#before i move 2000 miles away and maybe see these people once a year at most and tbh itll probably be funerals soo id like to have happy pls

[nuclearnyx]

planning a full american-traditional-whatever wedding in 2.5 months, I am not okay ✌️🥰

[the-modernmary]

to be enough || aaron hotchner x gn!reader

Summary: During a movie night with your boyfriend Aaron, you accidentally stumbled onto his old wedding video, and it makes you wonder if you could ever compete with his first love?

A/N: This was an anonymous request, thank you SO MUCH for sending this in!! It’s my first request and it was so much fun to write!! I love soft Hotch so, so much. I’m sorry this took so long to get out. I was sick on and off for like two weeks straight, it was a whole thing. I hope you like this!!

masterlist || read on ao3

“I’ll make popcorn and open the wine, you pick the movie. We’ll meet back on the couch in ten minutes,” Aaron said quickly as he pressed a kiss to your cheek before making his way to his kitchen.

  You giggled at your boyfriend’s eagerness as soon as he opened the door to his apartment. Truth be told, you couldn’t blame him, though. It was rare that the two of you ever really got the chance to just hang out at his apartment. Whenever Aaron was home, he liked to spend as much free time with his son as possible, which you completely understood. So between spending time with Jack and Aaron being away on cases, you lived for these small moments of alone time and domesticity. 

  “You might regret letting me pick the movie, my love,” you called to him jokingly as you sat down in front of his TV, looking for where the remote was hiding. “I am very loyal to my early 2000’s chick flicks.”

  The sound of Aaron’s laughter floating through his apartment made your heart swell. He had never been the tough, FBI unit chief around you, but he was also rarely so carefree and light. There was always a shield around him, especially with the way he would carefully choose his words so as to not give away too much of himself. He was always so guarded and unwavering.

  Aaron poked his head out of the kitchen, hair falling in his eyes. “In the interest of honesty, I’m fully planning on moving this to the bedroom before we even get halfway through the movie,” he admitted, his voice carrying even over the sound of popcorn in the microwave.

You giggled again and shook your head fondly, unable to stop the smile spread across your face at his words. Seeing him be so playful was like a gift — always a surprise, but never unwelcome. You lived for those small glimpses of the man you knew he was.

  Aaron went back to choosing the perfect movie night wine and you settled on the couch, turning on the TV and ready to pick out the goofiest, most feel-good movie you could find. Before you could pull Netflix up, however, the DVD that was already in the television began playing.

  The film was grainy and the camera work was shaky at best, so you weren’t sure exactly what you were watching at first. There was a church in the background and men dressed in nice suits. Kids dressed in their Sunday best ran around in the grass. The camera panned over to a couple who were clearly getting married, going by the big white dress the woman was wearing.

  The camera zoomed in on the couple and your heart dropped to your stomach, because there, right in the center of the screen was Aaron. It was a much younger version of him, of course, probably law school, but it was definitely him. 

  Oh god, this was his wedding video. Which meant that the beautiful, blushing bride wrapped in his arms and making him throw his head back in laughter was Haley.

  Aaron had told you about Haley and everything that had happened between the two of them right up to her murder pretty early on in your relationship with him, but then it was never really mentioned again. But you had heard the whispers on nights out with his team, listened to them all gossip amongst themselves about how “I never thought Hotch was ever going to move on?” .

  Despite every logical bone in your body screaming at you to change the film before Aaron came back into the living room, you couldn’t help but watch in morbid fascination. The Aaron on the screen was so different from the man you had come to love.

  You watched as the film Aaron spun Haley in circles and peppered her entire face in kisses. The entire time, they never once stopped touching each other, even if it was something as simple as holding each other’s hands. Aaron kept glancing over at Haley with the biggest heart eyes you had ever seen, and it was nothing like the way Aaron had ever looked at you. Even when the couple was supposed to be paying attention to the people giving speeches around them, Haley and Aaron kept sneaking glances at each other, mouthing “I love you” like it was the only thing they could think to say.

  Aaron looked so happy and so free and it was so unlike the man in the other room. In the year and a half you had been dating him, you had never seen Aaron with a smile so big. He never gave you PDA so freely, and it wasn’t something you realized you even wanted until you saw him do it with somebody else. Suddenly, you wanted to feel young and reckless and dizzy in love the way he looked back in the film.

  It was unfair to ask him to live every day with you feeling like it was his wedding day, and you knew it. Still, something stirred inside of you that made you crave for Aaron to look at you like that, even just once.

  What you had with Aaron now was safe and a certifiable “adult” relationship. Not to say it wasn’t nice, and there was plenty of passion and fun in it. All of your friends constantly expressed how envious they were that you had found somebody who was so stable yet still unpredictable and could sweep you off your feet with romantic dates under the stars. Being with Aaron felt like home for you, and you had always thought that he felt the same, although now you weren’t sure. It had never occurred to you that Aaron may not have ever really gotten over his first love.

  The microwave beeped, signaling that the popcorn was done and that Aaron would be back in the living room at any second, and you quickly switched the TV to Netflix, clicking whatever movie popped up first, not even bothering to look at the title. 

  Just in time, too, because not long after, Aaron made his way over to the couch, precariously carrying a bowl of popcorn, two wine glasses, and a bottle of a sweet red wine that had become a go-to for you both. He generally preferred red wine, but you hated the dryness of it and basically only drank sweet, dessert wines, so when the two of you found this one, it had seemed like fate. Most of your relationship with him felt like fate, honestly.

  You forced yourself not to think about the fact that Aaron was happily drinking white wine in the wedding video.

  “Either the definition of ‘chick flick’ has changed drastically,” Aaron started, plopping down next to you. “Or Mad Max is very different from what I remember.”

  “I decided to change it up, put on a movie neither of us will be invested in,” you lied, desperately fighting to keep your voice even. “That way we can move right into the bedroom portion of the night.”

  “I like the way you think, sweetheart,” he chuckled, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. His thigh was pressed against yours, but even then, he felt a million miles away from you.

  It was unfair to get so worked up over this whole wedding video thing, and you knew that. His time with Haley had ended long before he had even met you, and logically, you knew that people could fall in love multiple times. Still, that didn’t quell the anxiety that was bubbling in your stomach, making you queasy.

  Why was he even watching that video, anyway? Did he often sit right there on the very couch you were cuddling with him on and rewatch the happiest day of his life? After a date with you, did he ever come home conflicted about his own emotions and feeling guilty for moving on, and go down memory lane to remind himself who his real true love was? 

  You kept thinking about how giddy he had looked in that video, and how easy it had seemed for him to be with her. And Haley… God, how could you compete?

  She was stunning, no doubt about it, with her blonde hair and bright eyes that shined, even through shitty 90’s video camera quality. The pink on her soft-looking lips only seemed to make Aaron want to kiss them more and more, maybe to see if he could smudge her lipstick. It never once budged, though, because of course it didn’t. She seemed too perfect to have faded lipstick on her wedding day. She had floated across the makeshift dance floor, like a fucking Disney princess leaving a trail of fairy dust and sunshine everywhere she went. Everything about her seemed soft and kind and good, all things you had never once associated with yourself.

  It was no surprise that Aaron had decided he was going to marry her from the first time he saw her, as he had said in his vows. She was everything you could have ever wanted to be, and clearly, she was everything Aaron had ever wanted.

  Aaron’s voice snapped you out of your rapid descent into crippling insecurity. “I can hear you thinking from here, honey.”

  You took a long sip of your wine, avoiding his piercing gaze. “I’m just concentrating on the movie,” you lied.

  “The movie you picked specifically so that we didn’t have to pay attention?” he retorted, eyebrows raised. Really, you should have known better than to try and give him such a blatant lie. Aaron reached over you to grab the remote and paused the movie, placing his hand lightly on your knee. “What’s going on?”

  How could you even explain what you were feeling? It definitely wasn’t jealousy, although you almost wished it was. At least with jealousy, you could push it to the side as an awful, gross feeling that comes from years of internalized misogyny and being told that other women are inherently competition for the attention of men. You could deal with that feeling.

  But it wasn’t that at all. Despite Aaron’s obvious devotion to her, you found it hard (and a little twisted, if you were being completely honest) to be jealous of a woman who was violently murdered in her own home in front of her young child. Besides, jealousy would imply that you and Haley were on somewhat equal ground, which you so clearly weren’t. 

  Haley was his high school sweetheart, the love of his life, the woman he had chosen to have children with, and you…

  Well, at one point you thought you could have been that, too, but now you were faced with the fear that you were nothing more than a person to fill the hole in his heart that Haley had left. Even worse, however, was the sinking feeling that you weren’t sure if you were ever going to be enough to fill it completely. 

  “It’s stupid,” you stuttered out, avoiding Aaron’s eyes, which were so full of concern. That was the worst part. It would be one thing if Aaron didn’t love you, but he did love you. Just not in the way he loved her. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

  “I—” You cut yourself off with a sigh and shifted on the couch so that you were facing him. “Am I enough for you?”

  Aaron looked about as taken aback by your question as you felt. You hadn’t meant to burst through the gate with that particular insecurity.

  “Are you enough for me?” he repeated slowly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, like the question didn’t make any sense. In all honesty, it probably didn’t. “If you mean ‘am I happy with you’, then yes. Incredibly. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

  That should have made you feel better, but it wasn’t the answer you were looking for. You absentmindedly picked at a loose thread on your sweater. “I saw your wedding video,” you admitted shamefully. It felt like you were a little kid getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “And, I don’t know… You looked so happy and so… alive with her. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime love, Aaron. I’m never going to be able to be that for you.”

  Aaron’s frown deepened, and for a moment you were worried that he was going to get angry at you for watching the video. Maybe you had tainted that one happy memory for him. But the lines on his face softened just a bit and he covered your hand with both of his.

  “Have you always felt like this?” he asked cautiously, attempting to keep all emotion off his face. “Like you’re not… enough?”

  You shrugged. “Sometimes. If I think about it too much. Especially when we first started dating. But never this intense. I guess since I had only heard stories of her, it was almost like she didn’t exist? But now that I’ve seen her and how you looked at her… I love you so much and I want you to be happy, but I’m scared I can’t be that for you. I’m sorry if I’ve crossed a line, but this has been eating me up from the inside for a while now and I—”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Aaron cut you off mid-ramble, and you took a shuddering breath. Guilt was written all over him, which made you want to crawl into a hole and never be heard from again. “Have I done anything to make you think I’m unhappy?”

  “No, of course not! You’ve been nothing but wonderful. But I’m not Haley. I can’t make you as happy as she made you. And maybe this is selfish of me, but it hurts to know that you don’t love me the way you loved her.”

  Aaron’s frown deepened, but he still held on tightly to your hand. “I didn’t think you would want me to,” he said, and now it was your turn to be confused.

  You could practically see the gears turning in Aaron’s mind as he tried to find the right words to verbalize the floodgate of emotions that had just opened. Being vulnerable and open about his feelings wasn’t something he was very comfortable with, and it definitely didn't come easy for him. The fact that he was trying and willing gave you some comfort.

  “What I mean to say is…” he backtracked. “You’re right. You’re not Haley and the way I loved her is different from the way I love you. I love you differently because you’re different. And I’m different now, too. But different doesn’t mean less, and it never has. I would never want you to think that you’re just some consolation prize.”

  He was looking at you with such intensity and sincerity that you could have cried. “It’s just that when I realized you had been rewatching your wedding, I kept thinking that maybe she was your one love,” you explained nervously. “I don’t know what that leaves me.”

  Aaron took your hand that he was holding and moved it so that it rested on his chest and you could feel his heartbeat. “My love isn’t finite. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

  You melted into his touch, and it was like the sun came peeking through the storm clouds. He didn’t have the exact same expression that 25-year-old him did on the wedding video, but it was something close. Maybe even something more. It was warm and inviting and felt like coming home after a long day. 

  “You’ve been nothing but the picture-perfect boyfriend,” you assured. “This is all me and my own insecurities. I saw that you had been watching the video and I just… spiraled, I guess.”

  Aaron mindlessly rubbed his thumb back and forth on your hand. “I should probably explain why I was watching it, then.”

  “God, no, you don’t owe me any explanations for what you—”

  “I was showing Jack,” Aaron interrupted, his voice soft. “He doesn’t remember her that much, and he definitely doesn’t remember when we were married. Most of his memories are of fighting or divorced parents. I wanted to show him that his parents loved each other.”

  Your face went hot as embarrassment spread through you. “Wow, that makes perfect sense and I feel like an idiot,” you breathed. “I’m sorry.”

  Aaron pressed a chaste kiss to your lips as he stood up from the couch. “You’re not an idiot, and you have nothing to be sorry for,” he promised. “Come on, let’s get changed into something a little nicer.”

  You looked down in confusion as your movie night outfit. “Why?”

  A mischievous glint flashed in Aaron’s eyes as he bent down and gave you another kiss, one much less chaste than the one before. “Because,” he mumbled against your lips. “I’m going to take you on a date and show you just how much I love you.”

[eternallysarcastic]

winter moon/ch.2

Hello! I’m back with a new chapter. Thank you for the positive feedback, I really appreciate it! It makes me wanna write even more

Also if anyone is interested I also post on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28999362/chapters/71169963

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                                                       Chapter 2

“He will be able to help you more than I could in my current state,” Zhongli had said before he left, telling you to simply meet him in 3 days time near Mountain Hulao. 

 You had filled both him and Xiao in on your reason for coming to Liyue. The Yaksha had paid close attention to what you were saying but in the end none of you had any idea where to even begin. And here you were, 3 days later. No one had shown up yet so you wandered around the river area. You hadn’t seen Liyue in such a long time. For the past 2000 years you had been wandering around Teyvat, no particular goal in mind except finding her. 

It’s been 3000 years since you last saw her. You weren’t even sure if she was alive until her constellation had shown in the sky, as bright as ever. You had felt such relief you cried the whole night.

Despite that, millenia passed and you still hadn’t found her. With your weak powers all you could do is wait for the centuries to pass before her constellation was supposed to make another round and show up in the night sky. Last time that happened was 14 days ago and the stars had pointed you  here in Liyue. You promised yourself this time you’d find her.

You rounded the corner of a tight passage between two stone walls under mountain Hulao and was met with a giant tree, one branch of it had seemed to have turned into ice, bright glowing flowers grew near its roots. It was beautiful in its own tragic way. You saw how the ice weighed down one side of it and no leaves grew on it. An itch spread across your chest the more you looked at it.

As if in a trance you walked closer to it, the closer you were the more that itch became an ache. You didn’t blink, didn't breathe, just walked closer and closer. You felt past echoes of screams that sounded too familiar to your own, an ancient power you hadn’t felt in millennia came in waves through the tree.  

All of a sudden an agonising pain overtook your whole body. You clutched your chest in pain, your breathing laboured and your eyes wanted to squeeze shut from the pain but you simply couldn’t tear them off the tree. Your body was used to pain, having endured millenia of it. But this pain was so different than any sword or arrow could cause.

It started from the deepest depths of your heart, traveled along every nerve of your body and made your eyes burn with hot tears. The screams were louder, there was blood on the trunk of the tree, there were arrows blasing by your head, blood on your hands. What was happening? Why did it hurt so much? Someone make the screams stop, someon-

A hand landed on your shoulder to keep you steady. You hadn’t noticed you were on your knees, trembling hands clutching your heart.

“Are you okay? What happened?” You realised the person who had showed up was Xiao.

You opened your mouth to answer but your throat was constricted. It seemed as if Xiao didn’t even need an answer, seeing you stare so intently at the half frozen tree.

Wordlessly he slid an arm around your waist and hoisted you up, helping you walk back through the narrow path between the mountains and setting you down under the shadow of a nearby tree. You breathed deeply, now that tree was out of sight the ache in your chest seemed to wither. You realised Xiao was sitting across from you, hands in the air as if he wasn’t sure on what to do next, his amber eyes glowed with an emotion you didn't recognise. Was it concern? You tried to lighten the mood a bit as you took another deep breath and released it as a soft laugh.

“I’m sorry. I don't know what happened back there. I apologise if I startled you.” You brushed your tears away with the sleeve of your shirt.

Your words seemed to calm him down as the peculiar emotion left his face and he put his hands back down. You didn’t know what to say. How do you explain yourself when you weren't sure what happened in the first place.

Why did seeing the half frozen tree suddenly trigger such a reaction from you? It felt like a phantom wound had reopened in your chest, a long forgotten agony, swept in the deepest part of your mind.

But why? This is the first time you’re seeing this particular tree, no event had taken place here that you could remember. So why?

“Stop thinking so much.” The voice beside you startled you.

“I’m sorry,” you started. “Stop apologising so much.” His eyes were fixated on you, over your body as if checking for injuries, for discomfort. He hesitated for a second before he looked away and said, “Are you okay?”

“Ah, there’s no need to worry. Pain doesn’t phase me much.” You missed the way his body tensed at your words. “I’m just… confused.”

Xiao had only hummed as a reply.

“Were there ever any major battles that have taken place here?” You settled on asking.

“Liyue is an old place. There have been numerous battles that have taken place and will continue to take place. As a celestial god you should already know that.”

You simply nodded, not replying. Perhaps you had felt the emotions of someone or something during a battle that had happened around the tree. Maybe it had absorbed the intensity of it and sealed it in its core. The previous Moon Gods have had quite high sensitivity to spirits and spiritual signs of power. Unfortunately, your own talents didn't lie there, you were more of a warrior but maybe it had awoken it in you?

A flicker on your forehead took you up from your deep thoughts. You looked up in confusion. Xiao had flicked his fingers against your forehead.

“I said stop thinking so much. This tree has a lot of history to it. Aren't you celestial beings attuned to underlying powers?”

You realised he was trying to calm your fast breathing. It seemed so uncharacteristic of him.

“Yes, that’s true. However, it just seemed as if-” as if you were there when whatever happened took place. You shook your head to clear it of such thoughts. If you were there why didn't you remember? You were an old god, old gods had good memory. Zhongli was proof of that. You wouldn't forget something so major.

You sat in silence for a while as you took slow, deep breaths until you spoke again. Something clicked in your brain all of a sudden. “You were there that night weren't you?”

He didn't bother turning to you and just hummed. You turned to him instead. He was laying against the tree, eyes closed and arms crossed. He looked peaceful and the more you looked at his closed eyes the more the ache in your heart seemed to slowly return.

You turned your eyes away. “Why were you so irritated? I could feel it from miles away.”

“You were too loud,” he simply replied.

“What?” You were sure you hadn't uttered a word that night.

“Your prayers. They were too loud,” he added, noticing your confused expression.

“Oh.” He could hear you? Someone actually heard your prayers?

“Why are you staring at me like that?” His eyebrows creased, the more you looked at him. Why did you have that look in your eyes? Why did your eyes sparkle as if he’d done something no god has ever done.

“You listened.” That’s all you said but you didn't need to say more. The crease in his brow relaxed and that same unrecognisable emotion that he had whenever he looked at you showed up again. You wanted to figure out what it was.

Xiao seemed to act differently towards you, his actions screamed familiarity, as if he’d done this before. You wondered if perhaps you had met at some point of your travels. You reminisced of all the remarkable people you had met so far in your thousands years of life. Yet none of them were anyone resembling Xiao. You’d remember him if you’d ever met him.

Then again, you hadn't visited Liyue in 2000 years and from what Zhongli had told you, the yaksha had kept to his duties for just as long.

You opened your mouth to ask him -

“I apologise for my lateness.” Zhongli had appeared behind you with a tall ginger man in tow.

“Why is he here?” Xiao growled in annoyance as he got up from his place under the tree.

“Oh? Does it bother you that I'm here? Guess I'm gonna have a better time than I thought,” he chuckled lowly. Xiao seemed to want to pounce on him the moment he set his eyes on you, a glint forming in his eyes and mouth turning up into a smirk. “And who do we have here? What is such a pretty lady doing with a short adeptus and an Archon without a gnosis?” He took a step closer to you.

“Oh, I’m-” Before you could introduce yourself, Xiao had stepped in front of you, stopping the taller man in his tracks.

“She’s no one you have to concern yourself with.” Xiao almost growled the words out. You caught Zhongli’s eyes behind the ginger and he shook his head subtly. He didn't want this stranger knowing who you are.

“Hm. Well, I’m Childe but you can call me Tartaglia, pretty lady,” he winked at you.

“Rex Lapis, may I ask once again what is he doing here? I don’t remember you telling me he’s joining.” Xiao asked, still standing in front of you.

“It wasn’t exactly my wish either, but he overheard me telling Hu Tao I’m taking an indefinite leave and decided to follow me.” Zhongli sighed out, a hand on his forehead. “However, he can be useful. The lands beyond my adepti’s protection are dangerous. I don't have my full power back and Xiao’s collateral damage may show detrimental and attract unwanted attention.” Xiao huffed at that and turned his head away with a ‘tsk’. Zhongli was right.

“And what about you? Do you possess a vision?” Childe walked around Xiao in his state of distraction.

“Hm? Oh… uhm…” What were you supposed to say? You had to hide who you were from this strange man.

“She’s electro, now move.” Xiao had put a hand Childe’s chest to push him away from you again.

You didn't understand why Xiao’s was suddenly acting this way. Nor why he was protecting you so vehemently but you knew there was something he knew that you didn't. It was surely connected to that unnamable look in his eyes that he had only when he looked at you.

Zhongli spoke up in the middle of the tension. “I’m sorry for interrupting your chatter-” Xiao ‘tsk’ed again at the wording, “- but we must start moving if we want to reach our destination before the sun sets.”

And so you had walked half a day before the sun had started to set and Zhongli led you to a cave in the mountains, saying the group should rest here for the night.

You started a fire while Zhongli took out some food from a bag he carried.

“Since there is a human in our group, I have taken some rations for along the way,” he said but from the looks of the food in his hands, it just seemed like dishes from a restaurant.

“So, ojou-chan,” Childe took to calling you that at some point on your way, “Zhongli wasn't exactly clear as to why we’re going on this journey.”

“I’m looking for someone,” you replied. Zhongli took out a whole tea cup set and had started brewing a little bit of water over the fire.

“And who exactly is this someone?” Childe asked with a curious glint in his eyes.

You weren't sure if you could share with him so you looked over at Zhongli and then at Xiao, asking silently for approval. Zhongli didn't seem to be paying attention as he was too busy pouring tea in 4 small cups, but Xiao was intently staring at you and Childe over the small fire pit. As soon as you looked at him in question, he seemed to contemplate the answer in his head before he slowly nodded, eyes completely focused on Childe as you turned to him.

“I’m looking for a yaksha.”

“But you have one here?” He asked, his head turning to you in curiosity.

“There is another yaksha, a female. She’s…” you weren't sure how to continue without giving away what you weren't supposed to. “She’s a friend of mine that I lost a long time ago. Her tracks led me here in Liyue so that’s why I came and asked help from Zhongli.”

“And how do you know Zhongli?” He really was relentless, picking apart every sentence. Now you understood why Zhongli and Xiao didn't want you telling him exactly who you were.

You hadn't discussed this beforehand with Xiao and Zhongli so you didn't know exactly how to go about with your story. Were you going to play it off as a mortal or could you somehow weave some truth into your lie? You had to decide for yourself. You breathed out.

“I am not a mortal.” His eyes sparkled at that, a smile graced his features but it seemed dangerous in a way you couldn't describe.

“Oh? Is that so, Ojou-chan?” His voice held an interested lull to it.

“Don't get too excited. I am not an Archon. I am but a simple god with mere electro powers. If it wasn't for Zhongli who protected me during the Archon war I wouldn't have survived.” You weaved your lies easily.

The predatory look in his eyes told you enough as to why Zhongli and Xiao wanted you to hide the truth from him. He was dangerous in a sly way. He reminded you of a wolf that stalked their prey from afar, played with it to test its powers just to beat them down in an instant.

“So are you willing to help me find the yaksha?” You looked into his eyes with determined eyes.

“Very well, then. This should be exciting.” He said and drank the tea Zhongli offered him.

[boxoftheskyking]

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Four

Ugh this took forevvvvver

I know that the MDZS map is like based on actual China, so my apologies to whatever Yiling is based on. I need a shithole for this story, and Yiling’s it.

In which Lan Zhan follows A Story

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

----

Early November 2000

Lan Zhan is headed back to Moling. It’s not a trip that he particularly enjoys, anymore. He takes the train these days, since he got rid of his car.

He used to drive the 45 minutes there twice a week when he and Liu Shirong were first dating, before they moved in together in Caiyi. There used to be a sense of anticipation, enjoyment, each landmark and familiar turning a step closer to someone he wanted to see. An arm across his back, a kiss to his jaw, Shirong reaching up on tiptoe to greet him. He’d pick up Shirong at school and they’d wave out the window at the little kids in the schoolyard. Bye, Teacher Liu! Moling was an escape, an innocent place, somewhere far away from the darkness and dirt he spent his days sifting through.

Dear Shirong. He’s a good man. Short, kind, a silly gasping laugh. Desperate for children. He has two now, and a husband. Lan Zhan has lunch with him occasionally.

Now that he thinks about it, their last lunch was over a year ago. He supposes that doesn’t count as “occasionally” anymore. He could reach out first, if he wanted to. But he’s never been the type to reach out. Shirong has a life, a family, all the things he always wanted. All the things Lan Zhan couldn’t give him.

“I cannot imagine myself with a child,” he’d said when they broke up. He hadn’t intended for it to actually be a breakup—he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. But Shirong had visited an actual agency the day before and handed him a brochure, and Lan Zhan had left the apartment and driven into the mountains in a blind panic. He’d ended up stopped outside someone’s cabin, all the way up their driveway, and parked outside this stranger’s house until he’d gotten his breathing under control. That’s one of the reasons he’d sold the car. He’d never done that before, taken off like that, trespassed on private property, so getting rid of the car was the safest option. 

Precept 45 of the Lan Clan: Do not act impulsively.

Precept 213: Be strict with yourself.

Precept 341: When faced with temptation away from the righteous path, remove the source of temptation.

His brother finds his interest in the old clan rules an amusing idiosyncrasy. Even his uncle, strict as he is, finds the rules nothing more than an heirloom, evidence of some kind of hereditary virtue but nothing relevant to the modern day.

It’s not that he follows them. He just likes to know them, to turn them over in his mind. As options. When faced with a decision, there’s a comfort in turning to generations of dead Lans for guidance. Some people like astrology.

There are a lot of Lans, these days, enough that he’s never met a good number of cousins. There’s plenty of Lans he’s barely related to at all, at this point, but the name still has a good reputation. It’s the opposite of what the Wens have to deal with, those who weren’t involved in the insurrection. Everyone knows the old clans are ancient history and you can’t judge someone on their family name. But still, no one named Wen is going to find work in Lanling anytime soon. 

The point is, the Lans have survived and multiplied, so whatever kept them going in the old days can’t be completely useless.

His original interest in the rules was mostly as a journalist, which he’d hoped his uncle might understand. Every rule implies a story. A reason. Thousands of them mean you can triangulate an entire context. Who were we? How did we get here? What did we lose, and how?

Precept 9: Do not speak dishonestly.

Precept 77: Do not make promises that you cannot honor.

“I cannot imagine myself with a child,” he’d said.

Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, we’ll figure it out together. “I’m not sure I want to imagine myself with a child.” It will be different when it’s ours. You’ll see. “The more you talk about it, the less sure I am.” That’s okay, Lan Zhan, I can be sure enough for the both of us.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want this with you.”

Precept 424: Do not be needlessly cruel.

Lan Zhan had killed men during the war. Cultivation was useful for long-range attacks, but he still found himself in the situation of killing up close, of watching the light leave an enemy’s eyes.

He saw the light leave Liu Shirong’s eyes. For a moment his instincts had jolted, shocking through his nervous system. You’ve killed him. You activated your core, by accident, and you’ve killed him.

But it wasn’t the end of Liu Shirong’s life, of course, just the end of his love for Lan Zhan, the end of their life together, the end of whatever future he’d imagined for them. Lan Zhan had meant to release him gently, like a small rabbit with a newly-healed leg, back out into the world he came from. But he’d crushed him instead, under his clumsy feet.

Do not be needlessly cruel.

There are pools of guilt around Moling. Every place that he recognizes, everywhere they went together, even if the memories themselves are good. The guilt gathers on his clothes, soaks through to the skin, makes him cold.

It’s not that he misses Shirong. Perhaps he should miss him more than he does. It’s been nearly three years since they split up. It should perhaps hurt more than it does. It’s embarrassing that it took longer for him to get over Wei Ying—a relationship that never happened. 

The worst part of the breakup didn’t even have to do with Shirong himself. He hadn’t made a special call after Shirong left, or even after he officially moved out a week later, but he had mentioned it when Lan Huan called him as usual on the second Tuesday of the month.

“Oh, I’m sorry, didi,” Lan Huan had said. “I know you did love him, in your own way.”

In your own way.

Is he not— Did he not—

Had he never—

He is nearly to Moling. The train track curves here, about fifteen minutes out, and the rails were laid in crooked. It’s a jolt, every time. It’s easy to see who the regular commuters are, whose coffee sloshes over, who widens their stance in time, who looks suddenly out the window, worried. Sabotage on the tracks, maybe, or someone under the cars. The younger people don’t look worried, only bored. 

The landscape is odd, he realizes suddenly. He’s been staring vaguely out the window, letting his mind wander, but where he’s used to a few farms, a man-made lake, and mostly open country there is torn up ground, heavy machinery, and miles of chain-link fence. Did he not notice this on his last trip? Had he been reading?

Out the window he sees a large sign on the fence announcing, “Future home of Jin Industries Moling Satellite Campus.” Typical.

In your own way.

He never asked what Lan Huan meant by that. Lan Zhan has won multiple awards for his reporting, for his ability to encourage others to talk. The right facial expression at the right time. A direct, polite question with just the right emphasis. Merciless is what they say about him, sometimes. He’s like a swordsman in an old movie, Nie Mingue used to say, in a way that sounded like a compliment. He moves so quick and so sharp, you don’t even know he’s cut you until you’re around the corner and your head falls off.

He’s poking at it like a sore tooth, needlessly. His golden core makes itself known, just a little sense, a small awakening. It’s always ready to defend him, even so many years later. He does nothing with the awareness, of course. No cultivation is authorized outside of combat. But his core was never removed, never shut down. Can’t put the hot sauce back in that bottle, Jiang Cheng had said once.

The train slows, stops. 

“Moling station. Depart here—” The pleasant voice is cut off by a beeping. Lan Zhan stands and shoulders his bag.

“Attention passengers,” a crackled voice comes over the loudspeaker, far less pleasant than the recording. “Due to a security concern all passengers must depart the train at car fourteen. Doors will not open except for car fourteen. Departing passengers, please make your way to car fourteen.”

Lan Zhan looks around the car, then sees a “3” on the far wall. He sighs and follows the few people who are struggling with the connecting door to car four. The chimes that gently demand Get off the damn train are going. He has to speedwalk down the aisle, which is undignified, and everyone looks up at him with that poor bastard expression reserved for torn grocery bags and flat tires. 

He makes it off the train a second before the door closes and it pulls away.

“Close one!” an old man grins at him, more humor than teeth.

The police have roped off most of the platform, everyone standing around looking at each other. A few are smoking. Lan Zhan goes over to the rope, coming up next to a kid with one of those handheld electronic games. The kid’s staring around at the cops while his game beeps vaguely in a lonely sort of way.

“What’s happened?” Lan Zhan asks him.

The kid answers without looking at him. “Abandoned bag. Nothing’s happening.” He sounds disappointed.

“Hm.” Sure enough, there’s a nondescript green backpack slumped on a bench.

“They always say it might blow up, but it never does.”

“Not so much these days,” Lan Zhan agrees.

“Like, if it was gonna blow up they wouldn’t be smoking near it, right?”

Lan Zhan smiles despite himself. “Good eye,” he says. His golden core is settled within him, curling beneath his breastbone like a sleeping cat, uninterested and unconcerned. No danger.

There had been a certain amount of withdrawal, after the war. And grief, and nightmares, and a limp for a while. But the end of regular cultivation, of relying on his golden core as a seventh sense, a second consciousness, a second self, the end of healing himself from the inside, of Wangji at his back and power at his fingertips . . .

It’s not entirely the government’s fault, if he’s being fair. Governments have always thrown away veterans, no matter who is in power. Always have, always will. Use you up and spit you out with maybe some benefits and the number of some overtaxed and underpaid case worker. And cultivation, being both new and more ancient than anything, was an unknown since the beginning. There are no peer-reviewed studies on the long-term effects of using a golden core. If Jin Guangyao hadn’t been doing his own research with the Wens for all those years, only to defect back to his father’s side when the tide began to turn, there wouldn’t have been a cultivator corps at all. So Lan Zhan can’t put the responsibility on any one person’s shoulders.

But it still claws at him, sometimes. His core wants out, wants to stretch, to strike, to light something up. It’s like wrapping his head in blankets, sometimes, stifling and muffled and hard to breathe.

Jin Zixuan likes to talk about it, how it feels. Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng do not.

He checks his watch and picks up his pace, passing by another building down the block under renovation with a Jin Industries sign. The logo is close enough to the Sunshot flag that the government connection is implied, but different enough for plausible deniability. 

Lan Qiaolian is leaning on her car a few blocks away, exactly where she said she’d be. Lan Zhan appreciates it—they’ve met only once, and he doesn’t trust his ability to pick her out in a crowd. She’s a short woman, but solidly built. Doesn’t look like a Lan, is what his uncle would say.

“Lan Zhan!” she waves to him and drops her cigarette on the pavement. “Thanks for coming.”

He nods and takes his place in the passenger seat. The drive to the Moling Children’s Center is quiet for a while. The Center is near Yilong’s old gym; he remembers the road.

“You had a meeting with the detective?” he asks, though he knows the answer.

“Yeah. Still stonewalling me. Everything’s fucking confidential. They say they’ve canvassed the neighborhood, everywhere between the school and the bus stop and home. But it’s like everyone saw him walking home with his cousin, his cousin turns around for a minute to chase a damn neighborhood cat up a tree, and Sizhui is just . . . gone. How does a kid just disappear like that?”

“But this lead?”

“The administrator I talked to at the Center said they might have something, some record of where he was born. Maybe someone from his birth family has been looking for him, would take him? There’s just— Even if the records do exist, if they weren’t destroyed, I don’t know who has access. And he’s just a kid, you know? I’m not special. We’re not special. So I can’t think of anything but the worst. You know what happens to kids, especially if they take them West, I know they sell—”

“You don’t know,” Lan Zhan cuts her off, gently. “No one knows. No reason to go down that road unless the evidence points there.”

Lan Qiaolian rubs her face. “I just don’t know what the evidence is.”

“We’ll find something. I have a hunch.”

He does not have a hunch. He doesn’t believe in hunches. Or, rather, he didn’t before he started cultivating. Now he believes in the extra-sensory perception of his golden core, which he has been ordered—and signed pages of documents agreeing—to never use it again.

Either way, he’s learned that the general public like hunches. It’s comforting, apparently, someone taking the lead off of no information. It doesn’t make much sense, but most reassuring things don’t.

“I can’t help thinking—” Lan Qiaolian trails off, tapping her thumb on the steering wheel. “Maybe he left because of me.”

This is not a comfortable situation. Lan Zhan should respond with Of course not, don’t think like that. But for all he knows it could be true. He doesn’t really know Lan Qiaolian, and he certainly doesn’t know Lan Sizhui.

All he knows are the facts. Lan Qiaolian began fostering Lan Sizhui a year ago, when he was eight. It was just the two of them until a few weeks ago when Lan Sizhui went missing. It’s not his job to find missing children, but they are technically family, and if there’s some kidnapping or a dangerous part of Moling where children are falling into holes in the ground, that’s a story.

“Why would you think that?” It’s not as gentle, maybe, but it’s useful.

“I got laid off a few years ago. A lot of us did, mass layoffs.”

“Construction?”

“Yeah. Everyone from site managers to the detailers to— well, everyone. One whole firm shut down. So I thought, you know, I’d be home for a while, I got some unemployment, so maybe it would be a good time to finally start fostering. You know? I could stay home until he got adjusted, then when he started school I’d have found something new.”

“And he was happy?”

Lan Qiaolian smiles. “He’s always happy. He’s a real happy kid. Whatever he went through when he was little, he doesn’t seem to remember. Makes friends easily, fine by himself. He’s a dream. But maybe he was just good at showing me what I wanted to see. You know? Coming from a traumatic background like that, being in the system. You know, kids learn how to survive.”

“If he seemed happy, I’m sure he was.”

She sighs. “I just— The work never came back. The last six, seven months I’ve been calling everywhere I can think of. Even considered moving. Nothing. And so it’s been tight, even though it’s just the two of us. I figured with my husband’s life insurance we’d be fine until I found something, but I didn’t anticipate it taking this long. I’ve got some unemployment, but the support payments from fostering messed with my benefits. And so it’s been tight. And maybe he— You know, the secondhand clothes, no takeout, no games. Not getting to go on the school trips because I can’t pay the— I can’t help thinking, maybe all that time in the system, he must’ve been dreaming about a home, you know, what it would be like. And then when it wasn’t—”

“That’s a lot of conjecture.”

She laughs. “True. I just— The brain, it spins. You know?”

“Hm.” Lan Zhan looks out the window at the familiar neighborhood, then startles a bit. “Did they tear down the market?”

Qiaolian glances over. “Oh, yeah. Couple months ago. No more independent groceries in this part of town anymore. Not that most people could afford it at the end. They tried to stick it out, but the big chains moved in after the war, got those tax breaks.”

“Ah. ‘Economic revitalization.’”

She laughs again. 

“So, if I can ask,” he starts, glancing out of the corner of his eye to gauge her response. “On the train I noticed building sites. Jin Industries?”

Her jaw clenches. “They’re not hiring.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“We’ve all tried. They’ve bought up half of Moling, and whoever’s running the construction’s not hiring local. Union’s totally shut out.”

“Really?”

“I’ve tried, okay? I’ve called so many—” she cuts off with a frustrated noise.

“Forgive me. It wasn’t a criticism. I’m just curious.”

She nods curtly. “We’re here.”

The administrator who has agreed to meet with them has black toner smudged up the inside of her left forearm and a framed picture of a cat on her desk. She offers Lan Zhan room temperature water in a cracked coffee mug.

“So you’re my eleven o’clock, right? Okay, right.”

“That’s an old flag,” Lan Zhan says, nodding up at the wall behind her. “I haven’t seen that design for a while.”

For the most part, it’s a standard Sunshot, but in addition to the golden hand and red sun, thin black lines reach up the palm like branches.

The administrator looks surprised, turning around to it. “Oh. Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, I don’t have time to keep up with all that. We have to pay for our own, you know. We’re required to hang a flag in every room but the bathroom, but it comes out of our general operating budget. The official ones aren’t cheap.”

Lan Qiaolian chuckles. “My cousin got it tattooed right after he got discharged. He was pissed when they got rid of the black squiggles in the update. I told him, that’s why you gotta think for more than a week before you make a permanent decision, you know?”

The administrator smiles politely. “Anyway. Let me see here.” She starts digging through her pile of folders. “Lai, Lai—”

“Lan,” Lan Zhan corrects.

“Sorry?”

“The name, it’s Lan.”

“Right! Right, okay, Lan. Lan . . . Here we go. Lan . . . Qiaolian. Foster mother. Yes?”

Qiaolian nods.

“And you are?”

“Family,” Lan Zhan says.

“Right. Okay, let’s see. Lan Sizhui, age nine.”

Lan Zhan leans forward. “Anything you can tell us about where he came from, his life before Lan Qiaolian met him?”

She clicks her tongue and runs a finger down the page. “War orphan, typical story. Moved around, a bit once he got to Gusu. No injuries or disabilities. Hearing and sight all good, average height. Slightly underweight, but that’s not unusual.”

“When did he arrive here?” 

“At our facility? Looks like ‘98.”

“So he wasn’t here long before you got him,” Lan Zhan looks to Lan Qiaolian.

“Yeah, I guess. We don’t really talk about his past. That’s what the counselors recommend. You’re supposed to wait until they volunteer, you know? You don’t ask first.”

“Any idea where he came from? Birth family?”

The administrator clicks her tongue again, flips a few pages. Lan Zhan catches a sight of a grainy printed photograph, a kid looking around six, big chubby cheeks and shaggy long hair.

“Came in through law enforcement. No note of any charges or juvenile detention, so likely if he had surviving family they lost custody due to a criminal conviction. Looks like the child didn’t offer any details to counselors or placement. Um, looks like Sizhui was the name he got here.”

Lan Qiaolian frowns. “You named him? That’s not his birth name?”

“Common practice, especially if we have multiple kids with the same given name. He never gave a family name—Likely he either didn’t know his parents or forgot after being in the system for a while. A-Yuan is what he was called when he got here.”

“Yuan,” Lan Zhan turns it over in his mouth. “Something Yuan. Any record of where he was born?”

“Mmm, can’t be sure. But he entered the system in Yiling.”

“Yiling?”

“Yep. First registered into care in Yiling, 1995.”

Lan Zhan looks back up at the flag. The others must be thinking the same thing. Yiling in 1995, the Sunshot Massacre. But that’s a ridiculous thought—there were no survivors then, and plenty of other battles, bombings, one-off murders in the area at the end of the war.

“No family names though?” Lan Qiaolian asks. “Any record of someone who might be looking for him, might want him back?”

The administrator suddenly yawns hugely, covering her mouth with both hands. “I’m so sorry. No, no siblings, no recorded birth family. I’m so sorry, I haven’t been sleeping.”

“It’s all right,” Qiaolian says.

“I live over on the East side. They’re building some new damn complex, pounding in pilings at all hours of the night.”

“At night?” Qiaolian asks. “Why?”

The woman sighs. “I don’t know. Lights coming in the windows at one in the morning. I had to dig out my old curtains, thank goodness I still have them. Wake up in the middle of the night thinking the bombing’s started up again, ha, the banging and the lights. We’ve been complaining, but the company offered all the neighbors a settlement stop reporting it. Two months’ rent, we couldn’t turn it down.”

“Lots of construction,” Lan Zhan says, carefully. “Unusual construction.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the administrator shrugs. “I just hope they finish up quickly. My cats are getting stressed to death.”

“Have you noticed— Never mind.” Qiaolian chews her lip.

“Noticed what?”

“The site over by me, there’s a lot of trailers.”

“Like trailers you live in?”

“They look similar—usually there’s a double-wide or two for an on-site office, break area, you know. The site by us there’s a dozen at least. I just find that odd.”

“I haven’t noticed. Maybe. I don’t know, I try to ignore it. Whatever office complex or hotel or whatever it is, I don’t need it.”

The administrator flips through the file again. “I’m afraid that’s about all I can give you. Yiling might have more information—I think the children’s home there moved a couple years ago so files might have been lost, but it’s worth an ask. Signature on the transfer form looks like a Xie Ling. It’s not a huge town, anyway, could be someone remembers the kid, or the family. Local police or courts maybe, if they keep decent records.”

Lan Zhan and Lan Qiaolian exchange a glance.

“Sounds like I’m going to Yiling,” Lan Zhan says.

“You don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, then hands his card to the administrator. “If you think of anything, or hear anything.”

She takes it. “Gusu Herald? You’re not going to mention the flag thing, right? We’re compliant with everything, this one’s just a mistake.”

“I doubt you’ll even be mentioned. I’m just following the story.”

She looks doubtful. “Okay. We’re compliant, though.”

“I work for a newspaper, not the government.”

She snorts. “Yeah. Okay. ”

It twists a little in his stomach, but he nods at her politely as they leave.

The hallway takes them past a large window showing some kind of playroom. Three adults huddle around a low table, arguing in hushed tones, while a child who looks around four plays by himself with a few scratched up toy cars. The child has a cast on one arm, rolling one car at a time solemnly around on the carpet. He looks up as they pass him and tracks them all the way down the hallway. Lan Zhan can feel his eyes on the back of his neck even as they go out into the sunshine.

“Did Sizhui talk about anybody here?” Lan Zhan asks as they get back in the car. “Any friends at the group home, or children he knew when he was younger?”

“Not really. I was worried he’d have a hard time making friends, because he always seemed so content playing by himself. It’s why I was so glad he had Jingyi, his cousin. He’s the same age. He’s the one who was with—” Qiaolian breaks off, blinking hard. “Sorry. Long day.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he says. He should say something else like It’s okay. It will be fine. We will find him. But he doesn’t, because that would probably be a lie. His silence rises like water in the car, over his mouth, his nose, stifling.

Do not be needlessly cruel.

“Yiling,” Lan Zhan says, to fill the space. 

“Fucking Yiling,” Qiaolian agrees.

“I’ll go this weekend.”

“What? You can’t just take off across the country.”

“I haven’t taken vacation in three years. I can go.”

“Lan Zhan—”

“I will go. I’m not saying I will find him, but I will go.”

Lan Qiaolian doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride. When she drops him at the station, she just nods, lips pressed tight together.

“I will call you,” he says. She nods again and he gets out.

He stops by the payphone on the way in to the station to call the office.

“Can I talk to Lan Shu? Yes, thank you.” He waits while the call is transferred down to the basement. “Hi, Lan Shu. Have we got anything from Yiling? Anything we’ve covered. Is there a local paper there? I haven’t—”

Lan Shu snaps her gum on the other end of the line. He pulls the receiver away from his ear, wincing. It’s a very wet sound. “Yeah, I got some. I’ll check our clippings, but they’ve got some shitty local rag. A weekly, I think.”

“Please pull that for me. I’m looking for 1995, don’t know what month.”

“Eh, looks like it’s only been running a couple years. First edition I have is April ‘98.”

Lan Zhan taps his finger, thinking. “I’ll take everything you’ve got. Any of our coverage from ‘95.”

“So, Sunshot.”

“And anything else we covered.”

Lan Shu laughs around her gum, “What else is there? No one gave a shit about Yiling before Sunshot, and nobody’s given a shit since.”

Lan Zhan sighs. “Just pull what you can find. Please. I’ll be by in an hour and a half.”

He hangs up before she can snap her gum again. It gives him a headache, the wet sound. 

He grabs a copy of the Herald for the train ride back. Instead of reading, he flips through the entire paper looking for one word: Yiling. He finds three mentions: once as the birthplace of a soccer player (a rags-to-riches story), once as the site of a hailstorm in the weather section, and once, as expected, in reference to the Sunshot Massacre. 

He hasn’t thought about it much before. He’s never been to Yiling, but there’s never really been a reason. Even before the war it was a small, poor, middle of nowhere town with low property values, high crime rates, and the worst literacy numbers in the country. It was shitty, but not in an interesting way. Qinghe was always shitty but exciting—drug kingpins and porn producers and a famous red light district. It’s become more respectable since the war, though it’s kept some of it’s sleazy veneer. Lan Huan likes to visit, says there’s a good arts scene, but Lan Zhan has never been tempted. He traveled a lot during the war, but since returning home he’s never really felt the urge. For a while it was justified. Recovery. But five years? Maybe he’s more than comfortable, now. Maybe he’s stagnating.

Lan Shu gives him two-and-a-half years of weekly papers in a brown paper bag and slim folder of photocopied clipping from the Herald’s own files. He hauls it all home on the bus piles them neatly by year on the coffee table, then settles in with a cup of tea to read. There are empty gum wrappers in the bottom of the bag.

The Yiling Observer is a quick read, only eight pages in its first edition. There are no bylines, oddly, no editors listed, no photographs, just one phone number and a street address in the masthead. The stories are . . . not quite what he expected. No gruesome crimes or depressing statistics. Just coverage of a local amateur basketball tournament, a car accident that took out a storefront, an interview with a grandmother about her vegetable garden. Small stories, almost defiantly local, but clearly and concisely written. Professional. A recipe for xiao long bao attributed to a Mrs. Yi.

He flips to the back page, under the fold. Whatever it says in bold. 

This is your humble author’s own column, where our fearless and frightening editor has given me these few inches to write whatever I like. Hence the name, Whatever. Today we’re going to talk about the Sunshot Flag, or as I like to call it, “Hey, let’s slap reminders of a war crime up on every building in the country, that’s a great idea.” 

Lan Zhan snorts. Whoever the writer is, they’re not wrong. He gets up to heat more water and adds to his list of things to do on the kitchen counter. Read all of the newspapers. Call the HR department and schedule a few days of vacation, maybe a week. Wait until his uncle sees it on the out of office calendar and calls him in a huff to explain the story. Book a train ticket to Yiling. Make an appointment at children’s services. Find a hotel. Ask Lan Huan to water his plants. Do laundry. 

He feels better with a list, like all of the static of potential responsibilities has focused into a clearly intelligible sound inside his skull. 

He goes back to the paper.

And before you complain—and I know some of you will—you’re the one reading my paper. Maybe someday you’ll have better options and can use this only for lining your bird cages, but for now I’m the best you got. That’s Yiling, baby.

Part Five

[melodious-madrigals]

we should just kiss (like real people do)

hi @misha-winchester, i am your wondertrev secret santa! i hope you had a lovely christmas season/whatever holidays you may celebrate, and i hope you have a very happy new year.

Pairing: Diana Prince/Steve Trevor Words: 8′609 Rating: T (swearing) AO3 tags: Modern Setting/No Powers, co-workers, Fake Dating, ‘and there was only one bed’, Hallmark-movie-esque midsunderstandings, Happy Ending Summary: Etta just invited Steve’s significant other along on their group holiday vacation. The only problem? He made said significant other up to get out of a series of set-ups six months ago, and forgot to set the record straight. Enter Diana, his newest co-worker and real-life crush, who doesn’t have any holiday plans and is somehow offering to help him out.

i have been derelict for too long, but no more! i’m so sorry that it took me so long, and i hope you enjoy this trope-packed fic, because i couldn’t decide on just one, and then it sort of ballooned!

Read it on [AO3] or below the cut.

***

“Shit.” Steve’s head thunks against his desk.

“Problem?”

He looks up to find Diana Prince, the newest legal consultant at their NGO standing in his office door. She’s intimidating and smart and beautiful and possibly also the kindest person he’s ever met, and even though they’re friendly, she’s the last person to whom he wants to admit what’s wrong. But she’s also looking at him with such genuine concern that he spills his guts anyways.

“The last time my friend Etta tried to set me up with someone, I told her I was already dating someone, and now she wants me to bring them on our annual holiday trip to one of our friend’s cabin.” Steve kneads the space between his eyebrows, trying to get rid of the tension headache that’s starting to form.

Diana tilts her head, confused. “That’s kind of her.”

“I’m not actually dating anyone,” Steve clarifies. “I just said it to get her off my back. And now I have to either say I lied—which will not go over well for obvious reasons—or say that I broke up with the person and get all sorts of ‘holiday pity’.”

Diana leans elegantly against his doorframe. “People go their separate ways all the time, no? Besides, maybe it’s a bit soon for a weekend away with friends.”

Steve winces. “It’s possible that I told her this almost six months ago and never corrected the record.”

“Ah,” says Diana, taking the liberty of moving into his office and sitting down across from him. “So it’s rather a large deception then.”

“I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand? It was just so nice to not have my friends nagging me about my dating life. They’re well intentioned but a little too insistent sometimes.”

“Okay, so telling them is out of the question,” Diana says, very seriously. And—uh-oh, she’s going into problem-solving mode. He’s absolutely mortified that his very capable and very attractive co-worker is taking time to talk with him about this when she’s a literal international human rights lawyer and university lecturer with plenty of other things to be doing. “Hmm. Isn’t that what Craigslist is for?”

“Ha,” says Steve. “I’m never going to be able to get someone to come with me over Christmas on such short notice.”

“Not everyone has plans on Christmas,” Diana argues.

“Yeah, I get that; I’m not even Christian,” says Steve. “But a lot of people still go home because it’s a long holiday.”

“I’m not Christian either and I don’t have any family here in the States. We exist,” Diana jokes.

“Want to be my fake date, then?” The words leave Steve’s mouth before his brain can catch up and tell him what a massively stupid idea that would be, to fake date his real crush, for lack of a better word.

“Yes, alright: if you can’t find someone on Craigslist, I’ll do it,” says Diana, and then before Steve can process: “Anyways, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time. I just dropped by to give you a hard copy of my revisions. She hands him the legal brief, shoots him a quick smile, and saunters out of his office, apparently unaware of the dazed state she’s left him in.

I’ll do it? Is she serious? For a second, Steve’s mind runs away from him before he shuts it down. She was just being polite; he’s certain of it. There’s no way she wants to give up her days off to go to a cabin in the middle of nowhere with people she doesn’t even know.

Steve reluctantly writes up a quick wanted ad on Craigslist and hits post before he can overthink it. He can definitely do a fake date for the holidays, right? That’s something normal people do.

**

Three days later, he’s gotten a dozen responses to the Craigslist ad, but most of them are variants of either “is this some weird sex thing?” or “can you please post this story on reddit’s r/relationships with an update on how it went because i’m 2000 miles away but very invested in this”. None of them are a real live person that he can take on the trip to meet his friends.

His brain has also been playing Diana’s I’ll do it on repeat pretty much constantly, so on Tuesday evening, after most people have already gone home for the night, he steals himself and wanders down to Diana’s office. If she’s in, he’ll ask. If she’s gone, it’s a sign, and he won’t bring it up.

She’s still there, illuminated only by the glow of her computer and a small desk lamp—the overhead light is turned off and her coat is on, like maybe she was in the process of leaving and then went back to her desk to dash off one email that turned into several.

He taps on the doorframe.

“Steve!” she says, smiling when she sees him. “What a pleasant surprise! Have a seat, I’m just finishing something up. It’ll only be a moment.”  

He smiles nervously and takes one of the chairs opposite her desk, patiently silent as she taps away at her computer.

Three minutes later, she folds her laptop closed and turns the weight of her attention to him.

“Thank you for being patient. What can I do for you?”

“I just—were you serious?”

“Hmm?”

“The other day—were you serious about being my fake date if I couldn’t find someone on Craigslist?”

“I—yes, I was.”

“Wait, really?”  

She shrugs elegantly. “I have no holiday plans.”

“You’re sure.”

She tosses him an amused expression. “I am. It’ll be nice to meet some new people.”

“Right. Well. Can I, uh, buy you dinner or something while we go over the details?”

Diana considers him for a moment. “How does Thai takeout at my place sound?”

“Like a fantastic idea.”

**

On Friday, Steve is extremely antsy. He’s taken a half day, and he and Diana are driving up to Charlie’s cabin after her lecture lets out.

She’s in a good mood when he picks her up, and the ensuing discussion crosses a half a dozen different topics. He doesn’t think they’ve ever had a boring conversation, and they’re more than halfway there before Steve remembers that he wanted to run through the basics of their fake-dating mandate again.

“I’ve never really been much for PDA,” he says, “so they won’t be surprised if we’re not particularly demonstrative. A little hand-holding and casual touching here and there and we’ll be fine.”

“Yes,” replies Diana, amused rather than annoyed. “You mentioned this the other day.”

“Did I? I guess I’m just nervous.” He’s already feeling a little guilty about lying to his friends (again), and he’s suddenly wondering if he’s capable of pulling it off.

“They asked me to invite you—er, my significant other—to a dinner in October. I don’t think it’ll come up, but—”

“I spent a week of October in Europe, and have plenty of university functions to attend,” Diana reassures him. “Saying I was busy that night probably isn’t even a lie, and besides, that was months ago. Take a breath; this will be okay.”

“I’m just rethinking this,” huffs Steve.

“You’re welcome to tell them I’m just a friend that needed a place to stay for the holidays,” Diana offers calmly.

“No. No, I’m committed to the lie now.”

“Okay. Then let’s do this. I’m here for you, you know.”

“Yeah,” says Steve, glancing over at her in the passenger seat before turning his attention back to the road. “Thanks.”

**

They’re the last ones to arrive to the cabin, because everyone else was able to take the full day off, so they walk into a full house.

“Oh, it’s so lovely to finally meet you!” exclaims Etta, pulling Diana into a hug before they’ve barely gotten in the door.

“You must be Etta,” Diana says, once she’s been let go. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hey, Etta,” Steve says, pulling her in for his own hug.

“Everyone else is in the living room.”

They make their way down the hall, towards the sound of all the voices.

“Steve!” yells Sameer from across the room when they round the corner. A cheer goes up—it’s possible that some of them have already had a glass or two of wine—and Steve pulls Diana forward to introduce her.

“Everyone, this is Diana. Diana, this is Napi, Charlie, Etta’s wife Adrienne, Sameer, and Sameer’s fiancée Noor.”

“It’s so lovely to meet all of you,” says Diana, moving forward to shake hands and give hugs, along with Steve.

“You’ll want to drop off your luggage in your room, I’m sure,” Etta declares forcefully, shooing them back out of the room once they’re done with the greetings.

“Alright, alright, we’re going,” acquiesces Steve.

“Well, dinner will be done shortly, and I’m sure you’re hungry. Best get settled in before you go into a food coma.”

“Stop making sense,” he snarks, but they all know he’s joking.

“Second door on the left!” calls Etta after him, as they traipse up the stairs. There’s a niggling in his brain about this room, because he’s been in it once and it’s—

“Shit,” says Steve under his breath upon entering the room, because it’s one of the rooms with a single queen bed instead of two twins.

“Is there something wrong with the room?” asks Diana, a step behind him. “I’m sure we can fix it, whatever it is.”

“No, it’s just—I didn’t even think about this,” says Steve, gesturing at the bed. “Usually when I come, I’m in a different room with Charlie or Napi.”

Diana surveys the space in front of them. “You mean the bed?” Her nose wrinkles. “Are you really that uncomfortable sharing?”

“I—no, of course I’m not. I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Well then, that’s settled. I am not uncomfortable. Which side do you prefer?”

Of course it’s not a big deal. Right. He’s making too much out of this because he might—possibly—have feelings. But for Diana, it’s just two adults sharing a bed, which is perfectly natural. But now she’s looking at him expectantly, which makes him realize—“Uh, left, I guess.”

The way she smiles, he gets the distinct impression that his answer has pleased her, that he’s chosen correctly, if such a thing is possible. (He thinks, stupidly, that he would do quite a lot to chase that smile.)

Meanwhile, Diana drops her duffel on the right side of the bed.

“Do you mind if I change quickly before dinner?”

“Yeah, no, of course. I’ll just be downstairs.”

Steve heads back downstairs and pauses in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face.

He can definitely share a bed with Diana. They’re adults. It’s not strange, and it’s not romantic. It’s just two people sharing a sleeping space because there are not enough beds.

He reenters the living room to find Charlie and Sameer in the middle of an argument about who’s the better cross-country skier while Noor, Adrienne, and Etta chat over a cup of tea and Napi watches over several pots in the kitchen.

“The answer, of course, is neither of you. Noor is the best skier here.”

Charlie squawks indignantly, and Sameer laughs. “That she is.”

“Can someone set the table?” asks Napi. “Dinner is about to be ready.”

Steve, as the closest one to the kitchen, pulls out the plates and silverware and starts setting up the table, while the others slowly drift towards the dining area.

And then there’s a gentle pressure on his elbow. “Can I help with anything?” asks Diana, softly, and when he turns, he feels the air knocked out of him.

Diana is all comfort, in simple black leggings and a chunky winter sweater instead of her usual pristine business wear, but she’s all the more beautiful for the casualness. Her face, too, is wiped clean of standard makeup and her hair is down, and he realizes that she has freckles. They’re faint, just the slightest smattering over her nose and cheeks, but Steve is close enough to see them, and for a second he wants to touch them, trace them into constellations.

Then he realizes he’s staring and jumps a little, moving to rearrange the plate in front of him.  

“You could, uh, fold the napkins, I guess? There isn’t really a whole lot to do.”

They work in tandem as the rest of the crew files in, loud and boisterous as they dish out their meals.

“So, Diana,” says Etta, once everyone is settled in their seats, “tell us all about yourself! Steve’s been so tight-lipped about you that I was starting to think you didn’t exist.”

Steve almost chokes on his wine, but Diana doesn’t so much as flinch, simply smiling at Etta and saying, “Well, I’m not sure what you’d like to know, but I’m originally from one of the Grecian islands and I completed my studies in the UK. Right now, I’m splitting my time between the US and the Netherlands.”

“Oh, what part of the Netherlands?” asks Noor. “Sameer and I both lived there, at different points!”

“Just the Hague, I’m afraid,” says Diana ruefully, because it’s not known for its charms.

“Diana’s on a prosecutorial team at the International Criminal Court,” Steve clarifies, which prompts a number of impressed looks all around the table.

“We’re in between cases right now,” Diana says, “and we’re only just starting to file some pre-trial motions for the next thing on our docket, so I took a position as a guest lecturer here in the States. A friend of mine convinced me to take the consulting position at the ARGUS Foundation since it’s not full-time.” When Diana pauses, she notices a number of raised eyebrows around the table. “I think the expression in English is ‘I wear a lot of hats’,” she jokes.

“She’s a wonder,” interjects Steve easily, and he doesn’t even have to work at the soft look that he gives her. (He’ll interrogate the fact that it’s just how he looks at her later, when he’s alone and can have a nice little panic about it.)

“I just like to have purpose,” says Diana, and then Noor asks her about her last case, and the conversation takes on a life of its own.

Diana, as he suspected, gets on well with his friends, fitting in as though she’s known them years instead of hours, and they migrate into the living room after dinner, talking and laughing into the late hours of the evening.

“They are all lovely,” Diana tells him the moment the door to their room has closed behind them.

“They’re okay,” says Steve, but his face is pulled up in a smile, and Diana just laughs. He’s spent all evening getting to look at her whenever he wants, and even though they’re alone, even though there’s no need for his eyes to keep finding her, he doesn’t want to pull them away.

“They’re all so interesting!” Diana exclaims. “Sameer and I talked about linguistics for a full half an hour, and Etta and Adrienne’s stories are incredible!”

That makes him laugh. “Yeah, Etta’s something else.”

They talk a little more as they get ready for bed, and finally there’s nothing more to do but turn out the light and get under the covers. Steve’s tired enough that he thinks he has a decent shot at falling asleep, but he feels a little awkward as they both shift carefully on their respective sides.

“Hey,” he whispers into the deepness of the silky black night. “Thank you again for being here.”

“It is my pleasure.”

He listens to Diana’s breathing quickly even out, and though it takes him a little longer, he too falls asleep without too much trouble, despite her nearness.

**

To his great relief, or maybe to his great disappointment, they wake up in almost the exact same positions that they fell asleep in, on completely opposite sides of the bed.

“Good morning,” says Diana softly, hair slightly mussed and eyes still a little heavy with sleep, and frankly Steve’s not sure how he’s going to make it through the rest of the trip, because he likes her so much and also doesn’t want to impose his feelings.

“Good morning. I hope you’re ready for another insane day.”

“Once I’ve had some coffee, absolutely.”

“Well then,” says Steve, “let’s get you some coffee.”

Coffee is followed by breakfast, which is chaotic because everyone is up at slightly different times and traditionally, they fend for themselves for breakfast which means in practice that half a dozen people end up doing things in the kitchen at the same time.

The rest of the day is no calmer, as they all pack themselves up and spill outside for a snowy hike that lasts most of the afternoon. Diana, Etta, and Napi establish themselves as the fastest hikers early on, and they sort of naturally split into two groups. The whole group meets back up at one of the lookout points, where the faster group has lingered to let the rest catch up.

Steve uses the viewpoint to check in with Diana. “You doing okay?”

When she turns to him, her cheeks are rosy with exertion, her breath is coming out in silvery puffs in the cold air, and her eyes are dancing. “Excellent, you?”

“Really good.” They take in the snowy view in front of them. “Hey, I didn’t mean to leave you on your own,” Steve says, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

Diana snorts. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I was the one that walked ahead of you. If I’d been bothered, I wouldn’t have split off with Napi and Etta.”

“Right, of course.” He feels a bit stupid; she’s never struck him as the type to do something she really didn’t want to.

“We should probably walk back together though. For appearances.” She winks at him, and before he can respond, Noor is at his elbow.

“Can I take a picture for you two?”

“That would be great,” says Diana, handing Noor her phone as she slips her arm around his waist.

Pictures are snapped, and then they’re headed back down the trail. Steve ends up so engrossed in his conversation with Diana that the rest of the group fades away, and on the last straightway after they’ve descended, Diana reaches out and casually links their hands. Even through their gloves, it’s a giddy feeling.

**

That night after dinner, Steve steps outside for a moment of respite from the noisiness of the cabin. He breathes deeply, and stares at the patch of sky not covered in clouds, picking out a familiar constellation.

“Diana’s wonderful.”

Steve looks up from where he was leaning against the balcony railing to find that Etta has joined him outside.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” Steve agrees.

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable introducing us earlier,” says Etta so sincerely that Steve feels a squirming guilt welling up. “But if this was the pace you needed to go to be sure of your relationship, to make it solid and lasting, I’m glad you took the space to do so.”

“Right,” Steve echoes.

“Seriously, Steve,” says Etta, touching his arm, so that he’s almost forced to look at her. “You and Diana are so well-suited, and she’s good for you—I’ve never seen you like this.”

“What’s this?”

Etta contemplates him a moment. “You’re happy,” she says simply, and Steve rolls his eyes, because if Etta thinks just being in a relationship equates to—“but it’s not just that. You’re…still. Calm. You’ve usually got this frenetic, discontented energy, and with Diana it’s quieted.”  

It makes Steve pause, but before he can say anything—refute her or maybe, heaven forbid, agree with her—Diana herself is bursting onto the balcony.

“There you are!” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around him from the back, and fuck, maybe it is his instinct to relax in the split second before he remembers that this is all an act. “Charlie says we’re roasting marshmallows over the fire, and I’m told that you have the technique perfected,” she says, with all the exuberant glee of a child.

Steve pointedly ignores the knowing, indulgent look on Etta’s face as he turns in Diana’s arms to face her, a small but unquashable smile on his face. “That’s a classic holiday tradition for us—I was wondering when Charlie was going to break them out. Have you ever had a s’more?”

“No, but I’m looking forward to it!”

“Well, then we can’t let Sameer or Etta roast yours; they always burn them.”

“It’s meant to be eaten with a little char,” says Etta.

“Absolutely not!” Steve doesn’t have time to say any more, because Diana has laced her hand in his and his gently tugging him toward the interior.

“Right. This is an American classic and you’re gonna love it.”

After making her the perfect marshmallow—gold and toasty, and soft all the way through without being burned—the rest of the night is spent roasting increasingly silly things over the coals and drinking copious amounts of hot chocolate and eggnog that are optionally spiked, utterly warm and cozy.

“Tell me something about yourself,” requests Diana, when they’re tucked into bed later, still on their own sides but far closer together than they were the night before.

“Like what?”

“Something—well, not something secret, if you don’t want to. But something that most people probably don’t know.”

Steve considers her for a moment, shifting so that he’s facing her, the moon providing just enough light that he can see the contours of her face. “I wanted to be a pilot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I wanted to be a fighter pilot.”

Diana grins. “I can see that. What stopped you?”

“I decided I wouldn’t really be helping people, and helping people is what I wanted to do. What about you?”  

“What did I want to be?”

“No, just—anything.”

“Hmm,” says Diana. “My favorite childhood memories are those of my aunt, Antiope.”

“Was she the cool aunt who spoiled you rotten?”

“She was the aunt that got me up at six in the morning every day to train.”

“Wow, that’s neat, I guess,” Steve deadpans, and Diana laughs in the darkness, rolling onto her side so that she’s facing him, so that they’re almost nose to nose.

“She was also more indulgent than my mother, yes.”

“I think we have very different definitions of indulgent,” says Steve.

“Perhaps,” says Diana, and despite how late it is, they spend another hour or two trading secrets in the darkness before falling asleep. Steve learns, among other things, that she loves cherries more than any other fruit, that she’d rather take the metro than a cab any day of the week, that she played the harp for a while and misses playing music but not playing the instrument itself. When they finally drift off to sleep, it’s still facing each other, fingers inches apart.

**

Steve wakes up feeling incredibly comfortable and very cozy. It’s only when he stretches a little that he realizes that the warm weight against his chest is not his blanket, but Diana. During the night, they must have migrated into each other, because now that his brain is coming back online, Steve realizes that not only is Diana tucked into his chest, but their legs are twined together. His shifting causes her to stir a little, but only to nuzzle against him a little before settling.

This is fine; he’s not freaking out. Not about how they’re accidentally pressed together, or about how much he likes her, or about what any of this means. Not about lines blurring and becoming harder to make out, not about lying to his friends. He’s fine.

Taking a breath, he weighs his options. He can wait for Diana to wake up and pretend he’s still asleep, and let her figure out how to react, or he can try to extricate himself now. Although it might wake her up, and then it would be doubly awkward, and—

And he’s waited too long in deciding, because Diana stretches a little sleepily and then blinks her eyes open, looking up at him.

“Good morning,” she says, apparently unbothered by their position. It’s making him spiral in confusion, and want, because it would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her, but neither has she directly expressed interest in him romantically, so he’s not about to actually do it.

“Did you sleep well?” asks Diana, gently untangling herself and sitting up.

Now that Steve thinks about it, he realizes that he’s slept better than he has in ages.

“Yeah,” he affirms a little hoarsely. “You?”

“Very well.” He’s considering saying something else—anything else, maybe apologizing for how closely they slept or, alternatively, telling her he adores her—when she continues, “How do you think everyone would feel about quiche?”

“Quiche?”

“One of the few reliable things I can cook,” says Diana, “but I have a good recipe, and I’m quite certain we have everything I’d need.”

Steve blinks. “I think it’d go over well.”

“Perfect!” Diana slips out of bed, sliding across the room with more of her infectious energy as she gathers her clothing for the day.

By the time Steve gets downstairs post-shower, Diana’s got the crust rolled out and blind-baking and has a number of veggies sautéing.

“Oh, good, you’re here! Can you pass me the mushrooms?” she asks, and he obliges, then takes it upon himself to crumble the cheese for her.

“Do you cook a lot?” he asks, and then curses himself, glancing around to make sure they’re alone and that nobody heard what was clearly a question that he, by all rights, should know the answer to. Blessedly, the only other person up is Napi, and he’s out on the porch.

“Not if I can help it,” says Diana. “You?”

“I enjoy it,” says Steve.

“Enjoy what?” asks Sameer, who’s just come down the stairs.

“Passing me ingredients when I tell him to,” teases Diana, successfully covering up what may have been a slip-up, because Sameer just rolls his eyes.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“More like adorable,” says Etta, who has apparently also been summoned by the smell of brewing coffee. “By the way—how did you two start dating? I’ve been meaning to ask since I never heard the story from this one”—she gestures at Steve—“and I’m sure it’s equally adorable.”

Steve can’t believe they’ve come this far without being asked, and that they didn’t do a better job of anticipating this question. He’s about to bumble his way through a response, but Diana, who is now pouring the egg mixture into the pan, has it covered.

“It’s sweet to me because it is ours, but I think you’ll otherwise find it quite boring. My third day of work, I came to his office by accident, looking for another colleague, and we traded a couple of jokes. Two days later, a bunch of people from the office went out for drinks after work, and I ran into Steve again. We spent a lot of the evening chatting, and when we left for the evening, he walked me to my train, and as we were waiting on the platform, he asked me out. He was kind and funny and handsome; there was no reason not to say yes.”

For a moment, Steve feels like he’s been hit by a train, because that’s actually how they met. They did spend an evening chatting, and he did wait on the platform with her. The only bit that didn’t happen was the asking out, and now he wonders what might have happened if he had. Then he reminds himself that it’s all an act, and she’s supposed to be acting like she likes him. He’s getting reality confused with the little mirage they’ve created.

“—it is sweet though,” Etta is saying when he snaps back to attention, unsure of just how much he’s missed.

“Yes, Steve is very thoughtful,” says Diana fondly.

He doesn’t really get a chance to ask her about it, because soon everyone is crowded around the table for breakfast, and that quickly turns into a card game, where they get separated by a few seats. It all somehow blends into lunch, as people swap in and out, Sameer and Noor doing the cooking, this meal, with Adrienne flitting in and out to help as she puts up a few extra lights for tonight’s Christmas eve celebration. He tries not to think about it too much, because Diana looks like she’s having a good time, and he is too, and eventually he gets swept up in the game, focusing on counting trump and keeping track of tricks and arguing genially with Charlie about who may or may not be cheating.

**

“Steve.” Diana pulls him aside after lunch, tugging him into their room.

“What’s up?” She looks entirely too serious, and it worries him. Is this about their story? Is something wrong?

“First kisses are always a bit awkward,” she says bluntly.

It’s so out of the blue that Steve’s brain doesn’t even short-circuit. He just blinks. “Yeah, usually.”

“Well, I just saw Adrienne putting mistletoe up. Your friends are wonderful people, but if we don’t get caught under it naturally, they’ll make sure we do.”

She’s got his friends pegged; that’s absolutely how they operate.

“They’ll recognize something is off if we’ve never kissed. I think we need to practice.”

Now Steve’s brain short-circuits.

“Practice.”

“It’s the only way to make sure it’s not during an ambush.” Her eyes are wide and she’s very close, so close that one of them could erase the distance without even taking a step, but she’s paused, waiting.

Waiting to see if it’s okay, if she has his consent.

His thoughts flick back, inexplicably, to this morning. (Was it really just this morning that they woke up tangled together? It seems a week ago already.) Knowing what it’s like to kiss her will probably explode his brain, but not knowing is worse. He nods, just a fraction, words caught in his throat, and then she’s closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.

Fireworks are for dramatic novels, but the world still shifts on its axis. It’s soft and slow, exploratory, but the pressure is somehow just right, and it consumes him. It’s everything he never let himself imagine it would be, and more. When she eventually pulls away—seconds, minutes, hours later, he’s not sure—he chases her lips for a moment before remembering himself, marshalling his reaction and pulling away in equal measure.

“Right, so. No mistletoe first kiss,” he manages, because seriously, what the fuck, he’s never had a first kiss feel that natural, that right.

“Mission accomplished,” says Diana faintly. “I think we’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” Steve echoes, and he thinks he sees Diana’s gaze flick back to his lips, dark and heavy, but then there’s the pounding of feet on the stairs and shouts outside their room.

“Steve! Diana! Are you in for another round of cards before we start the movie marathon?”

Diana startles, and takes three steps back, smoothing down her hair, her shirt, before opening the door to find Adrienne there, looking at them expectantly.

“Yes, of course,” says Diana.

“Oh,” smirks Adrienne, giving them a once over. “I can come back.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll come down now; I want to get a cup of tea before we start up again. Steve?”

“I—yeah, a cup of tea would be great. Black tea—”

“—with a dash of honey, I know,” she says fondly, as if this is old news and not something she’s clearly picked up in the last day and a half.

“Thanks.”

When he collects himself and comes downstairs a few minutes later, he spots Diana across the room, head thrown back in laughter as she chats with Napi over the kettle.

She fits, he thinks. He’s seen her in professional settings, being diplomatic even when she doesn’t want to be, but here, she’s relaxed, and from everything she’s said, she likes his friends as much as they like her. Isn’t it sort of everyone’s dream that the person they like gets along with their friends?      

He takes another second to try to untangle his thoughts before he gets ushered back into the fold and has to pretend that everything is uncomplicated.

**

Christmas day dawns bright and cold, and sees, for the second day in a row, Diana snuggled into Steve. Despite another meandering conversation in the dark—in which he absolutely chickened out of asking her about the backstory she created for them, or the kiss—and starting the night on different sides of the bed, they seem to have rolled together in their sleep, and if he didn’t wake up with an absolutely parched throat, Steve would’ve probably gone right back to sleep, enjoying the warmth. Instead, he extricates himself gently, and by the time he gets back to the room a few minutes later, Diana is up and dressed, dashing any plans he might’ve been entertaining for a bit of a lie-in.

As with most things on their holiday trips, the day is centered around food. There’s a huge brunch, and then a little foray outside—nothing like the hike the day before yesterday, just a little walk that turns into a snow angel contest—and then it’s back inside to start cooking Christmas dinner. It’s Etta and Charlie taking point, because, as Steve explains to Diana, the group rule for any and all holidays is that those who observe do the traditional cooking, and everybody else takes care of the clean-up.

At one point in the afternoon, a trivia game gets pulled out, and in a classic showdown of boys (Steve, Sameer, Napi) vs. girls (Diana, Noor, Adrienne), the ladies trounce them thoroughly. There’re plenty of mimosas and someone starts a Christmas playlist, and honestly, Steve can’t think of a better Christmas in a long, long time.

They don’t really exchange ‘real’ gifts, but they do have a long-standing tradition of an intense game of White Elephant, which happens after dinner.

No less than 4 items (a succulent in a corgi-shaped pot, a coffee mug with some gratuitously dirty language on it, a pair of wool socks with Munch’s The Scream emblazoned on them, and an umbrella patterned with cartoon gentleman amongst the raindrops so that it’s always raining men) get stolen so many times that they hit the limit. (Diana walks away the proud owner of the socks, thanks to a strategic steal by Steve, which sets her up to steal them for the last time.)

The mood is so light that Steve has almost forgotten that this isn’t quite real, that he’s lying to his friends and sort of lying to Diana, too. That comes crashing down when they bump into each other coming back into the living room.

See, Steve and Diana had managed to casually avoid the newly strung up mistletoe all of Christmas Eve and most of Christmas day—at least together, that is; at one point Steve finds himself under the mistletoe with Sameer, and they both dramatically grip each other for a theatre kiss—by sheer luck, but their luck runs out after White Elephant. Steve has gone into the kitchen to deposit an empty tray of food, and Diana is on her way back from the bathroom, and they collide in the doorframe.

Instinctively, Steve puts a hand out, touching the small of her back lightly to anchor himself and steady her. It’s just a casual touch, but he lingers a second too long.

“Oooh, look! Steve and Diana are under the mistletoe!” sings Adrienne, pointing from across the room.

Steve glances up automatically, as though maybe Adrienne might be wrong, even though he knows damn well that there’s mistletoe hanging there.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” chants Etta, clearly a little tipsy, and the rest of his asshole friends join in the chant.

Steve’s eyes flick to Diana’s, and she raises an eyebrow, inclines her head almost imperceptibly. It’s permission, so he leans in and gives her a quick kiss, their lips barely touching. He’s not sure he can handle more in front of his friends right now, not with all of the emotions pooling in his stomach.

“Boo!” yells Charlie. “You and Sameer had a better kiss than that!”

There’s general clamoring of assent, and Diana reaches out and cups a hand to his cheek, to a great whoop from someone in their little peanut gallery. “If you are uncomfortable, we do not have to do this,” Diana murmurs, low and close enough that only he can hear it.

The real problem is that Steve wants little more than to kiss her again, but he feels guilty about it.

“It’s okay.”

She searches his eyes for a moment, and then closes the rest of the distance, kissing him properly. He sinks into it, and relishes in the little gasp he elicits when he deepens the kiss just a little. It’s the catcalling that splits them apart, and he’s sure he looks a little shell-shocked.

“That’s a kiss!” hollers Adrienne.

To his surprise, Diana doesn’t immediately move away from him, but stays tucked into his side, blushing a little.

“You’re all just a little too invested in our love life,” she admonishes lightly, but the point is missed as Etta launches into a bit of a ramble about how Steve introduced her to Adrienne by accident and how she’s been looking to return the favor, but that she’s glad Diana is here.

Steve watches Diana go a bit pink again, and wants to pull her aside, try to clear some things up, but then there’s another round of mulled wine, and they settle in for one last Christmas movie before the day ends.

Diana goes to bed before Steve does, while he stays back to have another round with Charlie, and by the time he realizes that he wanted to talk to her alone, she’s fast asleep.

**

The morning of the twenty-sixth is chaotic from the start; Diana’s up and out of bed before Steve wakes up, and then everyone is scrambling to pack up before they all drive back to the city. This time, Diana and Steve have got Sameer and Noor with them, because they came with Napi, who’s leaving directly to visit some extended family, and Etta and Adrienne don’t have enough room because they’re Charlie’s ride. It’s a pleasant ride, and Noor, Sameer, and Diana spend a solid half hour swapping in and out of Arabic to tease Steve, who does speak three languages himself, but doesn’t count darija as one of them.

They drop Noor and Sameer off with promises of seeing them at Etta’s party on New Year’s Eve, at the very latest, and suddenly they’re alone again.

“Thank you again for doing this,” says Steve. “You were the best fake date I could’ve asked for.”

“It was my pleasure,” says Diana. “I had a really good time, and a fun holiday.”

“And you really don’t mind putting in an appearance at the New Year’s Eve party?”

“Not at all. I’m actually looking forward to it.”

“Good; I think everyone is looking forward to having you there.”

They’re quiet as they pull up to Diana’s building.

Before Diana can move to get out of the car, Steve takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, anything.” Her wide eyes are trained on him, and he almost loses his nerve.

But it’s now or never; he has to know if this is just him or if she feels something too. “If I had asked you out, that night on the platform, would you have said yes?” It feels like the safest version of the question he wants to ask.

Diana doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

It knocks the wind out of him and is simultaneously one of the best things he’s ever heard, because maybe that means there’s still time to make a proper go of it.

“Do you—”

He’s cut off by Diana leaning forward and kissing him sweetly, and he instinctively pulls her a little closer, deepens the kiss without consciously thinking about it.

“Sorry, I interrupted you,” says Diana, biting back a smile when they eventually pull apart, breathless. It makes Steve laugh, and he can’t fight the grin that’s also building. There’s no one around to fool, no one around even to prepare for; this is just them.

“Do you want to come to mine for dinner tonight?” Steve asks, bubbling with a profound sort of happiness. “For a real date this time?”

“I would love that,” says Diana, grinning. “No tricks, no fake backstories. Just us.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Just give me a couple of hours to shower and change and answer a couple of emails?” Diana says.

“How does seven sound? I’ll cook.”

“I can’t wait.”

He watches her go, almost floating from how giddy he feels. As he drives home, he mentally goes over what he’ll need to get for the meal he wants to make. Truly, it was the best fake date ever; he might, he thinks, even consider posting the story of it to the r/relationships thread like one of the Craigslist messages asked, because it’s so wonderfully peculiar.

**

“Right on time!” says Steve with a grin when Diana knocks on his door that evening for their date.

His smile falls when he notices her face, tired and serious, despite how light it had been only hours ago.

“Steve, I have to go,” she says without preamble.

“What?”

“I’m flying back to the Netherlands tonight.” What? That can’t be right; she’s not due back for several months, and even that’s only a trip. Steve’s brain lags a second and then realizes she’s still talking, dark eyes all apologies. “—straight to the airport from here, actually. I just came by to say goodbye. It seemed like the sort of thing that should be done in person.”

“But what—”

“You know who Patrick Morgan is, yes?”

Of course he knows who Patrick Morgan is; he’s a war criminal who was only caught and extradited recently. It made waves when jurisdiction was given over to the ICC, at least among the relevant international communities.

“The war criminal?” he asks, just to confirm.

Diana nods. “That’s the one. Look, I’m not really meant to be talking about my cases, but I’m on the prosecutorial team and his lawyers are good. They’re trying to file a pre-trial motion that would—well, let’s just say it would be bad if the judge ruled in their favor. We’re scrambling and I’m needed back at the office, in person.”

“Shit.” There’s nothing else to say, really. She’s the one who can make sure Patrick Morgan doesn’t hurt anyone else, and that’s that.

“It’s awful timing,” whispers Diana, and there’s true regret in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. You’re doing what has to be done.”

“I wish it didn’t,” says Diana. “I wanted to—I don’t know, go on a proper date and go to your friends’ New Year’s party with you, and this has just—it’s mucked it all up, hasn’t it?”

“An understatement,” says Steve, laughing wetly. Maybe—

“I have to call the ARGUS Foundation from the car, get everything squared away in regards to my commitments there. Gods, this is such a nightmare.” Diana’s pacing now, and Steve can see all their possibilities slipping away, now that she’s returning to the Netherlands. It’s not the most important thing, this casualty of what could have been, but it still breaks a little piece of Steve’s heart all the same.

“I wish we had more time,” says Steve, a little bittersweet, because there’s not much else to say. Diana sends him a sad smile and nods.

“I really have to go. I might even miss my flight as it is.”

“Right, of course.”

She looks at him hesitantly for a moment, like she’s going to say something more, and then pulls him into a hug. As she pulls back, she kisses him softly. It feels like goodbye more than any words could.

Then her phone rings, and she looks at him apologetically one more time, a quick, “I’m sorry,” before taking her leave and answering it. He hears her frustrated Dutch echoing down the hall as she walks away.

After she leaves, he feels a little aimless, and a little numb. It doesn’t quite sink in that Diana is gone, but he does think, absently, that something bad was bound to happen, because nothing catastrophic happened over the holidays—no real fights, no disastrous weather; it all went too smoothly.

**

The next few days are a slog: he’s back in the office, technically, but everything has slowed down substantially in between the holidays, just enough to not really keep him occupied.

It scares him a little how much he misses Diana. They were sort-of friends before the fake-dating charade, more friendly-coworkers than anything, but he got used to her being a part of his daily life absurdly quickly and is having a hard time adjusting back. They could have been something spectacular, he knows, if circumstances hadn’t made it impossible.

She texts him when she lands, and he’s glad to know she’s made it safely, but it ignites a fresh wave of ache such that he’s almost glad she doesn’t answer his text back, or text again. He ends up ignoring his phone, mostly, trying to distract himself from thinking about what wasn’t meant to be. (It’s bad luck with fate: if they’d had more time, if they were something real, he might consider moving, but it’s too soon, too early, even if he thinks he might already love her.)

On New Year’s Eve, he spends most of the day cooking, Netflix on in the background, whiling away time before the party Etta and Adrienne are throwing.

“Where’s Diana?” asks Etta, when she opens the door and finds Steve there, alone, carrying three tiers of Tupperware and a bottle of champagne, because of course she does. All his friends adore Diana too.

“She had to fly back to the Netherlands for a case,” says Steve morosely, unable to say anymore because he might choke up, and crying is fine but not during a New Year’s Eve party.

“Oh, what a shame she’ll miss New Year’s! When is she coming back?”

The fresh, stricken look on Steve’s face tells Etta everything she needs to know. “Oh, luv, I’m so sorry. I know long distance isn’t easy.”

It’s the perfect excuse presenting itself, really. In a month, Steve can say that the distance was too much, and Etta will understand, and that will be that. He’ll be out of this lie, too, with no one the wiser that it started as a fake thing. But right now, Steve is still mourning the fact that it never got to be anything real in the first place.

“It is what it is,” says Steve, trying for a smile.

“Well,” says Etta, also going for something resembling cheery. “We’ve got plenty of alcohol and a place for you to crash tonight, if you want it.”

“Thanks, Etta.”

He whiles away the night nursing a glass of wine and floating amongst friends and acquaintances, trying to enjoy the merriment. Etta, bless her, must spread the word that Diana had to leave for work, because only Noor asks after her, right after he gets inside. After that, he doesn’t have to answer any further questions, and instead focuses on the laughter and brightness radiating from his friends.

At a few minutes to midnight, he slips off to a quiet corner, not quite ready to face the rowdy, kissing couples.

Somewhere behind him, the apartment door slams, and there’s something of a commotion, but he doesn’t bother to investigate until—

“Did I make it in time?” asks a breathless voice.

Steve turns, and there, standing in front of him, a vision in a bright red coat, is Diana.

“But how—?” She’s meant to be in Europe, but she’s very much not. She’s here.

She’s here.

“We finished a little early and I got the first flight out. I took a cab from the airport to get here as fast as I could.”

“You hate cabs,” says Steve helplessly, fixating on something that’s very much not the point because it’s one of the many strange things they talked about, and because it’s somehow easier to focus on than any other part of it.  

“I wanted to be here.” Her eyes are twinkling, and Steve can’t quite believe she’s here, on New Year’s Eve, and—shit.

“But what about the case?”

“We got the motion thrown out,” she exclaims, delight lacing her words. “We’re proceeding as scheduled. I’ll have to go back for a bit starting in May, but—”

That phrasing catches Steve’s attention. “Wait, you’re not moving back to the Netherlands permanently?”

“What?” asks Diana, looking genuinely perplexed. “No! It was just a business trip, inconveniently timed. I was never moving back. Did you think—”  

“I thought—” says Steve, at the exact same time.  

There’s a look of recognition on Diana’s face, as if she’s doing the maths, going back over the conversations they had once more in her head. She bites her lip, shakes her head. Laughs.

“We are both a bit stupid, I think,” she says. “I was never going to be gone more than a week or two, but I suppose I didn’t make that clear enough. I thought it was just bad timing, since we were starting something, but you—”

Steve shakes his head, incredulous. “I thought I might never see you again, but you’re really here.”

Diana reaches out and ever so softly touches his cheek. “Yes. So, did I miss the countdown?”

Steve stops fighting the smile that’s building. “Nope. And you know, they say whatever you’re doing at midnight you’ll be doing for the rest of the year.”

“Do they? You’d best choose wisely, then.”

“I’ve got an idea.” The countdown hasn’t started yet, but he leans in slowly anyways, because he figures they’ve wasted enough time. She meets his lips eagerly, and in the background, Steve can hear Etta’s whoop of excitement, but really, the only thing that matters is Diana, and the feel of her lips underneath his.

It’s just as earth-shaking as it was the first few times, but they break apart momentarily as the countdown actually begins from the other room. When midnight hits, they kiss again, a little shorter this time, their smiles too wide to make it a proper kiss.

“Happy New Year, Steve,” whispers Diana, forehead pressed to his.

“Happy New Year,” he echoes. An endless plurality of shifting possibilities stretch before them, elastic and hopeful, and very real once more. From the other room, the chords of a piano start, a telltale sign that Charlie has started his traditional rendition of Auld Lang Syne.

“You know, eventually people are going to realize our anniversary isn’t in July.”

That elicits another giddy laugh, because somehow, he’s gotten lucky enough that this is his reality. “Yeah, but that’s a pretty good problem to have, all things considered. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“No,” says Diana thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t either.”

***

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression Ep 18 - Baseball with Mercedes Benz logo used by Chiba Lotte Marines.

K: This is Dir en grey's Kaoru with The Freedom of Expression. This program started...how many years ago was it now? 3 or 4 years ago?...on InterFM, asking questions about freedom of expession...with this theme we talked about current news stories each time. From there, we have moved over to Youtube.  There are maybe times when we talk about stuff that isn't really related to expression though..

J: There are.

T: Yeh.

K: I just wanna enjoy talking sometimes.

J: This program has a wide scope.

K: Yeah. Well, today, I mean, on the day of this broadcast, its the opening of the professional baseball season.

J: Oh, June 19th?

K: Yeh. At the point in time of recording this, we don't know exactly what will happen, but..at last baseball is gonna start.

T: And that means...? Kaoru?

K: And that means?

J: And that means?

K: What do you mean?

T: Your beloved Hanshin Tigers!

J: Oh, yeah, his Hanshin Tigers. How will your beloved Hanshin do this year?

K: Oh, they will win by a mile!

J, T: *laugh*

J: *laughing* We shouldn't laugh!

K: Hahaha

J: We really shouldn't laugh! We're so rude!

T: Its because he said straight away, 'by a mile!'.

J: Tell us your rationale for saying that, for saying they'll win by a mile.

K: Well...they're strong.

J: You could say that about anyone! *laughs*

K, T: *laugh*

J: Saying, 'They're that strong'...Yakult fans could say the same.

T: I'd just like to ask again, since when have you been a fan of the Tigers? Since when were you first aware of the Tigers?

K: How old was I?...I think I was probably in the lower grades of elementary school. As far back as I can remember really. My Dad played baseball in a non-professional team. So he had his uniform, and glove, and bat, and stuff in our house. I used to play with him, and he took me to watch games. My first time was at Nishinomiya stadium, I think...the Hankyu Braves. And after that, I wanted to see a game at Koshien.

J: Ehh, really? Oh, so you were going to stadiums from quite a young age?

K: Yeah.

T: How did it feel going Koshien and places back then?

K: It was kinda scary. There was a load of scary looking people there.

T: Scary looking people? *laughs*

K: Like really drunk people, and stuff.

J:Oh, all the hecklers.

K: The staduims didn't look as smart as they do now.

J: Ohh, of course.

K: They were kind of grubby.

J: So about Hanshin doing really well this year, they'll definitely win today's game? Where are they playing today?

T: Today is..

K: Against the Giants, right?

T: Yeah, the Giants.

K: At Tokyo Dome.

T: Their nemesis, the Giants.

J: The legendary fued between the Giants and the Tigers, right?

K: Well, yeah. For the opening match, Tokyo Dome is a bit hard going though.

J: I thought you just said they were gonna win by a mile?!

K: Hahaha.

J: Already thats not the case! 

T: He's suprisingly calm about it, right?

K: No, its just that at the moment, Tokyo Dome carries some not so good memories. I've been to watch them there many times.

T: Oh, right.

K: I don't have very good memories of it.

J: Is it bad?'

T: They'll be starting about now, at 18:00, won't they?

K: They will be, yeh.

J: Don't we upload this at 19:00?

K: Yeh, yeh.

T: Ahh. Oh, they'll be just about finishing the third round or so?

K: Ahh.

J: I see.

K: But they'll probably be hitting ???(バコバコ)*1. They might still be on the second round.

J, T, K: Hahaha.

J: Well, its good to think about it in a positive way.

K: Yeh, yeh, yeh.

J: What are the thoughts of our so called sports journalist about Hanshin's chances this year? *gestures to Tasai*

T: Well, as for me, Hanshin are..I was talking to my wife about this before, and despite being a really popular team, in reality, they rarely win.

K: Yes.

J: Oh, is that right?

K: They never win.

T: Yeh, yeh, yeh

K: They're weak, to start with.

J, T: Haha

K: I even imagine them as a weak team.

T: Yeah.

J: I see. So its not like they are famous for being a strong team like the Giants?

K: The Giants are invincible.

J: Well, yeah.

K: Its like they have to be strong.

J: Yeh, yeh.

K: Hanshin are like...even though they're weak, you like them, haha.

J: Hahaha.

T: So people used to say, Dame Tora!/ No good Tigers!' at one point and stuff. But, what is it? The mentality of Osaka people?

K: Well, even if they loose, it doesn't hurt very deeply.

J: Ahh, right. Unlike Giants fans, who would be hurt at even a small loss. Hanshin fans don't have such a weak heart?

K: We don't.

J: Ahh, amazing.

T: Its incredible, thier popularity. They are more popular than the Giants.

K: Yeh

T: The Sports newspapers down there, if they have like 8 or so pages, 4 or 5 pages will be dedicated to Hanshin.

J: Oh, that much?!

T: They even cover the minor team at Naruouhama, with their results and a comment.

K: The minor team is really well recieved, and everyone gets really carried away with it.

J: Hahaha.

T: Yeh, yeh, yeh.

J: Isn't that the reason they never get that strong?

K: Well, in the end, yes.

T: Hahaha. No, but they are talked about, even as the minor team.

J:Ehh

K: And with all these fans, theres kind of a supporters' association, and everyone gets full of themself.

T: Hahaha.

J: Oh, really? Kami is listening silently though. I wonder what he thinks. Don't gods know much about baseball?

Kami: No, no, I've been listening the whole time. But Hanshin are quite strong, aren't they?  I mean, they are not the best in Japan, but don't they often win? The league win?

K, T: No..

K: They don't.

T: Once in 1985, and once in 2000, that time with Lotte in the Japan series, and once at the time they changed over from Nomura san to Hoshino san.

K: Yeah, league wins.

T: Its only been about 3 or 4 times hasn't it?

Kami: When you say weak...well, they have gotten stronger recently, but I always think of the BayStars as the weakest.

T: Yeah, Yokohama never win either.

Kami: I didn't think Hanshin were that weak.

K: Well, overall, they are getting better. Like, thier average..the gap is closing.

T: Well, Hiroshima won three times in a row. The Central league is sort of bunched up like that. The Giants are just ahead.

J: Just a bit, right. Ahh, it exciting isnt it? How far will Hanshin get this year?! They'll win?

K: Of course.

J: They will win.

T: Should we make a promise to do something if they win?

K: If they win?

T: If they win...or if they don't win? But, they will definitely win, right?

K: Hmm..  *Everyone laughs*

J: Hang on a second, you started by saying they will win by a mile, and now 'Hmm..'. You're saying 'Hmm..' for 5 minutes.

K: Its because I don't know what will happen.

T: Well, yeah. You don't know whats gonna happen.

K: Well, its cause its an irregular season.

J: Well, of course.,

T: Yeah.

K: Cause its a tight schedule.

J: Oh, because its tight?

K: There are no inter-league games, and no All Star games. Im not sure how the climax will go.

Kami: Lets do something if they win.

J: Oh, yeh, if they win.

Kami: If they win.

K: If Hanshin win?

Kami: Yeh, if we did that, we'd be all looking forward, supporting Hashin.

K: Well, ok, if Hanshin win let's do an event on this program.

J, T: Oh!

J: What kind of event?

K: Well, im not sure, it would have to be next year, and I don't know if we could have guests, but lets do something like that.

J:Oh!

K: In that way everyone would be supporting right?

T: Yeah.

J: Shall we do a 'The Freedom of Expression' event?

T: "In celebration of the Hanshin Tigers' win!"

K: Im not sure we need such a crown.

J, T: Hahaha

J: Well, anyhow, we'll do an event.

K:Yeh.

J: I think we've created the motivation for people to support Hanshin with this.

T: Yes, its turned out well.

K: Like a live broadcast or something?

J: Oh, that would be good. Thats a good idea.

K: Well, ok, this isn't what we're supposed to be talking about today.

T: It wasn't supposed to be about Hanshin, was it?

J: Well, as today is the opening of the baseball season, let me share a piece of news concerning professional baseball.

This is the news that Lotte are using a baseball which features the Mercedes Benz logo. Manager Iguchi says, the Marines are at the top too! In the first game of this season at their  main stadium, the Zozo Marines Stadium, the ball they use will have Mercedes Benz Japan's (thier sponsor's) logo printed onto it. This comes to fruition as a result of thier manager Iguchi being a big Merecdes Benz fan. Iguchi said to his team on the 8th, 'Since I started playing professional baseball at age 22, up until now over 20 years later, I've always driven a Mercedes Benz. Just as these cars are admired from around the world, I want the Marines to reach the top this season.'

K: Yeah.

T: Its great, isn't it.

J: Eh, Tasai san, have you seen it?

T: I saw it earlier. Its stamped on about the size of a seal.

J: Is it small?

T: Well, its like 'Benz!'

K: I kinda want one.

T: Yeh, its cool, right?

J: So, it doesn't cause any obstacle when grasping the ball?

T: No, it doesn't. Its just the Benz logo.

J: I see. So its not like it catches on your fingers and effects your throw?

T: Well, I wonder..

K: It doesn't! It would be a problem if it did.

J: It would be problematic, right? But conversely, if you pay money, you can have this type of thing engraved on the ball. What do you think, Kaoru? What if you had the Dir en grey logo put on the ball in one of the Hanshin Tigers' official games?

K: Oh, I'd like that.

T: But I get the feeling that people would want to do that a lot with Hanshin.

J: I wonder how much it costs?

T: Probably a million or so yen. I don't think Mercedes Benz will be the cheapest either.

J: Thats right.

K: But if its on the ball, it won't be seen on TV right?

J: No, it won't.

K: So, you wouldn't even know about it,  unless it was pointed out. ???*2 Also, if the guy who gets a home run puts it on SNS or something.

T: Ahh, that would be ideal.

J: It would normally be plastered all over the fences of the stadium, wouldn't it?

K: Yeah, in the stadium.

J: But its kinda fresh, to put in on the balls.

T: Yeah, its cool.

K: On the balls?

J, T: *laugh*

K: ???

J: No, no, no. *laughing* ????

T: Joe san! Don't soil baseball like that! Its an untainted sport!

J:???*3

T: Yeah *laughs*, so you are tainting it!

J: No, but I really wanna put a Dir en grey logo, or a Tora no ana logo on one Hanshin's baseballs.

T: That would be good.

K: Noo, its impossible.

J: But didn't you do a collaboration with them before?

K: Oh, well that was just like an announcement, but this is totally a sponsor.

J: Well, yeah..right.

K: Right?..The amount of money..

J: Totally different right.

K: Yeah, its on a totally different scale.

J: Well, but I imagine professional baseball players seem tacky to Mercedes Benz.

K: Like a thugs or something.

J: Why do I think that, I wonder? Although they're all the same athletes, soccer players don't give off the same atmosphere to me.

K: But even soccer players seem like they are a bit artificial. They suddenly start dressing up, wearing brand clothes..

T: Yeah.

K: They get off planes, dressed up all smart and stuff.

J: They do, yeah.

T: But that might be the influence of Kazu (Kazoyoshi Miura) or Takeda san since they got into the J League.

J: For some reason, if you talk about fashion in the pro-baseball world, I always think of Kuwata san, for example. Also, Shinjo san (Tsuyoshi Shinjo). They have that kind of image. There's not that many..

T: Ahh, right.

J: Like I don't know many with a sense of fashion.

Kami: I think the same! Thats it. They have no fashion sense. They are not cool at all!

T: Thats right.

Kami: They are real sports people. Whatever they wear, thier muscles swell, it looks kinda wierd.

T: Yeh, yeh.

K: Well, yeh.

Kami: But when baseball players or even soccer players wear thier uniform, they look super cool!

J: Absolutely.

T: Ah, I see.

Kami: When they get off airplanes, I want them to wear thier uniforms.

J: Always in thier uniforms.

T: That would be good, yeah.

Kami: They would look so cool!

J: I see.

T: Well, they are professionals, baseball is technical job, they are the ultimate professionals. If you can play baseball, that is everything, I imagine. Thats my follow-up. 

J,K: *laugh*

K: Well, today, at this time, the game will still be ongoing.

J: Yes, thats right.

K: I'll be praying for an exciting baseball season.

J: And if Hanshin win?!

K: We'll do an event.

T: Pretty good.

K: Well, we'll finish here for today. Please subscribe. Thank you very much.

J, T: Thank you. 

*1 バコバコ - Don't know what this means.

*2 Couldn't catch this.

*3 I'm not fluent enough to translate dirty jokes about balls XD Plus Joe is speaking too fast, and there is too much background laughing...thats my other excuse.

[jwood719]

Thurmond, West Virginia: a Rail Road Town that the World Passed By, Then Found Again (sorta’) - Updated.

As I explained recently over a dinner with friends in town (for the first time in how long?!), Thurmond, West Virginia was south and west of Pittsburgh, so it seemed like a good option for a kind-of side trip on the way home from Pennsylvania.  Little did I know how long the trip south would be, but glad I was to have done it.

A CSX coal car drag passing the Thurmond Depot, as seen through the window of the yardmaster’s office. [1]

The town was founded by one Capt. W.D. Thurmond in 1873, the same year the Chesapeake & Ohio Railway completed main line track building through the New River Valley.  The New River Valley was scene to intensive coal mining in the latter half of the 1800s and first half of the 1900s, and Thurmond was literally and figuratively at the heart of it all.

I believe the tall structure visible through the coal smoke and vented steam is the coaling tower. [2]

Thurmond in 1988.  Conspicuously absent now are all the structures on the left side of the tracks -- as well as the tracks to the left. [3]

The New River Valley was also the scene of some of the worst of the “coal field wars:” the operators paid by weight, ran company towns and stores, and lured unsuspecting laborers into the valley with promises of good wages -- promises that never materialized.  Instead, coal weight was shorted, company rents and store fees were exorbitant, and rules were enforced with extra-judicial posses, bought-off law enforcement officers, and state militia at times.  Miners were repeatedly denied recognition of their unionizing efforts, scabs were thrown in between the simmering, or boiling, antagonists, and strikes devolved into shooting matches.

Thurmond in 1988. [3]  Two generations of water towers (near center) holding hundreds of thousands of gallons of water for the thirsty steam-powered engines, and the post office building (at right)  CSX removed the water towers in the 1990s.

Concrete footings for the water towers seen in the 1988 photo above.  The post office building still stands (at far right), and is still U.S.P.S. property, though it is no longer in operation. [1]

Thurmond was the vital hub for the C&O and for all the various people who moved through the Valley throughout the coal mining years; in 1910, Thurmond  moved more freight and passengers than any other town the rail road serviced.  It’s hard to imagine today, but from its founding until the early 1920s, Thurmond could only be reached by rail, and thousands of people moved through or lived in the town, going to work in a mine, working for the C&O, or providing goods and services.

The Marilyn Brown house, with the roofline of the Fatty Lipscomb house beyond. [1]

At one time, Thurmond boasted many commercial structures, scores of houses (like those above), and was also a service hub for the C&O’s engines and rolling stock.  Steam-powered rail road engines require daily maintenance, work that was effected in a large engine house that was perched above the river.

Thurmond in 1988. [3] The engine house is right of center in the mid-ground, behind the trees.  Some of the remaining private houses can be seen uphill behind the commercial buildings, as well as the one “street” that wound across the face of the hill.

Like so many towns built around 19th century industries, Thurmond’s importance declined dramatically as the 20th century proceeded.  The use of diesel rail road engines left steam engine mechanics unemployed; many of the mines played out, and those that remained (and remain still) employed far fewer miners to pull the coal from the seams -- or blast it from hill tops; and people who would have been passengers on the trains began driving automobiles.  The world, if you will, moved on, and Thurmond dried up.

Two views of the Fatty Lipscomb house. [1]

As coal mining declined, though, tourism increased, and in the 1960s and 1970s, enthusiasts of outdoor sports found the U.S. Congress receptive to the idea of setting aside some of West Virginia’s landscapes for boating, hiking and camping.  In 1978, a substantial swath of West Virginia was designated as the New River Gorge National River, and later, lands along the Gauley and Bluestone Rivers were conserved, designated as National Recreation Areas in 1988.

Another house, here perched on the hillside above the commercial district, and a stretch of the local roadway, looking downhill. [1]

Once the land along the rivers became national reserves, Thurmond basically passed into federal control, though up until the early 1990s, up to 50 people still resided there.  The Chesapeake & Ohio had also declined, and became a foundational holding of today’s CSX Transportation rail road company.  CSX still moves coal through Thurmond in long drags of hopper cars, either full and destined for power plants, or empty and heading back to the mines.

In 1988 (above) [3] and in 2021 (below). [1]  The view below is perhaps the best known angle of the old commercial buildings.  From right, these are: the Mankin-Cox Building, the oldest of the three, which housed a druggist and a bank; the Goodman-Kincaid Building, which housed a dry goods store as well as offices and apartments; and the National Bank of Thurmond Building; all held a variety of business concerns before business fled.  To the upper right is the Erskine Pugh house.  The track in the foreground has been removed.

Circa 1900 [2]  The engine house is right of center, with the commercial buildings to the left.  The large building at far left was a hotel, but it burned down and was replaced by an Armour meat company building -- which also burned, in 1963 . The depot (seen following photo) is at the far right, with the rail road trestle just in view.

The 1904 passenger depot, now the NPS visitors center (as of 1995), and yes, Amtrak does have Thurmond as a stop! [1]

The NPS owns most of the remaining buildings, and efforts began in the early 2000s to keep them from deteriorating further, with roof repairs and seals to keep out the weather. There are still 5 residents in Thurmond, all are on the town council, and in addition to being active within the park, they are also seeking ways to keep the town alive.  

The red house at left is new construction, but on an old foundation, and where possible, older building materials have been recycled in its build-out.  A project of Thurmond’s residents, the hope is to have it available for seasonal leases; my guess is it’ll wind up with a long wait-list -- and my name will be on it! [1]

Old rail road ties in the dirt: now an access road, the C&O service track that led to the coaling tower were once mounted here; the engine house would have been to the extreme right and partially out of view; the depot is dead ahead, and my road-weary car is parked near the trees. [1]

Maybe I was taken-in by the town because of the setting, nestled as it is among the hills and above the river; maybe it’s because the old buildings have that “certain something” that makes history buffs like me snap more photos than is reasonable; maybe it’s the potential that I can see in them (provided anyone ever coughed up the money to really rehabilitate them); if I was to get metaphysical about it, maybe it’s because of all the lives and history that occurred in the area and the energy left behind calls out still (y’know if I got metaphysical about it -- past lives anyone?); perhaps it’s all of those.  What-ever the reason, I’ve been thinking of making a trip back in mid-Autumn, take a long weekend as the leaves are turning and it’s got chilly -- and shoot yet more photos than is reasonable.

The 1922 coaling tower (above), built by Fairbanks Morse (as noted on the sign below). [1]

The reason for the coaling tower: a pair of the last steam engines in Thurmond: 1953. [2]

I briefly stopped at the New River Gorge visitors center where I got directions, and figured I could at least find out where I was going before getting off the highway for the night.  I arrived in Thurmond just before 5 PM, but even that later afternoon hour left plenty of daylight to walk about and take photos.  My thought had been to simply find Thurmond, then make my stop-over somewhere nearby (Beckley, WV is less than 10 miles away) then return in the morning.  That thinking quickly became “Oh! I can come back for more in the morning!” 

Up the hill: the old church. [1]  The church grounds now host the local triathlon and reunion events for those who once lived in Thurmond.

What I realized as I strolled around in the afternoon, was that the light would be dramatically different if I arrived early the next day (yeah: a “well duh!” moment if ever there was one), an effect of the changed daylight hours mixed with the topography that proved itself quite wonderfully -- and is why the images here show both the golden glow of evening and the cool white of morning.

Amtrak’s Cardinal route-train, on-time (or nearly) on a Friday morning. [1]

Standing by my car, having a sip of coffee, looking around as other visitors arrived or departed, I just, well -- “sighed with contentment” is an apt description. 

A view of the ticket agent’s office. [1]

For more information on Thurmond:

The National Park Service’s web page for Thurmond, WV.

Thurmond, WV on Clio, a history and culture website.

Both of these share some of the same information, and each has additional images, both historical and contemporary.  

A view of the New River Valley from the west side, across from Thurmond (note the houses and rail road cars on the far bank below the hill). [4]

The historical narrative written here was gleaned from the NPS hand-out for Thurmond, as well as from the Summer 2021 issue of National Parks magazine, published by the National Parks Conservation Association (“Miner’s Angel” concerning Mother Jones and the coal field wars of West Virginia, by Nicolas Brulliard).  Identification of the Marilyn Brown house made possible by access to a PDF of the NPS’ structural assessment report of buildings in Thurmond, revised edition, published in 2002.

A view of the yardmaster’s office [1]

Atlas Obscura’s “22 of America’s Best Preserved Ghost Towns”  Sorry, Mental Floss, you were forgot.

Looking south toward the depot past the three old commercial blocks. [1]

[1] Photographs by R. Jake Wood, 2021.

[2] Historic photographs displayed on-site by National Park Service, photographed on-site and edited for this posting by Jake Wood. 

[3] Photographs by Jet Lowe, 1988, for the Library of Congress’ Historic American Building Survey/Historic American Engineering Record; retrieved from the Library of Congress’ Prints & Photographs Online Catalog, with minor editing by Jake Wood.

[4] Photograph by the Detroit Publishing Co., circa 1910; from the Library of Congress’ Prints & Photographs Online Catalog, with minor editing by Jake Wood.

The depot, alongside CSX trackage. [1]

CSX coal drag outbound with hoppers full of coal.  The post office building is visible just beyond the engine. [1]

[whitepolaris]

Mystery Lights of Hansell Road

Between two cornfields near Buckingham, Bucks County, a gravel track called Hansell Road once led into the woods. For years, drivers would park there at night and switch off their headlights to see a strange set of lights in the distance. One or two sets of lights, sometimes red but more often green, would move around in the woods and occasionally onto the road. 

Lights in the woods are nothing extraordinary. It’s easy enough to explain them away as flashlights, lightning bugs, or even marsh gas. But the ones near Hansell Road didn’t act like lanterns or flashlights. Several witnesses on different occasions saw them move through the woods, sometimes swinging or dipping as if they were being carried, sometimes slithering more smoothly. When they reached the road, most accounts have them either suddenly drop to the ground and form a ball, or rear up into a shape that then made its way swiftly toward the car. Such behavior is hard to explain away, especially because so few people hang around long enough to see what would happen next. 

Sadly, the march of progress seems to be closing the book on Hansell Road lights. In the late 1990s, Buckingham Township widened and paved the road to accommodate new housing developments. The woods have been thinned out, and in 2000, the township opened a park at the edge of the woods. If, the stories go, the mystery lights appear only when everything is still and all the lights are out, they won’t appear often anymore. Although the park closes at dusk, there’s plenty of suburban traffic along the roadside on dark summer nights, and the houses nearby cast a glow over the road until the wee hours of the morning. We can only hope that Hansell Road lights won’t fall victim to suburban sprawl. 

The Red Eyes of Hansell Road

I am well able to take care of myself and am not generally afraid of anything or anyone! Maybe sharks and God, but that’s it! That all changed one dark September night. 

I was working in Newtown, Bucks County, and had made friendships with some co-workers. We heard some of the younger employees talking about a road in nearby Buckingham called Hansell Road. You were supposed to go there and park along the road, which was long and dark and only had a few houses that sat far off the road. After you parked and waited for a while, you would see green mists appear and cross the road, followed by a “darker” or “black shadowy” entity. These are said to be the spirits of some youths who were murdered by a evil landowner for trespassing on his property.

So one night in early September, four friends and I took a ride to Hansell Road. It was very dark and cloudy, with no moon to be seen. The road ascended on a slight incline and had large cornfields on either side for about a quarter mile. Dark woods loomed ahead and grew along the whole rest of the road on either side. The trees were old and grew over the gravel road like a dark canopy. We parked the car on the grass shoulder on the right, about fifty feet from the tree line. We sat there on the car hood and waited for about twenty minutes before I got antsy and strolled up the road. What happened next I will never forget for as long as I live. 

The rest of the gang (one guy and three ladies) were sitting or leaning on the front of the car. I was walking up the road slowly and was about fifty feet from them in the wooded section of the road, when a red glowing orb began coming out of the woods from the left side of the road. It was small and bobbing slightly up and down and was about fifty feet ahead of me, so about a hundred feet more or less from them. It was bright enough that they could see it from the car. The girls started yelling, “What the hell is that?” I shushed them and watched as it neared the road, as if it were going to cross the road from left to right. 

Then when it existed the woods onto the road, it became two red glowing orbs that floated about six feet from the ground. They bobbed until they stopped directly in front of me, then just stayed there stationary. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. 

The girls were yelling for me to come back, and my buddy was asking what the hell is was. Now, bear this in mind: We were not drinking, smoking or doing any kind of drugs or taking medication. The sky was overcast, and it was extremely dark under the tree-lined road. There were no lights at all, anywhere. So the deer-eye-reflection theory doesn’t hold up, and besides, I never saw an animal with bright red eyes. 

I took two steps forward and the “eyes” started to move off the road into the woods then disappeared. I heard not foot or hoof on the gravel road or in the woods. 

I saw this account is true and that it happened exactly as described. -Jim Bechtel

Getting a Green Light on Hansell Road

I’ve never seen the Hansell Road lights myself, but a trusted friend of mine has. They parked next to a field facing the woods, turned off the lights, and waited, telling each other scary stories. Then a green light made its way through the woods smoothly, like a flashlight across the surface of water. It’s hard to imagine what could cause that slithering motion in a wood, but not as hard as figuring out what happened next. At the edge of the road, the light kind of stood up in the shape of a large cylinder about the size of a man and began to make its way up the road. What happened next nobody knows because the driver slammed the car into reverse and out of there. I don’t think anybody in the car had any problem with his decision! -OctoberTree

Scared Witless on Hansell Road

I moved from Connecticut to Bucks County, when I was a sophomore in high school. Initially, I found this place to be a bit on the boring side, but I soon came to be fascinated by the stories many of my classmates would tell me about an extremely haunted place known as Hansell Road. 

There are a few different tales that explain why the road is haunted. Most people say that the road was the site of at least one gruesome murder. There was a patch of woods along the road; you were supposed to park your car at the edge of it and turn off your engine and lights. From there, a strange light would emerge from the woods and approach you. This was the ghost of Hansell Road. Many believe that the ghost on Hansell Road is that of a slave. I’ve heard that he was captured and killed on the road after trying to escape from his master. 

For a long time, I brushed off the stories are mere folklore. I didn’t believe in ghosts at all, let alone one right in my own backyard. Then one cold fall night about eight years ago, I was proven very, very wrong.

My friend Derek was a couple years older than me, which meant he got his license and would drive me pretty much every weekend night. This increased mobility also allowed us to pick up girls and ride around with them. But when you’re living in Bucks County, you run out of places to take said girls pretty quickly. So even though we thought the stories of Hansell Road were a bunch of bull, we often found ourselves out there. Because it was someplace to go, not to mention we quickly realized that scaring girls meant they would cling to us and all that good stuff. 

The first few times we were out there, we didn’t see anything unusual. We got scare the girls with some hokey stories, we’d act like brave little big shots, they’d cuddle up to us, and we’d be on our way-mission accomplished The fifth time we pulled this stunt, though, we didn’t look like big shots at all. Instead we looked like a couple of scared little kids, which is exactly what we were. 

Well, on this particular night, we had our car parked by the border of the woods. Derek was in the front seat scaring his girl, and I was in the backseat scaring mine. After a few minutes of telling stories about runaway slaves and whatnot, I noticed that she was really scared-I mean, totally spooked. At first, I thought my stories were doing the truck once again; then I turned my head and realized that I was in a bit too deep for my own good. 

Hovering in the trees was a green glowing light. I shouted just about the same moment everyone else in the car started to freak out as well. The light reach the edge of the road when it did something totally unbelievable: It dropped out of the treetops and landed in the road, as if someone had dumped a bucket of the stuff. It was rolling around on the road haphazardly for a moment. Then, much to our terror, it seemed to stand up-it wasn’t in the shape of a man, but it was about the height of one-and began heading in the direction of the car. It was a pale green light but definitely had a form and was moving. 

Derek had already started the engine and was in the beginning stages of a K-turn. The light was still coming at us, slowly but very clearly intentionally. Derek gunned the engine, and we left the thing in the dust. 

Derek and I were screaming worse than the girls, and needless to say, we didn’t look brave or heroic that night. For a long time, I avoided Hansell Road. Other friends of mine would head there looking for adventure, and I became known as a bit of a square for warning them that they were tampering with forces beyond their control.

These days, Hansell Road is a lot different. Developers have moved in on the area, and there are now houses along the road, especially at the entrance. It has been paved over, so it’s no longer a cracked, pothole-ridden dirt road. But still, when I go down that road, I can feel the presence of that glowing green whatever-it-was we encountered there many years ago. -Jeff Salerno

[willel]

Random Season 4 Wishes

Here is a random list of things I want to see in season 4 in no particular order. Some of these are more like predictions than wishes, but at this point, any prediction made is just a wish. 

A break from all out romance. The romance wasn’t really handled all that great last season. Other than the looming monster danger, it was the forefront of season 3. I would like a return to a season 1/season 2 formula where while there is still romance, it is never the focus. Stranger Things excels with subtle tender moments and meaningful physical contact. 

Character growth over character drama. Another issue season 3 had is too much conflict between character. Hardly any of it really contributed to character growth. The only character growth to be seen is Mike being a little less clingy and El being a little more independent. Nothing else noticeably changed, not on screen. Conflict is important... but it should be pushing our character forward, not locking them in place. 

Recapture the importance of family. Our cast has been divided in two. The Byers + El are somewhere new while the others stayed behind in Hawkins. This leaves an excellent opportunity to revisit old threads long forgotten. I would love to see Nancy and Mike actually interacting. Not just one conversation or exchanging a glance. Full out brother and sister duo. I feel similarly about Jonathan with his own family. I would like to see a plot where all the Byers + El are in it together. 

Return of Kali. Kali, I feel, is a very important piece of El. While season 3 would have us forget her influence of El, I hope next season doesn’t completely ignore her presence. It would be interesting if Kali’s prediction comes true, that no matter where she hides or who she’s with, “they” will never let her live in peace or have a normal life. Not because I want harm to come to El, but because I don’t for a second believe the government is done with her or the other experimented children.

Proper strategist Michael Wheeler and proper action man Lucas Sinclair. I would like to see the return of the strategist Mike who always seems to have a plan and can get everyone on the same page. In season 3, he was fumbling around distracted. I feel normally, Mike would have set a trap for the Mind Flayer or would’ve formulated a proper plan to escape the mall or the cabin. In Lucas’s case, they did ok with him in season 3 actually, but it was really out of character for him to freeze up while El was being choked out. I want to see a more forward athletic Lucas. 

Will to make new friends. In season 3, we saw at least 2 of the 4 boys interests changing drastically and the other was all too eager to go off and hang around new people. Given Will’s situation (new town, new house, new school, distant old friends), I’d like to see Will gain some new friendships. That’s not to say he’d drop the old ones. They’re the OG after all. But, before all the drama of next season picks up, it would be nice to see Will being happy and acknowledged by new friends.

US Government becoming a threat again. Personally, I did not enjoy the Russian plot. Everything seemed like a joke. When the US government were the bad guys, everything felt more dangerous and dire. You never knew who was listening. Who was watching. What would happen if they found El or if they would hurt the boys and their families. Next season, I feel they could make the Russians feel like as much of a threat as the US government if both governments are clashing and in a race to the bottom. By that, I mean the government should become a major foe again racing against the Russian government to do bad things. Open a gate? Control a demogorgon? Allow the Mind Flayer in again? Both these governments should screw up equally. 

A slow return of El’s powers. I want El to get her powers back, but I want it to be a slow daunting process. It’s like she starts back at square one. She can move and pick up small things, but even that has taken her months. She’s stuck between being seemingly normal with no powers, but also missing the power she once had. 

Casual power training. As we know, Will is really into comics. El might be too since Max introduced her to them. A classic of comics is the super hero training to regain their strength or to become stronger. It would be really interesting if Will contributed to El slowly regaining her powers by setting up obstacles and challenges just for her. Maybe on the weekends, he designs a building and she must use wooden blocks/legos to make it with her powers. Or, build a house of cards. A game of darts using powers only. A game of catch. (I was going to say Jenga, but it looks like that didn’t get released in the US until 1987) Anything Will can creatively come up with that he thinks will help her regain her strength. (whether it does or not is up for debate) It’s mostly casual fun. Some bonding opportunities. Who doesn’t enjoy training the hero/super hero? (basically, it’s roleplay) 

Will’s power expanded. I am writing a proper theory page on Will’s/the Byers’s powers, but let me explain exactly what I mean here. It’s clear Will has powers, but they severely limited them in season 3. Examples:

Instead of only sensing the Mind Flayer when it’s nearby, he should be able to close his eyes, concentrate, and locate the center of activity

Will should have great insight into the Mind Flayer’s intentions even if it’s just honest guesses on what the Mind Flayer wants and what he’s trying to do (like in season 2)

Will’s danger senses should happen immediately, not delayed like we saw in the hospital or in the mall. He should be able to tell the Mind Flayer is coming for them from miles away or even across dimensions.

Will should retain true sight, the ability to see into the Upside Down. A dangerous ability to be sure, but can be useful if we’re going to have gates popping in and out around the world like what’s been implied.

Karen possibly discovering the truth. Honestly, Season 1 Karen is such a good mom. And in season 3, that discussion with Nancy was superb and beautiful. I would love for Karen to learn a little more what her two eldest kids have been up to. If not that, I’d like for her to at least give more guidance to her kids. I’d like for Nancy and Mike to vaguely come to her for advice and she’d grant it, no questions asked. (ok, Karen used to be very nosy so maybe she does ask questions, but takes a step back and respects their privacy)

Joyce to be believed right away. I honestly do not understand why people doubt Joyce, you know? She’s been right 3 years in a row now (Nancy too). I swear if anyone questions her intuition next season, she should give them her classic Joyce sneer until they realize how silly they’re being. In order of “alarm bells”, I think it will go like Will >> El >> Joyce >> Jonathan in quick succession. All 4 family members should be very sensitive to weird things as this point. 

Jonathan gets a plot. I want to see things from Jonathan’s perspective again. After season 1, we’ve barely gotten anything. I want to see Jonathan putting forth plans or leading the charge, at least for a little while. There is a great opportunity for this next season since he’s the man of the house about to graduate from high school if he hasn’t already. (*sobs remembering Will is taller than him now, officially). Heck, if we want to switch around the order of “alarm bells”, maybe Jonathan becomes alert of something wrong before Joyce does this time. 

Less product placement. In season 1/season 2, there was product placement, but that was because they were really setting the scene. It was 1983. This is what products used to be like. This is what was popular at the time. But season 3? They cranked that dial up 2000% when they didn’t need to. It really made it feel less serious and set in reality. Don’t dare use Lucas to spit out a damned Coke ad ever again. 

Genuine friendship moments. I’ve mentioned this earlier, but with less romantic drama and stuff, I’d like to see genuine friendships return. The El and Max friendship was great and all, but it’s really a shame it was so heavily focused on Mike. I hope in the future, these two girls are able to share screentime without the boys being mentioned or thought about. Same with the guys, it would be nice if they could hang out like before without splitting off into pairs or focusing entirely on their romantic lives. They don’t really feel like a friend group anymore, just a group of double dates (hence why I’d like for Will to make friends outside the original group.)

Proper use of the supernatural. Season 3 was weak when it came to the Mind Flesher imo. They had this whole idea of the Flayed who seemed to be totally normal (and sweaty) just walking around town living their lives until a flip was switched. Whyyyyy in the world weren’t they used to try to get at our cast? The only time they did it was in the hospital, but we saw dozens and dozens of people who could’ve served the same purpose except it could happen anywhere. Maybe there were other ‘patients’ in the waiting room that also turned on the kids that they had to fight off? Maybe strange people came to all their houses trying to find them or break in? They could’ve gone full creepy like season 1/2 but they didn’t. I’d like to see them fully use the horror aspects next season. 

That’s what I got off the top of my head. 

[justkending]

Starstruck. Chapter 1.

Summary: Bucky Barnes works at a hospital in NYC as an E.R. doctor. Him and his a group of his friends all plan a trip to Texas to attend ACL music festival. It’s not really Bucky’s scene, but one particular artist that is performing there is his celebrity crush, Y/N Blaire. Y/N is a country pop singer who is on the up and coming rise in the music industry. What’s to come of the two? Well, that’s for them to explore and you to find out...

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N Blaire (Reader)

Word count: 4300+

A/N: This idea was one of those ones that once it came, there was no getting it out of my head. SO here we are actually putting it in writing. Hopefully I can give it the justice it deserves! Also, fair note to make, I recently went to ACL this year and this is where the idea kinda blossomed. I watched an amazing selection of all kinds of artist I already knew and some that I grew to love. I say this because Kacey Musgrave was one of those individuals and I haven’t stopped listening to her albums since I went, and I love her type of music as well as voice. So, each chapter will have a song that goes with it from her. In other words, the reader is based off of Kacey. Her type of music and voice are going to be what the reader characterizes as. Enjoy and let me know what you think!!!

NEW SERIES FOR A NEW YEAR!! HAPYY NEW YEAR!!!

Songs: 

Enough- Alex Roe 

Dime Store Cowgirl- Kacey Musgraves

Chapter 1:

“Come on! We have to hurry if we’re going to make it to the Honda stage!” Bucky grunted, maneuvering his way through 75,000 people that were also trying to get around the crowd.

He had taken the lead of the group with Clint, Wanda, Nat, and Steve following single filed.

“Bucky, slow down! The girls can’t push past as fast,” Steve shouted on the tail end of the line.

“I can hold my own, Steve.” Nat sassed sending him a playful glare.

He just chuckled, placing a hand on her back as he moved to the side for yet another person as they continued to sneak through everyone else. 

Once they got to the middle of the park, where it was a lot more spacious, they all scoped out the stage they were looking for, seeing it was already filling up. The concert goers already standing to the back of the field. Clearly there were about 2-3 thousand people waiting for the next performer to go on.

“Damn it. We’re too late. We can’t get close to the stage,” Bucky mumbled upset that the one singer he wanted to see was going to have to be from a good distance. 

“Who even is this girl and why is Barnes having a full on fangirl moment?” Clint chuckled getting an elbow to the ribs from Nat.

“She’s a really good artist,” Bucky rolled his eyes as they moved as close to the stage as possible. 

“She’s an up and coming country pop singer,” Wanda spoke up. 

“Country? Since when is Bucky into anything country? I thought he was into the old classics,” Clint scoffed. 

“She’s the one exception. When he figured out she existed, that’s all that played in our apartment for 4 months,” Steve laughed. “I’m sure it didn’t stop though after he moved out.”

“Hey. You loved it and you know it,” Bucky pointed a finger at his best friend. 

“She’s good. I’ll give you that.” Steve held out his hands up in surrender. “Clint, I’m sure you’ll like her.”

“Hey, I’m all for a little country music,” Clint replied.

“It’s a subtle country twinge to it though. Nothing overbearing,” Wanda added. 

“Wanda, you a fan too?” Nat asked. 

“Maybe not as much as Barnes here, but yes. I’ve listened to her for a while,” Wanda nodded. 

“How much longer until she’s on?” Nat asked, turning to the stage.

“About 23 minutes,” Bucky said looking over everyone's heads as they got as close as they could without being squashed. 

“It’s a good thing Sam couldn’t come. He would definitely be making some comments and jokes about your little obsession,” Clint chuckled under his breath.

“Shut up!” Bucky groaned. “She’s just really good and a good person.” 

“Oh, so you’ve met her?” Steve nudged his arm with Bucky’s.

“No, but she isn't in any of the bad media,” Bucky answered. “Unlike her stupid boyfriend.”

“She has a boyfriend.” Wanda asked.

“Yeah, Quentin Beck. He’s an actor, but did a few albums a while back. He has a bad rap from the past. Big time party goer, manipulative, and always messed with peoples head making them think he was a good guy when he wasn’t. Complete dick from what I’ve heard.” Bucky crossed his arms looking ahead at the stage. “Apparently, he went through this whole life changing stage, and now he’s all sweet and generous. Of course, everyone thinks it’s cause Y/N had that effect on him.”

“Ok, has Barnes been internet stalking this girl forever or…” Clint said eyebrows raised. 

“Shut up. I just keep up with the news and read, punk,” Bucky sent daggers Clint’s way. 

“Whatever you want to call it man. I personally call it stalking.” Clint shrugged getting a shove from the dark haired man. 

“Boys, cut it out.” Nat said stepping between the two. “If it wasn’t for this girl, we wouldn’t have got Bucky to come. So I say we enjoy her show, and stop teasing Barnes on his obvious crush.”

“It’s not a crush!” Bucky groaned.

“Sure cowboy. Sure thing,” Wanda patted his back with a wink getting a chuckle out of him before he wrapped an arm over her shoulder and gave her a squeeze.

“You’re the only one who gets me,” he smiled.

“Eh, what are friends for? Plus us Y/N Blaire fans got to stick together,” she winked at him. 

Sure enough 23 minutes later, music began to play, and the crowd went crazy. Wanda squeezed Bucky’s waist looking up seeing him staring trying to find the singer he had come almost 2000 miles to see. 

When they heard the crowd get even louder, they saw she had walked on in an outfit that screamed her, and her guitar thrown over her shoulder. 

She was smiling and waving at the crowd with a giant genuine grin. Even though the group of friends were a really good distance away, the giant stadium sized screens on both sides of the stage showed her perfectly.

She was wearing a green leaf textured top that was short yet modest. Her skirt was what looked like an old renaissance painting in fabric form. She had bracelets up her arm, and necklaces hanging from her neck. Her hair thrown into a messy yet intricate braided style with a custom cowboy hat with a flat rim around it sew in with detailed embroidery.

“Her outfit is so cute.” Nat said leaning to look past Bucky and talk to Wanda. 

“Her style is literally the best. It’s ranges from hippy/hipster with a twinge of country to itl. She done some fun things that you think would never work, but somehow look amazing on her!” Wanda agreed. 

“Is that where you get your inspiration?” Nat laughed motioning to Wanda's witchy-hipster-vibe.  

“I’d be proud to be compared to her,” she winked before turning back to the stage.

“Oh, my! Look at all you lovely people!” Y/N said into her mic that stood in a stand in front of her as she scanned the sea of individuals. “I would have never guessed to see this many people. Holy shit!” she laughed stepping back and putting her hand on her cheek as she listened to them scream.

“Ok, she’s pretty cute. I’ll give you that, Barnes,” Clint laughed getting a nod of agreement from Steve. 

“Back off, Barton,” Bucky laughed back sending a teasing look. 

“Sure... No crush at all...” Clint rolled his eyes playfully.

“As most of you probably know, Austin is one of my favorite places here in Texas beside my hometown,” Y/N continued and paused as the crowd screamed again making her laugh in the mic and making Bucky’s heart skip a beat at the sound. “And it’s crazy to think that a little over 5 years back, I was just a struggling artist doing small gigs in cafes and bars, and playing on the street for a little extra cash.” She let out a breath and held her hand to her heart. “It’s a dream to be asked to play here along with some AMAZING artist,” she emphasized. “Like. I honestly don’t know if this is real or if I’m going to wake up in a few minutes.” More cheers. “Anyway, you guys didn’t come here to hear me gawk at what my life is now, so let’s get a move on!” she said pumping her hand getting the loudest screams so far. 

She turned to the rest of the band before counting down and starting to strum her guitar.

Everyone took in the performance with awe. Bucky especially, he sang along with Wanda on a few songs, but mainly just took in the moment listening to her and her voice. 

He literally had never seen someone perform live so well and so gracefully. She was a great stage presence and got the crowd all riled up as the songs changed. She interacted with them stopping in between songs to talk to the crowd before leading to the next song. She was amazing. Absolutely stunning and Bucky’s stomach was overwhelmed with butterflies just having an experience with his friends like this. 

“Ok, for this last song-” the crowd booed and let out sad shouts. “I know, I know. I don’t want it to end either, but someone else needs this stage,” she laughed taking off the guitar and grabbing her mic. “But I promise you’ll love me for this next part. I have a special guest that you may all know, that’s going to duet with me on this last song.” The crowd chanted waiting for the surprise. “Want to come out?” she turned to the side stage. 

Everyone turned immediately shouting seeing who it was. 

The crowd going crazy seeing Quintin Beck wave coming out with his own mic. Bucky not too enthused by him. Annoyed? Yeah for sure. But it was because this guy had a bad reputation and he didn’t quite understand someone like Y/N who was known for her kindness being with a gaslighter. 

“Hey everyone!” he smiled coming out and moving straight to Y/N taking her in a long hug. He turned back to the crowd with his arm still around her waist and smiled. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Screams. “I would be too if you get to hear this angel sing,” he winked at her getting a loud awe from the people. 

“How do you feel about giving them a special duet?” she giggled leaning her head on his shoulders.

Though a simple action, something in Bucky’s body cringed. 

“I’d say they shouted enough for it,” he smiled at her before she nodded to the band and they started back up. 

They began singing one of Beck’s songs together. It was a slower love song called Enough. He had recorded it a while back, but when they started dating, they re-did it making it top of the charts for a while. 

Her voice always seemed to be so smooth and easy going. Bucky hated to admit it, but Quintin voice mixed well into the song. Especially when she came in and harmonized. He didn’t think it was possible for it to sound more perfect, but the harmony smacked him in the face. Probably doing the same to everyone else. 

When they finished they did a small bow, and the crowd began chanting for them to kiss. Making Bucky let out a groan and look away.

“Jealous, Buck?” Steve leaned in with a chuckle.

“Shut up, punk.” he said looking back up and seeing Quintin just land a subtle kiss to her cheek making the concert goers whoop and holler. 

“Whatever, Jerk,” Steve laughed.

“You’ve all be amazing! I hope you all enjoy the rest of the concerts! I heard my friend Kacey Musgraves is here, so I may need to join you in watching her!” she winked at one of the camera. “I love you ya’ll! Have a great and safe night! Thank you!” she waved walking back and disappearing with Quintin already waiting on the side for her.

“Ok, let’s head to The Cure before heading back to the hotel. They’re one of the last acts tonight.” Nat said pushing the boys to the next stage in hopes of getting there a little bit sooner than others. 

“So, what’d you think Clint? Still going to make fun of me for liking her?” Buck asked, smacking his friends back.

“I’ll give it to you, Barnes. She’s cute, talented, and seems like a sweet person. You’ve got good taste,” Clinton laughed. 

“Told ya.” 

“I think you just added to her fan club, Buck.” Steve winked. 

They all laughed as they worked their way through the crowd for the last concert of the night. Only one more day to go then it was back to work for all of them.

_______

The last day of ACL had been exhausting to say the least. They were planning on leaving before the festival ended, so they had taken the first half of the day to venture downtown Austin. They had just finished lunch at a pizza place, and the girls said they wanted to do a little shopping down the strip before heading back to the concerts. 

“How long does it take to look through one tiny shop?” Bucky groaned as they stood outside another boutique.

“You don’t shop with girls very often, do you?” Steve laughed. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have a girlfriend. I have a pretty demanding job and haven't fully settled with it enough to get a girlfriend,” Bucky sassed. 

“You’ve been an ER doctor for over 7 years. I would hope by now you have some kind of grasp on the job,” Clint snorted. 

“You’re a cop, Barton. It’s not as easy as the people on TV make it look,” Bucky retorted. 

“I’m Captain of a precinct. It’s a little more work than a cop.” Clint rolled his eyes. “Plus, I still make time for Laura, don’t I?”

“You were high school sweethearts.” 

“You’re point?”

“Come on Buck. When’s the last time you even went out on a date?” Steve nudged him. “Peggy has friends she can set you up with.”

“We’ve tried that already, remember? The girl had the color scheme of our wedding, and the name of our imaginary kids already picked out by the second rounds of drink.” Buck huffed. 

“Yeah, she was a little intense,” Steve pursed his lips as he rocked on his heels. “That may have been one of the new girls at Peggy’s office that she was just trying to introduce to new friends. She ended up being a little too clingy for all of us.”

“You think?” Bucky snorted. 

“What about-”

“What about I go into this quiet and empty bookstore, and as soon as the girls are done, you can come and get me?” he didn’t wait for an answer since he was over them trying to set him up once again. “You know Nat’s single too! Why don’t you try setting her up with someone?”

He huffed as he walked into the close-to-empty small book store. Only about 3 people in there. He let out a sigh as he ran his hand over his face, and walked to the back of the store. 

Just as he was rounding the corner, he hit a smaller body turning the same corner. 

“Oh god! I’m so sorry!” the woman said moving to grab the books in her hand and keep them from falling. 

Bucky reacted quickly and put his hands on the same book making it to where his larger hands were covering the woman’s smaller ones in support. 

“No, no! That’s my fault, doll.” he awkwardly chuckled as he tried looking at her face, but she was wearing a felt floppy hat covering her features. “You ok?”

She finally looked up once the books were steady in her hands, and smiled up at him. His heart stopped instantly. 

No. Way.

“Doll? Cute little pet name, Sweetheart,” she replied back with a sweet and soft southern accent. 

“Y-You’re- Y-” he began stuttering and her face slightly dropped from smiling, to nervous. 

“Oh, please don’t shout or something,” she whispered adjusting the books in her hand and the hat on her head. “I take it you’re a fan,” she smiled softly at him.

Holy shit, she was more beautiful up close. Even all those album covers with her hair and makeup all done, and the little photoshoots from the magazines didn’t do her justice in person. 

“Uh, yeah,” he let out a chuckle. “But don’t worry. I won’t cause a scene,” he said turning back to see the store was still vacant practically. Somehow his voice not staggering now. 

“I appreciate it,” she smiled looking over his shoulder. “Us ‘famous people’ still do normal human stuff too. Believe it or not,” she winked at him making his heart actually flutter. 

“No, no, Ha. I believe it. But, uh this is a pretty popular part of town. Why here?” he asked moving to where he was blocking anyone from behind them to see her. She caught the gesture and her smile grew at it knowing his kind intentions. “I mean especially during ACL. More people souvenir shopping.”

“Very true,” she giggled. “But uh, I don’t get to come back to Austin very often, and this my favorite little bookstore. Thought while I was in town…” she shrugged. 

“I see,” he chuckled. 

“That plus, most people skip the book store and go straight for the overpriced boutiques,” she joked. 

“Shame too. Who wouldn’t want a book from a new city?” he said crossing his arms. 

How was he so calm around her? He had been a fan of hers for years. Shouldn’t he be a nervous, sweating, stuttering wreck. I mean sure his heart was beating about 100x more than it should of, but he was having easy conversation somehow.

“Right?” she breathed out a soft laugh. “God. Someone who gets it,” she grinned.

“I’m, uh, I’m Bucky,” he said putting a hand out and offering it to her. 

“Y/N. But I’m sure you already knew that,” she chuckled again before taking his hand with her free one. “You from around here, Bucky?”

“No actually. My friends and I came down from New York,” he said regretfully taking his hand back, but it would be weird to hold onto it longer. Right?

“New York? That’s quite the trip. Tell me you flew, and didn’t drive the whole way.” she said raising an eyebrow.

“No, flying was definitely the only way my friends would have got me here. I don’t think they could handle 26 hours in the car ride here,” he laughed making her join him. God, he wanted to make her make that sound about 5687 more times. 

“Not a big road trip person?” she asked. 

“No, I’m a big road trip fan. I think a little too much sometimes. They probably would have been annoyed of me halfway here.”

“Same here. I can be a little too cheery in a tight car,” she said. 

“Blaire!” Someone from behind yelled. “We gotta get moving. We got a busy schedule today, and we have to drop Quin off at the airport.” 

She looked over Bucky’s shoulder seeing a man in jeans and a t-shirt, but fancy sunglasses and a phone to his ear.

“Ok, be right there,” she nodded. She turned back to Bucky and sent him an apologetic smile. “It was nice talking to you Bucky, but the superstar life doesn’t rest unfortunately.” she shrugged. 

“No, no. Go ahead. I’m sure you have better things to do than talk to a stranger in a bookstore,” he chuckled awkwardly. 

“I don’t know. This was turning out to be an interesting little conversation Bucky,” she grinned, and he about burst at her saying his name again. “You going to the last day of ACL?” she said, moving around him but still looking to him. 

“Uh, yeah. My friends and I are going to head that way soon,” he nodded. 

“Well, little tip. If you have a chance, go check out Kacey Musgrave’s stage if you can. I heard there’s going to be a little surprise,” she winked before turning and walking back to the desk. 

Bucky watched as she checked out and talked to the man that had called on her earlier. Just as she was leaving though, she turned back looking for him and sent him a small wave. He returned it and she smiled one more time making him actually melt into his spot before disappearing. 

“Dude, we called you like 5x times. What took you so long? I was about to go in there and hunt you down,” Steve said seeing Bucky in a dazed face with a stupid grin on his face. “Buck, what’s going on with you?”

_____

They went ahead and headed to the music festival for the last few concerts before flying back home. Bucky explained to them what had happened and how he had had a full conversation with the Y/N Blaire, but no one believed him but Wanda. Either that or they were just messing with him to irritate him. They just kept teasing him about how he was daydreaming and thinking up scenarios he just WANTED to happen. 

“Ok, so Kacey Musgrave next?” Nat asked as they were walking around.

“Yeah, I think that’s the last one we have time for before heading out,” Steve nodded. 

“Y/N said there was going to be a big surprise at her show too. I think it’s a good note to end on,” Bucky spoke up.

“Sureeee thing, Barnes. Y/N probably did say that,” Clint winked elbowing his friend. 

“Barton, I swear if you keep joking around about not believing me, I’ll punch you so hard and leave you passed out on the grass for some drunk person to throw up on you,” Bucky groaned over the teasing. 

“Give him a break guys. The man met the love of his life. You can’t blame him for being so awestruck he forgot to get proof of it,” Wanda patted his back reassuring him. 

“Thanks Wanda,” he smiled at the one person who didn’t annoy him to no end. “Wait-” 

“Let’s go guys. If we want a good spot at least,” Nat laughed waving them on. 

They ended up getting a good spot pretty close to the gate. Sure it was about 40-50ft away from it, but that was good for ACL’s crowds. 

Kacey came out eventually and did an amazing performance. Her stage lit up with pastels and whimsical colors. 

“Okay everyone! As you know, I grew up in a small town in Texas, and I’m not the only artist performing here this week who did,” she smiled on the big screen getting the crowd to scream.

“No fucking way,” Bucky muttered to himself, but Steve heard and turned to him.

“What?” Steve said watching his friends mouth drop and Wanda’s doing the same. “Wanda, what am I missing?”

“This girl and I actually grew up just a few towns away from each other. Little did we know, that we hung out with each other through mutual friends a few times. But who would’ve thought we would be here together?” Kacey laughed. “So without further ado. I have a little guest star that’s going to sing an older song of mine. Y/N/N, you wanna come out here and say hi?” she motioned to the side stage like Y/N had with Quintin. 

The crowd going nuts once more. 

“Hey!” she waved in a new attire. “How are y'all doing?” Again more shouts and screams of excitement. 

“Well, would you look at that? Maybe Bucky did meet her,” Steve chuckled lightly, picking up on the surprise that she had supposedly told him about. 

“I told you, punk!” Bucky said pointing a finger. “Take that asshole,” he said turning to Clint who was just laughing hysterically. 

“If there is one song that I can fully relate to that Miss. Kacey has created, it’s Dime Store Cowgirl. Small town southern girls, am I right?” Y/N grinned. 

“Shall we then?” Kacey asked. 

“Oh. We shall,” Y/N smiled giving her a side hug before they both pulled back and waved to the band signaling the song. 

Everyone screaming and shouting the song with the two. Then just as fast as it happened, Y/N and Kacey were bowing and saying their final goodbyes with a few blown kisses to the crowd.

“Goodnight Austin! I love you!” Kacey screamed as they left side by side. Y/N blowing kisses as they walked. 

The crew packed up and left that night. Heading back to the real world unfortunately. All Bucky could think about was how he would probably never see Y/N again. Not like he did in the bookstore at least.

Nope. That was a one time thing, and quite honestly he wondered if it was all a dream. Maybe she would come to NYC soon, and he could see her in concert again. It wouldn’t be the same, but it would be better than never seeing her in person again. Right?

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[politicalprof]

2019 in books:

David McCullough, 1776: A highly accessible, if somewhat naive, depiction of the year that defined the prospects for American independence. I wouldn’t go there for deep, critical analysis. But for a story of a year, it is well done.

Michael Palin, Erebus: HMS Erebus was a British naval vessel that spent much of its career in Arctic and Antarctic exploration. If you are interested in Victorian era explorations of hard places, a fascinating read.

Emilio Corsetti III, 35 Miles from Shore: The story of an airline crash in the early 1970s in the Caribbean. What happened, why, how, who survived and what we learned. Interesting if not brilliant.

Raymond Thorp, Crow Killer: Old-fashioned tale of the inspiration behind the Robert Redford movie Jeremiah Johnson. As much fantasy as history. But it offers a flavor of a time and a subgroup few Americans would know.

James Corey, Caliban’s War: The second book of “The Expanse” series. The protomolecule is working its mojo, and Earth, Mars and the Belters are none too happy with one another. A fun read of a massive space opera.

Walter Kempowski, All for Nothing: Set in the context of the collapsing Eastern Front during WWII, this story proceeds from the fractured point of view of the Germans who are about to be turned into refugees fleeing oncoming Soviet forces. The book, notably, does not make these Germans sources of sympathy: the mood is dissonant and disordered. A real piece of literature.

Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall: Because who doesn’t want a point-of-view account of a key counselor to Henry VIII, one who rose to extraordinary wealth and power despite his humble birth and then managed the, how shall we say, removal of Kathrine as Queen? Replaced by Anne Boleyn? Who wouldn’t want to read it? It’s excellent, by the way.

James Corey, Abaddon’s Gate: Book three of The Expanse, and the protomolecule has remade humanity’s relationship to the universe. But we’ll probably screw that up, too. Another good story, filled with actual thought about the problems of space travel and space living.

MIchael Krondl, The Taste of Conquest: The Rise and Fall of the Three Great Cities of Spice: Venice, Lisbon and Amsterdam each in their turn dominated the global spice trade -- a trade that was one of the main stimuli for early colonialism and imperial conquest, and which strongly influenced the rise of the modern corporation as a linch-pin of global capitalism. The book is not as good as it should be, but the story is one that few people know, but should.

Hilary Mantel, Bring Up the Bodies: Hey, it’s time to get rid of Anne Boleyn everyone! Or, at least, to separate her head from her body. And let’s manage the English Reformation, too ... all just a few years before losing our own head. Welcome to the early/middle 1500s in England everyone!

Leigh Perry, A Skeleton in the Family: Who doesn’t have a skeleton living in their house who helps solve mysteries. I mean, who doesn’t?

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: So my son has started reading Harry Potter. So I have started reading Harry Potter. I liked this book: it’s tight, it’s focused, it’s a fun read. I see the appeal.

Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, Good Omens: The answer to the questions: “What if the angels and demons charged with over-seeing Earth as humans go from the Garden of Eden to Armageddon decide that they like Earth and don’t want Armageddon to happen (even if their allies do)? And what if the Anti-Christ were raised in a perfectly mundane family in a perfectly mundane English village? How might it all turn out?” To delightful and funny effect.

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: Meh. Okay. Not as good as book one. But still a good story.

Gilbert King, Devil in the Grove: Thurgood Marshall, the Groveland Boys, and the Dawn of a New America: A broad pastiche of events surrounding one of the many civil rights cases of the 1940s and 50s: the abuses and murders of several African American men accused of raping a white woman in Lakeland, FL, in 1949. With a whole lot of associated discussions of other cases, the NAACP, corrupt and criminal law enforcement, race riots, and the like. A good read. And how can it be that the bastard George HW Bush, put Clarence Thomas on the Supreme Court to fill a seat once held by the staggering legal figure that was Thurgood Marshall. Shameful is the only word.

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Certainly better than the Chamber of Secrets. A darker turn. But beginning to get padded as readers demanded “more” if not “better.”

James Corey, Cibola Burn: Book 4 of The Expanse ... and I didn’t like it. It seemed like filler, a book written to a contract deadline. Maybe it will pay off in the end. But another one like that and I’m not going to care.

Tom Phillips, Humans: A Brief History of How We Fucked It All Up: Did you know our oldest known ancestor, Lucy, probably died by falling out of a tree? If stories about how people have messed things up, have suffered both intentional and unintentional consequences, turn you on, do I ever have the book for you. Schadenfreude much?

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: Dear lord is this book long. Why? No doubt because the fans wanted it to be. But it is as gratuitously padded as any book I have ever read. It’s okay. But I wasn’t particularly impressed. Perhaps another six Quidditch matches would have helped ....

Adam Higginbotham, Midnight in Chernobyl: Thought the HBO miniseries was scary? It was tame. I mean: the Soviets, with their level of “technical prowess” and their industrial “quality control checks” ran the facility. Heck, Chernobyl wasn’t even their first disaster. Let’s just put it this way: the actual fuel piles in each of the FOUR Chernobyl reactors were so big that: 1) different sections had different characteristics, and didn’t all operate at the same rates or temperatures; and 2) the monitoring equipment couldn’t record how all of the pile was operating at any time. Happy now? Russia still has 10 Chernobyl-style reactors in operation. Enjoy your good night’s sleep everyone!

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Yes, yes: I know. This isn’t Order of the Phoenix. Well, I read Order of the Phoenix many years ago, and thought it was deeply annoying. A pile of words with little point. A way to keep the audience happy with long passages about very little.

Meanwhile, I, like my son, roared through Half-Blood Prince. A ripping good tale. Much tighter than the last several of the series.

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: A fine read. A bit slow getting going: let’s go here! Let’s go there! Let’s recap the plot! But after the first 1/3 or so, the story got moving and I enjoyed it. Didn’t expect great literature; didn’t get great literature. But then again, I deeply appreciate how much pleasure my son got from this, and how excited my daughter is to engage with it. If it hadn’t been conceived and written, it seems like there’d be a Harry Potter sized hole in the universe.

Neil Gaiman, American Gods: In all honesty, I didn’t really like the first 2/3 of this book: too many tangents; too many sub-stories for the sake of sub-stories. And I’m still not sure I think it was a great book. But I really enjoyed the last third of it, and there were moments, vignettes, and sentences that truly blew me away. So I am glad I stayed with it.

Kameron Hurley, The Light Brigade: A sci fi story of soldiers apparently engaged in a war with Mars who are transported to the battlefield as beams of light. One gets unhinged from time. I am not sure it was worth the work, and I came to understand it was based on a short story and so, at times, it seemed a bit one-trick pony-ish. But it had its share of moments.

Daniel James Brown, The Boys in the Boat: A bit slow going at first, but it grows more compelling as it moved forward. This is the story of the 1936 crew (rowing) team at the University of Washington that went to Berlin and won the gold medal as Adolf Hitler watched. An interesting story about crew as a sport (about which I knew basically nothing), and life in Depression-era Washington state -- with a little, somewhat gratuitous, commentary about life in Nazi Germany layered in. One takeaway? The actor Hugh Laurie’s father was the lead oarsman on the British crew at Berlin in 1936. Hugh Laurie rowed crew at Cambridge as well.

James Corey, Nemesis Games: The next in the Expanse series. Much more enjoyable than the last one, but still a bit strained. One heck of a plot “twist.” A perfectly lovely way to relax; didn’t change my life. Some interesting character twists. But also a lot of “here are some giant developments (a lot of giant stuff) that give us lots of things to write about going forward!”

Alan Stern and David Grinspoon, Chasing New Horizons: the story of the New Horizons mission to Pluto. Interesting behind the scenes look at how the mission got funded, planned and implemented. Accessible in terms of the explanations; thick with bureaucratic story-telling and summary. It turns out this stuff is really, really hard. Interesting, but it didn’t blow me away.

And to end the year, I am reading: Christopher Moore, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal: What if 13 year old Jesus had a buddy who, 2000 years later, wrote a gospel that filled in those missing years of Joshua’s (as Biff calls Jesus) life? Well, here’s your answer.

[alexsmitposts]

America Under Total Censorship Lockdown as it Circles the Drain The United States is under a broad censorship lockdown. News from regional press is blocked from national coverage, stories are crushed, certainly Facebook and Google ban and delist, but now at a level that should be unimaginable. The stories run in two areas, seemingly unrelated, that being BLM protests and the other COVID-19. Both are political issues for sure. One strange, certainly inexplicable move has been made by the Trump regime, starting July 16, 2020. Trump has ordered defunding of COVID-19 testing, something that will certainly cripple efforts to rein in the pandemic, and he has also ordered massive cuts to the Center for Disease Control (CDC), ending their ability to report test numbers, hospitalizations and deaths. He then issued an executive order to hospitals to stop reporting COVID-19 data to the appropriate agencies and to channel data directly to his political staff. This will be the painful story as there is a reason for these actions, ignored entirely by the press, but first we need to establish the extent and severity of censorship from the ground up. We will cover a number of stories that should have been followed, certainly investigated and ask some hard questions. Real news reaches a very few and with it warnings, to be careful. Even the FBI, once the enforcers of corporate rule in America, is left out of the loop. There may well be a hideous secret being kept from Americans and the world about how bad things are in the US and any who threaten that secret may well face the fate of so many who have died reporting facts that make the Deep State uncomfortable. As a journalist, I regularly get whistleblower reports, certainly on a daily basis. Many are outrageous and conspiratorial and weeding between credible and insane is taxing in a world where “insane” is the norm. However, a pattern has made itself perfectly clear. Let us take a few anecdotal issues and see where we go. This week, in Detroit, a man convicted of two murders was released. It seems the police detective who handled the case back in 2002 faked everything, witnesses were coached, evidence fabricated, a man spent 16 years in jail and was obviously innocent. The story was reported but what wasn’t reported is that the same Detective Sergeant had done this before. All complaints were quashed by police officials, and many of his fake cases were featured on reality television. Up to half of the “solved” murder cases in Detroit, once “Murder Capital of the World,” involved this corrupt cop, who is still “on the job,” meaning hundreds are in prison for decades, even life, who are innocent. It also means this is still going on. Worse still, who did the killings? We now suspect that a criminal group within the police may be running a “murder for hire” organization and has been doing so for years. There are no investigations, and no one is asking why. Who are their clients? On a broader national issue, there is a huge but largely unreported controversy in Portland, Oregon. President Trump and Attorney General William Barr have sent several hundred armed personnel to Portland to act as fake police against protesters there. No one is sure where these men come from, the fake police, not the protesters, though this is a valid question also, but they seem to be prison guards. It is illegal in the US for the federal government to send police to a state. It is illegal for prison guards, who are not police, to exercise arrest power outside the walls of a prison as they are not “certified” and “sworn” law enforcement officers within the state where they are, in this case, deployed. This is a massive constitutional crisis. Then something more curious happened. Senator Ted Cruz, a comic figure, tweeted a photo of those arrested by these fake police. Photos of a dozen young men, all white, claiming they were Antifa operatives. In the Tweet, Cruz referred to their “mullet” haircuts. The “mullet” is a style often ridiculed. Those wearing this hairstyle are invariably rural, deeply conservative, and poorly educated. They are classic “Trump base.” There was little evidence, other than sketchy news stories, that Antifa even existed. It is now clear that the all-white violent demonstrators are hired thugs from among the rural poor, hired from “Trumpland.” This is a common GOP practice dating back to Watergate and Donald Segretti. The same story came up in Grand Rapids, Michigan when violent demonstrators began looting during a Black Lives Matter demonstration in June. Those arrested were white, had arrived from across the state, and had been paid $300 each by political organizers. Guessing whose political organizers isn’t too difficult. These facts were delisted by Google, the Tweets were taken down and Facebook posts were erased as well. No press follow-up was done and both police and prosecutors have since “disappeared” those arrested. On June 1, 2020, a Ukrainian truck driver who had worked for a CIA sponsored militia fighting against Donbass separatists, plowed his vehicle into protesters in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Bogdan Vechirko failed to kill anyone, but shocking video showed 2000 peaceful demonstrators running for their lives. All reporting ended there. We found that Bogdan Vechirko was not jailed and that no legal action has been taken. Worse still, no one has asked why. A month later, in Seattle, an Eritrean immigrant plowed his white Jaguar into protesters killing two. His family has strong ties to CIA sponsored war lords. The video is among some of the most horrific ever filmed with those he struck at 100 miles per hour flying high in the air. He was chased down by a witness who pulled his vehicle over miles away. Press was told he is under arrest. No details are available. He may be out on bail; no details are available. Where he lives, anything about his family or background is withheld. He is a ghost. Only days ago, a Trump supporter entered a convenience store outside Lansing, Michigan. State law requires anyone entering a store to wear a mask. When confronted by a shopper, the Trump supporter pulled out a large kitchen knife, just the thing used for buying cigarettes and milk, and stabbed the 77-year-old shopper repeatedly. The video from the store is withheld as is the name of the victim and any witnesses. It gets better. In moments, police found the perpetrator and an officer pulled his car over. This was in an affluent neighborhood, in front of the perpetrator’s home. The perpetrator got out of his vehicle with a butcher knife in one hand and a large screwdriver in the other. The police officer, a woman with 22 years’ experience, demanded he drop his weapons. His replies, maniacal and haunting, are unforgettable, like something out of a horror film. As he ran toward the officer, she fired more than a dozen shots, hitting him 8 times as he slashed at her. He barely went down even then but died at the scene. Now the incident has been “un-happened.” There are no facts about who this was, why this happened or how the perpetrator, a well-paid state employee, became a terrorist. We have dozens more such incidents daily in the US, some are legitimate, angry people under pressure while others are theatrical with the perpetrator’s ghosts. As a juxtapose, when a wealthy couple in St. Louis pointed weapons at demonstrators near their magnificent home, media reported on every aspect of their lives, story upon story for weeks. These are all tabloid level stories that should have driven media to shake every tree, question families, show photos of victims and bloody crime scenes. This is how the media makes money, as the saying goes, “if it bleeds-it reads.” Not anymore, not when perpetrators are clearly not what they seem to be. Where are we going? Well, we are certainly going to take this one home. So, why is there a massive crackdown on reporting? Is it tied to police murders? Yes, maybe it is but we don’t think so. Is it tied to COVID-19? We have held off thus far in asking questions about censorship of COVID-19’s impact on the US. We will ask some of those questions now. We have both facts and “alternative facts” hitting the media regarding the pandemic. As COVID-19 levels skyrocket in states like Arizona, Florida, California and two dozen others, reporting becomes, not just contradictory but insanely so. In Florida the governor, DeSantis, claims that 98% of the state’s hospital beds are currently empty. The graphs he publishes are all over Twitter and Facebook, placed there by political trolls. At the same time, however, the largest hospitals in Florida report that they are at 119% of capacity and are overrun with COVID-19 patients. Rebekah Jones, a medical statistician fired for disputing faked data ordered by Governor DeSantis, says deaths are being not just underreported but on a large scale. Easily available video of overflowing hospital wards and licensed “real” medical professionals complaining of lack of medicines and equipment, can be found but are never reported on mainstream media. We do know this, the only drug that treats COVID-19, Remdesivir, is virtually unaffordable, is totally controlled by Jared Kushner and that the State of Florida, in the midst of a massive outbreak of COVID-19, exhausted all supplies over a week ago and Washington isn’t sure when they can release more. This isn’t being reported either. We are also told that those who die are often over 80 years old but massive anecdotal evidence, including regular reports by experts, cite the large number of young victims who are seriously ill. However, their serious illness and hospitalization is not reported and their deaths, if they are dying, are unreported as well. In fact, none of the data received can be depended on, not just in Florida but in dozens of states that seem to be “sitting on” numbers hospitalized and even fatalities. This censorship is driving many to openly shun needed precautions leading to massive increases, all documented, of COVID-19 infections. Why? Conclusion As a test against censorship and misreporting, algorithms are run, based on total tested, total tested positive, total hospitalized, total cured and those who die. As more are tested, more with lesser symptoms, the percentage of infected who later die is continually lowered or was until the beginning of July 2020 when numbers hit a plateau. When COVID reporting began to yield usable data, around mid-April 2020, death rates of those infected were at an unrealistic 36%. Testing levels, through presidential interference, were extremely low, something that would seal America’s role as a failed state. As testing increased, the percentage of recovered compared to deaths followed a predictable curve, which would flatline at some point. With testing levels, after months of interference, substantive enough to give a meaningful result and death levels somewhat modified by the use of Remdesivir, the death percentage “flatlined” at 7 percent. Thus, if a state like Florida were to have 10,000 new cases in a day, with an average of 7% dying, this would mean that eventual death levels would hit 700 a day for this state alone. This figure would be modified by higher or lower numbers testing positive or by lower death rates for larger numbers of younger infected. No such figures are reported. Using figures already proven, many states are reporting very inconsistent figures when looking at testing-hospitalizations-recoveries and deaths. Simply put, they are lying, underreporting by as much as 50%. Florida is clearly one of these. It is clear that the press has yet to do any statistical analysis on COVID-19. Why? There is also significant evidence that the medical community is aware of these inconsistencies. Respected medical professionals have come forward repeatedly with claims of underreporting and, more serious as well, their own theories that COVID-19 is a biological weapon. Attempts to debunk professionals by medical quacks and charlatans backed by conservative think tanks fill the media, while respected professionals are boycotted entirely. Could the US be hiding 100,000 additional COVID-19 dead? A recent leak from the CDC now predicts 800,000 dead by the end of 2020. From the Daily Beast: “If someone had suggested five months ago that we would be seeing more than 3 million cases and 135,000 COVID-19 deaths in the US by mid-July, I wouldn’t have believed it. But now it’s distinctly possible that, five months from now, half of all Americans could have been infected with SARS-CoV-2, and more than 800,000 Americans may die in this extraordinary outbreak. That is what many of our most prominent public-health experts now expect.” However, as of this writing that figure is 143,042, or is it? Is there a lie so big that the United States would find it offensive to perpetrate? I think we all know that answer.

[fireintheforest]

Behind the Blue: chapter 1

It was just another average night in The Gray Mare inn in Chorrol, packed to the brim with customers. Now and then footsteps of patrons and employees walked across the wooden floor, sounds of septims clinked against wooden tables to pay for a room, ale or a warm meal, and the ever present noise of conversation, laughter and mumbling in different languages and dialects hung in the air. There were perhaps 2 empty tables in the whole establishment, so amongst all the Imperials, Bosmer, Nords, Argonians, Khajiit and the Orsimer group, it was understandable that at first glance nobody saw the Dunmer and the hooded figure that were sitting at a corner of the inn. Then again, this was also justified by the low wall that covered this table somewhat from the prying eyes of others. The Dunmer seemed to have been here for a longer time, since the level of his drink was low and the hooded figure was only now taking a seat. The Dunmer waited for the figure to have sat down before he spoke.

“So I’m guessing there’s a reason for the messenger in the middle of the night, corner table of the inn and the hood.” Toivon began.

“You guessed right.” The female voice coming from the hood said in an uncertain, low voice, “Is…is everything alright?”

“…yes, why are you asking?”

“Well, you look…you look concerned. Angry.”

“Madame, this is just my face.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it swiftly, “Oh. I beg your pardon. Well! Let’s get on to business.” She straightened up, blinking and feigning that the embarrassing moment hadn’t happened, “This…is a matter that I’d prefer be handled with the utmost discretion.”

“Not a word will be spoken out of here to anyone else.”

“Not just out of here. The whole affaire must be done with extreme care. You can’t be caught or suspected on. Your identity and mine cannot ever go to the public. My name and my family’s has to stay away from the scandal that will come.”

“Sounds serious. No one will know. Now tell me, what do I have to do?”

The hooded figure pushed her hood slightly back as she leaned forward in her seat, only enough for Toivon to see her face better. She had crow’s feet, some fine facial lines, bags under her gray eyes and some gray strands mixed among the rest of her black hair. She had a single beauty mark in the top right part of her forehead.

“My family,” she began, “the Ferchants, have been members of nobility since Evermor’s beginnings. We have contributed greatly to the city’s economy, our ancestors have been members of its history and served our community. Then, Emmanuel Hawkcroft came to my life when I was around the 15 years of age. My father helped him greatly get the title, lands, riches and honor he has now in exchange of errands and missions to do for him, as is usual, in High Rock, when it comes to people of his….economic position. His whole life is indebted to my father, who took him in as a son, who grew up with us as another brother. We thought he saw us as family as well, so naturally, when my family was in trouble, we turned to him for a favor that could’ve not just helped us but also kept face. Just until we could be stable. He refused, and because of him we lost everything.”

“Ouch.” Maybe it was the expected answer, or maybe it was Toivon’s deadpan expression, but the woman didn’t catch the sympathetic sarcasm.

“Hawkcroft amassed his fortune via piracy, scams and investments in transport, and yet after all we’ve gone through, there’s not a look, not an apology, nothing. We only got back to barely what we were thanks to my husband’s family and my brother’s wife’s.”

Toivon leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, “Mhm” Just his luck to get a Breton, these people talked sermons before getting to the point. The only ones worse than them were the Altmer.

“His fortune is simply ridiculous, he became richer than my father was, he’s part of the Evermor elite. I just thought…after having shared with him as a brother, as a friend, I thought he’d think of us in the end. That he’d remember us and mend everything right. But he didn’t.” she shook her head, as if still in disbelief, and sighed as she leaned back on her seat, “He didn’t.”

“Ma’am, not meaning to say this isn’t interesting, but get to the point.”

“When I investigated, I heard nothing but good word about you. They say you are one of the stealthiest in the business, but you stand out specifically for discretion. I need both skills from you. I will pay 7000 Septims for you to steal La Zadine and bring it to me, and 2000 to your team members.”

Toivon blinked, “How much?”

“Seven thousand Septim to you, two thousand to your associates.”

“Huh, I heard right. What exactly is La Sadine?”

“La Zadine, sir, La Zadine!” Toivon didn’t move a single muscle of his face, “It’s a famous sapphire in Evermor, it belongs to Hawkcroft. He came across it in one of his voyages, during a trip my father sent him to, and was one of the jewels he presented my cousin, Edwynne, as a gift to ask her for her hand in marriage. It’s just the most coveted sapphire in the region.”

“So, let me summarize. You are willing to pay me 7000 Septims, just so I can steal a rock. A sapphire, to be exact. Lady, this is a lot of effort for one rock. Not saying I’m rejecting the contract, but…If you want to hit this bastard where it hurts, wouldn’t it make sense to steal all his money? Leave him in poverty? Begging at the main street in nothing but the clothes he has on?”

The woman gave a small yet cruel chuckle through tight lips, “I’d love to see that, but even if we wipe his bank account clean he’d still have his business and lands to give to his children, both most likely on his will, now that he knows he’ll die soon. I know Hawkcroft, despite appearances he’s as sentimental as a weeping bride and he placed a lot of emotional value on that specific sapphire. Especially since my dear cousin passed.” She leaned forward, “He can get into business. He can call his rich friends, he can do investments, but he’ll be devastated to find that rock missing.”

“Cold.” Toivon said, then nodded, “Alright, I can do the job. I’ll just need to know where I can find Hawkcroft’s estate.”

“The manor is located in the outskirts of Evermor. Hawkcroft is planning a grand dinner in honor of his daughter, Avelle, and her name day. He will be too focused on the guests and the preparations to pay mind to La Zadine in his room. You can take this night as an opportunity, having the party as a distraction.”

“Wait, how do you know the rock is in his room?”

“Three years back I sent my most trusted maid, Sorcise, to work at his estate so she could report back to me his moves until we could find something that were of his weakness. She told me there’s a chest underneath his bed that he guards jealously. Chances are, La Zadine is kept there. He’s never trusted banks to guard his things to begin with.”

“If it’s as easy as breaking into his room, why has your maid not done it yet? She can walk around the house, no?”

“The chest needs a key, one that Emmanuel has with him at all times. Sorcise is discreet, but she’s not an experienced thief. And despite her claims, she’s got nervous fingers. Emmanuel would feel her trying to grab the key a mile away with how her hands shake. This is something an expert needs to do.”

Toivon nodded, contemplating the information that had just been given to him in silence. To fill the void of conversation, a table to their right burst in a roar of laughter that settled down enough for Toivon to say, “Breaking into a house in the middle of a party. That’d also involve higher security, but I’m guessing that with your maid’s help I may be able to bypass it.”

“Precisely.”

Toivon bit the inside of his cheek as he looked away, then looked back at her and said, “I’ll be risking a lot in here. My hide, my men’s, your maid’s, your name and three years of careful planning. I’d raise the price for my associates to, say, 5000 Septims.”

“Per person?” Madame Ferchant’s eyes widened, “I can pay 2500 each.”

“Still low. I can leave it in 4000 if you’ve got a tight purse. If you want me to steal La Zadine in a party, it won’t be that many men. I’m not going to scam you. It’ll be me, your girl and two more and that’s it. It’s already cost you three years without Sorcise, careful planning and keeping appearances up. Besides, how much does the gem by itself cost?”

Madame Ferchant sighed, her lips tightening a bit. “Fine. I can pay 4000 Septims, but only for two of your men. Not more, not less.”

“Rest assured, you’ll get your jewel. Quietly.” Madame Ferchant nodded and pulled her hood back to cover her face.

“Your pay will arrive to you once the jewel is in my hand.We will meet in Evermor the night before the party, in around a month.”

“…the party is in a month?”

“Of course! You need proper time to prepare a proper party. Otherwise it’s just a gathering. And Avelle is known for going over the top.”

“Fine, right.”

“I’ll see you in a month, monsieur.” And with that, she rose from her seat, walked around the table, and left. Toivon leaned back on his seat, mulling over the details of the operation as he drank. The tavern was still noisy, still merry with laughter and arguments and discussions and plates banging, cups clinking, mouths chewing, orders being tossed, the fire cackling and warming whoever was closest.

[taylorbrandon-blog1]

Thank You

Three years ago I thought that I was going to be moving to Michigan to finish University. I made an online dating account where I met Chris and Brad. I talked about anything and everything to these two for months with hopes of having two friends and maybe something more if that were to be the case. But more hopes that I knew what so people well enough to be eased into the move away from home.

Talking every day all day as much as the three hour time difference could allow we grew closer and closer. Chris though, got an impression that I would never want to date him when I was out there started dating someone. At this point many things were happening in my life and Chris and I were not talking as much as before (little did I know he started to date a girl named Sammy and she got pregnant.) 
Yet, Brad and I grew closer and our friendship grew stronger.

When I signed up for classes and days were being counted down to moving day, I found out just how much I would have needed to take in loans for school. It would have had costed me 40k a year for three years that I had left in school. I had to drop classes and withdraw from the University. I was heart broken that I would not be moving to Michigan.

One of the first people i told that I wouldn’t be going for school after all was Brad. BUT I was excited that I was still going out for the trip and could maybe meet up for lunch or something.

As I had planned on moving, I had already had the time off of work, my parents had their time off work, so we decided to make the trip out to Michigan to visit my brother who had recently moved there for work. Weeks leading up to the trip it was harder and harder to talk to Brad know that I would not be staying. 
The trip out was fun, since it was a road trip, we were able to see many differ there parts of the country. One week going to Michigan then one week coming back to California.

With the trip coming closer and closer, It was harder and harder to talk to Brad. I stopped always responding to his calls and texts. Like I said I was heart broken that I wouldn’t be staying once we got there. I was distancing myself thinking this is it, we wont talk anymore and we could go on with our own lives like it didn’t even happen like we didn’t even exist.

While in Michigan visiting my brother, we drove by the University that I was going to be attending and I just broke down in the back seat (to myself of course, but my mom could see me and she just rubbed my back as we passed by.) I remember not answering any calls nor texts from Brad while there. I pretty much ghosted him. I felt bad about doing it but it was the only way I could feel okay and not totally broken inside.

As this was three yeas ago, I don’t remember exactly how or when we did start talking again, but we did. Things were going great, I started university in California made some great friends and even met someone, Ryan. The time I was dating Ryan was rough, he hated that my group of friends at school were mostly guys, but in reality he wasn’t who I wanted to date. If you could even call what we had dating. It was more his terms on his time. A bit of an emotional roller coaster. I never called him my boyfriend never said I was in a relationship. It was just... I don’t even know. Ryan messes with my head pretty good. And to be honest. It’s been hard to talk to anyone, hard to trust anyone for that matter. For the six months that Ryan and I talked/ hung out he really screwed me over.

I wanted to be in Michigan to have that fresh start. To hang out with Brad to see what there could have been with him. To see what we had grown over then phone would actual be like in person. I told Ryan that I had had feelings for Brad and if the opportunity were to ever present itself that’s who I would be with. Things were then rocky with Ryan and we it ended. All the while I was still talking to Brad. It was great for the longest time, then Brad started to text and call less and less. Turned out he started to date someone but never told me and I was hurt. I tried to play it off and not ask him about it for the longest time. But the longer it was the more I felt hurt. I thought we were closer than that, close enough to tell each other anything. I finally got the courage to ask him if he was actually dating someone one and yes he is. He’s still not really even said it completely and I don’t understand why.

Flash forward a bit (not sure on the exact timing) my brother said he and his wife were building a home not far from where they were living when we had visited. Even though Brad has been seeing someone, I told him that I was coming out and that if he wanted to I was up for meeting finally after all these years. He was. I promised him I wasn’t going to flake like the last time I was out.

I was excited, scared, nervous, everything, every emotion going through my mind. The biggest fear his girlfriend. I didn’t want to mess that relationship up, but I also knew that if I was out there and didn’t meet him, he and I wouldn’t have anything anymore. He’s one of my closest friends and I would hate to lose him. Even though that’s the feeling I have and I’m bracing for the day I do end up losing him. I know that he has a girlfriend and I know that I live 2000 miles away from him. Nothing if anything could happen. I know this deep down inside and it hurts like hell.

Brad and I decided that we would meet at a local restaurant. We met, it was great, it was as if we had known each other for years. There was no reason be nervous or anything. We talked, we enjoyed lunch until I saw his phone with a picture of his girlfriend and reality hit. Nothing was going to happen ever. I was going home in a few days back to California and he was staying here happy and in a long term relationship.

Lunch ended. His hug was nice. The only thing with his hug… it felt more of a “goodbye” than a “We will see each other again.”

Now being home, I feel as though it will never be the same. Knowing that we did click as well as we did in person. I kind of feel like maybe we never should have met in person just kept it on the phone and online. Maybe we should start the discussion of distancing ourselves from each other. But...Here’s to hoping we meet again Brad. You mean more to me than you think.

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Unconventional Family - Chapter 1 - Before

Sumary:  "The way Cordelia looked at her made her go weak in the knees. She was about to die, she knew it and Cordelia also knew it. Madison had done a lot of fucked up things through life, most of them involving Cordelia, and yet the woman trusted her. She had no one else, she had no family, all she had was Cordelia and it had been like that for years now."

Disclaimer: You might want to take care while reading this, there is mentions of violence, sexual abuse, drugs and alcohol use, and depression. Please, let me know if there are any grammatical mistake!

Read it at AO3

When her mother told her that she was a witch, Madison, at the time with eleven years old, thought that she might had go insane. But then that could explain why she had shut her door closed just imagining it happening during a argument with her mother just two days before.

At age twelve her mother said it was something that ran in her father’s family, apparently she had a cousin that was also a witch, but that lineage was slowly dying since in every generation they had less and less ‘gifted’ womans borning in the family. At age fourteen, this weird woman with a red hair and terrible clothes showed up in her house to tell her about Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies and how she would have a place to stay with people who understood her, somewhere where she could learn and grow her powers.

Her mother told the woman that Madison was going nowhere. At first, Madison was touched by her mothers reaction, because that meant she wanted her daughter to stay around. Her mother was not the most affectionate person in the world, they barely hugged at all, and maybe her mother said ‘I love you’ twice during Madison’s life, but there she was, denying some creepy invitation so her only daughter could stay at home with her. Of course reality slapped Madison in the face only a week later when her mother sent her over 2000 miles away to shoot some teen movie while she took the flight to the opposite direction to spent a few days at Bahamas.

When she was just two months from being sixteen, Madison decided that her mother could not take all decision for her, especially when the girl kept asking her to stop accepting jobs in shitty movies or agree when the directors asked Madison to remove her top. She was done. So Madison used her credit card to buy a ticket to New Orleans, leaving a very angry Ms. Montgomery screaming behind her. Her father, as usual, was nowhere to be seen.

Madison didn’t knew what to expect when she reached the Academy that woman told her about, but for sure it wasn’t an abandonaded place. There was no one around, even the house next door was empty with a big ‘Sale’ sign, and the old sign that read ‘Robichaux’s Academy’ was about to fall. For the first time, Madison wondered if she was insane for doing that. She had a house, a big house, a career, fame, she didn’t need those creepy old ladies to do something with her life.

She was just about to turn around and leave when a black car parked in front of the big white mansion. Madison watched as a woman, around her twenties, blonde with brown eyes and a shy smile stepped outside the car, holding several bags from a supermarket. The woman was talking with a man that was following her with more bags, so she took a while to notice Madison there, but when she did the woman almost dropped the things in her hands.

“Hello?”

Madison had learned a long time ago that friendliness usually took you nowhere. Her mother never talked with her with affection if she wanted Madison to do something and her father’s voice was always filled with boredoom and sarcasm, not to mention the directors and producers always screaming and yelling, so the girl never learned how to act in another way, she didn’t had no one to look at to be nice, nor did she had any reasons to be.

“What is this shit hole? I did not signed up for this.”

The woman arched her eyebrown in shock, turning her head to look at the man behind her for a couple seconds, quietly communicating with him. When she looked at Madison again, she was bitting her lips. “I’m sorry, I think you’re in the wrong place. We’re not expecting anyone. What’s your name, honey?”

Both Madison and the strange man looked at her a little in shock. Madison was not used to people asking who she was. “This place don’t own a fucking TV?”

“Sweetie.” The man moved his bags so he could poke the older blonde in her shoulder. Madison could not hear what he said next, but the woman was even more confused by it, like the girl was from another planet.

That was the first time Madison ever saw Cordelia – and Hank.

Madison only needed two minutes inside the house to realize she was the only one there (“This is very empty for a Academy,” she said). It took her less than thirty seconds to realized Cordelia was not expecting for her and that she had no clue what to do. It was funny for a while, but after her first week there only reading some old books she was done with it.

“Isn’t this place supposed to be a school or something?!” She asked one day during dinner after Cordelia handed her another book – that one was so old that the cover was missing and some bug had eat the first few pages.

Cordelia’s face was red seconds after. Madison rolled her eyes when she saw Hank putting his hand on top of his wife’s to give her some sort of confort. “I... I’m sorry, Madison, but Myrtle didn’t tell me that you would come and I didn’t had nothing ready for you.”

“No shit.” Madison tried to use her power to sent the old book to the garbage, but it fell down midway and she frowned. She was also supposed to be getting better at that. “You better figure it out, Cordy, because I’m not going to read another stupid book.”

And Cordelia did figure it out. Surprisingly. Two days later – if Madison had payed attention she would had realized that Cordelia didn’t slept those nights so she could do some plainning – she woke up Madison before 10am, the normal time for the girl to wake up, and their classes started.

Madison found out that Cordelia couldn’t do many things with her magic, but she also could see how hard the woman was trying so she could help Madison. By the time her birthday came, she was already able to lift more than ten objects at once – she still was working in moving all of them. For her surprise, Cordelia woke her up that morning with a small cake and a gift, along with a huge smile and open arms – she knew Madison was not a big fan of contact, so she let the girl decide if she wanted the hug ot not. For both of their surprise, Madison fell in her arms without hesitate.

The teenager felt... happy, something that she couldn’t remember ever feeling. Cordelia would teach her until noon everyday, so they would have lunch together and eat some ice cream as a deseart, so Madison would have the whole afternoon to train the things her teacher had showed her and read the books that Cordelia insist that she should. Hank would be back from whatever his job was and they would all have dinner together, and Madison would go to her room after that.

  Hank was almost never home. He was gone right after breakfast, spent all day out and only returned around dinner. He also traveled a lot, a least twice a month he would be out for the whole weekend or even weeks, but Madison never found out why. She knew it had to do with his job, but Cordelia never said anything to her about it and she never asked.

Once, a few days after her sixteen birthday, he got home surprising Cordelia, who thought he would only be back the next day. Madison was not feeling very well, so she skiped dinner and stayed in her room going throught her social midias and talking with some old friends. When Madison was getting ready for bed, putting on her PJ's that consisted in a small short and nothing else, she sensed someone looking at her, and when she turned around there was Hank, standing outside her room. He started to walk away the second he realized she had spotted him, but Madison could see that he was talking on the phone.

The next morning he found her in the kitchen, waiting for Cordelia to get there so they could start breakfest.

"Hey, I just wanted to say that I wasn't spying on you last night." He said and the blush on his face almost made Madison believe in him. "My phone rangged and I picked it up and got stuck there. I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to look or anything."

Madison always had the power to smell bullshit from far. She could sense that he was only parcially telling the truth, she just wasn't sure about what he was lying. She decided to sleep with a shirt from that day on.

  "I did it!" Madison was jumping up and down in her excitment, a large smile spread all over her face, her hands in fists that she was bumping in the air.

"What? That was your first try!" Cordelia was also smiling, a proud look all over her face when she rested her hand in Madison's lower back. "Can you do that again?"

Madison closed her eyes to concentrate enought to make the table and the chairs all move to the ceiling (her teacher wanted her to make it cross the room, but she thought it was lame). She felt the well-know feeling of her Magic running through her body and into the tip of her fingers and she knew that yes, she could do that again. The girl opened her eyes in time to see the table hit the ceiling softly, so she held it there for a while until Cordelia would be satisfied by it - or impressed. The older blonde started to clap, a happy laugh leaving her while she watched her student - her only student - perform that spell so easily.

"That's amazing, Maddie!"

Cordelia was not the first one to call her like that, but she was the first one who ever said it with such a happy look on her face, pulling Madison in her arms to give her a hug and kiss the top of her head. The former actress still acted like she hated those moments of affection, so she rolled her eyes and tried to push the woman away, even if her hand barely touched her shoulder and that both knew she was also happy.

"What about we celebrate with ice cream?" Cordelia asked when she pulled away.

Madison arched her eyebrowns in surprise. "It's not four yet, I have to pratice."

The teacher waved her hand to scoff that. "You can do that tomorrow, right now we're going to celebrate the perfect execution of your power in the first try. Come on, we can go to the shop in the corner."

  "Mother, I know you can't actually do it, but can you please be nice? Madison is our only student and she's a good girl and an amazing witch, if you..."

"I'm sorry, Cordelia, did I ever gave you the impression that I care?" Madison could only hear Fiona's voice, but she already disliked her. She wasn't talking with Cordelia in a nice way, in fact, she sounded exactly like Madison's mom.

"Who are you?" Madison asked as soon as she entered the kitchen. Cordelia had said that her mother would appear in the house later that month, but Madison still had an attitude.

The woman, who had a cigarette in her mouth, let go a deep laugh, mocking Madison while blowing the smoke away. "Who are you, little failed project?"

"Mother." Cordelia warned, walking towards Madison to put one hand on her shoulder. "This is Madison. Madison, that's my mother, Fiona."

Madison was only sixteen, but she was no fool anymore. She could see how tense Cordelia was and how Fiona had an aura of power around her that made the girl feel unconfortable under her gaze. "I have to apologize, I suppose, for leaving you here with my incompetent daughter, but I have more important things to do. As the Supreme I can't sit around and..."

"What's a Supreme?" Madison had read many books about magic, but none of them talked about that. In fact, many books never talked about any history around magic, only spells and potions, and she wondered if Cordelia had choose those ones specifically for her.

Fiona could only roll her eyes, clearly unsatisfied by everything. "What are you teaching to this girl, Cordelia? How to sew and marry unfitting man? Does she even know how to clean her own ass?"

"Mother, let's just..."

"A Supreme..." Fiona started, lighting another cigarette in the process. "Is the most powerful witch in the world."

When Fiona was done talking, Madison was facinated by the idea of it. Of the Supreme. A woman so powerful that could trick death. When Madison stoped talking with Cordelia a few months later, she replaced her mentor with Fiona and the Supreme started to be who she was looking up to.

  Madison kept pushing the shopping cart behind Cordelia, sighing at every minute or so to make her point. She was bored. Grocery's stores weren't made to be fun, but that lame song was making it ten times worse, not to mention how slow the older woman was moving, taking her time to read every label she came across. Who needs to read the milk label, really?

Madison wished she had anything else to do, but her other option was to stay home alone, and to be honest she didn't thought grocery shopping would be that bad. So yeah, the only choice she had was to follow Cordelia throught the aisles, fighting the urgence to hit someone with the cart - specially that kid who pointed at her and screamed for no reason at all.

"Madison, can you grab the noodles? Choose whatever you want."

She almost asked who was going to cook those. When Hank decided that he wanted to cook, Madison would spent days living on cookies, because it always tasted like crap. It would be a wast to let him ruin a good noodle. Sighing one more time, Madison walked to the shelf and took three packages out of it. Cordelia kept walking and reading the flour label, turning to the next aisle after looking over her shoulder to see if the younger girl was still behind her.

They entered the good part, Madison thought. Chocolates, cookies, biscuits and chips, all the good stuff. But, of course, Cordelia walked fast to get out of there and reach the yogurts in the end. With an eye roll, Madison followed her again, only to stop suddenly just before her cart hit Cordelia.

"Do you want a chocolate?"

Her mother never let her eat any of those things. She had to keep her shape to get new parts, so anything delicious was forbidden in her house since she could remember.

"Sure." She shrugged. It's not like Madison never ate chocolate, because she had, but she never did it enough to have a favorite one, so she just turned so she was facing the shelf and the inumerous options and kept staring at it for a while.

"It's okay, you can have more than one." Cordelia giggled, thinking that was the reason why the girl hadn't moved yet.

Madison, without noticing, bitten her bottom lip, considering the differente packages and colours. "Which one do you like?"

"Oh, don't worry about me! I will eat whatever we have, if I ever eat anyway."

Not helping. The former actress frowned, finally moving to take one of the chocolates in her hand. She couldn't believe she was about to do that, since she was mocking it non stop since she stepped in the supermarket, but Madison turned the pack around so she could read the label.

"Madison, I don't want to offend you or anything, but... you look like you're holding a bomb." Cordelia tried to laugh to light the mood, but Madison's blush made her reconsider how to approach the situation. "You don't know which one you want?" She offered.

Madison opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again, before rolling her eyes. "You could say that."

"Ok." Cordelia stoped by her side, took a deep breath and said: "Don't tell Hank, this is his credit card." Before starting to grab all the different chocolate bars to put in the cart.

Madison only watched while her teacher took enough chocolate from the shelf to feed an army. "What are you doing?"

"We have a girls night tomorrow." Cordelia had a gentle smile when she looked back at Madison, throwing the last chocolate on top of the big pile. "We will find out what is your favorite chocolate."

She knew, Madison realized. She just knew, like most things, Cordelia just knew. The younger girl smiled when her teacher and her started to walk side by side to reach the yogurts.

  "What do you want to do tonight?"

"I thought Hank would be back by now." Madison never gave much thought about her teacher's husband. He didn't seemed a nice guy, he also didn't looked so bad, but Madison always felt like something was wrong with him.

Cordelia shruged. "He is, but I thought we could have a girls night."

If Madison thought it was weird, she didn't mention it. But yet, she totally did. "You want to have a girls night with a teenager?" The girl arched her eyebrown. "How old are you anyway? And should I call the cops?"

"Ha-ha-ha, Madison, you're so funny, I can't believe it." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "For your information, I'm 28, no cops needed, and yes, a girls night will be fun. We can watch a movie."

"Why?" Madison was looking at the woman over her book, a little frown on her face like she couldn't see the point in doing what Cordelia was suggesting.

"Because we have cable TV and free time." Cordeloa mocked. "What? You never had a girls night before?"

Madison decided not to answer with the truth. "No." She had planty of them, usually with the friends she met in the sets or auditions, but all of them were only around because they wanted Madison's fame to splash a little on them too. Madison knew that and they knew she knew that, so all they did was exercise their acting abilities pretending to like each other.

"Get ready then. I will make us some popcorn and you can choose the movie."

And boy, did Madison made Cordelia regret her decision a few minutes later when she chose Friday 13th as their movie.

  "What are we doing today?"

"Actually..." Cordelia got up from her chair to walk to the sink and clean her mug. "I have to go to the mall. Christmas is coming and we need a new fairy light."

"Oh." Madison frowned. In the months she was living in the Academy, Cordelia never let her alone to study on her own, and she definitelly wasn't going to do that if nobody was watching. "Okay, are you giving me another book?"

"No, no." The woman turned around shaking her head. "I mean, if you want, you can go with me. We can leave around 10am and have lunch there, I think I can use this time to search for some gifts too."

"You're not making me go to the Gap, are you?"

Cordelia giggled. "I was thinking about getting you something from there."

"You wouldn't dream about it, bitch."

That Christmas, Madison received a card from her parents - it wasn't even from them, one of Madison's aunts wrote and sent it for all of them. She refused Cordelia's idea to go home for the Holiday and spent the Christmas with Hank and her teacher at the Academy. For her surprise, she did received a shirt that said GAP in it, but Cordelia was only making fun of her and they did share a laugh on her reaction.

Cordelia gave her a nice pingent for her to add in her wistband. A small cauldron.

  "Are you busy?"

Cordelia was looking at some papers, there was a big pile of them on the table and much more in a huge garbage bag by her feet, she was wearing her glasses and bitting her bottom lip while deciding which ones she had to keep. As soon as she heard Madison, she looked up and smiled. "Just cleaning the room."

"Why?" Madison walked in to look around.

"Someone has to." The woman laughed and took her glasses off. "I'm thinking about making this room my office. You know, some formal place to keep papers and stuff. Myrtle said it used to be the principal's office back in her days and I don't think Fiona ever took care of the paperwork in here, so I have to do it before decorating. But that dosen't mater now, what do you need?"

The younger blonde shrugged. "I was just wondering if you could help me with something."

"What is it?"

"I'm trying to learn transmutation."

"Oh." Cordelia seemed surprised by it, she clearly had no idea Madison was interested in that. "Well, Maddie, you know that most witches can only perform one power or two. Do you think that transmutation might..."

She didn't finished talking since Madison interrupted her with a grin. "I'm sure I can do it, I just not sure how. Maybe you have a book that I can find the informations I want?"

"Transmutation is a very dangerous thing to do, Maddie."

"I could figure that out." She rolled her eyes to tease the woman.

Cordelia sighed, taking her time to answer the girl. "I don't want you to try on your own, okay?" She finally said, already getting up to walk to her room and grab a book she thought might help. "You can read all you want, but you will only try anything if I'm there, got it?"

"Well, you're not my boss." Madison joked, hidding her smile on Cordelia's back. "I promisse I will be a good girl."

"Ha-ha very funny. I'm serious." Cordelia went inside her room, leaving the door open so Madison could follow her, but the girl only stayed by the door, looking around in curiosity for a few seconds. "I don't want you to get hurt doing something you weren't ready to, so you will read it and re-read it five times before you come talk to me so we can figure it out."

Madison usually forgets that Cordelia didn't had a power of her own. The woman always seemed so smart, like she knew everything about magic and how to use it, that it was easy to forget she could only mix some potions here and there. So of course they would have to figure it out, because Cordelia herself didn't knew how to do it.

"I will read it once." Madison rolled her eyes. "And go talk to you."

Cordelia walked back at her, a old black book in her hands. Madison strached her arm to reach it, but Cordelia pulled it away before she could. "I have a deal."

The former actress moaned in despair with the new information. "Come on, Cordelia, I'm not going to be nicer with the new neighbors, don't ask me that shit."

"That wasn't it, but it could be." Cordelia raised her eyebrowns. "If you're going to try to learn new things, you will have to learn potions too."

"That's so boring, I'm not going to do that."

"All types of magic are important, Madison. Take it or leave it."

They stared at each other for a while, until Madison rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine, but if that shit get too boring, I'm walking away."

  Madison saw Myrtle before, when the woman showed up in her house to invite her to attend Robichaux's Academy, but nothing had prepared Madison to see her again. Her hair was even more red, her clothes brighter and senseless, and she was talking non stop about a purse she saw in Paris, while Cordelia served them some tea.

"It was gorgeous, Little Bird, I'm telling you. I regret not getting it the moment I saw it and I will never forgive Madonna for stealing it from me."

Cordelia giggled, sitting down in the chair next to Madison so they would both be facing Myrtle. "She didn't steal it from you, Myrtle."

The old woman sighed heavly. "Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that I will never found something so perfect like that purse."

Looking at the woman's fashion option, Madison was sure it was something so idious that it would make people burn their eyes out, but Cordelia was laughing and the woman hand't said anything bad at Madison, so she was going to keep her opinion to herself.

"I'm happy to see you accepted our invitation, Ms. Montgomery." Myrtle said after the tea was finished and she was done mourning for the purse.

"You just forgot to tell me I would be the only one here." Madison wasn't mad about it, not anymore, but the woman did made it sound like it was a big ass famous Academy and turns out Madison was the only one there for God knows how long.

Myrtle waved her hand to dismiss the comment. "Cordelia is an amazing tutor, I can already see it. How is your magic going?"

The next time she saw Myrtle, the woman was carrying a very angry Queenie inside the living room. The next time, there was a smiling and curious Nan. She started to hate Myrtle shortly after.

Myrtle and Madison always had a fun relationship. They kinda of hated each other, so their talks were always filled with sarcasm, but in some level they also respected each other. It was different with Fiona, because Madison wanted to be her, or be powerful as her, or even with any of the other girls, who Madison was always forced to interact with. They shared a mutual respect because of Cordelia.

Before Madison lost her shit, she was one of Cordelia’s favorite person in the world, probably only behind Myrtle (if Hank would at least try, he might be on top), and both knew that. So even if they couldn’t stand to look at each other’s face, they still respected the other’s presence and that was the craziest equilibrium ever.

  “See, it’s not hard.” Cordelia cooed with a grin, squeezing Madison’s shoulder with affection. “I told you, you could do it.”

Even if she was feeling proud inside, Madison still rolled her eyes. She had just managed to do her first potion successfully. It wasn’t easy as telekinesis, she failed in the first five she made, but she finally did one right. “Yes, well, all I had to do was read this.” She pointed at the notebook filled with notes from Cordelia.

“Is more than that.” Cordelia said fondly. “You need to use your magic too. You have to find it inside you.”

“I think I get it.” Madison shook her head. “Can I try transmutation now?”

Her teacher laughed, closing her notebook. “You can, after we have lunch.”

  "What you wanted to do when you were younger?" Madison took a sip from her soda, watching with curious eyes while Cordelia finished setting the telescope in the roof.

"What do you mean? I'm still young." The woman joked, looking over her shoulder to throw a smile at the other blonde.

Madison rolled her eyes, pulling the popcorn closer to her body. "You just lost the right to eat."

"Oh, no, no, no. I'm older than you, I say who will eat."

"So now you're old?" Madison mocked back.

Cordelia laughed. "Older, not old." She corrected, finally taking a step from the telescope. "There, now we just have to wait."

Cordelia heard about a falling star crossing the sky that night and she took the oportunity to teach astronomy to her student. Madison was surprised to find that when you add magic to it, astronomy was actually interesting, so her teacher found a place were she could borrow a telescope for the night, asked Madison to grab blankets and something to eat, and set their spot in the roof.

"Anyway, I wanted to be a teacher." Cordelia shrugged, sitting by the girl's side.

"So... exactly what you're doing now?"

The older woman laughed at the surprise in Madison's voice, poking her arm. "Yes. I knew I would end up being a teacher at the Academy since a very young age. Myrtle trainned me for it since I learned how to speak."

"You never thought about doing anything else?" Madison put the bowl between them to hug her legs closer to her chest, frowning.

Cordelia considered the question for a while, thinking about her answer. "Well, I did wondered if I could be something else at some point, but I always ended up with being a teacher. Even if I did it without magic, I would still end up in a classroom. Maybe, huge maybe, a scientist of sorts. Why?"

"Just wondering." Madison was wondering a lot. In the last few days, all she was doing was think was about that.

She could still be an actress, she just had to call to the right persons, maybe do some favours, and she would be right back - she had the looks, it wouldn't be hard. But she didn't knew if that was the thing she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Those months living away from all of it, in peace at the Academy, with no reporters and directors screaming at her, felt like paradise. Her mothet never invested much in her education, neither did her if she was being honest, so Madison really had no clue what was there outside for her aside from acting, something she did since she could remember..

"What do you want to be?" Cordelia asked softly, feeling how nervous the girl had gotten suddenly. "You like being an actress?"

"Yes, it's fun. I gain a lot of presents and attention, and the money is wonderful. And I'm good at it." Madison sighed, grabbing a handful of popcorn. She didn't ate it, she just stared at it for a while. "Is the only thing I know how to do." Her voice was only a whisper, but Cordelia heard her perfectly in the quiet night.

"That's not true. I'm sure you can do a lot of things."

"I don't understand math, I hate history and I don't give a shit about science, so no, acting is the only thing I know."

Cordelia sighed. She leaned closer, gently taking Madison's hands in hers. She guided her hand back to the bowl, encouraging her to drop the popcorn she had grabbed. Madison did it, blushing a little. "You're very smart, Madison. You know everything, you just have to push it a little harder to remember. You can be anything you want. A doctor, a lawyer, engineer, even a singer, if you even want to change the scenario." Madison smiled a little to it. "I'm serious when I say this, Maddie. You are a strong and smart girl and you can be anything you want, you can do anything you want. And if you ever want my help, I'm here. I will search a tutor if you want, buy you some math books," they both made a face to that. "Or help you fill up some college applications. Whatever you need." Cordelia smiled, squeezing her hands. "But I think you're more than capable to do it by yourself."

Madison didn't answered, she couldn't. She felt like a ping pong ball was stuck in her throat and her eyes burned with tears, and she didn’t felt like crying right there. Instead, she looked foward, to the night sky, feeling a peace inside of her that she never felt before. Just when Cordelia was about to talk again, Madison frowned and bit her bottom lip to hold a laugh.

"The star just passed, didn't it?" Cordelia asked, already sighing.

"Yep."

[ricandhaiz]

Blindsided, Chapter 3

The day was warm and sunny with a slight wind as Nic made his way to the university’s main plaza to meet Allie. Given the burned portions of skin’s hypersensitivity to the sun, he’d opted to wear a long sleeve denim shirt and jeans with a baseball cap. While navigating through the throng of students coming and going to campus, he noticed that most of the people gathering for the men’s acapella group’s lunch time performance were women. He spotted Allie and Charlie sitting on a patch of grass underneath a large jacaranda tree not far from the arched gateway separating the upper and lower portions of the plaza. Charlie wagged his tail and barked in acknowledgment as he approached them.

“Nic, is that you?” Allie asked.

“You weren’t kidding when you told me this show was popular with the girls,” Nic replied as he sat down next to her. “I’m surprised there aren’t more men here. This place is practically swarming with women. I think I’m outnumbered three to one, which are great odds for any single guy who’s looking to pick up a girl.”

Allie smiled. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Nic replied as he thought about what his pre-accident self would have done in this situation. “It’s their loss, I guess. Lucky for me, I’m already sitting next to the prettiest girl on campus.”

“Wow,” Allie exclaimed, giggling. “You do have a way with words. My B.S. meter is usually pretty good at spotting a player a mile away but the way you just said that almost sounded believable.”

“You think I’m lying?” Nic replied.

Just then, a petite brunette wearing a red t-shirt and jean shorts arrived with arms laden with food and drinks. She greeted Allie with a warm hello as she bent down and handed her a can of Coke and a tuna sandwich. She turned to Nic as she sat down next to Charlie and said, “You must be the guy that Allie’s been talking my ear off about. You’re Nic, right?” Nic glanced at Allie, who was blushing. He nodded. She extended her hand to him and said, “Hi, I’m her roommate, Nicole.”

He shook Nicole’s hand and said, “I can’t imagine what she could’ve said about me. I’m really not that interesting.”

“Oh please,” Nicole replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Your name rang a bell as soon as she mentioned it, so being the overprotective and nosy friend that I am, I took the liberty of looking you up on the internet. You’re one of the Spanish soccer players who got into that horrific car accident in L.A. two years ago, right?” Nic nodded again, feeling decidedly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. “It was all over the news.”

His face fell as he recalled all the news clippings about the accident that his abuela had shown him when he had first returned to Spain. “Have you talked to anyone else other than Allie about me?” Nicole shook her head. Relieved, he added, “I’d appreciate it if you could keep what you’ve learned about me to yourself. It was a very painful period in my life and it took a long time for me to come to terms with what happened. I had to undergo months of physical and psychological therapy to get to where I am now. During that process, I decided that I needed a fresh start. That’s why I came here to study.”

“Of course,” Nicole replied contritely. “Mum’s the word.”

“Have many people asked you about your accident?” Allie asked as she popped the tab on her soda can.

Nic paused, then said, “It hasn’t really come up in any of the conversations I’ve had with my professors and classmates. I think they’re savvy enough to realize that it’s a sensitive issue for me and have chosen to respect my privacy in that regard.”

“Allie tells me that you’re in an MBA student,” Nicole said in a tentative voice. “Do you know where you’re going and what you want to do after you graduate?”

Nic sensed that her question had a lot to do with her concern for Allie and where a possible relationship with him might lead. In an attempt to assuage her concerns, he replied, “My family has been in the wine business for generations. Naturally, my papá would like to pass the business on to me once he retires but nothing’s set in stone. I could decide to stay here after I graduate. It’s too early yet for me to say for sure one way or the other.”

“Some of the articles I read said that your father also played professional football,” Nicole said.

“Yes, he did,” Nic replied, grateful that the focus of the conversation had at least temporarily shifted away from him. “He was one of three goalkeepers chosen to be a part of the Spanish national football team at both the 1994 and 1998 FIFA World Cups. He played for Real Madrid and Barça for years before he retired in the early 2000s.”

“Is he the reason why you decided to be a footballer too?” Allie asked.

“In part, but it was mostly because I loved playing the game too. My madre told me that I was playing with footballs even before I learned to walk.”

Allie then asked him, “Did people often compare you to your father?”

“All the time,” Nic replied as he reflected on his padre’s storied football career. “I didn’t mind. Most of the time, it just motivated me to work harder, especially since I’m two inches shorter than he is. Most goalkeepers are usually at least six feet tall.”

“Was he very involved in your sports career?” Allie asked.

Nic reflected on her question, then said, “He only gave me advice when I asked for it. He made it clear to me early on in my career that he wanted me to succeed on my own merit.”

“I bet your mom’s mighty proud of what you’ve accomplished,” Allie said. “Not many people have the skill or the talent to make it to the professional level of football like you did.”

“I’m sure she would have been,” Nic replied slowly. “She died of breast cancer when I was a teenager.”

Allie gasped in surprise and bit her lip. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“There’s no need for you to apologize,” Nic interjected. “You didn’t say or do anything wrong.”

After a brief pause in the conversation, Nicole leaned in as she placed her hand on Allie’s shoulder and said, “Well, now that Nic’s in the picture, maybe Conner will finally take a hint and go and find someone else to bother.”

“It doesn’t sound like you like him much,” Nic chimed in.

“No, I don’t,” Nicole replied matter-of-factly. “And neither does Allie but she’s just too nice to tell him to buzz off.”

“Is that true?” Nic asked.

Allie sighed. “He’s all right, but what irritates me most is his tendency to treat me like an invalid who can’t do anything for herself.”

“He’s such a tool,” Nicole said, shaking her head as she took a bite of her ham and cheese sandwich. “I know he’s a family friend and all, and that your aunt and his mom are close but that doesn’t mean you should feel obliged to put up with him like you do.”

“I know,” Allie said. “But it’s not like I haven’t tried to—”

“But nothing,” Nicole cut in. “You need to stop beating around the bush and tell him to back off, especially now that I’m not going to be there to help run interference for you.”

“You’re leaving?” Nic asked.

“My boyfriend recently got an advertising job in L.A. and asked me to go with him. I graduated this past spring and have been working as a nurse at the university hospital. I’ve already got a few interviews lined up so I don’t think I’ll have much of a problem landing a job.”

“It’s a great opportunity for both of them,” Allie said with a touch of sadness in her voice despite her obvious effort to sound upbeat. “Nicole’s been dying to move to a big city like L.A. ever since we met my freshman year here.”

Nicole nodded. “Hilton City’s alright for a college town but I can’t see myself living here long term. I need to be in a place with a faster pulse, you know what I’m saying?”

Nic glanced at Allie and said, “What does this mean for you?”

Allie shrugged and patted the top of Charlie’s head. “I can’t afford the apartment we live in on my own so I’m probably going to have to move back in with my aunt and uncle for a little while. I’d rather find another roommate but that’s tricky, especially with me being blind. Nicole’s the best. It’s probably going to be near high impossible to find someone like her on such short notice.”

“Where do you live?” Nicole asked.

“My friend, Matt, helped me find a room in a house just two blocks from the south side of campus. I live with an elderly couple whose son recently moved out. They rented out his room to me as a favor to Matt.”

Nicole’s eyes seemed to widen in apparent excitement. He wondered why. She asked, “Are you obligated to stay there for the entire school year?”

“No,” Nic replied.

She quickly followed that up with a few more questions. “Do you smoke or drink?”

“No, and a lot less than I used to.”

“Are you neat? I mean, like, do you tend clean up after yourself or are you the type that leaves his stuff lying around the house?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Have you had roommates before?”

Nic shook his head, then swiftly added, “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be a good one.”

Nicole paused, looking thoughtful as she tapped her finger to her cheek. “Would you mind having to share space, like a bathroom with someone, if you had to?”

“What’s with all the questions?” Allie cut in.

Nicole nudged her in the ribs and said, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to find out if Nic would be a good replacement for me.”

“What?” Allie asked, appearing utterly confused.

“Can you just see it?” Nicole replied, clapping her hands together in delight. “Trust me. I have a sixth sense about these things.”

For a moment or two, Nicole’s suggestion rendered both Nic and Allie speechless.

“Well, say something!” Nicole said. “You know I’m right.”

“Umm…I don’t know. My aunt might not approve of me living with a guy.”

Nicole rolled her eyes and said, “Your aunt needs to bring herself into the twenty-first century. People of the opposite sex live together all the time. Isn’t that right, Nic?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Nic replied cautiously.

“What do you think?” Allie asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Nic replied as his eyes darted back and forth between Allie and Nicole. “But I’d only do it if you’re one hundred percent okay with it.”

“Really?” Allie asked, sounding slightly off-kilter. Nic was finding it hard to gauge whether Allie agreed with Nicole’s assessment of the situation or not. But then she said, “Before you commit to anything, you ought to come by our apartment and take a look around first.”

“Are you doing anything this afternoon?” Nicole asked expectantly.

“I have an accounting class at two o’clock, but I could drop by any time after that,” Nic replied.

Nicole answered, “Why don’t you swing by at six? Allie and I will make spaghetti.” She patted Allie’s knee, adding, “Sound good?”

“Are you sure?” Allie asked, furrowing your brow as she turned her head in Nic’s direction. “We’re just getting to know each other. The last thing I want to do is make you feel like I’m pressuring you into moving in with me out of some misguided sense of obligation or pity.”

Nic placed his hand over Allie’s and gave it a squeeze. “Believe me, if I do agree to do it, feeling sorry for you definitely won’t be the reason I say yes.”

Just then, a member of The Warblers spoke up. He thanked the crowd for coming and then announced their opening song, “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

Nic was grateful for the diversion. As the very real possibility of living with Allie began to sink in, he couldn’t help but think of this unexpected turn of events as the best stroke of luck that he’d encountered in a very long time. Although there was a part of him that was wary of being exposed to possible disappointment and heartbreak, the desire to love and be loved was much stronger. And so, he decided to keep an open mind and see how things would pan out later this evening.

 It was five till six when Nic looked up at the number on the white door and compared it to the piece of paper upon which Nicole had scribbled her and Allie’s apartment number and address earlier that day. It had been a pleasant and relatively short walk from the university library to their two-bedroom ground floor apartment. He’d stopped and sat on a park bench for a little while so as not to arrive too early and amused himself by watching children feed the ducks which were congregating at the edge of a small pond.

He knocked. A tall, sandy-blond haired man wearing a black t-shirt and shorts opened the door. For a second, Nic wondered if he was in the right place and was about to take a second glance at the paper in his hand when the man said, “Are you Nic? I’m Brandon, Nicole’s boyfriend. Come on in.”

Nic smiled and waved at Nicole and Allie, who were in the kitchen with Charlie, and followed Brandon to the living room. He was immediately struck by how neat and tidy the apartment looked. He glanced at an assortment of flowers in a glass vase on the coffee table and saw numerous pictures of the girls with friends and family hanging on the walls and side tables. He thought these things gave the place a decidedly homey feeling. Brandon motioned for him to take a seat on a red futon which had multicolored throw pillows on each corner.  As he sat down, his eye fell on a picture of a man in a fireman’s outfit holding a little brown-haired girl in his arms.

“That’s Allie and her dad,” Brandon said, following Nic’s line of sight. “I think Nicole told me that that picture was taken just a week before he died.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was one of the hundreds of firefighters who died on 9/11 at the Twin Towers. Allie was five.”

Brandon asked Nic if he wanted a beer. He said yes. The sound of pots and pans clanking and clattering in the kitchen filled his ears as the smell of freshly baked bread and pasta wafted through the air. He glanced at the forty-inch flat screen T.V. against the wall directly opposite the futon and the bookcases on either side of it which were filled with even more pictures, textbooks, audiobooks and CDs.

After returning to the living room with a beer in each hand, Brandon handed one to Nic and plopped onto a white bean bag next to the futon. “Nicole tells me that your thinking about moving in with Allie.” Nic nodded. “She’s a sweet girl, and Charlie’s the best. The neighbors are all right and the landlord’s usually pretty responsive to the girls whenever they’ve had a problem. Personally, the only thing that I think is kind of annoying about this place is how thin the walls are.”

“I’m a pretty deep sleeper so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good. I was told that dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like to see Nicole’s room?”

Nic shook his head. “I can wait. I wouldn’t want to do that without her being right there with me.”

“Not a problem. She’s the one who told me to ask you.” Brandon stood up and motioned for Nic to follow. “Let’s go.”

Brandon led Nic down a short hallway and then flicked on the light to the room furthest back. He stepped aside to give Nic a chance to take a peek inside. It was small bedroom with a closet which contained a twin bed, desk and dresser. He pointed to a door opposite the closet and asked, “Where does that lead?”

“The bathroom,” Brandon replied. “Did the girls tell you that you’re going to have to share it with Allie?”

No, not exactly, he thought as he tried to recall everything that Nicole had said to him earlier that day. He replied, “We really didn’t have much time to talk particulars before The Warblers’ set began.” After a brief pause, Nic asked, “Do you think Allie will have an issue about living with a roommate of the opposite sex?”

Brandon shrugged. “I doubt she would have asked you in the first place if she did. But…”

“But what?”

“Her uncle, Big Mike, might look at you sideways and give you the stink eye at first, but I’m guessing that even he’ll come around once the dust settles and he gets to know you better.”

Wonderful, Nic thought as he leaned against the doorframe and stuck his hands in his pockets. Just then, he heard light footsteps heading in his direction. He turned and saw Nicole coming toward him. She patted him on the shoulder and said, “I’m so glad you’re here. Allie’s been beside herself ever since I opened my big mouth and suggested that you move in with her.”

Nic frowned. “Is she having second thoughts?”

“God no. Just the opposite. She’s worried that I might’ve scared you off and that you’re going to say no.”

“Nicole has that effect on people,” Brandon chimed in, grinning. “Is dinner ready?” Nicole stuck her tongue out at Brandon before answering in the affirmative. Brandon replied, “Let’s get some chow. I’m starving.”

Nic sat down next to Allie, who was already seated at a square shaped wooden dining room table. Her long, wavy brown hair was down, and she was wearing a floral summer dress with sandals. Nic reached out for Allie’s hand and said, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Allie blushed.

Brandon placed a large bowl filled with spaghetti and meat sauce in the middle of the table. Nicole came up behind him holding glasses of champagne. She placed one in front of each person, and then looked over at Nic and asked, “So, what do you think?”

Nic felt Allie’s grip on his hand immediately tighten. She leaned over to Nic and said in a low voice, “You don’t have to decide this very minute if you’re still not sure what you want to do.”

Nic smiled and said, “I think your apartment is very nice and I can’t think of a single reason why I shouldn’t say yes.”

Allie beamed. Nicole let out a cheer, then said, “Just give me a sec. I’ve gotta run back and get the champagne.”

When Nicole returned, she promptly filled every person’s glass to the brim. Brandon stood up and said, “A toast, to roommates old and new.”

Everyone clinked their glasses together. As Nic raised his glass toward his lips, he felt profoundly grateful to be in the company of these down to earth and friendly people. While the others filled their plates, he glanced at Allie and then up at the ceiling. He silently said a prayer of thanks. After more than a year of self-imposed isolation, he finally felt that now was the time to take a chance and let someone special into his life and heart.