could only nod, her face hot, and her body shaking with anticipation. 

His tongue travelled down her neck as he moved his hand down between her thighs, his finger rubbing ever so lightly over her throbbing flesh.

She stiffened, her hips flexing of their own accord. "Oh God," she moaned. 

"Oh, aye." With one swift thrust, he took her from behind, his cock burying deep to the hilt, making her gasped and pushed back against him for more, torn between the need to feel his finger and the ache in her core for him to fill. He grunted with pleasure, pushing in and out of her with steady strokes, his fingers busily working her nub.

When his moves became more erratic, and his breathing shallow, his hold on her hips tightened, chanting her name under his breath. He took her with primal abandon, giving her everything he got, claiming her fully with each hard, deep stroke. Dropping his head, he bit her shoulder, his hips pounding hard behind her and one hand reaching up to cover her mouth.

Her body clenched underneath him, and she cried out in a muffled throaty gasp, the orgasm seizing her like an iron fist, waves after waves of pleasure washing over her and wracking her with tremors. When she shattered completely, he arched back and let out a low stifled roar, emptying his seed, jerking helplessly from his release.

Breathing hard, he held her tight, his hand kneading her breast and his hips slowing their movements. They stood like that for a long while, their breathing and heartbeats in synced, the shower beating down on them, relaxing their muscles. 

Finally, Jamie turned her around and kissed her on the forehead. "Christ, Sassenach, how did I ever survive ye?"

Claire laughed. "How about my legs? They feel like jelly."

"And my heart feels like it's going to burst. It's like that every time with ye."

"You're just sex crazy."

"Ach, ye bring it out of me," he grinned.

They were about to lock themselves into each others' embrace once more when the baby monitor crackled. They both stilled, and Jamie immediately turned off the shower. They heard Faith's voice. It was distant at first, kind of muffled, and then suddenly it turned into a shriek. "Mummy?!? Daddy?" She was outside their bathroom door.

Grinning, Claire gave Jamie an I-told-you-so look before stepping out of the shower. "I'm coming, sweetheart," she said in a sing-song voice before throwing Jamie a towel. After she'd quickly dried and wrapped herself in a bathrobe, she opened the bathroom door and closed it behind her. "Hello, darling. You're up early."

Faith's face was still flushed from sleep and almost matched the shade of her shoulder-length curls, the colour of a red deer's pelt as Jenny called it. She looked delightfully cosy and adorable in her pink flannel onesie and fluffy bunny slippers. "What are ye doing?" she asked, one hand clutching a teddy bear by the ear and another rubbing an eye. When Claire got down on her knees, Faith dropped her toy and held out her arms wide for a cuddle.

Smiling, Claire drew her in into an embrace, deeply inhaling her sweet baby smell. "I had a shower with daddy. He'll be out soon. Did you sleep well?"

Faith nodded as she laid her face on Claire's shoulder and began to suckle her thumb, making wet noises. 

Claire gently took Faith's hand from her mouth. "Don't do that, sweetheart; otherwise, you'll get buck teeth."

Faith pulled away and frowned, looking a lot like Jamie whenever his brows furrowed in concentration. "What's buck teeth?"

Claire made a funny face and made her upper front teeth overlap her lower lip. "Djis ish what bucschteeth look like."

Faith giggled, dramatically clutching her belly. "Ye're so funny, mummy."

Before Claire could respond, the bathroom door opened and Jamie came out in his bathrobe. "Is that my princess I hear?" he boomed.

Faith's blue eyes lit up, the sleepy look she had only a few seconds ago already evaporated to be replaced with excitement. "Daddy!" she shrieked, running towards him as if they hadn't seen each other for weeks when in fact, it was Jamie who tucked her into bed last night. 

Jamie stooped down and caught her with his hands. "Ooooff," he groaned when she crashed into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Ach, my princess is such a big lass already. Ye ken what today is?"

Faith leaned back to look into his eyes and nodded vigorously. "I'm staying with Granmaw and Granpa for a holiday."

"That's right. And have you made something for yer other grans in Oxford to take with us? Mind, mummy and I are going to visit them tomorrow."

"My English Granmaw and Granpa in heaven?"

Claire's heart expanded. Jamie had always made sure to include her parents' in Faith's bedtime story. It was imperative for him that their daughter knew of her English lineage and everything else about Claire's side of the family. It was something that touched Claire to the core whenever she was reminded of Jamie's story, visiting her parents' grave five years ago to ask her hand in marriage. It was one of those little things that made her love him more.

"Aye, that's right. So did ye make something?" 

"Aye and also for mummy's birthday."

"Wow, that's a lot," he said, winking at Claire, tucking a tongue in his cheek to tamp down the mirth that was obviously building up. "So, what did ye make?"

"I coloured some flowers," she replied, her lips adorably rolling and unrolling as she looked at her father.

Jamie's eyebrow arched, his eyes twinkling. "Aah, flowers. What sort of flowers?"

"The blue sort," she chirped, her wee hands clasping Jamie's face. "Wanna see it?"

"Aye, definitely. Will you go and get it for me, leanbh? We need to pack it in the suitcase." Jamie gently put her down and kissed her on the forehead. "And I have a pressie for ye ... it's somewhere in yer wardrobe in yer bedroom ...or perhaps under yer bed ...I cannae mind. If ye can find it, ye may open it."

Faith eye's widened and clapped her hands "A pressie, daddy?" She was already skipping out of their bedroom and down the hallway.

As soon as Faith disappeared, both sprung into action, Claire throwing a pair of sweatpants at Jamie and pulling a shirt from the wardrobe for him to wear. They laughed out loud when their eyes met across the bed, and they were still laughing when Faith skipped back into the room with her new toy puppy complete with a leash and her coloured artwork. "Whatsofunny?"

Jamie grinned as he put on a t-shirt. "Mummy did a trumpet."

Claire sputtered, glaring at Jamie. "I certainly did not!"

"Ye remember the rules for tooters, Faith?"

"Aye! Aye! Better to toot and bear the shame, than hold the toot and bear the pain!" she said, giggling, jumping up and down, dropping the toy and her artwork. 

"Good heavens, who taught you that?" Claire asked, looking down at her daughter in disbelief.

"Uncle Rabbie!" Faith shouted, still bouncing and laughing. "Mummy ye tooted. And daddy said ye always smell of flowers." She suddenly stilled and sobered up, her beautiful blue eyes growing big as saucers. "Did flowers come out, mummy?"

Jaime collapsed back onto the bed, doubled over with laughter and in stitches, and Faith took that as her cue to climb on top of him. He immediately grabbed her, tossing his daughter sideways and tickling her middle until she squealed.

Claire gave them a look of mock exasperation, inwardly smiling over being accused of flower fart, but both ignored her, father and daughter totally engrossed in each other's lovefest. They were always like this whenever they were together. And every time Jamie looked at Faith, his face was full of the divine, absorbing her as if she were springwater to his parched soul. At nightfall, when he tucked her to bed, he'd hold her like she was the most precious gift in the world, singing Gaelic songs, whispering endearments and promises of forever love. His daughter's presence always lit his eyes up with pure joy and love, just like now as if he still couldn't believe she was part of him. It was the most beautiful thing to witness, and it made her eyes well up every single time.

"Ye haven't told me yet if ye like yer pressie," Jamie asked Faith after their laughter had died down.

Faith rewarded him with a noisy smacker on the lips. "Thank ye, daddy, I love it. When do I get a real doggie?"

Jamie burst out laughing, and Claire cleared her throat to get his attention. Faith had always wanted a dog, and Jamie would've happily got one right away with the animal rescue centre not far from where they lived if they hadn't talked about this before. They knew the apartment was no place for a dog, especially when their daughter wanted a big one. "Mummy and I have been talking about having a dog. And we've figured, to have a dog, we need a bigger place to live in. So, I think after Christmas, we will start looking for a house with a big garden for ye and the doggie to play in."

A light pucker between Faith's brows appeared. "How many sleeps more 'til I get a doggie then?"

"Plenty of sleep, leanbh," Jamie sighed, gathering her into his arms and onto his lap. "That is why I bought ye the toy puppy so ye can have one to play with until we can get a real one."

"I love my toy puppy daddy, and I love you too."

"And I love ye," Jamie said, hugging her tight and giving her raspberry kisses on her neck, eliciting more peals of laughter.

Claire spoke past the lump in her throat. "Alright, that's enough, you two. How about waffles for breakfast?"

"Waffles!" Faith whooped, wriggling and slipping away from her father's hold. She ran out of the room, shouting waffles and something about chocolates. As soon as they were alone again, Jamie rose from the bed and padded towards her. 

"Happy?" he asked, drawing her into his arms.

She tipped her head up and smiled at him. "Very."

"Good. Ye get dress, and I'll prepare the batter for the waffles." Then he kissed her, slow and thorough, with a gentleness that made her heart sigh with pleasure.

"Icky!" Faith screeched, from the bedroom doorway.

Jamie grinned. "I'm glad ye think so, leanbh. Stay on that track for me until ye're thirty, aye?" With a wink, he took Faith's hand and headed towards the kitchen.

As Claire watched them go, all sorts of vision for the future rolled in. The past years hadn't been easy for all of them. Although she had gained her residency back at the Royal Infirmary back then and never questioned her own drive to succeed, she did worry that it would be challenging to balance her work with dreams of having a family. She'd hoped to start a family when she and Jamie had more control over their respective schedules, but things hadn't gone as planned. She became pregnant three months before she returned to clinical residency.

Adjusting from maternity leave back to clinical work felt like she was functioning like a robot. Claire had to wake up every two hours at night to feed her baby, and she was so dazed that she covered their apartment in post-it note reminders: bring the pump to work, the nipple protectors, the ice packs to keep the milk cold. 

Their hired nanny and help, Mrs Bugs may have been lovely and heaven-sent, but she couldn't shirk the guilt she felt spending twelve hours shifts away from her child. There had been mornings when she sat in her car crying because she didn't want to leave Faith, and Jamie had been helpless in consoling her since the rugby academy had had its own teething problems.

The last straw was when Faith had developed a fever. Mrs Bugs had been away for the weekend, Jamie inundated with his own work and Claire couldn't be late for her operating shift, but Faith's daycare wouldn't have accepted her if they knew she was sick. So she did what any desperate mothers would have done and got inventive - she slipped liquid Calpol into her bottle, in the hopes of lowering her temperature and dropped her off. Later that day, while performing a surgery, her eyes had continually checked the clock, willing the operation to finish in time for pickup. She'd prayed that the daycare wouldn't realise she was feverish. At that point, she felt like she was failing as a mother and as a resident, and she knew something had to give. She'd thought about quitting medicine a lot, but it wasn't in her nature. 

Between her career as a surgeon and her beautiful family, she'd chosen her family, and transferred back to The Royal Hospital for Sick Children to work as a part-time paediatrician. Part-time was putting it mildly since she still worked forty hours a week; nevertheless, it was better than her former sixty hours. Although she missed being a full-time surgeon, seeing Faith grow up had been worth the sacrifice. Now she had more time for her family and helping with the academy, and she'd be able to give Jamie the big family he wanted and create a home. She was more than happy with that.

"Mummy, mummy!"

And of course, with the academy running well and fully staffed and Faith in safe hands in Lallybroch while they go on a much needed holiday, she and Jamie would be able to spend time planning their future for a new home.

"Mummy?" Faith prompted again, tugging her hand until she got Claire's attention. "Can I have choccie sauce on my waffle? Daddy says to ask ye."

"That depends," Claire replied, tapping her freckled, button nose. "You can only have choccie sauce if you eat at least one fruit."

"Daddy is cutting apples." Faith snagged her hand and pulled her from the bedroom. "And he's making juice, coffee, waffles. No choccie sauce."

"Well let's go make some then," Claire said as they walked hand in hand in the kitchen, her daughter's excitement rubbing off on her.

They ate their breakfast animatedly, laughed out of sheer silliness and came up with new ideas for their new home, always including Faith in their conversation. When their daughter eventually passed out on the couch from her chocolate-induced hysteria, Claire cleaned up the kitchen while Jamie did a few business calls.

Life was good, she thought, and she couldn't wait to find their new family home and have their baby number two. She hoped and prayed it would happen very soon.

..........

Jamie paused in the kitchen, looking around. He was making sure they had everything they needed for their holiday and picking up things Faith might need in Lallybroch, like her Disney water bottle, plate and cutleries. Claire was giving Faith a bath, and Mrs Bug, who came to clean up the apartment once a week hadn't arrived yet. Every space in the apartment held the joyous clutter of two females. Glossy catalogues, colouring books and colourful magazines were lying scattered on the counter. There were traces of peanut butter cookies by the hob left by Faith which she wasn't supposed to eat after the chocolate sauce she'd already had for breakfast. There were two high-heeled shoes and one pair of pink glittered sneakers kicked underneath the table. A baby-blue unicorn with long hair and her new puppy toy took up two chairs. The scents of flowers and baby cream wafted in the air. A Cinderella lip balm and a bottle of red nail polish sat lined up neatly next to his expensive bottle of whisky and brandy.

His eyes burned as he poured himself a glass of water. He wasn't a man given to tears, but with everything going on in his life, he couldn't help but be overwhelmed by how everything had been falling to place the last couple of years. They'd gotten used to setbacks, obstacles and problems that accompanied a new marriage, Claire's unplanned pregnancy and starting their own rugby academy. He couldn't believe they had come out unscathed and they were stronger as a unit more than ever when there had been many frustrations and fights. But having a solid family and friends for support and plenty of make-up sex helped to tide them over their difficulties. 

Since Claire had accepted his marriage proposal, his life had shifted. A lightness Jamie had never truly experienced before poured through him. It was as if by finally allowing himself to open up, he'd discovered new strength and happiness he'd been keeping himself from. Loving Claire hadn't been a choice because right from the beginning, even before they both realised or accepted it, she'd been his and he was hers. The overwhelming feeling of his need for her had outweighed the fear, and it went beyond physical. He'd craved her presence, her love, her heart, her character, her humour, her selflessness, her loyalty, and even her temper. He needed all of it. He hadn't been supposed to be the nervous one, but his brave Sassenach had enough nerves and strength for both of them when she'd decided to take her chance on him. For that, the love inside him had expanded to include a little darkness and a hell lot of possessiveness. They had always been there, ready to flow into the intense feelings Claire had stirred, but his instinct had risen up and set them free. And he would move heaven and earth to protect his family and make them happy.

 It had only been a year ago after Ned Gowan had brought forward more witnesses, was Forbes finally prosecuted for his other secret transgressions that had gone unpunished for years. The trials had been lengthy due to Forbes' ability to circumvent the law and connection to the best lawyers. After Forbes had been arrested for spiking Jamie's drink, Ned knew it was only a matter of time before he was released on parole or bribed someone for his acquittal. Ned Gowan's resilience, ingenuity and resourcefulness coupled with the investigative skills of the reporters Rupert and Angus helped in keeping Forbes in jail. To this day, there were still more victims coming forward, suppressed by years of threats of scandal. Jamie could now rest at ease, knowing Forbes wouldn't be able to hurt his academy nor his family with false stories as his business had been reduced tremendously to recompense his victims.

Tamping down the emotions threatening to overflow, he set down his glass in the sink and picked up the pile of mail. Sifting through, he studied a doctor's envelope inscribed to Claire. He was about to put it down when the letter fell out of it. The envelope hadn't been sealed properly. Curious, he unfolded it. It was regarding the doctor's findings on Claire's discomfort on the side of her abdomen. When the pain had begun, she'd self-diagnosed having a kidney infection. She'd refused to take antibiotics until she was sure her self diagnosis was accurate. So she'd arranged a urinalysis for herself and submitted it to the lab for routine testing.

To his relief, the kidney infection she'd suspected came out negative, but there was more, so he browsed through the medical vernaculars until his eyes settled on something that made more sense. His heart stopped. Slowly he reread it, the words jumping out of the letter to blast him full force. Claire might not have a kidney infection, but she was two months pregnant. Fierce satisfaction uncurled, and he began to laugh. Too bad, his Sassenach wouldn't be able to enjoy a glass of bubbly when they share the news to his family later.

"Daddy? Whatsofunny?"

Jamie looked down at his daughter's flushed face, her hair done up in pig-tails and dressed in a jumpsuit romper and pink sweatshirt. He knelt down in front of her and smiled. "I'm happy, leanbh, that's why I'm laughing. Can I ask ye something?"

Faith nodded and moved closer, her eyes widening in anticipation as she waited with bated breaths.

"What do ye think about having a baby brother or sister sometime in the near future?"

She shrugged, her little shoulder touching her ear. "I want a doggie more, but a baby is nice too."

"Weel, how about if I say, ye can have both once we moved to a bigger house."

"Okay. I can have the doggie and ye, the baby."

Jamie's chest shook with silent laughter. "That's a deal." He got up and patted her wee bottom. "Go and find mummy then so we can go to see yer grans." 

Happy with their conversation, Faith dashed off to find Claire. He couldn't wait to see his wife's face when she finally learned of her pregnancy.

..........

Claire snorted and shook the paper in front of her. "You call that journalism? How do the reporters get away with printing such rubbish as news?"

They had just finished lunch, and they were all sat around the long family table in Lallybroch while the children played in the living room watched over by Jenny and his parents.

Uncle Lamb worriedly glanced at Claire as his brother Rabbie stood up and peered over her shoulder. "Mmmm, the cameraman is to blame. Taken at a wrong angle, ye look peely-wally there, Claire."

Nowadays it was seldom to find Jamie's name in the gossip columns of the local papers unless it had something to do with his academy. The first time his wedding had made it to the news, it had been a shock to many and speculations had been rife all across the social media. Some even citing that Claire had trapped him into marriage with Frank Randall's child. Busy with their own respective work, Jamie and Claire had been able to ignore the gossips, and eventually, the stories, that had been mostly exaggerated, died a natural death. But now and again, someone would recognise them on the street and take a photo, just like one of Claire coming out of a grocery store which somehow made it in today's news. The headline described Claire looking sombre and wondered if there was trouble in the Fraser marriage.

Rabbie was right though. Claire looked pale in the photo. It must have something to do with her pregnancy. He sort of suspected she was pregnant already even before he read that urinalysis result earlier. He'd always kept track of her menstrual cycle and the changes in her body and moods. But when he'd mentioned about missing her period earlier this month, Claire had simply put it down to the excitement of their upcoming holiday.

Jamie ignored the funny tingle in his gut and reminded himself not to announce their news without consulting his wife first. He needed to make an effort tamping down his excitement.

Willie signalled Rabbie to pour Claire a glass of Chablis and slid it across the table to her. "Here, Claire, have a sip of this."

Jamie immediately grabbed the wine glass causing Claire to glare at him. To his relief, she didn't try to retrieve it back.

"And look at this," she exclaimed, a finger jabbing at the black-and-white print of news. "They're claiming I've let myself go and that I look fat."

Jamie's legs started to bounce under the table. "Sassenach, ye said so yersel '...what those so-called journalists write is rubbish. Why are ye getting so worked up? It never bothered ye before."

Claire glowered and pursed her lips. "It's the body shaming I don't like. It's unfair to us women. We're expected to have babies and still look like a model at the end of it. It's this sort of writing that makes women go to extreme lengths to look good even if they're doing more harm than good to their bodies."

He gave her a sympathetic look and reached out for her hand. "I understand, Sassenach but readers have to take responsibility for what they read. If people believe everything that is ever written in print without questioning it, they only have themselves to blame."

"I guess you're right," she grumbled. "I should know better by now."

"Hey, Claire," Rabbie butted in. "If it's any consolation to ye, my mates think ye're lush. Ye'd give any lassies in their early twenties a run for their money. And ye're smart too, to boot."

Jamie frowned at his younger brother. "I hope ye mentioned to them she's married to me."

"Jamie!" Claire snapped. "Stop acting like a caveman!"

Instead of his usual smart retort, Rabbie got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

"See what you've done?" Claire pointed out.

"Ach, Jamie, everyone kens Claire's with ye," Willie sighed. "Ye make sure of that all the time, piddling a boundary around her."

"Exactly!" Claire shot, looking at her husband. "Why Jamie does that, I have no idea. It's as if he can't trust me."

Jamie's eyes widened, too dumbfounded to say anything.  Uh-oh! What's happening to wifey? This is not how are day suppose to turn out.

Geillis, who had been quiet the whole time browsing through the family's album with uncle Lamb, gave Claire a funny look.

Claire noticed. "What?"

Geillis looked at uncle Lamb, shrugged and continued to flip the pages. "Mood swing much, Claire? First, ye're giggly throughout lunch, and now ye're mardy and snappy."

Claire looked at Joe, waiting for him to say something. But Joe only raised his hands as if pleading ignorance. "LJ seems fine to me."

Snapping the album shut, Geillis glared at Joe. "She's not fine, and it's alright not to be fine." And then she turned her attention to Claire. "So what's up with ye? Have ye eaten something that didnae agree with ye ...like a whole watermelon?"

Jamie choked and sputtered the wine he was drinking, and Willie began to thump him on the back. "What the fuck, Jamie?"

Before anyone could react, Rabbie reappeared at the table with a plate of white chocolate cheesecake drizzled with raspberry sauce. 

Immediately, his wife perked up. 

"Here, Claire, I ken ye like cheesecake," Rabbie offered after he'd slice a piece for her.

Jamie glowered at his brother, who always seemed to come out the good guy despite his cheekiness.

"Thank you, that's sweet," Claire smiled, unaware of the tension she'd created with her hormone-induced mood. "You're a star."

"Ye're welcome," Rabbie replied, launching Jamie a haughty look. 

Jenny peeked her head out of the kitchen. "Hey, Claire, do you want to try the tiramisu? I made it earlier with a bit of my own twist."

"No!" The moment Jamie shouted the word, he wished the floor would open up and swallow him in one whole. Everyone, including his wife, was staring at him with incredulity. "W-weel ..." he stammered, feeling the heat on the tips of his ears. "Tiramisu has raw eggs in it."

"And??" Everyone said all at once.

Uncle Lamb peered over the paper Claire was reading only a while ago and shook his head. "With all the information at your disposal and floating around the internet, I'm still surprised you kids still don't get it. Claire's pregnant."

Everyone stopped. Gaped. Jamie was relieved his wife's pregnancy was out, and it didn't come from him.

A big grin transformed Geillis' features. "I knew it!"

"I'm pregnant?" Claire smiled, her face turning angelic once more. "How did you know?" she asked Uncle Lamb.

Quentin folded the paper and sighed. "You're moody and Jamie's acting strange. Either yer hormones is rubbing off on your husband, or he knows about your pregnancy. Simple as that."

His wife gave him a questioning look, and Jamie had no choice but to get up from his chair and take Claire's hand. He excused themselves from their family and friends and tugged her into the kitchen. Once alone, he took her into his arms.

"We're pregnant, mo chridhe," he whispered and explained about the letter from earlier.

After Jamie was done, he stroked her hair while Claire tried to absorb the information.

When she finally spoke, she lifted her head and gifted him with a beautiful smile. "I can't believe you found out I'm pregnant before I did and I'm a doctor. Nothing is or would ever be conventional with us, is it Jamie?"

"I wouldnae ken what's conventional or no', but one thing I ken I wouldnae trade what we have for anything in the world. Ye're a funny lass, and I'm a complicated man, but our hearts are in the right place every single time when it comes to loving each other," he said gruffly. 

The low sun coming from the window caught the sheen in her eyes. "I suppose that's true and what we have between us is impossible to express at times. It's real, and it's humungous, and sometimes the magnitude of it creates imperfections. I embrace those imperfections because they mean I get to love the most wonderful man I know."

"And I get to be the luckiest bastard on earth. Look at what we've got, Sassenach," he said quietly, brushing a kiss across her forehead. "We've got everything. We have Faith and another baby on the way."

"Everything and much more," she breathed.

He leaned in and kissed her lips, lingering a moment before repeating the pledge he'd made on their wedding day and every day since. "You and me and our family, in it together."

"Forever and ever."

 The End

[glitzywisps]

Muse

Dennor Week Day 3: I chose today for my Free Day

Highschool/Human au, Nyotalia

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24122461/chapters/58214002

Mette tapped her pencil, staring at her sketch. There was something off but she couldn't quite place it. Pursing her lips, she looked up again to get a better look at her muse, only to flush darkly. Agnete was looking at her with a raised brow from the desk diagonal from her own. Mette averted her eyes, staring down at her drawing. She was embarrassed at being caught staring and she only hoped Agnete hadn't seen who she was drawing. Of course, that was only wishful thinking because as soon as the bell rang Agnete turned around to lean over the paper curiously. Mette tried to cover it but didn't seem to do it in time.

Agnete's face turned a slight pink and she stood. "Your art is good… Do you take commissions?" Her voice was soft but fairly deep. Mette gaped a bit in surprise, it wasn't often that she ever got to hear the other girl speak in class and it took her a moment to respond.

"Uh- yes! I do, um," Mette got up quickly, gathering her things as she spoke, "I do take commissions- if you're interested, I have an Instagram."

Agnete nodded, waiting for Mette to start heading towards the classroom door. "What is it?" She asked, taking out her phone. Mette told her the username, taking out her own phone to follow back. Agnete smiled softly, moving as if to brush hair behind her ear but it was the shaved section. It must've been an old habit. "I'll message you what I have in mind later."

They turned their opposite ways in the hall to go to their next classes. It took everything in Mette to not bounce and cheer. Not only did the cute punk girl like her art, and was interested in commissioning, but she also didn't embarrass her over the drawing. She was still blushing in excitement as she sat down for her next class, excitedly bouncing. With a sigh, Berwald, her friend next to her asked, "She looked at you?"

"And spoke to me!" Mette exclaimed, turning to grab his arm. "She asked for my Instagram- and she's going to commission me! I've never been so excited."

"Now you can talk to her… Instead of staring."

"Oh, like you're any better! You get a crush on someone and all you can do is 'hmm'. We both need to work on our flirting skills." Berwald glared at her but reluctantly shrugged in agreement. They both had trouble with crushes, but Mette was better at talking to people in general.

Mette anxiously tugged on a short curl, thinking over how she acted. She was definitely too excited and surprised that Agnete didn't freak out when she caught her drawing her. It was pretty weird to draw someone she had never actually spoken to and to become infatuated in the first place. But she just thought she was cool! The piercings, but minimal makeup and tattoos, event the aloof look she usually had. She would've been intimidated by her, but when Agnete spoke she sounded shy, rather than apathetic. As an artist, someone like Agnete intrigued and endeared her. Mette was pulled from her thoughts by feeling her phone buzz against her thigh. It was in the middle of partner work, so she could get away with checking it by claiming to be looking up something. With that in mind, she typed in her passcode.

And just as she suspected, it was an Instagram direct message from Agnete. Mette wasn't completely creepy, so she hadn't even looked at her account yet. 

'I read over your commission post. I think mine might be a bit different than you're used to'

Mette tilted her head but typed back a fast response.

'that's fine! We can discuss it and go over prices, ideas and such'

'i want your help coming up with an album cover'

Her eyes widened and she couldn't hold back a grin. She had no idea Agnete played music and an album cover sounded like an exciting project.

'i am totally down to help you! I can listen to some of your music, and you can send me albums from other artists and bands you like for inspiration!

We can even discuss ideas and samples in person.'

'samples? You don't have to go through all of that…'

'i want to!'

'maybe I could come over then and we can talk in person'

Mette had to cover her mouth at this point. Agnete had just asked to come over to her house. She took a deep breath to calm herself before replying.

'totally fine with that! how does tmw after school sound? I walk home.'

'i can do that. see you in class tmw (:'

"Berwald, she's coming to my house tomorrow and she sent me a smiley face, what does this mean?"

"She's nice..?"

*** 

Agnete had smiled softly and greeted Mette quietly when she entered their shared class, and Mette almost fell from her chair. She grinned, waving a bit and saying, "Hey! Still meeting at the bike path?"

"Yes, if that is okay."

"Totally, yeah!" Mette hummed, now looking back to her work. The class seemed to speed by, and throughout it, she would exchange looks with Agnete. Nothing anybody normal would note since they never even lasted a second. But Agnete had the prettiest indigo eyes, accentuated by her black eyeliner, and Mette wanted to explore them for hours. She took this time to finish her drawing from yesterday, it was only semi-realism but she still wanted to get the details of her nose and lip rings. The bell rang and she tapped Agnete's shoulder. "Here. Since you caught me drawing you without asking."

Agnete's pale skin heated up as she took the drawing. "Thank you… I like it a lot."

Mette wished she had any other classes with her, or at least some in the hall so they could walk together. She really wanted to get to know her and hoped they would talk about more than the commission after school. The rest of her classes seemed to drag on and she constantly caught herself checking the clock every couple of minutes. Her heart seemed to jump when the last bell, rushing to grab her backpack and go out the side door of the school. She waved and spoke to several friends and acquaintances on the way out but didn't linger as long as she usually did to goof off. She held back a skip in her walk when she saw Agnete was already waiting by the fence for her, fiddling with her phone.

"Agnete!" She looked up and gave a two-fingered salute. Mette waved excitedly and jogged the last few yards to her. "Ready to go?"

Agnete nodded and picked up her bag, waiting for Mette to lead the way.

"I'm excited to work on this, I had no idea you did music. Not that we've ever talked before, but you seem to have a pretty big following. What instruments do you play? I should've kept up with my cello," Mette spoke fairly quickly, looking at Agnete with wide eyes. Agnete glanced away, turning pink.

"You talk a lot…" Mette bit her lip, shrugging awkwardly in response and shoving her hands in her hoodie pocket. Agnete gently bumped her shoulder with her own. "It's kinda cute… I play bass, guitar, ukulele, and I'm learning piano still. What kind of music do you like?"

Mette seemed to light up in relief, freckled cheeks red from the compliment. "Oh, I like almost anything! I have a playlist for so many genres. I think heavy, heavy, metal and country and the only two I barely graze. But my favorite genres are definitely soft rock and bedroom pop."

"Varied, huh? I like that stuff too." 

"What genre do you play?"

"Pop punk, and Indie occasionally. I guess you could call some of my stuff bedroom pop…"

"I can't wait to hear it! I'm honestly relieved you didn't think I was totally weird for staring at you and stuff…"

"You're still plenty weird…" She smirked. "But I was relieved that you were simply drawing me and not weirded out by me…"

"Of course I'm weirded out! A cute girl like you wanting to commission me, in person? With such an exciting project. Totally weird." Mette's heart fluttered, watching as Agnete covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a laugh. When she finished, she asked, "Anyway… When did you start art?"

"Ever since I could hold a pencil!" She paused. "But I started taking it seriously when I was hitting my preteen years…" They had been walking for about ten minutes, now in front of Mette's house. She opened the door, dramatically gestured for Agnete to enter. She rolled her eyes and stepped through.

"No parents?"

"They're at work, right now. But they said it was okay if you came over, so we can settle in the living room. Hungry? Thirsty?" Agnete shook her head and sat on the couch. Mette sat next to her, pulling out her sketchbook. "Alright, then tell me about your music and ideas, and play some!"

"These songs are a bit different than what I usually write, so I'm hoping for something a bit out of my style too… It's more soft and emotional than my other stuff," Agnete admitted quietly. She handed her headphones to Mette to use, starting to play her music. Still holding her phone, she pulled up photos of other people's albums to explain what she liked about them. Mette listened closely to the lyrics, stunned into silence. Agnete shifted anxiously, not looking at her and chewing her lip. Only bits and pieces of the songs were played for her, enough to get the idea, most of them were sad or about going through the motions, but the last one seemed to be about awakening and knowing yourself. 

"Is that all of the ones you wanted me to hear? They're lovely, Agnete!" Mette said, handing the headphones back. 

"I started writing the last one yesterday, um…" She blushed. "You can read it if you'd like…" Mette nodded eagerly, waiting for her to open her teal journal. As she read over it, her heart sped up. These lyrics were much more hopeful than the last, they were still a bit doubtful but with hints of hope mixed in. But it was the lines about a girl with bright eyes and a brighter smile. It couldn't be her, right? Maybe Agnete already had a friend or lover to feel hopeful and inspired by. That was fine. It didn't mean Mette couldn't be her friend too. She smiled and looked at her. "I think this is a lovely song to end on. It's really pretty so far, I can't believe you just started this yesterday."

Agnete rubbed the back of her and gave a coy shrug. "I assumed if you got to use me as your muse that one time, then I could use you as mine…"

Mette gaped. "You mean-"

"Don't let it go to your head!" She gently pushed her over onto the other couch cushion. Mette laughed loudly, sitting up straight again to tell her, "I think we're going to become great friends…"

They both knew there was something else implied… And they both knew it was way too soon to fall to short infatuation and were content being just like this...

[friendshipcampaign]

Sanctuary

Sometimes you’re a DM and you think, “Hm! I’m having a lot of emotions about a conversation between two NPCs that none of my player characters would be around for! Perhaps I shall write a short drabble!” and then then next thing you know you’re well over 4k words deep into your OCs Talking About Their Feelings. Well: here are those words.

NPC downtime between Demonology Prevention League agents Creed and Thodri, set during the street festival in Veritas the day after the Friendship Campaign party banished the demons from the city.

The streets of Veritas were filled with the sounds of reveling. Bonfires crackled and the foods roasting on them sizzled and dripped. Stallkeepers hawked and haggled and called out to each other. Music drifted through the square, accompanied by the stomping and shouting of the dancers. Every few moments, someone decided to raise a tankard in a cheer, which would echo through the crowd before getting lost in the tumult. Everything was loud and bright and everyone was celebrating.

Thodri didn’t trust it for a minute.

She scanned the crowds around her as she and Creed made their way to the watch-house the DPL had commandeered as a temporary headquarters, looking for—she didn’t know. A familiar face that shouldn’t be there? A demon that had somehow escaped the Banishment? Some magical trap left untriggered in the previous day’s battle—or a freshly placed one?

Creed, strolling along beside her, didn’t seem to have any such worries.

“You wouldn’t believe the kind of decorations they have upstairs! Y’know, a lot of houses like that, they  put the most impressive stuff out where they can show it off to everyone who comes in, but that place just gets more opulent the farther you go!”

Thodri grunted, pretending that she’d been listening to her companion’s non-stop chatter about the Zisisvoynis’ decór. She supposed it was easier to appreciate its opulence when your first visit there wasn’t for a party where your tentative allies had decided to attempt to trap a bunch of murderous cultists. With a dragon. It was probably also easier if you were Creed, who had much more of a taste for extravagance than she ever would.

“It’s nothing like the main hoard, of course, and the location of that is one of those if-I-tell-you-then-I’d-have-to-kill-you secrets—”

Thodri flinched. Focus. She needed to focus. The square was too large to keep all of it in her sights and they were drawing near the middle now, the crowd pressing close on all sides. She didn’t like the feeling of so many strangers at her back.

“—But I did get a few stories about some of the artifacts. Not just gold—apparently Oktojnotviš has an ongoing feud with some other dragons over these historical Draconic texts that they each have one section of. They’re all trying to get the complete collection, but since they’re written on twenty-foot-high slabs of stone that were cut from an ancient cave wall there’s been a wee bit of trouble with that.”

The bonfire burning behind the skeletal remnants of the elephant-demon cast flickering shadows over the bones that looked just enough like movement when caught from the corner of her eye that Thodri kept snapping her head around to look. No. The bones were still. Dead. Parts of them were still tethered to the ground by long pieces of jagged wire.

“Hey.”

Creed lowered his arms, which he’d been waving as he spoke in his customary sweeping gestures. Thodri always joked that he could never visit her home caverns under the mountains because with the way he walked he’d end up bruising his hands—and his head—black and blue in the dwarf-sized tunnels.

“You doing all right, Footnotes?”

“I’m fine,” Thodri retorted, continuing to wind her way through the square so that despite his long legs, Creed had to half-skip a few steps to catch up to her.

“Well, something must be wrong because I was just telling you about some extremely old and interesting writings and you didn’t even bat an eye.”

“There’s a lot to do.” More shouts rang out from behind them, and Thodri whirled just in time to see a burly woman with a barrel of ale on her shoulder raise up her hand in a cheer. All right. No threat. She turned back to Creed.

“. . . And now you’re sounding like Aurelia.”

“I am not—” Thodri snapped, before catching herself and letting out a long, tense sigh. “I’m . . . worried. That’s all.”

“About?”

Thodri threw up her hands. “I don’t know! Everything? Somebody has to be since you’re acting like you don’t have a care in the world!”

She glared out into the crowd again. She couldn’t lose focus. Couldn’t miss anything. She could hear Creed’s footsteps beside her as the two of them walked in silence for a moment, making it out to where the crowd was thinner. She felt nervous about leaving the square unwatched, but they had to get on to where Aurelia was waiting and see what information they could get out of yesterday’s captives. If there was some other plot yet to be sprung . . .

“Are you . . . mad at me?” Creed asked. She could tell he had his head cocked in confusion but she didn’t look up to meet his eyes.

“No! Maybe! I don’t know!”

“Well, that’s quite the spectrum, certainly. I appreciate you didn’t go straight to ‘yes,’ but—”

“I thought you were dead!” she blurted out.

Creed stopped in his tracks and blinked at her. He looked almost as surprised at her outburst as she was. She stared back at him, wide-eyed, with her hand clapped over her mouth.

“What . . . last night? I didn’t—”

“No!” The blood was rushing in Thodri’s ears and she she could feel the terror she’d been trying to push down all day building within her. She’d lowered her hand to let out the interjection and now without that barrier in place more words were trying to flood out in a torrent she couldn’t control. “You were missing and I thought you were dead and it was my fault and I couldn’t even remember what had happened, and Aurelia kept trying to be so nice to me that I thought I would scream, and the rest of them just stopped talking about you after Ráalu used the past tense once and I had to run out of the room during an interrogation and—”

“Hey.” She felt Creed’s hands settle gently on her shoulders. “Hey, it’s all right. You got me back, didn’t you?”

“I-I know,” Thodri stammered. “We got you back and I thought maybe I could be less afraid, but I got complacent and let my guard down and that thing that was pretending to be Kasia got me and then I wasn’t—”

She shivered for a moment as she remembered the sensation of mindlessness, of her eyes and ears being as sharp as ever but not being able to make sense of anything she saw and heard, of being stripped of her words and her thoughts and her understanding in a way that made her blanch with fear to recall, but that at the time she hadn’t even been able to comprehend enough to be horrified. That might have been the worst part. That she hadn’t known—hadn’t been able to know—what had happened to her. That once the others had left her curled up with Creed in their pocket dimension she’d felt . . . safe. She’d felt happy.

Creed’s fingernails dug into the back of her shoulders. A few streets over, the musicians finished a song and a distant cheer went up. Thodri’s voice was getting higher and louder and people were probably staring but she couldn’t make herself stop.

“—I wasn’t there and I couldn’t help you and Palava had to call on so much power from his god to get me back and I couldn’t even get any omens—”

She was aware that Creed was speaking, but it felt almost the way speech had when her mind was shattered. The sounds were there but there was no sense to them. She let him push her, gently, back out of the way of the crowd until there was stone at her back and the sounds of the celebration were muffled.

“—and then the creature showed up and I thought—I thought, this is it, this is the thing that’s going to kill us, and it almost felt better because at least I wasn’t wondering anymore, but then Kriv defeated it and we didn’t die and it—it’s over, it’s gone, all the demons are gone and everyone’s celebrating but I don’t . . . I don’t know how to stop being afraid!”

She looked at Creed, helplessly, through burning eyes. He loomed over her, his head cocked to one side and the crystal growths on his left horn glinting in the light.

“It feels like every time I relax something worse happens. And then last night I was trying so hard to feel like we were all safe; I was trying to relax and enjoy myself and be happy, and then you took one look at the most dangerous thing in the room and decided to throw yourself at it and it . . .” she trailed off, the river of words drying up as she wondered how she could convey the sudden, absurd spike of fear that had gripped her, that still thrummed under her skin even though Creed was fine, she was fine, everything was . . .

“It . . . made me afraid again,” she finished lamely.

As the silence stretched out between them, Thodri let her head drop and took in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m . . . sorry. I know it’s ridiculous and I know you were probably going to be fine and I need to learn how to pull myself together, and I certainly didn’t mean to go quite so . . . babbly. About everything.”

“Hey.” Creed crouched down so their faces were almost level, still holding her by the shoulders. She’d been expecting him to look  . . . frustrated, at least, the sort of expression he wore when Aurelia was being particularly obtuse, and she was ready to flinch away from it, but she could see nothing but concern in his lavender eyes.

Then one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile which Thodri found herself instinctively but tentatively mirroring, and he said, “All right, more than a few points of contention with all that. First things first, I don’t think it’s fair to say I ‘threw myself’ at him, and I’ll have you know I took several looks before I made any decisions.”

Thodri let out a bark of surprised laughter, which she suspected from the way he beamed at her had been Creed’s plan in the first place. He straightened up and pointed towards one of the little green parks behind them.

“Shall we sit down?”

Thodri bit her lip. “I don’t want to keep Aurelia waiting too long . . .”

“Well that does it!” Creed clapped her on the back. “I definitely want to keep Aurelia waiting. She needs the rest. Come on!”

Thodri let Creed lead her around the groups of pedestrians heading to and from the festival and out onto the grass. He found a stone bench—an old one, Thodri noted, but of decent workmanship—and sprawled across one end of it, gesturing for Thodri to join him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were having . . . such a hard time.”

Thodri laughed again, a brittle edge to it.

“I don’t think I did either, honestly. I didn’t realize a lot of it until . . . now, really. I thought I was just being stupid and I could joke about it and I’d calm down. I—I even thought it was working; I had a nice time with Kriv and his goat, but then I tried to go to sleep and I couldn’t stop . . . thinking about all of it. Of being afraid that it was only a matter of time until something worse happened. That—that if I let myself get complacent it would all fall apart.”

“Listen.” Creed stretched an arm along the back of the bench in a clear invitation, but he didn’t touch her. With a sigh, Thodri leaned into him and pulled his arm down around her shoulders. “Of course you’re afraid. It makes sense to be afraid. This city was overrun with demons until just a little before this time yesterday. That’s a lot for anyone to handle, and for weeks of it you didn’t even have me around to help you with my worldly experience and sparkling wit!”

“I . . . I know,” said Thodri. “Again, I’m sorry—”

“Thodri.” Creed loosened the grip of his arm just enough that he could look directly into Thodri’s face. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, love.”

“But I could—”

“We walked into a trap, Thodri. Both of us. I think it was . . .” Creed’s fingers wandered to his symbol of Tymora and began to spin it absently back and forth. “. . . Lucky that I was the one they caught.”

In response to Thodri’s disbelieving snort he continued, “One of us was useful to them. Fuel for the mine. They had reasons to want to keep me alive. Horrifying reasons, I’ll grant you! But reasons nonetheless. If you’d been the one who was trapped . . .”

They sat in silence for a brief moment, and then Creed let go of his holy symbol and smacked the heel of his hand into his forehead.

“Real encouraging talk, this is! Here I was going to try to calm you down and instead I start blabbing about even more things that could have killed you!”

“No, it . . . it’s okay.” Thodri nestled further into his shoulder. “It does make me feel better, actually, in a strange way. I thought Tymora had abandoned you, but maybe she was looking out for both of us after all.”

“Aye.” Creed wrapped his arm tighter around her. “Or maybe she did whiff it and it worked out regardless; that happens too.”

Thodri chuckled. “I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to your irreverance.”

“Oh, she loves it! Your sort of devotion would be terribly boring to a luck goddess. Can’t show off her powers unless her followers are the sort of people to take big risks.”

Thodri looked up, tracing the dappled outlines of the leaves on the branches above them. She’d been away from the mountains for years, but the trees and the open sky still felt strange to her. They were never as comforting as the darkness of her home had been. She closed her eyes.

“Is that what last night was about, then? Big and completely unnecessary risks?”

She felt Creed shrug. “I suppose. Although I will say that most of the appeal there was being free to take a big risk that wasn’t likely to get me killed if I got it wrong.”

Thodri could feel her heart beginning to pound again, the drumbeat of not-safe-not-safe-not-safe that had haunted her since the night she and Creed had walked into a trap and she alone had come out of it. She let it beat, forcing herself not to hitch her breath to it. It was dark and safe behind her eyelids, and Creed’s arm was warm around her.

“I think . . . after everything being so dangerous for so long, it’s hard to feel like anything might not be a matter of deadly peril.” She contemplated for a moment. “Also you didn’t see him at the last party, where he was . . . very distinctly terrifying.”

Creed’s chin bumped against the top of her head as he nodded. “No, that’s fair, that’s fair. If it makes you feel any better, the first thing he did once we got to his chambers was sit me down to talk about boundaries and expectations for like half an hour, so . . .”

Thodri snorted. “That does make me feel better, yes! He’s . . . certainly full of surprises.”

“The first half of it was about how I shouldn’t expect anything long-term to come of it since his heart and soul are still undyingly bound to his wife, whose virtues he extolled at some length.”

Thodri drew her feet up on the bench and leaned back, watching the sunlight tint her vision red.

“See, that part doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“His body, on the other hand—”

Creed squawked as Thodri smacked a hand at his free arm.

“Nope,” she said firmly. “If you want to share any more details, you can go talk to Amaranth.”

“Fair enough.” Creed leaned his head over to rest it on top of Thodri’s, carefully maneuvering his horn so it wouldn’t catch in her hair. Tymora’s symbol bumped against her shoulder. A breeze sprang up, rustling the leaves of the tree above them.

“. . . So,” said Creed after a moment. “Aurelia was nice to you?”

Thodri groaned. “I hated it! She’s supposed to be all gruff and angry and disapproving but she kept trying to be . . . gentle with me.”

Aurelia had been the first member of the DPL to arrive after Thodri dragged herself up out of the tunnels, showing up out of breath and already starting to yell. “Where’s the idiot?” she had snapped when she first saw Thodri. And Thodri had been expecting something like that, so she only trembled a little as she explained about the tip and the tunnel and the trap and how Creed had pushed her back to safety when the walls came tumbling in. And she’d been expecting Aurelia to demand to see the collapse, so she led the way back down with her conjured light hardly flickering and waited while the woman shouted and kicked at the falling rocks. But then she’d expected Aurelia to shout at her too, to demand what they’d been thinking and why they’d been so stupid and why Thodri hadn’t made Creed follow the protocol and tell the rest of them where they were going, why Thodri hadn’t found some way to stop it—and so when, instead, Aurelia had turned away from the collapsed tunnel with a curse and seen Thodri standing there and simply muttered, “Damn it. I’m sorry, kid,” when Aurelia had moved in to try, inexpertly, to hug her . . . Thodri had completely fallen apart.

“Sounds awful,” said Creed.

“Yeah. The yelling is better.”

And the yelling had come, just not at her. Thodri found that Aurelia’s view of her had shifted from an errant recruit that she needed to keep away from bad influences (meaning Creed), to some kind of broken child too fragile to discipline and too foolish to listen to. With everyone else Aurelia had gotten harsher, but she would shoo Thodri out of the room before tearing into her coworkers and make her stand back when they went to investigate demonic incidents.

“If she’s not going to listen to me,” Thodri continued, “I’d rather she be angry than just . . . patronizing.”

“Well,” said Creed, “Stick with me and I doubt that’ll be your problem for long! She’s had no trouble being angry with yours truly, even after I mysteriously returned from the presumed-dead.”

“She cried about you,” said Thodri, remembering what else she’d seen when she’d brought Aurelia into the tunnel. “Just a little, but . . .”

She opened her eyes just in time to catch the delighted, devilish grin spreading across Creed’s face. “Oh, Footnotes,” he said. “Your knowledge, as always, is a treasure.”

“Don’t be too hard on her for it,” Thodri said. “Or at least wait until she really deserves it.”

“Noted.” Creed looked up at the sky. “However the rest of them treated you, it looks to me like you handled yourself pretty well while I was gone.”

“Oh, I . . . don’t know about that.” Thodri laughed nervously and let out a hissing breath between her teeth. “I went behind everyone’s backs and contacted a group of people I hardly knew who were wanted for fraternizing with demons and blowing up a building because I had a hunch, and then I met up with them alone at night without telling anyone where I’d gone. I shared classified DPL data; I used my badge for extremely unauthorized investigation; I ignored my actual assignments to go running on a wild goose chase after you . . .”

Creed wrapped his tail tight around her waist. “And you found me. And your gambles paid off, so either you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for or Tymora was keeping an eye out for you until I could get back and do it myself. Or maybe both! Anyway, I’m hardly going to scold you for going behind Aurelia’s back. I’m impressed that you managed to take so many of my lessons to heart!”

“You are the worst influence,” said Thodri, and then laughed and pushed him away when he brought up the tufted end of his tail to tickle her nose.

“And proud of it!” He turned towards her and his smile softened into something less playful. “And I’m proud of you.”

Thodri didn’t know what to say. She wished she was as quick with her jokes as he was and could come up with something to deflect the uncharacteristic earnestness in his face.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with so much of this on your own,” Creed continued. “When you joined I promised I’d look after you, and I haven’t exactly done the best job of it.”

“Creed.” Thodri took one of his hands in hers. “Sometimes you really are an idiot. You were captured by devil worshipers who put you to work in a hell mine. As far as excuses for not being around to look after me go, I think that’s a pretty solid one.”

Creed quirked his head to the side in a half-shrug. “Aye. But then you and your friends broke us out, and on my very first day back I . . . nearly lost you. Doesn’t make me feel particularly confident in my abilities.”

His grip on her hand was almost uncomfortably tight, and it reminded Thodri of the way he’d held her when she was under the Feeblemind, that same stubborn refusal to let go.

“And then Palava got me back,” she said.

Creed sighed. “He did. Y’know, I think I need to have a bit of a chat with Tymora about gaining mastery of that particular ritual. It’s not a great look having her shown up by some elf god.”

“It’s not a competition, Creed.”

“Eh, to some of ‘em it is. And he won’t always be around, but I . . . well. I’ll do my best to be.”

Thodri let go of Creed’s hand and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a tight hug.

“I’ll do my best too. I . . . know you’ll watch my back.”

He nodded and squeezed her. “And you’ll watch mine.”

After a moment he added, “And, much as I like to think we can handle things on our own, it’s nice to know some other people was can call in if things get rough who are better at dealing with all of this than, y’know, Aurelia.”

Thodri nodded vigorously. “It’s very good. Yes. Although, speaking of Aurelia . . .”

“Nooooo,” wailed Creed quietly, and Thodri laughed.

“We really ought to get back to her, and to our jobs. Come on! You’ve exerted your bad influence and made us both terribly late, so now it’s my turn to be the good influence and ensure we turn up for work at all.”

Creed flopped back dramatically over the bench, an arm draped over his forehead. “How could you?” he cried, although he didn’t protest further as Thodri pulled him to his feet and began to set off towards the new address. Behind them, the musicians in the square began another song.

“Hey Creed?”

“What is it, Footnotes?”

Thodri opened and shut her mouth once or twice, trying to pin down what it was she wanted to ask.

“Do you really think things are safe now?”

Creed took a step towards her and caught her up in a sideways hug, squeezing her tight before the difference in their strides meant he had to either let go or be pulled to the ground.

“Listen,” he said. “You signed up for a job that’s mostly boring interviews and paperwork with occasional terrifying interludes of charging ill-prepared into deadly situations. Safe isn’t exactly in the job description.”

“Comforting.”

“But, as I was going to say if you’d let me finish, despite all that . . . yes. I think the demons are really gone. I think we’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do, and I think we’ll have to keep our eyes open for some of those non-demonic entities who are probably not very happy with us right now. But compared to yesterday, Thodri? Compared to every other day we’ve spent in this city? I think it’s fair to say that it’s much, much safer. And I think it’s okay to be happy about that, at least until the next deadly situation comes up.”

“And embrace the boring paperwork instead?”

“Thodri, no . . .”

“You know how much I love boring paperwork!”

Creed shook his head. “I absolutely do not and never will understand you.”

“Well, Dumathoin will be very happy about that. He’s an enigma and as his cleric I have a duty to share in this aspect.”

“An enigma who likes paperwork!”

Thodri laughed as they rounded the next corner and Seeker’s Square, with its dancing and bonfires and celebrations, faded from view behind them. She spared herself one last glance backwards and, for the first time that day, allowed herself to truly enjoy the sight.

Then she turned and hurried after Creed. The city had been saved, and they had work to do.

[dr-gloom]

FandersPrideMeetup Week 2: Representation. You Are Not Alone

Week 2 of @fander-pride-meetup: Representation- Draw/Write/Edit/Express yourself with the Sides/TSCharacters to represent your LGBTQ+ experiences!

A/N: So this is basically just the story of my first Pride (which I went to this year) told through the sides with a few small tweaks. I chose Roman cause I made a post about how important it is to some of us to see Aro!Roman content and a lot of people have agreed with me so here we are

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: none

Words: 1,335

Summary: Roman’s both excited and nervous for his first Pride. With all the discourse online, and so many people telling him he doesn’t belong at Pride because he’s aroace, he can’t help but let his imagination run away with him. What if a TERF comes up to him and starts something? What if a fight breaks out? What if he’s kicked out of Pride because he isn’t “oppressed enough”?

Tags/Warnings: aroace Roman, trans Roman, genderfluid Roman, Pride, anxieties, genderfluid Remy, trans Patton, Patton is pre-T and Roman and Remy are on T, mentions of top surgey/post-op

Read it on AO3

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Roman groans, the hot June sun beating down on them and making them regret dressing for the aesthetic. This was their first-ever Pride event, and they’d wanted to look badass for the parade they were marching in. They were wearing their tye-dye trans shirt they’d made a year ago, their aro flag over their shoulders and dark wash skinny jeans that were tucked into their new military-grade combat boots. They’d jokingly called them their “TERF-kicking boots”, getting plenty of supportive high fives from the other Kaiser volunteers they were marching with.

They fanned themselves with the paper fan someone had handed them while they all waited to march, saying for probably the tenth time that morning, “It’s too damn hot.” They turned to their friend Remy, who was fanning themselves as well, though they were dressed in more weather-appropriate in short shorts and rainbow socks. “I wish I remembered my water.” Remy pats them on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry babe, I’ve got water if you need any.”

“I brought some frozen water bottles! You want one?”

Roman turns around to look at the shorter man behind them. Patton, they think his name is? “Oh uh, sure! Thank you Patton.” Patton smiles and nods, handing Roman a frozen water bottle that they immediately press against their neck. They groan at the cool mercy on their skin, making Remy and Patton laugh.

                                    ___________________________

“Woooooooooo~!” Patton cries, along with the rest of their group and the audience they pass by. Roman and Remy share a look, laughing.

“Wee-snaaaaaw~!” Roman cries, laughing at how pitchy their voice sounds. Not even five minutes in, Roman and Remy realized that they could no longer “woo” loudly since the T was changing their voice. Maybe in a year or two when it stopped, but for now?

“Wee-snaaawww~!” Remy crows, immediately cackling at the confused looks they received.

Roman unties the aro flag from around their shoulders, the fabric doing nothing to cool them off. Instead they hold it out in front of themselves, trying not to pay too much attention to the audience. The same thoughts that had been plaguing their mind for days come to the front of their brain. What if someone sees them carrying this flag and harasses them? What if they get pushed? Their chest is still healing, they can’t afford to get in a fight.

“Woooooo~!” Patton cries loudly right behind them, silencing their thoughts. Roman laughs shakily and looks around. They’ll be fine.

They aren’t alone anymore.

“I love your flag!!!”

Roman beams.

                                  _____________________________

When they reach the end of the line and everyone starts dispersing, Roman takes Remy’s hand to make sure they aren’t separated in the crowd. The two of them, along with Patton and his mom, find the nearest shade and settle down for a moment. Roman lays out their flag in the grass and bodily collapses on top of it, laying on their stomach. It’s only then that they remember that they’re in fact healing from top surgery, and ow that hurts, why did they do that?

Roman sits up with a pained hiss, a hand over their left pec where it feels like they just got punched. Yeah, they fucked up. In their defense, they were super tired, hot, and possibly dehydrated.

“You okay, babe?” Remy frowns at them, hunching over a little to look Roman in the eyes. Roman does their best to give Remy a reassuring smile. “I forgot I’m not supposed to lay on my stomach. I feel like I just got punched in the tit.” Remy gives a sympathetic hiss, their face scrunched up in pain. “You good though?”

“I don’t know, it hurts like a bitch.”

Paton frown from beside them. “Maybe you should check it?”

Roman looks around. Lift their shirt, in public, and take their binder off? Their heart beats a little faster, and they have to remind themselves that it’s fine. This is Pride, they don’t have boobs anymore, and this is a health concern. Roman nods, lifting their shirt and pulling the velcro aside to take off their binder.

Everything looks the same; almost-flat chest, tape covered stitches… Roman prods at their sensitive flesh. It seems kind of tough, but that’s probably just swelling, right? They pointedly ignore a passing girl going, “Oh, gross” and put their binder back on. After fixing their shirt, they smile at Remy and Patton. “It’s fine. Why don’t we head to the festival?”

                                     __________________________

“They’re blocking this entrance, too?” Roman grouses, starting to get really annoyed. And yeah, they get why people are protesting. The city had taken away their ban on uniformed cops at Pride and tons of people were pissed, but… “They do realize the only people they’re hurting by blocking all the entrances is their fellow LGBT, right? Like, we had no say in this shit, hell, I don’t want uniformed officers here either, but I still want to have fun.”

Remy nods at their side with a frown. “This is getting kinda redic. We’ve been walking around for twenty minutes now looking for an opening.”

Roman holds their hand out and Remy takes it without a second thought, letting Roman lead them through the crowd. The two keep walking, passing by a cop who was talking with some other people looking for an entrance. As soon as they round the corner, they see a large black woman dragging a knife back and forth over the zipties keeping the fence up around the festival. Roman slows to a stop, Remy at their side watching curiously. The ziptie snaps and the woman pulls at the fence, but it doesn’t move much. By this point, they’re starting to draw a bit of a crowd. Roman speaks up. “See that thing on the ground? You gotta pull the fence up- there you go.” They grin as she lifts the fence, freeing it from the stand and pushing it open. Roman rushes forward with Remy and the rest of the crowd, everyone spilling through the gap like water on a sinking ship.

Roman is practically giggling with glee, their steps almost like little hops with the sudden surge of excitement in their veins. They look back at Remy, who’s got a matching grin on their face. As they pass the metal storage crates and get closer to the festival they catch up to the woman, calling out a “Thank you!” and running off.

                                     ___________________________

Roman walks away from the stall pouting, dragging their feet.

“Not here either?” Remy asks, but pity and amusement in their eyes.

“No! You’d think one booth would have more flags than just- just the basic L-G-B-T! That’s so basic! What the hell!”

Remy pats their shoulder sympathetically. “Babe, we’ve been walking around for like… An hour. You’re hungry, you’re out of water, and your feet hurt, yeah?” Roman nods. “Then let’s get something to drink at least and then maybe we’ll go.” Roman sighs and nods again.

“Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

They’d gotten their drinks and walked around once more to make sure they saw everything, stopping at at least half the booths to spin their free-stuff wheels. Roman saw a girl walking around with an ace flag draped over her shoulders like a cape and their face lit up.

“I love your flag!!!”

                                    _____________________________

“So how did it go?” Roman’s mother’s voice flows from the speakers of their car. Roman grins. “It was pretty good. The parade was really fun, and I got some free stuff. Met some really cool people. There was a guy there dressed as gay Satan! It was so awesome, he was like, rainbow everything. I got some good pictures.”

Roman’s mother laughs. “I’m glad you had fun. I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah mom, see you at home.” Roman smiles as they hang up, reflecting on their day. They had no idea what they’d been so worried about. No one had bothered them, or questioned why they were there. In fact, they weren’t the only aroace there!

They weren’t alone anymore.

[raleigh-ocean]

like none is watching

summary: sunday mornings were chill, almost everyone waking up late in their rest day. A couple meet downstairs at the kitchen and, in between dancing and laughing, they remember what they used to be.

words: 3, 766

N/A: The fic take places around October, the morning of the day in which the doctor tells Delia she can’t have babies. 

Cordelia and Raleigh are 33, the same age, so y’all keep it in mind! 

I always like to talk about them in the after-Supreme/Apocalypse setting, but writing them as just their normal setting is my jam. 

Also I made this gif just out of spite bc I didn’t find any of pre-Supreme!Cordelia and I’m pissed. Once I figure out how to gif properly is over for you. 

And to end this long note, > here < is the song they listen to!

Autumn always made her feel at peace, Raleigh thought while setting the kettle in the stove, with its auburn colours and the light breeze and how everyone started to get ready for Halloween. She muffled a chuckle against her hand, finding funny how despite everything she still liked the festivity.

That was a good sign for her; a sign that she was getting used to be sober from her power.

None seem to be awake that early, not that she expected it since it was sunday and meant Cordelia let her few girls rest, and it made her feel better. She didn't want those girls to see her like that, to notice she was the weak link among them and let them see they could win the upper hand? No way.

Raleigh already had to live among bitches in her Academy days, she wasn't going back to that.

Since she came back to the Academy a couple of weeks ago, all she wanted to was make up for the time lost and recover fully. As days went by the hope of getting there was starting to grow slowly, her own hard work showing only for Cordelia to see.

Drawing her thumb over her mug, Raleigh thought her best achievement so far was making Cordelia smile again.

Not only the kettle made her stop wandering around her thoughts, but also someone walking in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” sleepy voice and all, Raleigh couldn’t help but smile softly at the sound of her best girl. “Are you getting coffee or tea?”

“Do you want me to be awake for another day?” Raleigh let out a chuckle and soon her friend was by her side, mug in hand. "Give it to me, sleepy head, I'll fill it for you."

Cordelia giggled sleepy at that, thanking softly when the mug full of warm tea was in her hands again. She waited for Raleigh to fill hers and took both to the kitchen's round table where both settled by each other side. It was like they were still young, sitting close while drinking tea in a comfortable silence. Raleigh felt how her bits of magic were pulling ever so softly at her friend's magic, having missed that sweet feeling for too long. Cordelia smiled in peace and put her free hand over Raleigh's, intertwining their fingers as if it was there where they belong.

"You're tickling me," seeing Cordelia's features that relaxed sent a wave of warmth all over her. "You always did that."

"You always were stressed," Raleigh concluded, bringing Cordelia's hand to her lips and kissing her knuckles. "And I loved to see you smile, what more could I do Deli?"

“Took me to the greenhouse in the wee hours, put on one of your mixtapes in miss Reverie’s old radio,” Cordelia’s thumb caressed Raleigh’s hand, leaning a bit as if she was going to tell the other woman a secret. “And dancing to it, until I ended up telling you what was worrying me.”

“Did I do that? I don’t remember it like that,” Raleigh chuckled when Cordelia moved her hand from on top of hers to hit her shoulder, which she responded by draping her arm over her shoulders and hug her like that. “Okay, okay, I was the troublemaker, you were the brick.”

They didn’t pull away from the position, having Cordelia bringing closer her chair so they could be more comfortable. It was easy to slip in their old selves, too easy, and it was a welcomed feeling. Resting her head over Raleigh’s shoulder, Cordelia received a kiss on top of her head almost automatically. They always had that little gesture, you laid your head in the other’s shoulder and you got a kiss; simple and sweet.

“God,” a soft whisper and then Raleigh felt a kiss on her shoulder, followed by Cordelia resting her chin there. “I wish you did that again.”

“Handyman would freak out if I go into your bedroom like that,” faking a gasp, as if she just said the most hideous thing, Raleigh took a big sip of her tea afterwards. “What if I caught him de-”

“His name is Hank,” the interruption came with Cordelia pulling away from the embrace, holding her mug with both hands.

“Well, don’t want to catch Frank and you on marital stuff,” she didn’t need to look at her friend to see her frown, Raleigh only needed to stretch her bits of magic and sense how Cordelia’s was pulling away.

“I have enough with my mother not liking him,” Raleigh only shrugged and looked at her tea. The guy was a prick and him was the only opinion she would ever have in common with the Supreme. It made her blood boil in anger. “Be nice, please.”

Never prone to awkward silences, that was one heck of an uncomfortable one. Nice was a big thing to say, she already gave him a little electric shock when they shook hands - because heck if he thought she was letting him kiss her cheek - when Cordelia introduce him to her. Tapping her fingers over the wood of the table Raleigh pushed a little bit harder her magic, trying to fight against the effects of the concoction. I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry that was always what it meant, it was Raleigh’s way to apologize without having to say the words.

“So, Voodoo,” Cordelia muttered a soft ‘Queenie’ and cracked a little smile. She knew that both were talking more than she was talking with any of the other girls. “Yeah, well, she told me you asked her to help you put some of my music in a...thing. How’s that going?”

Cordelia was letting her again intertwine their magic flows. That was a good thing, at least she still was receptive.

“I’m trying to find one that’s friendly for you, not many features, just the basics,” she fumbled in the pocket of her robe, fishing her phone out of it.

“Oh shit,” Raleigh looked really surprised upon seeing Cordelia’s phone, leaning back in the chair while watching her scroll and touch the screen. “Hope the thing doesn’t look like that, that’s fucking terrifying.”

“It won’t, don’t worry,” a little laugh that made Raleigh move her hand to rest on top of Cordelia’s thigh, giving her a light squeeze. “I have already a list of everything I remember, but you’ll have to check if I forgot to put something,” Cordelia showed her the bright screen and took her other hand, putting the cellphone in it. Raleigh couldn’t read shit, but once she squinted her eyes and put the device a bit further from her face, it was all peachy. “Later I’ll worry about having your eyes checked, old lady, but now tell me, come on.”

Raleigh thanked to be such a hopeless soul with all these new tech, because she enjoyed every second of Cordelia touching her hand while showing her how to scroll down the list. The true bliss of the fools, she told herself while reading all the songs she recognized well from her youth. As far as she saw, Cordelia did a really cool selection of their favourites, warming her heart.

While trying to think of something to say, she saw that one song.

And, of course, Raleigh had to play it right away.

She left the cellphone over the table as the first notes started, standing up and being followed by Cordelia’s sweet brown eyes, full of curiosity. Once she was up, she held her hand out for Cordelia to take. She raised an eyebrow and Raleigh had to flicker her fingers a bit, moving her head to encourage her best friend to move. When their hands were together again, Raleigh started to swing them softly to the beat of the music.

“You’re such a dork,” Cordelia saw how Raleigh started lip syncing the song. “Why do I put up with you, Ocean.”

“A secret stack of Snickers, a Coke and like five bucks, that’s why you put up with me,” they chuckled at the memory, dancing along the song a bit more enthusiastically. “So you tell me, you bought my soul for that price.”

“I bought it because it was the only way to make you shut up and let miss Reverie talk,” Cordelia hit Raleigh playfully in the chest with her hand, nothing she couldn’t handle. “Didn’t think I would regret that in the future, twenty years without touching a Snicker bar after watching you eat them all in like thirty.”

“Is that so? C’mon love, now put your arms around me and we tumble to the ground and then you say,” Raleigh sang the part of the song at the right time, used to sing it skillfully, and she did pull Cordelia closer to her so she could circle her neck with her arms. “I think we’re alone now,”

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” Cordelia whispered, leaning in the touch and hugging her fully, hiding her face in the crook of her neck. The happy tone of the song didn’t match the chill morning, but it was okay. “I think we’re alone now…”

“The beating of our hearts as the only sound,” she could feel the soft vibrations of Raleigh’s voice against her cheek and that feeling was always the best.

Being like that, so close after being away for that long, feels like heaven. It wasn’t that the song was triggering a specific memory, but because it was their song back then. Cordelia couldn’t help but wonder, swinging to the song in Raleigh’s arms, if she was dreaming. But the Raleigh of her dreams didn’t look like the woman in front of her, she always looked as if she was still eighteen while she herself looked thirty three.

Seeing Raleigh, thirty three like her, breathing and sharing the same physical space as her after fifteen years of being missing still felt unreal.

“Do you remember when we sneaked out in Mardi Gras?” Raleigh’s voice brought Cordelia back to the kitchen, the song still playing. “Miss Snow was so fucking pissed off.”

“At you? Yeah,” another chuckle, another shot of light right into Raleigh’s heart. “Auntie Myrtle didn’t let you be near me for the next two weeks or so.”

“Totally worth it,” when she looked up at her tall friend, Cordelia could see a pleased half smile and Raleigh’s eyes closed. “It's a good thing you had a troublemaker girlfriend, if not we would had spent our two first weeks as such looking at each other from the other side of the lounge," it was Raleigh's time to shoot light into Cordelia's heart. "Nothing could had kept me away from my best girl."

But it did, something kept Raleigh away from Cordelia and now what they had didn't matter anymore. Only them being nostalgic over an old song could make them put their old feelings out there again. But any of them seemed to want to really talk about that at the moment.

Although they kept dancing, both started to drift away slightly in their own minds. Until Cordelia found the courage to ask what she had in mind for a few days now.

"I'm understaffed Ray," hazel tired eyes meeting brown worried eyes.

"That's what I see, honey, one would think you'd get rid off of old Spalding and get new butler and maids."

"Not only the service, but…I'm the only teacher," Cordelia bit her lip, she was really bad at letting her intentions be known. "And I have four young witches in my care…"

"...and you were wondering if I can give you a hand," Raleigh's eyes shone for a second. "With the teacher part I hope."

“Please?”

Raleigh only sighed at it. If Cordelia asked her for the moon, she would bring it to her without asking; if Cordelia asked her to jump, she would only reply how high; if Cordelia asked her to help her, she would do it without hesitation.

"They are brats," the Headmistress looked up at her friend, with a big smile on her lips. "I hate bratty people."

"Nan and Zoe are the least bratty," Cordelia's fingers found Raleigh's nape and played with her hair.

"We don't have enough books," thinking about the only shelf in the house with books made her want to cry. "Did Fiona snort them?"

"I have yours in my closet, stored and safe," the blonde only shook her head softly and Raleigh felt a heavy weight lifted from her body. "We can use them till I figure out a way to get more."

"What about the Council," both knew they soon would had to talk to them about her return.

“Myrtle won’t be here till around Christmas, we have some time to come up with something,” Raleigh made Cordelia twirl at the right time with the music, pulling her closer again easily.

“Permission to not assist morning gathering,” Cordelia gasped and laugh at that, getting what it seemed a smug grin as the only response. “Pembroke didn’t attend shit for like six years.”

“Once a month, I pick the one you assist,” a groan and a giggle, the kitchen hadn’t seen that much sound in the last ten years.

“Fine, but I’m allowed to eat in my room.”

“No, you eat your Smacks in the table with the rest.”

“Aw but thank God, I was going to start a revolution if I had to eat that…awful but healthy cereal you like.”

“We know you wouldn’t, you love me too much.”

“Low punch, but true.”

The song kept playing and they kept their game of terms. That’s how they found out everything was real, that they were by each other side finally. Even when the song ended, they kept dancing in the kitchen for a few minutes more. Cordelia felt light and content, laughing at her friend’s antics and offerings, drowning in her magic and her presence gladly.

As if they didn’t age a single bit.

The comfortable silence settled by itself while Raleigh was hugging Cordelia as close as she could, having the latter's hands and head in her chest. They didn't need words to say what they were thinking or what they were feeling, but there was something that was escaping from Raleigh's knowledge for once. That something being that her friend, her sweet Deli, wasn't the one she last saw before her power made her flee.

She wasn't the girl that she kissed as if she held the her entire universe in her hands.

She wasn't Cordelia Goode, the girl that could talk for hours about potioncraft and astrology.

As a matter of fact, she wasn't even a girl anymore.

"I missed you so much, Ray," the woman in her arms was about to cry, that didn't change, when she managed to gather new words. "I-I thought you wouldn't ever come back."

Raleigh was trying not to fall in the sudden realization, in the way her crippling fear was trying to take her down. She was fine, she was with Cordelia, she was feeling her body and her warmth, she was controlling what she was doing.

"I'm here," the taller woman said that in a broken tone, a statement for both. "I came back."

"I'll keep improving the concoction," a promise, a kiss in the base of her neck and then Cordelia's arms were circling Raleigh to keep her closer as if she was going to run away right in that exact moment. "I won't let it happen again, I won't le-"

"It's perfect at it is Deli," the sweet nickname came out softly as Raleigh pressed her lips against the side of Cordelia's head. "It wasn't your fault, it wasn't your fault at all honey."

"I had to stop you, I was- You were-"

Closing her eyes to not watch how her best friend melt in her arms. It wasn't our fault. It was Fiona's, and only hers. Pushing her magic again, to cover her friend, was the answer to not think about the uneasiness and the anxiety. Everything was going to be okay, eventually for sure, but okay. Raleigh was afraid of Cordelia's legs giving up so she held her better in her arms to walk toward their chairs again, almost lifting her ever so softly that she didn't have to take a step if she didn't want to.

It didn't bother Raleigh at all that Cordelia decided to sit in her lap instead of her chair.

With care, she pulled her sleeve with her fingers, using the fabric to wipe away Cordelia's tears with care. If those bitches, including her mother, knew their authority was in a low point…she would tear her apart. And she wasn't having it. Cordelia tried to chuckle between sobs at the gesture.

"I got worse at crying," another chuckle met by Cordelia's own fingers to wipe away a rebel tear. "I got worse at everything, I'm even bad at making babies."

Frowning upon that, Raleigh kissed her cheek to not think about the knot in her stomach. She had Cordelia's right arm resting in her shoulders but she took her left hand to draw her thumb along her wrist. A tattoo, look at you Goode. The touch seemed to relax her friend slightly.

"Babies? How could you possibly be bad at that…?" the comment made Cordelia's expression darkened and showed how she was about to start crying again. "Cordelia, you've never been bad at anything in your whole life, for Christ's sake," Raleigh made her look at her, putting a hand in her cheek, and then something made her stomach churn. "What's gotten into you?"

"Sweet talking to me?" not even like that Cordelia stopped from being the most beautiful.

"No, listen to me," it was hard at that point to control her own emotions, but she had to. For both. "I don't give a shit about whatever bullshit they made you believe. You are a very capable witch, a very capable woman," Raleigh brought Cordelia's hand to her lips, kissing her knuckles softly. "Stop with that."

"But you don't know ho-"

"Are you going to make me hide your potion's stuff till you stop beating yourself up?" Raising her eyebrows a bit comically, the gesture made Cordelia laugh at that and nuzzled Raleigh's neck with her nose, hugging her better and shaking her head a bit. "That's what I thought. Now calm down love, I'm here with you."

Raleigh wanted to do more than just cares Cordelia's back and rocking her softly in her arms, she wanted to provide as much as she could now that she was there. Her head was full of questions, full of things she wasn't able to see with her power, full of all that she missed.

When she thought the blonde woman was more calm, she kissed her temple before speaking again.

"Let's buy some ice-cream and do some chilling together, Brad is gone for the weekend right?" That time the misspelled name made her friend chuckle but something in her body language changed, how she stiffened enough for Raleigh to notice and her arms were starting to pull away. "Only us catching up, listening some music or watching a film? I don't know if we'll have to rent it or you have some VHS here? We can even talk about the super breathing fire babies you'll have, whatever you ne-"

"You are rambling sweetie," it was Cordelia's time to put her hand in Raleigh's cheek. The pet name was…strange for her, her Cordelia never called her that. She didn't like it, in fact. The tone, it was definitely the tone in her voice. "As much as I wanted to…throw a sleepover, I have things to do first."

No, of course this wasn't her Cordelia. Raleigh felt the cold starting to spread in her chest while the woman in her lap started to recover from the breakdown as if she was used to it. She didn't fight when Cordelia stood up, taking both mugs to let them in the sink, before walking back to Raleigh and kiss her forehead. No, no, that's was wrong.

"We'll catch up once I'm back," her smile was different now that she noticed. "I have to run some urgent errands downtown today."

The sudden change in everything, as if some cruel God sped the time, didn't do good to Raleigh's bottled up nerves. In other circumstances, Cordelia would had let her ramble before saying something. She always let her ramble and let everything in her mind flow. Why she was cutting her now?

"Let me tag along," she chirped, very unlikely of Raleigh, hiding her nervousness by standing up too. "I can d-"

"I want you to stay and rest," it was like the dance, the way they were comforting each other, never happened. "And keep an eye on the girls while I'm out, please?"

Cordelia wasn't like this. She obeyed, reassuring her that she would keep an eye on the brats. She is pushing you away. Not even when Raleigh tried to tickle Cordelia again with her magic made her react, only making her smile softly before squeezing her hands between hers. She only dove for a hot second in nostalgia, it didn't mean anything.

Raleigh was left alone in the kitchen again just like that after that last sweet gesture, with the sound of four girls approaching in the distance.

Paralyzed, numb, like a statue, dumbfounded.

What the hell just happened?

For a second she was looking right into the eyes of her old love, and then she was looking into the eyes of a stranger. The feeling of having something missing intensified and it was difficult for her to breath, everything crushing all messy in her head instead of falling in order as she wanted to. As much as she wanted to retake everything that was left as the way it was, it didn't mean the rest of the world didn't move, waiting for her. It was confusing, it was terrifying, it was nerve wracking.

Zoning out as she was doing, it took Zoe a few attempts to make her actually move.

"Are you okay?" the girl, barely eighteen, was looking at her with both worry and hesitation.

Oh dear Lord, she was definitely not.

However she couldn't lose control now. Registering quickly what was going around her, Raleigh faked a chuckle that seemed to soften Zoe's expression and she patted her shoulder, a bit awkwardly to hide her trembling hand.

"Of course, sweet pea, why wouldn't I be?"

[stupidpianist]

22 october 2018

10:36: Rolling my slug body out of bed. Stayed up a bit later than I had anticipated yesterday night, was watching The Disaster Artist for a second time. Saw it once at a get together with friends when we had all been steadily drinking for a couple hours so I wasn’t paying the closest attention to it, though we all agreed that we mutually thought it was a really good movie. Read/watched some reviews of the movie by my favourite reviewers since I’ve been intrigued about it for a long time, being a fan of The Room, and read that my favourite reviewers all really liked the movie, so last night I was like, “it’s okay, your first class on Mondays isn’t until 11h35, you can sleep in a bit, just watch it, it’s okay, this will ‘inspire you’ and the net benefit of watching the movie will be a lot of productivity and general wellbeing.”

Always loved narratives like these ones, outsiders pursuing a personal dream irrespective of the views of other people, who are just “good enough” and hard enough workers and determined enough that in the end they succeed despite all expectations. It helps that Tommy Wiseau is, like, almost insane, too. I like people that seem to play with reality, like, that seem to warp reality around themselves, like, that command some extremely mass-ey gravitational field that seems to suck everything in and reprocess them based on their own frameworks, rather than the other way around the way that most ppl seem to operate in the world, maybe?

Found myself earnestly surprised at how good I thought the movie was, finding myself drawn into a Tommy Wiseau obsession. I’m tying up this liveblog update in the music library right now and I am sorry that I’m skipping around chronologically, I promise right after this tangent I’ll flip right back into “regularly scheduled programming,” just wanted to share thoughts on Disaster Artist first. Was very inspirational, I’m finding myself, today, being, like, renewed in personal endeavours, and less attentive towards the negative detractions of external influences. Feels pretty cool. Heh.

Actually woke with my alarm at 10h, but didn’t want to get out of the comforts of bed just yet, so I checked Instagram and Facebook for a few minutes and then just closed my eyes, waiting for my second alarm, which I knew was coming in a bit.

Stood, put on bathrobe, feeling “particularly luxurious,” then walked to do the ol’ routine of boiling water, brushing teeth, splashing water on face, putting water in hair, you know the drill by now. Yup, this is just going to get more and more repetitive as the days draw on. An unexpected consequence of starting this experiment is that I have a strange urge to “switch things up” and “change up the routine,” just for sake of novelty. Always had a “soft spot” for novelty, you ever wanna give me a gift? Just give me one of those cheesy, tacky novelty items you see for sale every holiday season. Get me that stuff, give it to me, I want it all. Also: those things you see in infomercials. I want ALL OF THEM. Shamwow? Slap Chop? That thing that removes hair but isn’t a razor? Gimme.

11:14: Still feeling very calm, brewing second cup of tea while sitting in front of computer, aware that I should leave in a minute if I want to be “responsibly early,” but knowing that I could leave in ten minutes and still make it to class on time if I sped walked a wee bit. Didn’t want to “rush myself” this morning, have no idea why, felt like I was “pampering myself,” so I just kept watching some YouTube videos, sipping my tea, in my bathrobe. Eventually was like, “it’s time, it’s time to do it,” and took off bathrobe, put on jeans and Bell Witch long-sleeve shirt. Realized that I might have a work shift later, and checked schedule on computer. Yup. Work later. Changed out of jeans and shirt into black pants and short-sleeve black shirt. Thought, “don’t really want to go back-and-forth from home to change, might as well wear the ‘uniform’ right now.”

11:23: Walking to class. Feeling like I want a Red Bull, probably because Tommy Wiseau, in real life, and featured in The Disaster Artist, drinks a lot of Red Bull. Thought “product placement wins again” in slightly ironic tone, then walked into dep en route to school and bought Red Bull, also painfully aware this is nowhere in my budget, and that I’d have to cut something more important than Red Bull out of the budget if I wanted to buy it. Still bought it, still chugged it in ~10 seconds, placed it in green recycling bin beside shopping complex. Took that Red Bull “to the face.”

11:34: Seems like I got to school ridiculously quickly today?? Very odd. This is a “chill class,” it’s piano pedagogy, the professor is a nice guy and easy to like. Seems like everyone is relatively laid back in the course, one or two students don’t seem very invested at all, but there is earnest commitment from the majority of us. Feels good that the first class of the week is something like this, rather than, like, psych stats, even though that’s happening tomorrow morning… Really skeptical that I’ll get myself out of bed to attend, even though I really should. Seems more likely I’m going to stay up until around one researching The Room, then sleep until ten, and miss the 08h30 call time. Whatever, I’ll deal with this at the end of the day.

Feeling excited about the work shift tonight, too, like, I really like going to work. It’s one of the few places where it’s both easy to ignore the world and feel simultaneously productive, since I’m, like, earning money, even though I’m not exactly doing that much. And it’s a good time for personal introspection; sitting alone backstage without windows, where things are mostly dark, only interacting with people who are hyper-focused on their impending performance, it makes for a good atmosphere to just be with yourself and think about things.

13:28: In music library after class, “fiending for” another Red Bull. On Indigo’s website, seems like they’re just definitively not gonna stock Megan Boyle’s Liveblog… So disappointing… But, they do have copies of the The Disaster Artist book. Don’t want to start practicing yet, for some reason practicing before, like, 15h or 16h in the practice rooms usually puts me in a crappy mood? I love practicing early in the morning if I’m alone, and there’s like a nice window and I have my coffee and there’s morning frost everywhere and I can sort of see my breath in the room. That’s fricken sweet. But if I’m put into a cage with six pianists on either side of me and it’s the morning, gosh, seriously, just so bad??? Almost “disgusting,” even. So instead of starting to practice now I’m gonna head to Indigo, read through part of the book, then think really, really, REALLY hard if I wanna drop twenty bucks on buying the thing. I really want to, but I might have to wait until next month to do so… Really don’t want to, but don’t really have much of a choice. Can’t even “pick up” more work shifts, as there aren’t many concerts this time of the year, but really “can’t complain” about money situation, either. “Feel thankful,” I’m thinking. Yeah, I am thankful, I am!!

13:57: Taking the short “trek” to Indigo bookstore. Listening to Ghost and Let’s Eat Grandma.

14:46: Mission accomplished. Bought The Disaster Artist. Was chatting with [removed] about the movie and they said they didn’t really enjoy it, also that it was problematic because a lot of Tommy Wiseau’s misogyny was skipped over and not addressed. Going to be “very aware” of this while I make my way through the book, “very excited” to “get into it.” Spent, actually, a bit shorter in Indigo than I had anticipated; I was simultaneously checking out the book The Artist’s Way that Alli had recommended to me, saying that I’d probably really enjoy it and that it was really beneficial. It seems like a self-help book centered around artistic creative recovery/rediscovering or discovering new ways of harnessing your innate creativity. Sat in my usual corner by the fantasy novels way in the back to read the beginnings of each one, and while reading The Disaster Artist this employee walks up to me and is like, “sir, I have a seat for you,” so I stand hurriedly, being like, “oh wow, okay, thanks,” and she leads me to this cushioned seat with an amazing view, and I’m thinking, real sheepishly, like, “oh my gosh, what did I do to merit this sort of treatment,” and thanked the employee, who nodded and walked away. Was like, “this right here, this is ‘real customer service.’” Settled into comfy cushioney seat to read.

Was honestly really difficult to choose between the two books. I feel like the final “nail in the coffin” for The Artist’s Way was that I didn’t think I had the right personality for self-help books. Not in, like, a stubborn, self-aggrandizing way, I hope, I don’t look down on them at all, I mean, I own How to Win Friends and Influence People, I like them, I just find that they’re written for a different demographic than I’m a part of. Usually their tactics/methods of self-improving run almost perpendicularly to my own, and if I try their methods, I almost always end up less happy and less fulfilled than before, whereas if I just “do that my body tells me to do,” I almost always end up feeling better. Feel like I’ll improve, personally, more from reading about the details of Tommy Wiseau and The Room than I will from this book. Will still read The Artist’s Way, though, gonna find a PDF of it and start the program, just don’t want to spend fifty bucks on books right now.

Going to head to the practice rooms now, feeling good about “throwing down” twenty dollars on a book rather whimsically. Feels like I’m “investing in my future” in a concrete way, like, “this is a book that you’ll internalize, that will lead to a definitive positive impact on your future life.” Eager to chart the effect this book has, expect a “George Book Review” soon. Maybe I’ll start up my podcast, too?? I used to do this “George’s Book Club” podcast, stopped doing it really early out of lack of time/effort, it was a lot of fun though, I’m gonna consider starting it up… Only, like, an hour-a-week obligation, seems insane that I wouldn’t have time to continue it, just need to “put in the effort.”

15:00: Making an impromptu pit stop at Vinh’s, the Vietnamese cafe in the music cafeteria. It features pho soup and banh mi sandwiches, and other “treats.” Gonna get a “Vinh’s Classic,” the cheapest sandwich, which has cold cuts in it, as opposed to “better things,” like barbecue pork, or grilled chicken.

Lady at cash register accidentally mis-scanned can of Coca Cola that I impulsively chose to buy. I was standing in frnot of the fridge with all the cans of pop and I was like, “I’m spending way too much money, I shouldn’t get a pop, it’s also just… expensive… and unhealthy… Why are you doing this to yourself, no, stop,” then just found myself reaching for a can anyways. Seems like a good sign that she mis-scanned the coke and didn’t notice, I didn’t have to pay for it, got the sandwich and drink for under $6. Internally high-fiving myself right now.

15:02: Got a real good room today! I’m being so spoiled. The piano in this one has a really reactive response, it’s super easy to get it to project, unlike a lot of the other pianos on the floor. Gonna make for an easier practice session, gonna take this sandwich “to my face” as fast as possible and then “dig into” some Alkan and Thalberg.

17:02: Received e-mail notification on phone, the McGill library’s copy of Liveblog is here!! I was expecting it to arrive a lot later, I submitted the acquisition request really recently, and they replied quickly, saying they had decided to purchase a copy, and would e-mail me when it had arrived, but I didn’t anticipate that it would arrive before a copy of Knausgaard’s My Struggle: Volume 6, which still somehow isn’t in the system yet??? Maybe there’s been a glitch, or something, My Struggle has been out for a month longer than Liveblog and it’s been on McGill’s acquisition list for even longer than that. Will have to look into this, will “keep you posted”...

Gonna stop my practicing today here, only two hours, but it was a really intense practice session. Was “singing along” around 60% of the time, played through Alkan, Thalberg, some Mozart, then “messed around” with some other Alkan etudes, and a bit of Prokofiev’s second piano concerto. WAsn’t the most “work-heavy” of practice sessions, but I still feel like I “got what I needed to get done, done.” Want to go to McLennan before work at 18h30 and pick up a physical copy of Liveblog, finally, FINALLY!! I’M SO EXCITED!! TO READ!! IT!! It’s going to take a long time, it’s over seven-hundred pages long, but I’m so into it a hundred pages in, that’s already 1/7 of the book, the rest of it will take no time, right???

Saw Megan Boyle comment something on a mutual writer friend’s Facebook status, only remembering this now.

17:24: Picked up the book from the reserves room, sitting in the lobby of the new music building reading it in the horu I have before work. It’s a lot more substantial, physically, than in my head, like, I knew it was a pretty long book, but I didn’t expect it to feel this dense. The cover and back are also slightly, like, pastel-hued? I’m not going to be able to describe it very well, I was just expecting it to be completely black and white, but now it really, really reminds me of the cover of Taipei, which is funny because the author’s photo on the back of Liveblog was taken by Tao Lin. Seems like these two novels could really be considered “sister novels” for a variety of reasons, like, they cover a similar time period, they feature many of the same people, they’re about a similar period of life in both author’s lives, Megan and Tao were engaged, etc. etc. The cover also has this really pleasing texture to it, like, it feels so good to run your hand over it. It’s one of my favourite cover designs, still not as good in my opinion as Tao Lin’s Richard Yates or Taipei, or the Farrar, Straus and Giroux editions of Knausgaard’s My Struggle, but it’s definitely up there. I think it just doesn’t really fit the material of the novel as well as Taipei’s cover, I mean, the covers look so similar they could’ve been swapped (though oh god Taipei with the cover design of Liveblog would’ve been so much worse than the fluorescent, shimmering letters it actually has), but the cover of Taipei matches up so well with the information the novel presents it’s unbelievable.

Okay sorry for this rambling, meandering conversation on book covers wow. “Settling into” Liveblog again, find myself consistently laughing and grinning wildly at Megan’s observations. Really enjoy the way she perceives things, wish I have the opportunity to “sit down and talk with her” one day, assuming she’d want to talk to me.

17:57: Boss texted me, asking if I could actually help him out at Redpath hall with moving something heavy. Gonna have to “pack it in” early and head over, it’s only a five minute walk or so. I like working with him, he’s a “great guy,” feel like I’m using that phrase correctly? Like, if I was in a movie right now, and I was speaking to a friend, I’d be like, “my boss, yeah, yeah, he’s a real great guy, he’s ‘one of the good ones.’” Blasting Ghost through headphones while heading over.

A summary of the events in Redpath:

-Got to the hall, went to boss’ office adjacent to backstage. Made pleasant conversation with him for around fifteen minutes while we waited for the rehearsal to be over. Usually I don’t make much conversation with him, not because I don’t want to, but I don’t usually have anything I want to “bring up” or “say” to most people, even if I like them. Today was, like, egregiously easy to make conversation, for some reason, maybe a result that I’ve been in a consistently good mood of late?? He also seemed “in high spirits.”

-Rehearsal ended, took pair of work gloves that boss then deemed the “sick gloves,” and that he wouldn’t touch the gloves again, stated in a humorous tone of voice. Walked with boss on stage, saw Poppy on harpsichord, said, “oh hey, it’s Poppy!” Spoke for a few seconds with her, told her I was here working, that I was just moving something heavy.

-Got two other musicians from rehearsal to help us, one whose name I forget, and Eliana (not sure if I’m spelling this right????), a cellist that I’ve had a few classes with over the years. Feel like Eliana is grouped with “people I’ll voluntarily make eye contact with and smile to,” one of the closest groups of people in my mind to “friends,” probably feel similarly to this group of people as most other people feel towards their actual friends, maybe?? Feel like, because I barely speak to anyone, and “hang out” with even fewer people, as a result, a ridiculous majority of my interactions with people are peripheral, voluntarily, so, to me, if I even feel comfortable smiling to someone or waving at them while passing them, that’s, like, to me, a “big deal”??

-Boss slid box with electric organ in it into hall, four of us hoisted the box up onto stage

-Went back to Boss’ office, chatted for a couple more minutes, he signed my time sheet, wished each other a good evening

-Stepped out of hall, put backpack down on floor to put on headphones and start blasting Ghost again before walking back to Tanna Hall

Was doing this weird thing with my neck while walking to Tanna, entirely unsure why I was doing it, other than it “felt good” to do, was just sort of craning my head back, then shaking it back and forth sort of like people do in the shower? Felt “amazing” to do this, have no idea why. Felt my adrenal glands firing away, as result of Ghost pounding through headphones. Picturing the live shows of Ghost I’ve seen on YouTube in my head while walking, not feeling the cold temperature at all.

18:54: “Settled in” for work, backstage.

19:34: Jazz concert tonight, which are always just a lot more casual than classical concerts, meaning I really don’t have anything to do other than sit back here and hit record, also that I need to clear the stage once the concert is over, but, gonna be a “real chill one” tonight, folks. Gonna read Liveblog while idly listening to the concert. Here’s a view of my “workplace environment”:

19:41: Not really “into” the music in this concert so far. Wow why am I even writing this, why is my opinion on this at all important? NO WAIt this is MY liveblog I’m gonna run it HOW I WANT and I’m GIVING MY OPINION. On page 97 of Megan’s Liveblog, gonna try to “make a huge dent in it” right now, finding myself increasingly engrossed.

20:04: Spent a bit too long “perusing” the free and for sale page for McGill on Facebook. NEver ceases to astound me how expensive some of the stuff being sold is… Also kind of got “sucked into” the endless hellhole of Instagram, spent like 15 minutes just scrolling through it. Got some great memes out of it, I guess? Gonna go pee now, then return to Liveblog. (Guess what? The concert isn’t getting better either.)

Feel like buying beer tonight. Usually don’t drink on weeknights, but feeling like some beer tonight, feels like a “good way to end the day,” like, it feels satisfying to buy some beer on the walk home after work. That sounds so official. “I’m having a few beers after my work shift ends. I’m having a few beers after work. Yeah, man, just having a few drinks after work. Just gonna throw back a few after work, wanna join? Hey, hey, you wanna hit up a bar after work? Yo, wanna come get some drinks with us after work?”

20:55: Feeling increasingly annoyed that this concert is still, somehow, inconceivably, unstoppably still going on?? Someone needs to put a stop to this, it’s almost nine, if this runs over their scheduled time slot I’m going to be... miffed... Gonna be real miffed about this... Just let me go home, I mean, I like staying here late so stay as long as you want, but, like, oh oh--!! OH OKAY THEY’RE ENDING NOW OKAY sick wow sorry for the rant wow jeez okay

[azvolrien]

A Long Walk in Winter - Part Two

In which Things Get Emotional.

---

           The stag paced carefully through the snow, digging for heather to graze on, and came to a halt at the top of a gentle slope. It was an impressive beast, with fifteen points between both antlers, a sturdy frame, and a thick mane of shaggy reddish-brown fur along its neck.

           Asta and Roan crouched low behind one of the snowfield boulders to observe it. They had been tracking it across the hills for almost the entire day, and it was still far enough away that the wind was masking their presence through both scent and sound.

           “What do you think?” whispered Asta.

           “He’s a big one,” said Roan just as quietly. “Probably sired a lot of little fawns in his heyday. But he’s older, too. See how he moves? His joints are getting stiff, and there’s a very fresh scar on his shoulder. Looks like he took a deep gouge there during the last rut and it’s still bothering him, making him slow. He won’t make it to the next one – even if we leave him alone, the wolves or something will get him. Think Pardus can carry him? I’d put him at about thirty stone – less, once I’ve finished the gralloching.”

           “Oh, yes, definitely.”

           “Right.” Roan readied her bow, nocking an arrow where she crouched behind the boulder. She waited until the stag had lowered its head once again before, in one fluid, practised movement, she stood, drew, and loosed. Asta peeked over the boulder just in time to see the hunting arrow with its broad head of razor-sharp chert sink deep into the stag’s side just behind one foreleg. It collapsed to the ground immediately, kicked twice, and fell utterly still.

           Roan gave a small hiss of triumph and ran through the snow, drawing her long knife as she went. Asta followed her more cautiously.

           “Is it dead?” she asked as she knelt with Roan beside the carcass.

           Roan nodded, sheathing her knife unused. “That was a perfect heart-shot, if I say so myself. Very quick, almost painless.” She glanced sideways at Asta. “You look worried.”

           “You – you aren’t going to put its blood on my face, are you?”

           Roan blinked twice in open astonishment before she grinned. “Saw that in a book, did you?”

           Asta rubbed the back of her neck with a sheepish smile. “There was a scene in one where some older hunters did it to their young friend at his first kill. Said it was a way of honouring the prey.”

           “Aye, well, some people do it,” said Roan. “It’s not a practice Granda ever had much patience for. So, firstly – strictly it’s my kill, not yours. And secondly,” she adopted a deeper, gruffer tone of voice, presumably an imitation of her grandfather, “you honour the prey by gieing it a quick end and making use o’ all ye can, not muckin’ around wi’ its blood.”

           “You know, I can see where he was coming from.”

           Roan did lay her hand on the side of the deer’s neck and bow her head for a few moments. “Some bits I leave,” she admitted in her normal voice. “I can’t carry enough jars for all the blood, and at this time of year the ravens can make better use of the gralloch than I can.” Indeed, a couple of them were already circling expectantly overhead. “But the meat, the bones, the pelt, the antlers – I use all of those, or sell them to someone who will. Here, can you give me a hand? We need to shift it a bit so the head’s pointing downhill.”

           Together they took hold of the stag’s back legs and repositioned it on the slope. Roan took a couple of glass jars wrapped in cloth from her field satchel, drew her knife again, and made a deep cut where the neck met the chest. Asta drew back a fraction, wide-eyed, as Roan filled the jars with the stag’s blood, screwed the lids on tightly, and set them aside while she waited for the rest to drain away into the snow, wisps of steam rising gently where red met white.

           “What are you going to do with the blood?” asked Asta, managing not to stammer as the salty, metallic smell reached her nostrils.

           “Black pudding,” said Roan succinctly. She waited until the bleeding had stopped before she wiped the knife blade on a clean cloth and placed the point against the carcass’s neck once again. She paused. “You… don’t have to watch this next part. If you don’t want to.”

           “I… We’ll see.”

           “All right…”

           She successfully watched in something resembling calm interest as Roan made a thin slice along the neck and tied off the stag’s gullet – “You don’t want stuff spilling out of there.” – but had to retreat back to the other side of the boulder after the first cut along the belly.

           When Roan came back for her a while later, it was to find her curled up in a ball behind the rock, breathing heavily with her head almost between her knees.

           “Sorry,” mumbled Asta without looking up. “I’ll – I’ll be better about it the next time. Is it finished?”

           “Aye, it’s finished.” Roan knelt beside her and reached beneath the heavy cloak to rub her back until she could stand without her stomach trying to escape out of her mouth. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You all right?”

           Asta swallowed hard, but nodded. “Yes. I – I think so. I’m just…” She took her hat off to run her fingers back through her hair. “Just not used to it yet, I suppose.”

           Roan nodded and gave her a quick, enveloping hug before she laid an arm around her shoulders instead. “C’mon – we’ll need Pardus to get the carcass back to camp, before the ravens decide they’d rather have the meat instead.”

           “I don’t – I don’t think it was just the sight of it,” said Asta once they had the stag trussed up and tied securely over Pardus’s back. She carefully avoided looking at the ravens, who were now happily playing tug-of-war with… She would rather not think about what they were using.

           “No?” said Roan as she cleaned the arrow and tucked it back into the long quiver on her belt, before unstringing her bow and tying it across her back.

           Asta shook her head and wound Pardus’s reins around one hand. “Well – it was, partly. Whatever violence I’ve seen in the past, intestines were never involved. Fish notwithstanding.” Roan averted her eyes and became very interested in the point of her spear. “Maybe if I’d spent more time watching fights in the Arena back in Kiraan… But I think more of it was the smell of blood. Smell is linked to memory, very strongly linked, and it brought back some bad ones. Of my one day at Castle MacArra, and that night Daro tried to take me back there.”

           Roan took her free hand, interlacing their fingers, and clasped it tightly. Asta sighed, nodded, and without speaking they began the long walk back to the old burial cairn.

           They got there a little after dark. Asta sat down on their bedroll against one wall and, while Roan butchered the previous day’s ptarmigan – already plucked and cleaned – to roast over the campfire, quietly looked over all the notes she had made of wards and runic arrays that might be of use in the field. Some already had been; the stag was outside in the snow, warded to repel scavengers and parasites, and a few extra runes to the wards Roan had placed across the entrance to keep out unwanted visitors meant that they worked to keep the warmth in as well.

           “It’s a wee bit weird we haven’t seen any reindeer yet,” said Roan as they ate. “Like I said, there’s usually plenty of them up here around now. Not that we’ll need another big kill after the stag.”

           “Maybe something scared them off,” said Asta without looking up from her plate.

           “Could be. But I’ve got no idea what – we’ve seen no sign of bears or wolves, and there’s not much else that would scare off a full herd’s worth of reindeer, not in this part of the world. Haven’t seen many other deer, either, but I suppose most of them stay in the forests in winter.”

           Asta just nodded absently. They cleaned the plates, washed up in the pond as quickly as possible, and turned in for the night.

           For a long, long while, Asta just lay on her side watching the fire die down. Roan was already asleep, curled around Asta with one arm draped over her waist, her body warm against her back and her slow, even breath gently stirring her hair. Not surprising; she had done a lot more that day, after all. But then, she did a lot more every day.

           The flames were long gone, leaving only a few red glints among the white ashes. Their little camp was quiet, with only their breathing and the faint sound of the waterfall outside breaking the silence.

           With trembling breath, Asta pinched the bridge of her nose hard, trying to drive off the familiar prickle growing in the corners of her eyes. Slowly, as lightly and quietly as she could, she lifted Roan’s arm from over her and crept from under the blankets and out of the chamber. She didn’t go far; just to the end of the entrance passageway, where she sat down on the bare stone and gazed out at the dark. It was snowing again, with big, fluffy flakes drifting gently down, but there were enough gaps in the clouds for a few thin, weak shafts of moonlight to break through. A wolf howled to its pack somewhere in the far distance.

           She wasn’t sure how long she sat there alone, the cold air nipping at the tear-tracks on her face, before footsteps padded softly along the passage behind her and the heavy wool-and-fur cloak settled around her shoulders.

           Roan knelt at her back. “Are you all right?”

           Asta scrubbed the tears away before Roan could see them. “Yes. No. Maybe. Sort of? I don’t know.”

           “…Well, I think that covers all the possibilities.”

           Asta snorted and bowed her head, curling up in a ball where she sat and digging her fingers into her forehead. “I’m completely out of my depth, Roan. I – I thought if I came up here with you I could find some way to pull my own weight, but I’m just… I’m as useless as I ever was.”

           “Asta…”

           “This is your world. The one you were born and grew up in. You know how to navigate the hills and track your prey, where to shoot so they don’t suffer, how to prepare a carcass afterwards – and I can’t even bear to watch you do it. I have nothing to contribute out here. I can read. That’s my one skill, the only one they thought was worth mentioning at the auction, and it’s of no use at all.”

           “That’s not true,” said Roan quietly. “That’s not true at all.”

           Asta continued as if she hadn’t heard her. “But if I’m left by myself in the broch, then I just… Then that’s even worse, because then I’m alone, and…” The tears were coming in earnest now; she rubbed her eyes with the heels of both hands to no effect. “I wasn’t always like this, you know. I didn’t used to be so, so fragile and afraid of everything. Not before I lost my parents, and everything in my life went with them – but what right do I have to be like this, when other people living under slavery have been put through so, so much worse than I was? Having you with me makes the rest of the world easier to face, but – gods, I don’t know what you see in me.”

           “Asta, I-” Roan broke off with a sigh. “Please, come back inside where it’s warm,” she said. “We can stoke the fire back up and put the kettle on.”

           Asta wiped her eyes. “Are you trying to change the subject?”

           “I’m not good at talking about feelings, never really have been, but no. I’m trying to stop you from catching your death out here, and to buy myself some time to think before I say the wrong thing by accident.” She held out her hand.

           Asta closed her eyes for a few moments before she took it and let Roan pull her to her feet and lead her back inside. She sat on their bedroll again, her back to the wall, as Roan added more wood to the fire, coaxed it back up into a proper flame, and set their little copper kettle on a tripod above it before she sat down next to Asta. She said nothing until it began to whistle as it boiled, and she poured out the water for two mugs of soothing herbal tea.

           “You say you don’t know what I see in you,” she said, cupping her hands around her mug. “Maybe that’s my fault. I try to show you how I feel but I don’t talk about it. Not as much as I should.” She paused to take a sip. “Well – I can’t say there was any one big thing that made me stop and realise ‘Oh, I’m in love with this woman,’ because there wasn’t – there were a lot of wee things. Among them being that however fragile you think you are, you’re the strongest person I know. Maybe you’re damaged, but you aren’t broken. I don’t think you would ever have escaped from Castle MacArra if you were.” She laid one hand on the small of Asta’s back. “I hate that this was done to you. I do. I don’t think I’ll ever fully make my peace with it, or how it still makes you cry in dark moments sometimes. But don’t ever believe I think less of you for it.”

           Asta looked at her tea.  

           “And ‘useless’ – no. Maybe you don’t have all the same skills that I do, and maybe a bunch of slavers didn’t think they were marketable, but that isn’t at all the same as not having any. Do you have any idea how much easier it’s been to live at Dun Ardech since you came back? And I don’t just mean from having an extra pair of hands around. All the spells you know, all the runes and wards I’d never even heard of – you know more about magic from two years of living in Stormhaven watching and reading about it than I’ve picked up in my entire life of having it. You remember everything you learn about, and you know how to make all the wee changes that make spells designed for a wizard school work out in our broch where you don’t have all the Constructists’ tools to work with and they have to stand up to the full blast of a northern winter gale. Without you I would’ve just had to hang a blanket over the door to keep it warm in here, and stash the deer up a tree or under some rocks. You’re the cleverest person I know too. Not to mention, without Pardus I couldn’t even get a stag that size off the hills. In the face of all that, you think I care if you don’t want to watch a gralloching?” Roan shook her head and took another sip. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do, because it’s not a view I’ll ever get tired of.”

           Asta tapped her mug with her nails and leant against Roan’s side. Her tears had dried, leaving a faint glitter of salt on her face, but her breath still quivered a little. “I saw a mind-healer when I was in Stormhaven. They assign one to all of the escapees that make it there. In case they need to talk. But I don’t think she was the right one. She didn’t… I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right. I know you don’t have her training and I can’t expect you to take on her work, but… You were there. You know what happened. You know me. It feels… more real, coming from you.”

           “We could try to find you another. Another healer, I mean. There must be some in Duncraig.”

           Asta drank her tea. “Maybe. Maybe.”

           “If you think it would help you. Whether I’ve said it aloud or not, you mean the world to me, and if being near me makes that world less frightening for you, it doesn’t matter to me how useful you are. Believe it or not, I do enjoy just having your company.” She sighed again, set her mug aside, and stirred the base of the fire with a stick. “As for the part about not having the right… If you’ve broken your wrist, does knowing someone else has lost their arm make you heal faster?”

           “I… suppose it doesn’t.”

           Roan spread both her hands out. “All right, then.”

           Asta closed her eyes and slipped one arm around Roan’s waist. “Thank you.”

           Roan kissed the top of her head and returned her hug. “I’ve… never spoken about this to anyone, but when I was wee – four, maybe five years old – I had terrible nightmares all the time. Dreams about fire, and darkness, and this horrible sense of weight. Eventually it got so bad that I started throwing tantrums before every bedtime, I was that desperate to stay awake, and Granda sat me down to try and talk through what was scaring me so badly. His theory was that… even though I’d only been a babe in arms when our family was killed, there was some bit at the back of my mind that could remember the attack on our steading, and it was coming out in my dreams. So…” She reached inside the collar of her tunic and drew out an off-white object, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, on a long leather cord around her neck. “He made this for me.” She lifted the cord from over her head and handed the object to Asta. Still warm from her body heat, it was a stylised little carving of a wolf, sitting up with its ears pricked and its tail curled over its paws.

           “It’s beautiful,” said Asta, holding it cupped in both hands. “What’s it made from?”

           “A whale’s tooth he found on the beach one day. You see… The people of the fjords up north believe that everyone has a guardian spirit, one that takes the form of an animal and accompanies you throughout your life, unseen and unheard but there all the same. Some people call it their follower or their companion, or sometimes just their nature. Not everybody finds out what they have, but Granda’s was the wolf.” She stroked the fur around Asta’s shoulders. “He said that until I found my own follower, his could look after both of us, and that having the statue would help it to find me and keep away the nightmares. I don’t know if he really believed it or if it was just something he said to make a wee girl less scared of the dark, but either way it helped. I don’t always carry it with me any more, but I like to have it along when I’m out in the wilderness.”

           “What do you think yours is?” asked Asta. “Your follower.”

           Roan smiled and ran her left hand over her sealskin cloak, folded on the floor beside the bedroll. “Guess.”

           “I thought it might be.”

           “You know… However scared you are, I’ve never seen you let it stop you. Not once, not when it’s really important.” Roan picked up her bow and turned it over in her hands. The main body of it was a single span of burnished yew, almost as long as she was tall, but the leather-bound grip at the centre was a block of some other wood carved to fit her hand and each end was capped with a tine of antler notched to hold the bowstring. “This bow was crafted especially for me,” she said. “It’s made to match my height and strength, and it has a heavy draw – it needs one, to make a clean kill for something the size of a red stag. I don’t know if you could even draw it. I mean…” She held up one arm and gestured at her impressive biceps, to a small but heartfelt smile from Asta. “But I could try to teach you how to shoot, if you want. Could have a wee lesson in the morning, before we set off back to the broch.”

           Asta took another shaking breath and nodded firmly. “Yes, that might be fun.”

           Roan retrieved her mug to drain the last of her tea and laid her right hand on Asta’s back again, briefly calming the little tremors that still ran through it. “I brought along that salve you use when your scars are bothering you,” she said as Asta closed her eyes and leant back against her hand. “In case running around up here was a strain on them. D’you want me to rub some in for you before we go back to sleep?”

           “…Yes, please.”

           “All right.” Roan brushed Asta’s hair to one side and leant in to kiss the back of her neck. “Salve. Bed. Archery. Then home.”

           Asta slept soundly for the rest of the night.

---

Let’s draw a discreet veil over that, shall we?

Asta’s therapist suggested that she attend a few group sessions with other escapees. This was well-intentioned, the idea being that it could help her to build a support network with some people who could properly empathise with what she went through, but it rather backfired; hearing the horror stories that some of the others had to their names just left her convinced that she hadn’t suffered badly enough to merit being as deeply traumatised as she is. Which was unhelpful.

(Roan, however, is strongly of the opinion that Asta’s completely entitled to be traumatised about having most of the skin flogged off her back by a man who made it quite clear that he planned to spend much of his free time raping her.)

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 12 ~The Reckoning~

Jamie quashed his growing irritation as his brothers happily hijacked Claire's attention at the table. After they've gatecrashed their date earlier, somehow, amidst the mayhem of surprise, introductions and small talks, he and Claire ended up joining them.  How the hell did this happen?

He resisted the urge to slam his whisky glass down on the table as he thought of how close he had gotten to kissing Claire. What exactly had he done to warrant this particular brand of torment? He paid his taxes, he'd brought joy to his thousands of fans over the years by playing top of his game in rugby, recycled like nobody's business, donated to worthy causes, and yet the universe chose to fuck with him big time. 

Although he loved his brothers, right now, he was very close to disowning them. Not quite, but close. Resigned, he watched Claire chat animatedly with Willie, Rabbie and Ian, looking delighted and in her element as banters and stories were exchanged. 

"So tell me, while growing up, did you all get along? Or are there a lot of sibling horror stories?" Claire asked, her twinkling amber eyes momentarily landing on him. 

Groaning, Jamie buried his face in his hands. "Christ, I knew this was coming."

"Och plenty of stories, I can assure ye," Willie replied, leaning forward to draw her in. "Once, my sister and I convinced Jamie that he was adopted. It wasnae difficult considering he's ginger, and the rest of us all have dark hair."

"And then Willie told him that his real last name was McTavish ..." Rabbie added.

Jamie cut him off. "Aye, and I got back at ye lot when I said I wasnae coming back after I was sent to uncle Dougal and aunt Maura in Leoch to train for the under twelves rugby." He turned to Claire. "I told them I was glad I wasnae their brother and wee Rabbie here, and Jenny threw a fit. Eventually, Willie sent a message and admitted it was a bad joke. I didn't reply for days. In the end, he was grovellin' for me to come back like a wee daftie."

Her laughter nipped at his heart. "Too bad, I don't have many family stories. My life revolved mostly around museums, archaeological sites and lecture halls. and we're constantly on the move." 

"Sounds pretty exciting to me," Rabbie grinned. "Say, have ye thought of where ye want to continue yer residency?"

Claire sighed, swirling her glass. "Just loosely. Nothing definite. I've thought of Glasgow and Inverness. Or maybe Boston."

Jamie nearly choked. "Boston? Ye better mean Boston in Lincolnshire and not Massachusetts." His voice sounded the furthest thing from normal to his ears.

"Oh, nothing is planned yet," Claire dismissed his question with a flutter of delicate fingers. "To be perfectly honest, they're just rough ideas."

"Weel, whatever ye decide, don't go too far, Claire. I dinna think our lad here would be tae happy to see ye go so early in yer relationship," Ian teased, winking at Jamie.

Ignoring the jest and the uncomfortable shift in his chest, he looked into her amber eyes. "Plenty of time to think things over, aye?"

She gives him a slow nod. "Of course."

"Claire?"

His head jerked up to find Frank Randall standing next to their table. A trickle of sweat beaded and slid down his spine as silent fury gripped his guts. A sudden realisation hit him then as he looked at the man that Claire nearly married and he was shocked to the core. Amid this blurring between real and fake, there's always a constant—which was his jealousy for Claire's ex. It was something he never experienced before. To know that Claire was once his, made him sick and want to throw up. But the unexpected gentle squeeze of her hand under the table immediately stopped the unwanted bout of paranoia in its tracks, taking him by surprise.

His brothers and Ian leaned back on their chairs, waiting for something to unfold as they eyed the doctor with caution. They knew Claire's story, and he could see they were prepared for whatever was to come, their bodies tensed and their faces impassive.

"What is it, Frank?" Claire asked, glancing nervously around the table.

His first instinct was to drag Claire's ex-fiance out of the bar and give him a sound beating. Too bad there's a restraining order on him. Despite wanting to tell him to fuck off, he kept his mouth shut, afraid of attracting attention from those who might recognise them. The thought of all three of them being photographed and their picture passed around on social media was enough for him to restrain himself. He knew it would devastate Claire if ever that happened.

"Sorry to disturb your meal, but can we talk? It won't take a minute."

"Ye don't have to do this, Sassenach," he murmured for her ears only.

"I know, but I must. It won't take long."

Helpless to do anything, he could only watch as she stiffly stood up and followed Frank.

..........

Claire peered over her shoulder and saw Jamie and his family looking at them with the intensity of wild cats ready to pounce. Not wanting to cause a scene, she refocused her attention on Frank and took calming breaths, reminding herself she was in control.

"What do you want, Frank?"

He shifted on his feet. "Claire, I want to apologise for ..."

She raised a hand and stopped him midsentence. "If we're going to rehash everything that happened between us, I'm not interested in hearing it. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I've said what I had to say to you, and nothing has changed." She made a move to go, but Frank's hand shot out and grabbed her elbow, making her jump. The sudden harsh sound of a chair scraping on the wooden floor told her someone stood up abruptly. She turned to look and found it was Jamie, his face looking like thunder. Even from where she was stood, she could see his jaw bunched and his massive chest rising and falling beneath his shirt. She could almost hear the cranks turning in his head. With a stern look in her eyes, she warned him to back off and faced Frank. "Let me go," she hissed in a whisper. "You've lost your right to touch me."

Frank flinched and let go, swallowing audibly when he looked beyond her. "I'm not here to talk about us. I understand it's over. I get it now. I only want to apologise for the things I've said the other night and to tell you that I want to return your belongings."

She looked into his eyes to judge his sincerity but witnessed only honest resignation in his steady gaze. Something had changed in him, but she didn't want to over analyse, still too fraught about what transpired at the hospital less than twenty-four hours ago. "Very well then, I'll get someone to collect it from your apartment."

"No need. I can drop it off at your place." When she eyed him suspiciously, he sighed. "Look, Claire, I said things the other night that I shouldn't have. I was so desperate to get you back no matter what. After you walked out of the A&E, I realised I went too far. I don't want to drag this on any more than you do. The sooner I have your things out of the apartment, the better it is for both of us. I'll have your stuff boxed, and I'll bring them to your place ...Friday at six?"

She wanted to think it over, but that would mean prolonging things between them. Frank was right. The sooner their connection was severed, the better for both of them. "Fine, Friday at six. You drop off my things, and then you're out again. I don't intend to serve you drinks, nor exchange pleasantries with you."

His expression turned grim; nevertheless, he nodded in agreement. "I'll see you at six this coming Friday. Enjoy the rest of your evening." And then he turned and left the bar.

She watched his retreating back as sadness settled over her. It was hard to imagine that she used to love him and that they had been happy once. Where had it all gone wrong? Had she been so blind to all the warning signs? How long have they been together before they started to lose their way? What made him turn so cold and vicious? She remembered the many hours they'd spent making love in the beginning. He'd worshipped her and told her over and over again how much he desired her. And then as time went on, his needs became a priority, and she was just a vessel to relieve his needs. He became more critical of their lovemaking, continually telling her that she lacked techniques to satisfy him until she began to doubt herself.

And then she thought of Jamie and almost laughed. She was drawn to a commitment-phobe and a sexually experienced man. So what were her chances in inspiring the type of lust and attraction to make someone like Jamie wholly want her?  Only in your dreams lass.

A hand grasped her wrist. "Sassenach, are ye alright?"

Claire spun around, and her eyes shot to Jamie's, startled by the intense emotions swirling from them. He looked on edge, the combined effects of worry and something else she couldn't put her finger to etched on his face. His grip on her wrist was like steel, and his shoulder muscles looked tight with strain as if his control could snap at any moment. The instinct to reassure him rose within her, and she lifted a free hand and touched his face. "I'm fine, Jamie. I think I'd like to go home now."

When he spoke, his tone sounded like it could cut glass. "Good. Stay here. I'll tell the lads and sort out the bill."

She wondered what was wrong as she waited for him. Did his brothers say anything about him dating a runaway bride? Did they disapprove? Was it Frank?  Unlikely . Most of the evening, he'd protectively slung his arms around her shoulders or had a hand on her knee, play-acting his claim on her, even though they were sat in the hidden corner away from prying eyes. If his family had been surprised to see that they were together, they showed no indication—only warmth and friendliness.

Scenes from earlier played in her mind, beginning with Jamie's parcel that morning and ending with the way he'd looked at her as if he wanted to kiss her. And in between, a whole lot of touching and holding. Reminding herself constantly that this was just a stunt to help Jamie get his job at the network, would be the smartest course to take. She couldn't mistake sexual attraction, albeit a powerful one, for anything beyond a bodily need. With her mind made up, Claire swore to keep it together, thinking her friendship with Jamie was more valuable than a passing fascination for her crush.

Seeing Jamie walked towards her, she smiled at him, but his face remained expressionless, as he took her hand and led her out of the bar without a word. When he hailed a taxi instead of taking his car, she surmised he'd had a bit to drink.

They rode in silence, but the quiet got too disconcerting. Claire opened her mouth to initiate a conversation and ask if anything was wrong, but she held back midway. His rigid posture told her now was not the time to talk. The air around them thickened and the longer Jamie remained silent, the more agitation gnawed at her. Something was definitely off.  What the hell is wrong with him?  Finally, when the taxi finally pulled up outside her cottage, she was about to thank him for the dinner when he took out his wallet and handed the driver a few pound notes.

"It's late Jamie. Aren't you going home?"

"We need to talk."

"Can we leave it for another day?"

"No."

She didn't like his short, clipped tone. "If you're planning to argue, maybe you ought to leave," she said, as she got out of the car.

She fished for her keys in her handbag, aware he was following close behind. "We need to talk."  Oh, such bloody arrogance!

Once inside the house, she threw her bag on a nearby table and faced him. "Fine! Stay. But only if you tell me why the bloody hell you're acting weird all of a sudden."

"Boston. Ye never told me ye were thinking of going to Boston."

"Wot? Boston?" This time she was confused. "It's just an option among many. I've thought of going there years ago before I started at the Royal Infirmary. Joe has friends there and knows people who can get me into a residency program."

"Ye belong here, Sassenach. Yer friends are here, and ye have yer uncle to think about."

How dare he question her choice when he would go to London in a heartbeat once their fake relationship was over! Inwardly she bristled but forced a sunny smile. "Well, I can say the same thing about you. All of your family and friends are here, and you have obligations that are expected of you. And yet, that wouldn't stop you from going to London once you get the job, now would it?"

"Your circumstance is different. There are plenty of hospitals here in the UK where ye can continue yer residency."

"I know that. But have you considered that maybe I need a change of scenery to find myself again? It's no different to you trying to find your identity and purpose in a new career. I'm supportive of your life choices, so why can't you be supportive of mine?

He pulled back at her words and scrutinised her. The idea of him moving to London made her think of a parade of women eager to get their paws on him. She didn't like the idea at all. But she'd rather die before admitting it. She turned away and sat down on the sofa, fiddling with the straps of her shoes, cursing her inability to remain indifferent. A moment passed before he finally spoke. "What did Frank say?" he asked.

Irritation coasted down her back. Jamie was avoiding her question, and if he thought he would get away with that tactic easily, he was sorely mistaken. "Not much." She slipped off her shoes and massaged the back of her leg. "Same old. Apologies and whatnots. 

She sensed his frown but refused to look at him in the eyes. "Is he still trying to get ye back?"

"No."

"Did he want ye to go back to the hospital then?"

She scooped up her shoes and placed them in a shoe cupboard in the hallway. "No. He wanted to apologise. And since you mentioned Boston, I'm beginning to think it's a brilliant idea. No one will know me there - at least not as the runaway bride. It will be a perfect place to start over again."

His eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened into a thin line. Did he look disappointed? Refusing to decipher the meaning in his expression, she made her way to the kitchen. He followed shortly after.

"If the tabloid stories about ye bother ye so much, why are ye doing this fake relationship with me then?"

She opened the fridge and got a bottle of white wine. "I told you my reasons already. I'm helping you get the job at the network which I'm quite sure you'll get. And meanwhile, while we're a fake couple, I can start planning what I want to do with my life." After grabbing two glasses from the cupboard, she finally glanced at him. "Wine?"

In the kitchen lighting, Jamie's blue eyes were shadowed and the scruff on his face more pronounced. He nodded at her offer, his gaze moving like a rough palm over her skin.  Uh-oh, not good.  Despite dampening her emotions with cold logic, her traitorous body was not having any of it, as her face heated at his perusal.  Damn him!  She hated not being in control. Quickly turning away, she poured the wine in the glasses.

"There's no need for ye to go so far to dodge the tabloid stories. In a year, it will all be forgotten."

"You have a point." She handed him the glass of wine and took a sip from hers. 

"Or ye can come to London if ye want to get away from Scotland. London is far enough," he said, looking directly into her eyes.

"Wot? London?" she gasped. "London is a crazy place, and rents cost a premium."

He placed his glass on the countertop with a clack. "Ye were confident earlier that I'll get the job in the network. Well, so am I. We can share a flat in London." 

She nearly laughed out loud. "Share a flat? With you?" All sort of thoughts and images leapt at the back of her mind. But the one that stood out the most is the ridiculousness of his suggestion. It could never work. "What if you want to bring a girl home? What then?" 

His face flushed, but his gaze didn't waver. "Not once have I ever brought a lass to my apartment nor to Lallybroch." 

"Oh ..." If he'd never brought a girl to his home, it could only mean he took them to fancy hotels. That thought brought a stab of pain into her heart. Life was already complicated as it was, and the last thing she needed was to hear stories of his escapades with his dates. Better scrap London off her list of options. "Well, London is certainly an alternative. So is Manchester and Liverpool. But I'm kind of warming to the idea of Boston," she said casually as she could muster.

"Ye can't just up sticks and move to a country ye've never been to before. Don't ye want to visit the place first?"

"I don't have to. I'm flexible, and I adapt quickly. My uncle and I have lived in many countries while I was growing up. I never had trouble adjusting."

"Sounds to me ye're running away."

"I'm not running away," she shot back. "I'm done with Frank. As I said, I need a change of scenery. I've looked up Boston on the internet in the past, and it seems like a fascinating place. Who knows, I might meet a cute American guy and end up staying there for good."  Who am I kidding?

Darkness clouded his face. "Ye are running away."

"I'm not!"

"Ye are. Ye are putting an ocean between ye and whatever ye're running away from."

Claire snapped. Somehow the thread holding her composure had been stretched so thin by recent events, there was almost nothing left. Red fogged her vision as she put her glass down to face him full-on and gave him her truth.

"Bollocks! You ... of all people have the gall to point out to me that I am running away from my problems. Ha! You can't even commit to anything or anyone that doesn't involve rugby." She shook her head at him. "I've never judged you on how you lead your life, so I would appreciate it if you do the same for me. And even if I'm running away, what business is it of yours? It's my life, and I decide what I want to do with it."

"Sassenach, I'm..."

"NO! I'm not done yet." She tilted her chin in anger. "In as much as I love Edinburgh, it is a reminder to me how I allowed Frank to break me to the point that I don't feel worthy. It's a bloody sad state of affairs, but hey, I am trying my utmost best to do what's right for me even if it seems like I'm stumbling in the dark." She let out a hysterical laugh and shoved her curls back, beyond caring what sprouted out of her mouth. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to feel undesirable and less of a woman? Frank used to criticise how I look, how I touched him when we made love. And, oh, how he would mock me endlessly when I gagged at the things he made me do, making me feel like I'm not enough to tempt a man to lose his mind and heart to her. So I remained with him thinking I'll never be good for anyone else. But you wouldn't understand, would you? Because women come easily to you."

He muttered a string of profanity as he took a step forward, but she pushed him with full force on his chest, making him stagger a step backwards.

"How do you do it, Jamie?" she taunted. "Do you have a small talk beforehand, letting a girl know it's just a bit of fun and you don't do relationships? At least you can make yourself feel better by saying you were honest and then walk away with a clear conscience and satisfaction on your face. How many orgasms does it take to assuage your guilt?"

Jamie remained silent, his gaze ensnaring her and refusing to let go.  How dare he remains so unaffected and calm?

And then she lost it. "Get out!" she screamed. 

"No."

"I said, get the fuck out!"

"I'm not leaving ye." Determination etched out the lines of his face.

"You won't go until you hear it, don't you?" she hissed in crazed vehemence. "Fine. I'm running away! There you have it! Are you happy now that you've finally figured me out, huh? I ran away from my own wedding, and I ran away from my job. Appears cowardly, doesn't it? But I'm too broken to fight, but one day I will get up, and I will heal. And I will find someone who will love me and my flaws."

He made a move towards her, but she stopped him. The last thing she needed was his pity and for him to see her tears that were threatening to spill. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me, James Fraser! I need you to leave now and let me be." Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. "I'm begging you. If you're a true friend, you'll do as I ask." 

Exhausted and nothing left to say, she turned and faced the window. Jamie didn't move nor speak, and the only sound that permeated the room was the ticking of the wall clock. She waited and mentally prayed for him to go so she could cry in privacy. Tomorrow was a new day, and everything would be alright. But tonight she felt precariously out of control, on the peak of something so intense, she didn't know how to handle it. 

The floorboards creaked, and she held her breath and waited for the blessed silence, but instead of walking out, Jamie stopped right behind her. His body heat enclosed, wrapping her in a protective blanket. She held the edge of the countertop in a deathlike grip, sensing him move closer inch by inch until his rock-solid chest pressed against her back.

"Sassenach, look at me," he said in a low gravelly voice. Although she wanted to remain still, she was helpless to resist his command. With no more fight left in her and feeling spent, she faced him but avoided his gaze. Then he tilted her chin up. 

To her surprise, raw lust shot out from his eyes, and his grip tightened, refusing to give her room to retreat. He crowded her space by leaning in so close, the edge of the countertop dug into her lower back. His scent of citrus and cotton steeped her senses, drowning out the voices in her head and their surrounding.

"I'm going to tell ye something, and I need ye to listen very carefully because I'm only going to say this once. Am I making myself clear?" 

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. She could only summon a shaky nod, too mesmerised and unable to form words.

"I'm done with pretending, rationalising and civility. That wanker Frank has messed up yer mind that ye have nae idea the power ye have to grip me in a hold so tight I can scarcely breathe. I'm so bloody over analysing why I feel the way I do right now even though I still don't understand anything. I'm tired of walking around with a cock that won't go down and sleepless nights every time I think of ye. Are ye with me, Claire?" 

A swirling combination of heat, dread and anticipation diffused inside of her, turning it into a fierce ache coursing between her thighs and tightening her muscles. The way he easily made her body respond left her intoxicated, seizing her with a need she'd never felt before. "Y-yes," she whispered.

Then he spoke slow and deliberate. "Good, because tonight I'm going to make love to ye. If I were a true friend and gentleman, I'd do as ye asked and walk out of that door to give ye the space to rebuild your damn walls. Ye deserve that and much more. But I'm a selfish prick who wants ye so bad I'll trade my soul to the devil for a night with ye. Still listening?"

"Y-y-yes." 

"I'll give ye three seconds to get away from me and lock yersel' in the bedroom. That would be the wisest thing to dae. And if ye choose to walk away, I'll take it like a man, and we'll never mention this again. We'll go back to being mates, forget this whole incident, and go on pretending. But if ye're still here after that, ye're mine. Every inch of yer beautiful body. And I promise ye, ye'll never doubt your ability to cast a spell on a man so powerful and encompassing he'll spend the rest of his life comparing ye to every woman he meets and touches." 

Her head began to spin, as her brain scrambled to catch up with the meaning of his words. "Jamie this is ..." 

"We're done talking, Sassenach. One." 

Her heart lurched, and her stomach dropped to the ground as he moved closer. 

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!" 

"Two." 

She gulped, her body poised for escape, knowing it could destroy their friendship, change their relationship forever, opening a door that could never be close again. 

"Christ, Jamie, I'm..." 

"Three. Too late, Sassenach." 

"But ..." 

"Nae buts." And then he kissed her.

[dcbicki]

“You’re Gonna See it Someday; It’s Affection Always” - Chapter 5

Fandom: Veep Characters: Dan Egan, Amy Brookheimer Pairing: Dan/Amy Rating: Explicit content In which Amy’s pregnant, and Dan already has a plan mapped out for them.

If she’s in this for the long haul then he will be, too. If she’s keeping this baby (his baby), then he’s keeping her close by.

If she’s ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he’ll join her.

They fucked, and now they’re fucked.

Chapter 1: x | x Chapter 2: x | x Chapter 3: x | x Chapter 4: x | x

-

It’s the third place they’ve checked out so far, it’s been three weeks, and Amy just isn’t sold.

The estate agent wandered off a short while ago, leaving them to discover the rest of the apartment by themselves. It’s huge, and way more than they need or want.

“I mean, you could tear out the bathroom and just-”

“I’m not tearing anything out, Amy. You either want it like this or you don’t.”

“Well, I don’t want it like this.”

“Well, then, we won’t take it like this.” Dan is grinning down at her, hands deep in his pocket, following in her every footstep, “Jesus, are you gonna be this indecisive with an epidural?”

“No. I’m having it. And if it doesn’t work straight away, then I’ll be having another one.” She shuts the large cupboard door beside the main window, overlooking the city. “And I’ll be full up on painkillers anyway.”

“Guess I’ll be making sure you don’t OD in the fucking delivery room then.”

What?

“Oh, hang on.” Amy’s spun around then, holding up a hand to his face, stopping him dead in his tracks. “You actually think I’m gonna let you be in there with me?”

Her blue eyes are wide, mouth gaping as though it’s just that surprising.

“Well, who the fuck else is gonna be there with you?” Dan frowns, scowls almost, “You don’t have anyone else.”

She would gasp if she were that way inclined. “I have my mom. I have Seli-”

“Don’t fuckin’ say Selina.”

He shakes his head, wraps both hands over both of her shoulder, walks her forward until they finally make into the kitchen area. “Just ‘cause she’s treating you a little nicer than usual doesn’t mean she’s gonna be holding your hand or feeding you ice chips, Amy. Jesus, I can’t believe you were stupid enough to even consider her an option.”

“Oh, and you’re gonna feed me ice chips, are you?” She shrugs his hands off, pulls her bag closer with one hand as the other skims along the kitchen worktop, “You gonna hold my hand, Danny?”

“I mean, probably. Like, if you need it.” He lifts one shoulder, drops it just as quickly, and tilts his head to the side with a raise of his brows, “Then again, you’ll probably just spread your legs and push the little fucker out in one go.”

“Oh, fuck off. You think it’s gonna be easy delivering Satan’s offspring?” She runs a hand through her hair, and he feels the sudden desire to copy, to pull at her hair. “My mom will probably wanna be there, alright? You can just… wait here or something.”

Amy gestures around the apartment, walking over to the cabinets beside the window, inspecting them.

“What, you don’t want me there at all?” He feels a grin rising, makes sure it’s present when she turns to face him again, “What if I just stand at the foot of the bed, huh? I’ll just watch?” He teases, leans both elbows on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Dream the fuck on, Dan. They have porn sites for that kinda thing. And I’m sure if you call Jonah, he’ll let you borrow his subscription.”

“How are we finding the place?”

The estate agent is back in the room then, one hand clutching her cell, the other on the carved doorframe, “It’s nice, right?”

“It’s, uh, quiet.” Amy responds.

Quiet. Code for 'where’s the goddamn hustle and bustle?’.

Fucking Amy and her need for noise and people in motion. Fucking Amy and her restless fucking mind. Fucking Amy.

“Right, yes.” The older woman nods, smiles apologetically (kind of), “Well, I figured with a baby on the way, a little peace and quiet would be best-” She has her nose crinkled, looking like one of the Whos until Amy cuts her off.

“How do you know I’m keeping it?” She challenges her, and Dan can do nothing but roll his eyes.

Anybody assuming anything about her, about her choices, about her body, about her pregnancy? Anybody saying anything about her, about her choices, about her body, about her pregnancy?

Don’t fucking go there.

“I just assumed, a young couple-”

“Okay, first of all, we’re not a young couple. He’s going grey, for fuck’s sake.” She points a finger over at Dan, sighs, “Secondly, and not that it’s any of your goddamn business, we’re not a couple. Kind of never have been. Sadly never will be, won’t ever be, because he’s a fucking narcissist and I’m kind of a little bit too complicated for him to actually want to pay me any attention.”

“Amy-” He does that thing, where he glares down at her when she’s being rude, being a little too forward. And she hates it.

“But, yes, I am having this child, and we are gonna raise this child. But, no, I don’t want in some apartment complex for the hearing impaired. I enjoy my job, and I’m good at it, and I’ve kind of mastered the art of getting to sleep surrounded by noise and a ruckus and half-decent politicians screaming down my earhole every two minutes. I know that. I need that.”

“I-” The agent licks her lips, blinks twice, three times for good measure, “I’m not sure-”

“What she means to say, is that we would like somewhere a little less… out of it, and a little more civilised.” He winks, smiles, tries his best, and the woman can only nods in return, clap her book.

“Right.” She flicks through her binder, takes a couple moments to settle on a new listing. During which time, the blonde in the room has already shot Dan no less than four scowls. ��I’ve got just the place.”

She starts heading out then, and Dan sighs.

“You know what?” He rests a hand on her arm when she approaches him, slamming the open cupboard door shut, “Why don’t you head into the office? I can handle this.”

“What, are you gonna fuck her into a discount?”

He can’t tell if she’s kidding or not.

“Nice to know how little you think of my taste in women but, no, I’m not.”

Yeah, your taste in women isn’t anything special, Dan. Sizeable tits, shaved vag and a pretty mouth.

“Look, I know what you’re after. Okay?” He shrugs, as though it’s nothing, as though he can get the job done in no time, “And I know you’d rather be at work, shouting at interns.”

Amy’s pushing her bag further up her arm then, drawing her coat tighter around her frame.

“I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt because for some insane reason I feel like you won’t fuck this up like you have ninety percent of the decisions you’ve made in your sorry life. Don’t fuck this up.”

She’s pulling her phone from her bag then, sending out for an Uber.

“Wait-” He grabs her elbow, “Balcony or no balcony?”

“For my bedroom? Obviously, yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

-

He sends her a dozen texts throughout the rest of the day.

Amy still fails to understand how he could so willingly spend his day looking at apartments when he could have been, you know, actually working.

'Wooden floors? - D.’

“Really?” She groans aloud as she types, through gritted teeth, mouth dry. She hasn’t had a sip to drink in over an hour, and she’s seriously fucking gagging for a sugary soda.

“Can you get me a water… and a candy bar?” There’s an intern walking past her desk just then, and she sends them running for the kitchen no sooner than she opens her mouths.

The guy is no more than twenty five, and he hands her a napkin and a blueberry muffin with her water.

Well, that’s a healthier alternative.

“Uh, thanks?”

“No problem.” He moves his hands behind his back, bounces up on his heels, “My sister was the exact way when she was pregnant with my niece.”

Amy’s brows knit then, and she takes a small sip of the drink, “Is that supposed to be a thing? Like, if it’s a girl then I’ll be craving sweet stuff or something?”

“I don’t know, maybe?” He shrugs, and she notes having never seen him before, “Could be a boy, though.”

“Or I’m carrying a fucking androgynous baby.” Amy mutters, letting her gaze shift down to her stomach for a moment.

Fourteen weeks, and fucking bored of this shit.

“Hey, Pee Wee Vermin, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

The intern looks like he’s damn near ready to shit himself, but he looks between them quickly before hurrying off.

Of course. Dan, you dick.

“I thought you were still following that realtor around like a lapdog?”

Dan plops down into the chair in front of her desk when the newbie intern has walked off, and he picks off a piece of her untouched snack. “Nah, I was fuckin’ with you. I found a place hours ago.”

“Then where the fuck have you been this whole time?”

She pulls a face when he shoves the muffin towards her, nods down at it as some kind of commands, but she complies nonetheless. “Selina isn’t paying your crazy money to just goof around all day.”

“I wasn’t goofing around, I was doing what she asked me to do. It just so happens that it doesn’t have to do directly with the PCC.”

Of course. He’d fucking Jonah-ed 'pre-campaign campaign’.

“You’ll be happy when I show you what I was up to.”

“What?” She squints, swallows a piece of blueberry muffin.

“What?”

“What?”

“What?” He’s smirking - that idiot - and she loathes him. “What, you think I’m just gonna tell you?”

“You said you were gonna stop being weird.”

“I did stop. This is me being normal, Ames.” He shrugs, stands up and plucks a folder from her desk. “Is she in her office?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “But she’s leaving soon. She promised Catherine they’d have dinner because she hasn’t been around much since Richard was born. And it’s already been pushed from six to nine, so…”

Dan chuckles, slaps a hand against the file twice, “Ah, Little Dick. That poor fucker never stood a chance.”

Amy rolls her eyes, folding her arms over her chest as she leans back in her seat, “What do you need to see her for anyway?” She eyes him suspiciously, watches as he nears the door to Selina’s office, raises a hand.

“None of your business.”

“Everything is my business.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“You’re not charming, you know.”

“Oh, I’m fully aware.” He smirks, “Still works on you though.”

“It better fit.”

“It will. It’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” Selina gives in, “Sure. Just don’t go thinking this is anything but an arrangement.”

“I’m fully aware.” Dan nods, left brow raised pointedly, confidently, “Amy’s made it very clear.”

He’s a fuck, he’s a shit.

He’s her shit.

“Let me just explain it to you, in a way your jacked up pee brain might actually understand.”

Selina waves her hands around in circular motions, stops but two feet away from Dan’s face, cranes her neck to look up at him with clenched fists.

“You took Amy’s egg, and you dipped in your crumby little soldier, and, now, you’ve got yourself a breakfast that nobody ordered, because it wasn’t even on the menu in the motherfucking first place.”

She grits her teeth so hard they almost look like fangs, and she swears so fast that Dan barely even hears the word escape past her lips.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Dan. She deserves a hell of a lot better than your pretentious ass.”

“Did she tell you to say that?” He’d laugh if it wasn’t so true.

She’s on the brink of slapping him, so instead Selina takes a step back and breathes through her nose, mouth sealed closed for just a moment.

“No, Dan. She didn’t tell me that. You think I’m that blind I don’t notice how fucking alone she is?” She stares at him then, “Shit, if anyone here deserves to have a somewhat decent life, it’s probably Amy. You know how her family is. All batshit crazy-in-love parents, crappy older sister who loathes her guts for no reason whatsoever. She grew up in the fucking suburbs, Dan, what do you want from her?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, because it’s true, because it isn’t.

“Well, you’re gonna have to be a big boy and figure it the fuck out. I’m not having this shit fall apart, and the two of you be insufferable for the next couple years.”

Assuming you make it that far, ma'am.

“God fucking knows it took you years to finally bang it out. I don’t wanna have to sit through that again.”

“Bang what out?”

The inevitable.

“Don’t fucking play coy, Dan. You know just as well as I do that the two of you had some serious fucking tension going on back then.”

She rolls her eyes so far back, “Honestly, I’m surprised nobody found you fucking in a coat closet or something.”

Clearing her throat, Selina looks back over at him, absentmindedly picking up a box from off of her desk. It’s square, and yellow, and it has Gary’s doing written all over it.

“Welcome to adulthood, daddy.” She feigns an honest smile, shoves the box into his hands before he can refuse it. “Don’t you fucking open that in here though. Wait for Ame.”

She’s gathering her coat from her chair at that, pushing her arms through the sleeves, buttoning it up.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go have dinner with my own child because she thinks I’m a shitty mother and your baby momma basically told me to shut up and suck it up, and I’m in no position to argue with her when she’s all… hormonal.”

She slips past him before Dan can realise he hasn’t spoken for a solid minutes or so. And when she’s gone, he just breathes - calmly, nervously.

God, this is gonna fucking kill him.

“What is that?”

He’s back out of her office, gift in the crook of his arm. Dan glances down at the package, all wrapped and fancy and nice.

Amy’s watching him, eyes flicking back and forth between the box and his face. “Dan?”

“Oh. I don’t fuckin’ know. She said it was for you to open.” Dan shrugs, looks down at her finally, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

Her jacket is thrown over her arm, and she’s turning off the lamp of her desk then, hair pushes behind her ears, face all tired and worn out and flushed.

“Are you gonna show me what you bought?”

“You really wanna see it now?” He pulls a face, “It’s pretty late. Don’t you wanna go home and sleep or whatever?”

“Stop being weird.” She breezes past him, heading toward the elevator.

One hand held up, Dan grins, “Not being weird, just saying.”

“Whatever.”

“How did you even manage to get the keys already?”

He scratches at the slight scruff of his jawline, passes her the box of noodles he’d been holding, “They just wanted it gone. The sooner, the better.”

“Oh, God, watch, I bet it’s the scene of a crime or something. 'Husband kills two sons, rapes wife, commits suicide’.”

“Fuckin’ dark.” He says, “Does it matter?”

“No.” Amy shrugs, folds her legs up beneath her, “As long as I can sleep in it and I’m not gonna catch any kind of disease from touching the walls or some shit.”

“And it’s kind of noisy.” He adds with a knowing smile, one brow raised proudly, “There’s a couple musicians two doors down. And an elderly woman upstairs who plays her midnight soap reruns just a little bit too loud.” Dan boasts.

“Amazing.”

“Told you I could handle it.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. You’re a grown man who can successfully buy an apartment. Shame on me for doubting you.”

“You had a lot of demands, you know.”

“You expect me to believe you met every single one of my demands?” She air-quotes, stares over at him with a single noodle balancing on her chopsticks. “Please.”

“Fine, don’t believe me. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Amy rolls her eyes at that, scoops up some more food before she decides she’s had enough, placing her half-empty box down on the floor.

They got takeout on the way over, decided it was best to just settle down on the hardwood floors than it would be to scatter food all over the kitchen worktops already.

When she goes to stand up, he’s right there, kneeling with a hand on her elbow, and all she can do is glare at him (again).

“Dan.”

“I’m not being weird, alright? I’m just making sure you don’t hurt yourself, fuck.”

When she’s stood, and he’s let go of her arm, Amy lets out a deep sigh, eyes closing, “I’m not… You don’t have to do that kind of thing yet.” She informs him with a bat of her lashes, a crinkled nose.

“Fine.” He nods, “Fine. Just tell me.” He picks up his beer, pulls at his tie, “Tell me when I have to do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

“What’s not reasonable?” She’s pulling a water from the fridge, one of three they’d bought with dinner. She unscrews the cap, joins him once again, only she remains standing. “What is Dan Egan not willing to do?”

She sounds smug, and he kind of likes it when she gloats.

“I bet I could get him to do anything.”

“Sure giving yourself a lot of credit there, Ames.”

Amy huffs, moans out a little noise before she’s tapping him on the shoulder, rounding the island again.

“Hey.” She calls out to him, lifting up the yellow gift when he looks over at her. She moves it around, brings it with her when she comes to settle down - beside him, this time.

“It’s kind of heavy.”

“She probably bought you a gun to shoot me with. Wouldn’t fuckin’ put it past her.”

“Yeah, because she chose this herself.” She says, sarcastically.

He kind of wants to tell her that Selina cares, in some weird way. Maybe not enough to be there for her the way Amy hopes, maybe not that way. He kind of wants to tell her that he’s pretty sure Selina will have him murdered if he so much as touches Amy some way she does not like.

“Obviously this is Gary’s work.” She reasons, tugging at the bow, at the finely curled green ribbon surrounding the box. “Nobody else would put this much effort in.”

“True.” Dan agrees, putting his drink to the side with a slight clink, the sound of hard glass on a polished wood.

It’s comforting, homely.

When she’s pulled the gift wrap from around the box, she tosses it aside, eager to lift the lid.

“It’s a fucking-”

“Picture frame?”

Dan frowns, snatches the metal frame from her hands, “The fuck?”

“There’s no receipt so we can’t even exchange it, those fuckers.”

Amy groans, placing the box aside with a thud, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Couldn’t have been a fucking new coffee maker or something, no.” She stresses, clearly ticked off.

“It’s fine. We’ll,” Dan starts, shaking his head despite his vocal positivity, face expressionless (which is nothing new), “I don’t know, just thank her tomorrow or something.”

“You’re gonna have to do it. I can’t do that and keep a straight face.” She tells him, repeatedly pokes a finger at his chest until he grabs her wrist in his hand, soft, twists her palm upward.

He speaks through his teeth, “I’ll write her a fuckin’ note.” He quips, suggests as an alternative.

She shrugs, “She’ll have forgotten by tomorrow anyway.” Amy blinks, holds back a yawn. “Please tell me there’s at least a mattress here…”

“Well, there’s some fresh sheets.” He tilts his head over to a stack of unopened bedding on the windowsill. “Didn’t exactly have the energy to go fetch my mattress.”

“I’m not sleeping on top of some sheets.”

“Look, just, go wash or something. I’ll figure it out.”

She has no change of clothes, no toothbrush, and she’ll still have to go back to her apartment in the morning to shower properly. But, sure, she’ll get washed.

“What, are you gonna magically conjure up a fucking futon?’

"You underestimate me.”

Amy whines, standing up to head down the corridor, “I think I overestimate you sometimes.”

When she reemerges fifteen minutes later, she’s wearing her blouse and underwear, hair scraped back into a low ponytail, face rid of any makeup.

“Well, don’t you look quaint.” He sounds smug (because of course), and she’s tempted to strangle him with his tie.

“Just show me where the fuck I’m sleeping, or I swear I’ll head back to my apartment right now.”

It’s a dead threat, and Dan can only feign annoyance.

“Follow me.”

He leads her down the hallway into the biggest bedroom - she’s already studied the layout of the place (because of course) - and gestures toward a makeshift bed.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

It’s quite literally one sheet spread out on the floor, and one sheet crumbled up on top of it.

“You said you were gonna figure it out.”

“I did.” He informs her, pops open the final two buttons of his shirt and slips it from his arms.

What the fuck-

He folds it up and places it down at the head of the 'bed’, grins down at her as he unbuckles his belt.

Eyes closed, Amy sighs, wants to resist when he touches her elbows from behind, breathes down her neck.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m dead serious.” He sits himself down on the floor - because, let’s be honest, it’s the fucking floor and not a bed - waits for her to join him, arm extended.

“I’m calling an Uber.”

“Amy,” he starts, groans when she pulls her phone out of nowhere (how?), “I’ll be your pillow.”

“Yeah, I’m good?” She grimaces, stares down at him in disbelief. “Dan, I know you. Even you can’t be comfortable sleeping on the floor.”

“I’m trying.”

“I told you to stop trying.”

“You told me to stop acting weird and creepy and… whatever. But I am trying.”

Trying to do anything, something. Trying to do anything you ask.

'Make me a bed’, the girl asks. The boy sighs, but he concedes all the same, 'Okay.’

She has to give him some credit.

“Come on, it’s late.”

His hand is still held out, and she’s pretty sure she prefers the Dan who would rather hail a cab at three in the morning than the one who would chose to sleep on a hard floor because he’s trying to be… what, sweet? Nice?

“You can’t be a pillow. There’s nothing to you. You’re built like a fucking breadstick. All air, no filling.”

He laughs (slightly, a little), and tugs at her hand when she finally gives in, kneels down beside him.

Her phone is placed down beside his makeshift cushion, and she has to touch his face with her forearm to put it on silent.

“We’ve gotta be up in a couple hours anyway so it’s fine. We’ll just sleep it off tomorrow whenever Leon opens his fuckin’ mouth.”

“So, most of the day, then.” She jokes back, rests on her right side, moving her arm in front of her, uneasily placing her left hand on his abdomen.

“Jesus Christ, will you just get comfortable? I’m not gonna fuckin’ push you off of me or anything.”

“Yeah, because you’re such a cuddler.” She frowns, “It’s not like you’re emotionally detached or anything.”

She kicks him in the shin (intentionally or not, he isn’t sure), elbows him in the ribs twice.

“Amy, I swear to fucking God, if you don’t just lie down I’m gonna tie you down and sleep on top of you.”

“Have fun tying me down with no bedposts, dumbass.”

“Fuck you.” He scowls, shifts so his back is curved and he’s facing her more.

His eyes are closed though, and he doesn’t notice her awkward, pained smile when he slips his arm beneath her own and pulls her into his side, forcing her head onto his chest. “Just pretend I’m someone you like.”

“I don’t like anyone.”

“Then pretend I’m the person you hate the least.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Night.”

“Whatever.”

She finally closes her eyes then, pretending he isn’t so close, pretending he isn’t letting her snuggle, pretending he isn’t acting like someone completely different.

“Your breath stinks, by the way.”

“Fuck you, Amy.”

The alarm on her phone wakes them up at exactly eight o'clock, and they waste no time in sorting through their shit until they look somewhat presentable.

Namely because they have little time before they have to be at the office, mainly because both of their phones are blowing up with texts and notifications and Google fucking alerts featuring both of their names.

Amy suspects someone finally figured out who knocked her up. Dan suspects it’s because of something incriminating Selina might’ve said and they’re the ones who’ve got to clear up the mess.

When they arrive at work, having showered and changed and fucking washed at her place, their suspicions are put to rest. And, as usual, Amy was right.

“We believe,” Kent sighs, rounding the large bureau with a heavy breath, “it might’ve been one of the interns.”

“What?”

Ben shakes his head quickly, holds up his fresh coffee, “Some moron with half a brain cell sold the story to some low rent online paper. Didn’t even get a grand though, fucking amateur.”

“An intern? Like, one of our interns?”

“Yes, Amy! Who the fuck else’s intern could’ve caught wind of this?” Selina exclaims, quite clearly pissed.

“Ma'am, I screen them all myself. With Mike.”

Shoulders raised, neck stiff. Great.

Her mouth is drawn wide, her eyes huge, “I don’t understand how one of them could’ve-”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you and Dan were at your desk yesterday talking about your fucking apartment. Maybe that’s how people know you guys now own property.”

Oh. Oh, fuck.

“That fucking muffin-man.”

“The what?”

“There was this one- He brought me a snack.”

“A snack, Amy?” Selina squints, eyes the blonde like an eagle, “My golden fucking ticket leaked because you wanted a fucking snack?”

“To be fair, ma'am, it was going to get out either way. I’ll just make a statement,” he looks over at Amy, nods once to himself, “and we’ll announce it publicly-”

“Uh, no, you fucking won’t.” The brunettes shakes her head as though it’s obvious, as though what he’s saying is utter fucking nonsense.

“Leon will announce this. You two are gonna stay indoors. I’m not having people knock on my door because your stupid faces couldn’t shut the fuck up for one more day.”

The announcement had been imminent, seen as Amy was just safely past her twelfth week (much to Selina’s pleasure),

With all due respect, it’s none of your fucking business, Amy wants to shout so badly. Stay the fuck out of my business.

She won’t though, doesn’t yet have the gall to go one-on-one with Selina Meyer once again.

“Leon?”

“I’m already working on it.” He’s on his laptop, legs crossed so professionally, glasses pushed up, face is deep concentration.

“See?” Selina points, “He’s on top of things.” She inhales a deep breath, throws her head back, “Dan, you’re gonna give him a quote. That’s it. I don’t wanna hear one fucking squeak from you until I say so.”

It’s none of your fucking business.

“Shouldn’t I be saying or… doing something? This does concerns me, after all.” Amy adds, reluctantly.

“Ame,” Selina walks to her, rests a hand on her shoulder, “You fucked Dan. Living with that fact should be enough to deal with.”

“Right.” She swallows, draws her lips together, feels her throat tighten, “Do we know his name? The leaker?”

Gary places an iPad in her hands then, and she only frowns after him at the softness of his touch because his fingers lingered on her hands for a little longer than she cared for, “Thanks.”

'Broken Brookheimer No More: Turns Out a Paternity Test Wasn’t Needed After All’

The main article goes on to mention how they used to date (which Amy wants to laugh at, because that was not dating), how they worked together for years (on and off, on different schemes), how the long distance thing last year must have finally made them realise the true extent of their feelings for one another.

It’s complete bullshit. But something catches Amy’s attention.

“No, but you can sure as shit bet we’re gonna shoot him down if he ever steps foot in here again.” Selina points out with a hand on her hip, giving Kent a look. “Tell her.”

“The Twitter page for the paper is running a poll.” He hands her a piece of paper, “These are the results from twenty minutes ago.”

'Should she have aborted? 48% yes. 27% no. 25% don’t care.’

“Well, this is comforting.”

Fucking bullshit.

“It’s twisted, I’ll admit. But this does mean you’re gonna have to play along.” Kent seems to squint with one eye, taking back the poll paper with one slow hand, “We need to win over these pro-choicers.”

“We are pro-choice.”

“Yes, but we’re also pro-Selina.” Kent points out, and Selina nods eagerly, pointing an index finger up at her own face.

Un-fucking-believable.

“The, uh-” Amy begins, scratches her brow, phone still clutched tightly in the palm of her hand, “I think I know who sent him.”

“If it was that fucking bamboo shoot-”

“It wasn’t that bamboo shoot,” she corrects her, “It was Jonah.” There’s a vendetta behind that article.

“Makes sense, because I just got a text,”

Dan is at her side then, right on cue, phone in hand. He’s staring down at the screen, clearly in a trance, jaw clenched, “that said 'Congratulations, Daddy. Let me know what to get you guys as a wedding gift. I’m thinking matching pyjamas? Laugh my ass off. Just kidding. PS: How was the muffin? Probably not as good as Amy’s, right? Laugh my ass off. No, seriously, you’re screwed’ .”

Dan groans when he’s finished reading, and he looks down at Amy with tired eyes before glancing back to Selina, “I can’t believe I got that guy elected.”

“We are going to obliterate that fucking beanpole.” Selina speaks clearly. She clicks her tongue, watches Amy carefully, “Ame?”

“Uh huh?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Dealt with worse. For you.

“Okay.” She shoots Dan a look, waves a hand, “I guess we’re a go, people. Get this baby moving, get it kicking. We need some foetal fucking action going on around here.”

“Right.”

“And what are we gonna do about Jonah?”

“You and Dan are gonna take him out to lunch. And you’re gonna wear that ring he got you yesterday.”

“What ring?”

Shit.

“You didn’t fucking tell her?” Selina asks, “Well, I’m not your goddamn mother. Sort yourself out, Dan!”

“What ring?”

Were they actually being serious when they had that discussion the other day?

“I don’t have it on me.”

“Well, go and fucking fetch it then.”

“Amy?” He nods to the door, gestures for her to follow him.

Fuck.

They’re in this now.

[comicteaparty]

April 18th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party chat that occurred on April 18th, 2019, from 5PM - 7PM PDT.  The chat focused on The Carpet Merchant of Konstantiniyya by Reimena Yee; Edited by Atla Hrafney.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB START!

Good evening, everyone~! This week’s Thursday Book Club is officially beginning! Today we are discussing The Carpet Merchant of Konstantiniyya by Reimena Yee; Edited by Atla Hrafney~! (https://reimenayee.com/the-carpet-merchant-of-konstantiniyya/)

Remember that Thursday discussions are completely freeform! However, every 30 minutes I will drop in OPTIONAL discussion questions in case you’d like a bit of a prompt. If you miss out on one of these prompts, you can find them pinned for the chat’s duration. Additionally, remember that while constructive criticism is allowed, our focus is fun and respectfully appreciating the comic. All that said, let’s begin!

QUESTION 1. What is your favorite scene in the comic so far and why?

my favorite scene is definitely the one where zeynel sneaks off in the middle of the night after eating the cat to go pray. i love this scene for how emotionally raw it is. like this is somewhat being stripped and presented at their most desperate and vulnerable, and every part of the scene shows that. while at the same time, it has a good balance of feeling sort of mystical and expressing zeynel's faith through the choice in visuals and how many of the panels are composed together.

another of my favorite scenes is the end of volume 2 where certain ppl kick the bucket. it too was a powerful scene in terms of emotion and vulnerability, and another moment where i truly felt like the character in question was being their truest selves without the layers that ppl build up to protect themselves. not to mention i appreciate the bittersweetness of how it played out and how kindness kind of won in the end.

mathtans

Heeeey there. So, I kinda screwed this one up. Because normally when I reach the navigation page, I hit "FIRST". Aaaand... yeah, that wasn't the Carpet story. There's apparently a whole lot of other stories that come first. I was very confused, and this was a busy week. I figured it out half an hour ago and am reading now.

RebelVampire

oh dear. thats a lot worse than i was assuming too cause i knew the other comic was interspersed between the first and second volume. but now im glad i was vague in that last answer XD

mathtans

I was surprised it had been running since 2013 and then I noticed the artist had said they started it in 2016 in their kickstarter and derp. So I'll just kinda thumbs up stuff as I spot it.

reimena

If it makes it easier; here are the ebook versions of Volume I and II

Vol I: https://reimenayee.itch.io/the-carpet-merchant-voli Vol II: https://reimenayee.itch.io/the-carpet-merchant-volii

mathtans

Oh, hello author. Thanks.

(And now I must go tend to the wee one.)

RebelVampire

let's see then in the meantime. i loved the first scene where we see zeynel plying his trade and selling a carpet. like the scene immediately paints a picture for the visuals and draws you in with them. and the visuals are consistently beautiful throughout the comic.

but by contrast, i also appreciate the scene later on in the second volume where Mora wtfs Zeynel just taking the insults and Zeynel explains how its part of the job etc. etc. It was interesting to see this other take on his job and that not everything about selling carpets is all that fun and even if youre a cool vampire, sometimes you gotta swallow your pride and accept customers being dumbasses.

mathtans

Back-ish. Oh yes, the visuals are amazing. Not just the carpet patterns either. Even the sheep were different.

Lots of neat cultural stuff too.

RebelVampire

what i appreciate i think is the character of the backgrounds. cause a lot of them have what im going to describe as this splash effect. and while it may not always have anything to do with whats in the main panels and is mostly there to not be white space, i feel they always add great atmosphere to each individual page.

yeah i really adored the culture stuff. this is definitely not a heavily featured culture in comics so it was super interesting to get to see it.

though i also appreciate later zeynel's ability to just kind of meld into different cultures. cause it really gives the opportunity to compare, contrast, and appreciate

one thing i also want to say in regards to culture is that i also appreciate that the comic balances having unique culture features while still telling a story that is really universal to anybody. so you dont need to have some deep specific connection to the culture in order to appreciate the story in its fullest

QUESTION 2. One of the comic’s central themes is related to stories and story-telling. Overall, what do you personally think the comic is saying about the importance of stories in our lives? Of the fables that were juxtaposed to the main narrative, which one captured your imagination the most? How did you feel it related to what we were seeing in the story? In what ways did you see stories affect the lives of the characters within the story? Additionally, what did you make of Zeynel’s explanation about each carpet having a story within it? How do you think this applies to the works we see in our own lives? In total, how has the comic changed the way you see stories and how they shape our lives?

mathtans

Okay, little one's settled back in the crib, more fully back now.

Yeah, the story seems universal (from what I've gathered so far, with the two families). So it's more a bonus, the phrases and references and things.

RebelVampire

ill tackle the second question first. my favorite fable juxtaposed to the main narrative was Karagoz and Hacivat. there were a lot of reasons this juxtaposition really worked for me. first off, its premise of being a show that zeynel was watching i think somewhat helped build a feeling of nostalgia. like because the show was in the past, it helps illustrate how far away zeynel is from that. however, i think it further helps set up the idea of culture clashing. and predictively shows that both sides kind of have a negative and specific view of the opposing culture. so when these come up in the story, they help paint a particular perspective regarding them. and kind of force us as the readers to recognize that both sides have their biases as zeynel adjusts to life in different places.

mathtans

I know the feeling of being a better listener than talking about oneself. (Just as I'm reading, not sure if that necessarily relates to the stories idea.)

RebelVampire

in terms of the importance of stories, i feel like the comic was overall trying to say that stories help us connect to the world around us. and i kind of think this is represented with young zeynel. cause he sucks at talking about himself, but tells and listens to stories to connect with others. and this is how he bonds with people, learns about the world, and somehow down the line eventually learns about himself.

reimena

I do have thoughts of the intention behind the Karagoz and Hacivat scene, but I'll wait until everyone's done typing! (unless you want it now)

RebelVampire

you may go ahead since math definitely wouldnt be close to that one. participate as you would like

mathtans

I agree with what Rebel said, both about the bonding and learning through stories, and about the do your thing and don't wait for me, I'm a slow reader in general.

reimena

Haha I'm just lurking (doing other things while keeping this discord open). Only dropping in when necessary. (I appreciate all of the discussion though! <3)

mathtans

There's some really good non-dialogue panelling as Zeynel is opening himself up to the merchant life.

reimena

With the Karagoz and Hacivat story, it was meant to act as first, a parallel to Zeynel and Mora (with Zeynel being Hacivat, and Mora being Karagoz). Second, a subversion of the Other. Since Vol II is a jab at Orientalism, I thought it would be fun to have characters who are normally seen as "Other" to call out the Western world as their "Other".

Muslims both in the past and the present have always been constructed as monstrous or barbaric in Europe. Very rarely in a visual medium's critique of Orientalism do I see the opposite. Especially in the context of the era the comic is set in.

RebelVampire

i definitely appreciate the subversion of the "Other" then if it was intentional

reimena

Which explains the European wooden puppets at the end. The costumes, the white facepaint and blush, and the 3D construction of the design. Those are European. And they look rather jarring and out of place in a book that's mostly visually Ottoman.

mathtans

I was a little worried about how Zeynel's parents would react to his independence. It felt spot-on in the end, in particular the embrace and such, I'm glad he managed it. (Then fainting, hah.)

RebelVampire

this is true, their design really is odd compared to the rest and it did make me wtf for a moment admittedly. but i also definitely thought it made sense in the context

zeynel's parents reaction surprised the heck out of me, but probably in the good way

usually when you have overbearing parents, you expect them to be stubborn and not able to be persuaded. and yet here they were not and i thought that was a nice variety.

mathtans

Yeah, I was wondering about that, but the conditional acceptance worked for me.

Oh, well, the next sequence is a kick to the heart for me.

reimena

That's because they really love Zeynel. It's more overprotectiveness than being stubborn

mathtans

Speaking as someone with infertility issues in the family, ouch. Captured well though.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 3. Though much of the comic is about stories, there is also a lot of focus given to defining ourselves and achieving our dreams. Between Zeynel and Ayşe, which character’s struggle with their future path did you identify with most? What about it made it compelling? What do you think the comic shows and says about the way we define ourselves and pursue our dreams as it relates to others? Further, the narrative somewhat creates an identity crisis for Zeynel when he becomes a djinni/vampire. What part of his transformation did you find most compelling in his reaction towards it? What do you think we can learn from the comic in regards to moments like this where who we are changes? Is there anything else you’d like to mention in regards to identity and the comic?

i think i identified most with zeynel in regards to the future path struggle. cause ive been there with zeynel where you dont know what to do. and then you encounter ppl like Ayşe who just are 100% of what they want to do. and it can be an intimidating experience that makes you feel more lost sometimes, which i do think at first kind of happened. mostly cause zeynel really opened up and laid everything bare after some pressuring and i think its because Ayşe caused those emotions to reverberate more strongly than ever.

mathtans

Yeah, I've never really been clear on where I'm going, but I'm highly organized in the moment. Then there's those times when I know where I'm going (start a family) and reality just kicks you from behind and says you need to adapt those plans.

RebelVampire

yeah. but ultimately what i found about zeynel's struggle was how we were shown how he overcame it. in that he found something interesting that he was good at and decided to give it a try against all he was taught. but that it was something he did with those around him supporting him. and i think in a large way this is part of what the comic shows about defining ourselves. that in essence we are defined somewhat by the people around us, such as how zeynel's parents picked his career or how Ayşe herself was defined by her family's occupation. but at the same time changing how we see ourselves is made a lot easier when those around us who originally helped define us support explorations into other areas.

mathtans

Yeah, Zeynel also got a lot better at talking about himself. (I'm at the part where he heads off, runs into a guy and is suddenly telling him all about himself and carpets.)

RebelVampire

its easier to talk about yourself when youre proud of what you do

i really enjoyed how zeynel's vampire situation kind of goes through a lot of the stages of grief. though not all with zeynel either. cause i think denial hit Ayşe a lot, lot harder. but i think it played out really well because of that since his reaction felt extremely realistic.

and i love how hard they tried to make it work before hitting that acceptance stage

but all together i think the comic shows us that sometimes we do change, its sad, but we have to accept it cause no matter how hard we may try to make something work, the reality is it doesnt always

mathtans

I'm at the transformation part. That's rough. Some stuff you can just write off, but then reality hits you once again... and yeah, I agree Rebel, reality can be at odds with what we want or believe.

Interesting how the tavern guy, while being a jerk, still had an element of sympathy to him, what with his history.

RebelVampire

i felt bad for tavern guy. cause he was definitely a jerk, but at the same time all i can think of is how this poor guy will be found and no one will know who the murderer was. and maybe therell be a vague description of some out of town dude showing up. but then nothing cause this isnt modern day and its not like they have forensics or security survellaince footage.

mathtans

Yeah. Though I guess he did kinda want death, just earlier when he was with the sultan... his reality didn't work out either.

RebelVampire

it certainly did not.

i like to think tavern dude was the showcase of what happens when you choose to define yourself with anger and revenge

mathtans

Perhaps he wanted to beat someone up and figured an out-of-towner was better than someone who might have relatives nearby.

The night imagery when he goes back home is very effective

RebelVampire

that is probably true cause that scene made me marvel about how if you killed for self defense, the best course of action probably is to just run the heck away. cause like, who are you going to tell? and what is the liklihood those you tell are going to believe you that it was self defense? cause if i was like some town guard and some out-of-towner said to me "nah dude it was totally self defense" i might be like "idk man that sounds suspicious"

QUESTION 4. Much of the second volume focuses on the character of Mora and Zeynel’s affect on him. Overall, what is your opinion on Mora? Do you feel Zeynel handled the situation correctly, or would you have done it differently? Why do you think Zeynel had the affect he did on Mora? Do you feel Mora’s regrets at the end redeemed him, or do you feel that he had done too much damage by this point? Do you think Zeynel was sincere in saying that he would try and start forgiving Mora at the end? In essence, what do you think Zeynel and Mora’s story together says about good and bad people? Additionally, what is your take away in regards to the themes of redemption and forgiveness? What in the comic made you feel this way?

i love mora because he is a conflicted, murderous teddy bear who got dealt the worst hand in life.

and i think zeynel handled the situation 100% correctly. because i think that played into a large reason why he has an affect on mora. cause i think its relevant to even the scene where we first see mora. in that mora is flat out just not used to kindness. and that she be shown kindness reminds mora that not everyone are the people who were awful to him in his past.

mathtans

I don't think I'll get that far. Ayse is taking this better than I thought she would.

RebelVampire

honestly i didnt know what to expect for how Ayşe would take it. i was legit as nervous as zeynel about it. cause this is an unbelievable situation where you have to ask a person to 1) believe youre now a supernatural creature and 2) be okay with the fact that you sorta murdered someone, even if out of self defense

but i enjoyed i didnt know what to expect

cause it helped put me in zeynel's shoes

mathtans

Yeah, I kinda thought she'd let him go and try to find a cure or something. But in the story she told, I guess she still needs him as a constant in her life.

It's kind of regressed Zeynel back to the point where he's not sure who he is any more, or what he wants. Before it was his family affecting him, now it's this inner demon.

RebelVampire

since you wont be to that volume i wont dwell on it, but i do want to finish the last set of questions off by saying i do feel mora earned his redemption in a sense. not in the lets all forgiveness sort of way, but in the sense he finally took a satisfying step in the right direction since he acknowledged everything he had done to that point was wrong. but with mora and zeynel, i think the story is saying bad and good people are still people. and that bad people are often bad for reasons and that while we dont have to forgive them, theres a degree to which we should still show them some human decency. and that if said bad person is trying to redeem themselves, its good to encourage it even if to us personally they cant be redeemed.

mathtans

Definitely address your questions, they seem like good ones.

RebelVampire

i think thats a good way to look at the transformation. that hes regressed. cause its definitely an identity crisis

like even without the vampire thing i doubt zeynel would have labeled himself as someone capable of murder

so that in itself is a holy crap moment

mathtans

He never knew what he was capable of until it was thrust onto him.

Something I've noticed narratively is the use of flashback. We started with the little blurb on the boat... then to the carpet selling... then back again 25 years. (There was something similar in the very first story too, the one I started reading accidentally.)

RebelVampire

yeah and tbh i think thats kind of within the comic as well regarding identity. that as much as we can come to define ourselves, we may still be missing portions of that definition if we never test ourselves in certain ways and find out what were actually capable of in certain situation.

mathtans

I always hesitate a bit with that style, like I wonder if it's really necessary, but I thought it worked well in terms of how the 25 years got kind of "fast forwarded" through the relationship to bring us to the present rather than jumping back. That was good.

(No idea if that narrative idea happens again.)

That's a good way of putting it, Rebel. Not only missing portions from testing but if other people are needed to bring those things into focus for us.

RebelVampire

yeah the use of flashback is interesting. though i think i most appreciate the first flashback transition from the boat to zeynel's successful merchant life. cause i think the boat really set up some great expectations. so when you see zeynel all happy selling a carpet youre like "hey werent you just eating a rat on a boat how did that come about."

mathtans

I'm not sure I made the link that fast, I just thought they were related or something.

RebelVampire

well even related i still think it sets up ominous tone for future events. so eh.

mathtans

I'm reminded of a conversation earlier today with colleagues, of when someone gets old and feels like maybe it's just their time and isn't necessarily proactive about health and stuff. But others may need that person to still be around. So they make an effort for that reason.

This two-panel style between Zeynel and Ayse is pretty effective.

RebelVampire

i think thats true to whats happening in the story for sure. cause as confident as Ayşe is, i dont think she wouldve accomplished her goals without zeynel. and tbf we dont really see them have that many friends who arent family and working for them. so they probably a close knit group

one thing i want to say at that end is that this comic really made me want to learn how to make carpets so i too can have beautiful carpets on my floor

mathtans

It's like, there's so much emotion here, it needs space to breathe.

I think there was a tutorial panel somewhere in there.

(For making carpets.)

RebelVampire

there was and id be lying if i said i didnt legitimately studied it for a bit

but then i gave up

and felt Ayşe's pain

mathtans

Made it to #300. Rough stuff. Very emotional.

You'll just have to weave your stories in the meantime, Rebel.

RebelVampire

this chat was missing a pun

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB END!

Sadly, this wraps up this week’s Thursday Book Club chat for now. Thank you so much to everyone for reading and joining us! We want to give a special thank you to Reimena Yee and Atla Hrafney, as well, for making The Carpet Merchant of Konstantiniyya. If you liked the comic, make sure to support Reimena Yee’s efforts however you’re able to~!

Read and Comment: https://reimenayee.com/the-carpet-merchant-of-konstantiniyya/

Pledge for a Hard Copy: https://unbound.com/books/the-carpet-merchant-voli/

Reimena’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/reimenayee

[taiey]

I’d like to ask you to imagine that you live in a very repressive country—there are elections but they are fake. The leader wins 100% of the vote each time. Security forces beat up opposition leaders with impunity, and they harass everyone else. This is a country where being in this room right now would get you on a list. Now let’s say you’ve had enough, and so have many other people that you talk to in low whispers. I’m not talking about the Hunger Games although that would be awesome. Unfortunately I’m talking about real world conditions that many people find themselves in right now.

Assuming you’ve decided to act, what would be the best way for you to challenge the system and create major change?

My own answer to this question has changed over the past five years. In 2006 I was a PhD student in political science here at CU-Boulder, and I was finishing my dissertation about how and why people use violence to seek political goals. As for the scenario I just described? Well, back then I bought into the idea that “power flows from the barrel of a gun.” I would have said that although it was tragic, it was logical in such cases for people to use violence to bring about change.

But that June, I was invited to an academic workshop put on by the International Center on Nonviolent Conflict. They were giving a week-long primer on nonviolent resistance to encourage people like me to teach about it in our courses. Now, my view of all this stuff was that it was well-intentioned, but dangerously naïve. The readings they sent me argued that the best way for people to achieve political change was through nonviolent or civil resistance. The authors described civil resistance as an active form of conflict where unarmed civilians used tactics like protests, demonstrations, strikes, boycotts, and many other forms of mass noncooperation to confront oppression. They brought up cases like Serbia, where a nonviolent revolution toppled Slobodan Milosevic—the butcher of the Balkans—in October of 2000, or the Philippines where the People Power movement ousted Ferdinand Marcos in 1986.

At the workshop, I said things like, “Well, for every successful case you guys mention, I can think of a failed case like Tiananmen Square. I can also think of plenty of cases where violence worked pretty well, like the Algerian, French, and Russian revolutions. Maybe nonviolent resistance works if you’re seeking labor rights, gender rights, or environmental reform, but it generally can’t work if you’re trying to overthrow a dictator or become a new country. Serbia and the Philippines–they were probably exceptions. And there’s no way nonviolent resistance can work against a ruthless opponent.”

By the end of the week, as you can imagine, I wasn’t too popular.

My soon-to-be co-author—Maria Stephan–came up to me and said something like, “If you’re right, prove it. Are you curious enough to study these questions empirically?”

Believe it or not, no one had systematically done this before. Although I was still skeptical, I was curious. If they were right and I was wrong, I figured somebody had better find out. So for the next two years, I collected data on all major nonviolent and violent campaigns for the overthrow of a government or territorial liberation since 1900. The data cover the entire world and include every known campaign that consists of at least a thousand observed participants, which constitutes hundreds of cases.

Then I analyzed the data, and the results blew me away. From 1900 to 2006, nonviolent campaigns worldwide were twice as likely to succeed outright as violent insurgencies. And there’s more. This trend has been increasing over time—in the last fifty years civil resistance has become increasingly frequent and effective, whereas violent insurgencies have become increasingly rare and unsuccessful. This is true even in extremely repressive, authoritarian conditions where we might expect nonviolent resistance to fail.

So why is civil resistance so much more effective than armed struggle? The answer lies in people power itself.

Researchers used to say that no government could survive if five percent of its population mobilized against it. But our data reveal that the threshold is probably lower. In fact, no campaigns failed once they’d achieved the active and sustained participation of just 3.5% of the population—and lots of them succeeded with far less than that. Now, 3.5% is nothing to sneeze at. In the U.S. today, this means almost 11 million people.

But get this: Every single campaign that did surpass that 3.5% threshold was a nonviolent one. In fact, campaigns that relied solely on nonviolent methods were on average four times larger than the average violent campaign. And they were often much more representative in terms of gender, age, race, political party, class, and urban-rural distinctions.

Civil resistance allows people of all different levels of physical ability to participate—including the elderly, people with disabilities, women, children, and virtually anyone else who wants to. If you think about it, everyone is born with an equal physical ability to resist nonviolently. Anyone who has kids knows how hard it is to pick up a child who simply doesn’t want to move, or to feed a child who simply doesn’t want to eat.

But for lots of people, violent resistance is much more physically demanding. You have to train to be good at it. When I was in college, I took military science classes because I wanted to go through the ROTC program and become an army officer. I liked the rappelling, the uniforms, map-reading, and shooting at the range. But I wasn’t stoked about getting up in the wee hours of the morning to run until I vomited. I quit–and chose the far less strenuous career of professor.

Not everyone wants to take the same chances in life, and many people won’t turn up unless they expect safety in numbers. The visibility of many civil resistance tactics, like protests, helps to draw these risk-averse people into the fray. Put yourself back in that repressive country for a minute. Say your neighbor comes to you and says, “We’re going to have a demonstration in the main square down the street at 8pm tonight. I hope you can make it.” Now, I don’t know about you all, but I’m not the person who is going to show up at 7:55 to see what’s up. I’m going to wait until about 8:30 or so, check out my window, and see what’s going on. If I see only 6 people assembling in the square, I’m probably going to sit this one out. But if I see 6,000 and more coming down the alleyway, I might join them.

The point here is that nonviolent campaigns can solicit more diverse and active participation from ambivalent people. And once those people get involved, it’s almost guaranteed that the movement will then have some links to security forces, the state media, business or educational elites, religious authorities, and civilian bureaucrats who start to question their allegiances. No regime loyalists in any country live entirely isolated from the population itself. They have friends, they have family, and they have existing relationships that they have to live with in the long term, regardless of whether the leader stays or goes. In the Serbian case, once it became clear that hundreds of thousands of Serbs were descending on Belgrade to demand that Milosevic leave office, policemen ignored the order to shoot on demonstrators. When asked why he did so, one of them said: “I knew my kids were in the crowd.”

I’ll bet some of you are thinking, “Is she insane? I watch the news, and I see protestors getting shot at in the streets all the time!” Sometimes crackdowns do happen. But even in these cases, nonviolent campaigns outperformed violent ones by two-to-one. When security forces beat up, arrest, or even shoot unarmed activists, there is, indeed, safety in numbers. Large and well-coordinated campaigns can switch from concentrated methods (like protests) to dispersed methods, where people stay away from places they were expected to go. They do strikes, they do stay-at-home demonstrations, they bang on pots and pans, they shut off the electricity at a coordinated time of day — these tactics are much less risky. They’re very hard or at least very costly to suppress, while the movement stays just as disruptive.

What happens in these countries once the dust settles? It turns out, the way you resist matters in the long run too. Most strikingly, nonviolent campaigns were far more likely to usher in democratic institutions than violent insurgencies. And countries where people waged nonviolent struggle were 15% less likely to relapse into civil war.

The data are clear: When people rely on civil resistance, their size grows. And when large numbers of people withdraw their cooperation from an oppressive system, the odds are ever in their favor.

So. Many people in my field had largely ignored the millions of people worldwide who were skillfully using civil resistance in favor of studying things that blow up. I had a few questions about the way I used to think. Why was it so easy and comfortable for me to believe that violence works? And why did I find it acceptable to simply assume that violence happens—almost automatically—because of circumstances, or by necessity—that it’s the only way out of some situations? In a society that celebrates battlefield heroes on national holidays, I guess it was natural to grow up believing that violence and courage are one and the same—and that true victories can’t come without bloodshed on both sides.

But the evidence I’ve presented here today suggests that for people serious about seeking change, there are realistic alternatives. Imagine now what our world would look like if we allowed ourselves to develop faith in them. What if our history courses emphasized the decade of mass civil disobedience that came before the Declaration of Independence, rather than the war that came after? What if Gandhi and King were the basis of the first chapter of our social studies textbooks, rather than an afterthought? What if every child left elementary school knowing more about the Suffragist movement than they did about the Battle of Bunker Hill? And what if it became common knowledge that when protests become too dangerous, there are many nonviolent techniques of dispersion that might keep participants safe and keep movements resilient?

So here we are in 2013 in Boulder, Colorado. Maybe some of you are thinking, “OK, I get that civil resistance is the best bet, but what can I do?”

Encourage your children to learn about the nonviolent legacies of the past two hundred years and explore the potential of people power. Tell your elected representatives to stop perpetuating the misguided view that violence pays by supporting the first groups in a civil uprising to take up arms. Although nonviolent campaigns can’t be exported or imported, it’s time for our officials to embrace a different way of thinking—that in the short and long term, civil resistance tends to leave behind societies in which people are able to live more freely and more peaceably together.

Now that we know what we know about the power of nonviolent conflict, I see it as our shared responsibility to spread the word so that future generations don’t fall for the myth that violence is their only way out.

Thank you.

https://rationalinsurgent.com/2013/11/04/my-talk-at-tedxboulder-civil-resistance-and-the-3-5-rule/