#so far I only have perth and build

[scarefox]

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[callmewrinkles3]

Electric touch - BF x Fem!OC

Summary: All Blake wanted was to drag his best friends out for a night to have a couple of drinks and take their minds off the shitshow that was the last year. And then he met the love of his life. The continuation of this little drabble.

Warnings: Alcohol, talk of sexual situations, Dan and Em being disgustingly cute, a lot of swearing because that's Charlie.

Words: 7.2k

A/N: Hello kiddos! Its been a while, we know. We're gonna be back with more later, but meanwhile a little surprise. This is probably a one-time-only kind of thing inside this mess of a universe we created. But the important part its we're posting it but its totally dedicated to the sweet @a-distantdreamer. For reading every single thing we make and being the sweetest, AND because its her birthday. Have a happy happy one, darling Georgia.🫶🏻🥳

The warm December air didn’t help, but it wasn’t the reason Charlie felt like her skin was on fire. The summer sun may have set even though it was still warm, but each of her nerves was ablaze thanks to the cute, tall man standing right beside her. Blake was still blushing because of some signal that Daniel - holy shit it was Daniel Ricciardo - and Em made at him as he walked her out the front of the bar. Charlie couldn’t help but grin as she looked at him.

She knew it wasn’t normal to feel like that three hours after meeting him but she couldn’t help it. He was handsome and sweet, an absolute gentleman who was funny and smart, and the sound when he laughed was quite possibly her new favorite thing in the world.

He was adorable and all Charlie wanted to do was grab his cheeks and press kisses against his entire face. The few drinks she had weren’t enough to give her the courage to do it. She was on the sober side of tipsy, and she’d never forgive herself if she ruined things. Instead, she decided to stay on her side, waiting for Blake to give her a sign to act.

While waiting for her taxi, they stood there, Blake's hands in his pockets, while Charlie played with one ring on her finger, trying to ease the tension that was starting to build up between them.

“I have to say again, I’m so sorry about Em. I didn’t think she’d do that. Honestly, I don’t think she’s ever done something like that in her life.” Charlie smiled at his words, looking up at his glasses-covered eyes.

“It’s fine. Really, it is. I didn’t dare to come across to talk to you if she didn’t tell me to do it. I should thank her again. I should send her flowers or chocolates. Or both.”

“I… I mean I wasn’t gonna do it either. I saw you turn down the guy who walked over to talk to you, so I didn’t want to suffer the same fate if you were just here to relax”. This time it was Charlie’s turn to blush. She had no idea Blake had seen that. The main reason why she said no to the other guy - Hunter, with a shitty mullet and an even worse pickup line - was because she couldn’t stop stealing looks from Blake. She didn’t think he’d been doing the same to her.

“Oh, he was just some cunt. Not a good one either. And he wasn’t as cute as you.” That final drink she nearly didn’t have finally took effect at the wrong time.

“How long did the taxi driver say he’d be?”. They were on the outskirts of Perth, far enough out of the city that you had to ring individual drivers.

“Like fifteen minutes? I guess it’s a busy night. You can leave if you want. I’ll be fine.”

She was never one to lie. It was something she hated, but that night she did it without shame. The night was not a busy one, even though it was so close to Christmas, but Charlie needed an excuse to spend more time with Blake. Em and Daniel had been sweethearts and disappeared to give them alone time to chat and get to know each other. However, her coworkers were still there. Having her first kiss with Blake in front of the people she would see in less than nine hours was something she did not want to do, so she ordered her taxi to arrive twenty minutes later. If the lie was taking her to hell at least it would've been worth it if she got to kiss the cutest man she ever met.

“What? I won't leave you waiting here alone. I'm not hurrying. I was just curious.”

"If you say so," she smiled, feeling both embarrassed and excited at the same time. "Okay, this is quite awkward because I was planning on saying that I had a really good idea on how we could entertain ourselves for the next fifteen minutes, and then I was planning to try to be all smooth and clever and kiss you at the end. But I think it wouldn't work because you're too tall and the romcom-style moment has been ruined because of my poor shoe choice this morning. And that last drink was not necessary.”

Charlie knew she wasn't drunk. She was far from drunk, but she shouldn't have accepted that last beer. Or maybe it had been an excellent idea because, despite the embarrassment, it had given her enough courage to say something. She wouldn’t have done it otherwise. She wasn’t some shy and retiring woman but Blake made her nervous. His cute smirk from across the bar and Em’s “he thinks you’re cute” made her afraid of ruining whatever that could be.

Everything turned into nerves when Blake moved and stood right in front of her. Suddenly the world moved in slow motion and went silent. No cars drove past in the street, no people walking by or music coming out of the bar. The only thing that existed was Blake looking down at her smiling as he took his hands out of his pocket.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Going out that night with her coworkers after an exhausting day at work, rejecting the other guy, and accepting Emma’s drink and offer. Everything, even the outfit she wore, made sense somehow. She shouldn’t have been in that bar. Her coworkers considered going to another place, but the one they chose was closer to their workplace, so it was faster and easier. It was all destiny.

What was most ridiculous was the fact that Charlie wasn't looking for anything or anyone at all. She was fine on her own. After her last relationship and the way she ended it, she decided it was okay to be alone. Sometimes she missed having someone to share things with and hug her, but she was okay. She kept telling herself she was fine until she saw Blake coming in. It was a cliché, but she stopped listening to what her manager said the second he walked in. Blake’s smile was the only thing she could think about. But then she saw Daniel Fucking Ricciardo walking behind him. Charlie suddenly felt her chances falling to zero so fast it was heartbreaking. She looked away so fast it was ridiculous.

Even with that, Charlie couldn't stop herself and looked his way every few minutes. She tried, heaven knows she tried, but it was impossible. He was too handsome. His smile was just as beautiful as the rest of his face, and his glasses made him even cuter. The moment she realized her hope was gone, she drowned her sorrow in yet another drink. That's why she thought it was a joke when Emma presented herself and brought her a drink. It had to be a joke. It felt like a joke. Something like that couldn't happen to someone like her.

It was a miracle, but it happened. It all led to that moment. It all led to Blake holding her cheek and waist. Every single thing she did that day took her to Blake looking down at her eyes looking for permission so they could finally kiss. Charlie had no idea if magic existed, but she could swear that's exactly what she felt as their lips touched. At thirty-four years old and after too many heartbreaks and bad experiences, Charlie didn't believe in butterflies anymore. She understood perfectly well the reason why a person felt butterflies inside their stomach. She knew it was dopamine in the body. She also knew it was norepinephrine in the central nervous system and hormonal changes. Her PhD in Psychology said she had memorized it all by heart, but that night she couldn't care less. That night, as she kissed Blake, Charlie swore the butterflies were as real as she was.

If someone had told her that same morning that she was going to end the night in the arms of a cute man with glasses while kissing on a sidewalk, she would have laughed because it was ridiculous and impossible. That's not how her night was supposed to be, but it was perfect. Her hands were placed on his chest and around his waist. As he touched her cheek, his arm wrapped around her body and held her close. Charlie wanted to stay in his arms forever. Their lips were locked, their noses touched, and their heartbeats rushed together. It felt like a dream, that's why she was going to do everything in her power to feel his smile against her lips forever.

He tasted like beer for the last ones they had. The two of them smelled like alcohol, but Blake also smelled like the finest perfume that a person could find anywhere in the world. There was also a softness to him. Everything about him was soft, from his kisses to the way he stroked her skin with his finger. Suddenly, there was something there telling Charlie that he also wasn't trying to ruin the moment, which made Charlie smile right there against his lips right as the first kiss ended and the second kiss started. She wanted to do that for the rest of the night. She wanted that for the rest of the year. She wanted to kiss his lips until she knew every part of his face thanks to the closeness of their bodies. She wanted to kiss him until their lips forgot what it was like to have anyone else touching them. She wanted this to be more than just a kiss.

She wanted this to be more than just a kiss and for one night.  

"Is that what you had in mind for your rom-com moment?" Blake asked, still smiling down at her. She smiled back, her heart skipping a beat. Blake leaned down and kissed her again before she answered.

“Yup, exactly that one."

“You’re a smart woman, Charlotte."

Her shoulders shrunk as she joked, "I have a PhD, so I kind of know what you mean." This time Charlie was able to gather the courage to get on her tiptoes, hold his neck, and steal another kiss, which was a statement of how much she enjoyed it. “I don't usually do this, but I am just going to go for it and ask you 'cause you don't look like a psycho or a serial killer. Plus, you're a very good kisser, so do you want to ride in the taxi with me and come to my place with me?" Once the words were out of her mouth, Charlie wondered where that came from. She was never one to ask a guy to take her home with her but those brown eyes behind his glasses were messing up with her.

“Didn’t you say you have work tomorrow and that’s why you were leaving?" Shit. He was totally right.

“Maybe? Ugh. Being an adult sucks. But I can call in sick?” There was a terrible internal struggle inside her. Head versus heart. Responsibility against everything Blake made her feel and all the things her body yelled at her. The rational part of her brain told her to do the right thing and act like an adult. Meanwhile, her heart told her to go with it and enjoy a night of fun. It should be a no-brainer, but her head was empty as Blake kissed her head.

“Maybe? Ugh. Being an adult sucks. But I can call in sick?” There was a terrible internal struggle inside her. Head versus heart. Responsibility against everything Blake made her feel and all the things her body yelled at her. The rational part of her brain told her to do the right thing and act like an adult. Meanwhile, her heart told her to go with it and enjoy a night of fun. It should be a no-brainer, but her head was empty as Blake kissed her head.

“You’re not calling in sick, Charlie” Blake replied, reaching for her hand over his chest to tangle their fingers.

“Why not? ‘Hey, sorry I can’t go today, my legs turned into jello. It's because of a cute guy from Sydney’. See? Easy”

“Charlie…”

"C'mon, don't ruin the fun. I mean, unless you don't want to do it. That's fine too, in that case, but I thought-". The feeling was like a bucket of cold water falling over her head. As soon as she realized that Blake was saying no to her, it was like receiving a kick in the stomach. He was respectful and sweet, but it was a no. She was told no softly, but when she heard it, she wanted to hide under the covers of her bed, hoping that the time would go back so she could fix it.

Charlie knew it was impossible to do something like that, so she just let her hand fall from his waist, shyly stepping back and away. It was just one little step and they were still against each other and holding hands, but it felt like an ocean got between them. Despite her knowing that it was all psychological, Charlie felt as if she was the smallest woman ever and she hated that feeling.

When she moved away from him, Blake stepped forward, closing the distance between them as soon as she moved away. It was the kiss Blake gave her in her hand that kept her calm. She didn't know how he knew, but it was enough to keep her grounded and stop her from spiraling. "Hey, no, Charlie listen, there’s nothing I want more than to go home with you right now, but just- Let me do things right, baby. I really wanna do this properly.”

“You just called me baby and I’m not supposed to beg you? And what do you mean by proper?”

It was probably the puzzled expression on her face that made Blake smile, but that was enough to make her relax again as he explained himself. “Let me take you out for dinner tomorrow. We do a real date like normal people do. I pick you up, open the door for you, all that."

Charlie felt small at first, but as soon as she heard his reasons she felt ridiculous. She wanted to slap herself because she was just making assumption after assumption. Blake wanted to do things right and take it slow while she just wanted to rip his clothes off. She was a complete mess and really shouldn't have drunk that last beer, but it was too late for regrets.

“Looks like I found the last decent man on earth. Are you real or an alien, Mr. Friend?” Charlie joked, finally relaxing again enough to touch his cheek as she asked that ridiculous question, making Blake smile.

“Is that a yes to my invitation?” he wondered as he turned his head enough to kiss the palm of her hand.

“I don’t know. Are you skipping my question because you’re an alien?”

“Are you skipping mine because you’re an alien?”

“Fair enough. I go out with you if you promised to be human”

“I promise I’m human” Blake insisted, and the smile on his face and the kiss he gave her earlier was more than enough to convince her of anything at all. “Tomorrow night then?“

Charlie didn’t answer with words. She just nodded, going back for another kiss. She couldn’t even think about moving away, especially not when his thumb found its way under her shirt, sending shivers down her spine as he stroked her waist. As revenge for what his fingers were doing under her shirt, Charlie made it easy and simple and decided to run the tip of her tongue over his lower lip.

At that point, she knew it wasn’t gonna change his mind, but at least she was happy to get one deep breath and a groan from him. “Are you sure you don't want to leave your decency behind? I won’t get offended. I’m leaving mine by asking you twice. I never do that, so it's a big deal. I mean, this is the nicest way I’ve ever been turned down but maybe I can convince you.”

“I’m not turning you down, I’m just inventing an excuse to see you again. And if tomorrow goes half as well as tonight, then you're not heading home alone.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mr. Alien Friend”

“It’s not a threat, ma’am, it's a promise. Text me your address and I’ll pick you up.”

“Fine. If I tell you to pick me up at 7 can I kiss you till 8 and then we do dinner?” Charlie asked, half joking and half serious, feeling more and more comfortable every second she spent in his arms. That’s why she decided to get even closer, hugging his neck and running her fingers through his short hair. She kept giving him short, soft, loving kisses. It wasn’t about convincing him anymore, it was simply she was addicted to it. 

“You’re making it hard for me on purpose, don’t you?” Blake asked, placing their foreheads together. Charlie could see all over his face how he was trying to keep his composure. She couldn’t blame him for failing as badly as she did. 

“That is the best and most awful innuendo ever.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that!"

“I know. But still, it was fun." It wasn’t a great joke, it was just a silly funny comment, but both of them laughed at it. Charlie had no idea last time she had that much fun with someone, especially not with a man. It was easy to be with him, just like it was easy to smile at his contagious laugh. “Shit, I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“I don’t either. But less than twenty-four hours and I’ll be at your door.”

“That’s a lot of hours, Blake."

“You’re gonna be sleeping and working most of them, so it won’t be that terrible. Any food you don’t eat?”

“I’m okay with anything. But I also really like tall cute guys for dessert, especially if they have glasses." Charlie joked, tapping carefully the bridge of his glasses. And there was again, the cute, shy smile that made her lose notions of the time and date. She was very close to forgetting her own name and didn't care.

“I think I know someone like that” Blake whispered, trying to act as mysteriously as possible. 

“Wait, is it human or alien?”

“A werewolf”

“Dirty. I mean I don’t mind scratches or bites so it's alright. Shit, that was a lot”. Charlie couldn’t help but giggle at her own stupidity. She was so ridiculously into Blake that she lost track of what she was saying. All that added to the alcohol in her body and how good Blake smelled made her head turn. She was so damn embarrassed that all she could do was rest her forehead against his chest for a moment. She returned to reality when Blake laughed and kissed her head. 

“It's not a lot, I’m just taking it as a promise for tomorrow. We settle for tomorrow at 8 then?”

“I thought we said 7?”

“If we spend an hour kissing we won’t make it to dinner, Charlie”

“7:30 is my last offer or I’ll go out with that werewolf friend of yours, babe”. That was the first time she was calling him babe and it felt just as right as when Blake used that nickname for her. It just felt normal to say it. It felt even better to look up again and see the look in his eyes and how his whole face lightened up when he heard it.

“7.45. Thirty minutes with you and we’ll skip dinner. Fifteen is cutting it close.”

“Fiiine. I’ll put on a dress and heels so we don’t break our necks when we kiss. And to play footsie under the table. Just please don’t let me be overdressed.”

“I won’t. And I can't imagine you looking bad.”

“You haven’t seen me at 6 am without coffee or makeup. That's the most horrible Charlie of them all."

“If we’re awake after 6 tomorrow I’ll tell you how beautiful you look."

“You’re a charmer, aren't you?”

“I’m gonna ruin the charm by saying I think your taxi’s coming”

She couldn't believe her fifteen minutes were over. It felt like a lifetime had passed, but at the same time, she didn’t have plenty of time. She didn’t hug him enough. She didn’t steal enough kisses. She wanted to stay in his arms and make him blush for her silly comments. She got fifteen minutes but wanted fifteen hours. Damn, she wished for fifteen lifetimes. 

“Nah, tell it to go away” she complained, hiding her face again in his chest as Blake squeezed her waist tighter. “I said fifteen minutes, not fifteen seconds.”

“We’ll get more than fifteen minutes tomorrow” Blake promised, kissing her head again, which was enough to leave her favorite new place to hide. “Text me when you get home safe, alright?" 

Charlie hated the second his hands let go of her waist. She hated not feeling his fingers carefully stroking her waist, slow enough to not pass a limit in something so new and fragile. She hated moving her hands away from his neck and how her body wasn’t against his anymore. But as she lost all that, she saw his hand grasping hers, looking at their fingers together. Charlie might hate losing all that, but she loved the new feeling of their hands fitting perfectly together. 

“You want a pic of me in my PJs with it?” 

“You’re gonna kill me. Text me, yeah?" And that was their goodnight kiss, just as a heartwarming as all the other ones, but that one felt like a promise. That one was the simple promise of more coming tomorrow, which made Charlie smile wider against his lips.

“I will. See you tomorrow. Have a good night. Even if it's without me” she joked, hearing the goddamn taxi finally park right beside them. 

“You too. See you tomorrow."

****

The smile on his face was impossible to hide. He knew that. He was well aware of it. He didn’t want to hide it at all. He was even sure his face would hurt after smiling so much, but he couldn’t care less, not when that just happened. That silly happy smile would stay on his face forever and he wasn’t willing to fight it, not when Charlie put it there. If he had it his way, he would keep it there forever, just like he wanted to keep Charlie forever. 

He couldn’t believe what had happened not even five minutes earlier. It felt like some kind of romantic book Em read on planes and long car rides. It was one of those meet cute things his best friend used to talk about and Blake was convinced it could only occur in silly Hallmark movies and books. But then it happened to him. From all the people in the world, the universe chose him to have the meet-cute moment. The gorgeous brunette by the bar decided to speak with him among all the guys at the bar. Then she decided that she wanted to kiss him. Him. And if that wasn’t enough, she agreed to have dinner the next day, which was almost impossible to believe. It was so illogical that Blake couldn’t stop staring at the street until the taxi that took her disappeared from his view. It took him another couple of minutes to stop it and go inside and back to his friends. 

“I was gonna ask how it was but you've a pinkish gloss on your lips” Emma smiled, pointing to her lips as she looked up at Blake. 

Blake had no idea which color it was, but from that night it was his favorite one. All he knew was that it tasted like cherries, which paired perfectly with the fruity drink Charlie drank earlier. But nobody needed to know, at least not yet. He thought for a second about denying it, saying he didn’t have anything on his lips, but there was no point. It was ridiculous to do it when the smile was still there, making it impossible to hide. 

“So you closed the deal?" It was Dan who finally asked the important question while Em offered a napkin. Blake grabbed it but left it on the table as he sat down, not wanting to erase Charlie’s memory from his lips. 

It was strange, but Blake somehow understood why his two best friends kept secrets about everything in their relationship for so long. A couple of kisses with Charlie and he was determined to keep it secret forever. He didn’t want to say anything about the butterflies and the nerves in his stomach, about the way he felt alive again, or the way he wanted to cry with happiness when he finally kissed her. He wanted to keep that night for himself forever. 

“We’re having dinner tomorrow night," he confessed, blushing like a nervous kid.

“Let's go!” Em exclaimed, giving Blake a high-five to celebrate the good news. After his wife, Dan did the same thing. “That's my boy!”

“Alright can we go home now? I gotta see where I’m taking her tomorrow and I really wanna freak out in private”. It took his friends only two seconds to grab their things and get up, all while Dan started to throw options about nice restaurants he could take Charlie to, and Em told him options about what he could wear. Blake smiled even more, but this time because he was thankful for his messy favorite couple.

****

Six years of knowing Blake, and Emma could swear she had never seen him that nervous. She had seen her best friend under insane pressure and terrible stress, but never as that night, especially not for a woman.

He was a mix of a nervous breakdown and a giddy mess as soon as he woke up. There was an unusual smile that Em called “The Charlie Effect” because it only appeared when she texted him. Every hour or two his phone would buzz and there it was, Blake looking at his phone like a lovesick puppy, smile blasted on his face in such a way it was contagious. But as Charlie was back in a meeting or a session, he would turn into a nervous break again. 

Blake looked terrified as he wore and changed another shirt. The previous ones were not good enough. One was too formal, the next one wasn’t casual enough, and the next one was too casual. He wanted to look perfect, and suddenly all his clothes and even the shirts he bought that morning weren’t nice. Not all the shirts in the world were good. He was so nervous he was doubting about every single choice he made in his life, but especially about his clothes and the restaurant he had chosen for that night. Dan recommended something quite private, small, and not as fancy as the Michelin stars restaurants they had been eating in luxury hotels. It was obvious from kilometers away that Charlie wasn’t that kind of woman. The last thing Blake wanted to do was chase her away by picking the wrong restaurant or doing the wrong thing. His final decision about the restaurant was made when Em said she liked the one Dan suggested, and if ‘I don’t like fancy stuff’ Em thought it was okay, then it was good enough. 

After that, Em solved the issue with his clothes. Like a mum helping her kid pick up the right clothes for prom, Em helped her best friend, telling him to go for a blue shirt and some black pants. It was chill and classic and he looked great in blue. But even after that, he took another twenty minutes to get ready, which for Blake was an eternity. Whatever he was doing in the bathroom and the bedroom was worth it because when he came out he looked flawless.

“Timmy, tell me the truth. How do I look?” Blake asked, standing right in front of Em who was sitting on the couch, book in her hand as she waited for Dan to return from taking a call with one of his mates. Not that Em couldn’t listen, but Dan just didn’t want to bother as she read one of the critical chapters. 

“You’re the most handsome man in the world after my husband. You really look great, Blakey. If you change again I swear I’m gonna hit you” Em joked, saying the last word with a straight face before she smiled at her friend once again. “I know you’re nervous but stop it. You look breathtaking.”

“Don’t lie to me”

“I’m not lying! C’mere. C’mon! Come sit with Aunt Emmy." It was a couple of pats on the couch and then Blake did as he was told. He sat right beside Em and she hugged his arm as she looked up at him. “Drop it. Whatever it's in your head just say it cause it won’t help if it’s eating you”

It took Blake a few seconds to say it. He took a deep breath before letting the words leave his mouth even if it hurt. “What if it goes wrong? Or if she doesn’t like me at the end?”

“B, darling, you know she likes you. I mean, you already kissed."

“I know. And I like her, Tim. But what if? Like- Ughh she’s so damn beautiful and smart and funny! How does she like me? What if she was drunker than she thought and now she doesn’t know how to say no to hanging out? Or if it's not the same as last night?”

Em understood perfectly where all those fears came from. Nobody could blame him, especially not Em. She's been through that in her relationship with Dan for years. She still found it difficult to understand how her husband loved her. But on the other hand, she couldn't understand how someone wouldn't want to have a date with Blake. No when he was the greatest friend and one of the best men of all time.

“You’re handsome, smart and funny. I know you’re nervous but it's gonna be alright.”

Before Em could finish showering her brother with compliments to boost his confidence, they heard a loud whistle coming from the other side of the room. Em couldn’t help but smile when she saw Dan standing there, looking straight at them. 

“Ohhh he looks handsome!”

“See? Told you! You look great!” Em smiled, looking between both men, searching for help from Daniel.

“You ready to charm Miss Charlotte?” Dan asked, sitting on Blake’s free side. There was no way he could escape between them and that's what they needed.

“Shut up, cunt.”

“I think she’s already charmed” Em singsonged, kissing Blake’s cheek before he ran from the couch, leaving Em the space to snuggle with her man.

“I think I should go. Don’t wait up. Y’know what? Just don’t wait at all.”

“Do you have condoms or do you want some?” Dan joked, making Blake freeze in his spot and Em laugh maybe too loud for their own good. Coming from them it was probably the most ridiculous joke they could ever say, so the three of them laughed and smiled unnecessarily loudly.

“You telling me there’s condoms in this house? That you have condoms? When was the last time you touched one of those?”

Em and Dan took a moment to do basic math. The first time they slept together was in 2018, Em knew she hadn’t slept with anyone since 2017, but she never asked Dan if he did after they met. He always said he couldn’t stop thinking about her from the second they met. However, she couldn’t blame him if he had been with someone before them. It would be weird if he didn’t. Em was fine with not knowing names or seeing pictures.

“2017?” Dan asked, kissing Em’s forehead before she nodded in agreement. Something as simple as a kiss and a number cleared one of her doubts in a second. “And nah we don’t have”.

“That’s what I thought. Okay, I’m out." He kissed Em’s forever and ruffled Dan’s curls before grabbing the keys of the car he rented -because yes, Blake insisted he wasn’t planning to pick Charlie up in Dan’s pickup truck- and checked again his phone was in his pocket. Em couldn’t help but smile as she looked up at Blake, hoping he would finally get some happiness he deserved. As Blake was almost at the door, she noticed his green backpack sitting on the other couch next to her.

“Hey, your backpack!”

“Why would I need my backpack?” Blake asked with the most confused look on his face. He has his keys, phone, and wallet. Em figured the smart man had condoms somewhere in one of his pockets, so he was oblivious to why Em mentioned his backpack.

“I put clean clothes for you there, dummy. I know you won’t be back for the whole weekend so I figured you would need it. At least to come back dressed." Em made it sound like the easiest explanation in the world, shrugging like it wasn't a big deal. For her, it wasn't. All she did was grab a nice pair of shorts, a T-shirt, socks, and the newest underwear she knew Blake had. Eighty percent of the time Em was in charge of their laundry, so she knew which clothes were older, even in Blake's suitcase. She might have also thrown there a spare deodorant, a toothbrush, and a box of condoms, but she wasn't gonna say a thing about it. She wanted to keep the secret and wait for Blake to find out.

Em thought Blake was gonna say she was insane for doing such a thing. After all, she wasn't his mum and he was a grown-up adult who could take care of himself. She just wanted to look after her best friend and give back some of the love, care, and affection he constantly gave them. Blake knew that was Em's way of showing her love, so he walked back, grabbed the backpack, and pointed straight at her. “I love you."

“I love you too. Go be happy!" Em exclaimed, a smile on her face as she saw Blake leaving the house and Dan yelled to him, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!".

****

He shouldn’t be that nervous. He couldn’t be that nervous. Charlie was just a girl. He hung out with girls before. He did it a hundred times. It wasn’t his first date or anything. At that point in his life, it felt like his first date was centuries ago, but somehow that night was like it again. He had the same excitement and nerves he had when he was a kid in Sydney. The only difference was that this felt final. He has dated girls before, but never experienced anything like that. None of them felt like Charlie. None of them made him forget his name instantly like she did. None of them felt like home, which was insane but true. Kissing Charlie made him feel like coming home after too much time away. It was like heaven even when he knew she could take him down to hell in a second. Being honest with himself, he couldn’t care less. He would gladly go to hell if it meant kissing her again.

He wanted nothing more than kissing her again. He wanted to taste her cherry chapstick again. He wanted her hands against his skin and her body near his. He wanted to feel her smiling and be the one begging for her to take him home. Because he regretted not going home with her. He couldn't stop thinking about it the whole night. He couldn't erase from his mind her beautiful face begging him to leave with her. He couldn't stop thinking about how he should have said yes to that and to every thing Charlie asked of him. He should have gone home with her, but instead, he listened to his decency. All he had in return was a night of terrible sleep while he missed her.

As he drove around Perth's familiar streets, Blake kept thinking about what Em said to him. It was gonna be fine. Nothing pointed in the opposite direction. There was no reason for their date to go wrong. There was no reason, but anything could happen and he didn’t want to think about it. He just couldn’t, that’s why as he drove, he decided to call the only person who could calm him again.

“You got lost or you already miss me?” 

“Tell me again it's gonna be fine?”

“Oh Blakey. Umm- Oh, I know. Hey, remember when we were sitting in the airport flying to Nice? I didn’t want to go and you promised me that no matter what happened it’d be terrible not to go because I’d never know what happened."

"Of course I remember." Some things weren’t easy to forget in life. Em holding his hand for dear life was one of those. How hard she tried to keep tears from falling was another on the list. But nothing was as terrible as seeing her eyes. She seemed lost. She looked like something had broken inside her. It was nothing but the shadow of the woman she was, but Blake needed to take her to Monaco. Maybe it was the most disastrous decision of his life, but he needed to take her there to face her biggest fear. Blake had no idea how it worked. While it felt like a miracle at the time, he came to understand her point months later.

"That’s you right now. This will work out, B. I promise. You just need to enjoy yourself and text me in the morning so I know you’re alive.”

“You know I fucking love you, right?”

“I know. You told me five minutes ago. But I love you more. Now take a deep breath, okay? Just like you made me do it that day. Do that and remember it was alright for me, so it's gonna be more than okay for you."

“Thanks, Emmy.”

“You know you’re the only person except Dan, his parents, and the kids who can call me that?”

“I know. Means a lot.”

“I know, silly. Now go get your girl.”

“She’s not-“.

“Shush. You closed the deal last night. Go get her, make her officially your girl. I’m fucking exhausted of all the testosterone, I need another girl on my side.” 

“She told me she loves Taylor...”

“Blake Francis Friend, if you lose her I will destroy you”.

“If I lose her I will let you destroy me. I feel like the two of you will terrorize me and Dan.”

“What a shame, not like the three of you have done that to me for years!”

“I’ll apologize to you again when I see you. I think I’m outside her apartment so I better leave you. Love you, Timmy.”

“Love you more, Blakey. Have fun!” 

****

The second Blake told Charlie about dinner, she knew what she was going to wear. She knew the little black dress she bought months ago without reason suddenly had a reason to hang in her closet. The black, short, very sexy halter dress was gonna be her ally that night. It was classy, not showing anything but putting her legs out there so his imagination could do the rest. If she was lucky she was gonna convince Blake to just have her as entrance and dessert, and then they could order something on her list of favorite places near home. The problem was what to wear under her dress. She was divided into two bralette bras, a regular black one that was serious but sexy, or a lace lavender one that was cute as it could get. Charlie wasn’t one to compliment herself, but both of them looked gorgeous on her, doing wonders for her boobs.

She needed that night to work. She knew she shouldn’t put all her expectations on a man she met in a bar the night before. She was a grown-up woman who knew better, but damn, she needed it to work. She needed it because something inside her yelled Blake was the right one. She always trusted her gut and she had a really good feeling about it. She wanted that and Blake almost as much as she wanted to call her sister-in-law for a brief pep talk saying it was gonna be fine. Two minutes on the phone with Katie and she could convince her that it was going to be fine. But Charlie didn’t want to make the call. For some reason, she wanted Blake for herself. She didn’t want anybody giving their opinion on the matter. She didn’t want anyone to say it was good or wrong. She just wanted to kiss him again in peace, understand he was real, and then go from it.

“Just chill the fuck out, kid. It’s gonna be fine” she told herself as she looked in the mirror while doing her makeup. She didn’t want to put too many products on her face, trying to make it appear natural. If her wishes came true in a few hours, she would be on her knees for him, so she didn’t want to look like a complete disaster with her makeup all over the place.

Her makeup wasn’t such a big issue. She did it fast and it looked good and simple, but her hair was another story. So used to have half her hair tied up and half down or in a ponytail for work, she didn’t want to do that for her date. She wanted something simple and cute to go with her dress, but her hair refused to behave. And updo looked weird. The ponytail didn’t look nice, and she couldn’t find any cute accessories to keep it up, so she decided to let it fall on her back. As she brushed her hair hoping not even one lock would be out of place, Charlie couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous she was. Not only did she know Blake wasn’t going to care about how her hair looked like, but she also hoped he would make a complete mess out of it.

After the realization hit her she decided to sit down and wait for his text saying he was outside waiting for her. She spent a good part of the last three hours pacing the floor of her apartment. When she wasn’t showering or getting ready she was just walking from one point to another, praying to whatever was out there to not let her ruin it. But then she was tired of walking, so she sat down, double-checking everything in her purse before heading out.

But then at exactly 7:40 and five minutes earlier than they said, her phone finally buzzed, making her jump out of her seat with a smile on her face as she read a tiny “Outside!” that just made her run.

[mejomonster]

So Im watching dangerous romance

Things it does right: feels grounded, dont know how to explain but its more like My Dear Loser or Moonlight Chicken in terms of feeling than say My School President or Theory of Love. Theres a grounded feel to the presentation, so while there's romance tropes they feel more like accentuating a "feels like slice of life" story rather than a heavy romcom vibe. (It is funny and angsty romance though!)

Lead actors work great together, they got to be in Never Let Me Go but this role lets Chimon showcase how solid he is in lead roles. Perth is well suited to this particular role and portraying it well. (I also recommend Chimon in The Gifted, the Gifted Graduation, and The Player, and My Dear Loser for more of a vibe like this show's).

The Only trope i hate is "knew each other in childhood before" which many a drama love using. This drama, unfortunately, also used it. But thankfully for me its 1 scene and so far the show isnt indicating they used to be friends or crushes. Just that they crossed paths once as kids and Kang showed kindness, so Sailom had reason to believe maybe Kang could again now. As far as me having to deal with this trope goes? The trope is at a minimum, its bareable. (Which btw... if a story IS childhood friends to logers im fine with the trope, i just hate how many like cdramas and taiwan dramas often introduce 2 seemingly strangers then flash back to some childhood scene where 1 of them actually got a crush years ago and recognizes their crush again as an adult... that trope is just NOT for me lol. Id rather either writing has to show me the childhood years of growing close - Bad Buddy, Theory of Love, Go Ahead do this - or else I want it to show people getting to know each other At the age of the story with No Shortcut excuse for why they should get together sooner - Not Me the Series, My Beautiful Man, She Likes to Cook and She Likes to Eat do this well. Cherry Magic is an example of long-term-acquaintances forming a relationship and that wlrks fine too, because its got story reasons of X years long spent together and starts the story with at least one party in the active process of building the relationship into more/getting feelings. I just... i hate the "knew each other once" trope 90% of the time because i feel like sometimes it leads to writers skipping a reason for characters to gradually grow close DURING the actual story. And so i tend to avoid it by default. This shows execution of it is, like i said, bearable as it doesnt seem to be leaning on it to cut writing the present development).

One of the Best bisexual love triangles ive seen in a while! I remember when Theory of Love did the bi love triangle and i was so happy to see 1 a clearly written bisexual in a bl romance drama (oh how far weve come), 2 a bisexual written with their romance story genuinely given care as in it was easy to see they liked both crushes sincerely 3 a fairly accurate portrayal as far as like bi college romance can go. Well Dangerous Romance goes for the tragic bi love triangle too! Kang is a teen, maybe he isnt even sure he likes guys yet. But its clear from the start he likes Pimfah is long time crush, his best friend, the friend he most aims to impress and show his kinder caring qualities to. He takes notice of Sailom, a boy who DOES try and succeed at challenges and who Kang is definitely jealous of: jealous Sailom doesnt have to buy success, is valued for his skillsets not his background, is visibly kind to others and succeeds from it (where Kang when he is nice to strangers is often interpreted as buying people/manipulating so hes given up on trying to be nice at all). Kang admires both Pimfah and Sailom for their genuine kindness, their genuine talent and efforts to work hard. Sailom isnt his best friend though, so he reacts hostile. He ends up liking Sailom longer term though for similar reasons to liking Pimfah. Sailom tolerates his bullshit even less, which ultimately makes Sailom even more appealing as someone who expects him to do well By His Own choice. Kang is loyal and kind and territorial with those he likes. He wants someones attention like Pimfah? He goes to do something brave and showy like hold a lizard. He wants to be alone with her, he tries to exclude Sailom (or others) so it can be a date with Pimfah. He subconciously likes Sailom? He also gets showy, insisting they play music. He also gets territorial, extremely upset to see Sailom close to other men and dragging Sailom off. Kang has a bad habit of not saying what he feels right away, so its good Sailom asks questions and demands complete answers. But Kang does wear his heart on his sleeve in terms of actions. Once he cares about someone hes incredibly generous and caring, once he has a crush his gaze follows them magnetically and he gets quite overtly clingy. No wonder Sailoms friends knew right away.

It works great as a bi love triangle for a few reasons. 1 Pimfah is not painted as the antagonist or girl who comes between them, the faen fatale trope. Shes just a best friend whos heart gets broken, just like Kang is a best friend who gets his heart broken, as is Sailom. She, reasonably, likes Sailom (shes Kangs best friend so it is fairly realistic shed also like Sailom like Kang does, and shes got a similar personality to Sailom). Kang reasonably likes Pimfah and its not a surprise to the audience (and his crush on Sailom is depicted similarly so Kangs attractions read as clearly bi - its no surprise to us who he likes and that both crushes are genuine). Sailom clearly likes Kang, clearly likes men, and as the 3 develop you notice he doesnt have any special feelings for Pimfah but thinks shes a nice person. I loved the episode all three of them got their heart broken. ToT Pimfah likes Sailom, crushing Kang (and fueling the fire that is his fears hes not good enough As His Own person outside of status TO be likable). Kang at the same time, knows Sailoms worth and why Pimfah would like him, feels Sailom IS better than himself (both Kangs self hatred and his own admiration of Sailom compounding), so Kang figures at least the 2 people he thinks are amazing deserve each other: Sailom is wonderful and deserves Pimfah more than Kang if Sailom is who she likes. So Kang is PISSED Sailom doesnt want her. The two best people Kang knows, how could Sailom reject her? How could Pimfah and Sailom, at least, not end up happy? Then Sailom confesses HE LIKES KANG. Kangs world is rearranging. Oh. The man he admires doesnt like the woman he admires (who doesnt like Kang), because the man he admires likes him. Woah. Kang couldve accepted the two people he views as "better" than him deserving each other. But Sailom liking him means suddenly Kang does feel Deserving of equal value again, confusion. And has to consider if he views Sailom romantically like he does Pimfah, or if the admiration is only platonic. Kang panics, says he only did his caring gestures out of guilt. But Kang does like Sailom, HAS liked Sailom and its been subconciously driving him over time, and so even with the lie "it was just guilt" he doesnt want to be apart from Sailom. So he still finds himself trying to help Sailom sick, trying to talk to him, qnd realizing hes just as jealous of Sailom with other people as he was with Pimfah liking another. So it clicks into place, he goes to talk to Sailom alone, kisses him. The next several hours are a mess until Kang can spit out his honest feelings and he and Sailom can talk about it. Meanwhile, Pimfahs heart break is very teen slice of life relatable, and shes not ever villainized as a character who "came between the main couple." Shes still Kangs best friend, their confession of different crushes just means theyve been giving each other space to process without both crying more (Kang over her rejecting him, Pimfah over Sailom rejecting her).

Its a very well handled love triangle. It propels all of their stories forward. It makes sense. (I finished ep 7, still have the rest to go).

[bengiyo]

Never Let Me Go Ep 1 Stray Thoughts

I can't believe we have new shows from Jojo two days in a row. Who ever thought we'd be here?? (I did, in 2012) Very excited about this one, but desperately hoping that Pond comes through for us this time.

I do like a slow-moving shot to open a show. I am prepared to feel moody.

Don't know if Neung is queer yet, but if he already is then I will have thoughts about gay boys and their moms.

Glad the father isn't actually negligent. Neung wasn't giving off a long-suffering air. It's nice to know that he feels like a beloved son.

This feels like a lot of weight to put on a young person, but Neung is coming of age and so I respect the dad trying to prepare his son for coming duties.

This rainy alleyway scene is giving Batman.

As others have pointed out already, this pendant is so huge. We get the metaphor, but goddamn.

Phuwin gives a strong performance here. I'm glad the sound editors toned down the sonic presence of his scream, though. I felt it was too loud in the trailer.

Every time I see Perth I'm like, "Welcome back, baby boy."

I've been complaining about the use of Dutch angles in GAP, but I think they're appropriate here. Neung's world is tilted by the loss of his dad, who clearly loved him (he literally named his son "Only One").

Love the use of this red outfit to announce that Tanya will take over as CEO.

I'm so glad Nat is in this show and linked with Perth. They're going to be fun to watch.

Glad this show is using Phuwin's multilingual talent.

Pond looks good in this so far. The school uniforms did not serve his frame well.

I like how workmanlike Jojo can be about exposition. Sometimes it's more efficient to have a character detail their limitations and worldview quickly so the audience knows their starting line. We can figure out the reasons as we go along.

Love that conversation with the bodyguard/chamberlain outside school. The shifts in your relationships as you come of age is always hard.

We never had anyone this famously wealthy at any school I went to.

Chimon remains excellent at building onscreen chemistry with literally anyone so well.

I will be very disappointed when we learn that Chanon was somehow involved in Pipop's death. Both Neungdia and Tanya assert that they feel like he's family. For Chanon, though, it probably isn't his reality. This is going to get messy and I'm here for it.

Almost gagged when I saw Apo and Mile in a product ad at the start of part 2.

Not to be too distracted by the gun, but what is in this notebook that Neung keeps in the same drawer as the gun?

Also noticed the retro style speaker, and the painting of a piano full of butterflies.

At least Neung has some trigger safety.

I'm so proud of the hair and makeup team so far. They have not missed once. Phuwin looks amazing sitting in the pool.

Fantastic choice to show Palm's commute. After seeing the wealth of Neung's life, the signs of poverty and frustrated hit hard.

Ball is life (and apparently a gambling opportunity to cause problems later).

I will never, ever tire of boys pulling each other into hiding spaces and getting too close to each other's faces. Mutuals, feel free to do this to me.

Nat is so good. I am so invested in this beef between Tanya and Kit, and am so curious about the family history that led to the exclusion of Pipong's brother.

The Gifted has forever ruined the arm grab for me in these dramas. It only ever reads as hugely manipulative.

What does Neung know about these family troubles? He didn't seem surprised about the tension when he walked in, and looked to Tanya for guidance on whether to hug Kit back.

Is Palm choosing to not wear a tie, or does he not have one? I'm not surprised he wears the uniform loosely after working as a fisherman.

I don't blame Neung for bailing on a father's day event.

Chanon definitely assigned Palm as a bodyguard. I think Tanya is aware of it.

Who is this taxi driver and why is he willingly contributing to truancy?

So we finally know what building these windows have been in. I have seen them in The Gifted and War of Y.

Neung isn't dumb, and I'm glad he's aware of what's going on.

Every time they say they trust Chanon, he gets uncomfortable. Is that guilt?

Oh ho, we're going to start seeing more of Perth next week.

I had a great time with this first episode, and like that both of Jojo's shows feel so distinct from each other right now. I completely forgot that Phuwin is playing Ice in The Warp Effect. Hoping to see Pond blossom as this character comes out of his reserve.

[vickyvicarious]

The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet; it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval, entreating me to join him. He said that nearly a year had elapsed since we had quitted Switzerland, and France was yet unvisited. He entreated me, therefore, to leave my solitary isle, and meet him at Perth, in a week from that time, when we might arrange the plan of our future proceedings. This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and I determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days.

1818

The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet; it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval, entreating me to join him. He said that he was wearing away his time fruitlessly where he was; that letters from the friends he had formed in London desired his return to complete the negotiation they had entered into for his Indian enterprise. He could not any longer delay his departure; but as his journey to London might be followed, even sooner than he now conjectured, by his longer voyage, he entreated me to bestow as much of my society on him as I could spare. He besought me, therefore, to leave my solitary isle, and meet him at Perth, that we might proceed southwards together. This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and I determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days.

1831

Again, original Henry is just on a sort of Grand Tour with Victor, while 1831 Henry is specifically trying to build connections and get a mercantile deal established to further his career. So that difference is just carrying on from established changes.

One detail that does feel different to me is the tone. From Henry's perspective in both versions, everyone has been worried about Victor's mental health. In 1831 he was specifically asked to keep an eye on it by Elizabeth after Victor's last solo trip left him looking way worse than when he'd left; in 1818 it's less pointed but he must still be concerned. But both Henrys have been separated from Victor for a good while now, and they must be worried about him. That comes through in both, I think. No, it's a different nuance.

1818 Henry reminds Victor of their future plans together, and entreats him to join Henry and work together to plan them out and get them underway. It's very... equal? They're a team. In contrast, 1831 Henry 'can only delay so long' - he's literally being held back by his worry over Victor. His plans are already made, he just wants to bring Victor along. It feels like it would tie in negatively to Victor's feelings about being a burden/not living up to his family's expectations, which is interesting since that is generally more prevalent in 1818.

I think Henry's love for Victor shows in both, as well as that lovely contrast of him looking forward to a brighter future while Victor is trapped by his past decisions/fears of a terrible future, but there's a subtle difference there.

[remys-rockets]

L2 Certification Attempt

After obtaining my L1 attempt, I had originally planned to fly for an L2 attempt on the same rocket. However, I attended a VRA club night where a swap meet was being held and ended up with a Rocketry Warehouse (now Madcow) Broken Arrow 54. Sometimes a great deal is a great deal.

This was a pretty big step up from the cardboard and plywood construction I was used to, being entirely filament-wound fibreglass. Its large diameter/length ratio combined with its small split fins also made it intimidating. This kit is also intended only for dual-deploy, which is something I had never done before. I decided it was a good opportunity to challenge myself.

Build

The kit was pretty bare-bones, meaning I had to source a retainer and much of the hardware for it. I ordered a 38mm Aeropack retainer, and then I began the build.

The process was relatively simple, with through-the-wall fins like all my previous builds. However, this time they did not fit into divots in the centering rings, so I 3D printed a fin jig to hold them in place while the epoxy cured.

Speaking of epoxy, I moved away from the 5-minute Araldite I had used for previous builds in favour of a more serious adhesive. I used JB Weld for anything motor-adjacent because of its thermal tolerance, and Epiglue for all other structural attachments and fin fillets. This was recommended to me by a friend in Perth who flies truly ridiculous rockets and has used it on flights of up to Mach 2. It is also available from a local marine supplier, meaning I didn't have to pay through my nose to get hold of Rocketpoxy or West Systems. I was very pleased with how nicely it went on and how strong it was.

By this time I'd also nailed down my epoxy application and filleting methods - I use cheap silicone sculpting and grouting tools which can simply be cleaned with acetone after I'm done. For filleting, I also found that mixing the epoxy in a ziploc bag and piping it on like icing worked a treat.

My work gets cleaner with every set of fillets I lay down. These ones don't look fantastic, and the split fins were something I had never dealt with before, but that didn't matter for reasons that became apparent shortly after the epoxy had set.

The morning after I applied these fillets, I got up to continue working on the rocket when I noticed that something had shifted overnight. The motor mount tube was somehow at an angle, as shown in the image above. I know I installed it perfectly level, but I didn't secure it while it set so I think it slipped as it cured. In my defense, I was quite sick and not firing on all cylinders when I had completed all the work up until now, but the realisation of what I'd managed to do was pretty disappointing and a bit of a knock to my confidence. Some measurements and a bit of trig suggested that the offset was only a degree or two, but the image suggests otherwise. I consulted some friends who are far more experienced flyers than I, and the consensus was a mix between 'send it' and Do Not Fly That Rocket, with more in favour of flying it than not. I looked at my OpenRocket sim for stability characteristics, and read some old Rocketry Forum posts about this model, all which pointed to it being rather squirrelly. In hindsight, I feel like I made the right decision, as I just couldn't ignore my gut feeling. I decided to rip it apart and rebuild it completely.

I did not take photos during this phase due to being completely covered with fibreglass dust, but I ended up using a diamond Dremel cutting wheel to first cut the fin can off, then cleanly slice the fins out of the body. I cannibalised a small section of the avionics bay tube to use as a coupler to reattach the aft section. I was then able to epoxy the whole thing back together, sand it all down, and it looked no different - apart from the motor mount being at the correct angle of zero degrees. I re-filleted the fins with a larger radius than before, as I wasn't happy with how they looked initially. I was very pleased with this effort, and confident to a) present this rocket to an RSO and b) fly it safely.

I also took the opportunity during this rebuild to modify the rocket to be motor-eject capable, by removing the bulkhead to which the recovery harnessing would be attached. I cut a small divot in the forward centering ring and attached a looped piece of kevlar around the motor tube before reinstalling it. This 'leash' provides the anchor point for a longer recovery harness to be attached to. I am very glad I did this, as not long after I was informed that my university club possessed a grand total of two (2) grams of black powder. Traditional dual-deploy would no longer be an option. More on that later.

To finish off the construction, I 3D printed rail guides from ABS and bolted them to the body, with a bit of JB Weld in there for good measure. I drilled pressure relief holes in the forward and aft sections of the body, and another in the avionics bay for altimeter readings. I then drilled a more smaller holes and installed screws to pin the nosecone to the forward section, and the forward section to the avionics bay. Since the flight would no longer be traditional dual-deploy, the rocket would not need to separate at these points. Finally, I gave it a purple paintjob and the name of CRUNCHWRAP 3.

At some point, Taco Bell might see these and send me a cease and desist. I am going to keep building and flying them until they do.

Recovery

With a proper dual-deploy ejection now out of the question, I turned to my backup plan. My team calls it the 'poor-man's dual deploy', even though it's arguably actually more expensive than using black powder. This involves deploying a drogue with the motor charge, then using a JollyLogic chute release device to deploy the main at whatever altitude you have chosen. There is a substantial risk of the harnessing becoming tangled using this method, but I didn't really have a choice. I used a 4.5m nylon shock cord, tied to the anchored kevlar leash. I divided the cord into thirds, tying a loop at each third. I attached the drogue to the forward-most loop, and the main to the aft loop. Both chutes were on quick links and swivels to reduce the risk of tangling as much as possible. Each of these chutes were wrapped in their own nomex protector, and then placed in the aft section of the rocket with their harness. I used a 36' (91-ish cm) main chute from Loc Precision, and a 40cm 4-gore drogue which I sewed using Scott Bryce's fantastic Spherical Parachute Pattern Generator.

Avionics

Although it ended up not being needed, I decided to send the flight computer I got hold of along for the ride. I thought it would be cool to get an altitude reading to compare with the simulated apogee. A buddy of mine in the US was getting rid of a few bits and pieces, so I bought his RRC2+ off him with the intent of flying it for my L2 attempt. First, though, it needed somewhere to live.

I found the supplied parts for the av-bay were a little lacking, so I added some modifications - the main one being drilled holes for two threaded rods to pass through. I used two for redundancy, since the idea of a single rod made me a little uneasy. I used wingnuts on these so I could fasten them nice and tight without the need for a spanner. It was also missing enough eye bolts, so I grabbed some from Bunnings.

I then designed and 3D printed a sled to fit onto the threaded rods and provide a mount for the battery and the flight computer. A very simple setup. The sled looks objectively awful since the printer was having a bit of a sook at the time, but the actual functionality was not affected and it serves its purpose just fine.

Motor

With an unbelievably limited amount of motors available in Australia at the time of writing, I had to work with what I could get hold of. I was lucky enough to snag was a CTI J-316 (pink!!) through my university team, which is a 38mm 5 grain reloadable motor with an adjustable delay of up to 17 seconds. Unfortunately, we didn't have a 5-grain case so I made do with a 6-grain case and a spacer. I only became aware of that the night before the launch, so I had to very quickly revise my recovery packing technique to account for the now limited real estate inside the body.

It provided an average thrust of roughly 316N, with a max of 450N, over a burn time of about 2.1sec, for a total impulse of roughly 650Ns. A pretty tame J motor, but still far more powerful than anything I'd ever flown before.

Simulation

After carefully weighing every single component of the rocket and entering them into OpenRocket, I simulated the flight on the motor above. The entire vehicle weighed 2.7kg, with a length of 1.41m. It was simulated to hit Mach 0.77, and fly to an apogee of 5191ft.

Theoretically, the centre of pressure and centre of gravity would be 0.86m and 1m respectively from the tip of the nose cone. This would give a stability calibre of 2.44 at Mach 0.3 - however, this rocket is quite a bit faster than that. Also, the 'rule of thumb' which says a rocket's CG should be roughly 1.5 body diameters in front of the CP is not as helpful on rockets with a length/diameter ratio of over 10, such as this one (which is 24). Here, the CG should be roughly 10% of the overall length in front of the CP, which it was, almost (9.6%). The stability calibre off the rod was predicted to be only a little over 1.5 (6%), but given that it would be going 31m/s I was confident this would be fine as long as it didn't launch into a strong wind gust. At motor burnout, stability would be up near 3.8 (15%), which I was happy with.

I set the motor delay to the full 17 seconds for the simulations, as anything shorter would have the recovery devices deployed before apogee. This would a) cut the flight short and more importantly b) place a huge amount of strain on the harnessing and chutes due to a very high deployment speed. With the full delay, deployment would be at 11.3m/s, which the harness and drogue could handle easily. Ground hit was simulated to be a brisk but not destructive 6.8m/s.

As an aside, OpenRocket includes a little disclaimer about 'jagged edge fin predictions may not be accurate'. I bore this in mind through the whole process, but based on others I'd seen fly and forum posts I'd read online, I was comfortable with what I was doing.

Flight

L2 certifications require passing a written exam with two sections - technical knowledge and the Tripoli safety code. I had already passed the exam (100%, don't mind if I do) at a previous date, so all I had to do was install my motor, altimeter, and recovery gear. I didn't even have to drill out a delay. After a quick field CG test and a visit to the RSO tent, I was ready to rack up.

A few new recruits to our team came out to the launch day, so I enjoyed an opportunity to show them how to set up for flight, install an igniter, and test for continuity.

After a small delay to clear the range and ensure the skies were clear overhead, the LCO hit the button.

The rocket flew straight and fast on a frankly gorgeous purple flame, and almost instantly got high enough that we struggled to keep a visual on it. A puff of smoke indicated the ejection charge had blown, and then I was able to see the fluoro yellow gores of the drogue as it opened. The rocket began to drift slowly as it came down, as there was a fairly stiff breeze blowing at the time. I had programmed my chute release to 500ft, and it performed as intended. The main chute deployed and thankfully none of the recovery gear got tangled. I watched it gently descend, albeit with a decent drift going on, and set itself down in a field about 800m away. After a gentle stroll (read: powerwalk to warm up, it was freezing), we arrived at the rocket. It had been dragged a little and the chute had become tangled on the ground, but all was intact. One quick pitstop at the RSO tent later, I had my L2!

Upon reflection....

Things to improve

Use a much smaller drogue. The one I flew was about twice as big as it needed to be, and it was far too windy for such a chute. I simply didn't have a smaller one, although making one would have only taken about an hour.

I didn't get any useful readings from my altimeter. I don't believe I set it up properly, so I need to make sure I learn to do that and fly it as a passenger on at least one more flight before I use it as a deployment computer. I am disappointed that I couldn't get a figure to compare with the simulation.

Use a proper stand to rest the rocket on, perfectly horizontally, during construction. This would have avoided the whole debacle of the motor mount slipping and me consequentially having to rip it apart and rebuild.

Things that went well:

Being absolutely prepared and packing my car the night before, and bringing spares of most components, made launch prep a breeze

That was the first flight of my homemade drogue, and upon inspection afterwards there was no damage. I can now be confident that others of the same design and similar construction that I have planned for bigger rockets will perform in a similar way.

The recovery technique worked as intended, with no tangling. This is probably not a viable option for rockets going any higher, but it's nice to have in the back pocket for projects of this scale if black powder and/or avionics access might be an issue

I am also extremely relieved that this certification only took me one shot, rather than the three that my L1 took. I think it reflects well on my progress.

Next:

Fly it again with proper dual deploy, if I can get my hands on some black powder

Scratch build of a rocket of similar scale

...... L3?

[lostarcher17]

I used to be a NaMon shipper. My ghost ship since My Dear Loser, although Chimon was paired with Pluem back then, wishing that in the future, it would be NaMon. Perhaps it's because of their closeness that gave them undeniable chemistry, hence making them shippable. And I know that I am not the only one who thinks of it. As a fujoshi, it was also kind of frustrating seeing them together in almost every series but never actually ended up together. So, I was really dying of having them in BL series as lovers.

Nevertheless, witnessing how OhmNanon slowly breaks apart (though I don't exactly know why), I realize that perhaps it is truly better for Nanon and Chimon to remain as ghost ship.

They have such a precious friendship and bond. As far as I know, it almost seems like they grew up together. Starting from Senior Secret Love way back in 2016. Seven years have passed, and though a lot has changed, their friendship remains stronger. And right now, I couldn't ask for more.

Yes, it might be fun seeing them as lovers in a series. It will fulfill my fujoshi's heart's dream. However, there will always be a consequence to every action. The moment the ghost ship becomes real, it would be difficult to turn our heads away the moment they decide to fulfill their own dreams. I mean, their ship will always haunt them wherever they go. Their closeness will always be interpreted as something romantic, which can also burn out their good relationship. For instance, OhmNanon...

It really saddens me how awkwardly them become to each other. Ohm's issue is unacceptable. They said it's one of the reasons why they drifted apart, and I could understand it. Yet, they were part 2000 trio (Nanon, Chimon, Ohm). They could scold Ohm for the terrible things he did. As friends, they should guide him to the right way... anyway, this is an outsider's perspective, so I really don't know what happens in between them. What I only know is that they act not the same way as they used to be... And it's painful to watch.

Though I ship boys together as lovers, I value more the the friendship they will build along the way. And the hardest part as a shipper is seeing them growing apart because they no longer want to be boxed inside that ship. It's perhaps because it's too tiring to interact with one another without being interpreted romantically...

So, yeah... I'm glad that Nanon and Chimon are not paired up in a BL series. They will not be pressured to do all the fanservice and, at the same time, preserve their precious friendship.

On the other hand, I adore all the ships that, despite the tiring world of being shipped, they just brush off all the malicious issues and stay as friends. Occasionally, they can do the fanservice. But, they also know their limitations.

That's one of the reasons why I love TayNew so much. We've been through a lot. Hahahaha. There was even a time when we all thought that the ship would sink all the way to the bottom of the sea. Nevertheless, it was fixed and is now sailing again. They can bicker all the way they want, as long as they will always be friends.

...Chimon will have a new BL series with Perth. It's a surprising tandem. Both have always been good actors. I am looking forward to their series😍

[raccoonrummagergame]

Week 7

Hello! It's Jack again, Techlead and Producer on Raccoon rummage.

Since last we spoke much has changed in my area of the project, mechanics add a level taken from concept to near completion and much of the project refined and updated.

On the Unity side of things there were two new mechanical additions, enterable buildings and ladders. The enterable buildings is our attempt to flesh out the game world, make it more interactable and exploreable and give us more places to hide the more valuable food. In terms of scripting, this mechanic was fairly simple to add to the game; the complexity came from the 3D modeling of the building assets and setting up the colliders so the player can walk into and explore them without issue. This is time consuming on both parts, making sure planes and faces on the model are doing the correct things and stopping the player walking through the walls or getting stuck due to odd or misaligned colliders.

The ladders were a further exploration into the explorability and intrigue of the levels. Once again fairly simple to implement code wise but there were issues with the implementation in our project. The most notable was issues with moving the prefab gameobject over from the developer scene where the differences in scaling meant that the triggers used to activate the climbing had issues such as being too short for the player to climb onto the roofs of buildings or too long meaning that players could fall out of the bottom of the map. Fixes for this are planned and are fairly simple to implement as it just requires a refactoring of aforementioned triggers.

One of the big additions to the game is the inclusion of the patrolling enemy which has taken the form of an Opossum. This was a tough one that took a decent amount of time to research, script, and then finalize into the game. The Opossum also took advantage of some new shader and material work that I have also been doing on the side. This means that including the other detectors such as the lights, they have clear and obvious detection areas that the player needs to avoid. This work also extends to the pickups and in the future to the other interactable items in the game such as the ladders, doors, and bins. The enemies have a patrol route that is quick and simple to modify and even expand and is one of the items I'm most proud of so far in this project.

Finally I built the level (mostly) from scratch, using the outer walls of the original level and the level concept on a plan to help guide me, I put together the level as a whole. This was hard time consuming work due to my relative inexperience in level design and building. As a whole however i think, barring a few bugs such as the aforementioned ladders, i feel as though it came together well. All thats needed now to put the bow on the first level is some polish and the minigames. Speaking of which due to manpower and time constraints ahead of Perth Games Festival, it was decided that the implementation of the minigames would have to wait until after the event. This was a tough decision as it's a core mechanic that will bring the game to life and provide that extra level of intrigue and challenge that I feel is missing from the game. That doesn't mean work in this area hasn't been done however, currently the hooks for the mini games to plug into the game are already in and are just waiting for them to be designed, built, and implemented.

That was a lot of Tech talk so how about my role as a producer?

While this area is lacking for me, due to time constraints with other units, I feel as though I'm doing a decent job overall. While I'm unable to do much of the chasing up on or managing things, much of the team has remained on task. There have been some hiccups along the way but for the most part we have done well as a team to pragmatically adapt and shift the load around to go from an empty level that consisted of a plane and the border walls, to a near finalized level with only one mechanic missing and the need for general polish.

With PGF on the horizon, we plan on receiving as much feedback as possible to see what we have missed, what we can improve on, and what we did well. This will be our main focus for the coming week ready for our return to classes!

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Black Stone Brewers’ new alt-rock single ‘Too Far Gone’ carries a deep instrumental journey amidst lyricism that’s weighed down by ghosts of the past

Progressive alternative-rock band Black Stone Brewers reign from Perth, with the act kicking off in 2020 and still hailing from Western Australia today with plenty more to give. After spending the past 2 years cultivating an audience by gigging extensively around the Perth music scene, the group have amassed quite the fanbase as well as live experience, and now find themselves searching for the their next endeavour inside returning to releasing with a body of work to come. Exploring themes of faith, grief, loss, and addiction, their upcoming EP is an amalgamation of 3 years worth of hard work both in creating their own staple sound, style, lyricism and so much more. With instrumentals that tell just as much of the journey as their words, Black Stone Brewers are here to make music how it should be done, as an experience of its own. Their new single ‘Too Far Gone’ shows just the beginnings of how powerful the EP is set to be.

Resonantly leading into ‘Too Far Gone’ with atmospherically striking instrumentals that ring out into the vast void of sound, Black Stone Brewers’ immediately establish the soundscape to be one of utmost complexity and force, interweaving story and emotion into their evolving instruments throughout and creating impact in its execution. With the verse slowing from a bold intro to instead only thudding drum beats, moody subdued bass and intermittent electric guitar plucks, commandeering vocals instead take centre stage of the release with a deep spoken-sung delivery pushing their powerful narrative to the forefront of everything and forcing the listener to not just hear their words but understand the weight of them too. Swirling into a chorus with an impactful shift, the instrumentals all unite and build with a rising volume and dominance, creating a moment of tension and angst that’s defused by the choruses unexpected tranquility. Thriving in a graceful push and pull, the chorus soars with slow electric guitar, haunting synthesiser, gentle drums and dual vocals that portray a tender performance. Likening their songwriting and arranging process to creating “pop songs dressed up with prog rock/metal arrangements”, it’s clear inside the journey of ‘Too Far Gone’ that Black Stone Brewers’ have created something both wonderfully catchy whilst also instrumentally moving and intentional in every ebb and flow of the harshness and delicacy. A bridge of high-energy and more gritty guitar and drums truly closes the experience out with flair, showing off the wide spanning genres of Black Stone Brewers and solidifying their place as an alternative-rock group needed on your radar.

With a lyrical poignance alike much of their EP to come, ‘Too Far Gone’ is in ways autobiographical, telling stories and vivid moments across the lives of the band in their most vulnerable of states. Dwelling on some of their lowest moments, their most heartbreaking of experiences and perhaps even their own wrongdoings, ‘Too Far Gone’ collectively finds itself aching to right the past and let go of memories that they feel are shackling them down from living in the present. As the opening lines display someone evidently scarred, both mentally and physically, it’s hard to not feel the immediate weight of such a narrative: ‘raised flesh shows where I have been, and I’m finding now I don’t need to justify.’ Albeit hurting, it almost feels like the beginnings of letting go to ties of what’s been and gone, deciding that the details or justifications of any experiences are their own to withhold and instead they are able to distance themselves, rather than continually carry their burdens. With a more hard-hitting chorus realisation that these are all figments of the past, ‘Too Far Gone’ heart-wrenchingly explores the internal debate and struggle between finding yourself torn down by what you’ve been through and encumbered by it, and yet so close to unloading its weight and doing whatever you want with a separation from what cannot be changed. Most prominently pushed in the chorus line ‘I called out to you from the door, but you’re too far gone’, Black Stone Brewers find themselves looking to inspire an audience similarly held down by ghosts of their past, reminding that there’s no need to look back upon it and attempt to reach out, rectify or seek answers, simply close the door and start a new beginning.

Check out ‘Too Far Gone’ here and don’t forget to listen to the EP ‘Conduit’ out March 3rd!

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Hunter Brothers Media, The Rockpit

// This coverage was created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[absolutebl]

Hello, :)

I have come again to ask about linguistic dynamics of actors of different ages.

You previously talked about Singto and Krist and that Singto always expects a polite Phi or the other will get boxed. Now, they're only 1 year apart but I have recently noticed that Joong and Dunk (also 1 year age difference) talk casually with each other, which makes me wonder if there is a switch in Thai culture away from the strict Phi/Nong hierarchy or if this depends on the individual people and maybe upbringing?

Also Bible and Build (KP) talk casually even though they're 3 years apart but age wise closer to SK. But maybe the atmosphere at the KP set is more relaxed because Apo also seems a but bratty and doesn't always address Mile as Phi. 🤣

As you can see that makes me really confused. 🤭 do you think the younger person normally will just start speaking casually or they will ask permission to address an older person like that?

Thanks as always for your insight. 😍

It's personality dependent, so far as I can gather. And it seems to be somewhat negotiated. More often than not it can be an in-character actor choice. (As in they want to roll with the dynamic they're performing.) So if the series had them as equals (like Joong and Dunk) sometimes they will continue the same dynamic on promo. Upbringing plays too, I think. Joong (1/2 Turkish) and Perth (1/2 Australian) can be both more/less casual than full Thai actors. Particularly with body language.

I can imagine a certain personality type, like Krist, for example, would test it. And then get a slap down if their elder is a generally more polite/formal personality, like Singto.

It's usually up to the elder to choose the honorific, so if you're in the workspace, for example, and someone drops from khun to phi, that means you should use phi with them henceforth. (And that they will probubly drop honorifics with you.) If you're younger and then stick to khun, you're saying something very distinctive about how formal you want to keep the relationship. I hope you can see how this could be used for flirting, on one hand, but also to try to establish more intimacy than the younger/newer employee wants (workplace harassment), on the other hand.

The opposite is also the case.

Certain other personalities, like Fluke, will phi-down. As in, he's older but he will use phi on actors younger than him who have a more aggressive or domineering personality. OR possibly he's just method, so he sticks in character bts and on promo, and he usually plays the younger character in a series.

If you watch the bts for UWMA you can watch Mean (younger than Fluke, but Fluke used Phi with him) talking about this, and Mean's reaction is both confused, and funny, and slightly offended.

As with everything linguistic, it's flexible, and the moment you learn a rule there are a million ways to break it...

[cupsandthoughts]

what are you all currently reading? 📖 i was kindly sent ‘only a monster’ (thank you @allenandunwin!) and i am flying through it! 🤩 i found it rather slow at first, but the world building is sooo interesting. oddly, i can’t quite put a finger on what’s making the story fast-paced.. all i can say is that i’m really enjoying it so far ✨✨ i’ll have a review of this once i’m finished ☺️ (at Perth, Western Australia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ4IX4Yv2gO/?utm_medium=tumblr

[scotianostra]

23rd August 1305 saw the trial and execution in London of Sir William Wallace, one time Guardian of Scotland.

I posted yesterday stating the trial happened then, it came u in a source I was reading about Wallace, sometimes the historians can get it wrong, but the post yesterday served as more of prelude and a taster of todays more detailed one. Wallace is said to have accepted his execution without resistance and a brave heart. He even made a final confession to a priest and read from the book of Psalms before his punishment.

Types of execution at The Elms ranged from burning at the stake (for heretics) to the tried and tested hanged-drawn-and-quartered method for those convicted of high treason. For those unfamiliar with this method, it involves being dragged by a horse to the place of execution, hanged  until almost dead, then disembowelled whilst still conscious, beheaded, and finally being chopped into four pieces (i.e. ‘quartered) and subsequently having these pieces put on display across the city, or in Sir William Wallace’s case, the country.

I think it only right to give a background post about Sir William Wallace so hang on to your hats, there’ll be no mention of French Princess’s, Blue painted Australians or the like. 

Much of what we know about Wallace comes from  Blind Harry, also known as Harry, Hary or Henry the Minstrel, is renowned as the author of The Actes and Deidis of the Illustre and Vallyeant Campioun Schir William Wallace, more commonly known as The Wallace. The trouble is how reliable can Blind Harry’s account be, it was written over 150 years after Wallace's grisly demise, the stories about oor erstwhile hero would have been handed down through  word of mouth, possibly even in song. 

Harty claims that Wallace's father was named Malcolm, and on this basis Wallace has traditionally been identified as Sir Malcolm Wallace, a minor landowner from Renfrewshire. Sir Malcolm was a descendant of Richard Wallace, a native of the lordship of Oswestry on the Welsh border, (Wallace itself meaning Welshman),  who first came to Scotland in the twelfth-century in the service of Walter Fitz Alan, first High Steward of Scotland. This Stewart connection has also been used by historians to explain Wallace's place in the 'patriotic' struggle of the 1290s.

But  Harry’s story has some flaws, now I’m not decrying the story, just some details like his age.

No reliable evidence exists to gives us an estimate of his age. Harry claims that Wallace was 'forty and five [years] of age' when he was executed,  but also states that he was 'bot eighteen yer auld' shortly before the Battle of Stirling Bridge, which would place the year of his birth around 1278/9.

It shows how difficult it is to build a picture of Sir William.

The contemporary English chronicler William Rishanger implies that Wallace was a young man when he emerged as the leader of armed resistance to the English in southern Scotland in 1297, but this does little to narrow things down. According to Hary, Wallace was raised by his two uncles - both clerics - who saw to his education after his father was killed by an English knight named Fenwick

 One of his uncles was from Dunipace, a wee town not far from my home in Falkirk, it is through this uncle we get an oft quoted phrase  “This is the truth I tell you: of all things freedom’s most fine. Never submit to live, my son, in the bonds of slavery entwined.” The second pic shows part of the quote, it is on a paving stone on Falkirk High Street  that I often walk past.

He does seem to have had two brothers, Malcolm - who would provide Wallace with much-needed support in the later part of his career - and John - who would later be executed for supporting Robert Bruce after 1306. His activities before 1297 are also uncertain, but they may have been less than wholesome. Contemporary English accounts describe him as a 'brigand' and a 'thief', suggesting he may have lived outside the law even before the English invaded. Of course, these may simply be attempts by hostile writers to blacken his reputation. However, a legal document of August 1296 mentions 'a thief, one William le Waleys' as an accomplice of a cleric named Matthew of York who had in June of that year been convicted of robbery at Perth. This could well be our William.

Again I am not trying to blacken his character, I am merely pointing out the difficult job that historians have when piecing together his life. 

Whatever the details of his early life, following the English invasion of 1296 that Wallace first emerged into the mainstream of Scottish affairs in a big way. The death of King Alexander III in 1286, followed by the death of his granddaughter Margaret of Norway in 1290, had provoked a major succession crisis in Scotland. Efforts to settle the ongoing dispute between the competing Balliol and Bruce factions had led to increasing English interference in the governance of Scotland, culminating in a full-scale invasion of the kingdom in 1296. I’ve covered all this in posts regarding King John Balliol, the sacking of Berwick and  the first Battle of Dunbar all in 1296.

One of Wallace’s first encounters with the English is told in typically dramatic form by Blind Harry, the story goes that William was fishing  when he is accosted by five soldiers in the service of 'lorde Persye'  Henry Percy, 1st Baron Percy who was the warden of Galloway and Ayrshire .  The honest, unsuspecting Wallace offers them some of his fish so long as they leave the rest for his uncle - 'ane agyt knycht' - Wallace hopes to feed, but the soldiers demand all of his fish and attack him when he refuses them. Remarkably, Wallace disarms the first attacker using only a 'poutstaff' ('fishing pole'), seizes the discarded sword, kills two of the soldiers, severs the hand of another, and chases the survivors off! 

The earliest confirmed encounter between Wallace and the English administration occurred in May 1297, when Wallace and a small band of supporters killed William Heselrig, the English sheriff of Lanark, shortly before an assize was due to be held in the town. According to the indictment against him in 1305, Wallace and his men also dismembered Helelrig's corpse. Famously, Hary claims that Wallace's attack on Heselrig was in retribution for the killing of Wallace's wife - Marion Braidfute, as Harry identifies her. 

It is apparent from contemporary English accounts of the incident at Lanark that it proved to be a powerful recruiting tool for Wallace's rebellion. As Walter Guisborough put it, 'the common folk of the land followed him as their leader and ruler; the retainers of the great lords adhered to him; and even though the lords themselves were present with the English king in body, at heart they were on the opposite side'.

What I find remarkable is that the killing of the soldiers and then Heselrig kickstarted, the uprising against Edwards army and around 4 months Wallace and Andrew de Moray had assembled a combined army of over 6 thousand troops that ambushed the English as they crossed the Forth at Stirling.

Before Stirling we also had the capitulation of the Nobility at Irvine, I have also covered this in a previous post.

In the wake of the Scottish victory at Stirling Bridge, the English administration in Scotland all but collapsed. The Scots were once again able to form a government of their own, and at its head - now as Guardians of Scotland - were Wallace and Murray, although Murray's tenure was cut short when he died - probably of wounds sustained at Stirling Bridge - in November.

This was the zenith of Wallace's career. He had emerged from obscurity to the very summit of Scottish society, all in the space of a year. It also meant he had a price on his head and was the most wanted man in Scotland.

Edward I returned from the Continent in March 1298 and set his sights on Scotland, he marched with an army North in late June and quickly discovered that Wallace's response to the threat had been to devastate southern Scotland and withdraw with his army out of reach of the English. A bitter and frustrating campaign followed, with Edward almost abandoning the chase altogether. However, in late July Edward got wind that the Scots had been sighted near Falkirk, and hurriedly moved his army to meet them. 

Precisely why the confrontation at Falkirk happened is, as with so much of Wallace's career, uncertain. Until this point in the campaign Wallace had carefully avoided the English army, a prudent strategy that would later pay off for the Scots under Bruce. Guisborough claims that Wallace had learned that Edward planned to withdraw and hoped to attack the English in the rear. This would at least explain why Wallace so suddenly abandoned his previously cautious strategy. However, given the potential challenges he was facing from the nobility of Scotland it may equally have been the case that Wallace felt compelled to face the English in open battle sooner or later and prove that his success at Stirling Bridge - which was after all arguably at least as much Murray's as it was Wallace's - was not just a lucky accident. 

Whatever the case, the battle that followed was an utter catastrophe for the guardian. Abandoned by the cavalry, who may have lost their nerve as they had at Irvine or - as claimed by subsequent Scottish chroniclers - betrayed Wallace, Wallace's schiltrons - tightly-packed bodies of infantry armed with long spearmen - repelled the English cavalry but fell prey to English archery, which broke up their formations and left them vulnerable to a renewed assault by the cavalry. Wallace escaped the battle with his life, but his position as guardian had been irrevocably damaged. It is not entirely clear precisely when or where he resigned the guardianship, but by the end of 1298 Robert Bruce, earl of Carrick (the future king), and John Comyn, lord of Badenoch, were jointly exercising the office of guardian.

Wallace's time as guardian may have been decisively ended, but he remained an active opponent of the English in Scotland. The resistance he offered to the English in this period was not always in keeping with the wishes of the guardians. For instance, in August 1299 an altercation took place at a council at Peebles at which Wallace's plan to travel to France was condemned by Sir David Graham as being 'without the leave or approval of the Guardians'. Wallace's plans were defended by his brother Malcolm, who argued that they were at least 'for the good of the kingdom'

Wallace did indeed leave for France in 1299, apparently on a diplomatic mission to seek the support of King Philip IV against Edward I. Wallace's reception in France was initially hostile, since at the time Philip was himself seeking peaceful relations with Edward I, and Wallace was briefly incarcerated by the French king. However, in November 1300 Philip was writing to his envoys to the pope asking them to promote Wallace's case at the papal court. It is possible that Wallace himself visited to Rome assist in making the Scottish case to the pope in person, and the fact that when he was eventually he reportedly had on his person a safe-conduct from King Hakon V of Norway may suggest he also travelled to Norway on diplomatic business (although he may simply have planned to do so at some point). By 1303 - possibly earlier - he was back in Scotland and again involved in armed resistance to the English

By this point the tide in the war was slowly turning against the Scots. The French were once again pursuing a peaceful policy towards the English following their own military reversal at Courtrai in 1302. Scottish nobles were gradually making their peace with the English, and the surrender of Stirling Castle marked the effective end to organised Scottish resistance on a large scale. In light of his increasing success, Edward I was generally willing to be fairly accommodating towards those Scots who were willing to submit to him, but this was not so with Wallace. Indeed, in the general amnesty offered to the Scots by the English, Wallace might at best 'render himself up to the will and mercy of our sovereign lord the king, if it shall seem good to him' - hardly an encouraging prospect. When Wallace's long-standing cohort Simon Fraser submitted to Edward in July 1304, he was welcomed into the king's peace only on the understanding that he would assist in the ever-intensifying hunt for the fugitive Wallace. Nevertheless, Wallace remained at large until 3rd August 1305, when he was seized near Glasgow by men in the service of Sir John Menteith, keeper of Dumbarton Castle on behalf of King Edward. Menteith - identified as Wallace's 'gossop' ('godfather') by Harry.

Having finally captured Wallace, Edward I refused even to see him. Instead, Wallace was taken to London for what for want of a better word might be called a trial.

Sir Peter Malory, one of the king's justices, presided over the proceedings, which were little more than a formality. The charges were considerable. Wallace had, according his accusers, been a traitor to King Edward, perpetrated armed resistance against him and slain the king's officers (William Heselrig was mentioned by name), assumed the authority of 'a superior' of Scotland, submitted 'to the fealty and lordship of the lord king of France and [gave] him help to the destruction of the kingdom of England', made war on the northern counties of England, 'feloniously and seditiously assaulted, burned and devastated religious men and nuns...[and] inflicted [upon] all, old and young, wives and widows, children and babes the worst death which he could devise', and 'harmoniously and eagerly...refused to submit himself to the lord king's peace' even after being defeated at Falkirk. According to the Annals of London, he 'answered that he had never been a traitor to the king of England, but granted the other crimes charged against him'.

In the eyes of the English as an outlaw, Wallace had no recourse to a defence. Instead, he was summarily sentenced to be executed in the manner reserved for traitors. Wallace was thus 'dispolyeid of his weid' as Hary puts it and dragged naked on a hurdle through the streets of London. At Smithfield he was hanged by the neck 'for the robberies, homicides and felonies which he carried out in the kingdom of England and the land of Scotland'

Before he could suffocate he was taken down and emasculated and disembowelled 'for the dreadful wickedness which he did to the church'. His 'heart, liver and lungs and all the bowels...from which such perverse thoughts proceeded' were then burned. Presumably now dead, Wallace was beheaded - the punishment for outlawry - and his body was divided into four parts. His head was to be displayed on London Bridge (where it remained until at least September the following year, when it was joined by that of his former comrade Simon Fraser). The remaining quarters were to be displayed on gibbets at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Berwick-upon-Tweed, Stirling and Perth, 'to put dread in and to warn all by-passers and observers'.

The savagery with which Wallace was dispatched contrasts sharply with Edward I's attitude toward the Scots in general, but let’s not forget it was the usual punishment for any person deemed to be a traitor.

However it appeared that Longshanks earlier experiences with the Scots had convinced the ageing English king that a more conciliatory approach to establishing a lasting English administration in the kingdom. Edward's new plan for the settlement of Scotland envisaged a ruling council composed primarily of Scots - including the likes of Bruce and Comyn - which would advise an English lieutenant who would retain overall authority. Scots law and custom was to be respected, at least in the short term, and it may have seemed to many at the time that the objections that had fuelled Wallace's original rebellion in 1297 had been addressed. 

As we know, the matter would be rendered moot less than six months after Wallace's death when Robert Bruce killed Comyn, forcing him to make public his ambition to become King of Scots. In many senses Bruce's struggle was quite unlike Wallace's, being primarily motivated by his own ambitions and perception of his rights. That being said, if Wallace had not maintained the momentum behind Scottish resistance to the English, particularly in the crucial year of 1297, then Bruce may never have had his opportunity to make his successful bid for power.

Pics are statues of Sir William Wallace around Scotland in order, Bemersyde near Dryburgh, Aberdeen, opposite His Majesty's Theatre,  Edinburgh Castle, Newmarket Street Ayr, St Nicholas Church, Lanark, Stirling Town Centre, The National Wallace Monument Abbey Craig, Stirling, showing it before and after it’s recent restoration,  Scottish National Portrait Gallery, Edinburgh and his memorial at Smithfield, London. There are others around the world that remember the Scots Patriot who so bravely stood up to fight for his country.

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 16

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For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

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Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 16

There were three things Claire was keenly aware of in that moment. First, that they were weeks behind Jamie and the gap of time seemed to stretch out ahead of them like the horizon ‒ something they’d never quite reach. The second was the gentle weight of Fergus’s head resting against her shoulder blade while he held loosely to her as their horse kept pace just behind Murtagh’s. She hated to move Fergus, and to stall their progress in closing the gap, but the third thing she was aware of was her bladder getting squished ‒ yet again ‒ as her body tried to accommodate its steadily growing inhabitant.

“Wait!” she called ahead to Murtagh as she started to slow her horse’s pace. Murtagh’s head whipped back frantically, but seeing no present sign of danger, there was a flash of irritation on his face ‒ but only for a moment. He slowed to a stop.

“I’ll be quick.”

Fergus slipped off the horse first and grabbed the reins so Claire could dismount. She did hurry, but the frequent breaks surely weren’t helping them catch up.

Inverness had been a bitter disappointment, to learn that Jamie and Faith had left the very next morning after Culloden and taken Mary with them. They were chasing after ghosts, not knowing the plan or final destination. The matron of the boarding house had only been able to give them the direction that the carriage left in, and from there, their search party stopped at every village, small town, and tavern along the way to inquire if a coach had passed through about 3 weeks ago.

The faint thrill of confirming Claire’s suspicion that Jamie had gone to Inverness first had quickly waned as they cobbled together some sort of trajectory to follow.

Only days before, in their trek through the war-torn Highlands, they’d caught on to the coach’s trail, with confirmed sightings of it that matched the time it should have passed through.

Still… as hard as it was to chase after Jamie and Faith, weeks behind them, they did so knowing that by all indications, Jamie and Faith were still alive and free, traveling under a guise with Mary Hawkins. That kept them pushing forward.

They started to build a map in their minds, comparing the direction the coach was traveling with potential destinations on the other side of that. Like Aberdeen or Dundee, or perhaps even further, into Perth or Edinburgh or Glasgow. And though Mary traveled with them… surely they wouldn’t cross into England…

“There’s a village no more’n half a day’s ride,” Murtagh said as Claire mounted her horse again and held steady while Fergus clamored up behind her. “We should aim tae make it there before dark. See if there’s anyone in town we can talk tae.”

Claire nodded briskly. “I’m sure we can manage that.” She glanced over her shoulder at Fergus. “All set?”

“Oui.”

“Then lead the way, Murtagh.”

  And amidst all of this was a fourth awareness, ever-present since she’d opened her eyes that morning. Something never far from her mind and that kept her heart heavy even as they chased desperately after her husband and child.

This day was Faith’s second birthday. And Claire was missing it.

  “Ye’d swear th’ whole village was blind…” Murtagh groused, mostly to himself. Then his gaze locked with Fergus’s and this time he directed his next words to the boy. “No’ a single intelligent person anywhere to be found.”

He proceeded to prepare the fresh-caught game for their dinner, not expecting a reply. Fergus stayed silent and swung his gaze over to Claire, checking her reaction.

She smiled slightly, all that she could muster in the moment.

“Where will we go now?” Fergus asked her.

“We’ll still keep pressing southward along the most likely route they would be traveling.” She tried to look more confident in that plan, but caught Murtagh’s frown and figured it hadn’t been too reassuring to Fergus. “Not the first place we’ve stopped without getting answers,” she added as a reminder.

“I suppose,” was all Fergus said to that. He’d built a fire and stacked the wood how Claire had taught him, so that a new log would feed into the fire once the one before it had turned to ash.

They’d made it to the village well before dark and after their rather unsuccessful encounter with the locals, they’d had time to head out to the woods and set up camp. With limited funds that they weren’t sure how far would need to be stretched, they rarely ate in town or stayed at a tavern for the night.

When the food had been cooked over the fire, Claire divided up the portions, giving Murtagh the largest. He tore off some of the meat from his portion and pushed it back into Claire’s hands. “Ye dinna eat enough,” he said in response to her bewilderment.

They ate the bird and some of the potatoes Jenny had provided.

“It’s Faith’s birthday,” Claire said softly over the crackle of the fire. “She’s two.”

Her statement was met with resounding silence from Murtagh and Fergus, except for the soft Scottish harrumph from the older man that she couldn’t quite interpret.

She wasn’t sure what she expected out of telling them, other than it felt wrong to let the day pass without acknowledging it in some way.

Fergus wiped one greasy hand on his pants and reached into his bag propped next to him. He fished out his wooden horse and set it to stand in the grass between him and Claire while he chewed. “Sometimes we have to wait for things, Milady,” he said kindly ‒ sagely, even ‒ while talking around the mouthful of food.

She locked eyes with him and felt her vision swim with tears when he nodded encouragingly. They’d asked him to wait when it was his birthday ‒ smack dab in the middle of a war ‒ and he was still waiting. Still believing that his wish would come to fruition ‒ that it would be Jamie who picked out the horse for him. And in order for that to happen, Fergus had to believe that they would be reunited.

“We will see le petit again.”

“Yes, we will,” she murmured in agreement.

And she did believe that. It was only… she was desperate to find them and had hoped to be reunited with them swiftly. But the reality was setting in… of how long and how far they might be searching still.

And all the while, Claire was missing more days, more moments in her daughter’s life that she’d never get back. How many days had she already lost… and how many more would be swallowed up in the time it took to find her?

  That night, Claire couldn’t sleep. She gave up after a while of lying there in the dark, listening to the soft crackling of a dying fire and the rustling of the wind through the trees, and finally pulled herself into a seated position facing the fire instead.

She caught Murtagh’s gaze across the fire instantly. “Not you too?”

“Aye,” he sighed.

“What’s keeping you up, then?” she asked, mostly so he wouldn’t ask her first.

He paused, linking his fingers together over his propped up knees. “Was thinking o’ the wee lass,” Murtagh admitted hesitantly, and Claire felt an instant pang in her heart. “The last time I saw her… and better times, too. Before the rising. At Lallybroch.”

She smiled against the urge to cry ‒ lately, she seemed on the verge of tears at any moment, the cause of which could never be determined between her raging pregnancy hormones or the pain of separation from Jamie and Faith. More than likely, it was some tangled-up knot of both things, she reasoned.

“She is a canny wee lass, and sae bonny and sweet.”

She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Murtagh cared for Faith ‒ had seen firsthand at Lallybroch how the baby could draw a smile out of the dour old man better than anyone else ‒ but she’d never heard him articulate it so.

And god, it hurt like nothing else ever had ‒ missing Faith and knowing she had other loved ones who were missing her just the same.

Murtagh breathed in deep, and let his breath out slowly, his gaze on the dwindling flames. “I’m only sorry and heartsick for my role in all this… that I played a part in why ye canna see yer lass now, on the anniversary o’ her birth.”

She felt her throat constrict and shook her head. How many rounds of the blame game had she played for herself? “No, Murtagh… I’m sorry,” she managed in a hoarse whisper. “For what I said when I came back. For striking you. I don’t blame you for any of this. I was terrified and angry that they weren’t back at Lallybroch like I’d hoped, and I took it out on you.” She thought of her conversation with Jenny, and the words they’d repeated to each other in reassurance, in absolution. “None of us knew. None of us chose this outcome.”

She stared across at his hardened face, the lines of it appearing sharper in the fading light of the fire. He didn’t speak, and she wondered if that meant he wouldn’t accept her words for himself.

“Please forgive me?”

“Och,” he said immediately. “There’s nothing tae forgive, lass.”

They fell quiet for a moment, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Had her words made any difference, or did he still blame himself even if she didn’t?

  There was a strange sense that they were merely retracing steps they’d already taken during the rising. That’s how it felt to Claire at least as they entered Kingussie, near where they had started training Jamie’s men back in August of last year.

They walked into Kingussie on account of Murtagh’s horse needing a new shoe. Upon arriving, Claire handed Murtagh a few coins for the blacksmith and considered out loud how much food she should purchase to replenish their stock.

It was then they all seemed to take notice of a handful of Redcoats exiting the tavern.

“Fergus, stay close to me,” Claire instructed as they parted with Murtagh.

She’d thought Fergus was right behind her as she walked through the small market and picked out some grains and vegetables to pair with the fish or meat that Murtagh usually provided for their meals.

She turned a corner and nearly knocked Fergus over. “Oh. Where have you been?” She set her basket down and her hands went instantly to her hips.

Fergus shook his head as if to indicate that was of little importance.

“Here, Milady.” He reached for her hand and dropped several coins into it.

Her eyes went wide with shock. “Fergus!”

He turned defensive at her tone, seeing she wasn’t exactly pleased. “I will not let you starve! And there is le bébé as well. I heard Murtagh say you need to eat well enough so it can grow.”

“Yes, but do you understand that there are very real consequences to stealing if you are caught?” she snapped at him in a harsh whisper. There was a flash of indignation in his eyes at that.

“I will not get caught.”

She grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged him over to a more secluded spot away from the market stalls.

“You might! There’s always the risk and ‒ for Christ’s sake, Fergus, there are British soldiers right here in town!”

“Where do you think I found those coins?”

She was horrified at what he’d just admitted, with the sudden urge to sequester him out of town immediately, should any of the Redcoats realized what had been done.

“Milord would not have doubted me,” he added accusingly, clearly in response to whatever he’d read in her face.

She recoiled from his words. “It’s not a matter of doubt, I‒”

There was a flicker of movement in her periphery and when she glanced over, what she found made her blood run cold.

Murtagh, on the other side of town from them, surrounded by the soldiers.

Fergus’s head whipped around and Claire had barely enough time to slip a hand over his mouth and hold him back with the other arm before he did something truly stupid.

“Don’t, Fergus,” she pleaded in a desperate whisper as he struggled to break free and rush toward Murtagh. “He’ll be alright. Don’t provoke them. He knows what to do.”

You’ll get yourself killed…

All the while, her heart thundered in her chest, and she hoped that what she’d said would remain true; Murtagh was a stubborn Scot through and through, but he wasn’t stupid. He was outnumbered five to one. Should these soldiers happen to have rosters of Jacobite soldiers, they wouldn’t find Murtagh’s name on it. Jamie had had the foresight to keep Murtagh and the Lallybroch men off of any records during the war.

And with a month having passed since the battle, Murtagh had put away his kilts at Claire’s insistence and now wore breeks. He didn’t look the part of a Jacobite soldier and there was no way these men could prove that Murtagh had fought.

Unless one of them recognized him…

Claire tried to steady her breathing and when she felt as though Fergus had gained some semblance of self-control, she let her hand fall away from his mouth, but still held him anchored in place beside her.

They watched the exchange between Murtagh and the soldiers but were too far away to catch what was being said.

But she took in the way the soldiers acted, the glances they shared, the way they held themselves tall and proud.

And the way Murtagh had to shrink in their presence.

The Redcoats were the recent victors, having put down the Jacobite rebellion. And to them, that meant they could assert their superiority over the people of Scotland as they saw fit.

Finally, the soldiers appeared to be ready to move on, some of them shifting their weight from one foot to the other and beginning to turn and break off from the group.

But one soldier still spoke to Murtagh until suddenly and unexpectedly, Claire and Fergus watched as he spat in Murtagh’s face.

Fergus flinched with his whole body. Claire subconsciously tightened her hold on him and something between a cry and a sound of disgust slipped out of her.

The soldiers moved away then, nothing escalating from them, but it was the sight of Murtagh standing tall and refusing to wipe his face in front of them that finally broke Claire.

There had been no reason for it; the man had spit on Murtagh simply because he could. Because he knew Murtagh wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

And to watch helplessly while these men degraded Murtagh left her with an emblazoned fury building in her chest. They weren’t better than him. And she knew if it wasn’t for Fergus right beside her just then, she would’ve been tempted to do something about it herself.

But she wouldn’t risk her boy. And Murtagh wouldn’t want that either.

Fergus himself was seething at her side and she had to tug him away and turn him so she could look him in the eye.

“I will slit their throats,” he said with such conviction that she was stunned into silence for several beats.

“Look, I’m angry too,” she assured him. “But Murtagh is alright‒”

“They had no right to‒” “I know. I agree with you.”

“They should still pay for what they did.”

She drew in a deep breath and fished out the coins from her skirt pocket. “Let this be your revenge, hmm?”

Fergus seethed in front of her, sorting through his thoughts. “I wish I had waited to rob them until now,” he said finally. “I would have taken much more from them. Bastards.”

With that, she realized they’d reached a resolution, and with a heavy sigh, she placed one hand gently on the back of his neck to tug his head forward into the cradle of her chest. He went willingly, his slight arms snaking around her waist to hold tight. “It’d be much harder to look for Jamie and Faith if we’re on the run from the Redcoats,” she said softly, hoping this idea above all else might take root with Fergus. He was so god damn cavalier sometimes, he had no idea how often he’d scared the living daylights out of her by doing something careless and risky.

Fergus sighed heavily, still vibrating with frustration. “I know, Milady.”

They waited for Murtagh to find them, having come to some unspoken understanding not to bring up what happened with the soldiers or admit that they had witnessed it. When Murtagh did join them, he was terse and itching to move on from Kingussie as swiftly as could be arranged, which Claire didn’t begrudge him for.

Murtagh’s horse had been giving a new horseshoe and Claire had enlisted Fergus’s help in gathering a few more necessities to augment their dwindling supply. But there was usually another reason they spent time in each village before they could move on and Claire hesitantly pointed that out.

“Dinna need to ask around. I already learnt all we need to know.”

“Someone here saw Jamie and Faith?” she asked, feeling a little breathless. Fergus perked up at this.

“No’ exactly. But the blacksmith had a lot tae say about a certain devilish black beast he had the misfortune o’ re-shoeing a few weeks ago.”

“Donas!” Fergus said brightly.

“Aye.” He smiled slightly as he grabbed Fergus’s shoulder and gave him a playful shake. “So we’re on th’ right path, aye? Dinna fash, laddie.”

“Let’s not linger about then,” Claire said decidedly.

  She could tell there was something else going on with Murtagh, but chalked it up to the encounter with the Redcoats.

They’d ridden for as long as they could after leaving Kingussie before stopping for the night. Their evening passed in a similar fashion as it did every other night, with the one exception that Murtagh had found a moment when Fergus was out of earshot to ask Claire to wait up after the boy fell asleep.

Once he had, Murtagh jumped into his news without preamble.

“Black Jack Randall is dead.”

Her stomach dropped.

“What?” Her gaze flew to the outline of Fergus’s slumbering form under his blanket. He didn’t stir.

Of course she knew that bit of information. She hadn’t forgotten Frank’s discovery that Randall seemed to have died away from the battlefield, within a few days of it. The thought that he’d gotten to Jamie and Faith had haunted her, but she knew by the time she had traveled back here ‒ by the time she had learned the news even ‒ it would have been too late to do anything about it.

“How‒”

“Redcoats,” Murtagh muttered. “That’s why they stopped me.”

“I knew he was dead,” Claire admitted. “But the soldiers told you that?”

“Aye and there’s a bit more. They found his body at a tavern just outside Carrbridge.”

Carrbridge. They had gone through there as well, spoken with the owner of the tavern who confirmed that a carriage had passed through there. Said nothing of a dead body, though. Murtagh said as much and Claire shrugged.

“Suppose that might be bad for business. What else did you learn about this?”

“No’ much, but they are looking for whoever killed him. That’s why they stopped me to ask about my whereabouts, where I was from.” He absently tossed a leaf into the fire and watched it burn up. “The good news is they dinna seem to have connected it tae Jamie.”

Neither of them had said it, but both of them knew. It had to be Jamie.

“Well, I guess that’s something,” Claire agreed. “Did they‒ I don’t suppose it would matter to the soldiers but… no one else was hurt?”

Murtagh’s gaze locked onto hers and he smiled sympathetically. “Didna say. But we do know they came through Kingussie afterwards. Blacksmith confirmed as much.”

A cold feeling had crept in and Claire hated to put it into words. “He said he saw the horse. He didn’t say anything about Jamie or Faith, did he?”

“He did say there was a rather large man who helped him wi’ Donas. I didna press for details, but I’m sure that was Jamie.”

That she could believe… but what of Faith?

“He wouldna have kept going if Faith was lost,” Murtagh said bluntly. “What reason would he have?”

“Well, Mary was still with him. I imagine he wouldn’t just abandon her to the wilds of Scotland to fend for herself, she being an Englishwoman after all.”

Murtagh grunted softly at that. “Ye’re tired, a nighean,” he said gruffly, in a way that Claire knew to mean that he cared. “Get some sleep.”

She smiled half-heartedly at that ‒ and did stretch out on her spot near the fire for the night. But sleep evaded her, as it so often had on this journey.

Even if Faith survived… had she been hurt? Had Jamie? And had she been scared, in whatever events unfolded when they encountered Black Jack Randall?

Claire had told herself so many times that they must’ve slipped away from the British ‒ and thus Randall ‒ as her way of coping with the unknown. But now… to know that he had found them… sought them out, even…

Until they found them and she could see for herself that they were alright, she wouldn’t have a moment of peace.

  One day, a storm caught them unawares. Their last touchpoint to civilization was a day’s ride behind them, and they’d started their travel early that morning, when the clouds were only an unassuming, white canopy above them.

But then the sky darkened and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and by the time they were scrambling towards the trees, they’d already been caught in the torrential downpour of rain.

Fergus argued for the cause to keep going, even through the storm, but Claire was firm in stating the risks that that would pose, such as hypothermia and pneumonia. Murtagh was more concerned about the risk of mudslides with the horses, but the two of them were at least united in the cause to wait out the storm.

That was how they found themselves wedged tightly under a small shelter they’d constructed, huddled in a line in front of a small fire at the edge of the shelter.

Yet another delay in their journey.

She glanced down at Fergus and saw his face drawn tight with concern. Slipping an arm around his shoulders, she tugged him even closer to her. “You know, in my time… there are horseless carriages called automobiles. What I wouldn’t give to have one of those right now…”

Fergus’s brows furrowed as he considered this. “How do they move without a horse?”

“They’re motorized. They have something called an engine that makes them run. And they can go even faster than a horse.”

She passed the time describing everything she could of a modern car to Fergus, and then moved on to tanks, trains, bicycles, and aeroplanes. Much like Jamie, the concept of flying through the sky fascinated Fergus.

And once she’d run out of modes of transportation to describe, she fell quiet and let Fergus (and Murtagh, she assumed) ponder these oddities of the future.

“It sounds so grand, Milady,” he said at length, leaning his head back against her shoulder. The rain lessened some, but was still steadily coming down.

“Hmm,” she murmured softly. “Maybe some things in comparison to this time might seem that way…”

But she’d seen the ugliness of the World War in her time, and she’d found beauty in this time, considered to be crude and uncivilized in comparison.

“Do you miss it at all?”

“No,” she said easily. “Although… the hot baths, yes. Especially now.”

Fergus pulled a face at that. “You can take hot baths in this time, Milady…” he said slowly, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing at him explaining that to her.

“Yes, I know, but it’s not nearly as much work in my time. Just turn on the faucet and it’s already hot.”

“... faucet? And how is it already hot?”

“Before ye begin tae explain that one, I think my heid’s already done in wi’ everything else ye’ve given me to consider,” Murtagh interjected suddenly.

“We can leave indoor plumbing for another day,” Claire agreed with a laugh.

  They had reached a long stretch of wild country with little in the way of civilization. A land they had traversed before, twice during the rising. And along with their trek through the remote Highlands wilderness was an impending sense of dread. What if they missed a checkpoint or overshot Jamie’s path? Could somewhere within this deserted expanse of land be where he would choose to hide out from the British?

They were steering towards the village of Kenmore, Murtagh having decided that was the most likely stop on the journey. And since he’d been right about Jamie’s instinct to flee to the north two years ago, Claire was inclined to trust his judgement on this. Especially since he knew the landscape of this place much better than she did.

The nights had become the only moments on this journey when Claire and Murtagh could speak without Fergus being awake and present for the conversation.

Not every night. But enough that it had become something of a routine more often than not.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Claire began one night when the howl of the wind coming down from the mountain kept her from sleep. “That we’ve found ourselves at this again… searching for weeks but never quite finding him.”

Murtagh grunted in acknowledgement, a cheerless smile in place. “Och, aye. Canna forget that silly tune you sang during that time even if I tried.”

“What? The one you taught me?”

“Nay, lass,” He fired back indignantly. “The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.”

She laughed as the memory resurfaced. “I sang that to you once.”

“Aye,” he said sourly, “And it stuck.”

“Hmm, my apologies for all you’ve apparently suffered as a result. I happen to like that one.”

“Weel, it never would ha’ worked for our purposes,” he said as one last hit against her song.

The wind whipped through their camp again and Claire pulled her thick shawl tighter about her. With the wind, the mood shifted, bringing them back to their reality. They were hungry, tired, cold, on what seemed like an endless journey. Their small moment of joy dissipated, as if carried away on the harsh wind itself.

“What if we never find him?” Claire uttered the words just above a whisper. “He has no idea we’re looking for him.”

She had no doubt that if Jamie Fraser wanted to disappear into the night without a trace, he could do it. And what would stop him?

The difference between this time and before was that Jamie had been looking for a way to return to her. Now, he believed her gone.

“Found him once before,” Murtagh reminded her.

“Yes. Captured. I’m less worried about that this time, though.”

“Then what?”

Claire shrugged, trying to appear more unaffected by her fears. “He has Faith with him. He thinks I’m gone. He knows the Redcoats will either kill him or imprison him if they find him… so he’d make sure they couldn’t be found, right? By anyone.”

Murtagh made that Scottish sound at the back of his throat and didn’t say anything else.

“And Fergus…” She drew in a shaky breath. “Well, I just worry. He loves Jamie so much… and I don’t know‒” She thought of that day in Kingussie, how he’d said Jamie would never doubt him. “If it’s just me that Fergus has… what if that’s not… enough?”

“Claire.” Murtagh said her name in such a way that it felt as though he was gently chiding her. “The lad loves ye.”

Her throat clogged with emotion and she wiped gingerly at the silent tears that spilled down her cheeks.

Murtagh sighed heavily. “Ye didna see him. After Culloden. When I came back wi’ the news that Jamie would stay to fight… there was still a hope, ken? That Jamie could survive the battle. We waited for news o’ him for days and days. But ye and Faith were gone for good ‒ that’s what we kent at the time. For two weeks, Fergus grieved ye. Ye’re his family too. He doesna just want Jamie back… he needs ye both, ken.”

She nodded solemnly, still too choked up to speak as fresh tears clouded her eyes. He did something then he hadn’t yet in any of their late-night conversations; she watched as he stood and made his way over to her side of the fire, plopping down next to her. His arm went about her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“S’alright, a nighean.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling more emotions in that moment than she could put into words, but taking comfort in Murtagh’s support and steadfast loyalty while everything else in her life felt shaky at best.

“I’m glad you’re here, searching with us.”

“Aye. I’m glad ye came back,” he said with tenderness in his voice. “And we’ll find Jamie and wee Faith. Dinna fash yerself.”

  They were just departing from Sterling when the choice had to be made. Before them laid two potential paths with no indication of which one the carriage had traveled.

Should they go west towards Glasgow? Or East along the river towards Edinburgh?

Jamie’s end goal was still hazy to them, but they were fairly sure by now that he wouldn’t proceed much farther south than either of those cities.

“The lowlands were largely on the side of the British, so either place is risky,” Claire pointed out.

“Aye,” Murtagh sneered, none too pleased to have left the Highlands either way. “But Glasgow wasna a point of conflict during the rising. Edinburgh is likely still crawling with Redcoats since they recaptured it months ago.”

Claire considered this, wondering what Jamie would choose. What would be safer for Faith. “So Glasgow?”

“Glasgow,” Murtagh agreed.

  “And how fast can they go, again?” Fergus’s curiosity had circled back around to the topic of cars, and Claire indulged him, having little else to pass the time while they traveled.

“There were some cars that could travel 80 miles per hour.”

“Eighty?” She knew he couldn’t really grasp it, having never traveled that fast before, but the number was very high. Much faster than they could manage on horseback.

“Oh, yes. Dangerously fast.” She couldn’t explain what prompted her next words, perhaps born out of her desire to protect those she could while struggling with the separation from Jamie and Faith. “They can be terribly dangerous. That’s how my parents were killed when I was young. A car accident.”

Fergus was quiet for a moment and she wished he wasn’t seated behind her so she could see his face.

“I did not know that, Milady,” he said softly, with an undercurrent of compassionate understanding she didn’t expect most eleven-year-olds possessed. His arms gave her waist a gentle squeeze and she patted his hands where they rested overlapping on her stomach.

“Didn’t seem relevant exactly when I was giving everyone the truth of the stones and where I’d come from. But yes, I should’ve told you. I lost them when I was five. After that, I went to stay with Uncle Lamb.”

She caught the slight chuckle from Fergus. Yes, those stories he had heard, some even before the truth of her origins, though those were always carefully constructed. He’d heard a few more on this journey and always delighted in them.

“I didn’t realize you were a girl then. With Uncle Lamb,” Fergus admitted and then, after some consideration, added, “I can’t imagine you as a child, Milady.”

“What, this whole time you thought I was an adult in all my stories with Uncle Lamb?”

“Yes,” he admitted with a laugh.

“I guess that makes sense. I always had trouble picturing my parents as younger than I would’ve known them. My Uncle Lamb too, for that matter.”

Their conversation lapsed in a comfortable sort of way. There was an intimacy in their shared experience and though Murtagh was only a few feet ahead of them, he felt miles away from their small bubble. And what Murtagh shared about Fergus’s grief was never very far from her mind.

“I used to play a game when I was little. After my parents died and I went to live with my uncle. I would pretend that they were out there in the world somewhere, still alive, and they would come get me eventually. It felt easier sometimes, if I could just pretend that I was waiting on them.”

“I used to play a game,” Fergus began quietly and Claire strained to listen, “that I had ended up at Maison Elise by mistake and my parents were looking for me all that time. I would imagine what it would be like to have them show up and take me away, to a home.”

“What was it like? What did you imagine?”

“It was one of those big houses that I would pass on my walks through Le Marais. Of course I’d never been inside a house that grand until Milord brought me to Monsieur Jared’s house. That house was more beautiful than any of my imaginings.”

She felt his head come to rest against her back again. “Of course, by then I did not need to imagine such things anymore.”

Her heart leapt to her throat and she gave another reassuring squeeze of his hands within her own.

  They’d lost the trail.

By now, they’d learned to not give up if they came up empty at the first and second stops, but by their sixth time coming up empty, the doubt began to set in.

“Do we double back?” Claire asked. “Head for Edinburgh?”

In some part of her brain, the question rolled around that maybe this had been Jamie’s plan all along. For weeks, she’d feared reaching a point where any trace of them simply vanished.

Murtagh seemed to catch that look of despair in her eyes. “We head back to our last confirmed sighting. Go from there.”

Back to Sterling. From his spot behind Murtagh, Claire watched as Fergus’s face fell at the realization of the time they’d wasted since choosing Glasgow.

  Fergus’s bedding was angled in such a way that when he curled up for the night, his head rested close to Claire’s.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said softly to him, propping her head up on one hand. She studied his young face, glowing orange from the light of their campfire. “Are you feeling alright? You’re not sick, are you?”

“Oui, Milady, I am just tired.” He said all of this half-heartedly and without taking his gaze from the fire.

She reached out and brushed a hand over his messy curls. His eyes slid shut and he sighed. She thought of all he’d gone through in the last month and a half, from war to loss and disappearances of loved ones, to having one returned to him unexpectedly. And again she thought of his grief ‒ it struck a chord deep within her that she wasn’t soon to forget ‒ and wondered if Fergus was already bracing for some sort of loss with Jamie.

And that thought broke her heart clean in two. Because she couldn’t protect him from the hurt if anything did happen to Jamie, or if they failed to find him.

“Look at me, love.”

She waited until he had listened and tilted his head back to look at her. “I know we’ve been at this for a while. I’m tired, too. That’s alright.” She kept brushing back his curls from his forehead as she spoke. “And I know I can’t make any guarantees, but for what it’s worth, I believe we’ll find them. But no matter what, you have me. You have Murtagh. The baby, too, eventually,” she said with slight laughter in her voice. She was rewarded with a small smile out of Fergus.

“You have me, too, Milady. No matter what happens.”

She leaned across and kissed the top of his head. “It’ll be alright, love. Try and get some sleep.”

  Claire laid there in the dark looking up at the stars, long after Murtagh’s snores had begun and Fergus went still and quiet. Her thoughts swirling around Jamie and Faith, the heavy fears of losing them or never finding them, the worry over Fergus and how he was faring‒

She breathed in sharply and one hand flew to her stomach, though there was nothing to be felt under its palm. But there had been a quickening in her belly ‒ the first movement she’d felt of this baby from within.

“Oh…” she breathed out. Tears sprouted in her eyes and spilled over gently. She was scared to move in that moment, like she might startle the small thing somehow. It was so quick, she wondered if she had imagined it. But no, she knew that feeling from when she’d carried Faith. “Hello, you little darling,” she whispered into the night. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

Her hand rubbed slow circles over the firm, small bump. “Thank you for letting me know you’re still there.”

  Claire knew it was coming ‒ had remembered well enough from when she’d traveled through here with the Jacobite army ‒ and careened to the side in her saddle, trying to see around the bend.

Yes ‒ there it was!

“Fergus,” she called out, pulling her horse up alongside Murtagh’s. He looked at her, bewildered, and she grinned. “Look up ahead.”

Though they’d lost time in misjudging Jamie’s next steps, they had eventually caught the trail again after starting fresh from Sterling. Now, they were quite certain that Jamie and Faith were in‒

“Edinburgh!” Fergus exclaimed as the first sights of the city came into view. His gaze flew back to Claire’s. “We’re almost home, Milady!”

She felt her vision burn with tears and had to face forward to keep from crumbling as Fergus’s words landed.

This place had never been home to them, but Jamie and Faith had… and they were almost home again.

[writefinch]

Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

The Word Of Your Body Duet (Roland x Rin Davies)

Andante, Andante

Word Count: 2500

Warnings: angst, bit of fluff mixed in with smut, one outdated word,

A/N: Everyone has their secrets, but sometimes we need someone to share them with. Roland just chooses his last night to let Rin in on his. This is a follow-up to Songbird

Roland sat on the edge of Rin's bed while she paced back and forth anxiously in front of him. Since he came over earlier in the evening, they only managed to kiss until their lips swelled. Rin had taken her gloves off, but refused to touch Roland anywhere with bare skin.

“I don't understand. You said I do nothing to ye?”

“You-you don't,” Rin stuttered. “At least not normally. This isn’t normal, Roland. We've known each other for over a year, and until yesterday neither of us have given any inkling that we are attracted to each other. I mean who wouldn't be attracted to you? Look at you, you're terribly handsome.”

Roland cocked an eyebrow, “Handsome in a terrible way. I'll admit t’the terrible part. I can be a bit..”

“Of a twat?”

“Much. It's the handsome part I don't know I’d agree with. There's not exactly a line around the block.”

“I just don't like surprises. I've had things happen.. To me. I can't take that again.”

Roland reached out and hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Rin’s jeans. He drew her down into his lap, his arms held her in place.

“First you’re giving me motion sickness watching all that back and forth. Second will ye just bloody touch me?! Anywhere, you'll see something I've never told anyone at this school. Not that I have friends besides you.”

Rin’s heart fell. That really couldn't be the truth? Roland wasn't all that bad, he was just a little.. blunt. Not that she had friends, present company aside. It was difficult for Rin to get close with anyone in case their true personalities showed through. She had a knack for telling people their feelings before they were even ready.

“What if I don't like what I see?”

“It's nothing that salacious. Just a wee bit I suppose,” there was a shrug in his shoulder. “If ye don't like it, ye never have t’see me again.”

“Why do you keep saying that like another semester won't roll around?”

“I'm moving to Perth,” he said matter of fact.

“AUSTRALIA?!” Rin was gobsmacked.

“Jupiter!” Roland gave a mock surprised face that teased the girl on his lap.

Rin shoved Roland somewhere between serious and playful. “Oh don't be a bastard!”

“I can't be one! My parents were married!” his brows furrowed in fake consternation. “As far as I know at least?” He stroked his chin in deep thought.

“Can you ever talk without sarcasm or snark?!”

“I'm like Tinkerbell, but I must be acerbic to live!”

Rin’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head. The banter was so natural between them. In that weird way you never notice how much you want or need someone until they won't be there tomorrow. She became instantly pained. Rin had never felt as at-ease with anyone, sharing her secrets and her songs as openly as she did with Roland.

Now her voice was soft and sad, “What's in Oz you can't find here?”

“They offered me a place at their sister conservancy. I've got family over there too. What's left of them.”

Roland nudged his nose against Rin’s. He nuzzled downwards and along her cheek. Taking a chance in kissing her once more where his nose had been. He let his lips linger on her skin, so she knew he would be an open book if she wanted. Even if it was just a day or so before he left her.

Rin draped her arms around Roland’s shoulders before kissing him again. There was a heat, that taste of smoke. Of trailers and RVs all parked together around campfires and music. Then a spice of peppers as his tongue overpowered hers. His kisses taste like Travellers, once called Gypsy.

Roland’s mouth was hungry for her as he awkwardly reached for the hem of her shirt. Desperate to feel Rin, she could tell. All of her. There was nothing sinister about his intentions. Just fiddles and drums and whiskey.

In a blur of laughter and limbs, Rin and Roland clambered to their feet to strip down to their underwear. She flattened her scarred hands on his chest. For someone who could see into someone's mind or emotions, how did Rin miss his olive skin? Those subtle differences that would've given him such grief if others knew.

Rin said it out loud in the sudden quiet. only Roland’s wild heartbeat under her fingers and heavy breath that builds. “You're a gypsy.”

Her eyes focused on his body. An ache between her thighs as she glanced down at the erection inside of his boxers. He wasn't embarrassed. In fact, he was quite confident for Roland at this moment.

Roland’s hands were in Rin’s hair. Entangled so that they tugged her head upwards with a pleasurable pain. She was forced to meet his eyes as he leaned down to mesh his mouth with hers again. His tongue darted in swiftly before she reciprocated. He let his hands stray down over her body to the hook of her bra where he fumbled but only briefly before it came free.

“Not anymore,” Roland’s voice thick.

“I'm sorry. Traveller?” Rin was apologetic.

Her hips involuntarily pushed into his as she lightly brushed her fingers down his body. They traced around his waist to the small of his back. That dip just above the band of his boxers.

“No, I mean I'm not a Traveller or a gypsy anymore. Best assimilate with the other gorja. Being “normal” has made everything easier.”

There was a sadness now in Roland's flesh. It flowed just underneath the surface as Rin embraced him. Her experience with tents and churches and people “speaking in tongues” as her parents forced her to perform “miracles” on blind faith punters bubbled over her surface and spread to Roland’s.

“Wren. It wasn't like that. I'm sad because I miss them. I'm ashamed of turning my back on the people who raised me. That's where I fell in love with music. C’mon you’re ruining our last night!”

Roland let go and laid on the bed with his back to the wall. He propped himself up on his elbow and tapped the bed a few times. “Let me take care of you?” An eyebrow arched suggestively.

“You know what you're doing?”

Still, Rin laid down beside Roland on her back. He bent forward with a hand on her neck and pecked her lips softly. Once. Twice, before she opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue. They mingled and danced with each other as Rin slipped her hand inside the fly of Roland’s boxers so she could trace her fingers along his erection.

There was a sharp intake of breath as Roland’s stomach contracted at her touch. Rin knew it was more of a delighted surprise as her hand now curled around the shaft and began to stroke back and forth. Her fingertips worked up a friction as he finally exhaled heavily into her. Then, with just a moment’s hesitation, palmed her between the legs.

Rin’s turn to gasp in pleasure as he rubbed swift circles on her underwear. Teased her until a wetness formed that he pushed the fabric aside to get to. His fingers easily slid in and out of her until they almost started to play. Hooked and curved like she was guitar strings. Rin clenched her eyes shut in ecstasy as she broke the kiss to bury her hand at a pillow. With their guard down, Roland began to play.

Rin got lost in the way his fingers moved inside of her. They searched and learned as they went. She felt Roland’s eyes on her as he darted in over her G-Spot, but Rin thought that to be accidental. Still he forged on; only stopping when her body started to jerk just slightly. He kept at it once he realized that was her clit.

Roland craned again to cover Rin’s mouth with a kiss. His hand never ended manipulating her as he opened a door to her gifts. She was at her most vulnerable, and welcomed him in.

Roland stood just outside the caravan his family spent their summers. He and his Dá had their rows over the enrollment at the conservancy. How had he saved that much money, and why had he disobeyed the rules of the family? Every penny earned went to them, the community. Not some gorja school in Cork.

Roland knew if he left he would be excommunicated from them. He couldn't return, they would make sure he wouldn't be able to find them. Still, with his kit and guitar he looked ahead and never back. He wouldn't always blend in; when he hit it big, Roland would pay them their respect.

By first year's end, gifted students like him were set up with mentors. Someone who had been around the program for a few years. She was pretty with soul piercing blue eyes and jet black hair. Roland was smitten.

Unused to outsiders who moved kind of slow compared to Traveller girls who weren't afforded time. They married by 17 or 18; his own mother was only 33 years old while Roland was 18. Yet in his culture, sex before marriage was unheard of. They dated in large chaperoned groups, and being alone with a woman was forbidden until marriage. His mentor took advantage of that. Of him.

It started the way some flings do, innocent flirting. Then one day as they sat side by side on the piano bench, she stopped playing and made a pattern of nothing on Roland’s thigh. She lightly scratched the denim material before passing over his crotch. Roland played faster to match his breathing as she started to tighten her grip on his noticeable erection. She unzipped his jeans, delved inside his boxers to take his naked cock in her hand. His improvised playing matched the way she began to jerk him off. Frenzied. Clandestine. Wanton. His music and the way he felt were both.. Perfect.

That's the way she did it. Told him it was more fun to keep it hidden. Just between them when it was their time in the practice suites. How powerful it made Roland feel to have a secret like that. How she went down on him some days. Or when they finally fucked (Roland was convinced it was more) on the piano bench. She rode him while he admitted he loved her. He always said he loved her. She would ignore him.

His scores faltered a bit, but his teachers agreed it was probably the adjustment to conservancy life. He was still better than nearly everyone, which made his head grow. Until one afternoon when they were in the room. A surprise.

Roland laid on top of Rin, her legs bent around him. He dug through the pockets of his jeans almost frantically. He was pressed hard into her thigh, but Rin urged him inside of her.

“What are you doing?”

“I forgot a condom.”

“Doesn't matter”

“Do ye really want t’have a baby with someone like me?”

“I can't have them,” Rin was matter of fact.

“Oh.. I'm sorry?” Roland pushed up on one arm to get a better look at her.

“I don't know if you should be. I'm not exactly chuffed with myself half days, imagine me as a mum. With my,” she held her hands aloft. Roland kissed them.

“Then you're meant for so much more.” It was a whisper as he sunk inside of his friend.

Rin’s breath caught in her throat for the hundredth time that evening. She held Roland as he moved in her the same way his fingers had. Her hands splayed along his shoulders as they found a cadence; silent except for their breathing. Roland’s heavy. Rin's airy as she realized a little more about him.

She was married. With a little girl about 7 or 8. Roland knew her husband as the head of the classical music department. Roland’s department. He listened as they talked about him like an art exhibit instead of a human. technique not passion.

But the husband found out, and Roland was placed in the folk music program. It just made him heart sick for Ireland and caravans and Sunday night cèilidh. How he couldn't go back, but she had stopped him from moving forward. Folk music, HIS music, required love and emotion and Roland had been told he was only good for the technical.

Then he did something he hadn't done since he was 3 or 4, Roland just stopped. He'd play something that was mechanical and cold and hard like he would become. Even if Rin had changed his view these past few months.

Rin loved Roland in that moment as he rocked harder and faster. And he loved her. It wasn't the romantic kind; that was ok too. Sometimes you just need a partner to play music with.

Tag list: @robertsheehanownsmyass @nightmonsters @super-unpredictable98 @sean-falco @magic-multicolored-miracle @forenschik @crisis-of-joy @slutforrobbiebro @firstpersonnarrator

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 43

Title: Revelations

Warnings: profanity, angst

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip​

He’s out the door by five thirty in the morning; leaving behind the warmth and the comfort of his home and making the five block trek to the Hudson River. With no fresh snowfall, the sidewalks and streets are remarkably clear; milder than normal temperatures slowly melting the waist high banks and turning patches of ice into puddles of muck and slush. His strides are long and purposeful. Soles of his runners crunching as they pass over neatly and tightly packed snow; following the foot tracks that earlier pedestrians have left behind. Chin tucked into his chest and his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie; anxious to get to his destination and start the day off in the right frame of mind. The headphones worn over a black beanie render him oblivious to sounds of life taking place around him ; the pounding of the music blocking out the sounds of traffic and the rattles and bangs that accompany the city garbage trucks. While he doesn’t make eye contact with those he passes, he notices the nods of greeting; meeting them with the brief turning up of the corner of the mouth and a slight head nod of acknowledgment. It’s what he enjoys most about the area and what eventually sold him on the idea of buying the brownstone; people are friendly enough to smile or offer a quick ‘good morning’, but don't possess enough curiosity to actually stop and speak.

He’s never been a social butterfly. Popular in high school, he’d blended in easily with the ‘jocks’ simply because of his athletic prowess and fairly good looks; girls wanted to date him, guys wanted to befriend him and hang out and attend beach parties. And while he’d followed the mantra ‘fake it until you make it’ and managed to stay quietly on the sidelines, he’d never been entirely comfortable with his status as one of the ‘cool kids’. The guy who’d get irritated when his buddies would make fun of the less popular kids; easily flying off the handle and calling them out on their shit if they said anything degrading towards the special needs students or dared to lob sexual comments towards females. He’d felt more in tune with the ‘loners’; the ones who’d hang out in the back of the cafeteria with their noses shoved in books or who’d eat their lunch sitting in front of their lockers.

It’s how he’d met his ex wife; a newly arrived grade nine student whose family had just moved Port Douglas from Perth. Taller than most females he’d ever encountered, she’d had a thicker build that both guys and girls consistently made fun of; broad shoulders and muscular legs and well defined arms. Shy and soft spoken and never making eye contact with anyone in the hall; thick, wavy blond hair falling over her face as she ignored the whispers and the stares and kept her books and binders clutched tightly to her chest. He’d been the first student to approach her; the last football player to leave practice and finding her sitting on a curb outside of school, waiting for a ride that was running late. And she’d seemed both stunned and terrified when he actually spoke to her; standing above her still clad in his now muddy and sweat soaked practice gear, helmet tucked under one arm and his backpack slung over a shoulder. Introducing himself and offering both a hand in greeting and a ride home; quickly discovering that she had a beautiful smile and the most stunning green eyes he’d ever seen. And she’d made him feel things that none of the other girls ever had; never experiencing that immediate and intriguing spark with any of the prom queens or the cheerleaders that he’d attempted relationships with in the past.

“I know who you are,” she’d said, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. It had shimmered in the sunlight; the lightest and most beautiful shade of blond that he’d ever laid eyes on. “Everyone talks about you. You’re like the most popular guy in school. Yet you don’t act like that. You’re not a total ass to people. You’re different.”

It had been the first time that anyone had ever told him that. Truly believing that the company he’d kept had painted him in a far different light. Guilty by association because those he hung around were boisterous and crude; convinced that being good at sports meant they ran the school and didn’t have to show respect to anyone. And it had made him feel good; being seen as kind and compassionate doing wonders for his ego in a way no touchdown or goal scored ever could.

She’d accepted his ride home that night. And the request for a date before she slipped out of the car. Two weeks later they were inseparable and considered themselves ‘exclusive’; holding hands in the hall and having lunch together every day and spending nearly every waking hours outside of school with one another. He was convinced that he met the love of his life and that she’d be the one he’d marry and have a family with. Grow old with.

It had started out well; a brief engagement and married only a week after graduation. She’d been certain she could handle the life of a soldier's wife; he was new to the military but extremely committed and determined to make a lifelong career out of it. And for the most part they’d been happy; a little house not far from his home base, a tight circle of both military and civilian friends, the honeymoon stage lasting well into the second year. Everything changed once he received his first deployment; eight weeks in Afghanistan that quickly turned into six months. When he’d returned home, he’d begun hearing the rumours; she was angry at his absence and his inability to call home on a regular basis and sought solace in the arms of not just one man, but many. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, and she’d been convincing when he’d confronted her about it; pledging her undying love for him and assuring him -with both words and her body- that he was the only man that she’d wanted.

He’d been an idiot. For years. So smitten that he hadn’t wanted to accept the truth and refused to walk away; seeing her as his ‘be all and end all’ and not wanting things to come to an end. He DID love her. Probably a lot more than she had ever loved him. He’d been so terrified of abandonment, that he’d held on even tighter; he’d lost the only other woman he’d ever loved at a very early age and couldn’t stand the thought of losing Sarah too. So he put up with it; sticking by her side no matter how many notches on the bedposts she lodged and no matter how rampant the rumours and the gossip became. Soon that love turned into resentment and sheer tolerance. Letting her live her ‘double life’; pretending to be a happy and adoring couple in public yet knowing she was off running around behind his back the second he was shipped off for a tour. His drinking became a problem; booze numbing the heartache and the loneliness and giving him an escape from the miserable reality of his life. And he’d been a week removed from filing for divorce when the pregnancy test came back; she was expecting a baby and she was adamant it was his despite all the evidence that told him there was no way he could possibly be the father. He couldn’t leave her like THAT. He’d be viewed as the bad guy; the asshole that had ended his marriage WHILE his wife was pregnant. So he’d changed his plans; vowing that he’d stay by her side no matter what and that he’d be the best father and family man he could possibly be.

He’d been in Iraq when Austin was born; informed of his son’s arrival while in Mosul and immediately sent home. And he’d known right away that the kid wasn’t his the second he’d looked at him; not a single feature that could be attributed to either father OR mother. But it hadn’t mattered. The second he’d held Austin in his arms and all of those tiny fingers had curled around just one of his, Tyler had made his decision; he’d stick around and be the boy’s daddy and love him a way he never thought it was possible to love another human being. He’d be the kind of father his kid could one day brag about; attentive and patient and compassionate. Never would he be like his old man. He would cut back on his drinking and get help with his anger management issues and his wife would never have to worry if he’d wander and find someone else; throwing himself one hundred percent into their marriage and in raising a family together. Even if it meant that he’d never be truly happy and that she’d continue her dalliances whenever he was stationed overseas. He’d stay committed to her no matter what; his son never having to grow up without both parents under the same roof or suffer from the trauma of being from a broken home.

The cancer had changed everything. The stress behind caring for a terminally ill child had brought out both his and Sarah’s true sides; they didn’t love each other and could barely stand being in the same room together and all of the pretending and the faking was just wearing them down and making things even worse. But he’d admired her; her commitment to caring for their rapidly deteriorating son, the steadfast determination to beat it ‘no matter what’, and the rock solid courage she displayed when it was evident Austin’s time on earth was coming to an end. And despite her mistakes and her failures as a wife, she HAD deserved better. She had needed a man that would support her; someone that would hold her while she cried and lift her up during the especially dark and trying times and would be by her side during funeral preparations. He’d failed her; running away when things became too painful to witness. And in the end, he’d failed his son as well. Leaving him alone and scared; his final moments on earth spent wondering what he’d ever done to make his father hate him THAT much.

It’s been seventeen years and sometimes it hurts just as much as it did the moment he got the news. The loss still painful and immense; a part of his heart forever torn out of his chest and never able to be put back into place. And it isn’t just the unexplainable and often unbearable sorrow that comes with losing a child; so powerful and pronounced it can bring even the toughest of men to their knees. It’s the guilt and the regret that continue to haunt and eat away at him; silent and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. It comes when he’s at his lowest; when the combined mental illnesses are rearing their ugly heads and threatening to drag him down. That’s when the voices come out to play; the cruel and the degrading whispers in his ears that insist he’s EXACTLY the monster that he’s made himself out to be. The kind that abandons those he loves when the going gets tough; physically brave, but an emotional coward. They remind him not only of the mistake he’d made with Austin but those he’d committed within the last twelve and a half years; the lies he told and the promises he broke and the times he raised his voice or put a fist through a wall. The moments he’d slipped and given in to his addictions; the fear of being a failure as a husband and father pushing him to not only the job, but the bottle and the pain meds as a form of coping and a means of escape.

Normally he’s able to fight those voices off; years of therapy -and an extremely patient and attentive wife- helping him develop healthy coping mechanisms. The water remains his favourite and most successful form of escape; the familiar scent of salt that hangs heavily in the air, the sounds of the waves as they roll up onto the shore, the sun's powerful and often punishing rays glistening on the rippling surface of the ocean. Sometimes it’s a couple hours spent surfing; the feel of the wind against his face and crispness of the water that seems to cleanse his very soul. There’s days where it’s as simple as a walk along the ocean line; the water lapping at his ankles, wet sand cushioning and moulding around his feet. Or a hike through the forest across from their home. Taking a well beaten path that snakes and winds through the dense gathering of trees and leads to a small clearing; a small wooden staircase he’d erected shortly after they’d moved into the house giving access to a patch of pristine, white beach. It’s a tiny piece of solitude; tucked away and unseen from even the edge of their main property. And they’ve ventured there together many times; taking along that faded and tattered plaid blanket and a picnic lunch and taking advantage of every minute of quality time granted to them. Reconnecting in many ways; playful bantering and light hearted teasing, deep and emotional chats revolving their respective childhoods and the shared loss of the only parent that had loved either of them. Even after twelve and half years there’s never a lull in conversation; always something new and long buried that’s brought to the surface and finally shared after decades of locking it away. It’s never boring when they’re together; a strong friendship and a unique and powerful bond -cemented during that difficult and terrifying time nearly thirteen years ago- serving as a stable foundation for everything else built upon it.

The riverfront is quiet. A half a dozen dog walkers and one lone jogger. The latter a middle aged woman in top of the line athletic gear that he’s encountered a handful of times over the past three years and always offers him a warm smile and a nod in greeting. He pauses at the railing; checking for any missed calls or text messages and taking his time to stretch and warm up. The body feels good today; the stiffness and the pain minimal, the warmer than usual temperatures keeping any arthritis flare ups at bay. There’s a distinct connection between his physical condition and his mental one. When his body feels healthy and he’s able to skip the daily cocktail of pain meds and exercises learned during physio, his mental condition isn’t as fragile. The burden of stress and torment that normally sits upon his shoulders suddenly seeming so much lighter; the usually bottomless and fermented wound in a long ago broken heart not seeming so gaping or festering. He feels energized and renewed; a deep and peaceful sleep and a pain free morning making him feel as if he’s prepared -mentally and physically- to take on the world. It’s still there; the black cloud of depression that hangs over him. But it doesn’t seem so ominous or menacing; those slivers of hope and positivity managing to sneak through.

He takes a moment to relish the view. The peek of the sun on the horizon, the glistening of the snow and the chunks ice that have taken up inhabitance on the surface of the Hudson, the faint glimmer that plays off the windows of the skyscrapers in the distance. There’s moments where he’s truly content here; enjoying the change of pace and admiring the vast differences between New York City and home. Today is one of those days; he feels secure in both where he is and WHO he is. A welcomed outsider as opposed to a strange and mysterious interloper. It’s a reminder that home is wherever his heart lies. His wife and his children sound asleep; warm and safe in their beds only blocks away.

SHE’S his heart; the person that came into his life and turned his world upside down and reminded him that he was still very much alive and had so much more living left to do. Showing him -for the first time in thirty five years- what it was like to be TRULY loved; wholly and completely and unconditionally. Someone so bright eyed and light in heart and spirit; managing to love life and everyone in it despite all of the pain and the suffering that they’d been put through. Giving him what he’d hadn’t even realized he needed; a normal life with everything familiar and mundane and domestic that came with it. Someone to wake up to in the morning; a sleepy smile and soft lips against his own, hands reaching for him and a warm body pressing against his. Going to bed with them every night; those remaining conversations that take place in a darkened, quiet room and the intimacy shared and the love and appreciation expressed.

Once more removing his phone from his pocket, he selects a different playlist and jacks the volume up on his headphones; drowning out the world around him and concentrating on nothing but breaking a sweat and pushing his body to its limits.

*****

It’s shortly after seven when he returns to Gramercy Park. Layers of clothing sticking to sweat soaked skin, beanie long discarded and shoved in his pocket; hair damp and sticking up in several different directions. The tips of his ears and his cheeks flushed from both the chill in the air and the effort and energy he’d put into his run; slow and steady at first, then legs and arms pumping as hard and powerfully as they possibly could. He feels invigorated; a level of energy and exuberance that he hasn’t encountered in weeks. Maybe even months. And it’s a welcome change. Feeling healthy AND content at the same time.

Before returning home he stops at the bodega at the end of the street; filling a basket with the various items Tanner had scrawled onto a post-it note he’d found attached to the fridge. The kid never fails to both surprise and amaze him; constantly finding recipes or ‘science experiments’ on the internet and always insisting on trying his hand at them. Forever curious; holding onto that innocence and that joy and wonder for far longer than any of his older siblings ever had. Phenomenally intelligent and talented; teaching himself how to play the guitar and the piano by ear, his paintings and drawings always appearing as if they’re done by someone so much older and possessing an experienced eye. Emotionally mature and wise, but socially lagging; unable to form friendships and constantly feeling awkward surrounded by groups of people and easily overwhelmed by too much activity and noise. Yet so empathetic and compassionate; easily and powerfully feeling other peoples’ emotions and his moods and behaviour dictated by the mere energies people give off when around him.

The bodega owner greets him with a broad smile and a friendly nod when he approaches the counter. A first name and very few details kind of friendship; Frank the sole proprietor and only full time employee since the store’s opening forty years ago. Short and stocky; a headful of curly salt and pepper hair and a thick moustache and a heavy Bronx accent. Both know very little about the other; talk mostly revolving around the weather and current events and Frank’s never ending curiosity about life in Australia and his overwhelming desire to visit and one day retire there.

“Alone today,” Frank comments, and moves to the small coffee bar -nothing more than a handful of machines and containers for milk and cream- behind the register. It’s an understanding between them; Tyler never needing to ask and Frank knowing his standing order. “That doesn’t happen often. Normally you’ve got at least one or two rug rats hanging off ya.”

“Gotta sneak out when I can.” He empties the contents of the basket onto the counter; the latter he stores in the rack at the end of the counter. “How’s business?”

“Quiet. Same thing every Christmas. The elite like to get away. They’re going to where you’re from, and your kind are coming here. Must be quite the culture shock, huh? Going from the sand and the sun to this crap?” It’s a typical conversation starter; the same opening question Tyler’s been asked every single visit for three years running.

“It’s a change, that’s for sure. Can’t say I wouldn’t rather be back in the sand and the sun. But…”

“But the kiddos and the sweetheart like it. I get it. When my daughter moved to Phoenix with her husband about ten years back, she insisted on coming back here every Christmas. Missed the cold and the white shit too much. Who the hell is crazy enough to miss THAT?”

“Wife says it’s the magic of the season. Wants the kids to experience it. White Christmas and all that. And they enjoy it; skating, sledding, snowball fights, all of that crap. If they’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I hear ya there. Makes a man’s life much more easy and relaxed, that’s for sure. If the littles and the wife are happy, things are a lot more pleasant, know what I’m saying?. They all doing well?”

“No complaints. Got spoiled at Christmas, Aunt’s coming to visit today, big brother’s getting married in three days…”

“Busy, busy. Not rest for the weary. How’s that cute little wife of yours?”

“Still little. Still cute.”

“How you holding up? Must be hard being away from home. From what you’re used to.”

“I miss it,” Tyler admits, and nods his appreciation for the coffee that’s set down in front of him; black, no sugar. “It’ll be nice to get back. It’s quieter there. No one really around. Just our own slice of paradise. Private. Just the way I like it.”

“You definitely are a stickler for your privacy, aren’t ya.”

“I’ve got my reasons. For keeping to myself.”

“Just not a people person, huh?”

“I like people. Some don’t like me. It’s better if they keep away. Especially from my family.”

Frank nods in understanding, then begins ringing up and bagging the purchases. “Gotta like a man that will defend and protect his own, no matter what.”

“You do what you gotta do,” Tyler reasons, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie when he feels his cellphone vibrate against him. Eyes narrowing and a frown playing on his lips when he reads the text sent by his wife; complaining about being woken up from a dead sleep by the ‘new nuisance in town’ repeatedly ringing the doorbell.

He was confident they’d seen and heard the last of Natalie. While he’d been grateful for her assistance in the American Girl store during Addie’s disappearance, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. His already agitated and guilt stricken mood made even worse but yet another attempt on her part to proposition him; boldly stating in front of other customers and his children and granddaughter that while playing hard to get only made him sexier, it was time to put an end to the games. It was obvious -in her mind- that he was attracted to her and was only holding back out of a sense of loyalty and obligation to the woman who’d given him seven offspring.

The sex would be off the charts, Natalie had whispered in his ear, and brazenly attempted a crotch grab while waiting in line at the register. Not caring about the still sobbing Addie in his arms and tightly clinging to him, or the furious glares that Brookie was shooting in her direction. He hadn’t been kind in his rejection; angrily yanking her hand away with enough force to cause her to wince in pain and for his fingers to bruise the skin around her wrist. And he’d kept his tone low yet forceful when he’d told her to back off; he wouldn’t tolerate blatant disrespect towards his wife, especially in front of two of the children she’d not only hand in creating, but had carried inside of her.

“Bad news?” Frank inquires, and pushes the plastic bags across the counter.

“Something I’d rather NOT be dealing with.” He tucks his phone back into his pocket and checks the total on the register; pulling forty from his wallet and waving off the change when Frank begins to hand it over. “But it’s probably better in my hands that my wife’s.”

“Feisty little thing, ain’t she,” Frank chuckles. “I still remember when she told that one kid off for checking out your one girl. Your oldest. She was over there looking at the magazines, minding her own business, and some fucking high school joker was checking her out and making comments to his buddies. Your wife certainly isn’t afraid to mix things up, is she.”

“You don’t mess with a mumma bear. She’s tiny, but she’ll rip you apart,”

Frank grins, “Bet that makes you toe the line, huh?”

“I long ago learned what buttons NOT to push. She looks all cute and sweet and innocent, but trust me, that girl can fuck someone up. I’ll probably see you later.” He gathers up the bags in one hand, cup of coffee in the other. “TJ and Declan will want to come by. They also do when you get the new Archie comics.”

“Already put two aside from them. Gotta treat my best customers right. And speaking of that privacy you like so much…”

Tyler pauses in the doorway.

“You ain’t gonna like what I have to tell you.”

“Not when you put it like that I won’t.” He once more approaches the register. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s been in here a few times asking about you. And your family. I meant to tell you yesterday, but you had the girls with you and I didn’t want to bring something up that might spook them or upset them.”

“Someone from the neighbourhood?”

“A newcomer. Some woman. Tall, blond, need a power washer to get all that crap off her face. Why do women do that? Why do they feel the need to smear on the war paint? Looking like damn clowns is what they look like. I don’t want to be stuck in the rain with a girl and turn around and look at her and find damn eyebrows washed away, know what I’m saying? Wake up next to them and all the makeup is gone and you no longer recognize them and you think some strange woman snuck into bed with ya in the middle of the night.”

“What did she want, Frank? What did she want to know?”

“Little questions, mostly. Mostly about you and your wife. How you met, what her name was before she met you, where she’s from originally, family life. That kind of thing. Wanted to know your last name but I told her I had no clue. First names only. That’s the way it’s always been.”

“Ask anything about my kids?”

“Just wanted to know their ages, school grades, stuff like that. I didn't have any info to give her and I told her that much. Also said even if I DID know, I wouldn’t cough it up to her or anyone else. Awful nosey, don’t you think? Trying to get up in a man’s business like that?”

“She’s definitely treading on thin ice. I appreciate it. That you wouldn’t tell her even if you did know that stuff.”

“Ain’t nobody's business what you do with your life. And it especially ain’t none of their concern when it comes to children. That’s just creepy as hell, if you ask me. Think she’s up to no good? Trying to cause trouble? With you and the missus?”

“I don’t know what she’s up to.” He moves towards the door. “I’ll find out though. One way or another. Thanks for letting me know. And for having our backs.”

“You and your family have been nothing but good to me, figure I should return the favour. Let me know how it turns out, would ya? Once you find out just what she’s up to. Inquiring minds want to know, and all.”

“I’ll let you know,” Tyler promises, and uses a forearm to push open the door.

“Hey!” Frank calls to him, and he pauses on the threshold. “What IS your last name?”

“Drummond.” The lie rolls easily off the tongue. Almost TOO easily.

“Tyler Drummond,” Frank nods as he considers it. “Got a nice ring to it. You know, you don’t look like a Tyler.”

“Yeah,” he grins, and steps out the door. “So I’ve been told.”

*****

He finds her in the kitchen. Back turned towards the doorway as she waits for the toaster to finish its cycle; repetitively tapping the end of a butter knife against the granite countertop as her body repeatedly shifts weight from one side to the other. Well known evidence of agitation and simmering anger; body always needing to be in motion, anxiety propelled nervous ‘tics’. She’s been fighting her own battle against mental illness for longer than he’s known her; the years of psychological torment inflicted by her mother -and eventually an emotionally, physically, and sexually abusive husband- leaving wounds far deeper and more punishing than anything his body has ever experienced. Medication and therapy have helped, as has finding her own ‘niche’ in the world beyond just being a wife and a mother; running her own business, a once weekly yoga and meditation class, her own strenuous workout plan that he’d helped her create. She’s always managed well considering; panic and anxiety attacks fairly uncommon and periods of deep and crippling depression far and few between.

While he always admonishes her for taking on too much and throwing herself into caring for others instead of herself, she swears that it helps; keeping her mind and her body occupied and not giving her a chance to sit still for too long and dwell on things. He’s sure there’s some PTSD in there. The incident on the Sultana Kamal Bridge still weighs heavily on her; unable to sit down and talk about it without having an emotional meltdown and suffering from the occasional night terror. But she always shrugs off the idea of additional help and supports; insisting she’s fine and just needs to keep busy and that things will pass. They always do. And even though she’s infamous for calling him the most stubborn human on the planet, he’s pretty sure that it’s HER that actually holds that title.

Per Tanner’s written instructions, he leaves the bodega purchases in their bags; carrying them into the pantry and placing them in a plastic tote box marked with his son’s name. The ten year old very particular and detail oriented; extremely neat and tidy and having his own anxiety attacks if anyone dares to upset his ebb and flow. For his seventh birthday, the only gifts he’d requested were a label maker and over two dozen food storage containers; adamant that those were the only things he wanted and didn’t care about the idea of a new bike or surfboard or the latest gaming system. Less than twenty four hours after receiving what he so desperately coveted, he’d used them to reorganize the pantry at home; everything stored in plastic containers and labelled appropriately and throwing a fit if anyone didn’t alphabetical order when putting things back on the shelves. THAT had prompted them to finally seek out a diagnosis for him. They had suspected it for years; Tanner sitting some place on the Autism spectrum. Yet it had still been hard to hear the words come out of the specialist’s mouth; fear and worry and concerns for his future flooding through them as they saw the words neatly printed out in their son’s medical chart.

“Everyone still asleep?” he inquires, as he finally approaches. Standing behind her with his hands on her hips; lips meeting the top of her head as his fingers gently knead the supple flesh. Even when -uncharacteristically- grumpy first thing in the morning, she is always at her most adorable; hair messy and face still puffy from sleep, petite frame clad in her infamous mismatched pyjamas. Today it’s a pair of scrubs with the word Columbia printed across the ass and a faded and tattered t-shirt from his side of the closet; miles too big on her yet somehow sexy at the same time.

“Thankfully. Takota woke up in a panic; the doorbell scared the ever loving shit out of him. You know how it is; things always seem a thousand times louder when you’re asleep. I cuddled with him for a bit; he’s passed out in the middle of our bed now.”

Draping an arm across her collarbone, he presses a kiss to her temple, then watches in amusement as she tends to the toasted bagel now sitting on the plate in front of her; putting enough force behind buttering it that the knife pierces the toast.

“You know…” his lips rest against the side of her head. “...you’re not supposed to stab the damn thing.”

“Better to stab this than walk down the street and stab that bitch in the fucking face,” she reasons. “I don’t think I’m in the position in my life where it would be a good idea to go to prison.”

“Definitely wouldn’t be ideal at this point and time. Not to mention you always complain about how shitty you look in orange. So how about we NOT stab anyone and try to rein in our homicidal tendencies?” Reaching around her, he wrenches the knife out of her shockingly tight and strong grip; completing the preparation of the bagel for her.

She tips her head back to look at him, smiling in appreciation. “I’m mad.”

“I can see that.”

“What is that woman’s major malfunction? Why is she so goddamn insistent on seeing you? I mean, I know you’re hot and the walking and breathing definition of masculinity and you’re enough to make even the old ladies all weak in the knees, but fuck…” she turns around to face him; plate in her hand as she leans back against the counter. “...she is WAY worse than any thirsty females on the playground or at the soccer park.”

“She’s something else alright.” He moves to the kettle boiling on the stove; snagging a clean mug from the drainboard by the sink and a tea bag from a canister on the counter.

“To show up here at all is a dumb ass thing to do. But at seven in the morning? Knowing there’s a house full of littles here? She has a kid of her own. I doubt she’d like if someone popped up on her doorstep and woke her crotch fruit up.”

“I don’t think she gives a shit, Me. About our kids OR her own.”

“She treats that kid like a goddamn accessory. Have you seen the way she dresses that little girl? Fur coats and Gucci and Chanel, a freaking bracelet and earrings from Tiffany’s. The kid even carries a bloody Birkin bag! She’s six! What the hell kind of parent buys stuff like that for ANY kid? Never mind a six year old.”

“A person with money to burn apparently.”

“WE have money to burn. And then some. Our kids wear clothes from Target. The occasional UnderArmour or Nike swag here or there. Most expensive thing on them is their shoes. And not even THOSE are over a hundred bucks.”

“Millie does have that expensive purse,” he points out, as he stands in front of the open fridge door and snags a carton of milk; dumping the preferred and required amount into the steaming mug of tea. “The pink one.”

“The Chanel. Yes, she does have that. And you know why she does? Because when Millie says ‘daddy, I really like that’, daddy goes ahead and buys it for her and doesn’t even bother to check the make or the price tag. That is SOLELY on you.”

“Daddy likes to spoil his girls,” he reasons, offering the mug as he rejoins her. “Especially the oldest one.”

“Millie always HAS been your favourite.”

“I meant YOU,” he presses a chaste peck to her lips when she turns her face up towards him. “Not Millie. I spoil you way more than I spoil any of those kids.”

“And how many times have you been told NOT to?”

“Way too many to count. How many times have I told you that I don’t give a shit what you say and that I’m going to keep on doing it?”

Smirking, she rips a piece of bagel off with her teeth. “Touche.”

“What did she want?” He stands next to her, palms resting on the edge of the counter. “The nuisance?”

“To be just that. A nuisance. I kept telling her you weren’t home. That you’d gone out for a bit. She wasn’t having any of it. Insisted that I was lying and accused me of being jealous and possessive and told me that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep you away from her. Something about 'you can’t stop what the heart AND the body want'.”

He gives a derisive snort.

“I don’t know. By that point I had already tuned out and was fantasizing about how I was going to kill her and dispose of her body. What the hell is her issue? I get that she has a raging female boner for you and in all fairness, I don’t blame her. But that woman is coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs. And I don’t use that term lightly. I save that for the REALLY crazy ones.”

“Did she say what she wanted? Why she even came over here?”

“You mean other than to jump on your dick? Or to convince me that you and her have some undeniable sexual chemistry and that you’re reluctant to leave me because I’m clingy and needy and have trapped you with half a dozen kids? Plus one.”

“She said that?”

“Every last word. Apparently you and her have really hit it off. There’s some kind of powerful and potent sexual and emotional connection between the two of you. News to me.”

“She’s fucking delusional. You realize that, yeah?”

“Big time delusional. I know what you’re like. I know how much you love me and your kids; how you’re unwaveringly faithful and loyal. I’ve never doubted any of that. I’ve never had a reason to. If you wanted out, you would have left a long time ago. You’ve had your chances.”

“I don’t want out. I’m all in. I’ve been all in for twelve and half years. I’m all in for the rest of my life. So sorry, Me. You’re stuck with me. Until the bitter end.”

“I can think of worse fates. But what the hell is her problem? Who does shit like this? Calling on another woman’s husband? Making up bullshit like that? Trying to cause problems between people?”

“A crazy person, that’s who. That’s all she wanted? To see me?”

“To give you Addie’s mitts back. I guess she left them at the American Girl store and crazy lady picked them up. Couldn’t she just leave them in the mailbox instead of showing up and ringing the doorbell at seven in the morning? Is that NOT what a normal person would do?”

“I think we’ve already established that she’s NOT normal.”

“You didn’t tell me she was there yesterday,” Esme sips at her tea. “At the American Girl place.”

“I thought I did.”

“That’s my sworn enemy. I would definitely remember if you told me something like that.”

Tyler shrugs. “Guess it just slipped my mind with everything else that was going. With Addie flipping out and me feeling like shit for losing it on her, telling you about the neighbour wasn’t the first thing on my agenda. I probably should have, but…”

“So she just happened to be there? At the American Girl lunch?”

“Yup. Showed up with her kid.”

“Kind of a coincidence, don’t you think? That she’d be there on the EXACT same day? I don’t mean to go all paranoid and possessive and jealous wife, but…”

“You’re not paranoid. And aren’t we all a little possessive? And jealous? When we love someone? I’m that way with you. I don’t like guys checking you out and making comments towards you and all that. And if that makes me possessive and jealous…” shrugging, he reaches for her tea and takes a sip.

“This woman has serious issues, Tyler. She’s nuts. Certifiably, I think. Didn’t you already tell her to leave you alone? That you’re married? Happily?”

“More than once.”

“Does she not realize some men actually DO value the sanctity of marriage? Mind you, it doesn’t seem like many these days, but still.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of married men she’s used to, Me. I don’t think I fit HER definition of a married man. And it’s not for the lack of trying to scare her off. I’ve tried. Several times. Doesn’t seem to be getting through.”

“She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. Still, I don’t like someone pissing in my front yard. Continuously. Seems awful weird; her somehow showing up nearly everywhere you go. I can see the park being a one off; she was new to the community, saw a parent there and took it upon herself to try and make friends. But everything else? When you took the kids for lunch, when you and I were on our date; we SAW her watching us from her living room window. She didn’t hide it.”

“That was a little...odd,” Tyler admits.

“And how many times has she suddenly popped into the bodega when you’ve been there with the boys?”

“I’d say nine times out of ten.”

“That’s way too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“I do think that. I also think we need to talk about it. About all of this.”

“Oh God…” she grimaces. “...you ARE leaving me for her.”

“What?” He can’t help but laugh. “No, baby. NO. I am definitely NOT leaving you for her. For ANYONE. I already told you; I’m in this right to the end. Whenever that may be. There’s no one else, Me.” Draping an arm across her shoulders, he pulls her into him; lips meeting her temple and lingering for several seconds. “There’s just you. There’s always just been just you. Always will be.”

“And we need to talk about her because…”

“Because there’s more going on than you realize. More than just her showing up places.”

Esme frowns, mug poised at her lips. “Uh oh. I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

“Believe me, I don’t like it either. What’s going. But you’re right; that woman definitely DOES have issues.”

“Other than being a stalker you mean?”

“I don’t know EXACTLY what’s going on. Or how serious it is. But I don’t like it. What she’s up to.”

“And coming from someone with your instincts and your background? That’s saying something. Do I need to worry about it? Is it something we need to really watch out for and take seriously and…?”

"I honestly don't know, babe. But she knows stuff. About us. She somehow knows our name. Called me by first AND last yesterday. I've never told her what it is. And I highly doubt you did."

“I want to stab the woman in the face with a butter knife, so I think it's safe to say I’m NOT going to be out there telling her personal things. How WOULD she find that out? It’s not like it’s advertised anywhere. Frank doesn’t know it, Desi wouldn’t say anything.”

“She tried to blame TJ. Said she talked to him when he was out shovelling snow and that he coughed up the info. I confronted him and he denied it. Said that she DID stop to talk to him and all he told her was his first name. That’s it. Told me he knows better than that; not to tell strangers much about us.”

“TJ doesn’t lie. Not since he got caught...on camera...denting your truck and trying to tell me that it wasn’t him. He learned his lesson, believe me. And out of all the kids who would be a blabber mouth? He’s the last one. He idolizes you. The last thing he wants to do is piss you off or disappoint you. So when you tell him what to do or what NOT to do, he listens.”

“So how did she know? If neither of us told her and Desi didn’t say anything and we know it’s not TJ…”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t been around any of the other kids. They’d all say something. They’d tell us if she was asking questions.”

“She had to find out from somewhere. Someone had to tell her. It’s not like that info is just out there for anyone to look up. You don’t even use a real last name on the internet. We’ve been careful. We locked everything down five years ago. Made sure people couldn’t find shit out. But somehow…”

Sighing heavily, she carries her empty mug and dirty plate to the sink, then rejoins him; standing between his legs with her hands on his hips. “Do you think it's something serious? Something we need to worry about?”

“Are you asking me if I think she’s a threat?”

Esme nods.

“I don’t get that feeling from her. I don’t think she’s the type that gets her hands dirty. More the type that aids the person that does.”

“That sounds familiar. I distinctly remember someone else who used to do exactly that.”

“Let’s not compare the two of you. You’re nothing alike.”

“I used to help people get their hands dirty. I used to ask all the questions and find out all the info and then pass it along to guys like you. Sounds like she might be into the same kind of thing. Have you looked into her? Find out anything about her?”

“Not much to find out. Couple things here and there but nothing serious. I know she used to be in a relationship with the District Attorney in Chicago. There was a write up about it; the two of them at some charity event a few years back.”

“Is he the ex husband?”

“If he is…” he tucks her hair behind her ears, then cradles her face in his palms; thumbs repeatedly brushing against her cheeks. “...she’s never gone by his last name. I checked into that, too.”

“Maybe try Nik. She’s got a real knack of finding things about people. Things they’ve long kept buried. I’m sure she’d look into it. Probably have better luck than you.”

“If it comes to that, I’ll go in that direction. But I was thinking…”

She smirks. “I don’t think I like the way you said that...”

“...that if you still had any of your old contacts….”

“My old contacts? I haven’t spoken to any of them in years. Not since the whole fuck up with Nathan and the fake papers from the Marines. I haven’t talked to any of those people since.”

“What about people in the game? That you worked for BEFORE Nik? You ever talk to any of them?”

“There’s a couple I interact once in a while but mostly about non job related stuff. Just random checking in on each other and seeing how our lives are going. You’re not serious about this, are you? About wanting ME to try and find things out? I haven’t had a finger on that particular pulse in a long time.”

“The circle’s pretty tight,” Tyler reasons. “Once you’re in it, you’re never really out of it. There’s guys I haven’t talked to in years but I know I could call if I needed a favour. Maybe you’ve got a couple of those too. People that would do you a solid if you needed them to.”

“I thought we agreed that I’d put that part of my life behind me? We talked about this. After I royally messed things up by not realizing those papers sent to me were fake. I mean, it’s practically my fault that Nathan managed to get a hold of you in the first place.”

“Okay, we’re NOT going to go there. Because none of that is true. It happened. There’s no one to blame. He knew he couldn’t take me in a fair fight. Knew he had to get me from behind. Take me down.”

“And he wouldn’t have been able to had I NOT called you. Had I realized those papers weren’t the real deal, you never would have gone there and confronted him. We would have waited for the legit documents and you would have known how unstable he was. Instead, I just sent you in there and…”

“Let’s get one thing straight. You didn’t do anything. I went in there on my own. It was my choice. I had the chance; to walk away and leave him there. And I didn’t. I went back in. You had nothing to do with it.”

“If I’d known about the papers…”

“YOU had nothing to do with it,” he repeats. “There was no way you could have known what we were dealing with. Same way I couldn’t have known. It happened. Nathan did what he did.”

“Yeah, and you almost died. Because I was careless and…”

“Stop,” he presses a kiss to her lips in order to silence. “We are NOT going to talk about him. Nothing good ever comes out of talking about that asshole. So can we not? Bring him up? Can we let this go?”

“I just…”

“Drop it,” he orders, and then pecks the tip of her nose. “Please.”

“All I’m saying is…”

“Oh my god, woman. Stop.” Placing a kiss to her forehead, he gathers her into his arms; pulling her tightly into him, hands locking together at the small of her back. “We’re not going to talk about this. Five years ago. It never leads to anything good. And I really do not feel like fighting with you. Not after the night we had last night.”

Smiling, she wraps both arms around his waist. “It was a good night.”

“A very good night.” He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “You were fucking incredible.”

“I was, was I?” She looks up at him, bottom of her chin resting on his chest. “You weren’t too shabby either. You know how to raise the bar impossibly high, I’ll tell you that much. And that whole thing in the tub? We need to do that again. ASAP.”

“Thought you didn’t enjoy it. You were practically having a temper tantrum.”

“I was frustrated. Do you know that aggravating it is? Getting that close and having someone just yank the carpet out from under you? Do you have any idea how maddening that is?”

“Actually, I do. You’ve done it to me. Many times. But if you want to do it again…”

“I do. There’s a lot of things I want to do again. And again. And again. With you.”

“Baby, I aim to please.”

“And you do. Very well, as a matter of fact. Even though I am still slightly embarrassed by my reaction. You know, when I…in the tub...when you…”

“When I made you squirt?” He chuckles when she gives an embarrassed groan and buries her face in his shirt. “Why does that make you all shy and shit? I’m the last person you should be embarrassed around. We’ve been doing some dirty shit since day one. You think you would have stopped getting embarrassed a long time ago. I’ve only been your husband for twelve and a half years.”

“It’s just so...I don’t know...gross.”

“Gross? It’s fucking hot. It’s a turn on. Knowing I can make you do THAT? It doesn’t happen often; you getting THAT worked up.”

“Well I guess you need to try harder,” she teases, and gives a yelp when he brings both palms down onto her ass in ringing slaps and then squeezes tightly. “I have to say, husband. You really are a man among men. I definitely hit the jackpot when I landed you. Smartest thing I ever did; letting you put a ring on it.”

“Even though you didn’t want to marry me at first?”

“For the record…” her hands move to his sides, softly and repeatedly moving over his ribs. “...I never said I didn’t want to marry you. I said I was scared to get married again. That I was worried we were going to fuck things up. And I loved you and I didn’t want us to fuck them up. We both had pretty bad track records when it came to marriage.”

“That’s because we both married the wrong people the first time around.”

“I was just scared. I didn’t want things to go bad between us. Not when they already seemed so good. And if that meant staying the happily unmarried couple…”

“But I wasn’t okay with that. I wanted to get married. To you. And before you ask? No. Not because you were having Millie. She had nothing to do with it. I would have wanted to marry you even if there hadn’t been a baby. But I’m glad there was. She’s pretty awesome. They all are.”

“Yeah,” she smiles up at him. “They are. We’ve done good work, Tae. We definitely make some pretty damn beautiful babies. And it’s kind of sad; that there won’t be anymore. Kind of bittersweet. But I think it’s time for us, don’t you? Time for you and I to concentrate on each other for a change. I don’t want that to be all there is to us. Two people raising kids together.”

“There’s way too much between us for it to ever be just that,” he assures her. Laying a hand on the small of her back, he once more pulls her tightly into him; fingers of his other hand biting into the cheek of her ass when he covers her mouth with his.

The kiss is long and soft and slow; her arms wrapping around his waist as she stands on the top of his feet in order to give her that little bit of extra height. Her lips moving against his in perfect unison; moulding and fitting together in ways he’d never experienced with anyone else before. Bodies so in sync with each other; always so responsive and eager.

“I have another favour to ask,” he says when he pulls away, hands settling on her hips.

“You keep kissing me like that?” Her eyes are still closed as she sighs heavily and dreamily. “ For the rest of my life? You can ask as many favours as you want.”

“I don’t want you causing issues with Riley. Over the fentanyl.”

Her eyes snap open; a frown curving her lips as she looks up at him.

“She didn’t give it to me with bad intentions. It wasn’t like she was hooking me up with a fix. That’s not what I wanted it for. It had nothing to do with being an addict and everything to do with the pain I was in. I had screwed that knee up and it was going to be months before they could do another reconstruction and I couldn’t take much more. That’s how bad it was. How bad I was suffering. And I knew the doctor wouldn’t give me anything else. That he’d think I was just drug seeking; in it to get a high.”

“So you asked her.”

“I couldn’t ask Ovi. I knew he’d tell you. And I didn’t want him getting caught and his whole career going down the toilet before it even started. So when Riley came up here that summer, I asked her for something stronger. To hook me up with something that could help. And she put up a good fight; she wasn’t going to go give in. I’m the one who convinced her to. Promised I’d only use it when necessary.”

“And did you? Use it just when necessary?”

“Only when the pain got to be too much. She gave me enough pills to last a couple months. I only took eight. In the two weeks we were here. That’s it. When we were ready to go back home, I put them in the medicine cabinet and never thought about them again.”

“Until the other night.”

Tyler nods. “It scared the fuck out of me, Esme. How easy it was to take to them. To remember they were even there. I didn’t even give it a second thought. I just grabbed them and took them. No hesitation.”

“You realize how badly that could have gone, right? You don’t play around with that stuff, Tyler. That is some heavy duty shit and you just went ahead and took six of them and…”

“Not one of my finer moments.”

“It could have killed you. That many. You know that, right? It could have killed you. Did you even stop to think about that? About what would happen? How I’d find you dead? On Christmas morning? Did that even occur to you?”

“No,” he admits. “And that’s what scared me. The fact I didn’t think of any of that. That I just took the stuff. Like I’d done it a million times before.”

“Did you WANT something bad to happen?”

“No, babe. I didn’t. I just needed to shut my brain up. I just needed to get away from it. I needed peace and fucking quiet. An escape. From what goes on in my head.”

“I’m going to ask you something and I want you to be one hundred percent honest with me. No matter how hard it will be for me to hear or how bad you think it will hurt me. I need you to tell me the truth. Can you do that? Be honest with me?”

“I can.”

“Do you want to die? Right now. Right this second. Is that what your brain is telling you? Is that what it’s BEEN telling you? That it would be better if you weren’t here? That my life and the kids’ lives would somehow be better if you weren’t around anymore? Has it been telling you that?”

“How did we get onto this? I was just asking you not to go off on Riley. That she was only trying to help and…”

“Please don’t do that. Deflect. I’m scared too. It frightens me that you found it so easy to take those pills. That you didn’t even stop to think of what could happen. How it could have killed you and what that would have done to me. And the kids. That isn’t like you; you weigh options and you analyze every scenario and you consider every possible consequence. So I need to know. Did you take those pills because your brain is telling you that you’re better off dead?”

“Esme…”

“Tyler…” her voice cracks with emotion and she valiantly fights back against a flood of threatening tears. “...I need you to tell me the truth. I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with here. I need to know just how serious this is. I need you to tell me what’s REALLY going on in your head. So we can get past this and figure shit out and work on how to help you.

“I don’t…”

“I know you’re just trying to protect me. And believe me, I love you so much for that. The fact you’ve always protected me. No matter what. But right now I need to know the truth. Or we won’t get past this. Do you want to die?”

He swallows heavily. “Sometimes.”

“When was the last time you thought of it? When you felt that way?”

“Couple days ago.”

She briefly looks away in an attempt to control her emotions. “That night you took the fentanyl? Did you want to die then?”

He nods.

“Jesus….” she rakes a hand through her hair, then places it over her mouth; tears managing to escape. “...I mean, I was pretty sure you were going to say yes. We’ve been in this place before. I’ve taken a loaded gun out of your hand, for crying out loud. But to actually hear it…”

“I’m sorry, Me. I’m sorry that my brain is the way it is. I am so fucking sorry.”

“I know you can’t help it. I know it’s an illness and I know first hand how bad it can get. But I just…” she takes a deep, quivering breath and slowly releases it. “....I need to go and get some air or something. I need to just get out and get my shit together. I need…”

“Baby….” he attempts to move his hands to her shoulders, but is foiled when she takes a step backwards.

“I need to get out of here. Just for an hour. Just to clear my head and accept this and figure out a way to deal with it. It’s not you, Tyler. You realize that, right? Please tell me you realize that.”

“I do. I do realize that.”

“I just don’t know how much more I can take,” she admits. “I am so close to breaking and if that happens, I won’t be of any use to you. Or the kids. I just need some fresh air and a chance to get myself together and come to terms with this. With just how bad it actually is. Can you give me that? Just that little bit of time?”

“Of course I can.”

“It’s not you,” she repeats, and moves closer to him. Once more perching herself on top of his feet; both arms reaching up to circle his neck. “I need you to know it’s not you.”

“I know that, Me.” He cradles her face in his palms; fingers gently brushing away the tears that glisten on her face. “Just tell me you’re coming back. That you’re not just going to walk out of here and leave me and our kids. Tell me…”

“I’m not leaving you. Or them. I just need some time. An hour, even. Just to get my shit together. Just to sort through all of this stuff in my head. I’m not going anywhere, Tyler. I’m not walking away from you. From our family. From US. That isn’t even an option.”

“I’m just worried you’re going to walk out and realize it’s just too much. That I’M too much.”

“That’s not going to happen,” she assures him. “I love you. My whole world begins and ends with you. I need to be able to help you. And right now? I don’t think I can. I feel like I'm drowning. Or like I’m walking on really thin ice and one bad step is just going to pull me under. And I need to be okay. I need to be strong. For you.”

“I need you to be strong for YOURSELF. Why haven’t you told me any of this? About how you’re feeling? Being this close to the edge? Why…?”

“Not right now, okay? I’m going to go and get dressed and get some air. And when I come back, we’ll talk. We’ll get TJ and Millie and Alannah to watch everyone and we’ll sit down and talk. Get it all out in the open. BEFORE Riley gets here. I’m coming home, you know. It’s not like I’m disappearing off the face of the earth. I WILL be back.”

“And I’ll be here. No matter long how it takes.”

“An hour,” she promises, and turns her face up to his when he leans down to kiss her. “I didn’t lose you to Dhaka,” she says, and places her hands over his; eyes closing as his lips press against her forehead. “And I sure as hell won’t lose you to your own mind.”