#beard packed up his entire life in like three days. he spent hours learning about a sport he had no clue abt

[bearchived]

no  ,  he  won’t  say  it  . . .  but  yes  ,   he  does  resent  ted  a  little  bit  for  uprooting  their  lives  n  accepting  the  job  in  london.

[assumingminds19]

anastasia's mate

“Anyone can play, right?”

Kara felt like she was going to bounce out of her own skin, finally daring to do this, sitting on her chair and whispering to the white-bearded man next to her. Eagerness vibrated against her ribs alongside her heart. She’d asked the same man she’d seen the dark-haired woman playing the most, watching from far away. But her eyes were on the woman herself, standing back as the row of old men set their boards.

“Of course, moy dorogoy,” he answered through a thick Russian accent, his hands shaking over his pawns. “But be warned, poteryannaya printsessa is playing all quickly today.”

“What-“

Before she could finish, the woman was suddenly in front of her, Kara’s breath and question caught in her throat at finally being so close. But she didn’t even look at Kara, only at her bright, shiny and unused board for a second, before making her move and rotating back down to the end of the line.

Even though she was playing seven of them at once, Kara could barely keep up, losing first, embarrassment twisting in her gut. The rest fell in quick succession, and before she knew it, the men were packing up. The woman had vanished, leaving Kara wondering what’d just happened.

“That’s it?” She asked. “But I-“

“Don’t be upset,” the Russian replied. “She always wins.”

Kara blinked, looking back to her board and the pattern of her loss.

“Does she ever speak?”

“Da,” he laughed. “Sometimes.”

xxx

The next time they played, it was just the two of them. Kara hadn’t been expecting to play her at all. For the past month, the woman had switched only between the Russian and another man with a thick scarf. But today, before Kara had even finished setting up her board, the woman landed in the chair in front of her, waiting silently. Kara’s mouth gaped, her eyes darted towards her new Russian friend, panicked. The man’s lips twitched, and he nodded in encouragement before returning to his own game.

Kara hesitated, waiting for some cue from the other woman, but she was still just watching Kara quietly. Kara rushed to set up the pieces, feeling obligated to give the woman white as thanks for choosing her.

It was the longest game Kara had ever played, all of fifteen minutes. The woman’s moves slow and deliberate enough for her to clue in that she was giving Kara a game without pressure. An unachievable goal, Kara barely able to focus on the pieces, distracted by the lavender smell her nose caught on the wind, wondering if it was the woman’s perfume.

Still, once she’d lost, Kara frowned at the board, trying to understand.

“You shouldn’t have castled.”

It was a lovely voice, smooth, husky and crisp all at once. Wrapped around the consonants and tilting them up in a distinctly un-American way. Kara had trouble believing it was directed at her.

“I’m sorry?”

She winced at the way her voice squeaked, but the woman didn’t seem to notice, just kept watching her with vibrant green eyes.

“In your game.”

Kara’s foggy brain tried to catch up. She looked back at the board, trying to see what the woman was telling her.

“I needed to get the rook out.”

The woman didn’t wait, fingers reaching and darting over the pieces, resetting the play.

“You lost your advantage,” she answered, moving the carved wood. “I played pawn takes pawn, you couldn’t take back. Your problem was your queen knight.”

Kara blinked, still not seeing it. At her non-answer, the other woman let out a soft sigh and stood.

“Think it out.”

She breezed away with the chill wind before Kara could reply, leaving her frustrated and mournful watching her go.

A deep laugh sounded. Kara looked to the old Russian, finished now and shaking the hand of his opponent.

“You are like sobaka chasing its tail.”

Kara scowled, annoyed and began to pack up her own pieces.

“What is with her?” She grumbled.

“Fascinated?” He teased standing, board under his arm. “You’re not the first, even though you are the first she’s shown how they lost.”

Kara scowled, feeling the butt of a joke she had no part of.

“She’s good, so what?”

The man’s bushy eyebrows reached his hairline.

“She’s three times international champion before she was sixteen, devushka,” he answered, making her feel thick for not knowing. “She beat Petrovick in Paris before she was a grandmaster. You’ve been playing with Bog shakhmat, my dear. The Lost Princess, God of Chess. Don’t wonder how you lose, just be glad she picked you.”

xxxxx

Lena Luthor was her real name. From there, Kara spent half a day googling everything she could about her. Chess champion, a child prodigy, winning more competitive games before she was fourteen then most played in their career. Article after article calling her the greatest chess player to ever live. All until her final match at sixteen, the first loss of her career, when she seemed to vanish from the chess scene and the earth. Except she hadn’t. She was here, in National City, playing in the park with old men and Kara.

Kara’s cursor hovered over the video of an old interview, Lena’s young face so sombre and severe for a child of twelve.

“It was the board I noticed first. It’s an entire world of just sixty-four squares. I feel safe in it. I can control it. I can dominate it. And it’s predictable, so if I get hurt, I only have myself to blame.”

“And what do you do for fun?”

“I stay awake as long as I can, reading my books, learning the Sicilian Defence. There are fifty-seven pages about it in the book I’m reading, with one hundred and seventy lines stemming from P to QB4. I’ll memorise them and play through them in my mind.”

“There’s more to life than chess, you know.”

“Is there?”

Kara absorbed the words, her curiosity ferocious before she closed her laptop screen and picked up the second-hand, dog eared book on chess openings she had bought, settling back on her couch to reread it again.

xxxxx

The third time they played, Kara was the one to choose Lena, marching right up and sitting across from her before Lena had the chance to choose anyone else. It sent a mutter through the crowd of old men, but Lena took it in her stride, a ghost of a smile on her lips and didn’t say a word as Kara set up the board, this time choosing white.

Kara made her first move deliberately, watching Lena’s face as she did, daring her with it. Lena’s eyes raked the board, then Kara’s face in turn, sparkling before she made her answering move.

It was long and complicated, and Kara spent more time hung up on moves that should have been simple when Lena countered with something that sent her in a whole new direction. By the time the game had stretched into an hour, none of the men were playing anymore. Instead, they gathered in a small crowd around them, watching quietly as their match ebbed and flowed.  

Once, Kara was convinced she was going to lose, seeing Lena’s path to victory in three more moves when suddenly, Lena did something completely unexpected. Sacrificing her queen and leaving her king exposed. At first, Kara thought she had missed something herself, wondering if she had tripped into a mistake. But the more she looked, the worse it all became for Lena. It caught Kara off-guard. It would be a brutal play. It would be the kind of thing Lena did to other people, and for a minute Kara wondered if she should do it at all. But something was pushing her in the back of her mind—an urge for this to be more than a pastime. More then a compulsion or an addiction, and Kara wondered when this had become less about knowing Lena and more about knowing herself. It was a demand, an obsession—a thirst for something more.

Kara made the play, her fingers unable to let go of her piece as she watched, recalculated and watched again before she let it go. Kara saw it in Lena’s eyes then, a softness. An acceptance. And then, Lena was holding out her hand for Kara to take, her king in her palm.

“It’s your game,” she whispered. “Take it.”

Kara did, her skin tingling where their hands touched, a part of her was too dumbfounded to realise that the roaring in her ears was the sound of applause from the crowd around them. Lena dropped their joined hands with a smile and melted back through the group. Kara tried to follow as the men held her back, offering their congratulations. In an undoubtedly rude move, she ignored and pushed past them, head twisting around, scanning the people in the park, finally spotting Lena’s back as she walked away.

Kara ran after her, calling out.

“Hey, wait!”

Lena stopped, turned around, an eyebrow arched when Kara slid to a stop in front of her. Without the barrier of chess between them, Kara found herself at a loss for words, caught in Lena’s green eyes.

“I… uhhh… hello.”

It was all she could dumbly manage.

“Hello.”

There was a long pause, too long beyond comfortable, before the only thought Kara could think spilled from her lips.

“Did you let me win?”

“No.”

Kara hesitated, the insecurity mixed with the flush of victory banished at Lena’s quick answer. Somehow knowing without knowing that Lena wasn’t a person who’d lie.

“But you did before,” Kara continued instead, pressing, searching for something to hold onto. “Your game… when you were sixteen.”

Lena looked out and away from her for a beat.



“Yes,” she answered quietly, looking back.

Kara’s mouth worked silently, tasting the answer on her tongue.

“Why?”

Lena took another pause before she replied.

“When winning takes everything, what are you left with?”

Kara shouldn’t know what she meant. How could she possibly? But part of her felt it in her bones anyway.

“Chess isn’t always competitive though,” Kara whispered. “It can also be-“  

“Beautiful.”

The bare branches of the park dusted light through their snow-covered boughs. They haloed them perfectly, Kara thought, capturing this moment, frozen eternal.

“Why did I win?” She needed to know, not fully understanding herself. “You’ve been playing all your life, I’ve only been playing for three months.”

Lena didn’t seem to think her question stupid, or ridiculous, or any of the things Kara feared it was. She just stepped forward, an inch, but enough to make a point, her eyes darkening to a deeper green.

“Because I was only playing chess, darling,” the final word rippled down Kara’s spine. “You spent three months learning to play chess with me. You’re very good. Raw, unpredictable… when you’re not overthinking. You made a marvellous recovery today.”

Kara knew. She’d almost opened herself up to check in five moves. But the fact that Lena knew that Kara knew and fixed it made her preen, a blush filling her cheeks.

“Thank you. I… I’ve been watching you, for a while on my lunch break,” she admitted. “You were always here, the only colour in a sea of silver.”

“You were fascinated by it.”

“Not it,” Kara quickened. “You.”

Lena’s head tilted, and not for the first time, Kara hungered to know what exactly was going on under that pale and beautiful mask.

“What’s your name?” Lena asked, voice soft, welcoming and unexpected.

“Kara. Kara Danvers.”

“Would you like to go out to dinner?”

“Like a date?” Kara blinked, wondering if she’d misheard.

“Yes,” Lena smiled.

“Ye.. yeah!” Kara stumbled, unable to reign in her enthusiasm. “Umm, tonight?”

“I have a standing engagement.” Before Kara could feel disappointed, Lena countered. “Tomorrow?”

Kara nodded, head bobbing like she was on the dashboard of a car.

“Ok.”

One second. Then two.

“Your number?”

“Oh, yeah…” Kara blushed again. “Here, I’ll um… put it into your… yep.”

She typed it dutifully into Lena’s outstretched phone, sending herself a text to make sure, before handing it back.

“Tomorrow then,” Lena answered, phone safely back in her pocket. “Kara Danvers.”

She leaned forward, brushing her warm lips against Kara’s cheek, her hand giving Kara’s arm a small squeeze through the fabric of her winter coat. Then she was floating away once more, Kara staring after her.

“Wow.”

That night Kara dreamt of rooks and castles and lost princesses, found again.

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Eighteen

Previous Chapter Here

Notes: So sorry this took me an age to get out. Thanks for sticking with me. We’re in the end game now... 

Warnings: Heavy language. Angst. 

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

Sarah was trying her hardest to get out of Lisa’s birthday weekend. Really trying. She couldn’t remember the last time she had put this much effort into something that wasn’t related to work or getting to a finish line she’d imposed upon herself while out on a run. 

She wasn’t a very creative person either. Not when it counted. She spent three days pathetically dropping hints that she was coming down with something. Scott dismissed it at first, insisting the fresh air would do her some good. She went as far as to suggest she was feeling quite nauseous so perhaps a five-hour-plus car journey might not be the best idea. Only she had downplayed it to such an extent, she inadvertently removed the problem from the table. 

She also tried the whole “it should be a family event” thing, but Shanna told her she was family and that she should stop mithering and start packing. 

Things got a little desperate. She wasn’t proud of herself but when Audrey had told her about a falling-out she’d had with Michael, well, it would be stupid to lose that golden opportunity. So, she told Shanna she was thinking of offering to stay and support her dear, dear friend and colleague but, with a glint in her eye, Audrey insisted it wasn’t that big of a problem. She was definitely off Sarah’s Christmas card list now. 

Truth be told, she didn’t have a legitimate reason to avoid the break. She couldn’t deny the prospect of having the entire apartment to herself for four days was enticing, though. She could enjoy some rare peace and quiet. She could read a book in a long, hot bubble bath without Shanna perching by the side and regaling her with the latest issues in her romantic life. She could cook and eat seafood without worrying about giving her best friend an allergic reaction. She could also lounge around in her pyjamas all day, or maybe even naked. 

No, not naked. She was never one for that idea. 

Carly had been filling the family WhatsApp with game ideas; some solo, some in teams. All kid-friendly, which was a speciality of the Evans’ clan. Lisa had planned a long hike for the Sunday morning followed by what sounded like an extravagant picnic with champagne, quiche and foot-long subs. She also sent a picture of three humongous bags of marshmallows, the size of small children, and suggested they could sit round a camp fire on the evening they arrive. That was assigned to Chris as his first job. 

There was also the small issue of a massive hot tub. Thanks to a new reliance on fast food during her late shifts, Sarah wasn’t much a fan of her body at the present time. That was another thing she’d have to contend with. She loved the family but forced fun in bathing suits was not really her “thing”. 

“If we get there early, we can bagsy the attic room.” Shanna suggested, nose in a gossip magazine. Sarah nodded in agreement while keeping her eyes on the television. “I’ll be damned if Scott gets it all to himself again.” 

“Sure thing.” Sarah replied, acting nonchalant and biding her time once more before she could raise again the possibility of her not going with them. 

“Don’t get anything out for dinner tonight. We’re heading to mom’s in a couple of hours. I hope that’s OK.” 

“Sure. Wait, what?” Sarah did a double take at Shanna, her face now fully hidden by her magazine. 

“Sorry!” She peaked out over the top of the page. “I forgot to say earlier but Mom wanted to have dinner at hers tonight so we can go through the itinerary in full. Make sure everyone knows what they’re bringing. I said it’d be cool ‘cos you weren’t working.” Her tone was apologetic. “You’re not doing anything, are you?” 

No, she wasn’t doing anything. And she couldn’t think of anything either. There was literally no thoughts running through her mind at that time. None that offered her any help whatsoever. Blank. Stupid, fucking, dumbass. 

“Yeh, no, of course. Makes sense.” She responded after a second had passed. She silently blew out a long breath and sank further into the couch. 

* 

When Shanna had said they were having dinner, Sarah figured it would be one of Lisa’s massive pot pies followed by the biggest tub of Neapolitan ice cream she could find. Something easy and comfortable that wouldn’t get in the way of the more pressing matters at hand, namely finalising plans for her birthday weekend. She was most certainly not expecting candles and a table runner, the fancy anniversary cutlery and four or five bottles of expensive red wine. Lisa had even added some fresh flowers as a centrepiece. 

Sarah looked down at her ripped black jeans and grey t-shirt and felt woefully under-dressed. She scolded Shanna with an annoyed look that didn’t go unnoticed. 

“I didn’t know she was planning some fancy thing, did I?!” Shanna whispered as they hung up their jackets in the hallway. “You know what she’s like.” 

Sarah did know what she was like so, really, she should have known better.

Shanna nudged her out of the way to walk into the kitchen and give her mother a hug, leaving Sarah standing in the doorway feeling like a potato and not sure how to make use of herself. She could hear Scott get beaten loudly by Carly’s husband on a computer game. She glanced her head inside the living room and waved at them, watching as they offered muffled sounds as acknowledgement of her greeting. Chris didn’t seem to be anywhere around yet which gave her some mild comfort at least. In fact, nearly a whole hour went by before he arrived. A light, summer shower had started outside and his arrival was announced to all by Lisa’s shrill tone instructing him to take his shoes off before walking on her newly shampooed carpet.  

“Yeh, ma, I got it. Gimme a break…” 

“Did you bring that picnic blanket I asked you to find? The one you brought last year? The large, tartan one?” 

 Chris gave his mother a confused look before she audibly sighed. “I asked you about it yesterday? I texted you earlier to remind you? Jesus….” 

 He shrugged off his sport jacket, placing it on top of Sarah’s, and toed his boots off before ambling into the dining room to join the others. 

 “She’s on one again.” Scott whispered to him as Chris took a seat beside him, across from Sarah and Shanna. “She called me three times this morning alone to remind me to pick up plastic cups and plates. Like I’m gonna forget something she’s messaged me about, like, a hundred times.” 

 “That’s nothing. You should see the list of jobs she’s given to Miles and Ethan.” Michael joined in. 

 “But they’re only kids.” Scott questioned him, half surprised and half...not so surprised. His memory suddenly recalled all kinds of jobs he was forced to do as a young boy, raking lawns and cleaning the family car. Michael just shrugged back at him, rolling his eyes knowingly. Scott looked between Shanna and Sarah, worrying for what she’ll impose upon them all next. 

 “She hasn’t given me any jobs yet.” Shanna said. She almost sounded offended at being left out of the menial work. The room fell silent as everyone else slyly eyed each other. “Oh, right. Thanks guys.” 

 “Hey, your job is to read the maps so we get there in one piece.” Scott finally broke the awkward silence. 

 “And Sarah? What’s Sarah’s job? I don’t think she’s been asked to do anything either.” 

 “Her job is to make sure you’re reading the map the right way around.” Chris interrupted and the room descended into fits of laughter. Shanna merely leaned back in her chair, folded her arms and cast a mental curse on her older brother. Sarah tried hard to mask a smirk that didn’t go unseen by Chris. 

 Pointedly ignoring his sister, Chris reached for the open bottle of wine closest to him. He leaned his arm across the table and offered Sarah a glass. “Want a top-up?” 

 They made eye contact for the first time in what felt like ages and he smiled at her, a slight crease appearing in the corners of his eyes so she knew it was genuine. “No, I’m OK. Better pace myself.” 

 They hadn’t seen each other, hadn’t messaged each other, in over a week. She was grateful for the break. He looked good, though. Lean and sculpted to a point that was inhuman or, at the very least, unfair to an average human being. A couple of weeks of working out and his body seemed to ping back to what it once was. It was like watching elastic snap into place. Sarah suddenly felt every single extra pound clinging to her thighs. Whenever she gained weight, it always seemed to land there. It was annoying and proved nearly impossible to remove no matter how often she ran. 

 “The hell is this?” Chris asked. He finally noticed the smooth table runner stretching out in front of him. “Are we expecting someone official?” 

 “Just keep quiet and let her do her thing.” Scott pleaded with him quietly before connecting eyes with Shanna and Sarah, everyone seemingly thinking the same thing. “Let’s try to get out of here in one piece, yeh?” 

 “What took you so long to get here, Chris?” Lisa asked as she walked back into the dining room carrying a large tray of what looked like bread rolls. She placed it down in the centre before moving to the side table to gather the salt and pepper grinders. 

 “Oh, it was just a work call.” He shrugged, confident enough in his manner that the conversation didn’t go any further. Scott elbowed him seemingly without anyone else noticing but Chris brushed him off with a shake of his head. He rested his chin on his hand as he took stock of what was in front of him, Sarah included. 

 His beard was thicker and apparently untended to, Sarah noticed, now that things had quietened down. He glanced at her through his lashes as things grew quiet and Lisa started dishing out vegetables to everyone. Lisa had a particular way of handling large family dinners – lessons learned from cooking for many kids over the years. You knew to wait until everyone had something on their plate before making moves for any more. It all smelled delicious. As unnerved as Sarah felt with the formality laid out in front of her, she had to admit she was looking forward to some proper home-cooked food. 

 Chris kept looking at Sarah, hands folded in her lap, polite as always, waiting for everyone else to go in front of her. He saw Michael help himself to three bread rolls before passing the plate back round to Lisa. Michael was a tall, hefty man whose appetite never seemed to be affected by anything. Even when he had horrendous flu that left him in bed for a fortnight, he still managed to put a lot away. He had never once experienced food poisoning. 

 “If you’re waiting for everyone else, there’ll be nothing left.” Chris spoke as he leaned in towards her so she could hear him over the sounds of cutlery and enjoyment. “Just go for it.” 

 She smiled shyly back at him and thanked Lisa for cooking what appeared to be a mini-feast. 

 “Can you pass the butter, please?” Shanna asked as she reached her arm over Sarah’s plate, forcing Sarah to lean back in her chair. She stretched her other arm out for the gravy that Scott was currently pouring over his plate. 

 “You’re always so polite.” Chris chuckled. “Shan, can you stop getting in the way and let the poor girl eat.” 

 “Huh?” Shanna questioned, unaware of what was going on. 

 “You’re getting in her way.” 

 “No, she’s fine. It’s fine.” Sarah quickly interrupted as she sensed him bristle with frustration. 

 He looked at her for another second before shaking his head. Shanna threw her brother a look of puzzlement but Scott appeared just as confused by his sudden tone.

 “Bet this beats McDonald’s, eh Sarah?” Carly said, before giggling to herself. 

“You’re telling me. I can’t remember the last time I ate something green and fresh.” 

 “Michael is so jealous.” 

 Michael’s ears perked up as he turned to his wife and Sarah. “Damn straight. Being only able to eat burgers and fries is, like, the dream scenario.” 

 “Why have you been on so many night shifts lately anyway?” Chris asked, a mouth full of chicken, placing the spotlight firmly on her. 

 She tried to shrug it off, act casually. “Audrey needed some extra support and I figured it would do me good to work in a few more nights. I always seem to manage to get out of them.” 

She was fast hoping Lisa would start discussing the impending trip to distract everyone but no such luck. 

 This felt like it was going to be a long night. 

 “It gave you time off for this weekend so swings and roundabouts, eh?” Shanna added. “Speaking of which, is there anything you need us to do for the trip, Mom? I noticed everyone else has jobs and lists except for us.” Shanna inquired, not quite able to hide the mild accusatorial tone creeping into her words. 

 “Um, no, I don’t think so, honey. Just trying to keep it as casual as possible.” 

Scott nearly choked out a chunk of potato. Chris, side-eyeing Michael’s increasingly red face, tried his hardest not to bark out in laughter. It was tough. Lisa noticed it, too. Choosing to ignore it, she turned back to her daughter. 

 “I meant that things are under control now so there’s no need to add to the pile. As long as you get there on time, that’s all I’ll ask for.” 

 Shanna wasn’t feeling convinced and the smug grin now on Chris’ face wasn’t helping to reassure her either. She turned to Sarah to see if she was thinking the same thing as her but Sarah just kept her eyes on the plate of food in front her, hoping that if she continued eating and finished as quickly as possible, she could get home again. 

 “I can do something, Mom.” She protested. “I could bring that lawn bowling game again?” 

 “Actually, Michael has one of those. It’s a bit newer and the skittles are heavier so the wind won’t keep knocking them over.” Carly spoke up before glancing apologetically at her sister. “He just got it from a friend at work, so… No biggie.”  

“What about wine and drinks? We could stop off on the way up?” 

 “I put an order in for all of that.” Lisa responded with a casual wave of her hand. “It’ll be here the day before so I’ll pack it up here before we set off. Speaking of which, anyone for more wine?” 

 Shanna remained quiet as the family conversed about nothing in particular. Carly was talking about some game the kids at school had taught her that might be fun for the weekend but nothing could remove the unease surrounding her sister. Sure, Shanna wasn’t the most reliable when it came to shopping lists and sticking to plans but it was unlike Lisa not to call upon her for something, no matter how small and inconsequential it might be. 

 Attention turned from one brother to the next as discussions about carpooling took over. Chris really wanted to use the trip as an excuse to take his new Audi for a drive but with all the gear he and Scott had to bring, there wasn’t much room for anything or anyone else. 

 “Except maybe Sarah?” Chris posed the question, keeping it casual. “You could tag along with us and then Shanna could go with mom, I guess.” 

 “I was thinking of hiring a car myself actually.” Chris looked surprised at Sarah’s sudden offer. She hated driving. “We could take some of the load off everyone else then. Lisa? We could pack up some of your stuff?” 

 Sarah had loosely discussed this with Shanna some time ago but they had ultimately decided against it because, well, she really hated driving. Now, however, sensing her friend’s growing despondency, she figured it might help her feel more useful. Plus, it would give Sarah some control over when they could head back home again. 

 Shanna looked at her friend and smiled gratefully. 

 “That’s very kind of you, Sarah. I supposed you both could go on ahead and get the keys from Maggie and we could meet you there soon after? I said we would be getting there some time around the early afternoon if that’s alright with you both?” Lisa requested, opening another bottle of wine. Shanna nodded, a smile wide on her face now and she felt a sense of relief. 

 Sarah mentally calculated backwards from “early afternoon” and reasoned they would need to be up and out of the apartment by 7am at the latest. Suddenly, her role in proceedings made more sense where Shanna was concerned. She gladly accepted a new glass of wine and made a mental note to contact the car rental in the morning. 

 “You know who you should ask about renting cars?” Scott asked. “Greg, of course! I bet he knows a guy who knows a guy who is the son of the guy that started Mercedes. Or something. Either that or he probably has shares in Hertz.” 

 Sarah rolled her eyes at him, laughing. He probably wasn’t wrong. 

 “OK there, brother. You need to ease up on the wine” Chris pushed Scott’s glass further away and patted him on the back. “There you go, little sis. Looks like you have a job after all.” 

 A clear sign of Chris’ irritation was when he chose to be patronising. Shanna was taken aback by his tone and Sarah felt her friend sink back into her chair, irritated. Sarah raised her eyebrow at him but all he did was shrug, playing innocent. Not his strong point. 

 The room stayed silent for a little while as people finished up their meals. As much as she originally wanted to pace herself, Sarah didn’t object when Scott filled her glass up yet again. He turned in his chair to place the empty bottle on the side table alongside the others. It was then that Sarah noticed all of the other empties. Had they really drunk that much? In little more than an hour? She clocked the time and there still seemed to be plenty of food left. They would be travelling much of it home as afters at this rate. Chris left the room briefly and returned with a couple of beers for him and Michael. 

 “What are you gonna do with all this left-over food, ma?” Chris asked as he sat back down indicating a second tray of roast potatoes that had so far gone untouched. 

 “Please don’t let us take any.” Sarah joked, holding her hands up in playful protest. 

 “What?” Scott asked before laughing. He looked at his sister before smiling broadly at Sarah as he watched her cheeks blush red. 

“Oh, she’s feeling self-conscious about her weight.” Shanna answered, nudging her under the table. That was helpful of her, thought Sarah. She could feel herself heating up as they all looked at her, waiting for her to speak up again. Chris took a swig of beer from his bottle and leaned his forearm on the table. 

“No way in hell are you fat, Sarah. That’s ridiculous.” Scott combatted. “You’re really trim, being on your feet all day. I’d love to give you my fit-bit some time. I’d probably gain a few thousand steps.” 

 Sarah laughed out loud. “Thank you, Scott. Can we please change the subject?” 

 “So, you’ll be wearing a two-piece, yeh?” Chris asked. She turned to look at him suddenly before chuckling nervously. 

 “Um, I have no idea yet. Are we even going to use the hot tub?” 

 “I won’t be.” Lisa laughed. 

 “Oh, we all definitely will! It’s the height of summer and that thing can fit a dozen people. Ample room for comfort!” Scott enthused. He should be a salesman. 

 “And it’d be a real shame if you didn’t join in, Bernette.” 

 She felt her skin heat up under Chris’ gaze as he attempted to hide the fact he was looking at her by taking another long swig from his beer bottle. “I’m not apologising for that by the way. As a man and your friend, I can say that and you can’t get mad at me.” 

 “What?” Scott asked. It was a valid question in the circumstances. “What a…weird thing to say.” Scott laughed a little uncomfortably but Chris didn’t break eye contact with Sarah. 

 “So,” Michael attempted to add some humour back into the room. “Bet it’s nice sleeping during the daytime now you’re on lates? I used to love lazing around the house when I did them.” 

 Scott nodded enthusiastically in agreement, slapping his hand on the table. “I remember night shoots on this one TV drama I did a few years ago and honestly, the sleep I got the next day was the best ever. I don’t know why but I always tend to sleep better in the daytime.” 

 “Funny, that’s what your teachers used to say.” Chris joked, swigging his beer. Lisa giggled and fondly touched her son’s elbow. 

 “Oh ha ha ha. You’re so funny. I swear if you’re this amusing this weekend, I might not survive my sides splitting open.” Scott rolled his eyes. “Which reminds me, we should figure out rooms now so there’s no fighting on the day. No way am I sharing with this idiot.” 

 “You only wanna do that ‘cos you know we’ll be there first and we will be bagsying the attic this time.” Shanna thumbed the space between her and Sarah. 

 “You don’t deserve the attic.” Chris pointed. “You’ll be half-cut the entire weekend, like last time. You won’t enjoy the space or the views.” 

 “Excuse me? What do you care?” Shanna retorted. 

 “You spent a whole day in bed with a hangover last time. If you’re gonna be sharing with Sarah, it’s not fair on her to have to look after you. Again. It’ll spoil her weekend as well.” He explained. “She deserves a break just as much as you do.” 

 Shanna looked aghast at her friend before regarding her brother again. She shook her head in disbelief. “I can handle my drink, OK? I was just gonna say that it wouldn’t be fair if Scott got that room all to himself. Especially if he’s on his own again.” 

 “Thanks sis.” 

 “Sorry, Scott. But…y’know. If anything, Mom should have it.” She suggested, looking towards her mother in hopes that she might appreciate the offer.

“Thanks sweetie but I’ll be staying in the guest house this time. With Carly, Mikey and the kids.” 

 “Since when?” Chris asked, surprised. 

 “We just figured it would be easier this time around. Plus, I can help with the kids and you guys can sort breakfast for us all. Get your pancake apron out again, hun.” She winked at him, sipping her wine. 

 “Chris is a great tosser.” Shanna said under her breath. 

 “Shanna….” Lisa nudged her. 

 “Wait, so does this mean we get a room each then?” Scott interrupted. He wasn’t even sure of what he was saying as the wine haze gradually descended over him. “Sarah?” 

 “I have absolutely no idea.” 

 “I’ve lost track of what’s going on now.” Scott said. 

 “That doesn’t answer the question of who gets the attic, though?” Shanna asked, a little whinier than she had intended. 

 “If Sarah and I take the downstairs rooms, we can figure out breakfast in the mornings.” Chris suggested. “And you can have your precious attic. That makes it easier, right? Does that make you happy, Shanna? Good.” 

 “What’s crawled up your ass and died this evening?” Shanna asked, irritated. 

“Oh my god, Shanna, it’s a fucking bedroom.” He practically spitted. “You keep dragging everything out and making everything into a bigger deal than it needs to be.” 

 “No, I’m not!” 

 “Yes, you are! I’m just making the decisions so we can all move the fuck on.” 

“Chris!” Lisa reprimanded her son and regretted over-ordering on the wine. 

 “It’s alright now.” Sarah attempted to calm things down. “I think we’ve pretty much figured it out so it’ll be fine.” Carly nodded and nudged Michael to offer something by way of support but he looked just as baffled by the tension as she did. 

 Chris landed his bottle on the table hard. “Sarah, you don’t need to keep standing up for her. She’s a big girl. She should be able to figure it out now without you babysitting her all the goddamn time.” 

 “What?!” Shanna also slammed her glass down on the table and looked to Scott and Carly for some back-up but they both seemed frozen to their respective spots. “I don’t need babysitting.” 

 “OK, guys. Dessert? I have pecan pie and or ice cream?” Lisa offered, standing up from her seat and making a shade more noise than necessary in the hope it might snap the kids out of whatever funk they were in. 

 Chris glared at his sister a beat too long and she returned the favour before turning away with a look of disgust. “You’re gonna be heaps of fun this weekend, I can tell.” Shanna shrugged. “Clearly, I’m not the one we need to be concerned with. Maybe it’s you that needs babysitting?” 

 “Fuck you!” Chris stressed, just low enough to miss his mother’s ears. 

Carly’s eyes grew wide in shock and for a second, Chris looked like he might apologise. Sarah reached a hand under the table to gently tap Shanna on her leg. Shanna felt it but didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she leant on her elbow and rubbed her earlobe between her thumb and forefinger, a sure sign she was feeling upset and possibly trying to stop tears forming. Sarah tried to get Chris’ gaze back on her but he continued eying his sister, no apology yet materialising. He was a loose cannon when he was in this mood and she didn’t much want to stick around and find out what might happen if he downed another beer. 

 “We should probably think about heading home, Shan. I’ll check for an Uber.” Sarah stated. 

 “Don’t do that, I’ll give you a lift, hun. It won’t take long. We can have some pie and then go if you like.” Carly offered with a wink and for the first time that evening, Sarah noticed she hadn’t been drinking. 

 “Always looking out for you, aren’t we?” Chris said, lowly. 

 “Do you wanna calm down?” Shanna asked. 

 “I am calm.” Chris replied. “I’m just having a nice time, right? That’s what we’re all doing here, yeh? Sarah?” 

 “Sorry?” 

 “Are you having a good time?” He pressed. 

 She was sure he was leading her into a trap. 

 “I am OK. Sure.” She spoke each syllable carefully, trying to warn him off from whatever his motive was. 

 “I don’t believe you.” 

 She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, or anyone. She held her hands in her lap and paid attention to the air she was now breathing in deeply. 

 “Oh Jesus Christ!” Shanna called out. She was growing more and more frustrated with her brother by the second. 

 “Shanna!” intercepted Lisa. 

 “No! He’s being a dick and I wanna know why!” She turned back to Chris. “What the hell have I done to piss you off?!” 

 He stayed quiet, blocking her voice out. He focussed as much of his energy as he could at Sarah sitting across from him, willing her to look back at him, to let him know it was going to be OK. He swung between feeling regret and feeling practically and absurdly confident. It was the beer obviously. It really felt like a now-or-never moment. Fuck it. 

 “I’m sorry, Sarah.” 

 Sarah finally looked up at him, tears appearing in the corners of her eyes. Her feet felt like they were weighed down with concrete to the spot underneath. She tried to feel them, to grab at the carpet between her toes. She was pretty sure she could no longer hear what was going on around her as she felt her heart beat inside her ears. 

 “Why are you apologising to her? I’m the one that’s upset!” countered Shanna, jabbing her finger at him, aggressively. 

 He shook his head before looking back at his sister. “I’m sorry, Shanna. I wish there was a better way of saying this but I guess not. I’m just…” 

He paused as he tried to find the words. Sarah felt her heart sink. What felt like goosebumps suddenly appeared up and down her arms. Chris looked at her again. Scott looked at her, too, picking up on something for the first time but what, he couldn’t work out. Damn that second bottle. 

 “I’m just tired.” Chris offered. Carly looked to Michael but he knew nothing of what was happening. “Of this.” 

 “Is it work again?” Lisa enquired. “Maybe you could work in some time off this time around, so you’re not away from home for as long.” 

 “No, it’s not work, ma. I’m just tired in general. Of a lot of things. People.” He pronounced each syllable as clearly as he possibly could. “And I know it sounds pathetic and you’re probably thinking I’m being selfish but I really don’t fucking care.” 

 “I…I don’t understand, honey.” 

 “Yeh, what are you talking about?” Shanna turned to her friend but her stare wasn’t quite matched by Sarah who looked like she was waiting for the ground to swallow her whole. “Does anyone know what the hell he’s talking about? Or why I am in the firing line for it all of a sudden?” 

 “Shan, I don’t think-” Scott started but the glare from his sister stopped him in his tracks. Scott looked at Sarah and things started falling into place. For some reason, of all the memories to have at that moment in time, his mind flashed back to standing out on his brother’s terrace on the evening of his birthday party. Chris had been distracted and checking his phone, even more than usual so Scott was certain it had something to do with a girl. Normally, he’d feel a sense of pride at being right but it didn’t feel altogether appropriate in the current circumstances. 

 “What the hell is going on?” Shanna pressed. She looked to Scott who had his gaze fixed firmly on his brother. “Do you know, Scott?” 

 Scott looked to his brother and when Chris met his gaze, he knew. He knew Scott knew, too. Call it brotherly intuition but something had connected for him and Chris was all the more grateful for it. 

 “Do you ever feel tired or dictating everyone else’s happiness?” Chris asked, breaking the silence. 

 Shanna dropped her hands on her lap in frustration. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? When have I ever dictated your happiness?” 

 “Do you even realise what people do for you? Do you ever take notice of everyone around you, going out of their way to make you feel better even if it makes them feel worse? Take tonight for example. Sarah doesn’t even wanna drive this weekend. She fuckin’ hates it, you know this, but she’s doing it anyway so that you can feel useful. It’s pathetic.” 

 “What? You heard her, she just offered.” 

 “Because you’ve been moaning about not having anything to do! If you’d just moved on, shut up, she probably wouldn’t have needed to.” 

 “That’s not true. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shanna dismissed him. 

 “Why don’t I get the car running and you guys can meet me outside in 5?” Carly proposed, indicating to Sarah that she should try and gather her things, Shanna included. 

 Chris completely ignored Carly. “And you’ve asked her what she wants, right?” 

“Chris, please…” It was pathetic. Sarah knew that. 

 “I just don’t get it, Sarah.” He turned to her with a half-hearted shrug. “I’ve thought about it all week but I just don’t understand what you are getting out of this. Surely, I give you more than this?” 

 “OK.” Lisa got up from the table and moved round to where Shanna was sitting, rubbing a hand across the back of her shoulders as though it was in preparation of something, but Shanna abruptly pushed her hand away. 

 “Sarah and I have been seeing each other. For a little while. A few months maybe, I lost track of time.” 

 Shanna’s jaw dropped. Scott should have felt something but after glancing at his mother stood in front of him on the other side of the table, and recognising the same look in her eyes, he stayed quiet. He saw Sarah close her eyes and figured someone should try and comfort her, too, but it was hard to know where to stand.

 Shanna found some strength to open her mouth a few times but no sound came out, until… “What?” 

 “You don’t need to worry, though. It’s over now.” He placed his bottle of beer on the table and leaned back. He placed his fingers on the edge, running them up and down the smooth, varnished wood. “She ended it by the way. Because she knew you wouldn’t be happy.” 

 Shanna’s mouth hung open, dry. “Is that true?” She turned to Sarah. “Were you with him?”

 “I just said so, didn’t I?” 

 “I wasn’t asking you!” 

 Chris wasn’t sure what he was hoping for in that moment. He looked at Sarah and felt sadness. Sadness at the pain evidently coursing through her body in that moment. She looked small and deflated somehow. He felt astonishingly sober, more’s the pity. He wished he could go to her and hold her but he knew it was the last thing she wanted. Probably what anyone would have wanted. It wouldn’t have helped matters and he wasn’t sure anything he could say now would do that job either. 

 Sarah took in an audible breath and looked at her friend. She blinked back the few tears that had gathered but it only seemed to make things worse. “I’m…sorry. I don’t know what to say.” 

 “I think I’ll just…” Michael pointed to the door and left the table as quickly as he could manage, no doubt to fill Carly in. 

 “Oh my God.” Shanna replied. She put her face in her hands and didn’t move. “I don’t believe this.” 

 Sarah looked beyond Shanna to Lisa who offered her a surprisingly reassuring smile that she was definitely not expecting. Did she feel grateful for it? She had zero clue. “I’m so sorry.” 

 “We don’t have anything to be sorry for, Sarah.” It was the gentlest tone Chris had spoken in all night. “Shan, I know it’s a lot to take in right now but you should know that this wasn’t just some fling or something utterly stupid. There’s a real thing here.” He looked to Sarah for reassurance. “Right?” 

 Sarah couldn’t look him in the eye. 

 “OK, I know I haven’t handled this in the best way-” 

 “-That’s an understatement.” Scott finally found his voice. 

 “-I accept that and for that, I am really sorry, I promise you. But you have to see things from my perspective here.” 

 “Chris, I don’t think that’s what needs to be said right now, OK? Your sister is very upset and I think you should maybe head home to sleep this off. Scott, can you...?” 

Scott nodded in agreement and left the room to grab both their jackets. 

 “Mom, this isn’t-” 

 “-I know.” She held her hand up to stop him. The less he said now, the better. At least until a few hours had been put between them. Chris, resigned, agreed. 

He looked at Sarah again hoping for something, anything, that might make him think things were going to be alright. Lisa noticed the plea in his eyes, practically begging her to look at him. 

“Sarah, sweetheart, you both can stay here tonight. I think we should probably be together for a bit, yeh?” 

 Sarah was flummoxed by the offer but grateful at the same time. She knew Shanna wouldn’t say anything to her if they just went home again, if she would even come back to their apartment at all. She’d shut her bedroom door and not emerge for some time and that would have driven her mad. She wanted to get out of there as fast as she could but…this was perhaps better. Safer. 

 It was going to be a long night. 

 *

[mythicalsecretsanta]

In The Bleak Midwinter (G)

This gift is for: Grace-Anna (AKA @rhettroedits) Seaborne does not particularly enjoy Christmas and he especially doesn’t enjoy being back in his home town for it. From your Secret Santa, Mai (AKA @holdbythenotsharp)

Link to AO3, or read below:

As the insufferably cheery notes of Wonderful Christmastime invade his awareness, Charles Seaborne realizes he has been standing in front of the uninspiring wine selection of an A&C, staring at it blankly for some time. Trying to choose between a mediocre Merlot and quite possibly an even more mediocre Pinot Noir is impossible with the seasonal jingle assaulting his ears, overriding intelligent thought. 

To be honest, he’d prefer whiskey, but years spent away from his home state had made him forget grocery stores here don’t carry hard liquor. To be really honest, he could die a lucky man, if he never had to hear Wonderful Christmastime again, he thinks as he reaches for the Merlot.

Seaborne doesn’t enjoy surprises. As a rule, he doesn’t allow himself to be caught off-guard. Some might call him inflexible, even uptight, he prefers methodical and well-prepared. But as it turns out, it’s very difficult to be prepared for seeing a ghost. 

He had been on his way to the checkout, before remembering his intention to pick up a proper shampoo to replace the miserable 2 in 1 his hotel offered, so he turns around to navigate back to the personal care aisle. Halfway there he spots the figure of a tall man standing in the middle of the pet food aisle, browsing dog treats. It had been years since Seaborne last saw him. His glasses are smaller than they used to be, with subtle metal rims, and he’d grown a full beard at some point, but there was no mistaking. His best friend from childhood — who he had not heard from for almost a decade — had apparently gotten a dog. 

Apprehension and dread overwhelm Seaborne. He wants to run away, but his feet have stopped moving. It’s not like they had a falling out, really. He could probably just say hello, and Roach would probably say hi back. But then what?

Roach drops a bag of treats into his basket, jolting Seaborne back into action. He scurries behind a shelf and pretends to be engrossed in canned fruit until his heart stops racing. After a moment of contemplation, he decides he can subject his hair to the torture of 2 in 1 for a day or two more and makes his way out of the store, stealing glances over his shoulder, making sure he is not spotted. He doesn’t notice his hands trembling until he’s sitting in his El Camino in the parking lot, failing for the third time to aim the key into the ignition.

By the time he’s back at his hotel room, a spartan affair at a Holiday Inn near the interstate 40, he has almost convinced himself the man he had seen was actually a ghost, or possibly one of those kombucha drinking hipsters that had invaded the town since his last visit. What are the chances it was the man Seaborne specifically hoped to avoid this trip?

After watching two episodes of Magnum P.I. and polishing off most of the wine, he’s practically forgotten about the encounter. It’s as if it hadn’t happened at all. He plans to go on as usual, as if it’s just another job in just another town, not the prodigal son’s return to a place that had not been kind to him. That night he has an unsettling dream about being lost in a maze of dark alleyways, wandering endlessly, hunger and thirst eating away at his insides. Just when he expects to collapse next to a stack of pallets in some dead end that stinks like month old garbage, he notices a lonely turkey vulture on a nearby rooftop staring at him with piercing eyes, waiting. 

The dream refuses to leave him alone the following day, and gloomy imagery creeps back into his mind as he sits in his car, staring out of the window and across a parking lot at an office building. It’s rainy and chilly, and the windows of the El Camino keep fogging up as he shivers in his seat, fingers wrapped tightly around a takeaway cup of some sickly sweet gingerbread flavored coffee concoction. If nothing else, the sugar and the caffeine should give him energy to keep staring at the building’s only exit. The guy he was hired to follow should be out any moment now, but Seaborne is not a patient man, so he fiddles with the knobs of the car radio, taps along on the lid of his cup after finding a station that doesn’t play Christmas songs and — after realizing the tapping will not keep him entertained for long — fishes out his phone from his pocket. He’s been doing this for years, he can easily keep one eye on the door of the office building and the other on his phone, while he idly slides his thumb across the screen to reveal increasingly inane, mostly holiday-related, updates from distant friends and even more distant family members.

“Where the hell is he?” Seaborne mutters to no one but himself and leans back in his seat. Even after all the years of working in a job with a lot of downtime, he hasn’t learned to tolerate boredom. It still makes him irritable and antsy; like each minute spent with nothing to do pressurizes the anxious energy inside him until he is ready to pop.

After a while of scrolling, he is sure he doesn’t want to see another picture of someone’s child or pet in a cutesy costume or posed in front of a decorated tree in a mockery of domestic bliss. He hasn’t been paying that much attention to the motions of his thumb, so when he looks down again he’s startled to see the profile page of a Jim Roach. After some initial hesitation he browses through the pictures, just to confirm he is in fact still with Gina and they have two kids and a third on the way. There are several collections of photos, of a vacation to Hawaii, of an anniversary party, of their children’s birthdays. Seaborne scours through them frantically, like he’s trying to find something specific, but he doesn’t know what. When he looks up from the device, his is the only car in the parking lot and the office building looks dark and empty. 

That night as he sits alone in his hotel room, trying to distract himself from the strange and somewhat disconcerting damp smell lingering in the surrounding air, he googles Roach. For no real reason, just… He’s curious. He finds Roach has started a business selling commercial kitchen equipment, and all signs imply he is doing alright for himself. He lives not too far from where they both grew up and his number is listed. Seaborne saves the number on his phone. Just in case.

When he calls the number the following morning, he hasn’t planned what to say. Indeed, he hadn’t planned to call at all, but he can’t get the number out of his mind. The mere presence of the number in his phone’s memory has been burning a hole through his pocket ever since he left the hotel earlier. It’s still early, he figures. Judging by the opening hours of Roach’s store, he might still reach him by calling his home number. He hits the call icon on his screen, fully aware he has never done a single thing so spontaneously in his entire life. It rings for some time, and he contemplates hanging up.

“Hello?” Gina answers the phone.

Seaborne inhales to say… to say what exactly? His mind is blank, and his jaw is so stiff he fears he couldn’t move it even if he knew what to say. 

“Hello?” Gina’s voice is more demanding and Seaborne is sorry for bothering her like this. She’s probably trying to get the kids to school or something. He really shouldn’t have called. Hanging up on her seems more courteous than creepy, given the circumstances. He decides to drive by Roach’s house later instead to satisfy his curiosity about how the man lives these days, maybe see what kind of car he drives, or if he has a pool.

The driveway is empty when he gets there a few hours later, and he can’t see a pool, but Seaborne slows down to get a good look at the swing set in the yard. It’s a nicer model, he knows after shopping for one for his niece’s birthday last year. The house is nice too; it looks welcoming and happy nestled in between others just like it, with their well-maintained gardens marred only by the occasional scattered toy. Roach has come a long way from where he was when the arrival of his firstborn pressured him into accepting a job offer from his father-in-law instead of pursuing a career with his best friend.

The twinge of something dark he felt outside Roach’s house returns to him later at night, when he is back alone in his hotel room. The feeling is hard to name. Jealousy of the pleasant, middle class family life Seaborne never accomplished with his ex-wife, perhaps, or remorse of letting all that between him and his best friend? Sleep evades him as he tosses and turns in his overly soft bed, getting up every once in a while to adjust the temperature, have a glass of water or to urinate. No amount of focusing on his breathing or imagining himself on a tropical beach calms down the heavy pounding of his vexed heart. He doesn’t know what a panic attack feels like, but suspects it might be something like this.

Even three cups of coffee cannot revive him the next day. Exhaustion is like an itch behind his eyes and sitting still in a car with nothing to do aggravates him even more than usual. The insecurity and guilt that had cursed his existence the night before still linger in him, gnawing away at his usual indifference and cynicism. Worst of all, the day has been long but futile, Seaborne has still not got any incriminating evidence against the man he has been following for the better part of a week and he is seriously considering just packing up his things and going back home. What good will it do him, another day or two in this town that only reminds him of his loneliness? As if the holiday season wasn’t bad enough already.

The passenger side door of the El Camino opens, interrupting his thoughts. Seaborne turns to scold the intruder, but the words he had held on his tongue glide to the back of his throat and he swallows them, as the intruder settles down on the seat beside him, arranges his long legs neatly under the dashboard and leans back in the seat like it’s something natural he does every day. For a while they just sit still, air thick with anticipation. Seaborne has no idea what to expect, and the questions spinning in his mind refuse to be arranged to words.

“What’s the gig? Who are we following?” the intruder says. He’s wearing sunglasses instead of the glasses he had on in the grocery store, and he looks a bit like a rock star with his big beard and leather jacket. Or a moron, considering it’s not sunny, but Seaborne lets that slide for now.

“We are not following anyone, dude, what are you doing here?” Seaborne can’t help but feel a little self-conscious about still wearing the same gray tweed coat, now sporting holes in the elbows. It’s still a good coat, though, and he was never one to throw away perfectly usable items of clothing.

“You wouldn’t have driven by my house six times in two days if you weren’t looking for help.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so what are we doing?”

“It’s an infidelity thing… You know, I only drove by your house because the guy’s mom lives near there, at the end of the cul-de-sac. I was looking for him and thought he might be there.”

“Sure. Good to see ya, man.”

“Hmm.”

Seaborne wants to say he missed Roach, working with him, or just sitting with him like this, but it might be too much. They never said things like that before, theirs just wasn’t that kind of a relationship. He suspects Roach is not expecting it either, judging by the way he leans his cheek on the side window, staring intensely at something outside. Probably some squirrels running around in the park across the street.

“So. Still investigating privately after all these years,” Roach says, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Turns out it’s what I’m good at. Or at least somewhat more successful than as a chef.” Seaborne replies. It’s not untrue, he’s made a name for himself and has a steady trickle of cases landing on his table, even if success may be a slight overstatement.

“Questioning the questionable. Missing dogs and eaten flowers, still?”

“Shut up.” A slight twitch in the corner of Seaborne’s mouth reveals he doesn’t mind the gentle jabbing. The years had softened some parts of him at least. He is no longer the tightly wound bundle of aggression and defensiveness he once was. “Still a lot of cheaters though.”

“You know I gotta ask… is the guy at least older than twelve this time?”

“Come on, man!” Seaborne can no longer contain his giggling, and the delighted grin on Roach’s face only spurs him on. “At least acknowledge my lack of mustache first!”

[labyrinthof-fan-fiction]

Fever {2}

Jacob/Bella Twilight Fix-It Fic

Series Masterlist

A/N: Bella acquires some self-awareness. Team let all these characters say fuck. Again, if you don’t like it, don’t read it, this is just me screaming into the void.

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Abandonment

Summary: Months passed since Edward left and Bella has finally reentered the real world, maybe Forks will be normal.

Rating: M

Word Count: 2,478

Walking into school when I was aware of my surroundings was jarring after months of floating in existence. I muddled through classes, thankful that as a senior, most of my teachers taught in a lecture format and I could lose myself while they instructed, by now most had given up calling on me for answers. As I was packing my bag from English I heard a voice call my name. I snapped my head up, Mike stood in front of me. “What? Sorry, did you need something?” I asked.

“Are you working tomorrow?” He asked anxiously, every week he had asked this question. I had been answering on autopilot.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.” I said with a shrug, I always showed up. Maybe in zombie mode, but I was there. And that paycheck was what would be filling my college fund. Or at least giving me a starting point for it.

“It is.” He nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer before he left the room. I finished packing up and wandered into the hallway. My first exchange with someone wasn’t horrible, but I dreaded the next with Jessica. She had been like a fly buzzing in my ear, but something told me that today, I would not be able to just tune her out.

I walked to my seat and glanced over at her. “Hi.” I said awkwardly with a small wave.

Her eyes widened for a moment. “Hello, Bella.” She stated in short accented bursts, but today, she didn’t give me a mindless deluge of her life. She remained silent, she stared at Mr. Varner as he lectured Calculus methods, but her eyes kept flitting over to me curiously. When class had winded down she turned to me. “Do you need help with calc?”

I gave her what I thought was a hopeful expression, “I need so much help.” Then froze, “With calculus, well with other things too, but that’s not your department.”

She chuckled. “I think I can handle calculus. I’m free tomorrow.”

I grimaced. “I work tomorrow.”

She nodded, “Mike had said you were working at Newton’s.” She tapped her pencil on her chin. “We’ll figure it out, we can always stay late sometime to work on calc. The library is open until 4:30.”

I smiled, then the bell rang, the day was over, I had two conversations with classmates who probably thought I was possessed after the past few months, but it was progress. Maybe if I shared it with Dad, he’d feel hopeful. I drove home, the constant weight that had made a home in my chest had lightened. I was surprised to come home and see Dad’s squad car parked out front, he had been working later, I was used to being home alone until he came back from work.

He was sitting in his recliner when I walked through the door, his eyes closed and a quiet snore escaping his lips. I tried to tiptoe in, to let him get a half-decent nap in, but his eyes opened when I closed the door.

“Good day at school?” He asked groggily.

“It was a day, at school.” I shrugged, setting my backpack down and sitting on the couch.

He nodded, “I got ahold of the therapist, Dr. Theresa Gilbert. She said she can see you on Monday after school. We can drive up, we’ll get there by 4 and she said you could start with a session, see how you feel. If you don’t get along she can refer you to another.”

I nodded, one session to start, I could handle that. “Are you sure we can do this?”

Dad quirked an eyebrow. “Your mother and I talked it over, we can swing it, you’re on my insurance plan, it’s not the best, but it will be fine.”

“So I’ll just leave school Monday and drive up to Port Angeles?”

“I’ll drive you.” Dad stated, I started to protest, but he cut me off. “Bells, I want to support you, you can go in yourself, I can sit in the car and wait. I won’t go in unless you want me to.”

“Okay.” I murmured, sensing there was something more to his wanting to go. Not a ‘I’m going to ensure you go’ but more of a ‘I have to be there.’

“You have work tomorrow?” He asked.

“Yeah, Saturdays are my day.” I nodded.

He let out a hum and stood up. “I’ll get dinner started. Let you know when it’s ready.”

I nodded and opened my backpack. I wasn’t worried about English or Social Studies, those two classes I could muddle through. But Calculus was going to be the bane of my existence. I continued working until Dad called me into the kitchen, it was spaghetti, a staple meal for him. Which, the past few months, I didn’t really notice how many times we ate it, but I imagine he did. “Dad, do you want me to start helping cook again?” I asked as I took a helping of pasta and sauce.

“Getting tired of spaghetti?” He teased, but added. “Only if you want to, you don’t have to take over. I can… get adventurous.”

I laughed. “I’ll start doing some meals, get some change in our diet.” I said taking a bite.

He smiled at me and we ate in silence. I washed the dishes before going up to bed, he turned on the TV to watch some game that was important to him. I closed my bedroom door behind me and took a deep breath. The throbbing in my chest was present again, my knees felt weak. It had been a good day, why now? I curled into a ball on my bed and willed myself to sleep. The dull throbbing lulled me to sleep as I counted my heartbeats.

Breakfast the next morning was silent, Dad had left a note on the fridge that he had to go to the station early. Forks barely ever had need of him this early, but after spending a year with vampires, I don’t know how much would surprise me anymore. I put my empty bowl in the sink and walked out to my truck. I let the engine sputter for a moment before it started, rap music started blaring through the stereo and I flinched back. When did I start listening to rap?

Mike was at the counter when I clocked in, “Hey, Bella.” He greeted.

“Hey, Mike.” I returned, putting on my vest and taking a seat next to him. “Busy morning.” I joked, gesturing at the empty store.

He glanced up at me, eyebrows almost in his hairline. “Yeah, busy.” He let out a small laugh. “How are you?”

“I’m here.” I answered, grateful for the bell to sound as a few customers entered. Mike nodded and went to help them. Early on, we learned that I was best at the cash register, and Mike was best with helping customers. Maybe that was just because I had been off this plane of existence for so long. But I was pretty hopeless when it came to the outdoorsy needs.

It must have been at least two hours that he spent going over different items with them before they finally checked out.

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t a grizzly, that thing was bigger than any grizzlies I’ve seen.” The first one, a big burly man with an unkempt beard started, tossing his items on the counter.

“I doubt it, there’s only black bear up here, and they don’t get that big. You’ve probably only seen young grizzlies.” The other, taller and lean with tan skin stated, throwing his items next to the first man’s.

“I’ve seen a full grown grizzly, and whatever was in those woods had at least three feet on a grizzly.” The first retorted, handing me cash when I gave him his total.

“Bullshit, you’re acting like you saw Sasquatch. Probably just your eyes playing tricks on you. You haven’t been the same since you stared into the sun.” The second teased, handing me his cash, a smirk on his face.

“That was years ago, and my eye sight is just fine. There’s a big ass bear in these woods.” Beardy grumbled, stomping out of the store to their truck.

“Don’t mind him, he always gets grumpy when we start trips.” The taller man said, taking his items and following the other out.

I glanced over at Mike who watched them leave then flipped the open sign to closed. He shrugged at me. “What? It’s not like there’s going to be a sudden raid for hiking equipment, especially with those two as our only customers. I can close up.”

“I’ll help, no reason for you to be stuck with the grunt work.” I stood from my stool and grabbed the broom. I started sweeping, I could feel Mike’s eyes on me. “You need something?”

He froze, his hand going behind his neck and he looked a little guilty. “We’ve missed you, Ang, Ben, even Jess, she won’t admit it.”

I felt a blush creep up my neck. “I guess I’ve been a bit of a hermit.”

“Yeah, just a bit.” Mike chuckled. “We’re here if you need us.”

I paused, taking in that statement. I had been so absorbed in myself the past few months, I honestly had forgotten what it was like having friends that weren’t…..them. I know last year I had been consumed by being a part of them that I had forgotten the people who were there for me first when I moved to Forks. “Thanks, Mike.” I continued to sweep, feeling a bit ashamed of the tunnel vision I had been in for the past year. The day I stepped onto the Forks campus I had been obsessed with him. And he didn’t want me, he left me, who was I without him? I finished up and gave Mike a quick goodbye, walking to my car faster than normal. I slammed the door and sped, well, moved as fast as my old girl would, and drove home. I made it halfway there before the tears started to fall. I pulled to the side of the road and threw the truck in park.

I pressed my head against the steering wheel as the sobs continued to tear through my body. I had given an entire year to him, lost myself in the fantasy of being his for eternity. I had been obsessed with immortality, the promise of never aging, never dying. And he didn’t want me, I was just a toy. I had served my purpose of amusement for a fleeting moment of his life, then I was thrown to the wolves. I almost died for him.

I froze when that thought appeared. I almost died…. For him. I put myself into danger for him. My blood was boiling, I had gone to that dance studio and been prepared to sacrifice my life. For what? A year, one fucking year and a few kisses. Kisses that were so controlled and choreographed they might has well have been a peck on the cheek. My radio broke me from my thoughts as a loud, angry song started. I looked over at my passenger seat, the old wrench sat there. Jacob had left it there, “Just in case the hood refuses to go back down, give it a good whack with this and it’ll be good as new.”

Jacob, I hadn’t seen him in a while… I shook my head and grabbed the wrench and slammed it into the radio. I kept going until the sound stopped, the radio that they had installed for my birthday was in pieces. I dropped the wrench onto the truck bench, I stared at the bent and broken plastic. The tears had stopped, the dull pain in my chest was back. I groaned, not sure how I was going to explain the mess I had made to Dad. A twig snapped in the woods to my right. I swore that I saw a flash of movement from the woods as I put the truck into gear. The two hikers had been talking about bears, maybe it was just a bear. Yeah, just a bear.

I tried to quiet my mind as I drove home, I thought today had been a good day, but breaking down in my truck and destroying the radio probably didn’t fit the definition of a good day. I had felt something though, months of floating in a void and I had felt guilty and angry. I pulled into the driveway, Dad still wasn’t home. I checked the messages on the phone, “I’ll be late tonight Bells, there’s leftovers in the fridge. Don’t worry about me. I’ll grab something when I’m home. Love you.”

That was something that had become more common in the past few months, Dad letting me know he loved me. He was always saying, love you, I love you. And I had started calling him Dad, not Charlie. Sure, it seemed like something that would be part of a normal father-daughter relationship. We weren’t normal, or weren’t, and now…. I might have been in another headspace, but somehow we grew closer. I walked up to my room, took a shower and crawled under my covers. “Please, just let me have a normal night.” I mumbled, and closed my eyes.

I was driving through the forest again. It was dark, the trees all looked the same. Every turn, it was the same trees. I glanced at the dashboard, the radio was back in place and the first verse of the song from earlier was blaring on repeat. The trees were a labyrinth, there was no way out. I slammed on the brakes, skidding on the wet pavement. Then I heard a branch snap and turned my head. And he was there, eyes crimson.

“Hello, Bella.” He sneered, I caught my reflection in the window. It was Grandma Marie’s face again. Blood dripped from his fangs. “I told you my world wasn’t for you.” He lunged and I woke up, my heart racing as I tried to catch my breath. I heard Dad shuffling by the door.

“Bella? You okay?” He called, he must have just gotten home, I glanced at my alarm clock, it blinked a one at me.

“Yeah, Dad, sorry, nightmare.” I called back. “Go to bed, I’m alright.”

He grunted, but I heard him shuffle to his room. What was he doing until 1AM? He used to work late when I was younger, I remember a few nights when he was home by ten, but this, something was going on. I laid on my back and closed my eyes. I just hoped that what was keeping him at work late wasn’t of the same nature as that keeping me awake.

[sailormurkury]

History3: MODC review I guess?

Word Count: around 2,080

Warning: Potential Spoiler for POSE Season 2. I’m not sure if it’s been streaming globally yet, but I mention the death of a character.

I fell in love with the BL drama HIStory this past August. It was after coming across a video on twitter of two men embracing, kissing and both breaking down in tears on the floor of a lavish, minimalistic, bedroom. After a bit of digging in the replies, I learned the name of the show, History3: Trapped. One google later, I’m on VIKI and I find the entire first half-season which had just wrapped up two months prior. The rest of that month was spent binging it and the first 2 seasons (and The Untamed). This week the second half of the beloved drama’s third season which has been hailed the best BL drama of 2019, possibly all-time, ended with a thud on the 18th. Prior to this week it had a solid score of 9.5 on MyDramaLive where it now sits at 8.5. (Rating seems to be falling slightly every 2-3 days, now sits at 8.4.) This season’s love story focused on the story between Yu Xi Gu, an orphan, loner, and presumptive valedictorian of Zenren High and Xiang Hao Ting, the carefree Mr. popular of the school. The show also follows a side couple, HaoTing’s best friend Sun Bo Xiang and Xi Gu’s boss, Lu Zhi Gang. This season focused on the blossoming of these two couples’ relationships in such a way that most of us thought “Oh wow they’re going for full on happy go lucky in love” and while they met challenges like HaoTing’s homophobic parents and entrance exams they managed to fight for each other with their relationship getting stronger every time. That was until this week’s finale when we were served with a plate of Deadly Distant Finale with a side of Bury Your Gays and a glass Gay for You.

I initially thought that I was okay with the finale in a similar way to how I was with the finale of HIStory3: Trapped. That was bittersweet yet common sense. Shao Fei was a cop, Tang Yi a mob boss who shot an officer, he “had” to go to jail. Yet the more I thought about it I felt grieved, insulted rather by MODCs finale. So, like everyone else is doing on social media, I’m going to nitpick the hell out of it as part of my “healing process.” Also, while all of us are upset, unfortunately as in the summer, some fans are attacking the cast and crew. In the words of the master heart crusher, Shonda Rhimes, “Don’t tweet them your crazy,” or...whatever the weibo equivalent is. So, before the nitpicking, a caveat. My beef is with the lazy writing of episode 10, this entire cast was outstanding from Wayne and ChuanChih to the ZENREN homies to The Xiang Family just outstanding. Possibly the best History ensemble since H2:Crossing The Line. Thankfully, this season was not written the same writer of H3: Trapped that would have been way too much for me. (Although, word in the fandom is that MODCs screenwriter wasn’t fond of Trapped’s screenwriter, or rather her treatment for the finale? Alexa, Play Ironic by Alanis Morrisette.) Also in this review, I’m going to be using the VIKI episode count when referring to episodes so just 1-9. *wink*

 On to the picking apart, if you watched all of episode 9 last week, you probably had the same horrified realization as I that our first intimate moment in episode 2 where HT saves XG from getting run over by a moped was foreshadowing for the finale. I don’t want to dissuade anyone from watching the series again, I will, but with the ending we got? It’s going to be difficult to revisit that scene again without resentment. It’s bad enough that XiGu, the main character up to this point, dies off screen in a way that nearly renders him worthless. Especially in the way that this story said “meet this soft, pitiful, malnourished and overworked boy; fall in love with him as he allows himself to fall in love and watch as that love makes him bloom.” I haven’t been this upset over a needless character death since, well, I can’t even say that I have made peace with Candy’s death in season 2 of POSE and that was 5 months ago.

 I don’t know why the writer chose this ending that says “fighting tooth and nail for love is meaningless, yet the memories make it worthwhile?” I’m being petty, we know for HaoTing this love was not meaningless, XiGu’s death is not meaningless. If XiGu’s death was meaningless he wouldn’t have thrown himself into his undergrad studies and gotten into Stanford grad to continue XiGu’s dre…hold the hell on. Wait a damn minute, isn’t that…the dead love interest trope? So, in the POV of this finale, XiGu’s existence was to get HaoTing to mature and become a physicist? Remember, high school HaoTing didn’t really have a dream outside of being with XG 24/7. He became a better student and chose to become a Physics major solely to be with XG. During the show, this particular plot point had some fans noting, while sweet in theory, pinning your hopes and dreams on teenage love can be costly in real life.  

  Six years on, it seems the only people that have been affected by XiGu’s death are HaoTing and Lin Cai Chu, his ex-girlfriend?  I understand in real life we tend to be moved on after this much time. Yet, there was no mention of Xi Gu from the crew or the family, even when he was visibly upset around them. You could count Mrs. Xiang when she spoke to Hao Ting while he was packing, but she never names him, only implies, and,  I feel we had to dive for that meaning. Also, there was no significant interaction from Sun Bo or his sister Yong Ching, who were the closest with HT during this whole relationship. Yong Ching listens to her brother cry after their father tears XiGu and HaoTing apart and she plays messenger between them during their parting. However, in episode 10 she’s enamored with Phoebe’s style? Sun Bo is HaoTing’s brother in the battle for love they share everything about how their hearts feel about their guys. But when HT drunkenly pours out his grief after six years, and he kinda gives a “damn bro, that sucks” vibe for a good part of the talk? (Sidenote: Wayne acted his whole ass off in this episode, do you hear me?) In Trapped, ShaoFei knew everything about TangYi. When Chen Wen Hao and Sister Lizhen were revealed as TangYi’s parents he grieves with and comforts him back at home. (Bonus: if you watch that scene again you can see Jake break down with Chris when they pull apart.)  

  I’m not touching that damn doppleganger moment, why even do it? These decisions have been made, yet the way both XiGu’s death and HaoTing’s potential girlfriend Phoebe are hinted and implied at, yet never really engaged with or seen. Which, to me, signals fear on part of the writer. These are the decisions you felt comfortable making so why not go ahead and give it to us full out. Show us XiGu dying in HaoTing’s arms, HaoTing visiting his grave a la Trapped episode 10, or show us the moment when Phoebe meets the family. We could have gotten more thought or effort put into these plot twists on the part of the writer. We see the way HaoTing weeps over XiGu and how he just shrugs off the mention of Phoebe from his family. XiGu and HaoTing lined and called each other daily, Phoebe can’t even email to let him know where she is? Worse yet, HaoTing does not even attempt checking up on her? Is on a 13-hour flight or about to get on one? Don’t really know, damn sure don’t care.

 I “got” that he doesn’t think the love of his life can ever be replaced, but we also know through his actions that he doesn’t love her either. Even though he’s introducing her to his family, I ask, does he even like her? Where’d they meet? How old is she? Why bring her up if you aren’t going to flesh the concept of Phoebe out? If you really wanted to give a love story closure “well” you should have done all of this several episodes ago by breaking them up or even condensing the love story and killing XG earlier on rather than handing us this death/new gf cocktail in ONE EPISODE. So many HIStorians thought that the boys would split because of HaoTing lying about the rent, and this makes perfect sense as it’s a clear violation of XiGu’s desire to be as self-reliant as possible, even in a relationship. That could have given rise to the first big argument and potential breakup.

 At first, I thought that the most insulting thing about this finale was that we didn’t get a happy ever after, or at least a happy for now like Trapped. Happy endings are an unofficial mission statement of the series. However, the most insulting thing about this finale, for me, was that death became final. Three years in a series, where death has NEVER been final, or even an option for its leads at least since season 1. (Which HIStorians like, but don’t really talk about for good reason.) Now, you could argue about Trapped because Shao Fei does get shot twice and if any storyline was primed for death it was theirs. However, even with the action element, the Brooklyn Nine-Nine type comedy never gave it the gravity that MODC unknowingly had. We were presented the stakes, the murders of Old Tang/LiZhen, and knew the threat, Chen WenHao. In MODC, there was a quiet unease I had for most of my watch along the lines of, “this is perfect. I love it, but it’s too perfect.” The “challenges” XG/HT faced they pretty much steamrolled every time so I assumed they were in the clear until the last 5 minutes of episode 9.

 H1: My Hero and H1: Obsessed both had plots that dealt with the boundary of death, making it impermanent “because love.”  While we’re at it, let’s talk about Obsessed shall we. Even abusive ass, stalker ass Jiang Jing Teng, a man who by logic and common sense shouldn’t have, got a chance to love again. He got to say goodbye to, spread the ashes of, and reunite with Shao Yi Chen. After his beard, who it just so happened was also a witch/sorceress, brought back SYC from the dead, not once BUT TWICE?!? (First, from rebirth. Second, it was all a dream.) Yet YXG/SHT, the most loved couple since CTL, can’t get a similar twist of fate? Make it make sense, especially given that this is likely the final season for HIStory.

 That hurt to type, but, it looks like History3 is going to be the final season for the series. Since we haven’t had any official announcement from CHOCO. And with 2 major backlashes, the first based on misunderstanding with Trapped and the second due to MODC lazy finale, it’s looking like a done deal until the CTL movie comes out at the end of 2020. In which case, everyone involved is going to have to be on their very best behavior from now on. In the hearts of some HIStorians, this finale has done irreparable damage to MODC itself and the HIStory franchise. Which is sad, considering that up to this point HIStory was getting better and better with each season only to decimate that growth in one episode.

  *cue Mariah* I still believe that MODC is the best BL drama of 2019. It’s the best to come out of Taiwan since CTL. Most of that is due to the phenomenal work of the cast, and… yes, the initial episodes written by our screenwriter. Even with my frustrations with the finale, I was conflicted as I said on Wednesday night. I was very disappointed, but the performances I did get, specifically from Wayne, kept me engaged to the point that I still enjoyed it. Does it make up for the cruelty to Yu Xi Gu not at all, but the previous 9 episodes pretty much put it in my top 5 all-time early on. What now? I’m waiting for the dvd drop next year and reliving every blissful moment. Oh, and I’m rewatching episodes 5/6 for Christmas. 

If you made it this far, thank you HIStorians, you all have made this surprise journey most certainly worth it.  

Merry Christmas and Best Wishes to all of you in 2020,

 Jo

 PS: word from Mandarin speaking fans is that the novelization of this series has 2 endings. One happy and the one we saw on Wednesday which…*sigh* at least there’s a universe where the boys are happy. I also have some notes on issues I had with HaoTing’s family in episode 10 that I’ll likely touch on after Christmas.

PPS: I can’t believe we got blessed with multiple Duke Wu appearances!!!

[fenrys-moonbae]

Lily of the Night--Chapter 2: What Has Become

Dim evening sunlight peered through the glassless windows and scattered across the floor of the gray wooden shack in lazy rays. The golden light glazed over the old splintered wooden benches and rusted metal tools, carelessly strewn about, coating the entire room in a muted golden sheen. A young woman sat just beyond the rays in the shadow, her hands working quickly with pieces of twine before her.

A grunt echoed from a large man sitting against the wall adjacent to her.

“That’s not how ye throw a net you goon,” a reel of rope came flying at the young woman’s head, which she artfully dodged her eyes fixed on the net she had spent an hour straightening and carefully knotting, “Yer never gonna learn girl.” The smile was easily heard in the man’s voice, his yellowed teeth peaking from behind a broad mustache and unkept beard. The young woman clicked her tongue in response, her nimble fingers pulling and weaving the rope of the net with expertise, she had to get this finished as quickly as possible. “Is there anything else you’d like to add before you leave Adder?” She called from her kneeled position, her silken hair tied in a tight braid that she absentmindedly adjusted and tossed over a shoulder.

A snort. “That’ll be it for the day.” The large man lifted himself from his seated position, the wet squelch of his boots echoing in the room as he stood, “though I’d suggest yer workin too hard and should git home to check on that sister of yers, but yer foolish head’ll never listen to a wise old man.” This time a snort from the woman.

“Duly noted.” A dismissal.  Adder shook his head, rolling his large shoulders beneath his faded grey parka.

“Ye know the ole boss isn’t gonna care if ya leave before the sun goes down,” the man stated, his burly arms crossing over his chest, “I’ve been here nearly thirty years and he hasn’t fired me.”

“Miraculously,” The girl replied nonchalantly, her fingers tying up the last of the knots in the net, keep it even, keep it tight--“and unfortunately some of us can’t afford to lose the job. There.” Tying the final knot the young woman held up the net to Adder, showing off her handy work.

“Well?” She questioned, her large violet eyes raising and glancing towards the tall old man almost expectantly. Adder had been the one to teach her how to tie a net, he had also been the person to tell her when she was screwing up one.

“Perfect as always Miss Celeste,” Adder replied with a chuckle, his broad mouth breaking out into a smile, “though if ya don’t mind me saying you’d be better suited for a bride with that pretty face of yers.”

Celeste scowled and rolled her eyes before narrowing them towards the man, “Does your idiocy know no bounds?”

A chuckle.

“Guess not,” Adder watched as Celeste rolled up the net with expert hands and stuffed it into a burlap satchel filled with countless other nets, “just figured a pretty young woman such as yerself might want to eventually leave this hell hole of a fisherman’s life.”

“Are you offering me a proposition?” Celeste quipped a small smile tugging at the edge of her lips, her equally soaked boots squishing as she strode across the shed burlap sack in hand, the smell of fish and the sea an onslaught against her nose. The golden rays of the sun had dissipated from the room leaving the old shack feeling hollow.

“Mother above no,” Adder said with a breathy laugh, “Ye know how mad Martha’d be? I’d be dead before the idea even left my head.” Celeste chuckled in response as she shoved the satchel of nets onto the top shelf of an old rickety cabinet. Running the sleeve of her shirt across her forehead she wiped away the damp condensation from the humid room. Hopping down from her perch she used to reach the high shelf she began rummaging through another bin, one filled with tackle and line. She only had one more net she had to finish before she could be on her way for the evening. “Your wife is a fool for not disposing of you,” Celeste replied as she dug around in the bin, her voice slightly muffled from inside the container, “She could find herself a nice young merchant man. Easier on the eyes and exponentially easier on the nose.”

A cackle escaped Adder’s lips as he shook head in agreement. “You’re mighty correct about that one.”

“Of course I’m right.” Straightening from the bin Celeste pulled out several long pieces of twine, she inspected their length and strength, “Speaking of your lovely wife,” Celeste drew, making her way back to her position in the corner of the shack twine in hand, “shouldn’t you be headed home? You’ve been stalling leaving for the last hour and a half.”

Adder looked sheepish at that and turned to face the window, the wood around it swollen and warped from years of exposure to the humidity. “Well I was hopin ye’d get out of here at a decent hour there isn’t much sunlight left to work by….” Adder’s voice trailed off his crinkled eyes focused on the distance.  Turning he faced Celeste once more, “How’s that momma of yer’s doing?” Celeste’s hands paused briefly at the question catching her off guard. Swallowing hard she slowly she went back to work. “She’s…..still here.” Her voice was strained as she answered, her posture going ridged. Why would Adder want to talk about this of all things?

“Martha said she saw ye and Miss Anelisse headed to the apothecary few nights ago,” Adder ran an idle hand through his grey beard, “lady drives a mighty hard bargain since she’s the closest thing we’ve got to a healer for a hundred miles.”

“She needed the medicine,” Celeste murmured, her voice having gone soft, “what choice do we have but to the pay the price.”

“You’ve got none,” Adder replied, watching the girl work with soft eyes, her hands moving slower this time, “that lady doesn’t deserve either of ye girls.”

“Mind your business,” Celeste replied sharply as she quickly readjusted her braid again her eyes shooting daggers at the old man, “we do what we have to do.” His hands rose in surrender.

Walking towards Celeste Adder looked down at the young woman as she worked, her thin bony frame evident beneath the tattered white shirt and black pants she wore, her spine peeking through. How long had it been since she’d eaten adequately? Everyone at the fisherman’s reef took home fish in the evening, enough to feed two people if you stretched it but not three and Adder knew full well who got most of that food.

“Yer gonna turn into dust one of these days if ye don’t put some meat on those bones,” rummaging in his pocket Adder pulled out a small leather satchel, “here ya goon, a present from me’n Martha.”

Celeste looked up confusion on her face as she took in the kind old man she worked with dangling a leather satchel above her head.

“What’s that?” Celeste asked suspiciously as the old man shoved the satchel into her hands and folded them around it. “A gift.” Uncertainty filled Celeste as she carefully opened up the pouch and felt her jaw slacken, “Adder,” she said almost breathlessly, “I will not—“

“Yes, ye will,” Adder said, shoving the satchel back at the young woman, “You and yer kind are barely hanging on and yer the only one floating yer bunch. Take it and don’t argue girl, you wouldn’t wanna piss off Martha.”

Resilience flashed across Celeste’s eyes, she knew how desperately they needed the money but to take it from Adder-“But your trip to the main land-“

“Can wait,” Adder replied, “It won’t take long to rebuild it up again, Martha will get to see her fields of flowers.” It was decided. Celeste felt her shoulders slacken, even for all of her hard work it never seemed to be enough. She hated handouts and favors.

“Don’t go lookin so sad ye goon,” Adder said, his hand patting the young woman on the head, “The ole boss man doesn’t pay ye near what he pays the rest of us. Ye work harder than the lot of us combined. So take that there and go get yerself some food and new boots,” A glance towards the old worn leather boots, too small and fraying at the edges, “and for the life of ye don’t tell that momma of yers.”

“Thank you, Adder,” Celeste bowed her head in thanks before pocketing the money, with that she’d be able to get Anelisse a new pair of boots as well, “Someday I will pay you back every copper you and Martha have given us.”

“I know girl,” Adder smiled at the girl before stretching his arms above his head, “but until then take care of yerself,” Adder finally turned to exit the old shack, his accented voice calling back to her “You want me to walk you home?”

“No,” Celeste replied, her hands having dropped the twine, she could finish the net in the morning, “I can manage myself. Thank you.”

Another snort. “Stubborn girl,” Adder pulled at the old wooden door, its hinges creaking and groaning, as he tugged it free from its swollen frame, “make sure ye stop by some time and see Martha, she’s been askin about you--also girl, yer ears are showin.”  With that Adder stepped out onto the pier that the shack sat on and disappeared into the noisy array of gulls.

Celeste lifted a finger to find that her delicately pointed ears were indeed poking out of her carefully braided hair. Cursing she readjusted her braid once more, mindfully concealing the heritage she fought daily to conceal from the wary fisherman.

It had been that way for the last thirteen years carefully hiding what she so clearly was.

Not that it did her much good.

Straightening her frame she rubbed at her sore spine, she’d been kneeling nearly all day working on the nets. The waters had been too rough that morning to go out and catch so they’d been holed up in the wretched shack waiting on the cursed storm to stop raging. They’d been having to go out farther and farther to be able to find fish, so on stormy days like this it wasn’t feasible to leave the dock lest risking the entire crew.

Hanging up her hooking tools Celeste scooped up her old worn pack and grabbed the two meager pieces of bread and small chunk of cheese one of the other fishermen had left from his lunch saying it was nothing but gull food. Celeste felt that familiar cramping hollowness in her stomach; for her, it was to be dinner.

Shoving open the old wooden door Adder had disappeared through Celeste was met with the salty scent of the ocean, the powerful stormy breeze dancing across its surface billowing her hair. Turning she pulled the old warped door shut.

Some good this lock does, Celeste mused as she clamped the old rusted thing shut, it’s pin barely holding it together. She turned and faced the ocean, the grey sky painted in storm clouds and the sound of thunder clashing in the distance, strange for the season.

Making her way up the pier she began the long trek back to the other shack she had come to know as home. The home that had become her own when she’d washed up on the shores of this desolate coastal town, Vanica, all those years ago lost, injured and confused. Everyone had adamantly avoided her, her fae heritage evident with her ears, an ominous sign in a village full of isolated humans.

She’d be fortunate that Anidre, a former Child of the Blessed, had found her and taken her in, agreed to raise her alongside her own child, otherwise she knew she’d have been left for dead.

Walking down the old cobblestone road, Celeste kept her eyes forward watching the local children scuttle home for the evening, their voices echoing with laughter in the streets. A pang strummed through her chest that she ignored as a bright-eyed girl ran up to her and waved her greeting. Marrien, Celeste remembered as the girl quickly shot past her giggling and a young boy, James, came chasing after her laughing. Siblings.

Celeste smiled and waved slightly at the two, knowing full well their mother would be angry if they dallied and stopped to talk to the local fae resident. It’d happened before, and Celeste had no desire to see the children punished like that again.

The main street of the town was lined with old wooden buildings whose once vibrant paint was chipping and faded from the relentless sun and the strong winds of the ocean beating against it. She watched as the shop keepers closed for the evening, some sending her small smiles but most just glaring, making small signals with their hands to ward against her.

She bowed her head respectively towards those acknowledging and mindfully ignored the rest.

It was well known that many humans still weren’t fond of the fae, especially in small secluded towns were few ever came and even fewer left.

Making her way past the main street she hiked mindlessly into the rural area of the island, the buildings fading into foliage, and thought of the things she would finally be able to buy with the money Adder had given her. Anelisse needed a new dress and boots, wearing ones that were clearly too small for her adult frame.

She also thought of the small paint set sitting in the window of the quaint art shop, something that Anelisse had been eyeballing for the better part of the last few months. Paints were something that Anelisse hadn’t had the luxury of having in years, ever since the money had ran out and they’d been left in total poverty.

To say they were poor was an understatement. Anidre’s husband had died a few years before Celeste had shown up on the island and had left Anidre, a dreamer with a vague mind, to raise a little girl on her own and with no means to provide for her other than the small savings that had been left for her in her husband’s passing.

When she had taken Celeste in there had barely been enough food to go around and the savings was dwindling. When the money and food finally ran out Celeste decided to take it upon herself to help, so she learned to fish. At first her catches were few and far between but then Adder saw her one day trying to cast a line and decided to help her, coming out in the evenings to show her the tricks of the trade.

Before long she had found herself working at the fisherman’s quarters gutting fish for coppers a day thanks to a certain old man’s insistence. When she’d gotten older and they realized how strong she was, and how fast she could move and tie knots she was finally permitted to join the rest of the men on the ocean front fishing, for the same pay she’d always had.

A few measly coppers a day.

It was better than nothing and beat out scraping the guts out of fish before they were sent to the market.

Surmounting the hill, she soon found herself in front of her home, smoke billowingly lazily from the chimney and the soft feminine humming echoing from inside. Anelisse. Celeste reach forward and opened the door with intentional loudness alerting her younger sister inside. Her preternatural silence had always been unnerving to Anelisse so she had learned to make a point of letting her sister know where she was.

Stepping inside she was met with sight of the said beautiful blonde sitting in front of the fire, her hands working quickly as she repaired one of the old shredded curtains, her long fingers moving swiftly and smoothly.

“Welcome home,” Anelisse called sweetly, her beautiful heart shaped face lifting to face Celeste, silvery eyes glinting in the fire and thin pink lips spreading into a relieved smile, “I’m glad to see you’re okay, I was worried about you on the ocean with this weather.” “We didn��t go out,” Celeste replied, her voice a softer alto compared to Anelisse’s sweet soprano, “the water was too treacherous with storm raging on the coast, I made nets all day.”  

Anelisse stood, setting her sewing aside and straightened her old ragged dress as she rose from the old rocking chair.

“Come sit, I will get you some water,” Anelisse quickly scuttled for the makeshift kitchen, ignoring Celeste’s pleas to sit down. Celeste watched as her sister fetched one of the broken porcelain cups from the kitchen, humming all the while, her lithe feet seemingly dancing across the dirt floors.

Celeste shook her head and kneeled next to the fire, shoving her cold hands near the flames absorbing the heat that she could from it.

“Here,” Anelisse offered the cup to her sister upon her return, “You should drink.” Anelisse plopped down next to Celeste and propped her head in her hands watching her sister.

Celeste drank the cool water quickly, not realizing her thirst until the water hit her parched throat. Setting the old porcelain cup aside she pulled her pack from her back and began rummaging around for the bread and cheese. Pulling the bread out she watched her sister’s eyes light up as she handed the larger chunk over to her.

“Thank you,” Anelisse said as she took the bread, carefully concealing her obvious hunger, “No fish for today I assume?” “No,” Celeste said looking towards the side, guilt wrenching her gut, the fish had moved away from the coast in recent years and it was no longer possible to go out and just cast a line any longer, “we should have some tomorrow.”

“It’s okay,” Anelisse reassured as she bit into the bread, eating slowly, “how was your day?” This was the routine, Celeste would return from the fisherman’s wharf to be greeted by her sister and asked about how her day was, prodding for any details she could get and trying to make light of even the most mundane tasks.

On good nights Anidre would join them sitting in the old rocking chair listening as her children prattled on.

“Droll,” Celeste replied, valiantly ignoring the piece of bread and cheese still sitting in her pack as her stomach turned over on itself, “How is she?” Anelisse stopped her chewing briefly before swallowing, “She hasn’t woken much today, it’s only been murmuring. I was able to give her some fish broth left from yesterday but otherwise nothing.” Anelisse looked sadly towards the dirt floor, “I do not know what to do.”

Celeste offered a hand out towards her sister, a sign of comfort and understanding. Anelisse took the outstretched hand and held it tightly, her other hand shoving bread into her mouth.

“You should eat,” Anelisse said from behind a mouthful of bread, “Momma won’t be eating that tonight and you need it more.” She looked guilty at the remaining bread in her hand, Celeste squeezed her hand diverting her attention. “Don’t you start feeling guilty,” Celeste said nodding her head towards the bread, “eat.” Anelisse slowly nodded.

Anelisse had always come first, that was the unspoken rule Celeste had set for herself, Anelisse then Anidre and if any remained she would take it. Rummaging in the pack Celeste handed the cheese to Anelisse before rising from her seated position.

“Where are you going?” Anelisse asked watching Celeste move towards the small separate room at the back with sad eyes, the answer self-evident.

“To check on Anidre.”

Opening the door on silent hinges Celeste walked into the dusty room, the same old wooden decorations nailed carefully into the wall, a room that had once been the sanctuary of a very happy family. A small broken bed sat in the center of the room, it’s brass frame curved in the shape of vines and rusted. It was occupied by a small unmoving lump.

Walking towards the center of the room Celeste lowered herself gently onto the small mattress, the old soil colored quilt wrapped tightly around the small lump of a woman. With gentle hands Celeste pushed the peppered hair away from the woman’s sweat drenched, fever clearly racking her body. “Semour?” The woman called hoarsely, her glazed eyes darting back and forth, searching, “Love is that you?” Celeste took Anidre’s hand and squeezed gently, her heart aching as she watched the woman who had shown her kindness call out for her lost love.

“No Anidre,” Celeste replied, rubbing soothing circles on her hand, something that had been done for her once long ago when she was unwell, “it’s just me. It’s just Celeste.” The woman’s clouded amber eyes cleared momentarily as she took in the young woman sitting with her.

“Celeste.” Anidre said with a smile, her wrinkled hand coming up to cup Celeste’s face, the warm hand pressing against her cold cheek, the same hand that had held her fevered face that night all those years ago when she’d been brought back to this house soaking wet and barely alive.

The same night she had thrown away all ties to the fae realm and swore she would never return, no matter the cost.

“My beautiful fae child, my gift from the Mother for my diligence to the fae lords,” Celeste felt herself cringe internally as she watched Anidre’s mind real back to her once ridiculous worship of the high fae, high monsters is more like it she thought ruefully to herself, “do you hear the music? The immortal fae ringing,” A soft, breathless giggle from the woman “how blessed I was to have gotten you my child.”

“Yes Anidre I’m here,” She rested her hand over Anidre’s, “Are you thirsty? Hungry?” She felt her stomach tie in a knot but forced it down willing it to cease its complaining, “what can I do?”

The woman paused staring blankly off into the distance before she leaned her head back against the pillow, her eyes suddenly glazing again, “Semour? Love?”

“No Anidre,” Celeste whispered, “it is still just me.” The woman’s hand slackened. Celeste gently pulled Anidre’s hand from her face and laid it across the woman’s stomach who had abruptly fallen back into a deep sleep.

This illness, seemingly unknown to anyone, had taken Anidre in its clutches nearly a year ago and her condition had only declined, worsening with each passing day and no tonic or herb had seemed able to break the clutches of the strange sickness.

Tucking the covers around Anidre once more Celeste stood from the bed and crept silently back into the main room, the sun now having fully set and the fire the only light in the room.

“Well?” Anelisse questioned, her eyes watching the fire, “anything?” “She spoke of your father,” Celeste replied, noting that her sister had eaten only half of the chunk of cheese she had given her, “then fell back to sleep.” Anelisse nodded her head gravely, tucking her knees up under her chest and staring blankly into the fire.

Lowering herself back onto the floor Celeste pulled the bread from her bag and began eating it, the cramping in her stomach easing. Anelisse quietly handed the other half of the cheese to Celeste before curling herself next to her adopted sister.

“You’re going with me to the market tomorrow,” Celeste said as she stared into the fire eating her bread slowly, the wind tearing at the broken shutters, “we’re going to buy you some new boots and that set of paints you’ve been eyeballing.” She felt Anelisse shift, her silver eyes focusing on her, “what do you mean?” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Adder and Martha gave me money,” Celeste said quietly, her eyes trailing towards the satchel of silver and copper hidden carefully in her bag, “He refused to take it back so we best make use of it while we have it.”

“Truly?” Anelisse said, her eyes unexpectedly sparkling for once, “you mean there’s enough to get paint?” Celeste nodded her head, she knew the money should be saved but for Anelisse she’d be willing to risk spending the few extra coppers, she needed the happiness, now more than ever. Celeste could hear the smile in Anelisse’s voice as she spoke to herself, “I’m going to get to paint tomorrow,” Nuzzling down Anelisse once against propped herself against her sisters side, “You’ve always taken such good care of Momma and I, I do not know what we would have done without you Celeste.”

Celeste felt a pang rattle through her chest at those words. She opened her mouth to refute the claim of her sister but noticed Anelisse had already slipped into a deep slumber, her long fingers curled into Celeste’s shirt. That night Celeste dreamed of beautiful paintings and of a beautiful woman with golden hair.

[katbot]

Baby’s First Dinner Date.

This week’s Thirsty Thursday contains a lot of first for a girl that’s been steadily dating for nearly eight months.  

This picks up the following weekend after my first date with J1. —-

It’s a tiring weekend for me. Early Saturday and I’ve already had my third cup of coffee. Work is in two hours and I’m slowly getting dressed.

My phone pings while I’m pulling up my leggings. It’s J1 giving me the address of tomorrow’s acoustic show. He’s been texting me regularly since Thursday.

Our date was fun. Meeting another native was a truly an new age experience. My friend Gabby has an intense desire to only ever date other natives. “Transplant don’t get our jokes. Our humour is different. More refined. More subtle.” I gotta admit. She’s right. I had been so entranced enough with the luxury of accents, I’ve been ignoring the native call My phone chimes again, and it’s J1 asking if I’d like to grab dinner before the show.

I’m jumping and squealing like an idiot when it suddenly dawns on me— I fucking hate eating dinner.

Organised meals are something I struggle with, my stomach is notoriously fickle. It’s hard to know when I’ll be hungry so preplanned seated meals are an activity I tend dodge.

But FUCK! I’m over the moon that he asked! I can’t say no without sounding like a lunatic. And the thought of spending more time together is wonderful.

We decide upon Korean BBQ at 6:30, and my anxiety increases— I’m imagining the pounds of meat that’ll be staring me down in less than twenty four hours.

“Sure! Sounds great!” I’m lying..but it’s coming from a sweet spot.

For the next twenty four hours, trying to will myself into extreme hunger. I ingest only gin and coffee.

Sunday

Twenty minutes from the restaurant I’m sweating. How can I still not be hungry. 

It’s like my stomach is being defiant out of spite.

Maybe I can say I have a surgery in the morning? Dental work? I’m allergic to Koreans? No-that’s just racist. Also, fuck I love Korean food.

“This is Barclays Center. Transfer is available to...”

Fuck me. I’m ten minutes from the restaurant when it finally happens. A pang of hunger hits me with sweet sweet relief. Thank you belly gods! J1 is standing in front of the restaurant, checking his watch. Neither of us texted this morning to confirm— oddly enough I love that it wasn’t necessary.

He looks relieved when I walk up. We exchange quick pecks on the cheek.

 I’ve learned a lot through this project— but how to greet a romantic prospect will always be an unsolved mystery.

The restaurant is packed. When we find out there is a thirty minute wait, I quickly opt for barside seats. The bar is more my aesthetic anyway. The lights are dimmer, there’s jazz playing and everything has a lush red hue. We end up getting a booth that’s way too big for just the two of us.

“So...” He’s in a plaid shirt, and dark jeans. Without his beanie, his hair is longer and a lot blonder than I remember. He has pale blue eyes that always seem to be smiling. And a husky beard that’s more invisible than blonde.

Our first few bits of conversation are rough We keep talking over each other. My stomach is closing in on itself and I’m sweating up a storm.

“Wait....Did you tell me that already... or?” “Were you the one that..?”

Our Thursday binge drinking has mutually affect our short term memory— Frustrated, I do two things that will always reign in my inner self.

Honesty and cocktails. “Iiii-ve got to admit. I’m pretty nervous right now and I’m hardly a nervous person.

He laughs and echos my sentiment. His voice is audible marshmallow fluff. When he offers me the cocktail menu, I know everything is going to be okay.

We split three appetisers, a suggestion from me, to hide my fickle stomach.

We get our first cocktails— me gin based - him bourbon, He walks them back to the table with extreme care. When I’m ready to order my second drink, he insist I put it on his tab. With food on the table and three drinks down, I begin to melt into my usual cool. We rehash details of the forgotten Thursday. Peppering in new details about our current life.

The more we talk, the more we remember just how much we have in common. Summers spent out on Long Beach with overlaps of the obscure underground scene. We reach the limit when it’s reveal we both have obsessions with tiki bars.

At 9, we begin to make our way to his friend’s show. When the bill comes, he tries to pay for it himself. It’s nearly 200 dollars. We argue about splitting until I put my foot down and sternly till him it’s not happening.

He agrees, only after adding that he’s doing it because I’m not really giving him a choice.

It makes me like him even more.

The show is across the street— and I feel stupid for stressing about the timing. The place is huge, A three person group is crowning out a light melody that immediately steals my heart.

I’m in awe. When the set ends, the girls next to me begin smiling at me and then beaming at J1. They have a quick conversation and he introduces me as his date. One of the girls points to another table of six people, I have an oh shit moment.

Oh he brought me to a friend FRIEND event. Holy shit. We grab seats and I’m round tabled introduced and desperately trying to remember everyone’s name. I’ve always considered myself a social butterfly, so this is a piece of cake. I quickly gain a rapport with A. 

She has a hearty laugh and killer eyeliner. She seems like someone I would be friends with. 

She invites me downstairs to grab drinks before the next set. Turns out we missed his friend’s set, who also happens to be her boyfriend. “No stress though, J texted— he said he was having so much fun with you, he didn’t want to leave yet.”

The bar is dark so I can hide my blush but the nervous laughter comes out clear as day. We order two pints of stout each and take them upstairs to our partners. The next set goes on, we shift our seats to the stage. It’s a guy who does a solo guitar set with sprinkles of comedy.

J is sitting in front of me. I’m staring at his long golden hair, and wondering how I feel about it. At one point he turns around only to make sure he’s not blocking my view. He smiles at me quickly before turning back to the stage. I like that he doesn’t feel the need to “babysit” me. It’s bold of him to have a second date that includes not only dinner but meeting all his friends. This guy is either crazy or has massive balls. After the show, J grabs a booth and his friends, A and her partner, N join us. The similarity between J and I continue to grow as his friends and I overlap in obscure ways.

“You went to that college? Oh my god I was planning on going there!” “You know what a theremin is? I have an autoharp!!” “You love vaporwave too?!” I end up having more of a conversation with his friends than him. It’s nearing midnight and I’m giddy. A is nearing drunk and the entire lot of us have work in eight hours. His friends say goodbye, and give me a legitimate: “It was very nice to meet you”

The bar rings for last call while we’re making out.

“I’m not ready to for this to be over....Do you want to head to another bar?”

He says it....THE BLESSED WORDS

We find a bar that’s still open, and head over, hand in hand. It takes long than expected because we keep stopping on the street like horny teenagers.

The bar is dead empty when we finally arrive. We grab pints and a couch in that’s hidden away enough that I don’t feel guilty about heavy petting in public

. I’m sitting on top of J, his hands are grasping my ass while I’m cupping his face.

“Do you want to come back to mine?” He whispers into my ear with a nibble. Ooof. I do. But it’s nearly 1am and I have a meeting in 7 hours and I’m 2 hours away from home.

He understands and we make plans for the following Saturday. A tiki bar crawl that ends in sex.

He’s laughing at my pre planning but excited. We end up staying another hour, and I’m glad my hand is not down J’s pants when the bartender comes round to tell us the back room is closing.

He calls an Uber, I decide to battle the subway.

The ride is long, but the butterflies keep me up all the way.

I send him a “Home” text and dream of blonde haired cherubs.

[rey-skywalkin-away]

Kanera Fix-It Fic I was Talking About

Y’all thought I was joking when I said I had 3000 words of a fic all lined up to fix this, right? GUESS AGAIN. 4117 WORDS. I had to delete 90% of my original 3000 words and re-write it just now to conform to what happened in the midseason premiere, and it took me four hours, but I did it! Anyway, I put myself into the queue to make an archiveofourown account, but that’ll take a month to activate, so until then, I’ll just post this chapter-by-chapter on here. I got part 1 done tonight, and it might be a few days before chapter 2: I have college life and work that’s going to be occupying my time this week. But I’m not abandoning this. I am FUELED BY PAIN. 

@secrettunnelyeah you’ve been losing your shit with me, so I hope this helps. @fluffyapplecat thanks for all your support! @commoner64 because you said “please””.  @blueboxdrifter you expressed support for this a few weeks ago, so here you go! @brickhawk you gotta help read this shit before the next chapter. I can’t post again without a second opinion.

Um, I hope you all enjoy.

Fair warning to everyone else: this is my first time posting any kind of story online, and it’s as rough as any story can be. I normally spend time editing my chapters, as any writer should, but I was just hammering it out as fast as I could to a) get it done before I fell asleep and b) to give you all a little hope after this agonizing premiere. So I’m sorry if it’s full of errors that I’m too tired to edit right now, and that the format under the cut is kind of wonky. I’m not entirely happy with the content, either–it’s kind of melodramatic and rushed for my taste, but I’m running off pure emotion right now. Hopefully I’ll find time to edit it before I before I post it on Archive. The chapter and some explanations for various things are down below. Happy readings, and everyone be okay out there!

*Writer’s Notes*

First off, I had literally 20 ideas for how Kanan would survive this premiere, and I had “explosion” down for two of them. Here, he survives by basically copying Ahsoka during her fight with the Inquisitors and Force-clapping backwards into Hera’s arms. He gets burned up and spends 3 weeks recovering in a bacta tank. No one’s going into much detail about it in the story, because they don’t want to re-imagine it all over again, but that’s what I was envisioning happening.

Second, Kanan is still blind: him getting to see Hera before he died was painful and sweet, but I honestly felt he had a lot of growth because of his injury, and it needed to stay. (And disability representation is important).

Third, I can’t start calling him “Caleb Dume”, guys, I’m sorry! I’ve spent four years calling him Kanan, and I can’t get into the habit of calling him Caleb.

Fourth, his beard and ponytail are coming back.

Fifth, I have a very large, multi-fandom, decades-long (in-universe) fanfiction world that I’m always playing with and developing to further my own writing prowess, character development, and storytelling skills. I’m going to make references to that multi-fandom work in this story (not a lot, but if there are moments where you’re thinking “where did that come from? I don’t remember that in the show or comics”, well, it might be from the multi-fandom). I’m including this story in my collection of works, and I don’t feel like editing it all over again just to include references to it. So you should all be able to follow what’s going on, but there might be a few odd moments. 

————————————–

Chapter 1

         Hera checked her calendar again, counting down days and weeks and making notes as she went. Nine weeks ago…captured. Eight-and-a-half weeks ago…rescued. Five weeks ago, we…and four weeks ago…well, I’m now very late. I should’ve started another cycle by now. And on a regular diet for over eight weeks, with additional nutritional supplements to get back to full strength after confinement. And we’re hardier than humans; we don’t get so out of sync after missing a few meals and getting a few electric shocks. So that shouldn’t explain why I’m late. She then checked her star charts for any habitable systems nearby, and winced when there weren’t any. Should I divert our flight path to go to the nearest star system just to buy a test? No, we’re fine on other supplies, and everyone will ask questions as to why I think we need to make a stop. She would’ve killed for a certified medical droid onboard her ship in that moment, but she was out of luck. They’d left the medical system on that nameless little asteroid five weeks ago now, and they were back to their own devices out in space. Great. Just great. Gonna have to go on instinct this time. And she wasn’t liking what she was coming up with.

           Hera opened her mouth to say the word out loud, but couldn’t do it. Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’re four weeks late, and your idiot self didn’t want to think about protection after you were saved by Kanan and the others. And after what nearly happened to Kanan…

           After her rescue, after telling Kanan that she loved him, after he nearly died and had to spend three weeks in a bacta tank, the minute he’d showered off and went to his own bunk to be alone, she’d slipped into his room and reiterated her love for him. Free of drugs and pain, she’d finally broken down for once in her karking life and loved him, not as a general, or a pilot, or a freedom fighter. Just him and her, together, as it should always be. To remind herself that he’d been blasted back into her arms instead of dying in the fuel explosion, that he’d survived three flatlines before they could find him a bacta tank. That he’d eventually woken up and immediately began to listen for the sound of her voice. And afterwards, curled up in each other’s arms, she’d whispered that, now that his beard had grown back and his hair was beginning to return, he’d better keep it that way. Kanan had laughed, but they’d clutched each other in the semidarkess and just listened to each other breathe. No, of course you weren’t thinking clearly. He needed you, and you needed him. But look what came of it.

           Hera rubbed the corners of her eyes and tried to think past the rising panic in her gut. What am I going to do about this? Pills? A clinic visit? Which is cheapest? What’s safest and gets me back into the pilot’s seat without anyone noticing something was wrong? She thought back to the pamphlets and medical texts she’d memorized when she’d left Ryloth to strike out on her own in the galaxy. Twi’leks were always targeted anywhere one went in the galaxy, and she’d prepared herself for what to do if she was attacked and how to handle any possible outcome. But thinking about the next few steps right now made Hera’s heart hurt. A few years ago, this would’ve been an easy decision for her. Three months ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Today…

           Hera knew why she was conflicted. Will there ever be a tomorrow? We got lucky this time—will I be next? Or will the Force finally decide to call Kanan back to wherever it is Jedi go when they die? Will there ever be a second chance for us to conceive? She hadn’t given much thought to the end of the war, to her future, but sitting next to Kanan’s bacta tank and listening to his pulse monitor for several hours a day had broken something inside her, and she’d begun to think. A mild, deserted little planet. Not dry and harsh like Ryloth. Someplace cool and wet and green. A little home, with rooms for the rest of the family. Sabine can paint the family room with murals of our adventures. Maybe little tookas frolicking on the baby’s nursery walls. Zeb can carve us furniture with all the designs of Lasat that he’s lost. Whatever he can remember. Ezra…he can have a real bed, not a bunk. And a home-cooked meal that didn’t come out of a ration pack. When was the last time he had one of those? Chopper can have a nice oil bath and shut down without worrying that we’ll wake him up for an emergency. And our baby will run in the grass and will never know war, and…

           Hera swallowed back tears and controlled her emotions. You’re dreaming again, Hera Syndulla. It’s one thing to admit your feelings for Kanan and finally be open in your relationship, and it’s another thing to abandon the rest of the galaxy to pursue your selfish dream. How many people want the same dream as you? How many people have the skills and resources to make that dream come true for everyone else that can’t help themselves? Your little fantasy will have to wait. Get rid of this and get back to work.

           Her heart broke as she made up her mind, and a sudden fatigue overcame her. Raw emotion? Something related to the pregnancy? She knew nothing about pregnancy, come to think of it. Or how to be a mother. What makes you think you have time to learn? Especially now? You aren’t ready for this. You know what you have to do.

           Hera wearily glanced at her chrono. A few hours until your shift. When I’m back in the pilot’s seat, I can tell the others I’ve got nerve damage from torture, and that I need to see a specialist somewhere. Maybe I could say we all deserve a treat after what we’ve all been through. She shuffled to her dresser and opened the secret panel on the side to check how many credits she had left in her emergency fund. Enough for the procedure and a little left over for the others. This could work. Damn it. This’ll have to do. There will be other opportunities, Hera. Just have hope.

           But it could wait. The fatigue was seeping throughout her body, fogging up her mind and turning her limbs to jelly. A few hours to nap, and then it’ll be time to call everyone. In twenty-four hours, this will all be over. A few tears blurred her eyes, and she roughly wiped them away. Either get out all the sorrow now, or sleep and cry afterwards. Hera chose the latter, and she barely made it to her bunk before she collapsed on top of the covers and sank into a deep, misery-filled slumber.

———————————-

           It only felt like a few minutes had passed before Hera was startled out of her uneasy sleep. “Who is it?” She rasped. She groggily sat up and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

           “Hera? It’s me.” Hera shivered at the sound of his voice. Every word that he spoke seemed like a precious gift after what nearly happened. But now, after what she’d finally admitted to herself, he was the last person she wanted to see right now. Or, maybe she needed him most. Can he feel it? In the Force? Does he already know? Does he know what I’m planning to do?

           “Kanan.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she couldn’t keep going.

           “Can I come in? Please?”

           Hera hesitated. Either you don’t tell him now, and you don’t involve him at all, or he knows what you’re planning to do. Could she do it alone? Without him? She didn’t know if it would be more painful to involve him, or to never let him know what could have been.

           But Hera had made a commitment to Kanan when she’d told him she loved him, and there was no backing out of that commitment now, no matter how she’d chosen to handle her pregnancy. “Come in,” she whispered.

           Kanan was framed in the light of the hall for only a second before he shut the door and crossed the distance to her bunk. He sat down next to her, his hands automatically wrapping around her shoulders; he froze when his hands met the rough fabric of her blanket. “Hera? What’s going on? Are you ill?”

           Not in the way that you’re thinking, but yes. “What makes you say that?”

           “Well, I…” He hesitated. “I know it’s getting pretty old for me to say it, but I feel a…disturbance in the Force. Around you.”

           Hera tensed up. Oh karabast. He knows. “Tell me what you feel.” In their first years together on the Ghost, if they had time to rest, they’d park the ship in the first meadow they could find. Stretched out on the hull, in the light of the stars above, Kanan would describe the world to her as he felt it in the Force. A web connecting all living things, from the deadly dance of predator and prey in the grasses below them, the cries of the plants as they cried out for rain, jostled to and fro by the silent paws of some canid beast, to the needy, incessant hunger of newborn chicks in the trees at the edge of the meadow…

           This time, she couldn’t control her tears, and Kanan’s fingers were immediately brushing them away from the corners of her eyes as soon as she sucked in a strangled breath of air. “I feel…you’re so unhappy. You’re full of…pain, and despair. Hera, I don’t understand. Why do you feel like you’re losing something?”

           He doesn’t know. Oh stars, if there was only another way…But there wasn’t. She gently took one of his hands away from her face and held it in her own. “You can’t understand because you’re looking in the wrong place.”

           Kanan cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

           “You’re looking into my mind…” She held his hand up, paused, and pressed his fingers against the still-flat skin of her lower torso. “Try feeling here, and you’ll know why I’m so conflicted.”

           Hera wasn’t sure if he felt something in the Force or if he immediately understood her implication. “Hera–!”

           “Only five weeks,” she whispered. “I wasn’t assaulted in prison, so I definitely know it’s yours. And I know the date of conception. But only five weeks. Not that far along, really…” She trailed off as she noticed Kanan’s face shutting down, closing off all emotion. Oh no. She waited a few moments to allow him to process the news, to say something, anything, but he didn’t. “Kanan? Luv? Tell me—what’s going through your head right now?”

           He coughed. “Do you have any water?”

           “I—uh—yes. There’s a pitcher and some cups on the dresser. To the left of my ‘fresher.” He nearly banged his head on the top of the bunk as he stood up and held out his hand to feel his way along. “No, your left.”

           He bumped against the edge of the dresser and winced. “Do you want any?”

           This was definitely not the reaction she was expecting. “…sure. I guess.”

           Kanan poured two cups of water, spilling what seemed like half the jug before he was done. Hera took the cup from him so he could have a free hand to feel his way back to her side without hurting himself further. She sipped her water while he chugged his straight down and tossed the cup aside. “Kanan. Please. Talk to me.”

           He sighed. “I don’t…I don’t know where to begin.”

           “I don’t either. But we have to start somewhere.”

           “Well then…I suppose…did you ever want to be a mother?”

           Hera sat down her cup and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I hadn’t given much thought about my future after the war. But I started thinking about it when you nearly died.”

           Kanan’s breath came in a soft, weak gasp, and he pulled Hera into his arms. She melted into his embrace and felt his trembling. At least he doesn’t hate me. And he knows me well enough to know what my feelings are on this. Somehow, she allowed herself to speak about her dream life after the war: their quiet home together, the rooms for the rest of the family, their child playing in the yard outside. She felt his tears begin to run down his cheeks and drip on top of her lekku, and she knew that he could feel her sorrow in the Force.

           “You know,” he said slowly. “I hadn’t thought much about kids, either. But I started thinking about them more when we found the others. Especially Ezra. We’re like their parents already, aren’t we?”

           Hera chuckled, in spite of her pain. “We definitely are.”

           “And I started to think…it wouldn’t be so bad, to do it all over again. But with a baby of our own…”

           Hera closed her eyes and pressed herself against his chest. “But…?”

           Kanan swallowed; she could feel the effort it took him. “But I know you. And whatever you choose to do, no matter my feelings…I’ll support your decision. You’re the pregnant one, after all. You’re the one at risk. Its—it’s up to you.”

           “What are your feelings, Kanan?”

           “They don’t matter.”

           Hera sat back and cupped his face in her hands. “Yes, they do. I love you Kanan, and I wouldn’t have told you about this if I didn’t want to involve you, no matter what. So please, tell me your honest, true feelings.”

           “Honestly…I’d love nothing more than to have a baby with you. I don’t know when we’d get another chance, with the war…”

           Hera sobbed, half with relief and love, half with pain. “This damn war. It poisons everything it touches, including us. Our futures…”

           Kanan started to cry again. “I know you. And I know what you want to do. I know it already.”

           “I want this baby, too, but I don’t know how we’d make time. We can’t have a baby here, on the Ghost. It would be cruel just to bring it into the world and have it blow up with us in battle. Or die from some sickness.” Everyone knew babies didn’t thrive in prolonged periods in space. “And we can’t send it to my father; you know how dangerous it is on Ryloth.” She’d told him about her brother before, and he nodded. She started to cry again, and they held each other for long, painful minutes. Stang, I don’t want to do this. But I have to. What other choice do I have? I can’t leave the war. Not while others suffer. But at least I won’t have to do this alone.

           But, for some reason, she felt tension in Kanan’s arms. Hera pulled back again. “What is it?” Why do you look so…guilty?

           “We could leave the Rebellion and raise the baby together. Or get an abortion.” Hera made a sound of assent in the back of her throat. “Or…there’s another option.”

           “What are you talking about?”

           “What if I were to leave the Rebellion, maybe with Ezra, and the two of us raise the baby while you and the others keep fighting?”

           Hera gasped. “Leave? Are you serious?” Was he so upset about what happened at the fuel depot that he wants to run away?

           “I don’t know how to put this into words. When I was in the bacta tank, in the coma, I remembered something. Something from…right after Master Billaba died. I’d forgotten it until I was at the edge of death. I don’t remember what happened, but… I woke up with the sense that I was supposed to die at the fuel depot.” He choked on the last few words, and Hera couldn’t have spoken if she tried. “And I feel that, whatever happened in that blank in my memory as I was running away from her body, it saved me. Not…oh karabast, I don’t know how to explain it. But whatever it was, it gave me a feeling: that I needed to leave the conflict, or else I wouldn’t get a second chance to live. For some reason, Ezra’s been getting a weird feeling, too. Not quite the same as me, I don’t think, but he’s been hinting that we need to leave and do more Jedi work away from the rest of the group. Maybe something similar happened to him when he was younger. I don’t know. I haven’t been able to ask. But…”

           Hera stood up. “After everything that happened, you were just going to leave us?” Leave me? She couldn’t fault him for listening to his visions, but it stung, especially after she’d finally opened up and bared her soul to him for the first time in years. I give you my love and you leave. “Whatever happened to being careful about listening your visions? Or was that all just a bunch of Jedi nonsense you were feeding to Ezra? Hmm?”

           “Absolutely not. This feels completely different from a Force vision. Like…someone physically told me these things and blocked my memory. Not the Force. Not some cosmic energy. A person.”

           “So you’re going to run away because of some half-remembered whispers?”

           He felt for her hand and pulled her back onto the bunk. “Hera Syndulla, I love you. I love you more than I ever knew I was capable of loving someone. And I wouldn’t leave you and the others unless I was absolutely certain that this vision was something I needed to listen to. It’s going to kill me inside to do it, but I believe it’s what must be done if we want to survive. What if there are other Inquisitors out there? And what if Vader decides to end us once and for all, especially with what happened at the fuel depot? I’m stronger now, Ezra and I both are, but we couldn’t defeat him. And I couldn’t let the rest of you be put in jeopardy because you’ve got two Force-users leaving a trail for a Sith Lord to follow.”

           Hera squeezed his hand. Just a bit. “So…you’d leave? And raise the baby? Are you sure you could do it? With your blindness?”

           “Ezra could be my eyes and help out. And think about it: we could keep the house while you’re all away, and you could visit whenever you wanted, and keep fighting. And you’d know that there’d always be a home for you to return to, and the minute you wanted out of the fight, we’d be there, waiting for you.”

           Hera turned away. “Could you really do that? Wait at home while we risked our lives out on the battlefield?”

           Kanan sighed. “I’d be happiest if you were home with us. And I want to keep fighting, same as you. But if we could make some of your dream come true this way…I’d bow out.” His voice caught, and Hera suddenly realized how hard this all was for him. “Just…promise me one thing. Could you do that?”

           Hera took his hands again. “Ask me first.”

           “If this war keeps dragging on…will you consider finding a window of opportunity to leave? And be with us?”

           Could you do that? Leave the fight, even if it wasn’t over? But Kanan was sacrificing part of his happiness, too. He’d be worrying every day, watching their child, waiting for her to come home. And if she never did, all he’d have was their baby to remind himself of how happy they could’ve been. Hera reached over and cupped his cheek in her hand, her heart bursting with love for him. “Yes. I will consider it, Kanan, knowing that you’re waiting for me. You’re the only one who could make me leave this fight. You…and the baby.”

           Kanan sobbed with joy and pulled her into a crushing hug. They cried together again, but Hera’s joy was bittersweet. Why can’t I get to fully enjoy my dream? I want to be at home with Kanan and the baby. But I can’t. Not just yet.

           But this way, there was a chance to have that future, when there otherwise wouldn’t be. And Hera Syndulla’s life was never fair from the moment she was born; she knew it, and wasn’t one to dwell on it for long. Besides, there were much more wonderful things to think about. A baby. We’re having a baby. “If I don’t miscarry, that is,” she muttered to herself.

           Kanan frowned. “What was that?”

           Hera wiped her eyes and looked around to find some tissues for them both. “Sorry, thinking out loud.”

           “About miscarrying?”

           Hera found some tissues and grabbed them. She passed a few to Kanan and blew her nose. “Just…it would be awful for us to go to all this trouble just for me to miscarry after the stress of a fight.”

           “Hmm. You’re right. Maybe we could hang back for a while and do some logistics work. At least until you’re further along.”

           “I’m going to have to find a way to hide this pregnancy, Kanan. If Inquisitors are still out there, hunting down Force-sensitive children, they’ll come for our baby, I’m sure of it.” She paused. “Is there a chance the baby could be Force-sensitive?”

           Kanan blew his nose and she took it from him to throw in the trash. “I don’t know. There was a pretty big taboo about getting pregnant at the Temple, if you could imagine that. But I guess there’s a strong possibility of it.”

           “Then we’ll have to hide my pregnancy. No one can know about it. Well…maybe Mon Mothma. But she’s it, outside of the crew.”

           “I…oh damn, I think that means that I’ll have to fake my death. Ezra, too, if he comes along to help out.”

           Hera banged her head on the top of her bunk. “Ow! What?!”

           “Careful, careful—the baby—“

           “A bruised lek won’t kill the baby, Kanan. But faking your death—“

           “Well, that’s what we’ll have to do if we want to make sure we’re not tracked down. If everyone believes without a shadow of a doubt that we’re gone, no one will come looking for us. And your “grief” will give you an excuse to pull back for a few months, while you need to hide the bump.” Kanan suddenly moved off the bed and ran to the tiny ‘fresher.

           “Kanan!” But he waved her away, and she hung back, waiting until he was done vomiting. Then, she found a rag and wet it from the remaining water in the jug. She went over to Kanan, who was still slumped over the toilet. She pulled him away from the bowl and gently began wiping his face. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be getting morning sickness, remember?”

           He snorted, but let her keep tending him. “It’s just…we’re going to have to make sure everyone thinks, beyond a doubt, that we’re dead. And that means leaving no body— ” He turned around to retch again, but nothing came up. “And that means—fire, and explosions—“

           “Oh, Kanan…” She held him until the panic attack—or flashback, whatever it was—subsided, and he’d calmed down again. “We’ll find a way to make it work. A safe way. If there’s anyone who could do it, it would be Sabine.”

           “And how could I do that to Ezra? Put him at risk like that?”

           “Well, we have to tell him about the baby, first. We’ll have to tell everyone. But, for right now, let’s just go lie down.” She helped him to his feet and into her bed. They crawled under the covers together, and Hera settled comfortably into his arms. I don’t know how I lived without this for so long. This feels so right, to be here with him.

           Kanan’s eyes were drooping. “Don’t you have a shift soon?”

           Hera’s fatigue was setting in again. “I’ll just tell one of the others that I have a call to take from someone in Rebel command. They’ll understand. Or Chopper can take the shift.” She yawned and couldn’t keep her eyes open. “I’ll deal with it later.”

           They fell asleep, wary about the future, but both full to the brim with love for each other and the life beginning in Hera’s body.

—————————-

Okay, so I promise that this story is going to get happier, okay? There’s just a lot of depressing stuff that needs to be ironed out in this first chapter. It’s not going to be all sunshine and roses, but it will have a happy ending.

I also was originally going to have Kanan and Ezra faking their deaths by pretending to blow up when the rebels attacked a weapons supply store. They were going to dig tunnels underneath and be well-away before the explosion happened, but were going to pretend to be killed by the fire/explosion/falling debris. It hits so close to home in light of the midseason premiere that I don’t know if I can do it.

Or maybe I will. Because I’m kind of sadistic.

Also, the reference to Kanan being “warned” to escape is the reference to my multi-fandom story. There’s some Prisoner of Azkaban-level time travel shenanigans that go on, but it’s not “adult Kanan visits ‘lil Caleb”. It’s a lot more complicated and I don’t feel comfortable explaining it.

[anexperimentallife]

Going through some of my older work, and started re-reading the first story I ever sold...

There are some embarrassing things about it (the obligatory cishet romance is unnecessary and comes off forced, for one thing, and I tied things up into much too neat of a package at the end, plus there are some other aspects I think I need to redo), but overall it reminds me that yeah, although I need to up my game, I DO have chops. I can do this. This isn’t bad at all, IMHO, but I can do SOOOOO much better now. If you want the entire anthology it’s in, grab yourself a copy of The Crimson Pact Volume 2. (It’s also available at Amazon and so on, but when you buy directly from the publisher, you get all formats, DRM-free--whether you buy the hardcopy or just the ebook version--and I get a bigger royalty cut.)

And I am going to do better. Now that I have  the rights back, I am going to rewrite the fuck out of this,,especially now that I have better ideas about how to fit it into my revised Quiet World setting.

I’ve posted a little of the beginning before, but here’s a much bigger chunk:

Karma (story excerpt)

by D. Robert Hamm

We hit the interstate like an unguided missile. Needles of frozen rain and jagged blades of wind beat my face numb and turned what was left of my dress into a full-body ice-pack. Even with the heater on ‘incinerate,’ I couldn’t stop shivering, but the outside air was all that kept me from gagging on the smell of my own puke and the rusty stench of blood, so the window stayed down. Between the black pavement and blacker sky, the air was wet and gray. It sucked the vitality from my headlights well before their natural time, but that was okay. I wasn’t paying much attention to the little they revealed anyway.

The man in the passenger’s seat either didn’t feel the cold or was too stoic to show discomfort. The dashboard glow turned his short white beard to green and deepened the age lines in his face. Gods, I’d loved that face growing up. It was my grandfather’s face. But right then, I could barely look at it, because this wasn’t my grandfather, just a sad, confused spirit wearing his body. And even though he was one of the good guys, that didn’t mean it was easy to take.

“You’re going to catch cold,” Not-Grandpa shouted over the storm.

“I’m . . . what?”

Since last night I’d been shot at, whipped, and electrocuted. I’d watched a good man beheaded and disemboweled before my eyes, and learned things about myself, my family, and especially my past, that had already driven other people into padded-room territory. I was marinated in a vile concoction of blood and various other body fluids, quite a bit of it my own, and had spent the last however-many hours fighting horrors that should never have existed. In the middle of all that—because I’m an overachiever—I took time out to kill a man I loved.

And this guy was worried that I’d catch a fucking cold?

Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. The kind of deep, full-body laughter that doubles you over and makes your stomach muscles ache for days afterward. The kind that shreds the lining of your throat and rises in pitch to rapid staccato squeaks, like sneakers on a hardwood floor. I held back the worst long enough to wrestle the car onto the shoulder, then let go. The laughter turned to howling, the howling into screams, the screams into sobs, and the sobs into a quiet whimper that finally, gods finally, tapered off, and I could breathe again, in great, ragged gulps. I wiped away a rope of snot hanging from my nose and sat hunched over with my eyes closed and my forehead against the steering wheel, shaking, while the rain pummeled my back with tiny, ice-cold fists.

In shock? Probably. Hysterical? Definitely. Look, I make sandwiches at my family’s restaurant for a living, okay? Sandwiches.

Not-Grandpa waited until I quieted down before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was the dozenth or so time he’d said it. The line of his mouth stayed hard, but his eyes and his voice were soft and broken. I believed him. Had to believe him.

“I know.” I didn’t mean for it to sound bitter. He’d saved my life after all, and he deserved better than that. I just didn’t know if I could forgive him for not being who I wanted him to be.

* * * * *

A little too “in media res” for you? Yeah, me too.

So here are the vitals: My name is Karma Miranda Rodriguez. I’m twenty-three years old, five foot six, with brown eyes, light brown skin, and dark brown hair that I keep boy-short. I claim to be a size five, and I dare you to say otherwise. I like strawberry daiquiris, support equal rights for supernaturals, am indifferent toward long walks on the beach, and . . .

And oh, yeah—Apparently, I kill demons.

* * * * *

Eli’s Borderland Station, my family’s restaurant, has been the only twenty-four hour eatery on the Kansas City Plaza since back before the Jasonites outed the supernatural community (aka, “The Quiet World”) and we had to coin the term ‘daylighter’ to differentiate plain vanilla humans from those touched by the paranormal. During the riots that followed the Jasonites’ little party, and all through the Apocalypse Wars, my Grandpa Eli and Uncle Garston kept the restaurant open as a free kitchen-slash-aid-station for refugees and emergency workers, and turned the upstairs apartment—which is mine, now—into a de facto headquarters for various peacekeeping forces.

So alongside our Absolutely Killer Turkey Sandwich (made from, according to the menu, genuine killer turkeys), we serve up a mean side-order of history. Obviously, a lot of things have changed since the AWs; for instance, the Plaza, always an upscale shopping district, is now a level four Private Patrol Zone with the best law enforcement money can buy. As you’d expect, our main business is well-heeled shoppers whose sidearms are more fashion statement than personal defense, but we try to keep prices reasonable enough for the average college student, too.

No amount of money will buy you a table or a bar stool in our VIP lounge, though, even if every other seat in the house is taken. The lounge is permanently reserved for veterans, proxies, bounty hunters, elites, and so on. It’s where people with code names like Halloween Jack, Lucy D.T., HalluciNathan, and so on come to catch up with one another, trade information, or just relax. Grandpa and Uncle Garston are technically civilians now, but a lot of the VIPs still use their call signs from way back when, so if someone in armored leathers with notched weapons and a stare that looks like they’re counting the ways they could kill you with one finger says they’re going to see The General and Body Mass, they’re not talking about some secret mission, it just means they’re headed our way for the lunch special.

On Tuesday nights we lock up for a few hours of uninterrupted cleaning with my special patented Karma Rodriguez closing procedure. This involves, among other things, lots of dancing around with brooms and mops, and other Weapons of Mess-Destruction, and me in a casual dress singing along with loud music at the top of my lungs. It’s effective. The more I can make work feel like play, the faster and more efficiently I get things done, and as proof of that, what used to take three people on Tuesday nights now requires only two.

At thirty seconds to zero-dark-thirty on a drizzly February evening, when my grime-fighting partner Jayden and I were the only ones left in the restaurant, I locked the front door and hit the music. My mix for the night was weighted heavily in favor of pre-Apocalypse rock—music that was old before I was born. It was a minor tragedy when it cut off about ten minutes into the shift, right in the middle of David Bowie’s Rebel, Rebel. Jayden and I both trailed off a cappella.

“I didn’t hear you singing if you didn’t hear me,” Jayden said. “We stick together, and nobody can prove anything.” He fixed me with what would have been a deadpan stare if not for that quirk at one corner of his mouth that I thought of as his, ‘our little secret’ smile.

I put on my best film noir ‘tough dame’ voice. “It’s always secrets with you, isn’t it? Fine, I’ll play your game.” Staying in character, I headed upstairs with an over-the-top hip-swaying sashay, to reboot the router while Jayden kept cleaning.

I can’t be objective about Jayden, so I won’t try. He was one of a kind. Literally. Part Aosidhe, part Graealfinsidhe, and part daylighter, Jayden was a medical miracle, and he got the best from each branch of his ancestry. Six and a half feet of lean muscle, flawless skin, hair like pale gold silk, and . . . you get the idea. His ears were only slightly pointed, and with his hair down, he could pass for an exceptionally pretty daylighter, if not for his eyes. Whiteless, and bright turquoise in color. They suited him.

And yeah, I know. If only I wasn’t his  boss. Jayden had something of a ‘mystery man’ air about him that only added to his status as local lust-object. Among other things, the way he dressed like a wastelander (only cleaner) but acted like a gentleman fueled speculation. He kept his past and his private life just that, though—past, and private. It was like the world was in love with Jayden, but Jayden wasn’t sure how he felt about the world and didn’t want to lead it on.

When I got back from confirming that the router was indeed fried, those exotic eyes of his were fixed on the big screen in the main dining area. I came up behind him and stopped, gaping. “What the . . . ?”

Just north of us, people were fighting in the streets and looting, while Rushville—Jayden’s neighborhood—burned.

“Short version?” Jayden said without turning around, “They busted the wrong guy for the Taylor murders, so they released him. He lasted a whole three hours.”

“They didn’t give him police protection?”

“He was under police protection when it happened. Now everybody has a conspiracy theory, and apparently with every conspiracy theory this week, you get a free Molotov cocktail kit. Speaking of which . . . ” He rewound a few seconds and paused on a burning apartment building that I recognized as his. “Great firebomb, huh?”

“Wow. I’m sorry.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged, his back still to me. “I carry everything really important with me.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want me to leave you alone?”

He paused, as if considering. “No.”

“Okay. But know what? Fuck cleaning. Help me get the trash out, then haul your duffel bag upstairs. You’re staying at my place tonight.”

Jayden turned and looked at me as though I were speaking Swahili. “Your place?”

“You just lost your apartment to a xenophobic asshole with a fire fetish, and you need crash space. Friends do that kind of stuff for each other.”

That earned me a confused look. “No, I just . . . Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.” He seemed utterly bewildered. So much for his famed stoicism and unflappability. Ah, Jayden. Such a strange, strange boy. I ran up to get my coat and pull on a pair of jeans under my dress, and Jayden and I dragged the first can out into the alley.

I remember the air tasted of cold grease and wet pavement. I remember the electric buzz of the street lamp, and the way its dirty light turned the drizzle into sparse gray streaks like anime rain. I remember the exact cadence of the trash can’s scraping and banging as we dragged it toward the dumpster. How screwed up do things have to get before taking out the trash is a fond memory worth replaying in your head?

We didn’t hear the patrol team until they entered the mouth of the alley, running hard toward us, shouting at us to get inside. The woman’s name was Lawson. She’d lost her helmet, and a sheen of blood covered the left side of her face. Her partner, Hall, had a crack running down the side of his faceplate, and his body armor was shredded in places. They both carried their weapons at the ready, scanning the roofline as they ran.

Before they’d even finished their warning, a clot of shadow and sickening angles detached from the rest of the dark. The Kasu-Hurun slaughter-spider—How did I know that?—dropped from the roof and—The Kasu-Hurun and the bad people are making us walk a long way again. I don’t say how tired I am because I am almost eight years old, and that means I’m a big girl, and because it would make Mommy feel bad that she can’t carry me that far. Mommy and me are in our nightgowns because we were asleep when they—Where were these images coming from?—landed in the alley behind them. It was an impossible thing, eight or nine feet tall, all mottled ochre-and-black chitin, with eight spiked and bladed spiderlike legs from which it took its name, serrated mandibles beneath great protruding compound eyes, and short, thick, writhing tentacles suspended from the underside of a bulbous, misshapen central body.

I shouted my own warning, but Hall was already emptying his magazine at the thing as he backed toward us. Lawson either tripped or dove in our direction, twisting in mid-air to land on her back. She raised her shotgun, and—grabbed us, and it was really late because both moons were out, but they let us put on our boots before they made us start walking. Mommy tried to fight them and she shot one of them but they beat her up and cut her cheek really bad. But she is still the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. It was real people, not Kasu-Hurun, but they don’t act like real people. Mommy says they have bad things inside them called Qlippoth. I think they are telling the Kasu-Hurun what—made it roar as she hit the pavement.

The monster’s cry was like a foghorn made of cats and feedback, a spike that shoved through both eardrums. Lawson had hurt it, taken out one leg, in fact, but it wasn’t enough, and Hall’s automatic gunfire cut off with a sickening, meat cleaver sound as the spider sliced through his neck. Hall’s head flew from his shoulders and bounced against the alley wall while the spider eviscerated his body before it could hit the ground, as if he weren’t–to do. A man tried to run away today, but they caught him, and instead of shooting him a Kasu-Hurun stuck one of its sharp arm/leg things in him and cut him open and played with his insides until he stopped screaming, and I cried, but I won’t cry anymore, because I’m a big girl, and—dead enough already. Even as far back as Jayden and I stood, hot, sticky wetness splattered our faces.

The monster tried to leap toward us, but its missing leg threw it off balance. Lawson’s shotgun was out of ammo, so she fumbled out her .45 and taunted the slaughter-spider while edging toward the side of the alley opposite the door. Sacrificing herself—big girls don’t cry. The demons usually kill everybody, but now they only kill people who try to run away or stop walking before they tell us to stop or people who fall down and can’t walk anymore, but sometimes when somebody falls down they let somebody else make a travois, which is a kind of sled thing that you drag—to give us a chance to get away. My gun was in my purse inside, but even if I’d had it on me, I couldn’t loosen my grip on the trash can, let alone force myself to move.

I caught Jayden’s eye. I’d never before realized–when I feel like crying I think about Daddy. Daddy is a general, which is a kind of soldier who tells other soldiers what to do. He is a long way away fighting other Kasu-Hurun, but when he comes to save us, the Kasu-Hurun and the bad people are going to be sorry. I am going to be a soldier like Daddy when I grow up and—how much he and I communicated without speaking, but with that look, I knew we’d done the same math. One of us might—just might—make it to the door. If we left the other one to die along with Lawson.

Fuck that.

Once I’d made the decision, the tension drained from my body—I am nine years old, and I have been in the prison camp for a over a year. They tell me it is time for the laboratory again, but if I pick someone else to go, they will leave me alone today. If I choose my mother to go they will leave me alone for a month. They seem surprised when my answer is to hold out my wrists for the cuffs. I am the daughter of a general and a hero. I do not run, or let others take my pain. And no matter what they do to me, I won’t let them see how scared I am—the way the fear had, sublimating into the night and leaving me perfectly relaxed. Jayden gave me that ‘our little secret’ smile, and I knew he got it. He understood. Not just what I was about to do, but why.

When anything you do will end in death, make your final act one of defiance.

And so it was that we, about to die, in the most futile and ridiculous gesture in the history of futile and ridiculous gestures, screamed our defiance in the face of death, and charged the monster that would surely kill us.

With a fucking trash can.

We slammed into the slaughter-spider and fell hard, with the trash can bouncing between those giant legs and spilling its slippery contents out onto the already-slick blacktop. The slaughter-spider screamed at the impact, even louder than when Lawson had shot it, and nearly toppled. A serrated leg missed me by inches, and I rolled away, but I’d only be able to dodge for so long. My only regrets were that since I hadn’t properly prepared this body, I would die along with it—again, where the hell did that thought come from?—and that so many things would go unsaid between me and those I cared about. Including Jayden, if I was being honest.

Something hard in my coat pocket bit into my side as I rolled. I’d forgotten about the taser I almost always took with me when I left the restaurant. Even if it was still charged, it wasn’t salvation, but at this point salvation wasn’t an option. Victory was what mattered, and victory was nothing more nor less than continuing to fight until the inevitable happened. I pulled out the taser, flipped off the safety, and sent 50,000 volts into the center of that mass of tentacles, along with all the fury I could muster. The slaughter-spider jerked momentarily, and Lawson took advantage to pick up a piece of steel rebar from the junk pile in the alley and plunge it glove-deep into one of the slaughter-spider’s faceted eyes. Jayden followed with a sharp piece of broken two-by-four into the other.

And as though someone had flipped a switch marked ‘alive/dead,’ the slaughter-spider fell . . . in slow motion, like those television broadcasts of building demolitions. After one final spasm, it was still, and the alley was silent for several seconds except for the buzz of the streetlight. After barely long enough to begin to accept that we weren’t dead, answering cries to the spider’s death scream split the night.

We staggered inside the restaurant as the first new creature hit the pavement, and got the bars across the door just before another slammed against it. I slapped my palm against the ward sigil and spoke the syllables to activate it, then ran to the front and did the same there. After grabbing my gun and other weapons from upstairs and activating still more wards, I hit the ‘dim all’ switch and met up with the others in the kitchen. Lawson used a cabinet as cover, her shotgun aimed at the door, and Jayden . . .

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I’d been gone perhaps two minutes, but when I returned, Jayden stood transformed, a grim-faced cross between a modern wastelander and a wild warrior from legend, in a combination of armored biker leathers and Fay armor. The hilts of two matching blades extended over his shoulders, and his jacket sleeves were pushed up to reveal Sidhe archery gauntlets—the real kind, not the department store knockoffs. Other weapons clung to various parts of his body, strategically placed so as not to impede movement—blades, throwing disks, bolas, and quivers and bandoliers of bolts and arrows for the quick-load mini-crossbow in his hand and the compound bow housed in a slender case across his back. He shrugged bashfully—Jayden? Bashful?—when he caught me staring. So this was what he meant when he said he carried everything important with him.

The booming of another hit on the door jerked my attention away from Jayden. After a few more tries, though, the spiders seemed to realize that it was futile, and ceased their efforts.

Now that we had stopped racing time, time slowed to let us catch up. Whether from the endorphin rush or something else, I felt disconnected, an observer watching from inside myself. In the dimness, Lawson and Jayden were pale, oh so pale, and heartbreakingly beautiful against the gray and charcoal shadows. I stood with chest heaving alongside them, seeing and feeling and hearing everything as though for the first time, in love with it all. Because we, who moments before had been dead, were alive and more than alive, were filled with life until we could burst from the pressure as it strained against the insignificant scraps of skin and flesh that could barely contain it.

A single glossy drop of blood formed at the tip of Lawson’s finger, creating itself until it was real enough to float downward and finally join its comrades who had already emigrated to the floor to form a puddle, and Lawson was falling, falling, falling behind it as if to join the puddle herself.

I shook out of my trance barely in time to help Jayden take Lawson’s weight. She was conscious, but weak. “It’s okay,” I told her, “We’re going to get you taken care of. Did you call for backup?” Lawson shook her head weakly, closed her eyes, and made a sound between a chuckle and a sob. “Nobody left to call. Even if the radio worked, nobody left to . . . ” she trailed off and seemed to fold in on herself. I’d seen what that thing did to Hall. I didn’t need her to tell me what had happened to the rest of her squad.

[theelectricfilmdiary]

We spent two glorious days walking the streets of Paris, and despite the constant rain it was amazing. Nine hours was spent on a bus travelling from London to Paris – via the channel tunnel aka chunnel, which was kinda freaky: locked inside a bus, in a large train, in a tunnel, under the sea for 40 minutes …..still gives me the shivers!

When we arrived in Paris, it was dusk and we made the decision to avoid the trains, busses and wrong turns (not to mention the arguments where we blame each other for being lost) and caught an Uber to our accommodation. We got lucky with a driver who had spent three years in the states learning english and we chatted away with him about Paris. He told us a bit about the local culture and the goings on with the numerous recent terror attacks. Feeling slightly more educated we were dropped at our gorgeous lil’ apartment in the 4th Arrondissement. The apartment was super cute; small and cosy but had everything you could need and was a perfect haven to return to each day. It was about 8:30pm by the time we arrived and unpacked so we walked to a nearby supermarket and stocked up on cheese, baguettes (of course), olives and cured meats as well as an AMAZING bottle of red wine, and watched… French Kiss! I know, cliché, but it’s so funny. Well sated we then fell into bed.

Morning arrived (11th Jan) and we got up, made a coffee and then departed for a day of site seeing. The first stop – a bakery where I had my first authentic French croissant – and holy fucking shit it was good – too good.  I’ve been ruined for life now!  The next stop was the Père Lachaise Cemetery. Sounds a bit morbid and weird that we would visit a cemetery, BUT there are a tonne of famous musicians and writers (as well as a host of others) buried there and it has become a bit of a tourist attraction in its own right. The first grave stop was that of the one and only Jim Morrison of The Doors. The grave was sectioned off because unfortunately some extreme fans are partial to theft (headstones) and there is one recorded incident where a group of students dug two meters down in the hopes of recovering his hallowed bones before being caught. There are now a couple of hidden cameras recording the grave site visitors. Weird. The next stop was Edith Piaf, an extraordinary French singer who I absolutely love. We also tried to find Oscar Wilde’s grave site, but after searching for about 20 minutes we gave up – more to see in Paris aside from graves anyway…

James, as per usual, needed to pee so we stopped in a cafe and ordered one of the days many espressos so we could use the luxury bathroom facilities (luxury at this point is anything that doesn’t have pee –  or worse – on the floor/toilet seat/walls etc and also provides the most basic of amenities – toilet paper and hand wash).  The coffee of course was better than most we had tried throughout this entire trip – and soo much cheaper than the ones we had in London, Denmark etc – though you have to drink it at the bar, otherwise you pay more for the pleasure of your seat.

From the cafe warmth we strolled the streets until we reached a market selling produce, clothing and nick nacks. The food – OH MY GOD – each vendor (fish mongers, bakery/patisserie’s, fruit and vege, fromagerie (cheese), butchers, Pate and terrines (yes a stall just for them), jams and sauces, olives, flowers, everything you could imagine) had their wares displayed so beautifully – it was art itself. Every part of it was quality too. We came across a stall selling hot food for lunch, french stews, chicken, beef – all doused in amazing gravies and sauces. We had been told that street/market food in France is amazing and that you should try it if presented with the option, so Jim ordered up the vegetable stew with couscous…. SOOO GOOD. We stood on a side street digging in while the rain sprinkled down, and a passer-by commented “bon appetite” – no shit a Frenchman actually said that haha.

We walked along the River Seine admiring the beauty of the Parisian buildings and architecture until we hit the Notre-Dame de Paris – not before being harassed by a few wandering gypsy types trying to scam money out of us. We declined and were promptly sworn at… ahh Paris. The cathedral was beautiful, the front arches ornately decorated with hundreds of carvings, and the inside… dark, brooding, and the stained glass windows shone down a multitude of colours and images. The entry was free also which was great for us backpacking on a budget. After spending about an hour in the cathedral we walked outside to the Point Zero des Routes de France square in front of its big doors and watched people scaring flocks of pigeons into the sky – James of course had a go and leapt/skipped through them like an overgrown, semi-bearded child. Great photos.

From there, another pee stop for James and another espresso – seriously half of the conversations this trip have been based around his bathroom requirements… to which he blames the cold… rather than the two gallons of water he consumes each day. We walked the last hour of daylight home – our feet nearly bleeding stumps by this point – I actually have a bruise on my foot from walking so much. I ran back down to the supermarket and got more bread and cheese, salmon, beans and their rotisserie chicken and potatoes. Perfect dinner to finish the day – We sat in front of the laptop and watched something… so tired I can’t remember!

The morning of the 12th, we were up and out of the unit – this time the agenda was Paris Catacombs, Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe…. Not seeing the Louvre this time unfortunately… we have done so many museums and galleries over the past weeks that we were more keen on seeing the behemoth-monument side of things. Croissant and espresso breakfast was consumed and we walked our way to the nearest metro station where we caught the train to the catacombs. GUESS WHAT?!? They were closed… only through January of course. Apparently we chose a particularly good time of the year to travel. Every city seems to do their renovations just after Christmas. Makes sense really…

So. Rather than getting back on the train we decided to walk… feet be damned… to the Eiffel Tower (we had noticed it towering away in the distance). On the way through some side streets we passed a store which only sold art and books by one of Jim’s favourite artists  – Jean Giraud, aka MOEBIUS. He’s a French comic book artist who creates really bizarre, colourful, other worldly scenes. Kind of futuristic/sci-fi as well. He also inspired the look of the film The Fifth Element. We walked in and looked through all the amazing prints while chatting to the store manager. Before leaving, we bought a poster print as well as a signed print of one of the artists comic book pieces from Blueberry, which is his longest running comic book and is set in the wild west. Moebius died in 2012 so it was pretty cool that Jim got to visit his only store and get something signed by him.

On to the Eiffel Tower – not before yet another bathroom stop… then we were queuing up for security searches, and tickets before being bundled into a small room sized elevator with a hundred other tourists and slowly ascending to the second level of the tower – The third and top most floor was closed… I know… big surprise aye! The view was great though, despite the rain and clouds covering the sky, you could still see a surprising amount of Paris. It was fecking cold. We held out as long as we could taking pictures and looking around before getting friendly with more strangers in yet another elevator. We could have taken the stairs but as I mentioned earlier… our feet are bleeding stumps at this point.  Once back on the ground we walked the short distance over to the Arc de Triomphe, again it was surrounded by tourists. It is massive though, much bigger than we had imagined and is covered in colossal stone sculptures. Beautiful.

A train ride later and we were back on our side of town. A patisserie stop later… more croissants, a lemon tart, and mille feuille….healthy aye. We enjoyed our sugary treats with coffee back at our apartment as night closed in and rain started to pour rather than drizzle (for shizzle). The wind howled up and down our apartment alleyway and we munched away on scrambled eggs for dinner. The next day we were to be up, packed and catch a train to Orly airport for our flight to Lisbon, Portugal so a few movies later it was lights out.

The morning of the 13th of January flew by in a blur of coffee, meticulous packing, and train tickets. Before we knew it we were sitting in the departure lounge drinking Italian beer and prosecco. Paris was amazing, and we wished we had a few more days to explore… next time we return it will definitely be spring or summer. Winter was still great… it’s just a lot was closed and it was cold and raining most of the time which made getting around that bit more draining.

One thing I will mention to anyone planning to visit Paris, or any European city for that matter, is always watch where your walking… dog shit is plentiful, and Jim experienced a good caking a couple of times… hahaha

View from the Eiffel Tower

Dinner at the apartment – night two

Fontaine Saint Michel, Paris

View from the Eiffel Tower

The Eiffel Tower

The Eiffel Tower details

Inside Notre Dame de Paris

Arc de Triomphe details

Paris street art

Paris street details

Fontaine Saint Michel, Paris – Details

Paris street details

Arc de Triomphe details

Fontaine Saint Michel, Paris

Inside Notre Dame de Paris

Arc de Triomphe details

Moebius art shop

Sweet treats and coffee at the apartment

Railway overbridge, Paris

The Eiffel Tower

Inside Notre Dame de Paris

Paris

Arc de Triomphe

This is how our bakery treats came wrapped – so cute

Arc de Triomphe details

Paris, la ville de l’amour et merde de chien… We spent two glorious days walking the streets of Paris, and despite the constant rain it was amazing.