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thebrochtuarachs · 3 years

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Something in the Rain - “A Month Apart, Part 1”

A/N: Hi everyone, thank you for your patience as I whipped out this chapter. I had the initial outline on how this chapter will go but more frequent than none, it changes a lot in the middle while I'm in the writing process. :) I love this story and I hope it just gives you the good feels while reading this. We're two years into this pandemic and the world is still crazy. I hope you're keeping safe and being kind to yourself. :) As always, your comments and suggestions are very much welcome.

A modern day meet cute instance between Jamie and Claire.

AO3 / C1: A Day In June : C2: Definitely, Maybe : C3: So We Meet Again : C4: Friday Lunch : C5: Finding Solid Ground : C6: Situations : C7: Interruptions

XXXXX

After their first date, their schedule for the following two weeks we’re packed - with Jamie settling back in the firm after his 2-week trip from London and Claire’s schedule at the hospital and preparing for her trip to Seattle.

Being a lawyer and a doctor weren’t the most flexible jobs - with patients and clients to attend to, surgeries and hearings to prepare for, plus, with both of them in administrative positions, it is additional work on top of their normal duties. But Claire and Jamie were determined to make it work, so they decided to communicate better, be extra patient and understanding, and really commit whatever available time they had.

The first week, Jamie couldn’t make lunch as he had a court hearing to prepare for and Claire couldn’t make dinner as she was on the night shift. So Jamie, one day, surprised Claire outside the hospital by picking her up, invited her to quick breakfast dates instead, and dropping her off at her house to make sure she got home safe.

The second week was a bit lighter but with Claire going to Seattle on Saturday, she had to do extra administrative work to make sure everything was set for her leave. She offered to have dinner takeaways at her office in the evenings which he happily accepted.

The night before her flight, Claire and Jamie were hanging out in her office, sitting at the sofa, admiring the Edinburgh skyline with a little wine and cheese tray.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t go out” Claire apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, Sassenach.” Jamie turned to Claire and patted her hand. “I honestly would prefer to do anything if it means I get to spend time with you - whether sitting here in your office on a Friday night or sitting in the gallery watching your surgery.”

“You’re too good to me, James” Claire quipped in a feigned dramatic voice.

“Ah, you give me too much credit, Claire. I hope you know that you make an effort too, especially these past two weeks”

“Me? It feels like you’re fitting more to my schedule than I am yours!”

“But you met me during breakfast even though you looked too knackered from yer shift.”

Claire couldn’t deny that and she could just smile with Jamie’s understanding.

“Are you all packed up for tomorrow?” Jamie asked, changing the subject.

“Yes. The weather’s mostly rainy in Seattle so I brought extra items for the wet and cold.”

“And what’s your schedule for the month?”

“Have I not sent you my itinerary? Hold up -” Claire took out her phone and quickly sent an email to Jamie. “There, I sent you my schedule but between teaching and surgery, my time’s the same as here just minus the administrative work, which I tell you not, I’m pretty excited to be free of it for the next month”

Jamie just nodded. The next month.

It’s all rather bad timing if you look at it. The first month, they’ve been rather inseparable with going to lunches almost everyday and weekends at the center. The following month, quick dates and meetings as Jamie was away at London and their crazy schedule at the hospital and the firm. And now, going into the third month since meeting, they’d be completely separated by roughly 4,485 miles.

“Did you hear what I said, Jamie?” Claire asked while waving a hand in front of Jamie’s face.

“I’m sorry, what?” Returning to the present, unaware that his mind has gone away a bit.

Claire gave him a softened look and sat closer to him. “What were you thinking?”

Jamie stayed silent but Claire’s look urged him on.

“Nah, ye’ll think me daft” Jamie said but Claire shook her head.

“Fine” Jamie stretched his arm to pull her closer and she gladly leaned on his shoulder. “I was just thinking about how I’ll not be able to see ye for a month, how much I’ll be missing ye, and how excited I am once ye return here.”

“Oh,” Claire knew the feelings were simple but it’s his words and the way he said it that touched her most.

“I told ye it’s daft.”

“It’s not daft.” Claire tried to mimic Jamie’s accent but they both just have to laugh at her attempt. Turning serious quickly, she took Jamie’s face by the hand and looked deeply into his eyes. “You know that I am going to miss you too.”

Jamie just nodded in agreement, looking at Claire so sweetly and lovingly that she couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss.

Since their first kiss after their date, they hadn’t been shy in showing affection to each other. Nonetheless, it’s all been very respectful to the boundaries to whatever stage they are in their relationship. Hand touches, hugs, pecks and kisses here and there but never really beyond that.

But with her impending departure, Claire seemed to be eager for more. Instead of completely pulling away, she kissed him again some more.

Jamie quickly picked up the signal and allowed himself to pull Claire closer and to his lap. A few minutes later, Claire felt Jamie’s tongue on her lips asking for entrance which she happily obliged. The air around them was electric.

Jamie was first to pull away before the moment got away from them. Claire sighed - not from disappointment, but by the fact of how chivalrous Jamie really is. And she doesn’t really mind it one bit. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

The following day, Jamie picked up Claire to drop her off at the airport. They thought they had time for a quick bite but traffic was so horrendous that they got to the gate just in time before boarding began.

With barely any time left, Jamie pulled Claire to a tight hug as the PA system called her flight. “Go, you’ll miss your plane”

Claire reluctantly released Jamie with a grunt. “Let’s go somewhere when I return”

“Sounds like a plan” Jamie tried to hide the longing in his voice but it was too late.

“The month will be over before you know it, okay? Message me everyday, call me every afternoon when you can” Claire encouraged him. With one last kiss, they bade each other goodbye as she started walking to her gate and Jamie was no longer in sight.

As Claire waited for take off, the silence of a constant message ping on her phone slightly unsettled her. It was then she realized the vast distance between Seattle and Edinburgh. A single tear escaped but she quickly pulled it together. She’s not even gone yet but homesickness hit her right away.

So the four-week long distance trial began.

The 8-hour time difference is not too crazy between Seattle and Edinburgh with their available times falling at the start and end of the day. They’ve been coping well with their synced calendars and communication options.

Jamie sends flowers and snacks to Seattle Grace, earning Claire points from the staff for all the treats she’s been giving away.

Claire, on her end, sends late messages to Jamie to wake up to in the morning and asks Mrs. Kim’s Korean Street Food Hub to delivery chicken wings to Jamie every so often.

They’ve also reserved some time on the weekend for extended calls with conversations falling from happenings to their week to what hairstyles and colors they’ve done in the past.

It wasn’t till late in the 3rd week that things started to shake up.

It was a random Thursday evening in rainy Seattle. Between two surgeries and one class, Claire was ready to call it a day. She was settling on her sofa, drinking her tea for a little night cap when her phone pinged. It was 9:30PM Seattle meaning it was 5:30AM Edinburgh, too early for anybody to contact her over there unless it was important.

Grabbing her phone, her notifications show it was from Geillis. It was a link to a tabloid along with a message “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?”

With the link, she can see the preview of the title “Jamie Fraser is off the market!” Curiosity prevailed Claire and she clicked the article

On the other side of the world, Jamie, as always, promptly arrived at the firm. Just as he was to pass Mrs. Fitz, she called him out.

“Ah, lad”

“Yes, Mrs. Fitz?”

“I dinna ken yet what ye or Claire are yet but have ye spoken to her today?”

“Today? Not yet. Why?”

She motioned for him to come round the reception and take a peek at her monitor.

She showed him the same article Geillis sent Claire and as soon Jamie saw the accompanying photo, he fished out his phone and immediately contacted Claire. It was midnight in Seattle but Jamie didn’t care - he wanted to clear things before things got misinterpreted.

“Erm, hello?” a groggy Claire answered the phone on the other side of the line.

“Hi, were ye asleep?” Jamie asked as he walked the hallway to his office.

“I was but I answered already, what’s up?” she replied, her voice still muffled by sleep. She knew why he was calling though but wanted to hear it from him. “Did you just arrive at the firm?”

“Yes,” he replied, closing the door to his office for privacy. “Well, I don’t want to keep you long but an article came last night about me and well, in case ye’ll see it, it is not true.”

Jamie heard Claire sigh on the other end, “I’ve seen it” she confirmed.

“Ye’ve already seen it?” he repeated in disbelief, looking at his watch, it’s only been posted a few hours ago.

“Geillis sent it to me earlier, I think it just came out then. She’s a bit of a morning person so…”

“Claire, it isn’t true. It was all in a bad angle. The Dunsany’s have been a long-time client of ours and we had an unexpected dinner meeting yesterday. I was just escorting their daughter to her car when the paparazzi got wind of us and ran with whatever story they could think of.” Jamie quickly explained in summary.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I mean you say it’s not true and I believe you.”

“You don’t have any questions?” he asked, a little baffled.

“Not really. I mean was there more to it?”

“A bit but something we can talk about later.”

“Okay”

It was both refreshing and confusing as to why Claire seemed nonchalant about all this. On one end, she might be really understanding. On the other end, she might be harboring ill-feelings she didn’t want to discuss.

It was Jamie’s line that turned silent. Claire, guessing he might need more despite her sleepy state, obliged him. “Jamie, I won’t lie. I was surprised at first because of the photo and how the article was written with your family histories. Add to that, that I didn’t see it in the calendar and you didn’t text me about it.”

“Why didn’t you call -?”

“But” she interrupted him, “I also know you, Jamie, and I know about us. If I was really concerned, I’ll call you right away. But I’m not and we’ll be meeting later anyway, so I know we’ll talk about it eventually.” she paused to catch a breath. “Besides, you already explained it, I don’t need to know any more because I trust you, Jamie.”

“Okay” it was Jamie’s turn to give the one-word reply.

“Are we okay now?” she asked.

“Yes, as long as ye are too.” Jamie replied to which Claire mummed in agreement. “Thank ye, Claire.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I’ll go back to sleep and see you later.” With that, Claire ended the call, a small smile crept on her face knowing the relief and joy Jamie probably feels right now.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #something in the rain #sitr #mia writers #jamie fraser #claire fraser #jamie x claire #geillis duncan #mrs. fitz #geneva dunsany #sam heughan #caitriona balfe #sam x cait #samcait #sam cait

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the-lincyclopedia · 4 years

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* adapted from @librajiminn on twitter

A fun game to celebrate 2020 ending! The rules are simple: recommend your favorite OMGCP fics so everyone can enjoy them, while trying to fill in enough slots to get a bingo!

This is going to get long, so I’ll put it under a cut. Also, I’m too orderly to try to shoehorn my favorite fics into these particular prompts, so I’m just going to go right to left, top to bottom, taking the prompts literally, until it’s bedtime.

1. first fic you bookmarked: “Here Comes the Sun” by @doggernaut, 19k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

For the past month, the man with the baby and the sad blue eyes has been stopping in for a cup of coffee an hour before closing. He always sits in an overstuffed chair in the corner and drinks his coffee while his baby sleeps next to him in the stroller. Sometimes he pulls a book out from the diaper bag he carries with him; other times he just stares straight ahead as if in a daze. He never asks for a refill, always respectfully gathers his things and leaves ten minutes before the shop officially closes. Eric desperately wants to ask him what his story is.

My notes: I read Check Please over the course of two days in June of 2019. On the second day, right after catching up, I looked at @peppermintfeminist‘s AO3 bookmarks and found a fic by @doggernaut. Then I read just about everything @doggernaut had ever posted. It was glorious. This fic in particular is so cute.

2. most recent fic you bookmarked: “Flight Check” by @edgarallanrose, 15k, E, no warnings (though there is a creepy/handsy guy at a club to watch out for), primarily Zimbits with most of the other popular pairings in the background

Flight attendant Eric “Bitty” Bittle has been working his way up at Samwell Airlines for the past four years, and his new promotion has provided him the opportunity to work with a brand-new crew. Unfortunately for Bitty, that crew includes an incredibly handsome but equally grumpy pilot, Captain Jack Zimmermann, who seems to want nothing to do with Bitty. Even worse, Jack refuses to eat any of Bitty's baked goods. Will Bitty be able to win the captain over? Or is there another reason Jack has been avoiding Bitty?

My notes: There are a lot of great things about this fic--Jack’s character arc, Lardo’s dialogue, that scene in Seattle--but the reason I bookmarked it is the scene where Bitty’s basically slut-shaming himself and Jack gently but firmly tells Bitty not to do that and that it was the creep’s fault.

3. a fic that made you cry actual tears: “a little bit more” by @ivecarvedawoodenheart, 14k, T, no warnings, Holsom

“I just wanted,” he says, “a perfect day. With you. Because it’s our last day together and our last day being here as undergrads and we’re kissing the ice tonight, and the weather’s supposed to be beautiful, and you’re moving tomorrow and Holtzy I just — I don’t want to be missing you already.” Holster wipes his eyes before he even realizes he’s crying. Behind him, Ransom sighs. “One more day where everything’s the same,” he says, feeling around blindly for Rans’ fingers. He feels Rans nod as he laces their fingers together. “Yeah. Yeah, Rans. I’d like that a lot.” __________________________

Holsom after graduation and throughout the subsequent six months after Holster signs to an expansion team in Oregon, and realizes his feelings for Ransom too late. Holster's POV :) kinda angsty, but there's a happy ending :)

Inspired by shitty-check-please-aus: "Holster moves to Oregon while Ransom stays on the east coast. The time difference makes it difficult to talk and one day they wake up and realize they aren’t best bros anymore."

My notes: I almost never cry at fics. I searched “tears” in my fandom email account and only a handful of my fic comments came up, but Syd is a literal master of Holsom angst, always.

4. longest fic you’ve read: “Like Real People Do” by @xiaq, 153k, M, No Warnings, Kent Parson x OC

Parson gestures with his spoon toward Hawke. “So am I allowed to ask about the service dog or is that not PC?”

“My medical history is more of a 3rd date conversation," Eli says.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because. No one sticks around afterward and I like to live in glorious denial for a short period beforehand.”

It comes out more self-deprecating than he intended.

Parson looks…thoughtful. “Well, does this count as one or two?

“Pardon?”

“This. Ice cream. I mean, technically it’s a second location, but still the same night. So is this one date or two?”

“One,” Eli says firmly. “If it’s happening within the same three-hour period.”

“You’re the expert,” Parson says, which, he’s really, really, not, but ok.

“So still two dates to go then?” Parson continues.

“I—what?”

“We’ve got a roadie coming up but then we’re home for almost two weeks. When does your semester start?”

“You want to do this again?” Eli asks.

Parson stops idly twirling his spoon.

“You don’t?”

He does, Eli realizes. He really does. Because apparently he actually likes Kent fucking Parson.

My notes: Okay, this fic has my whole entire heart. I’ve read it multiple times in its entirety, and it’s almost twice as long as the full-length novel I’m querying. Eli is one of my favorite OCs I’ve ever seen in a fic (probably tied with Damian Navarro and Ari Paxton, both brainchildren of @fozmeadows). Anyway, this is probably going to be the next thing @themeaningoflifeischeese and I read out loud to each other.

5. a fic you almost didn’t read: “when all else fails (i’ll still be right here)” by @whoacanada, 6k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (and I don’t remember if I think there’s stuff to warn for, sorry), Zimbits

The National Hockey League is resurrecting the Quebec City Nordiques, and the expansion draft hits the Falconers much harder than expected.

My notes: Given that this was for @omgcpheartbreakfest, I was worried this would be all angst--all hurt and no comfort. Which made me sad, because I love @whoacanada‘s writing but I wasn’t up for reading unresolved angst. But @doggernaut reblogged the fic, so I asked if the ending was sad, and it’s NOT! There is quite a bit of angst but the ending isn’t sad.

6. a fic that convinced you on a ship you didn’t ship before: “it drops with the gravity of rain” by @geniusorinsanity, 16k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (attempted sexual assault by an OC), Nurseydex

It happens like this:

“I don’t--this is a bad idea,” Dex says, his lips still tingling, his hands shaking on Nursey’s hips where he’s shoved him away. “This is a really bad idea, Nurse. I can’t--We can’t do this.”

And there’s hurt in Nursey’s eyes and his bottom lip is swollen from Dex’s teeth, but he says, “Okay.” And then, “It’s chill, Dex. Just friends, then.”

It happens like this:

“Actually,” Nursey says, talking more to his granola than to them, “I kind of have a date.”

It happens like this:

When Nursey calls, Dex almost doesn’t pick up the phone.

My notes: So I was really confused and a little disturbed when I first found out people shipped Nursey and Dex. Like, Dex just wasn’t someone I trusted. But then I was moving out of the house I’d been living in, and I needed stuff to listen to as I packed and cleaned, and @khashanakalashtar‘s podfics came in clutch. I gave this one a try even though I didn’t like Dex, and @geniusorinsanity blew. My. Mind.

7. a fic from an unusual POV: “Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” by @porcupine-girl, 8k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

Jesse Snowden knows all the best restaurants and gourmet food shops in Providence, so when Jack Zimmermann starts bringing in incredible baked goods, he's eager to find out where the new bakery is. When he meets the man behind the pies, he decides that there's no way Jack could really appreciate this guy's talent the way he does, even if they are friends. He starts hiring Jack's chef on the side, in the hopes that maybe once Bitty's done with college he'll come work for Jesse.

Good thing there is absolutely no way whatsoever that Jesse could possibly be misinterpreting this situation.

My notes: Oh my gosh this is so funny. The secondhand embarrassment factor is huge, but like, the hilarity.

8. a comfort fic: “Don’t Need to Compromise” by @khashanakalashtar, 11k, E, no warnings, PB&J

“Hey,” said Kent, unknowingly setting off a chain of events that would change his entire life, “you said that like you know from experience. Have you done this before?”

Jack and Bitty have not done polyamory before, but they do know Ransom and Holster’s polycule, which contains March.

And March?

March is trans.

My notes: I’m in love with @khashanakalashtar‘s entire Directionverse series (and honestly a lot of their other writing), but “Don’t Need to Compromise,” which is the second fic in the series, just makes my heart swell especially much. The gender feels are so good, and all the characters are so good to each other, and when I listen to this on walks I have to actively try not to arm-flap.

9. a fic you wish could be a movie: “Ice Crew Please!” by @petals42, 61k, T, no warnings, Zimbits

Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.

He’s not, of course.

Enter the Ice Crew.

AKA: The Ice Crew AU

My notes: This fic has its tender moments, but what I love most about it is the sheer goofiness. Ransom and Holster and Shitty are HILARIOUS in this one. I’d love to see their shenanigans in movie form.

10. a WIP you read as it was updated: “Something Borrowed” by @fozmeadows, 48k, M, no warnings, Kent x OC

All things considered, Ari did his best to prepare himself for the advent of Kent Parson, Potentially Difficult Housemate and New Star Liney. The problem was that his best was an idiot.

My notes: So technically I didn’t start reading this until the first 19 chapters were posted. But there was still plenty of anticipation for the final few chapters. And like, @fozmeadows (as mentioned above) makes EXCELLENT OCs. And I love how their fics consistently convey that having bad things happen to you does not mark the end of your story.

Okay, it’s bedtime, so have 10 excellent fics. I got bingo twice, because I went straight across on the top two rows.

#mine #omgcp #omgcheckplease #check please #fic recs

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thekisforkeats · 3 years

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The Joys of Fandom, or, how TMA helped me rediscover my love of tea

So among the many (many) good things The Magnus Archives podcast has brought to my life, none has been quite so profound as remembering how much I love making a good cup of tea. I’ve got a whole post about how it’s helped me categorize the anxiety cloud I live with on a constant basis, how it’s gotten me writing again, and writing poetry which I haven’t done in forever, how identifying with so many openly queer boys going through so much crap has helped me figure out that I want to transition.

But.

Tea is the reason we’re here today, because making a pot of tea has become a daily ritual since I started listening to TMA, and it’s been one of those tiny things that’s changed my life profoundly, and I have TMA to thank for this almost entirely.

I did not grow up drinking tea. I am from the Seattle, Washington area, and I’m just old enough Starbucks was a popular local coffee shop when I was a kid. My parents both drank a TON of coffee, my mother basically runs on the stuff, and by the time I was 6 I was drinking coffee too. Tea, growing up, was Lipton, sometimes iced or sometimes not. I didn’t even realize herbal tea was tea. Green tea was a thing one drank at Chinese restaurants. I was not at all informed.

When I got my first job, I would stop at Starbucks during the bus layover (as once does in the Seattle area) and one day in a fit of teenaged desire to be “cool” and “writerly” because I’d seen a tin of “Writer’s Chai” in the store I bought a chai latte. I loved it, and that became my go-to Starbucks drink.

I still didn’t really get tea, but I at least started learning how to boil water in the kettle and waiting for it to actually boil, pouring it over the tea bag, etc. I didn’t put in milk or sugar because I drank coffee black unless it was a latte or a mocha. I would just sort of... boil the water and pour it over and wait a few minutes and drink the tea with the bag still in the mug.

It wasn’t until I moved to Toronto that I sat down and had a good cup of tea. The woman who hosted the social group I was part of had her particular tea-making rituals, and she encouraged me to try it with milk and sugar, and it was... amazing. Life-changing, even. My perseveration drive kicked into full swing and I had to know everything about tea and its history and how to make a proper cup and so on and so forth. I learned all I could from our hostess, and then turned to the internet.

I bought a kettle to make tea at home but my ex wasn’t really supportive of my desire to brew tea on the regular, so loose leaf and teapots and “does the milk go in in cup before or after the tea” had to wait until I moved out and got a place of my own.

Then I moved to Tallahassee.

In Tallahassee, the coffee was atrocious unless it was from a couple of specific places, mostly serving cafe con leche. But I had my own place and my own dishes and I could have a teapot and make tea and nobody could stop me. So I did. Mostly for myself, while I was contemplating things, and it was really nice to sit and stare out at the ridiculously heavy Florida rain--which hit, in Tallahassee, right about 4:15 in the afternoon all summer so perfect for tea time.

I moved back to Seattle with my spouse, and we moved into my mother’s house. For a long while we didn’t have a kitchen of our own and we had small children, so tea wasn’t a thing I did any more. I had leftover coffee (or canned/bottled coffee) for the caffeine fix, but rarely tea. When my grandmother died and we moved into her old apartment we didn’t have a stove, and I despise heating water for tea in the microwave.

So for the better part of a decade, I barely drank any tea at all. I did discover Oi Ocha in this time, which is bottled green tea from Japan, which is amazing and I love it, but again--it was in a bottle. Not a thing I was personally making.

Then I started listening to The Magnus Archives, and I really identified with Martin Blackwood, because of reasons too complicated to get into here. But it inspired me to want to make tea again, and so I started getting K-cup pods, but it just... wasn’t... right. It wasn’t the same. I mean, it was tea, but it wasn’t... tea.

So I went and bought an electric kettle, and a teapot, and a strainer, and ordered regular deliveries of loose leaf tea, and started making tea for myself and my spouse. I developed my own ritual: cold water in the kettle, put hot water into the teapot (so it doesn’t crack), put three scoops of loose leaf in the strainer. Pour out the water in the teapot when the kettle boils, put in the strainer, pour the boiling water over the strainer. Wait four minutes or so, and while you’re waiting put a splash of half-and-half in the tea mugs (milk goes first so it doesn’t scald and we like the taste of half-and-half best). Then pour the tea into the mugs. The mugs are big enough that I take three spoons of sugar and my spouse four, so put all the sugar into the mugs and then increase the entropy (aka stir) until the sugar’s dissolved. Bring the tea out into the living room, enjoy.

The first time I got it all right, and made a good cup of tea, I literally cried, I was so happy. It was like seeing the sun after it had been dark for so long I’d forgotten what the sun looked like.

The thing I have come to realize about what tea means to me is something that Jon says in the trailer for Season 5 of TMA. Martin brings him a cup of “tea” and Jon goes “that’s not tea” and, indeed, it turns out to be some weird skittering thing. The following exchange really crystallized things for me:

Jon: This is no longer a world where you can trust-- Martin: Tea?! Jon: Comfort.

And that was it, right there. Coffee is fuel, for me. Coffee is “Wake Up, Get Up, Get Out There.” (Quite literally; part of playing Persona 5 was remembering how much I love trying out new coffee blends.)

Tea, however, is comfort. Tea is slowing down. Tea is caffeine, yes, and therefore focus for my poor ADD/autistic brain, but it’s afternoon focus. It’s contemplation. It’s sitting and breathing in the aroma and thinking about things in a way that isn’t spiraling or catastrophizing. Whether it’s breakfast tea or Earl Grey or green tea, or an herbal like peppermint or chamomile, tea for me is self-care.

Taking those few minutes to get up and go make a pot of tea in the afternoon, to stop the business of the day and just stand there waiting for the kettle to boil, is something I’ve desperately needed. Coffee is easy to sort of make as “fire and forget,” to the point that I’ve gulped down cold or lukewarm coffee I’d forgotten about just because I need the caffeine. Tea, though, if you’re doing it right you have to stand there and wait for the water to boil and wait for the tea to steep. If you walk away to do something else you’ll ruin the whole thing. I completely understand why Martin is running around making tea for everyone in Season 2 all the time, because everything is falling apart in slow motion and it’s a chance to stop, to focus on making the tea, and then to take the time enjoying the tea itself.

Making tea for others also means love to me. I make tea for my spouse alongside myself. I included one of my teenaged children in tea-making for the first time yesterday and my youngest keeps getting the last bit of tea in the pot, and it’s such a joy to see their faces light up. Bringing someone tea means bringing them a mug of love and care. Another reason I identify with Martin--I often don’t know what to say to help someone, so I try to be sure they’re fed and hydrated and cared for. And I, too, had to learn to stop setting myself on fire to keep those people warm. I had to learn to be sure I was fed and hydrated and cared for, so I could care for them. But even now as I get older and wiser and grumpier I still run around making sure everyone’s fed and has had their mug of tea, I just don’t do it at my own expense anymore.

One of my next crochet projects is a tea cozy in the shape of a green owl, in honor of the Magnus Institute owl, because my little tea-making ritual is always going to be connected to TMA in my head. Also I have a “Fifteen Fears” mug and my spouse has a “Magnus Archives” owl symbol mug, so it’s literally just this really intense connection between TMA and tea, for me.

It’s funny how much comfort a horror podcast has given me since I’ve started listening. There are a few fandoms that have profoundly changed me--Star Trek was the first big one, Babylon 5 was the first that directly inspired me, Mass Effect helped me get out of suicidal depression, Persona (specifically Persona 5) inspired me to take responsibility for myself in a way therapy never quite managed.

And here I am with TMA, figuring out how to navigate anxiety and pain and grief in a world that feels like it’s falling apart around my ears. The concept that what we do matters; that right or wrong you should be making a decision instead of just reacting from fear or surprise; that sometimes you screw up and there’s nothing to be done, that “sorry” doesn’t fix everything, that sometimes nothing you do will fix anything and you can’t let that paralyze you... it’s all been necessary, and helpful, and I’ve been terribly grateful.

Thanks to TMA I’m writing again after years of terrible writer’s block. I’m facing my own fears and accepting that despite (because of?) my terrible arachnophobia I’d probably serve the Web if I served anything (although Eye and Lonely would also get a look in--I did say I identified with Martin pretty strongly). I’m recognizing dysphoria and dealing with it after years of trying to deny the elephant in the room.

I’m also making tea again. And for that, I am eternally, profoundly grateful.

#tma #the magnus archives #tea #martin blackwood #tma spoilers #i guess sort of?#i mean just in case #long post #my writing #seriously i cannot overstate how much tea means to me #it's been one of those things i didn't realize i needed until i started doing it again #i will definitely be posting pics of the tea cozy owl as i make it #because it's gonna be adorable af

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cicinicole-14 · 4 years

Note

damn okay I have a glass of wine, some chocolate and many many tissues at the ready. Part 5 here we come

welp, good luck! the shitty tiktok I posted earlier went with this part and the last one. anyway. hope u enjoy!

Part Five

The next moments pass by her in a blur.

She vaguely remembers them through a tear-filled haze.

Like an out of body experience she’s watching somebody else go through.

She knows Meredith somehow ushers her into the hospital as Alex yells for any OB, shocking most of the staff of his presence.

She remembers Carina DeLuca telling her to lie back and for some reason the cold gel just feels numb on her abdomen.

She hears ringing in her ears and it makes her think all of this is a fluke. That it’s the baby’s heartbeat again and it’s fine.

But the ringing is just inside her head.

She can’t bear to look at anyone while Carina is maneuvering the heart doppler around her stomach. She can’t look at Meredith, who’s gripping her hand. She refuses to look at Alex standing in the corner of the room.

She looks up, staring at the bright, white lights. They’re starting to burn her eyes. Mixing with the stinging tears that are welling in her eyes. Everything is a blur.

And then Carina is looking at her, sorrow filling her face, and she knows.

“I was unable to find a fetal heart rate.”

The words ring in her ears and she pulls herself up, not bothering to wipe the gel off of her stomach before standing up on shaking legs. She feels like she looks like a baby deer on ice but she doesn’t care in the slightest. She’s shaking, but she needs to get out of here. She needs to leave.

“T-Take me home.” She whispers. Her voice is hoarse and cracking.

Both Meredith and Alex look up at her expectantly, not catching what she said.

“Take me home.” She says again, more adamantly.

“Carina is she okay––” Meredith doesn’t get to finish asking her question.

“Take me home!” This time it comes out as a scream.

And with that, she walks out.

The ride back to the loft is quiet.

Meredith drives. Alex in the backseat. Jo continuously stares out the window.

It’s hazy out. Mirroring how she feels in this exact moment. She’s not crying just yet, it’s not raining just yet, but she knows it’s coming.

She stumbles her way up the steps to the loft and ignores whatever Alex tries saying to her. She ignores the conversation he and Meredith start having as she heads straight to the bathroom and turns on the water.

Steam envelops the tiny bathroom, instantly. Jo doesn’t even bother shedding her clothes before stepping right under the scalding stream.

It’s hot, but it’s not hot enough. It’s not hot enough to wash away the pain from today. The pain of losing the only good thing in her life at that very moment.

A sob wracks through her body, shaking her. She stumbles back against the shower wall and slides down, her knees bent into her chest as the stream showers overhead.

Her hand rests on her stomach, empty and lifeless, much like how she feels in the exact moment.

The water eventually runs cold and by that time, Alex is opening the door to their––her bathroom. He crouches down, pulling off her soaked clothes and leaving them in a heap in the shower before turning off the stream.

She’s shivering and he wraps her in a towel, helping her stand up and guiding her to the bed.

She lies down, facing away from him and pulling the duvet over her shoulder.

He shuffles over to the other side of the bed, knowing that whatever he did next would either make her mad or have her ignore him nonetheless. But he pulls back the duvet anyhow, and sinks down onto the mattress, facing her.

Jo doesn’t know what he’s even doing here. She doesn’t know why he’s lying in her bed, next to her, staring at her, but she can’t seem to care either. She’s numb and it’s all she feels in this very moment.

“Why are you here?” She finally manages amongst the thoughts swimming in her head.

Alex’s brows furrow in confusion. “You–You just lost our baby and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He says confused.

“No, I mean why are you in Seattle?” She says frustratingly. “Go home Alex, go back to your kids and Izzie. We don––I don’t need you here anymore, now. There’s nothing here for you.”

He reaches down for her hand but she pulls back, turning away from him, pulling the duvet with her.

Alex swallows hard, and he knows it’s a calculated risk, but he says his next words carefully, but sternly. “You’re here, Jo.”

He’s not sure if the statement, the confession, was a good move or not, but it gets her to turn back around and face him, yet a scowl still dons her face.

“You left.”

“I know.”

“No, Alex, you left. You left me, you left Seattle. You left your job, your life, your home, without a single word. You lied to me. You didn’t answer. You left us and never looked back for some notion with your ex-wife and children, for some chance to play happy little family. I can’t do that again. I won’t.”

He knows she’s right. He knows she doesn’t deserve that. But he made a mistake.

“You made a vow, Alex. For better or worse, and you broke that. You broke me. You made me so happy and then you left and wrecked me so bad and I can’t do that again. I don’t know if I’m going to get over that, but I know I’ll never be able to do it again. You were it for me, and you ruined that. There wasn’t ever going to be anyone else for me, Alex, because of how bad you wrecked me. And now, on top of this all, I lost our baby.”

Alex doesn’t know what exactly to say. He knows he wrecked her. He knows she’s in pain. He knows she’s hurting and grieving for the baby they lost. He knows he messed everything up so completely, that Jo won’t ever be the same again. And he hates himself to know that he’s the reason why she is broken now.

The silence is deafening, and he doesn’t think he can take much more of it. He knows he messed up and he knows he would spend every single day for the rest of his life trying to fix them, trying to show Jo how sorry he is for his mistake. He sits up quietly, pulling the duvet back and standing up.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about anymore. It’s done, Alex.”

He swallows and knows there’s no other way to say this other than ripping the bandaid right off. “I’m moving back to Seattle. I had already made up my mind before I had even gotten your text about the baby.” He starts out. He sees her demeanor shift slightly, but he still isn’t sure how she’s going to take it. “I’ve been fighting Izzie for custody of the kids, since. Because I left, without looking back, without thinking about anyone but myself and the kids when I should’ve been thinking more clearly. I’m not in love with Izzie. I haven’t been in a real long time. Im in love with you, Jo, my wife. And I’m sorry I messed up. I know nothing I do will ever fix us, but I’d rather see you in the halls at the hospital once in a while, than know that you’re halfway across the country.”

Jo takes a shaky breath. “I want to forgive you, so badly, Alex, but you wrecked me. You tore down every single wall I had and let yourself in and just left me completely broken. So I don’t know how to ever begin to forgive you. And then to top it off, the stress of you being back here caused me to lose the only happiness I had left between us. I lost our baby!” She ends up screaming the last part at him as the hot tears roll down her face.

Alex isn’t sure how to comfort her but he watches as she slowly sits up on the bed.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ve lost this baby too.”

“Jo, no.” He reassures her. “This isn’t your fault. If anything, it definitely is mine, but you know damn well miscarriages just happen sometimes.”

She nods her head and wipes her cheeks but the tears continue to fall. “That’s not what it feels like Alex. I feel like I’m drowning here. I have my research with Bailey and my surgeries, but that’s it. This baby was my one last hope for happiness.”

“Jo, you’ll have happiness again. I promise. I know you will. Even if I have to spend every day trying to make you happy. I’ll do it. You’ll be happy again.”

Jo huffs in disbelief, shaking her head as she runs her hand through her hair. “It’s just not fair!” She shouts before wincing, realizing the loud noise wasn’t pleasant. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses the heel of her palms to her temples.

Alex reaches over, carefully, and lays a hand on Jo’s knee, causing her to look up at him finally. “You need a break.” He says softly. “You need to escape. Come to Kansas with me while I fight for custody of my kids. Just to escape for a little while.”

Jo laughs.

“I’m serious.” He states. “You need to take your mind off everything. What better way to do that than in the middle of nowhere, Kansas?”

Jo looks down at the hand on her knee. “Alex, you can’t just walk back into my life and expect me to let you in again. This isn’t easy for me. You were my everything, and you broke me. I can’t just act like that didn’t happen and go with you to Kansas for god knows how long. I have a job here. I have friends. I don’t have anyone there. I can’t just go.”

Alex nods in understanding. “I just thought it would do you good to get out of Seattle for a while.”

“Not…not with you.” She says softly, looking away from him. It hurt even now to turn him down.

“Well, my flight doesn’t leave until Sunday.”

Jo shakes her head. “Alex, I don’t know how I can forgive you. I really don’t care if you stay there or come back to Seattle. We’re over.” She speaks softly, as if she didn’t want to be heard so it wouldn’t really happen.

“I know.” Alex responds. “I’m just leaving the option open for you.” He says, finally getting up and heading towards the door.

Jo follows him, watching as he crosses the threshold of the doorway and she pulls it halfway shut as he looks back at her. “Bye, Alex.” She says softly.

He just nods, turning and walking away.

ngl, this was one of my fave parts to write so far actually. it was an add on part that I didnt write originally but realized this was what the fic was missing before :)

#jolex fic #jolex #cici writes #tell the world im coming home

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slash-em-up · 4 years

Text

A Second Chance: A Logger Fic

Ben gets a second chance to make a life for himself.

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

1951

Ben grimaced at his shabby reflection in the store window.

Despite his best efforts to clean himself up in the river earlier today he still looked more like a bear than a man.

His beard was patchy and uneven; having been cut with a knife and the reflection of his small hand-mirror instead of a proper razor and scissors. He probably should have done away with it altogether; but the recollection of the men in the logging camps calling him ‘baby-face’ and ‘sweet’ stayed his hand. His brown hair was overgrown and hung in shaggy curtains over his ears; and the single spare outfit he was currently wearing looked like it had spent the day being beaten against a rock and sun-dried.

Probably because it had.

But after… three, maybe four weeks in the woods it was the closest to sane he could make himself look.

Only slightly rabid… Still, more likely to be arrested for loitering than not.

He pulled his coat tighter and shivered against the chill night air. His legs and back ached from the weeks of near constant travel. His best guess was that he was about a hundred miles from the site of his massacre, and he hoped that was far enough. The heavy pack over his shoulder was readjusted, and the tall man continued down the street.

The small Washington town was one he vaguely remembered having traveled through on his way to Seattle once or twice. Not much more than a main road and a handful of cookie-cutter suburban homes. A clinging relic of the past centuries mining operations and the last decades of logging.

Ben thought it was charming, in the way that most people unfamiliar with small-town living often do.

A vending machine filled with the local newspaper caught Ben’s eye, and he made his way over - quickly scanning the front page for anything pertinent to his search for information.

Nothing. No article or mention of anything untoward in the state besides the usual problems that came hand-in-hand with society.

This allowed the man a sliver of hope; but reason told him that nearly a month past in a small town miles and miles away might not be the best temperature check for his situation.

The sound of a heavy door opening brought Ben back to the present, and he involuntarily tensed as a pair of drunk-looking men stumbled out of a building across the street then shambled down the sidewalk.

Now there was a thought.

Swiveling his head from side-to-side, Ben stepped into the street and crossed. He glanced at the neon-sign covered window displaying a multitude of alcoholic beverage names as he approached the building the men had just exited.

The large wooden bar doors had an enjoyable weight to them, Ben thought as he stepped into the dark interior of the building… and upon inspection, he found that was about the nicest thing he could say about the place. A man sitting beside the door - assumedly the bouncer, although the three other patrons in the open room seemed far too drunk to offer any resistance if they were to be escorted out - gave Ben a once-over as he moved further into the bar before flicking his magazine back open and continuing to peruse the pages.

The walls were a mess of more neon interspersed sporadically with posters of scantily clad women drinking one of the advertised beverages. A dart board near the back of the room hung sadly askew against a ply-board wall.

Ben grimaced at the feel of his boots sticking to the cheap carpet covering the floor.

An old rifle sat entwined in the antlers of a mounted deer’s head over the back wall behind the bar; and Ben raised a brow at what looked like a pipe stuffed in the poor animals’ mouth.

An older man in a stain-covered apron approached Ben as he took a seat at the bar, jacket catching on the rough wood covering the top.

He didn’t seem the least bit concerned at Ben’s raggedy appearance, and silently the younger man concluded that he probably wasn’t the first odd ball to cross his path tonight.

“Evening. What can I get ya?”

Ben dug around in his jacket pocket, producing a crumbled $5 bill, which he placed on the counter before answering.

“Whatever whiskey’s on well. Double. Neat.”

The bartender nodded, grabbing the money from the bar and moving with practiced ease to pull a slightly cloudy glass and a bottle from behind the bar; pouring the alcohol before returning to place it in front of Ben.

The logger sipped the glass silently, contemplating how to frame his inquiry to the bartender before he jerked back as a massive grey head popped up over the bar and barked straight in his face.

“Roosevelt!! DOWN, god dammit!!”

With a whine and a sad look, the gigantic dog dropped his paws off the bar and trotted around the structure; coming to a halt beside Ben’s stool and sniffing him curiously.

Ben’s lips twitched in a small smile as he offered the large animal his hand to smell.

The bartender looked exasperated as he returned to the loggers’ side.

“Sorry about him. He’s friendly, just doesn’t know when to stop being a pest to customers.”

“Not a problem…” Ben murmured, clearing his throat before continuing, a bit louder this time. “… Nothing wrong with a friendly dog.”

He scratched Roosevelt behind his floppy ears, making the dog close its eyes in bliss as its long pink tongue lolled out.

Smiling, the bartender refilled Ben’s glass, which had sloshed across the bar when he’d jerked away from the sudden canine appearance.

“What brings you to town?”

Ben paused, thinking through the question, before deciding that as close to the truth as he could get would be the best way to play this.

“Passing through. Looking for a place to settle for a bit.”

The older man chuckled.

“Well, congratulations on finding us. It’s a little remote up here unless you’re moving through to Spokane.”

“Seems like a nice town.”

The man nodded.

“It is, it is… Been on the decline over the last few years as the mines started to close; but the logging keeps us afloat.”

Ben contemplated his next question.

“… Any problems with the loggers? Looked pretty quiet coming in; but you hear stories…”

Another chuckle.

“I don’t think a big fella like you has anything to worry about; but no. Generally, they only come down on the weekends looking for a drink. Otherwise the town’s mostly left to its own devices.”

Roosevelt huffed and placed his head on Ben’s thigh. The grey-haired man smiled down at the dog as Ben continued to slowly rub his soft ears.

So, nothing, that was surprising… and good… it wasn’t exactly a fool-proof inquest; but if the bartender didn’t know anything about the killings, Ben didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.

“He likes you… Yup, we’re just a couple of old men tryin’ to keep the bar afloat. Ain’t fancy; but it’s honest work. Right, Roosevelt?”

The dog’s ears perked at the sound of his name and he let out a small ‘whuff’ against the fabric of Ben’s pants.

Ben laughed lowly at the dog’s antics, then lifted his gaze to grin at the older man.

“Sounds pretty good to me.”

The bartender extended a hand over the expanse of the bar.

“I’m James; but most folks around here call me Jimmy.”

Smile growing a bit wider, Ben reached over and shook the man’s hand.

“Ben.”

Jimmy released Ben’s hand and set his own firmly against the bartop.

“Well, Ben, let me be the first to officially welcome you to town.”

“I appreciate that, Jimmy… You wouldn’t happen to know where I could get a bed for the night, would you?”

Jimmy huffed, looking vaguely annoyed before nodding.

“I do. There’s a little hotel a few blocks down… but I’m gonna tell you right now, looking like you do, Arlene - the lady who runs the place - won’t let you in the door much less rent you a room.”

Ben hummed. He thought that might become a problem at some point.

“That’s alright. Just have to wait and visit the barber tomorrow…”

Hopefully the rain would hold off until the morning so he could get a dry night’s sleep. One more night in the forest wouldn’t kill him.

Jimmy’s mouth pressed into a line and he seemed to be contemplating something as he stared at Ben.

“Am I right in assuming you’re gonna be looking for work around town?”

Ben blinked.

“Yeah…?”

The older man tapped his fingers a few times against the bar as he continued to watch the younger man.

“Alright. Here’s the deal. I need a hand doing the heavy lifting around here - I’m not getting’ any younger - and in exchange I’ll let you crash in the back room until you find a place of your own. Sound good?”

Ben straightened up, looking seriously at the man.

“…What’s the catch? That sounds a bit too good…”

Jimmy laughed.

“Trust me, it ain’t. The back’s colder than an ice-chest and the hours are long… but like I said, it’s honest work. I’m puttin’ an awful lot of faith in you that you won’t just get drunk and bolt once I close up.”

Ben’s brow furrowed.

“Why? You don’t know me.”

“Roosevelt likes you… and sometimes you gotta have a little faith in people. Let ‘em surprise you.”

The logger’s mouth opened, ready to let the man know that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard before he paused. A memory of his mother, back before she’d gotten sick, surfaced in his mind. He recalled her telling him something similar - that was something she’d always tried to instill in him, even as a child… Faith in people.

Ben clenched his fists under the bar.

The last decade had done a number on any modicum of ‘faith’ the young man had. Death and loss and violence were what he saw. Faith was for the blind. But maybe… once more… for Rebecca…

“Alright. Deal.”

Jimmy smiled broadly, slapping his wrinkled hands against the bar.

“Good! Glad to have you on, Ben.”

The brunette nodded, letting a small grin slid over his lips as Roosevelt began to thump his tail loudly against the thin carpet.

Maybe this would work out after all.

#jessica writes #the logger #ben sullivan #slasher oc

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big-idiot-wolf-boys · 4 years

Text

Nightfall: Twilight Reimagined -2-

-1-

Still feeling very much like canon here, and very much the day to day life of Bella Swan. Check out my fancast here if you want to know what I’m imagining these characters to look like as I’m writing them!

****

The next day wasn’t much worse than the first, I guess that had to count for something. The second day of school is easier than the first because you know what to expect. Like Mike sitting next to me in English and then escorting me to my next class. Eric glared at Mike the whole time. Thankfully, everyone outside of the group I had somehow been adopted into seemed to have forgotten about me already.

The rain appeared to be gone for now, but the clouds were dark and dense-- it could always decide to make a comeback.

We had a surprise test in Trig, and I didn’t even know the formulas we were supposed to be using. I made a mental note to hide my grades from Charlie, I couldn't manage to do much more than basic algebra. In Spanish, Jessica and I were paired together to translate recipes from Spanish to English. All morning, I worried about lunch. Not where to sit or what to eat; I was worried about having to endure those strange, hateful glares from Edward Cullen. If it were anyone else, I’d just ask what his damage was. Something about the Cullens struck me as strange, though. I remembered Edward’s coal-black eyes and shuddered.

It turned out that I had nothing to worry about. When Jessica and I entered the cafeteria, Edward was nowhere in sight. A quick scan of the room proved the rest of the Cullen siblings were sitting at their usual table, but he was not with them.

Mike spotted us and bounded up to lead us to the table. Jessica was thrilled, and the others from yesterday quickly joined us. Today, I picked up some of the names I hadn’t yesterday. Lauren, Tyler, and Ben rounded out this loose collective of friends. Lauren had long blonde hair, pale skin, and pretty green eyes. She hadn't spoken to me much, and I tried not to take it personally. Tyler was tall and athletic-looking, with dark skin, his hair and eyes were a matching brown. Ben was the shortest of the group, he had golden-brown skin and black hair that he wore with bangs swooped to one side, landing just above his glasses. I tried to focus on the conversations going on around me but my thoughts kept wandering back to Edward. I was dreading the moment he entered the room and turned his angry gaze on me.

My anxiety only grew while I waited. My appetite never appeared, my muscles were tense, and my knee was shaking so much that the chair under me squeaked in protest. He never appeared, rendering all my anxious energy useless.

After lunch came Biology. I approached the door with dread coiling in my stomach. Maybe he'd decided to get lunch somewhere else in town, which meant he would still be in class. I hesitated outside for as long as I dared, but the warning bell sounded. Classes were starting.

Edward wasn’t in his seat when I entered, and the dread faded. Until about halfway through class when the realization hit me, it had merely transformed into a messy combination of guilt and irritation.

How could I have pushed Edward away before I even had a chance to speak to him? How could he hate me so much he’d skip school to avoid me?

I told myself repeatedly that I couldn’t possibly be the problem. After all, Edward didn’t even know me. Still, the voice in the back of my mind that said it was all my fault just wouldn’t go away.

The day took a turn towards terrible when we had soccer in gym. I tripped over my own feet several times, fell in the mud, scraped my palms, and even misaimed a kick so much that the ball hit one of my classmates in the face. After that, the teacher told me to stand in the corner of the field and watch. When school finally let out, I practically ran to my truck. I slammed the door in my hurry to get inside and cringed over it. Then I turned the key and put the heater on high, waiting for the warm air to come rushing out of the vents.

I backed out of my space and into the line of people waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited for my turn to leave, I saw the Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. A shiny Ford. Of course. Previously, I’d been too dazzled by the Cullens’ supernatural beauty to notice their clothing, but now it was obvious they came from money. I felt a brief stab of jealousy. It wasn’t enough that they were so pretty, they had to be well off, too?

I yanked my gaze away from them but I could feel the group stare at me as I drove past them. Did they share the theory that I drove Edward away?

This morning, Charlie had asked me to pick up a few things from the grocery store after school. It was only a few minutes away- but so was everything else. The bright lights and stocked shelves reminded me of doing the shopping back home. I fell into the familiar pattern with ease. It was practically second nature how I ghosted through the aisles, keeping track of Charlie's budget in my head.

When I got back to the house, I shoved the groceries wherever they could fit and began to prep dinner. All it took was tossing some steaks in a marinade and throwing some potatoes in the oven. This was a meal that I knew Charlie would approve of, and the perfect way to introduce him to the idea of me doing the cooking.

When I finished the prep, I took my backpack upstairs and threw on a pair of pjs, tying my hair up afterward. Glancing at my school bag again, I sighed. Most of the homework I’d been assigned today was covering things I’d already done back home-- and I wasn’t looking forward to repeating it.

Instead, I put the effort into checking my email for the first time since my arrival. Charlie still had dial-up, and the laptop beeped and screeched at me as it connected. Renee had signed us both up for a service called NetMail through AOL so we could stay in touch through e-mail.

Three unopened messages.

Bella,

Write to me as soon as you get time. I want to know everything about your flight! How is Charlie doing? Is it raining there? I’m sure it is.

I miss you already. I’m almost finished packing for Florida, but I can’t find that pink floral shirt. Do you know where I put it?

Phil says hi and good luck at school tomorrow. We love you!

Mom

That was sent about three hours into my five-hour flight to Seattle. I sighed and clicked the next one. It was sent eight hours after the first.

Bella,

Why haven’t you emailed me back? I’m waiting to hear from you.

Mom

The newest email was from this morning.

Isabella Swan, if I haven’t heard from you by 5:30 pm, I will call Charlie.

My mom and I had always gotten along well, but Renee had leaned on me for a lot. I was sure that she was spiraling already. I glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. There was still an hour until mom’s deadline, but I had a feeling she would get antsy and call early.

Mom,

Everything is fine. Don’t worry. I was just waiting for something to write about.

Bella.

Send.

Now that the danger of my mother interrupting Charlie’s workday was out of the way, I began a second email.

Mom,

Your blouse is at the dry cleaners, you were supposed to pick it up after dropping me off at the airport.

Of course it’s raining. I have to slosh through puddles to get to every single class I have. Speaking of, school is fine. Repetitive. I’ve already done most of what we’re covering. Easy graduation credits, I guess!

Charlie bought me a truck! I couldn’t believe it. It’s this old, sturdy thing. Which is good. You know. For me. I love it.

I miss you too. I can’t check my email every five minutes, though. Breathe. It’ll be okay. I’ll write again when I have something interesting to talk about, I promise. I love you.

Bella

The novel we were studying in English was Wuthering Heights, which happened to be one of my favorites. My copy of the book was a well-worn hardback, the edges of the cover softened with age. It was easy to sink into the familiar fictional world; by the time Lockwood was having his first nightmare, the sounds of the world around me had blurred and faded into the background.

“Bella?” My dad’s voice rumbled downstairs.

Oh, crap, I had forgotten all about dinner! After hastily shoving a bookmark into place, the book was tossed onto my pillow. I rushed downstairs, tripping over my own feet at the bottom step, but Charlie was there to catch me by the shoulders.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“I forgot about dinner,” I explained sheepishly, leading the way to the kitchen to pull the potatoes out of the oven. I put the steak in to broil before turning around to look at Charlie with an apologetic smile. “I wanted to have it ready for when you got home.”

“Bells, you don’t have to do that.” He said with a small frown. He must think I had the same bizarre food tastes as Renee. Her experiments in the kitchen often ended up in the trash, completely inedible.

“It’s just steak and potatoes.” I shrugged dismissively, fluttering one hand. To balance out my mom’s wacky dinners, I had learned how to fend for myself and make it taste pretty good, too.

“That’s not what I meant,” Charlie said, hanging his jacket on the back of his chair at the table.

“What did you mean?” He set the table while I pulled the food out of the oven. I caught him sniffing appreciatively at the air.

“I mean, I should be the one cooking dinner, not the other way around.” There was an unspoken duh. As if nothing in the world made more sense than for Charlie to cook dinner for us. My throat tightened a little and my eyes watered. I turned to get myself a glass of water so I could collect myself without him seeing how something so simple had affected me.

“Oh.”

Charlie sat at the table, and I sat across from him.

“It smells good, though. Thanks, Bell.” He smiled warmly at me and I noticed how his eyes were beginning to crinkle at the corners. He was beginning to show signs of age now; lines in his face, salt and pepper flecked his scruff.

We ate in silence for a while, which was more than fine by me. Charlie and I were quiet people and though I had misjudged my role here, we were good housemates.

“How was school?” He asked, interrupting my thoughts, “Make any friends yet?”

“Well…” I tapped some pepper onto my potatoes to stall for time. “Everyone’s really nice. I sit with a group of people at lunch, but I don’t know if I’d say we’re friends yet.”

“Sitting with people at lunch is a good way to start making friends,” Charlie encouraged me. Was it that obvious how worried I was about being the new kid? And the reaction I’d gotten from certain classmates…

“Do you know the Cullen family?” I asked suddenly, curiosity overtaking me before I could stop it.

“Dr. Cullen’s family? Sure.”

“The kids don’t seem to fit in.” I decided not to worry Charlie with Edward’s reaction to me.

“Dr. Cullen has been a huge help to the community, you know,” Charlie said, more strongly than before. “We’re lucky to have him. He could have his pick of jobs all over the place. His wife wanted a small-town life, though. Sure, I was worried when they moved here with all those kids, but I haven't had one ounce of trouble from them.” He was really gathering steam now. “But just because they’re new to town and a little different, people just have to gossip about them.”

I rethought my approach.

“I just meant that they sort of stick to themselves.” I tucked my hair behind my ear before continuing. “They all seem pretty smart.” Or just pretty.

Charlie shrugged one shoulder. “Guess there’s not much you can do in a town like this. People decided they were outsiders, so why should they try to make friends? Maybe you’ll have something in common with one of them.”

I didn’t answer him, too busy thinking about what he’d said. We finished eating in silence, and he cleared the table before I had a chance to. I stood next to the table, feeling a little useless.

“You don’t have to take care of me, you know,” I said, nodding to the pile of dirty dishes that Charlie had just finished stacking next to the sink.

“That’s my job, Bells.” He kissed my forehead before retiring to the living room to put on the game of the night. I blinked quickly to counter the sudden wetness that sprung up in the corners of my eyes.

Determined to help out around the house somehow, I turned back to the dishes. Charlie might want to take care of me, but that didn’t mean I had to be a freeloader. I washed the dishes by hand, and set them in the rack to dry. With no other preoccupations, there was nothing left to do but trudge upstairs to work on my math homework

When I finally tumbled into bed, exhausted, I slept dreamlessly.

The rest of the week flew by in an uneventful blur. I learned where all my classes were and how to get to them the fastest. I was also able to place most of my classmate’s names to their faces- and they knew not to pick me in gym class. Jessica was still happily chatting my ear off at every opportunity, and when I needed a reprieve from that- Angela Weber was there to quietly discuss Wuthering Heights.

Edward Cullen didn’t return to school.

The whole week, I shared my first class of the day with Rosalie, but I could never gather the courage to speak to her and ask what her brother’s problem was, or if he was coming back. Every day, I watched their table to confirm that he wasn’t there, then I could relax. Recently, Mike had really been pushing the idea of a weekend beach trip, and Jess and Angela always made sure to mention that I was welcome to come. I agreed to go, mostly out of a want to get to know my new friends. Whatever they called a beach here would only fall short of my expectations. By Friday, I confidently walked into Biology with the knowledge that Edward wouldn’t be there with his strange, hateful stare.

My first weekend in Forks was, predictably, boring. Charlie, who had been working weekends for the last fifteen years, spent most of his time at the Sheriff’s Office. I spent my time cleaning the house, reading ahead for English class, and emailing with my mom.

On Saturday, I went to the Forks Public Library but I was disappointed by their selection, and didn’t even bother to get a card. I looked at the local stores to see what their small selections had, but no dice. It seemed I was going to have to make a trip out of town if I wanted any new reading material. Would my truck be okay on the freeway?

Thankfully, the rain remained a soft pattering and didn’t hinder my sleep too much.

On Monday morning, people smiled and waved at me in the parking lot. I waved back, even at the people whose names escaped me. It was cold this morning, but the rain had taken a hiatus.

In English, Mike sat next to me, reliable as ever. We had a surprise quiz on Wuthering Heights, no doubt I would get an excellent grade on it. I was more confident and comfortable in Forks High School than I had expected even a week ago. More comfortable than I had ever expected to be in Forks.

When English ended, the class streamed outside… and into a flurry of white tufts in the air. I could hear teenagers yelling gleefully from every direction. My nose twinged in the cold.

“Snow!” Mike grinned.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, surveying the sidewalk for ice. “Ew.” I wrinkled my nose.

“You don’t like snow?” Mike asked, his gleeful look dampening significantly.

“I guess it’s better than rain.” I conceded. “But I thought it was supposed to be prettier than this. Distinct flakes or whatever.”

Mike looked at me with all the disbelief he could muster. “You’ve never seen snow?”

“Well, yeah. On TV.” I said defensively.

Mike laughed, but the sound was cut short by a ball of slush hitting him in the back of the head. I anxiously looked in the direction it had come from, ready to use my backpack as a shield. Eric had his back to us, walking in the wrong direction for his next class. Mike knelt down to scoop up his own ball of mush.

“You know what, I’ll just see you at lunch,” I said hurriedly, beginning to make my way towards the school. “Once people start throwing things, I get out of range.” I shot him an apologetic smile, but his eyes were trained on Eric’s back.

The only thing anyone wanted to talk about was the snow’s sudden arrival. I bit my tongue, to not ruin everyone else’s excitement. It seemed like I was the only one who wasn’t fond of the cold, wet weather.

When it came time for lunch, I hurried to the cafeteria with Jess. Snowballs were flying left and right, though they didn’t really stick together well enough to be qualified as a ball. Jessica thought that I was being dramatic about the whole thing, but she was nice enough to not pull me into the brief snowball fight between herself, Mike, Eric, Ben.

The fight only lasted from building 3 to building 1, where the cafeteria was. Mike opened the door for us. They argued about who had won as we waited in line to pay for our food. Nothing but habit brought my eyes to the table that the four Cullens occupied every day. Only today there were five of them. I froze where I stood. It would be better to be back out in the snow.

Jess tapped on my shoulder. “Earth to Bella! Hello?”

I looked down, feeling the heat from my cheeks up to the tips of my ears when I blushed. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, though, I firmly reminded myself.

“Are you alright?” Mike asked, leaning over Jessica’s shoulder to look at me.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, tucking my hair back. I carelessly tossed an apple and milk crate onto my tray and followed my friends.

“Are you sure you feel okay?” Ben pressed.

“Actually, I feel kind of sick,” I admitted, sitting next to Jess and keeping my eyes down. Twice more during lunch, someone asked how I was feeling. For a fleeting moment, I considered playing it up so I could skip my next class. Biology with Edward. I almost shuddered at the thought but reminded myself that I’d done nothing wrong. Edward was the one with the problem. I steeled myself and looked at the Cullen’s table. If he still looked at me like I was some kind of loathsome monster, maybe I would skip.

At the end of the table, Mike laughed boisterously at something; this was my excuse to look in that direction, and then peer past him to the table where the otherworldly family was sitting. None of them looked at me. I sat up straighter. They were joking and laughing with each other. They appeared to have snow in their hair, though it was melting rapidly under the school’s heating system. Rosalie and Edward were leaning away as Jasper shook his head like a dog- causing icy water to fly at them. They were just enjoying the snow like everyone else, only they looked like movie stars.

Besides how loud and happy they were compared to last week, there was something else that was amiss about the scene. I found myself staring at them individually as I tried to figure it out. I was the most familiar with Rosalie, since we shared a class, so I started with her. She looked the same as ever: stunningly beautiful. The others looked the same as always too, maybe the scene had seemed off because Edward had returned.

I looked at him with the most attention. He was flushed, for one. Maybe from laughter, or the cold. It looked like he had finally gotten a good night’s sleep, the bags under his eyes were much less pronounced. There was still something, though…

“Bella, what are you staring at?” Jess asked me, pushier than usual. How long had I been spacing out?

Her eyes followed my gaze.

Edward looked our way as if we had called out to him, even though we were all the way across the room. I looked away quickly, but not quickly enough. Our eyes met for just a second. He wasn’t wearing that angry expression from last week, he looked curious again.

What was this guy’s deal? Why couldn’t he make up his mind?

“Edward Cullen is staring at you.” She said in a hushed voice.

“Really?” I squeaked. “I don’t think he likes me.” I felt queasy, and offered to trade Eric my milk for his water bottle. He accepted and I took a large gulp of the refreshing liquid as soon as he passed it over.

“It’s okay, Bella.” She said comfortingly. “The Cullen’s don’t usually like anyone. But he’s still looking at you.”

“Stop looking!” I hissed.

She giggled, but looked away. I took a smaller sip of water, focusing with all my might on not looking at the Cullens.

Mike spoke up then, and I had never been more thankful for his interruption. He was planning a snowball fight after school, and announced it loud enough for everyone to hear. Jessica agreed enthusiastically, but I was starting to think she would agree to do anything as long as Mike was involved. I decidedly didn’t speak up, and began to plot where to hide until the fight was over and I could safely make it to my truck.

When the bell rang, I made my way to the door quickly-- hoping to avoid walking to class with Mike, who seemed to be a large target for snowballs. But he and my other friends caught up to me in two long strides. When we got to the door, everyone groaned. The snow had pretty much stopped coming down, and what little snow had stuck to the ground was muddy and gross. I hid my pleased smile and tested the iciness of the sidewalk. As good a grip as any other day. Well, on a good day for me. Mike complained about the snow’s disappearance until we got to the door of the biology classroom.

I was relieved to see my table was empty and rushed to it as if getting there first allowed me some kind of claim on the space. Of course, this wasn’t the case, but it made me feel better nonetheless. I had been here all last week, after all.

Mrs. Ramone began to hand out microscopes and slides, and my classmates chattered quietly among themselves. I doodled on the cover of my notebook, sketching out the sparrow I could see from the window next to my table.

The chair next to me was pulled out with an unsettling screech, but I very carefully kept my eyes averted from my tablemate.

“Hello,” Said a quiet, musical voice.

This was the first time one of the Cullens had spoken directly to me, and something about the windchime quality of Edward's voice sent a shock through me. I sat rigidly and whipped my head around to face him.

He was sitting at the furthest end of the desk, like last week, but his chair was turned so that he was facing me. It almost seemed casual but something was jarring about the whole thing. He seemed unnatural somehow, like he didn’t belong here. His expression was friendlier than I expected, a polite smile gracing his features, but his eyes were guarded.

“I’m sure you’ve already gathered by now, but I’m Edward Cullen,” He continued, “And you’re Bella Swan, right?”

My mind swam. Had I completely imagined Edward’s hostility? He was friendly now, if a little strange.

“Why did you call me Bella?” I blurted.

“Oh, is Bella for friends only? I just-” Edward faltered.

“No, I prefer Bella. Everyone called me Isabella when I first got here… I guess Charlie- I mean, my dad- must call me that when I’m not around.” I explained, feeling even more out of my element than usual. I felt tongue-tied in front of this strange guy.

Thankfully, Ms. Romane clapped her hands together to gather our attention. I was incredibly grateful for being saved from any more embarrassing small talk. Today, we were going to be identifying and sorting cells into the phases of mitosis without looking at our books. The teacher would be making rounds at the end of class to see who got it right.

“Let’s get going everyone!” She clapped her hands together again.

“Shall we?” Edward asked, smiling crookedly as he pushed the microscope towards me. I was once again struck by his dazzling beauty-- until his smile began to fade. “Or I can start,” He added. Shoot, I must have waited too long to answer him.

“I can do it.” I shook my head a little to clear it from the fuzz that had momentarily clouded my mind. I hoped I wasn’t blushing.

Okay, maybe I wanted to show off a little. My previous school had been more advanced than Forks High, and I had already done this before. It was easy. I slid the little glass slide into place and adjusted the microscope until it was properly focused. It only took me a few seconds for me to assess the slide.

“Prophase.”

I started to remove the slide, but Edward reached out to stop me. “Mind if I look?” His hand was freezing, as if he had just come in from playing with the snow. I couldn’t help but gasp and pull my hand away. Besides being cold, it was as though he had shocked me. I tried to chalk it up to static electricity he took the microscope.

Curiously, I watched him examine the slide. He had barely looked at the thing before writing prophase gracefully on our worksheet. He switched out the slides and glanced at the second one just as quickly as the first.

“Anaphase,” He said, writing it down as he spoke.

“Mind if I check?” I asked, sounding more courageous than I felt.

Edward pushed the microscope my way, this time avoiding any contact between us. I tried to look as quickly as possible. I was disappointed, he was right.

“The next one?” I asked, my competitive nature peeking out. He handed it to me, still careful to not let our skin touch.

“Interphase,” I announced. He took the microscope from me with an amused smile.

Despite our competition, we were the first team finished. Mike and his partner, a girl named Ali, were comparing two slides repeatedly. Another group seemed to have broken a slide and were trying to tape it back together. I tried to hide my own amused smile at that. Unfortunately, finishing first meant that we had nothing to do but wait for the end of class. I tried not to look at him, but that didn’t last long.

When I glanced up, Edward was looking at me with intensity. Frustrated again, like he was trying to remember something. Suddenly, it clicked in my brain. Why his family looked so different.

“Are you wearing contacts?” I asked. Oops. I hope that wasn’t being rude.

Edward blinked in surprise. “No,” The way he said it, with a lilt towards the end, made it sound like a question.

“Oh.” I mumbled. “I just thought there was something different about your eyes.”

He shrugged. “They are kind of a weird color, right? I think it’s genetic.”

I was sure that it was something other than a mutated brown color, though. I could distinctly remember the black color of his eyes the first time I had seen him. The stark contrast between his hateful stare and the pallor of his face. Only today, his eyes weren’t black. They were a dark butterscotch color, the golden tone that shone in them complimented his bronze hair. I couldn’t make sense of how that could be. Unless he was lying about the contacts. Maybe I had just imagined the darkness of his eyes in my anxiety.

I glanced down. Edward’s hands were clenched into fists. Only for a moment. Then they smoothed out and he smiled at me. I almost forgot to be suspicious of him.

Ms. Ramone came to check our work. She squinted at the paper then frowned at Edward. “You didn’t share with your partner, Edward?” She asked, looking at the worksheet holding only Edward’s elegant handwriting on it.

“Bella actually identified three out of five of the slides, Ms. Ramone,” Edward said with a charming smile.

She turned to me then. “Well done, Bella. Have you taken this class before?”

“Not with onion root,” I admitted with a sheepish smile.

“Whitefish?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “Were you an advanced placement student in your last school?”

“Only in science and English.” I couldn’t help being a little proud.

“I suppose it’s good that you and Edward are partnered, then.” She said with a small chuckle, moving on to check Mike and Ali’s work. I began to doodle on my notebook again, filling in little details to my drawing from before.

“Too bad about the snow, huh?” Edward asked, his musical voice jarring me out of my thoughts. I hated small talk, and I had the feeling he was only forcing himself to be polite to me, anyway.

“Not really.” I mumbled, past bothering to hide my irritation with the weather.

“You don’t like the cold?”

“Or the wet.”

“It doesn’t sound like Forks is your kind of place, then.” He said, thoughtfully.

“You have no idea,” I grumbled, glancing at the window and privately shooing the clouds away.

He looked like I had said something incredibly profound. I impossibly tried not to be distracted by his expression.

“So why’d you move here?” His voice was pure curiosity. He didn’t want to know because I was the shiny new toy, gossip for his friends. He seemed genuinely interested and no one had bothered to ask me that yet, especially so pointedly. It took me by surprise.

“Um.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” It looked like he couldn’t bear not knowing.

I hesitated, but met his eyes. His golden gaze captivated me, and I blurted out an answer without even thinking about it.

“My mom got married.”

“Oh, and you didn’t like the guy?”

“No, Phil’s great. Really.”

“So why didn’t you stay with them?” Edward’s voice was still burning with curiosity, but there was an underlying kindness to it.

It didn’t make any sense why he was so interested. He was staring at me like I was holding the answers to the universe. If he was always this intense, it was going to give me whiplash the next time he decided that he was going to be hostile.

“Phil’s a minor league baseball player, so he travels a lot.” I smiled, remembering piling into his van with my mom to travel with them. It had been fun, for a while.

“Is he famous?” Edward asked in a light tone.

“I don’t think you’ll have heard of him.”

“So your mother sent you here so that she could travel with her new husband?” Edward tried to untangle the threads of my story.

I shook my head, almost insulted. “No,” I said indignantly, “I sent myself.”

His brows furrowed. “I don’t get it.”

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him anyway? Why did he care?

“Well. She stayed home with me for a while, but she missed him. It made her unhappy, that didn’t work. So the three of us traveled together for a while. That was fun, but it wasn’t…” I struggled to find the right word, “Stable. So I decided that it was time that I came to be with my dad.” I tried not to sound glum about being stuck in Forks because the truth was that I really was glad to spend time with Charlie. I just wished we got to spend time together somewhere else.

“But you’re not happy.” He said simply.

“So?” I raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not fair,” He shrugged, but their eyes hadn’t lost their intensity. “It sucks.”

“Why’s it matter to you anyway?” I demanded, resisting the urge to childishly stick my tongue out at him.

“Good question.” He muttered, mostly to himself. That seemed like the only answer I was going to get. This was confirmed by Ms. Ramone interrupting us by calling for the class’s attention. I couldn’t understand how this bizarre, beautiful boy had gotten me to reveal more about my life to him than any of my new friends had. And there was still the mystery of whether or not he hated me. He had seemed friendly enough during our conversation, but I could see him leaning away from me now, hands curled into fists again.

I tried to at least look like I was paying attention to Ms. Ramone’s debriefing.

When the bell finally rang, Edward swiftly took his leave. He moved gracefully, like a large cat on the prowl. I stared after him in amazement and Mike took this as an opportunity to hop to my side.

“That sucked!” He groaned. “I couldn’t tell any of ‘em apart. You’re lucky you had Cullen to do it for you.”

“I identified half of ours,” I snapped at Mike, stung by his comment and frustrated by Edward. Immediately, I regretted taking out my strange mood on him. It didn’t seem to dull Mike’s mood much.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender.

He changed the subject to the beach trip, lamenting that the snow from earlier indicated that it was still too cold to go. His chattering just couldn’t hold my attention as we walked to gym. He was on my team today, and graciously let me sit out. I still managed to catch my toe on the lip of the doorway and almost tripped on my way out after class.

A mist was gathering in the parking lot as I made my way to my truck. I idly thought about giving it a name, if it had enough personality to warrant giving it one. Time would tell on that. As per my new routine, I hopped into the cab and turned the heater on high. My cold hands warmed in front of the vents before fluffing up my damp hair so it would dry out on the short drive home.

Before backing up, I looked around to make sure no one was behind me. I noticed a still, pale figure in my mirror and realized it was Edward Cullen. He was leaning against his Ford, staring right at me. My heart jolted in my chest, causing my foot to jump off the clutch too fast-- the engine stalled. I groaned and rolled my eyes. Turning the engine over again and cautiously pulling out, I stared ahead as I drove. As I passed, I could swear Edward was laughing at me.

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teatimewithlennon · 4 years

Text

I Know The Way There [John Lennon] - Part 6

~~Lydia gets a talking to...again. This time she asks for it, well one of them.~~

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 I Part 5

We vibin’ to Ten Years Gone this time

Word Count: 1818

{I thought querentine would make me write more, but it turns out that it just takes away all my motivation. So I’m sorry it’s been a literal month. I hope you still want to read it. This one is a bit longer so I hope that makes up a little bit. I also feel like I can see my writing slowly getting better, which is really what I want to get out of writing.}

“He chased you?!” The twins exclaim.

“Yeah,” I look up waving my hands around, “not like in a creepy ‘I’m gonna murder you’ way. At least I don’t think so…”

Cole eyes me over his glasses, “You don’t think so? That’s not exactly comforting Lydia.”

“Fine. I know he’s not a murderer.”

“You think your funny don’t you?” Cole points at me.

I smile widely, “Yes, yes I do.”

The conversation tapered off from there. Devolving into the normal backstage talk. I felt lucky that they dropped the conversation where it was, I’ve never been very good at lying. Cole could usually tell when I did anyway.

Our show was pretty good, other than the fact I was thinking about John the whole time and kept fucking up; playing the wrong chords and missing my ques. I’d never been like this before. My brain was so clouded. Something is wrong with me.

I rush backstage after the show, getting my guitar into its case. My instinct is to grab a bottle from the fridge. I go and take the last bottle of whisky but just as I’m closing the door to the fridge, Sam grabs the bottle from my hand.

“Hey!” I reach for the bottle, “That’s mine!”

He opens the bottle and takes a swig of the dark amber liquid. “You think I’m gonna let you drink after that?” He cocks his eyebrow.

“Just give me the bottle Sam,” He goes and holds the bottle above his head. Even in heels, my five-three is no match for his six-two.

“I’ll give it to you when you explain yourself,” He takes another drink then returns the bottle to its position above us.

I look up at Sam, his bright blue eyes have the same spark of mischievous joy they did the day I met him. It seems like an eternity ago to me, but it was only five years ago. Time moves so much slower when you have so much of it to spare. I feel like we both should be old and withered, but here we are, still too young and pretty for our own good. Though I still so clearly remember the older boy cheering me up during my freshman orientation. He had found me crying and having a panic attack in a stairwell. And being the kind soul he is thought that giving a fourteen-year-old a cigarette and a pat on the back was the best course of action. It worked, so I guess I can’t harp on him too much. Since then, he’s always had my back.

But I still can’t be truly honest with him, not about this.

“You wouldn’t get it.” I turn away from him, going to get my purse and coat.

Sam’s shoulders lower and the bottle falls to his side. “I just want to help, Lyds,” He sounds sincere, with a hint of sadness.

I guess that’s going around tonight.

“Listen, Sam,” I quickly spin to face him, “I don’t want your help.” I make my way to the door.

“I’ll be here when you do.”

I freeze in the doorway, sighing deeply, and make a half turn before shaking my head and walking away. Right past the others; Cole trying to stop me. I hear Lexi telling him to leave it be.

The back halls are filled with people as the night is starting to really get started. It’s making it hard to keep my head cool. When I find the backdoor, I pause again. Maybe I should go back and apologize for being a bitch.

Why do I always cover up by being a bitch?

I throw my hood up and exit the building, into the wet Seattle night. It feels so much like the moment I was outside The Cavern. This is the type of weather I’m used to. Wet and cold, even in the midsts of summer. There are still a lot of people out here, how very Seattle of them. I begin my walk in the rain, not really sure where I’m headed.

I don’t think I can go back to the house, it would just feel weird right now.

I could go to dad’s place, but I don’t really want to be asked any more questions.

But I do need to talk this out…

“Guess it’s time to go see mom.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I’ve been gone not five minutes and momma Cole is already calling me. Silencing my phone, I try to find a secluded place to jump. That’s not exactly easy at this time of night, in this part of town. Maybe I should go back to the venue, I could definitely find a closet or office to jump in, but I’m already pretty far away. I look again at my phone, if I hurry I can make it to the Seattle Center and find a place in the Armory before it closes. Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I start a quick-paced jog toward the towering monument of the city.

When I reach the heart of the city, I am completely drenched. At least I can be inside for a bit. Pulling open the door I’m greeted with the smells of all kinds of foods, most predominately, pizza. The warmth of the crowded galleria envelopes my shivering body as I quietly make my way through the food court. It’s nice to be inside again. I pass the stage, where some sort of show is happening, it appears to be an amateur play. Part of me wants to stay and watch, but like always, I’m trying to be seen the least amount possible. Anyway, the last time I tried to get close to an interesting performance I ended up completely blowing the whole “anonymity” thing.

I pass behind the small audience of the show, to the back where the bathrooms are. Just from the slight separation of the bathroom’s hall, it’s much quieter. And much more secluded, but there are still people around. So I quietly sneak myself up the stairs, looking for cameras as I do. When I find a blindspot I lean against the wall and take a deep breath, closing my eyes, preparing myself for the jump. This is the most amount of times I’ve done this in such a small period of time, and I don’t know how much more my body can take.

My body releases the tension it’s holding, and when my eyes snap open I’m collapsed on the wet ground heaving for air. Clutching my chest, heart on the verge of bursting, I try to get my breathing steady. It takes a few minutes before I regain myself.

As I stand, I find myself in rain again, this time with the added bonus of it being nearly impossible to see three feet in front of me. The darkness surrounding me is almost hypnotizing. The only light coming from the moon. In the distance, I hear the howling of what I assume is a coyote. A familiar, crude, path of stone stretches into the darkness at my feet. I hop from one slab to the next, having done this a hundred times.

At the end of the path, I’m faced with a standing stone on a cliff. Okay, well it’s less of a standing stone and more of a taller than average stone with smaller stones stacked on top of it. All around are unlit lanterns and wildflowers. I grab a lighter out of my purse, illuminating the candles in the lanterns as I approach the monument. With each candle, the aura of the quiet cliff becomes warmer. More comforting. As the last wick is ignited, I sit down cross-legged next to the makeshift obelisk.

“Hey, mama,” it comes out quiet.

“Hey, sweetie. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I know, it’s been a while. I’ve been meaning to come by,” I shrug, placing my hand behind my head

“Your father said that when he was here last.”

“I’m glad to see dad’s been here recently, these candles seem pretty fresh. So does the gardening,” my whole body is tense.

“Yeah, it’s nice, but how are you doing? You seem distraught.”

“Yeah, things have been pretty awful lately,” my voice quakes.

“What’s been going on?”

I don’t want to admit it out loud, “I’m sinking back into my old ways. The drinking, the partying, the pushing everyone away.”

“Well, that’s no good.”

“Yes I know that’s not good. Why do you think I’m talking to you about it?”

“You’re right, but I’m just trying to be light.”

“This is more than just the normal angst, mama. It’s about the time travel. It’s about a boy. It’s about my expectation of life,” I lower my head.

“A boy?”

“Why is everyone so focused on the boy?”

“Because here, we’re just supposed to be a normal mother and daughter.”

“Right this is supposed to be normal talk. No superpowers,” I sigh.

“So go on, no time travel though.”

“This one’s gonna be hard to work around that bit.”

“Is it Sam? Did you tell him yet?”

Huffing, “No, it’s not Sam,” this can be so exhausting.

“Well, tell me who it is already!”

“Okay fine, his name is John. And I felt a spark,” I gingerly touch my hands together. “A real one, like how you describe it with dad.”

“Is this like when you felt a ‘spark’ with Grace, or Jake?”

“I swear it’s not like all the other times,” A blush creeps across my face. “It is new though, but I just know that it feels right.”

“You should go for it then.”

I look into my lap, “It’s not going to be that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he’s famous.”

“Okay.”

“And he has a girlfriend,” I mumble

“Oh…”

“And he’s from the past,” It comes out barely a whisper.

“Oh, God.”

“Oh god indeed. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I put my head in my hands.

“I don’t know…”

“This would be so much easier if I could actually ask you,” I choke back a sob. “It’s all gonna work out. That’s what you would say,” tears flow freely, my body shaking with sobs. “I wish you were here mama.” I smile down at the framed photo sitting in front of me.

I sat there in the rain. Letting it soak into me as I choked on my breaths for the fifth time today. The torrents of water drowning the lanterns, leaving me in darkness. The rain eventually had to let up. Like the rain, my tears had to stop eventually, I could cry no more. There was nothing left. And I was left in the silence of the night.

I’d made up my mind. I was going to see John again. I had to try and get him, even if it can only end poorly.

#John Lennon #Beatles #john lennon fanfiction #beatles fanfiction #fanfiction #the beatles #the beatles fanfiction #paul mccartney #George Harrison #Ringo Starr #slowburn #time travel au #time travel #beatles au #lennon #slow burn #beatles fanfic #IKTWT

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jjmichie · 5 years

Text

“Nothingman”

Chapter 5 of “Some Words When Spoken”

Disclaimer: the following is fiction. Although inspired by actual people, this is just my imagined version of life for PJ during the Vitalogy era. This is the 5th chapter in a series. Previous chapters can be found HERE.

The taxi weaved through the rain-drenched streets on its way from Seatac into the heart of Seattle. Stone had instructed the taxi to go straight to the studio instead of going home first. His big house was empty anyway.

Everything was empty.

Besides, the band was already at the studio, and he needed to see what kind of state things were in. Maybe it had gotten better, he thought, clinging to whatever shred of hope he could inject into the bleak grayness that seemed to be hanging over the whole city. Maybe they were on speaking terms again. Maybe while he was gone Eddie and Jeff and Dave had somehow repaired the tension and fixed the communication breakdown and everything would go back to the way it had been in the beginning. Back to how it used to be.

But after he paid the taxi, and walked inside, he could immediately tell that nothing was better.

Jeff was there. Dave was there. But they were engaged in two separate conversations with two separate sound engineers. Neither looked happy.

“Hey!” Stone called out to them, doing his best to sound like a cheerleader.

“Oh hey!” Dave looked up and smiled.

Jeff looked up too. But didn’t smile.

“How’s Mike?” they both asked simultaneously.

“He’s good! He seems good anyway. He likes the food. And he’s got a cool roommate. It’s cold as fuck up there though. But anyway, I’m glad I went. He wanted me to thank you guys, he really appreciates all the support . . .”

But the conversation couldn’t last indefinitely, and soon their last sentences died out into a quiet uneasiness that filled the air around them.

Stone noticed Dave’s voice sounded soft and scratchy, and that he seemed to be struggling to swallow.

“You ok?” Stone asked him.

“No,” Dave scowled. “My throat hurts. I need to get it checked. It’s been like this for over a week.”

“Where’s Eddie?” Stone asked, looking around. “Isn’t he supposed to be here?”

“Who knows,” Dave said with a wince. “He probably has a date with Bono or something.”

Jeff glared at him and breathed out sharply. “Actually,” he said, “Eddie isn’t supposed to be here. He said he would come in later and lay down the vocals.”

“. . . Oh, I see,” Stone said hesitantly. “So . . . that’s the way we’re doing it now?”

“Yeah,” Jeff replied, and immediately shifted his attention to his bass.

“Well, it would help if he’d show up,” Dave protested. “You know he’s just going to change everything we do anyway so I really don’t see the point --”

The look Jeff shot Dave was enough to make him stop mid-sentence. He bit his lip to keep from slinging something unpleasant back at Jeff, giving his snare a sharp pound instead. He turned to look at Stone as if to say See? See what I’ve been putting up with while you were gone?

Stone felt himself flushing, and started to say something, out of habit, out of routine, but then stopped himself. Dave’s expression changed to confusion, then annoyance, as he realized Stone was not going to step in. This was where Stone always used to step in. This was the type of interaction he used to mediate. But now . . . now he was just letting everything disintegrate in front of him.

“So . . . ok,” Stone took a deep breath. “Where are we at? What song are we doing? Can we at least try to get our parts recorded?” Stone hated the fact that he was asking them. And he knew his feeble attempt at sounding “in charge” was laughable. And he could tell the sound guys were frustrated beyond repair at this point, and just wanted to go home. “Or . . . do we just want to resume this tomorrow?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stone saw Dave look down and shake his head.

“Yeah, let’s call it a day. You’re probably anxious to get home,” Jeff suggested, eyeing Stone’s suitcase by the door.

“Fine.”

Dave gave his drums another smack before coming down to stand across from Jeff and Stone, forming the last point in an unstable and deeply strained triangle.

They all left in separate cars. Stone took a taxi, despite the fact that both of his bandmates were passing close to his big house on the way to their own big houses. He waited for it outside, letting the rain soak him, not even caring that it was wrecking his jacket and seeping into his suitcase. He was just watching the two other cars getting smaller and smaller, and farther and farther apart.

The next day, when Stone arrived at the studio, Eddie and Jeff were already there. They appeared to be engaged in an intense discussion.

Jeff wasn’t smiling and even though Stone could only see the back of Eddie’s hair, he knew that Eddie wasn’t smiling either. The more they talked, the less they smiled.

Whatever it was, it was serious.

Now they were both leaning in close to each other, talking in hushed voices, occasionally glancing around the room, as if to assure themselves no one was listening in.

Whatever it was, it was secret.

Stone felt the need to clear his throat as he approached them.

“Oh hey!” Eddie jumped slightly. “What’s up?” he added a little too quickly. “Welcome back. How’s Mike?”

“He’s fine.” Stone looked at Eddie, then at Jeff, then back at Eddie, then around the room. “Where’s Dave?”

“He’s . . . having surgery,” Jeff said with a sigh. “Turns out he needs a tonsillectomy. He’ll be out of commission for a while.”

“Oh fuck, what?!”

“Yep,” Jeff glanced at Eddie. “That’s what we were just talking about.” Eddie nodded quickly. Stone narrowed his eyes. “But it’s ok, we’ve already got most of his parts recorded, and for the rest I think they can get that drum machine thing to work or maybe Jimmy can step in . . . “

“But I mean . . . is he ok?”

“Dave? I imagine so. Sounds like a simple procedure.”

“But . . . which hospital? I mean, maybe we should be there. He doesn’t have family or anything here you know, same as you guys . . .” Stone looked sternly at them. “I just think it would be nice to be there for him . . . “

“Yeah, we’ll do that!” Eddie rolled his eyes. “We’ll all show up with balloons. That wouldn’t cause a ruckus or anything. I’m sure the doctors would all love to have a massive media circus.”

Oh, so you’re the sarcastic one in the band now?

“Stone, he’s just getting his tonsils out, like on the Brady Bunch,” Jeff pointed out. “It’s not, like, that serious a thing.”

“And we’ve got WAY too much work to do. By the way, I changed around some stuff on Spin the Black Circle, hope you don’t mind . . . I’ll show you . . .“ Eddie added, getting up and heading towards their instruments, making the decision for all of them that the conversation was over, that there was nothing more to say about it.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Jeff whispered to Stone, as he got up to follow Eddie. “I’m sure Dave’s got a girlfriend or two there with him.”

They spent the rest of the day working. The drum machine and Jimmy were indeed able to fill in for Dave. And when the day ended they silently began packing up their equipment, each lost in his own thoughts. Stone kept replaying the vision of Jeff and Eddie from that morning, and the way they had been talking. What were they talking about? He didn’t believe for a minute that it was actually about tonsils. What was so serious, so secret? Why hadn’t they shared it with him? He thought back to his conversation with Mike, and how he had realized then that if he didn’t do something to change the team dynamic, Eddie and Jeff would. Were they doing it now? Were they planning something? And the words Dave had said to him in the hotel came flooding back too.

This is your band. You need to take control of it.

And finally, Stone looked towards the door and thought about the parking lot, how he had stood there alone in the rain yesterday, and how he had watched the cars diverge, and he knew it was only going to get worse. And worse.

Unless . . .

Forgive me, Dave. Please forgive what I’m about to do.

“Eddie? Jeff? Before you go . . . ” Stone stood up.

Eddie and Jeff both stopped packing and looked at him. It was probably Stone’s imagination but they both seemed to be holding their breath, utterly frozen, waiting for him to say what he had to say. He looked back and forth between them, then closed his eyes, and spoke the words, which he knew he would never be able to take back:

“We have to do something about Dave,”

***********

Dave looked well when he arrived at the bustling breakfast spot that had always been one of Stone’s favorites. He quickly spotted Stone, who was already sitting in a booth -- thoughtfully chosen in the smoking section -- with two menus, which were lying face down untouched in front of him.

Stone stood up to greet him. “How’s it going? Does it still hurt?” he asked, hoping Dave couldn’t hear how hard his heart was pounding.

“Yeah, kinda,” Dave sighed, sinking into the booth. “The surgery went fine and everything, it just takes a LONG time to recover. Apparently I’m not supposed to eat anything spicy or sharp, or exert myself in any kind of physical way for a few weeks. Weeks!”

Dave took off his jacket, revealing his constant companion, the stick-figure tattoo on his upper arm. Stone felt a dull thud inside himself.

“Did they feed you ice cream?” Stone asked, trying to recover, trying to look away from the tattoo. But his own question conjured an equally distracting image of Dave, innocently resting in bed, cradling a bowl of icy sweet comfort on his lap.

“Ha!” Dave laughed, that familiar genuine laugh that Stone had heard so many times. “No . . . they recommend popsicles now. Popsicles feel better.”

Popsicles . . .

Dave was studying the menu, unaware of the anxiety emanating from across the table, unsuspectingly running his finger over the menu choices. “What’s good here? I don’t see popsicles, ha ha. You’ve been here before I assume . . ?“

Dave was saying something but Stone was having a hard time following. A server had approached their table too, but he hadn’t noticed that either.

“Sir, I’m talking to you, what would you like?” Apparently Dave had already found something to order which was appropriately un-sharp and un-spicy, and apparently the server had already asked Stone several times what he wanted.

“Oh - I’m sorry. Coffee. I’ll just have coffee.”

“Huh? Stone! I just ordered a whole bunch of shit! Aren’t we eating?”

“Oh, umm, yeah, I’m sorry. Give me that breakfast special thing.” He said to the server and pointed vaguely at a slip of paper that was clipped to the front of the menu.

The server scratched it down, took their menus, and left them alone. Left them alone to stare across the table at each other.

“So,” Dave finally said, after the moment stretched well past the point of awkwardness. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

*******

Back inside his big empty house, Stone lay on his back, on the bed, with his large hands over his eyes.

The phone had been ringing constantly, since he had gotten home, but he kept ignoring it. He knew it was Eddie without even looking at his caller ID.

It started up again, and this time the annoyingness of the ring finally overtook his desire to remain inert, to block out the world with his hands, to force away the conversation he had just had. He sat up and grabbed the phone off its cradle. Unfortunately, doing so allowed him to see himself in the mirror across from the bed.

“What,” he said flatly into the phone.

“Hey! About time you picked up. I’ve been trying and trying.”

Eddie.

Stone didn't reply.

“So . . . ?“ Eddie asked hesitantly.

Stone waited. He wasn’t going to finish Eddie’s fucking sentences for him.

“Did you . . . ?” Eddie tried again.

“Did I what?” Stone finally snapped impatiently.

“Did you tell him?”

Stone watched himself in the mirror. The person in the mirror was chewing very hard on his lower lip. He tried to speak but his voice seemed to not be functioning. The tightness in his chest burned and the breakfast special shifted dangerously in his stomach.

“Yes . . . it’s done,” he finally answered.

“And . . . ? How did it go?”

Stone could almost hear Eddie’s exasperated hand gestures through the phone as he waited for more information. He could sense that Jeff was there beside him too, watching Eddie’s expression, waiting for more details too.

How the fuck do you THINK it went??

“It’s done,” Stone repeated. It was all he could say.

Eddie waited for a moment, but quickly realized that was all he was going to get out of Stone for the time being. He closed his eyes. Eddie was a lot of things, but he definitely was not oblivious to people’s feelings. Despite the coldness that had infected his relationship with Stone, he could perceive, even through the phone, the level of pain on the other end. And as the silence grew louder, Eddie knew he needed to say something. He needed to fix it. Hoping to find the words that might console his guitarist, something that would start the process of healing, of stitching the torn shreds back together, he began, “Thank you so much for handling that, Stone. I know it was hard, but it will help. It was the only choice. You had to . . “

But Stone didn’t hear any of it. He had already hung up the phone and was glaring at the stranger in the mirror. Finally turning away, he lay back down, covering his eyes with his hands once again. And he began to sob.

Once divided, nothing left to subtract.

Some words when spoken can’t be taken back.

#fanfic #pearl jam #vitalogy #stone gossard #jeff ament #dave abbruzzese #mike mccready #eddie vedder #jimmy shoaf

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emospritelet · 5 years

Text

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9][Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

AO3 link

Last time in the present, Weaver opened up a new investigation into what Lacey could be mixed up in. Centre of operations: Nolan's garage.

Present Day

Weaver ran his eyes over the whiteboard again, pausing to take a slurp of beer.

“How are things going with Lacey, anyway?” asked Nolan, and he growled something, running a hand over his chin in frustration.

“I don’t bloody know,” he sighed. “I suggested spending some time together this weekend. She didn’t say no, but…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m kidding myself, trying to make it work, and sometimes it’s like I can see glimpses of the old Lacey. Sometimes I think she still loves me.”

“I don’t think she ever stopped,” said Nolan gently. “I’m sure it’s just - whatever this threat to her is. Nothing else.”

Weaver shrugged again, and took another drink.

“You know, you guys can always borrow our cabin again, if you want to get away for a few days,” added Nolan and Weaver gave him a wry smile.

“What, a second honeymoon?” he said. “I don’t think we’re ready for that, but thanks for the offer. I need to work out what the hell has her so scared. If I can find that out, and fucking deal with it so it can’t hurt her again, maybe we’ll be okay. Maybe.”

“What about asking Fa to help out?” asked Nolan.

Weaver shook his head.

“I don’t want her involved,” he said. “It’s not as though there’s a case to crack, unless you count Heller’s murder.”

“You think she’d care about that?”

Weaver eyed him.

“She’s even more of a stickler for the rules than you were,” he said. “Good detective, though.”

“Exactly. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes…”

Weaver shook his head.

“Look, I don’t know where I’m gonna end up by following these threads,” he sighed, gesturing at the whiteboard. “Could be nothing. Could be a massive pile of shit’s about to drop on me, and if that’s the case, I don’t want it landing on her too. If this is something that brings me down, I don’t want her taking a fall with me.”

“She’d want to help,” insisted Nolan, and Weaver shook his head, rolling the board marker between his fingers.

“I won’t do it,” he said shortly. “Not again.”

Nolan sighed, the wheels on his chair squeaking as he moved nearer.

“Look, man,” he said gently. “Would you stop blaming yourself for what happened to me? I didn’t have to follow you in there that night. It wasn’t your fault, any more than it was my fault, okay?”

Weaver was silent, and Nolan shook his head.

“Fa would want to help,” he said again. “She’s gonna kick your ass if she finds out you put yourself in danger without telling her about it.”

“Who says I’m in danger?” asked Weaver impatiently. “At the moment all I have is - is a bloody whiteboard! A whiteboard filled with loose connections that don’t even make sense!”

“So let’s make some sense of a few of them,” suggested Nolan. “You did say we needed a bottom feeder. How about we go and call on a rat?”

Weaver raised an eyebrow.

“Hamelin, you mean?” he asked. “I suppose the little shit’s due a visit. I’ve been paying him to keep his eyes open, but I’ve had nothing useful out of him in weeks.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Weaver stared at him for a moment, then shook his head.

“Snow would kill me.”

“She wouldn’t! Besides, she asked me to go fetch some takeout in time for her getting back with Neal. If we left now, and we happened to take a detour…”

“I am not taking you on an expedition to interrogate an informant!” snapped Weaver.

“I’m just saying we head down to the bars he hangs out in and get a drink,” said Nolan easily. “Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Well, now you’ve fucking jinxed it. We’re both dead.”

“Come on, let me live a little!”

“I’d prefer to let you live a lot.”

“Weaver, come on,” pressed Nolan. “Just this once! We can do the old ‘good cop bad cop’ routine.”

Weaver sighed heavily, fixing him with a flat stare.

“If you get killed, they’d better shoot me too, because if Snow gets to me I doubt I’ll have a quick death.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Nolan took the unfinished beer from him. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

Rain was starting to fall again as Weaver entered the bar, trickling down inside his collar and making him shiver. At six-fifty it was relatively quiet, a large screen blasting out highlights of a football game with the few customers eyeing it over their beers. Weaver’s mouth flattened as he spied a small, thin man turn away from the bar and walk swiftly to the rear. He followed, fists opening and clenching, and the man quickened his pace until he was almost running. The rear door squeaked open under his hurried shove, and Weaver heard a muffled cry of surprise and pain. Heading through the door into a narrow alleyway, he could see the man sprawled on the ground with Nolan’s large hand twisted in his collar.

“Sorry about that, friend,” said Nolan genially. “Didn’t see you there. This chair’s a bitch to manoeuvre.”

“Let me go, you asshole!” snapped the little man. “You touch me and you’re fucking dead meat! I know people, you got me?”

“Alright, give him here,” said Weaver, in a bored voice. “Hamelin, get your arse up before I fucking drag you.”

Hamelin gave him an ingratiating smile, somewhat spoiled by the missing tooth on his upper jaw. He was a hollow-cheeked, rat-faced man with a long nose and thin dark hair, and he squawked a little as Weaver hauled him upright by the lapels of his leather jacket and shoved him against the wall.

“W-Weaver!” he said, his voice high with anxiety. “I - I didn’t realise it was you!”

“Bollocks,” said Weaver, in a flat tone. “Where’ve you been hiding? I’ve had nothing out of you in fucking weeks. Do you think you can take my money and just piss it up the wall?”

“Hey, if there was something going on I’d tell you in a second!” protested Hamelin. “But it’s been real quiet around here lately, and—”

“I just raided a fucking meth lab earlier today, don’t fucking lie to me!” snapped Weaver. “That has to have caused some gossip amongst the fucking scum you like to drink with.”

“Well, I’m not saying you’re making Seattle’s top ten of favourite cops in this place, but—”

“Anyway, that’s not why we’re here,” interrupted Weaver. “I need some info on someone in town. Someone new.”

Hamelin glanced rapidly from left to right, as though checking they were still alone.

“Who?” he asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know,” said Weaver, cursing his lack of solid facts as Hamelin curled his lip in derision.

“Is this a joke? You want me to tell you about someone but you don’t know who?”

“Someone who turned up maybe four months ago,” said Weaver, using as accurate a date as he could. “Maybe they stayed around, maybe not, but if not, they’re at least visiting regularly.”

“Someone big enough to scare your usual drinking buddies,” added Nolan, and Hamelin eyed him for a moment before shrugging.

“I - I have no idea who you could mean.”

“You know, for an informant you’re remarkably ill-fucking-informed.”

“Weaver, you’re killing me…”

“Not at the moment I’m not,” said Weaver coldly. “But all that could easily change, as I’m sure you remember.”

“Come on, man!” Hamelin spread his hands in protest. “I have to walk these streets when we’re done!”

“I’m not asking you to bloody well spy on them for me!” snapped Weaver.

“All we need is a name and description,” added Nolan. “We can take it from there. Just tell anyone who asks that we forced you into it.”

“I can always beat you up from the sake of authenticity, if it makes things easier,” offered Weaver, and Hamelin flinched.

“Alright, alright!” he snapped. “I might have heard - something.”

“Good.” Weaver shoved him back against the wall again. “Spill.”

“They call her the Black Fairy,” he said. “Dark hair and expensive suits. Probably one of those cougar-types, you know? Word is she’s hot as hell but would cut your balls off soon as look at you. I heard she was up from Vegas.”

“What for?”

“Business.”

“With who?”

“I don’t know, man. None of the usual crowd, that’s for sure. The whisper is that it was something personal.”

“Personal?” Weaver frowned. “As in family?”

“I don’t know,” insisted Hamelin. “Don’t even know her name, only that she’s called the Black Fairy. Apparently there’s a Blue Fairy as well. Doesn’t sound too bad, right, but I’ve seen grown men twice your size shut their mouths and back the fuck away when they’re mentioned. Real heavy hitters down in the desert. Escorted around the place by huge dead-eyed fucks who’d feed you feet-first into a mincer for looking at their boss wrong, you know what I’m saying?”

“I know,” said Weaver quietly, thinking hard. Vegas again. I wonder… “When did they arrive?”

Hamelin screwed up his nose, the gesture making him look even more ratlike.

“Can’t be sure, but I first got whispers of ‘em a few months ago. Late summer, I guess.”

“And you said nothing?” said Weaver flatly. “What the hell do I pay you for?”

“Hey, I didn’t know you’d be interested!” he protested. “Not like they were causing trouble! Just turned up, did their business and went home again.”

“How often?”

“Can’t say for sure,” said Hamelin. “I heard a rumour the Blue Fairy was here this week. No description of her, though.”

“Anyone got more information on this rumour?” asked Weaver.

“No one who’ll talk to you.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have you to ask questions for me, isn’t it?”

“Give me a fucking break, man! You don’t pay me enough to risk my neck!”

“You’re a dramatic little bitch!” growled Weaver.

“Yeah, and I wanna stay that way!”

“This business,” said Nolan calmly, drawing Hamelin’s attention again. “What was it? Drugs? Guns?”

“No idea,” he said, with a shrug. “Like I said. Personal. Nothing that moved in on any of the local big bads, anyhow. Far as I can tell the Fairies paid their respects and were in and out nice as you please.”

“And all you know are their bloody nicknames?” asked Weaver. “Black and Blue Fairies? You sure you’re not just taking the fucking piss?”

“Hey, would I lie to my favourite detective?”

“You’d sell out your grandmother for a half-eaten hotdog,” said Weaver flatly.

“That’s harsh, Weaver. I’m wounded. I’m in actual physical pain here.”

“Shut up.” Weaver glanced at Nolan. “What do you think?”

“Vegas again,” said Nolan, echoing his own thoughts, and Weaver nodded grimly.

“So - so that’s everything,” added Hamelin, and cocked his head to the side. “You gonna let me down and pay me, or what?”

Weaver eyed him suspiciously, and released his lapels, stepping back and reaching inside his jacket for some cash. Hamelin brushed himself down, tugging his jacket straight, and took the money.

“Pleasure doing business with you, detective,” he said, flipping a salute.

“You hear anything on these - Fairies,” said Weaver. “You let me know, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“You want me to punch you in the face?” asked Weaver, and Hamelin sighed heavily.

“Alright,” he said resignedly. “I guess a bruise or two would help if anyone asks what you two wanted. Just - not the nose, okay?”

“So,” said Nolan, as they made their way back to his car. “You think these - Fairies - and Lacey are linked?”

“I don’t know,” said Weaver grimly, massaging his knuckles. “The timing matches up, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Vegas again, though,” offered Nolan.

“Yeah. Could be a coincidence. Not like Sin City is short on criminals.”

"You don't believe in coincidences, remember?"

"Yeah, but this time I want to. Better that than think she's in serious danger." He grimaced. "Fuck, I hate this! I hate feeling fucking useless!"

“Give yourself a break, you're doing what you can.” Nolan pointed his keys at the car, unlocking it as he rolled up. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Follow my gut, I guess,” sighed Weaver. “Heller’s murder is making my nose twitch. There’s something there. Something I need to find.”

“We couldn’t find anything before,” Nolan reminded him.

“I know.” Weaver shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the falling rain. “But maybe we were looking in the wrong place.”

The next day, Weaver went into work feeling more positive than he had been in months. Even if he had no answers, it helped to be looking into things. It gave him at least the appearance of being in control of his own destiny, if nothing else.

He parked at the precinct and walked to the deli around the corner, buying a box of mixed donuts and heading back with it under his arm. It was a relatively fine day, enough that he had needed to don his sunglasses, and the weather further lifted his mood. The scent of coffee was filtering along the corridor as he neared the office, and Merida glanced around as he entered.

“Ah, fresh coffee,” he said, with relish. “Just the thing to make this beautiful morning perfect. Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate you, Officer Dunbroch?”

“Not usually,” she said. “What’s got you in such a good mood? You get laid last night, or something?”

Weaver frowned.

“You have a one-track mind,” he said. “Anyway, I need a favour.”

She looked suspicious.

“Thought there must be something,” she said. “What kind of a favour?”

“The dull, boring, monotonous kind,” he said apologetically, and opened the box. “Look, I bring donuts as a bribe.”

“God, this favour must be boring as fuck,” she declared, but took a donut anyway. “Go on, let’s hear it.”

"That cold case you pulled for me," he said, as she took a bite. "The victim was a lawyer. I need you to go through his client list and pick out any that had dealings in Las Vegas. Either that, or any with a connection to - to some other part of the US.”

“Which other part?”

“I don’t know.”

"How many clients are we talking?"

"Couple of hundred."

Merida stared at him incredulously as she chewed and swallowed, lips shiny with sugar glaze.

“Oh, right,” she said sarcastically. “So when you said it was boring and monotonous, you weren’t kidding.”

“Did I mention the donuts?”

“That’ll take me bloody ages!” she complained.

“Your social life suddenly more interesting, or something?” he enquired, and was amused to see her blush.

“Shut up.”

“Admit that you have a date with Fa, and I swear I’ll say nothing further on the subject.”

She glared at him as she gestured with the half-eaten donut, red curls swinging.

“It’s drinks and a movie, that’s it!”

“Sounds like a date to me.”

“Do you want me to do your bloody searches or not?”

“Please,” he said cheerfully. “Anything that points to an area outside of Seattle. But prioritise those with a Vegas connection.”

“And what are you gonna do?”

“Try to get through the cases that Drake keeps piling on my desk,” he said, eyeing his in-tray.

“So you’re looking into that murder case again, then?” she enquired. “Better not step on Homicide’s toes.”

“No one’s looked at that case in years, it’s colder than the Arctic,” he said dismissively. “I just have a hunch, that’s all.”

“Well, those usually turn out okay,” she said. “I’d better get started. You can pour your own bloody coffee.”

“Happy to.”

“Pour one for me while you’re at it,” she added, and stuffed the rest of the donut into her mouth before taking another.

Weaver did work through his new cases, dealing with quick queries before moving on to those that required more of his attention. He worked through lunch, and once he had set the last aside, he continued his investigation into Lacey. Since he had temporarily hit a wall on her present difficulties, he had decided to concentrate on her past, about which he knew precious little. He knew her name and date of birth, but as far as her family went, he had nothing. He was aware that she had kept in touch with a friend from Maine, but he had no idea who it was, or if they were even a relative.

She was an American citizen, so there must have been a record of the family’s naturalisation, but searching the name French yielded nothing that linked to Lacey. Weaver tapped his fingers on the desk, frowning. An uneasy feeling was spreading up from his spine, a twinge in his gut that he had learned to trust over the years. He stopped searching under French, and instead started looking for immigrants from Australia naturalised in Nevada over a five year-period covering the time between Lacey’s fifth and tenth birthday. A list of records popped up, and after reading through it carefully, Weaver sat back with a sigh. No one by the name of French, or anything even remotely similar. As he had thought.

He sat forward, eyes running down the list, and they narrowed as he caught something. Schwartz. A familiar name, and one which was making that twinge in his gut increase. Weaver stroked his chin, nodding grimly before picking up his pencil and notepad. This was going to take some time.

“Got your searches done.”

Merida’s voice made him start, and he sat back, clicking at the computer screen to minimise what he had been doing.

“I sent you an email,” she added. “Take a look. I put them in name order, but you can change it around if you like.”

"Any more coffee?"

"God, no rest for the fucking wicked!" she grumbled.

"I could use the caffeine."

"I bet," she said sternly. "Did you even eat lunch?"

"No."

"There's four donuts right there," she said, pointing at the open box.

"I wasn't hungry," he said impatiently.

"Oh, starve to death, see if I care,” she snapped. “Just look at your bloody searches."

Weaver opened up the email, clicking on the spreadsheet she had attached, filled with a list of names, dates of birth and addresses.

“So, his clients were a miserable bunch of petty crooks and drunks, seems to me,” she said. “Very good at getting arrested, not much going for them otherwise. Most of them seem to have family willing to bail ‘em out, so I focused on the ones with out of town connections.”

“Good. What’s the verdict?”

“There were several with relatives in California,” she went on, gesturing at the screen. “This one had a base in Maine, there are two with summer homes in New Jersey… How do you manage to get a bloody summer home, anyway? I can barely afford the one I’ve got. I guess the guys on your list were the black sheep of the family, huh?”

“Did you say Maine?” he asked, and she shrugged, peering at the screen.

“Address given was care of someone in Storybrooke, Maine.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Neither had I, until I looked it up,” she said. “Couldn’t resist, the name was too cute, and it’s exactly what you’d think a town called Storybrooke would be. Small town on the coast, fishing port, regular bake sales and local artisan crafts... Sounds so quaint you want to kill yourself.”

“Long way from Vegas.”

“So’s Seattle.”

Weaver grunted.

“Okay, thanks for that,” he said. “Anything else leap out at you?”

“Not really. You can go through the list in your own time, though.”

“I will.” He looked up at her. “Are you done for the day?”

“Pretty much. A few of us are heading to Roni’s for a drink. Want to come?”

“No. Lacey’s bringing Tilly over in an hour.”

“Oh. Well, give them both my love.”

“I will.”

“And don’t work too late, either.”

“Yes, Mum.”

She shot him a look, then took a donut and stomped out again, leaving him with a faint grin on his face. Weaver turned back to his computer, running his eyes down the list that Merida had compiled. There’s something here. I know it.

Lacey was tired: stress, guilt and anxiety had been stealing her sleep and wearing her down, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed and drink hot chocolate. Preferably with her husband and their daughter, just like old times. Instead she was on her way to drop Tilly off with Weaver for a few days, and it was the last thing she wanted to do. The fine day had ended poorly; the evening was dark and miserable, driving rain turning to sleet as she walked swiftly along the street to the precinct with Tilly balanced on her hip and the little suitcase being wheeled along beside her.

“I’m hungry,” Tilly grumbled.

“You can have dinner with Daddy, okay?” she said soothingly.

“I want pizza.”

“Maybe Daddy’ll make you pizza for dinner.”

“I want Daddy home.”

Lacey squeezed her eyes shut momentarily.

“I know, sweetie.” She kissed Tilly’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

She felt like crying again, so she was relieved when Tilly fell silent. Lacey’s legs wobbled a little as she entered the precinct, and she let Tilly slip to the ground, grasping her hand to lead her inside. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest, nerves making her breath catch. The officer at the front desk smiled in recognition, and nodded her through, and Lacey tried to calm her racing heart as she led Tilly along the corridor.

“Daddy!” said Tilly excitedly.

Weaver looked up from his desk, a broad smile breaking across his face as he saw them, and Lacey felt guilt stabbing at her, raking her innards with steel claws. Lacey released Tilly’s hand and let her run to him, and Weaver swung her up in his arms and hugged her tight.

“Hey, princess.” He kissed her cheek. “Have you been a good girl?”

“Yes,�� said Tilly stoutly. “I want pizza.”

He laughed, and kissed her again.

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that,” he said, and turned her around to sit on his knee. Lacey slumped into the chair opposite with a heavy sigh.

“You alright?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Fine,” she lied. “Just tired. You on your own here?”

“Everyone’s gone to Roni’s,” he said, with a shrug. “Fa and Dunbroch finally have a date, by the way.”

Lacey smiled faintly.

“Good for them.”

“Yeah.” Weaver bounced Tilly on his knee. “Anything planned for the next couple of days?”

Lacey shifted uneasily.

“Laundry and crappy TV, mostly,” she said. “You?”

“Well, I thought I might take Tilly swimming,” he said.

“Yeah!” said Tilly excitedly.

“I didn’t pack her suit,” said Lacey.

“That’s okay, I can drop by your place and pick one up,” he said. “If that’s alright.”

“Sure.”

Tilly slipped from Weaver’s lap and wandered over to inspect the contents of the waste paper basket, and Weaver caught Lacey’s eye. He looked hesitant, as though he wanted to say something but was unsure how she would react. She hated that she made him feel that way.

“You know you said maybe we could spend some time together this weekend?” he said. “Nolan offered us his cabin.”

“Not really the weather for a trip to the woods, is it?”

“It’s just a thought,” he said wearily, sitting back, as though in defeat.

“Sorry.” Sharp needles of guilt pierced her. “I’m sorry. I’ll think about it.”

He nodded, but he wasn’t looking at her, his gaze turned to his computer screen. It was locked, a square box asking for a password. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. It was time.

“Oh, since I’m here, I wanted to ask you something,” she said, in a casual tone. “You know that murder I witnessed, the night we met? What was the guy’s name again? Hector, Hiller…”

“Heller,” said Weaver, looking back at her. “Isaac Heller.”

“That’s it.” She shifted in her seat. “You ever crack that case?”

He eyed her for a moment, then glanced away.

“No,” he said. “We thought we’d found out who the murderers were, remember, but we couldn’t prove who had hired them. Then after Nolan was shot, they turned up dead, so there wasn’t enough hard evidence to make any arrests…” He shrugged, the irritation over an unsolved case evident in the gesture. “Case is cold. Why?”

“Oh, because someone mentioned him in The Rabbit Hole last night,” she said, and held up a hand as he opened his mouth. “Before you say anything, I wasn’t working. I just went to pick up my wages. Garrett wasn’t even there.”

He nodded, sitting forward and clearing the scowl from his face.

“Who mentioned Isaac Heller, and what did they say?”

“Don’t know who it was,” she said vaguely. “Never seen ‘em before, and I wasn’t really paying attention, but then one of them mentioned ‘the lawyer that got pulled out of the harbour’, and he was the only one I could think of.”

“Okay.” Weaver grabbed a notebook and pencil. “Tell me exactly what was said.”

“Hmm.” Lacey chewed her lip. “Exactly? I think it was something like ‘you know, that lawyer that got pulled out of the harbour? I thought he hadn’t paid his debts, but it turns out he had information’. And then the other guy said ‘what kind of information?’ and the first guy said ‘a code. The key to a pile of cash’. That’s what made me think it must be our guy, because we found that key, remember? And - and that code, written on the sticky note?”

Weaver stopped scribbling and looked up, his eyes narrowing a little.

“Right,” he said. “There was a note. A series of letters and numbers. You said it looked like a wifi password.”

Lacey shrugged.

“What do I know? Maybe not. What if it’s a code to get into something else? Like - like a computer program, or - or whatever those guys were talking about. Maybe he was waiting to hand it over, and he got killed before I could turn up with the package, right?”

“Maybe,” he said slowly. “We’re reaching, but maybe you’re right. I know we couldn’t find any obvious use for the code based on Heller’s belongings or internet accounts.”

“Well, I guess it’s been awhile since you saw it,” she said, with a shrug. “Maybe you should take a look.”

He sat back slowly, his face expressionless.

“I don’t work Homicide anymore.”

“Oh, so you don’t want to solve the murder?” She shrugged again. “I guess I can understand that. No point doing someone else’s work, right?”

Weaver tapped his pencil against his notebook. She was aware it was an unconscious habit of his, indicating that he was thinking. His eyes never left hers, and it made her want to squirm, as though she was the murderer herself. As though she was guilty.

“Wait here,” he said abruptly, and got up, striding from the room.

Lacey sat back in her chair with a sigh, glancing around the place and keeping half an eye on Tilly, who had climbed onto Weaver’s chair and was making it spin around by kicking at the edge of his desk.

“I wanna pee,” she said.

“Wait until Daddy gets back, okay?”

Tilly blew a raspberry, head rolling back as the chair turned around, and Lacey stilled her restless feet from tapping on the tiled floor. She folded her hands in her lap, trying to present as calm and uninterested a picture as possible, and after a few minutes Weaver returned with an envelope in his hands. He opened it up, pulling out a piece of thick paper folded into thirds.

“This is what you were due to deliver to the victim,” he said.

“Yeah, I remember,” she said, in an offhand tone.

“Daddy, I wanna pee,” said Tilly insistently, and Weaver glanced across at her.

“Can you take her?” asked Lacey with a sigh. “My feet are killing me.”

“No problem.” Weaver dropped the envelope and the piece of paper onto his desk, and held out his hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Tilly slipped from the chair, reaching up to take his hand, and he led her from the office into the corridor where the restrooms were housed. Lacey craned her neck to check they had gone, and sat up, grabbing the envelope and tipping it upside down. A tiny silver key fell out into her hand, and Lacey set it on the desk before reaching into her pocket for a key of a similar size. She fretted a little over the differences, but she doubted they would be enough to cause suspicion; two safe deposit box keys looked much alike. She dropped it into the envelope, setting it back on the desk in what she thought was the same position as Weaver had left it. She then pocketed the original key, pulling her phone from her pocket and flicking it to camera mode, then leaned forward to open up the paper itself.

It was good quality paper, smooth between her fingers, with a single sentence written in black ink and a green sticky note with a seemingly random sequence of letters and numbers on it. She took pictures, one of the paper itself, and two of the note, each focused to give the best view of the code. Carefully folding the paper again, she replaced it on the desk, checking both its position and the envelope’s to ensure they would appear undisturbed from where Weaver had dropped them.

Sitting back in the chair, she slipped her phone back into her pocket, hearing a tiny clink as it knocked against the stolen key, and tried to calm her racing heart as she waited for Weaver to return. He was back with her in a couple of minutes, Tilly clutching his hand.

“Look, I’d better get going,” said Lacey. “Crappy TV shows won’t watch themselves.”

“You know, you’re always welcome to come for dinner,” he said.

She tried to smile, guilt biting at her, gnawing at her.

“Maybe some other time.”

He glanced at the evidence on his desk, and she felt her heart thump, sudden fear that he could sense what she had done.

“I’ll take a look at the Heller thing tomorrow,” he said. “If you hang on for five minutes, I’ll check this back into the evidence room and give you a lift home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said hastily.

“I do if I want to pick up Tilly’s swimsuit.”

“Right,” she said lamely. “Yeah. Sure.”

Weaver picked up the letter, sliding it back into the envelope with the fake key.

“Back in a minute,” he said.

Lacey slumped back in the chair as he left, arms going around Tilly as she climbed onto her lap.

“I want pizza,” she grumbled.

“I know, baby.” Lacey kissed the top of her head. “Daddy’s gonna buy you pizza.”

“You come too?”

“I can’t, sweetie, I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

Tilly looked up at her curiously, dark eyes wide, and Lacey sighed.

“I have to work,” she lied.

“Oh.” Tilly wrinkled her nose. “Work is stupid!”

“Yeah, it sure is.”

Tilly snuggled against her chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth, and Lacey kissed her head again, breathing in the scent of her. The sound of Weaver’s footsteps made her look around, and she watched as he grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. He nodded to her brusquely, not quite meeting her eyes, and there was something in his face: a weariness that made her heart clench. She hated that she was probably the cause.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s get going.”

The journey back to the apartment was made in near silence, the only break in it Tilly seeking assurance that they would indeed be going for pizza afterwards. Weaver carried her case up to the apartment, and Tilly jumped onto the couch and reached for the TV remote as he and Lacey went into her room to retrieve the swimsuit. The sound of a cartoon had started up in the lounge, something bright and cheerful, and Lacey was glad of the noise. Anything to lift the cold, heavy silence that seemed to follow her around. She rummaged in the third drawer of the dresser.

“She likes the octopus one,” she said, fishing out a blue swimsuit.

“Thanks.”

“Hang on, there are water wings in the box under the bed.”

She could feel him watching her as she pulled out the box, pushing aside toys and books and retrieving the orange plastic water wings. She shoved the box back under, pushing to her feet and holding them out. Weaver nodded, taking them from her and opening up the little suitcase before dropping them in along with the swimsuit.

“Looks like we’re all set,” he said.

“Have fun.”

He zipped the case and paused a moment, tented fingers resting on the outer shell, eyes staring at nothing.

“Guess I’ll see you Friday,” she added. “You’d better go get that pizza.”

“Lacey,” he said quietly. “Just - just a minute.”

He had turned to face her, and was watching her with dark eyes, his expression something she couldn’t quite interpret. Love, perhaps, though God knew she had done nothing to deserve it. Love tinged with sadness, with quiet desperation. It made the well of tears inside her rise up, threatening to overflow and drown her in sorrow.

“Whatever’s going on with you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know - you know you can tell me anything, right? You know I would never judge you, that I’d want to help you.”

“You can’t,” she said abruptly, and wanted to bite her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the tears wouldn’t spill out. “What I mean is, there’s nothing I need help with.”

He was still staring at her, and it hurt, as though his gaze could pierce her chest and see into her soul. As though there was something there worth saving. She clenched her jaw, raising her chin.

“I know you think there’s some big secret I’m keeping, Rafe,” she said clearly. “Something that I’m not letting you in on, for whatever reason you’ve cooked up in that mind of yours.”

“Well, that’s because you’re a terrible liar, and I’m not stupid,” he said stiffly. “And because I know you. I know you need my help, and I know you’re too brave and too bloody stubborn to ask for it.”

“I’m not brave,” she muttered.

“You are,” he said, and his tone was gentle again. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

I’m not, I’m a fucking coward!

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped, raising her hands and letting them fall against her thighs with a slap. “God, it’d be so much easier if there was some dark tale of bloody woe I was keeping from you! It would probably hurt less than the truth!”

“‘The truth’,” he said flatly. “I’m still waiting for the bloody truth!”

“I told you—”

“No.” He shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “You haven’t. But I’ll wait. And - and I’ll go on waiting, Lacey. Whenever you want to tell me, I’ll be waiting to hear it.”

Lacey stepped forward.

“But the truth is just - ordinary,” she said gently. “No terrible secrets, no dark deeds to discover. Just two people who don’t belong together. Happens every day. This time it happened to us. That’s all there is. That’s it.”

There was silence for a moment, a long, terrible moment in which he held her gaze, the twitch of his mouth the only hint that she had stuck a dagger in his heart and twisted it. It made her want to break down and weep, to fall into his arms and beg forgiveness. Her lower lip trembled, and she snatched at it with her teeth to hold it still. Blood bloomed on her tongue, the taste of iron and salt, and her eyes stung with tears. He had glanced away from her, his face tight with pain, but he took a breath before meeting her eyes again.

“Nevertheless,” he said, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion. “If you need my help for any reason, all you have to do is ask.”

“I already told you—”

“Any reason,” he repeated. “I mean it. We’re still friends, no matter what. I still love you, Lacey. I always will.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms to distract her from the pain in her heart. He finally looked away, before glancing back, nodding once, and grasping the case in his hand. Footsteps echoed back at her as he walked through the apartment, the sound of him leaving, and she closed her eyes. He wouldn’t give up on her. He would never give up on her.

#fic: things left unsaid #woven lace fic #rumbelle fic #my fic #woven lace

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demethinkstoomuch · 5 years

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Deme Rates Villagers, Part 4: Birds

Disclaimer: Images are from the wiki, all good dogs, my ratings are mainly just there because “Deme gives her abstract thoughts on villagers” is hardly a catchy thing.

Let’s get to the birbs! Are there borbs? No, not really, Animal Crossing birbs have a pretty straightfoward and uniform shape, they are most likely not borbs.

Ace

Another villager time forgot! Without seeing a clear shot of his eyes (they’re not perma-closed), a big element of his design is sadly lost on me. Otherwise, he’s pretty cute. Nothing fancy, but cute.

2 (Hidden Eyes) /5

Admiral

Eyebrows. Angry. Eyebrows!

...What’s with his stomach not being the same color as the underside of his face, though? It makes them feel disconnected, which honestly loses some of the appeal for me. On the other hand, angry eyebrows for a grumpy bird.

Eyebrows... /10

Anchovy

To be honest, I don’t know what to make of Anchovy. On the one hand: I like his simple, bird-like color scheme. I like his square eyebrows... But his expression, his pupils so very, very tiny... Kinda weirds me out. Which, spoiler, is going to be a thing with the birds. Not good eyes, the birds. But once I started looking at other screenshots, with his beak a bit more closed, I came to like his look of mild surprise, in a sort of flickering fondness.

A decent bird, perfectly cromulent.

I don’t know but it swings between 4-6/10

Flash

Oh man, look at this bird! It’s a crying shame he hasn’t returned since the gamecube days, what with his little swirly little hair-feather, sleepy rectangle eyes, and jaunty little hat, and a cute blue coloring. We are robbed of his revival, and I, for one, will weep for this little bird.

Blue Bird Lamentation / 10

Jacob

What is it with these birds and looking tremendously surprised by existence? Jacob is apparently sort of Brazil-inspired, which is an odd choice of country to make into a charmingly tropical bird, but alright. He and Pave can enjoy carnivale festivale together.

6 /10

Jacques

Look at this fantastic little hipster! He has a beard even if it’s absurd for a bird to have a beard! Blond eyebrows! The green beanie! If he’s come out before the existence of Smug, I’d say he’s a cute little lumberjack, but smug officially marks him as a proud resident of... Maybe Portland, but I’m thinking Seattle. Walks around in the rain, goes hiking in the woods on the weekends, sure, but during the week he goes to an independent coffee shop that does artisanal, free-trade coffee. He used to go to Starbucks, but then they got mainstream. Do hipsters of a certain type play the harmonica? Well, they do now because he is one and he does. Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. You can’t, can you? He’s so wonderfully a thing. Also, he’s got nice eyes, good, big pupils, and does a nice job tying his beanie color into the rest of his design. A good, good boy.

He would only accept a rating if it was ironic. I have no way of telling if my ratings are ironic or if they’ve looped back to being semi-sincere or if they’re just dumb gags and that’s not irony, you guys, so let the fact that he’s a serious contender for my New Horizons goals list be enough.

Jay

He’s really more of a swallow than a jay, looking at his coloring. Specifically, he’s got the red head and blue body and white underside of a Lesser Striped Swallow. So, now you know. That’s a plus for me, though not a super powerful one, and his eyes have that sort of strange staring quality I noted about Anchovy, but the eyebrows are less good. A rather run-of-the-mill bird.

He’s wearing a 6, however, so 6/10.

Jitters

Oh god that is unsettling. The dark-ringed eyes that are just the wrong sort of wide and staring... I feel like he’s seen Things. I don’t want him to show me Things. (What is funny is that I feel like, given the opportunity, I would probably loop back around and love his thousand-yard, sleepless, burnt-out stare. But I haven’t, so it creeps me out.)

Aaaaaaaaaaah! / 10

Joe

This bird is too small and dark for me to really see, but that might be a nice purple. Look, some villagers from the foggy shores of the past just cannot merit comment.

-/10

Lucha

I wonder why Nintendo keeps looking at luchadors and going “You know what this needs to be? A bird.” This is clearly Hawlucha’s little brother, and the effect could be more dramatic or detailed, but it does rather get the job done!

Lucha Libre / 10

Madame Rosa

Well, well, well, a villager with a form of address in their name! How interesting! I like her face, what little of it we can see, and I think her color is appealing. She looks suitably fancy. Honestly, another villager it is a shame to lose.

Admiral Gets To Come Back And That’s Fine But Why Not Rosa? / Villagers Who Didn’t Get Amiibo Cards

Medli

So, here we are. The first of the Amiibo specials! This one is obviously meant to be Medli from Wind Waker, and as an emulation, she’s cute, but please, understand... It’s creepy when fur or feathers or something on an animal character goes for that fair-toned flesh look. The naked mole rat look, except not on a naked mole rat. It’s creepy when custom ponies do it, it’s very creepy when Animal Crossing villagers do it. Please stop.

No Seriously I think about this every time I wanna make a pony of a specific fictional character and then I shudder in deep distaste / Please For the Love of All That Is Good And Holy, Stop. Let Them Have Fur! Or feathers!

Midge

Awwwwwwwwwww! Midge is so cute! Look at those cute little swirls on her cheeks! Her precious little tadpole eyes! She’s a pretty, rosy sort of pink, too. I approve, even if honestly there is no rhyme or reason to her, she is just cute.

(@ o’ v o’ @) / 10

Otis

Who is this guy, and what do I think about him? He looks... Like a bird. That covers that, I think.

-/10

Peck

Peck has a nice Java Sparrow look to him, though not entirely. The eyebrows are such a bright red that I don’t quite dig it, but I have to admit, he is a cute. Not my favorite vaguely Java-Sparrow-y person, though. That will always be Azami!

Drives Safely / 10

Piper

Man, Piper just does not have cute eyes, this image is a lie. She’s got half-circle eyes that make her look kind of bored. And given that she has so little detail, she really needed cute eyes to make me pleased.

3/10, an actual rating that isn’t just me giving a numerical shrug.

Robin

Robin’s pretty rockin’. I like the subtle blush, assuming that’s not a trick of this one screenshot. The little bit of blue “hair” up on his head ties together his tail and. Shame his stomach’s not red all the way down. Commit, Animal Crossing designers! Commit!

Rockin’ Robin: Tweet / Tweet Tweet

Shoukichi

Oh man, it’s a little daruma doll bird! That’s so good! Look at him, he got his wish I guess! Not much else to say, save that I am sad no one has seen him again. I wish he’d come back one day.

One Eye / Two, for that unfilled wish.

Sparro

This is a pretty cute sparrow. You know what he could use? Bigger eyes. I feel the eyes have been an issue with the birds, and I intend to solve this puzzle. ...I think, considering my reactions, it is that they have big round bobble-heads, and so need a big eye to not look weird. Anyway, I appreciate the big dark rings, but not the weird little blush. He looks like he had a little beard, also good.

W(hy is there a missing W?) / Z

Twiggy

Twiggy sure is. The blue on the cheeks and the tail is nicely tied, and I like the very dark stripes on the legs. I have no particular other feeling, but these are good eyes.

5/10, the rating that is me giving a numerical shrug.

Twirp

Oh, I see Nintendo once considered the matter of bird eyes. And making their pupils ginormous. I see. Hm. Well, I guess I do like it better That said, I have no idea what is going on with this creature. Is it meant to evoke a shaved head? Is this creature naked? He looks very naked. Look, just. I respect your saying farewell to me, Twirp. Goodbye.

??????? / 10

The birds have some fun motifs, and we’re seeing a lot of realistic-ish birds, which is fun, but I think we’ll definitely have more enthusiasm-inducing species. Not new time, though. Next time is cows and bulls, and my expectations are low.

#Animal Crossing #Deme Rates Villagers #Birds

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bitchinparty · 5 years

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BP 2020 Main Con Info Post

Here is the ginormous, one-stop-shopping con information post, including registration, hotel, con schedule, travel, tourist, and concomm contact information, to be updated as we go. Don't forget you can follow us on Twitter or Dreamwidth for quick links to updates! You can also reach the concomm at pacificwriterscon [at] gmail at any time. General Information: When is Pacificon 2020? April 4 and 5, 2020, with an optional movie night and other activities on the evening of April 3. Where will it take place? At the Issaquah Hilton Garden Inn near Seattle, Washington. How do I sign up? The registration post—including detailed registration and payment information—is here. Full membership is $85, and is limited to 100 attendees. You must be at least 18 years old to attend. The current list of attendees will be posted soon. If you need some help with the registration fee, check out the financial assistance post. "Bitchin' Party"? Seriously? "Bitchin' Party" became the unofficial name of the con after some of the concomm had the misfortune of watching a gloriously bad TV show called Dante's Cove. Don't worry, we're not using it unironically.* *except that some of us totally are Hotel Information: The hotel is the Issaquah Hilton Garden Inn, located at 1800 Gilman Blvd, Issaquah, WA (here on Google Maps). The front desk number is 1-425-837-3600, and the fax number is 1-425-837-3635. How much does it cost? The con rate $124/king and $144/two queens, plus tax. A small number of cots will be available on a first-come, first-serve basis upon check-in. How do I reserve a room? You must reserve your room by March 3, 2020 in order to receive the con rate and be in the room block with all the other cool kids con attendees. If you're looking for a roommate, we'll link that thread once we get closer to the con. To reserve a room online: 1. Go here. 2. Select your arrival/departure dates, your number of rooms/guests, your preferred bed configuration, and then provide your information. Our group code is PWC402. (Note that you can only add ONE additional person's name to your reservation, so give some thought to who is likely to arrive first. It can also be changed later if necessary.) A credit card is required to hold the reservation, but no deposit is required. (They do have a disclaimer that they can place a hold on your card for the full amount of your stay, but FWIW, we've never seen that happen.) NOTE: If you have ANY question or problem with the reservation process (for example, if you did not get the correct rate quoted to you, or it says it doesn't have your preferred bed configuration available), PLEASE call the toll-free number at 1-877-STAY-HGI and talk to a real person (tell them you're reserving for the Pacific Writers' Conference). If for some reason that still doesn't resolve things, contact us at pacificwriterscon [at] gmail [dot] com and we will contact the hotel. To reserve over the phone: Call the main reservation line at 1-877-STAY-HGI and tell them you're reserving for the Pacific Writers' Conference (that is our sekkrit spy codename to civilians!). Make sure you specify whether you'd like a king room or two queens. Again, if you have any trouble—if they tell you our block is full or that the con rate isn't available—contact pacificwriterscon [at] gmail and we will contact the hotel. Hotel Amenities Room amenities include: - mini fridge - microwave - 42-inch HDTV - FREE wireless high-speed internet throughout the hotel Hotel amenities include: - on-site restaurant (including a bar) - room service - pool and hot tub - fitness center - free parking - complimentary shuttle available for transport within a five-mile radius of the hotel Check-in starts at 3 p.m., check-out is at noon. The con will be providing hors d'oeuvres and a cash bar on Saturday night, a full breakfast on Saturday and Sunday morning, and some snacks and beverages throughout both days. We'll post a complete menu a couple of weeks prior to the con. NOTE: We are NOT allowed to bring our own outside snacks into the meeting room. You are, however, welcome to eat or drink whatever you like in your own room. Area Amenities Within walking distance of the hotel, you'll find several fast food options, a couple of restaurants, a grocery store, a Starbucks (of course), and a liquor store. Within easy driving distance and within the range of the complimentary hotel shuttle, you'll find practically anything else you might need, including lots of food options, Costco, drugstores, Target, various banks, an organic grocery store, etc. Maps will be included with your welcome packet when you arrive. If you want to check out the lay of the land before then, Google Maps is your friend (see the hotel link above). Con events The con will officially run from 9 a.m. on April 4th until 5 p.m. on April 5th, with an optional movie night and other activities to get the ball rolling on the evening of April 3rd, and post-con movie-watching on the evening of the 5th. Panels Panels are being organized by the ConComm, with help from you. Final list of panels will be linked here once they are available. Always check out the panels tag for the latest info! Vidshow There will be a vidshow on Saturday night, details TBD. Check out the vidshow tag for the latest info! Room parties Room parties are totally encouraged (as long as noise is kept to a respectful level that won't get us in trouble with other guests/the hotel)! Please note, however: NO alcohol is allowed in the main con ballroom (except via the cash bar on Saturday night). Feel free to drink/eat whatever you want in your sleeping rooms. A list of things we will not have, because we are all casual and stuff: No celebrity guests (y'all are rockstars enough for us) No art show No dealers No free meals besides hors d'oeuvres on Saturday and breakfast on Saturday & Sunday What we do have is LOVE, people. SO MUCH LOVE. And bacon! Getting to the con: By air Airport You'll probably want to fly into Seattle-Tacoma (Sea-Tac) International Airport. Getting from the airport to the hotel The hotel is about 20 miles from Sea-Tac. The most affordable option is to take the light rail and connect to a bus; the light rail will get you from the airport to downtown Seattle for $2.50, and from downtown, there are several buses to Issaquah (average $2.50 fare) that will drop you off at the Issaquah Transit Center on 17th Ave NW, less than half a mile from the hotel (see the Metro Online Site for more info). Otherwise: - Taxi (in the vicinity of $55-$65 plus tip), Uber, or Lyft - Shuttle service - When the con gets closer, we'll open up a thread for anyone who wants to try to coordinate cab/shuttle-sharing with other attendees. - Rent a car (see below for driving directions) Getting to the con: Not by air The thread for roadtrip coordination will be posted closer to the con and linked here. By train or bus Amtrak and Greyhound both have stations in downtown Seattle. From there, you're about a 20-minute drive away from Issaquah. See below for driving directions. Local bus service is, as I said, not all that comprehensive, but it is pretty easy from downtown--the Metro Online site is here if you'd like to check out your options. By car: driving directions - As long as you are not east of Issaquah (including from Sea-Tac airport), take (as applicable) I-5 N, I-5 S, I-405 N, or I-405 S to I-90 E (toward Spokane). If you're east of Issaquah, take I-90 W. - From I-90, take exit 15 (WA-900 / 17th Ave NW). - Turn right at the light onto 17th Ave NW. - About a block down, turn right onto Gilman Blvd (by the Burger King). - The hotel will be about a block ahead of you on your right, behind the John L. Scott building. The hotel is here on Google Maps. Getting to the con: Other Travel by War Rig, Bifrost, tour bus, dog sled, Goat Van, stargate, wormhole, battlestar, firefly, TARDIS, Leviathan, Chevy Impala, Mystery Machine, or similar to be arranged by individual attendees. Roommates, rideshares, and airport transportation coordination Roommate, rideshare, and cab/Lyft/shuttle-share threads will be posted closer to the con! Weather It does not, in fact, rain ALL the time in Seattle. However, in the springtime, it tends to rain quite a bit. Bring a waterproof jacket if you have one, and maybe an umbrella if you plan to be out and about (though the hotel also has a few umbrellas you can borrow). Temperatures will probably be in the 50s/low 60s, but given climate change shenanigans, we cannot safely predict the weather. Basically, layers are highly recommended—not only is Seattle weather changeable (it snowed at our first BP; WHAAAT), but so are hotel temperatures (especially in meeting spaces, where they tend to crank the air conditioning), so being able to take off/add clothes as necessary is your best bet. Tourist information Downtown Seattle is about a 20-minute drive from Issaquah (up to about 45 minutes with traffic). For information about tourist activities available in the area, you can visit this site. Who's flying this thing? The mod team is intransitive, jedusaur, & pi. General questions/concerns/etc. should go to the ConComm at pacificwriterscon [at] gmail Questions about registration should go to the ConComm at pacificwriterscon [at] gmail as well. As we get closer, we'll update this post with panel, vidshow, and other contact info, but the entire ConComm has access to the above email, and the appropriate person will answer any questions that come up, so that email address is your best bet! We're trying to tag posts as much as possible for ease of navigation. To view all the tags for the community, go here. See you in April!

#bp2020 #bitchin' party

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wolf-555-writer · 6 years

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Still Breathing Part 4

I decided to post smaller parts of the story as I won’t have much time for writing starting next month, responsibilities, responsibilities... So sorry guys :(. And I really appreciated your messages! Thank you ;). But this way I can still post frequently I hope :). Enjoy!

Read part 1; part 2; part 3

Alex Danvers x Reader

Word Count: 1,619

Feeling the hot water drops gently sliding down your body. You think about the events that happened an hour ago, outside the bar, as you can’t stop smiling.

“Did that really happen? Like… we kissed right? I still can’t believe it…”

You’re currently in the steaming hot shower at Alex her place because you were freezing cold and drenched from the rain. Bringing your hands up to move them through your hair, you feel a stinging pain and flinch. It’s from your wounded knuckles, meeting the heated water, since you cracked the unhealed skin due to your rage fit earlier. You almost forgot about that moment. That nasty fight you had with Alex. Quickly snapping out of it, you turn off the shower and reach for a towel. Your clothes are as of now ready to be worn again thanks to Alex who had put them in the dryer.

All warmed up, you get dressed and casually walk to the couch where Alex is already seated. Crashing yourself on the couch, you finally relax from this intense day. Grabbing the warm coffee mug from the table, Alex sarcastically chuckles:

“You can sit closer to me you know, I don't bite.”

You laugh nervously as you suddenly think of something.

“Wait... where are Kara and J'onn?”, you gasp, lifting one eyebrow. “What do you mean?”, Alex responds. “Well… we left the bar in a hurry and didn't tell them where we went, because we didn’t go back in. They're probably still waiting”, you say, laughing a bit. Alex her expression looks guilty:

“Oh god, you're right.”

“I know. We're terrible people, right?, you jokingly express, causing a faint smile to appear on Alex her face while she reaches for her phone. Feeling responsible for leaving the bar without letting her sister know, she sends her a short text. Almost immediately after Alex placed the phone back on the table again, someone calls. She quickly picks it up. It's Kara. You can't exactly hear what's said on the other end of the line, but you can guess as Alex her facial expression speaks louder than a thousand words. Kara definitely knows what happened outside, definitely. Alex tries to calm Kara down, guess she was rooting for this moment all along. Alex hangs up the phone and looks at you, still chilling on the couch, sipping your dark coffee.

“What?”, you ask her. “Everything okay with Kara?”

“Everything is more than okay with Kara”, she answers, slightly annoyed by her sister. You laugh, almost choking in the warm drink. You love this about Alex. The love she feels for her sister, the way she protects her. But also sometimes the hate and annoyance her sister makes her feel. Alex sits herself down on the couch again, now closer to you. One hand tenderly stroking your leg while she’s holding the coffee mug in the other as you two start talking about everything and nothing.

At a given moment you bring up the DEO, making some sort of joke, which you obviously think is funny. Well- I can tell you, Alex does not feel the same. Immediately realizing this is not the best time to raise this subject, as you're suspended, while viewing your freshly scarred knuckles. Alex becomes a bit pissed again because she has a lot on her plate right now, including your screw up. She turns her head fiercely away from you. Why did you do that… not your brightest moment so to speak.

“Sorry, didn’t mean that”, you declare, sort of apologizing?

“You don’t have to tell me that”, Alex growls back at you. Standing up from the couch, you think it's better if you leave, figure this out later, as you’ve caused enough for today.

“Maybe it’s better if I just go”, you suggest while you already start to put on your jacket and reach for the door. Alex remains silent, avoiding eye contact while she had furiously crossed her arms.

“Talk to you later Danvers”, you say tiredly as you shut the door behind you, quickly walking away from the apartment, facepalming and blaming yourself for ruining this perfect moment or what could have been...

It was obviously not the first time you screwed up or did something stupid. You think back to some random day at the DEO.

///

[Flashback]

Letting an alien escape on your watch? Yeah… not your best action. You had already endured an intense, downgrading, expressive speech from Director Henshaw, how he still called himself at that time, as you are in the examination room, nervously pacing around, waiting to get cleared for duty. He was extremely pissed at you. Of course you slightly understand, but it could have happened to anyone. Right? Your mind wanders off to the critical event.

Director Henshaw and Alex were discussing something with the cops who first responded to the scene. You had already escorted the captured alien, who’s wearing power dampening cuffs, to the black transportation truck with another DEO Agent, or ‘FBI’ Agent as that’s the DEO’s cover story. Once the alien was safely locked up inside, you both were guarding the armored truck, guns gripping close. You were casually standing there, talking with each other, as all of a sudden a loud noise originated from behind you.

-BAM-

The heavy door slammed open. Hitting your back harshly while you were stationed right in front of it. Whereas the forceful blow made you collide with the solid asphalt, sensing the discomfort radiating through your entire back. The alien managed to get their cuffs off, but how?? It was already too late to act as the alien made a run for it. Surprising everyone, including Alex and Hank, while also injuring some innocent bystanders in their escape. “What did I do wrong?”

Busy retracing every single step in your mind, as currently Alex enters the room.

“Let's see what the damage is”, she states with a blank expression. The escapee didn't getaway without a struggle since you feel several parts of your body aching. You look up and see Alex pointing at the silver, metal table. As you sit yourself down, having removed your shirt a bit clumsy, you ask: “I didn't know you were also a doctor”.

“I had a job as a researcher up in Seattle for a while” she states while she grabs the stethoscope to listen to your heart and lungs.

“Is she also mad at me for letting a prisoner escape? Am I gonna ask her? I don't want her to be angry with me”, you think, following Alex her actions closely.

“Can you deeply breathe in for me?”, she requests, sensing the cold stethoscope touch the bare skin on your back. You flinch and clench your teeth as that spot on the shoulder blade hurts due to the metal door that forcefully struck you earlier. Alex notices it and caringly questions: “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah- no, not... not really”, you deliver, trying to cover up the miserable state that you’re in. Alex stares into your eyes, gentle grin on her face and one eyebrow lifted, “I know when you’re lying (Y/N)”.

“Okay... maybe a little”. You quickly change the subject as your body is also filled with shame. “Are you also angry with me?” now glancing at her with sad puppy eyes. She gazes at you with a lost expression. “What do you mean?”

“Did she already forget it?” you think while responding to her question. “The unfortunate event that happened today…”

“Ah, the escaped prisoner you mean!” she exclaims. “Yes. I was furious!” she answers resentful. You feel more and more guilty by the minute, tilting your head down towards the bleak floor while you desperately sigh. “But I saw Hank loudly yelling at you, so... I think you’ve learned the lesson”, she continues with a more compassionate tone.

It comforts you a bit, but the shame and guilt haven’t completely left your state of mind because you know that every Agent, including Winn, is currently on the look-out for that rogue alien. Trying to find its location and bring them in, again. Fixing your mistake, while you’re doing absolutely nothing. Except of course screwing everything up.

“I’m all done by the way. You’re cleared. Just take it easy, you’re probably gonna be bruised up for a while”, as you notice a slight chuckle in her voice. “And you can put your shirt back on”, she gently expresses while you boost yourself up from the firm, metallic table. Grabbing the other half of your black DEO uniform from the chair nearby, Alex stares at you from a distance as she’s tidying up some medical equipment. “Is she like, checking me out right now? I mean, not that I’m complaining...”, you debate inside your head while you notice her eyes following your fine figure. Completely from head to toe, probably unaware that you’ve caught her gloating.

Now it hits you -weird timing, but okay- You neglected to thoroughly search the prisoner before putting them on transport. They probably had something on them, able to free themself from the high-tech handcuffs. I mean, they were after all a skilled thief. This was a huge mistake. A mistake not even a rookie would make. Why weren’t you suspended for these actions? Or better said, lack of action? Had Alex something to do with it? Did she convince Henshaw? If that’s the case, she’ll probably never admit it to you, even if you tried. Guess you’ll never know...

You admiringly watch Alex, sensing your spirit brighten. She exits the room, walking through the doorway, while you intensely breathe in, encouraging yourself and learning from the mistake you made. May this never happen again...

Continue with part 5

#alex danvers #alex danvers x reader #alex danvers imagine #alex danvers x you #supergirl #supergirl imagine #wlw fiction #wlw imagine #fanfiction #kara danvers #j'onn j'onzz #hank henshaw #winn schott #alex danvers fic

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sqsupernova · 5 years

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Author Post — KizuRai

We sat down with @kizurai to talk about Rain World, their process, and their Supernova adventure!

What inspired your story?

Listen. I was stuck in traffic on my way home from work one day, and it was pouring rain – as it does in Seattle, or anywhere near the northwest – and I thought to myself, “What if- but rain?”

No, but seriously though, I really was stuck in traffic and I wondered what would happen if rain could eat through materials. I would’ve been just stuck there, with nowhere to go and just melted there. Which is, okay, it’s morbid but I mean I wrote a post-apoc, what did you expect?

That and also I took inspiration from this indie game called <i>Rain World</i> (where I got the title if you couldn’t tell) and it… honestly there’s almost zero resemblance but I loved the concept of lizard monsters and the pressure of the rain killing you and having to run shelter to shelter. Like I said, kinda resembles my fic but not really?

Anyway, my fic is not frightening I swear!

How do you form your stories? Do you outline beforehand or write by the seat of your pants? Do you write linearly or out of order?

Outline? hAHA I tried, I honestly did try considering that was one of the requirements for the first draft: to at least have an outline written out (although it's a little more than that, be sure to read the rules lol). So I did write one, but then I threw that right out the window when I started writing because these ridiculous characters just don’t like to stick to script.

What I did do was write a bunch of random blurbs and facts about the world (which I never ended up using) and drew out some concept art and some floor plans, because I'm nothing if not a thorough game developer LOL

I also cannot for the life of me write out of order. If I do I just end up throwing it out even though I like it; I end up not being able to fit it anywhere.

So yes, I write linearly (not by choice) and write at the seat of my non-pants (because I hate wearing pants) and I just sit there, staring at a blank google doc until inspiration hits, or lightning strikes, whichever one comes first, and I just write and force myself to write and I keep writing until the stupid thing is done.

What in your fic are you most proud of?

Um, that it’s done? I’m still surprised I completed something, surprised I even managed 74k of words, like was I possessed?

Serious answer though, I wrote like up to chapter 9 and realized I didn’t add in any relationship stuff and Emma and Regina’s relationship went from 0 to 100 in a chapter. So I had to go back and sprinkle their relationship here and there. I guess that’s probably what I am most proud of, lmao, that I managed to make swanqueen for a swanqueen fic lol

Oh, and also making everyone hate me because of my fic. That is a joy.

Is there anything you'd change now?

Serious talk, which means this part is uninteresting but:

The thing is, we’re always changing, we’re always moving forward in one way or another, our minds are in constant movement. Therefore, whenever I look back on my old stuff I always get caught up in “god, that’s awful, why did I write that?” or “maybe I could’ve done better” and I’m sure I could if I spend the time to do so but why?

It’s done, if I’m really upset about something I should change then I’ll write a new story and do better because we grow with experience and each story writers churn out is like gaining experience points, eventually we’ll level up and maybe gain an extra skill.

The point I’m trying to get at is that, sure, there are plenty things I would love to change – burn the whole thing in a fire if I could (believe me I wanted to a couple of times) – but instead of looking back I’m going to look forward and make something better than the last.

How do you deal with writers' block?

So I follow Emily Andras on twitter and she mentioned something that I took to heart; she said something along the lines of ”writer's block is for amateurs” and I got confused and a little angry at first but let me say, I think I get it. Even though I do get writers block and I’m screaming at my screen hoping for something to happen, I wonder what professional writers do when they’re on a deadline?

I think they power through.

And even if you think what you’re writing is terrible and it might never make it into the final copy, it’s still something, it’s still words on a page and sometimes just writing something might spark something. That’s basically what I did, I kept powering through even though I hated every second of it, but I managed to get it done on time (early actually because I remembered the deadline day wrong, but let’s not talk about that) and it’s done. Period.

Also, deadlines. Those help a lot.

Was this Supernova experience different than your typical writing experience?

As mentioned above I really think the deadlines helped me. I’ve always been kinda the ‘goal-orientated but lazy otherwise’ type so on my own I’m pretty much whatever and I have a billion WIPs but forcing myself to write and do daily sprints really helped. There’s also a bunch of other writers facing the same thing as me so we can all suffer together.

Any advice to other writers who might want to write a longfic, or participate in Supernova next year?

You know what, don’t listen to all the other authors telling you outlines are the key LOL sure, go ahead and write one if that helps you, but really you gotta find the process that works for you. It’s a little bit like education, everyone learns differently, everyone has a different way of doing things.

Oh but, yeah, listen to me on that ‘forcing yourself to write’ thing, you might hate yourself, or you might hate me while doing it – most likely me but whatever – but just get words on a page.

Also, don’t be so anxious about sharing your work. Your fic is not representative of your self-worth. Don’t write because you want validation or have everyone praise you. Write because you enjoy it and get happy if even one person reads your fic and loves it because these things tend to turn out like a popularity contest and a lot of new writers get lost in the crowd (I mean, like 6-8 things will pop out daily so unless you have a following already, people may or may not leave you until a lot later) so

1) Don’t be upset if you don’t receive any comments until a month (or 5) later 2) Be happy you finished something! Look at what you’ve accomplished rather than focus on the extraordinarily high expectations you’ve put on yourself 3) Have fun

That’s it for me on advice. #fluffwriter signing out.

You can read Rain World on AO3, along with KizuRai’s other works! And don’t forget to feed the author!

#swan queen #sqsn spotlights: author post #sqsn spotlights: rain world

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northernrainforest · 6 years

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Thanksgiving

It’s Thanksgiving here in Ketchikan (and everywhere else in the US) and the past few days have been an interesting study in island living. Tuesday Ladybug and I ran a few errands after her morning at the gymnastics club – they open it up to little ones one day a week and it’s a pretty awesome way to blow off some steam when the rains are hitting hard. Our first errand was to drop a package at the post office. Hot tip: if you’re ever in Ketchikan, and the line of one or two people at the post office right by the Alaska Marine Highway ferry terminal seems interminable, you can head five miles north and go to the post office in Ward Cove. Ward Cove as a neighborhood is just a blip: if you’re driving fifty up Tongass Highway (not, by the way, an actual highway by most people’s standards) you’ll have to downshift slightly as you go around the bend, the cove to your left, with its Fed Ex outpost and handful of float planes. The gymnastics club is tucked in next door to Fed Ex, in a converted warehouse. They moved recently (though before we arrived) and there was some grumbling about the jump in price: a 10-punch card for Tot Gym is now $40, up from $25. I could see how this would feel like a big increase. On the other hand, I would encourage anyone who’s actually mad about this to go to any indoor play space in a big city in the lower 48; it will cost at least twice as much.

Anyway, if you continue north less than a quarter of a mile, you’ll see the Ward Cove post office on your right. Tucked into the same little shopping strip – can I call it that? I’m going to – is a combo gas station/liquor store/pizza place, a hair salon, and the Green Bean, one of the best coffee places on the island. They roast their own beans – a good reminder that we’re living in… well let’s call it the GreaterPacific Northwest. I doubt anyone in Seattle or Portland is looking to Ketchikan for our coffee culture, but it’s here and it’s real. It’s similar to how good coffee is omnipresent in Amsterdam – walk into any office or home there and one of the first exchanges you will be a part of is “Koffie?” “Ja, lekker.” I think the weather and the dark winters foster this attachment to warm deliciousness, which is fine by me. I’ve always been a fan of a hot drink on a cold day.

All that to say: you’ve just experienced Ward Cove. You could continue north and you’d never know that you missed a magical feature of the island. So instead, turn inland from Tongass Highway via Revilla Road (within a very short distance, you’ll be fully surrounded by Tongass National Forest), then turn onto the road with the brown campground signs and you’ll hit Ward Lake, with its forested loop. The first time Steve and I did this easy little hike, he told me he’d Vision-quested it: as in, when we were trying to escape Los Angeles like we were in an old Kurt Russell movie, he pictured what he wanted, and the Ward Lake loop was it. Dark and mossy, it’s the kind of path that desperately wants to grow over itself; but for all the pesky walkers, it would undoubtedly succeed. In the time of the WPA, folks up here erected several wood and stone shelters with fireplaces – after a walk or a fishing expedition, and even in the pouring rain, a person could have a pretty excellent picnic, looking out at the lake. The last time Flo and I were up there, someone had made a fire and left it burning; the little cabin beckoned us, and we sat by the fire and warmed up.

So that’s Ward Cove andWard Lake. But back to the post office. It was raining (I forgot to mention: it’s always raining now) and Ladybug whimpered about not wanting to get out of the car again. So I gave her an apple, I locked the doors, and I left her in the car. It’s worth noting that there have been incidents of arrests for leaving small children in parking lots in big cities and suburbs. It’s also worth noting that I wouldn’t have left her alone in the car even in our gatedcarportin Los Angeles. But if you could see this post office, you’d understand. There’s just no reason to imagine that a child wouldn’t be safe there. And of course if you’re reading this in a small town like Ketchikan, you’re probably wondering why I’m bothering to mention it at all – of course a five-year-old is okay on her own, in a parking lot, for three minutes, especially with the doors locked. What could possibly happen? It’s just such a shift for a kid raised in New York, who started raising her own kid in LA – places where anythingcould happen.

Errand number one: done. It was back to town and into Island Pharmacy to pick up a prescription. Island Pharmacy is one of three pharmacies in Ketchikan, and it’s the only one that’s independent (the other two are at Safeway and Walmart.) It’s also a single minute from our house. While we were in there, one of the women working behind the counter mentioned that she still needed to go shopping for Thanksgiving.

“Don’t,” said the older woman paying for her prescription.

“Uh oh,” I said. “Are the stores crazy?”

“Yes,” she said. “And there’s nothing on the shelves.”

I’m not sure I’ve mentioned this on the blog before, but it is possible to walk into a grocery store here and find that they’re completely out of, say, eggs. And I mean completely out. Not, like, you might have to buy brown instead of white, or the only ones they have are the $7 cartons where the chickens sleep on memory foam mattresses and only eat kale. (I’m usually somewhere in the middle: uncaged, ideally organic, but I don’t need the chickens to have been massaged on a daily basis.) There are simply no eggs, and any plans you may have had involving eggs will have to be put on hold. So the idea that the shelves were wiped clean was not a crazy one.

Flo got home early that day, so the three of us hightailed it to the grocery store. As we’d been warned, there were some gaping holes. No heavy cream. No egg nog. And, as a lady told me grumpily in the produce aisle, no canned sweet potatoes. We had a long talk about how many fresh sweet potatoes she’d have to use to make her casserole, which normally required three cans; this conversation felt so backwards that I wasn’t even sure I could be helpful, but I tried.

In the end, we got everything we needed. We’d already found a pasture-raised turkey (read: the kale-eating kind) a few weeks prior (two turkeys, in fact; we did a test run when our friend Charlotte came up – Flo made a full on Thanksgiving dinner for her birthday.) It’s Thanksgiving morning, the turkey is thawed out, I have some pumpkin and cranberry-related items to start making, and my parents will get here tonight. When people ask when they’re coming, I say either “Flight 67” or “the 5:00 ferry,” and everyone knows what I’m talking about. It’s like living in an extended episode of Wings.

Last year, our family was one of millions who drove east out of Los Angeles the day before Thanksgiving. We were headed to Castle Valley, Utah, to my sister-in-law and brother-in-law’s magical place (Flo and I got married there, in the shadow of Arches National Park.) It took us two hours to drive twenty miles; we pulled over and had dinner, after which things picked up a little bit. Flo showed me a picture of that same exodus a year later – lines of unmoving cars, brake lights illuminating the freeway. This year we’ll be driving a mile and a half to pick up my parents from the airport ferry.

I’m thankful for a lot of things today – for Ward Lake, and for the Ward Cove post office with its empty parking lot, save a small apple-eating girl. For Green Bean coffee, and the local pharmacy, and the fact that I can live without whipped cream on my pie (BUT JUST THIS ONCE.) For the people I’ve met here, and the people I haven’t met yet, but will. For the sunshine and long days we had when we moved here, and for the rain and the darkness we have now. For the two people I live with whose hearts are all wrapped up with mine, and the third little person who’ll be joining the party soon. And for all of you, wherever you are. Happy Thanksgiving from southeast Alaska. Please eat enough whipped cream for me.

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