#also her best nine are almost all from runaways/the past two months

[elena-alvares]

Ariela Barer on Instagram in 2017

[shofics]

So tumblr ate the ask (thanks! I hate it!) but @knifemartin sent the prompt 13. pirate au but make it... sky pirates with Earhart, Zolf, Sasha, and Wilde! This got frighteningly long so I had to put it under a cut, I hope you enjoy my ramblings. <3 They’re going to kill a dragon!!

I think I genuinely might clean this up and make it into a proper fic. Watch this space. 

Zolf Smith is a miner. Zolf Smith dreams of the sky. Zolf Smith kills his brother. Zolf Smith takes flight.  

The Meritocracy doesn't have air forces- don’t really need ‘em when you’re a huge fuck-off dragon who can fly- but they’re worried about the increased presence the separatists are having in the skies above their lands, so they’re building one. Zolf leaps upon it like a life raft.

When the ship goes down, there are two reasons he doesn’t die; his past, and his god.

The Reliant answers the emergency call, and that surprises Zolf- a known separatist vessel, making an attempt to save the crew of a ship in the Meritocratic Air Force- but a lot of things surprise him about Captain Earhart. It’s not the Reliant’s fault that he is the only survivor. It is due to the Reliant that there is an only survivor at all.

His family were Harlequins. Captain Earhart recognises him, visits him in the sick bay as her medics do their best to save his legs, asks after his father, asks after his brother. Gives an understanding nod when he refuses to speak about them. Offers him a job, because he desperately needs one.

It’s a lot all at once, and they can’t save his legs, but he finds he doesn’t need them. Dwarves don’t have the build that most of the Hermes lot have, but he’s never let not fitting in stop him. The feeling of the wind in the rigging is like wings on ankles he doesn’t have anymore. He’s freer than he’s been his entire life.

//

When he is thirteen years old, Brock Rackett successfully makes it out of Other London and out of the clutches of the Rackett clan by chopping off his ring finger and escaping on the first air vessel that will take him. At least, this is what Sasha believes. She’s sad he left without her, but she knows well that when an opportunity comes, you take it. She hopes he made it out safe.

Nine years later, at twenty-two, Sasha’s opportunity finally comes. She heads for the aeroport. Maybe she’ll be able to find him.

Barrett’s men are following her, she can feel them on her tail all through the crowd like a bad smell; she needs a cover, needs somewhere to hide. There’s a drunk in the corner of the bar, some once-foppish-looking dandy, and Sasha decides to make him her cover.

She slides into the seat next to him and tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, but the drunkard starts and leaps to his feet, swaying. “Keep your trousers on,” she hisses, jumping up to pull him back down in front of her- he’s tall enough, he should provide good cover.

The man staggers out of her grip and produces a dagger from nowhere. He tries to fend her off with it- poorly- and then his eyes roll up and he collapses. Sasha just barely manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

//

Wilde knows the Meritocracy is crumbling. He can feel it in the air; something big is coming, something very bad, and he really doesn’t want to be here when it finally arrives.

Though maybe the sense of impending doom he’s getting is just from lack of sleep. But he’s sure that’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

So he puts his bardic talents and his espionage training to work, following the trail of the odd orders and the disappearing agents, and realises quickly that if he stays, he’ll probably end up disappearing as well- or worse, become one of the people giving the odd, conflicting orders. He doesn’t know what that’s about. He doesn’t want to find out.

Wilde fakes his own death in the hopes it will throw off the scent, and decides, like so many others seeking the separatists, to head for the Americas.

In a bar at the aeroport he is accosted by a mugger, and he knew he was being conspicuous, but with everything blurring and the ringing in his ears he’s in no shape to properly defend himself. Instead of killing him, though, the dark figure hauls him up and runs.

He’s not lucid enough to take in the scene of the room she drags him into, and so he doesn’t resist as someone snaps something cold around his wrist, and he at long last sinks into a deep and dreamless sleep.

//

Earhart knew the look of people like Zolf Smith- lost, angry, needing. She’s seen plenty of it, in her years as an airship captain, because there are only a few reasons why people set out for the skies. And so she took him on, and he proved a fantastic first mate, knew his stuff inside and out and indulged her more reckless tendencies.

Plus, he’d been fleeing the Meritocracy. That automatically put him in Earhart’s good books.

Famous (and infamous) Harlequin airship captain Amelia Earhart was, by that point, becoming famous and infamous enough to become a thorn in the Meritocrats’ sides. They decided to target her. The fact that they tried to take down the Reliant was not her fault. The fact that she turned the whole ship around to attack back, causing a wreck that killed almost all of her crew and blew the Reliant into unsalvageable bits… that was.

The only reason she hasn’t drunk herself to death by this point is her ‘fantastic’ first mate (she’s regretting that now, in an angry way), who for some unknowable reason is unwilling to let the guilt swallow her whole.

//

Zolf Smith was an airman. Zolf Smith dreams of gods and wings and roads not taken. Zolf Smith is given a choice. Zolf Smith chooses no.

Zolf Smith loses his magic.

Earhart is trying to die, and he’s doing his best without access to his healing magic, but it won’t work forever, not when she’s this determined to let herself waste into nothing. He’s not good at talking, and that’s what she really needs- someone to talk to. Someone to listen. But he’s got no legs, and he’s got no magic, and he’s got almost no hope left, and nowhere to go.

They take refuge in a seedy bar in the closest aeroport and report the crash; two survivors, him and Earhart. They’ve been there a month and a half when the door to their room bursts open and a terrified kid with dark shaggy hair and an enormous jacket practically falls through the doorway, lugging an unconscious man in a blue and green waistcoat.

For a split second they all just stare at each other- everyone except for the unconscious man, of course, being as he is unconscious (and bleeding, from the nose and from the ears, and Zolf may not have magical healing but he has medical training and he knows that’s bad)- and then the kid drops her charge like a sack of potatoes, slams the door closed, and dives under the bed.

“Are you in trouble?” is all Zolf asks, and the kid nods, petrified and utterly silent. “Fine. Stay there.”

The unconscious man begins to shake and cry out as Zolf manhandles him into his bed, as though having a nightmare. He wakes with a scream, eyes wide and terrified. Someone bangs on the door. “Do you mind?” Zolf yells. “Little busy in here!”

The door bursts open a second time- those poor hinges- and two men of the kind who aren’t holding knives until you look at them from the right angle, and then they definitely are, and they’re pointed right at you, appear in the doorway. They take in the sickroom and the man with the two prosthetic legs, look nonplussed for a second, and then one nudges the other and tells him to “get a move on, she’s in here somewhere,” and they disappear down the hall.

Zolf pulls the door shut behind them and goes back over to the man in the waistcoat. It takes a bit of figuring out, but eventually, in desperation- the man is obviously dying- Zolf fishes out the anti-magical handcuffs issued to him as soldier and medic in the Meritocratic Air Forces, and clips one around his wrist. He goes limp.

He turns around to find the dark haired kid staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “Were they lookin’ for you?” he asks, and her eyes narrow.

“Why do you want to know?” she asks defensively- as though they could be looking for anyone else. The kid has ‘runaway’ written all over her.

“‘Cause I’m tryin’ to save your life,” Zolf snaps, and that seems to shock her, “so if you could work with me here, that’d be great, I’ve got enough on my plate tryin’ to save her life-” jerks a thumb to Earhart- “and apparently this one’s as well-” to the now asleep man taking up his bed. “Who are you? Who’s he?”

“I dunno,” says the kid, “he just kind of fell over.”

//

Sasha does not make the decision to trust him then. She doesn’t even tell him her name. She makes the decision to trust him when he tells her, a day later, as they sit against the wall and watch the man in the waistcoat mumble in his sleep, that he used to work on an airship.

“I’m Sasha,” she says. “Can I come with you?”

The white-haired dwarf named Zolf Smith- he looks too young to have white hair, but Sasha knows not to judge from appearances- grimaces. “I mean,” he says. “Dunno why you’d want to.”

“I want to see the sky,” says Sasha, who has spent her entire life underground. Zolf looks at her and seems to see something in her that pains him.

“I dunno where I’m goin’,” he warns her mournfully, looking back at Earhart, who is also sleeping. “But you can come with if you want. ‘S your choice.”

He doesn’t ask Sasha’s surname. She decides to trust him.

//

The name of the man in the bed next to her is Oscar Wilde, and Earhart starts frantically reaching for a gun, any gun, forgetting in her automatic fury that Zolf had taken them all off her weeks ago. A Meritocratic agent-

“Ex-agent,” says Wilde politely. “Please don’t shoot me, Captain, I’ve almost died once this week and I’m not really eager to repeat the experience.”

Earhart feels more lucid than she has in ages as she listens to him describe the strange series of events that brought him there, how sure he is that something is brewing within the Meritocracy’s upper ranks, the disaster that is coming. She can feel Zolf’s eyes on her as all her grief and guilt and despair and boiling anger calcify inside of her.

Wilde is like her, like Zolf, like Sasha- lost, angry, needing.

Wilde has information she can use.

“Mr. Wilde,” Earhart says, her voice hoarse with disuse but filled with more fire than she’s felt since the crash, “you are going to help me kill a dragon.”

//

She didn’t like him at first- he talked down to her, and his posh affectations grated on principle- but Sasha has to admit that Wilde is smart. She stares in disbelieving wonder as he produces a bag of holding full to the brim with more gold pieces than she’s ever seen in her life. His Meritocratic funding, he tells the spellbound group, because he can spellbind even without his magic. He liquified as many assets as he felt he could get away with before leaving.

“Pick a ship,” he says, “any ship. We can buy it. No need to steal.”

“We’ll need elementals,” Earhart says. “At least two.”

Wilde turns to Zolf. “You’re a cleric, aren’t you?” he says. “You can summon elementals.”

“Not anymore,” Zolf bites.

“Why?”

Zolf makes a face. “I don’t- when- okay.” He sighs. “Look-” and casts Spark into the fireplace. He jumps back in shock.

“I… don’t see the problem?” Wilde says after a good minute of silence, looking from the roaring flames back to Zolf. Sasha gets up and goes to dry her hair by the fire; the weather around the ports has been awful lately. Zolf stares into the flames in surprise.

//

Zolf Smith was a cleric. Zolf Smith dreams of a new ship. Zolf Smith finds a team, full of people who need healing, the kind he can now provide. Zolf Smith has hope.

[coffeecaffineandeverythinginbtwn]

Here is my @maribat-secret-santa-2020 gift for @liquid-luck-00

I’m really sorry It’s not finished (i had trouble finishing it due to school and some rough mental health problems) but I will be posting the outline so you can know the rest of what I had planned!

again i’m so so so sorry it’s not done. happy new year! please enjoy!

:readmore:

Marinette and the Runaway Assassin

~

Marinette Grason and the Runaway Assassin

The first thing they could remember was always flying.

Their parents always told them that the first thing a Grayson ever did was fly.

Whether it be him tossing his sister in the air as she did flips, or flying on the low swing trapeze with his mother and father. they were born soaring.

Their family was the best of the best. Humans with the agility and grace of birds. Their family never stayed on the ground for long. Nothing could keep a Grayson on the ground.

Until they fell.

Their wonderful parents never flew again.

~

Dick was trying his best to keep it together, for his sister, but the pain was almost too much. He was just 16. What was he supposed to do now? He wasn’t of age to care for Marinette and he certainly didn't have much money at all.

It was two days after the fall that killed their parents. Dick had cried himself to sleep, so full of grief, stress and uncertainty the night before. He wanted, no, needed to keep his sister safe, but what were they supposed to do? Live on the street? Marinette deserved better than that. Not to mention her schooling. There was just so many things he needed to think about he had no idea if they’d ever even survive -

A knock sounded at the door, startling Dick from his thoughts.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice came from behind the door, “I would like to speak to a mister Dick Grayson.” With those words the pit inside his stomach grew. It was probably some social worker coming to separate him from the only family he had left.

Dick opened the door and saw a large man with dark hair and blue eyes in a suit, “If you’re here to take me and my sister to some orphanage, leave now. It’s not going to happen. Get lost.” Dick, the normally polite boy, ended his statement by quickly closing the door.

“Wait!” The man jumped in, using his foot to jam the door. “I’m not a social worker. Mister Grayson I presume?” Dick just narrowed his eyes and nodded his head, “My name is Bruce Wayne. I was hoping to come to an arrangement that would greatly help you and your sister.

Dick had the urge to scoff, but he let the man, Bruce, continue.

“You see, I lost my parents at a young age as well. I want to make you and Miss Marinette my wards. You two would both get to live in my manor with your own room and have all the things you two would need to live a happy life. And you would not be separated. This can all happen effective immediately, as soon as you say the word. So, What do you say?”

This was insane. It was everything he and Mari could need. They could lead a normal, safe, and good life. There were so many goods that could come of this and yet…

Graysons are never tied to the ground my little robin. We must never be afraid to spread our own wings and soar. We are free spirits and we fly our own way.

With only that thought in his head, his ressove hardened.

“While I appreciate the offer Mister Wayne, I’m afraid I have to decline.” He began, “My parents used to say that we should never let ourselves be tied down. They were free-spirited and loved to travel. I want my sister and I to continue their legacy.”

Bruce looked a little shocked at this, and also a bit put out., but he quickly covered it with a determined look of his own.

“I see. If I cannot assist with housing, please let me help in any other way possible. Money is no issue, I can promise you that.” Bruce looked so ready to help them. And hell, if they couldn't use the help.

Dick was at a loss for words, “I- Mister Wayne- I can’t thank you enough!” Marinette would get to have the life their parents would have wanted for her. He didn’t have to worry about money any more. They could be free and go where the wind would take them. This flood of relief he felt did ease his grief a little for only a moment. It was one weight lifted off his shoulders.

“It’s the least I could do Mister Grayson.” He nodded, looking a bit relieved himself.

“Please, call me Dick Mister Wayne.” At that Bruce’s mouth quirked upwards the tiniest bit.

“Only if you call me Bruce.”

~

Over the next few years, Dick and Marinette went everywhere imaginable, traveling with the circus.

Eventually they decided to travel at their own pace. Marinette instided they spend more time in their favorite countries. They spent a few months in each, both gathering a love for each culture and language. Marinette especially took a bit of every country with her, absorbing each like a sponge.

Without the circus to keep them active in their travels and with barely any means to keep themselves protected, Dick and Marinette accumulated a mesh of different fighting styles. Neither ever truly mastered one, but both fought in a way very specific to them.

~

Currently somewhere in Italy, the two were waiting for one of their mentors to arrive for a meeting.

“Duckie!!” Marinette, now nine, ran to her brother with that particular spark in her eye, “Duckie! Guess what!”

Dick, smiled a little at the familiar nickname, “What’s up Nettie?”

Marinette jumped up and down excitedly. “Look what I can do!”

The small girl smiled and ran a little ways into the field nearby and did three handsprings to the shock, and pride of her brother.

“Good job Marinette,“ A voice that was not Dick‘s called from behind them, “I’m glad to see that you are improving well.”

An overall average looking man in his late 30’s wearing a firm, yet warm expression walked towards them.

Their mentor, Malachi Dobraski.

“Uncle Chi!” The Marinettw siblings voiced, running to him.

Malachi’s mouth turned upwards at the sibling’s outburst. “Yes, yes I have finally arrived. You two are, of course, ever so humbled to be in my presence.” There was a stretch of silence before the three burst out in laughter.

“Wonderful to see you two as always.” He said as he bent down to give Marinette a hug.

“So what did you need Malachi? You never call meetings so early in the month.” Dick said as he turned to face him.

Malachi hummed in an impressed manner, “Very astute Richard. I asked you here today because I wanted you to meet a friend of mine I had mentioned earlier. Gina, If you remember.”

At the mention of the woman Marinette perked up, The one who travels all around the world like us? We really get to meet her?” She topped off her questions with a wiggle of excitement.

“We’ll have to see about that Nettie.” Dick spoke fondly as he smiled at his sister’s antics. He then turned his attention to Malachi, “Will she be in town soon? You’re rarely one to throw out praise for no reason and you’ve spoken highly of her in the past.”

“She is a lady well deserving of my praise, Richard. To answer your question, yes. Ms. Gina will be in town Thursday evening.” their mentor said with another small grin.

Dick hummed while tapping his chin, “That’s about two days from now. Unfortunately me and Mari probably won’t be able to meet with her right away. We’re tied up until Saturday I believe. Will she be in town for long?”

“Gina is a free spirit, so it’s hard to say. However she has been interested in you two since I mentioned I was taking students again. I expect she’ll stay long enough to meet you.”

“That’s great!” Dick said, as cheerful as ever, “That settles it then.”

“Yay! We get to meet aunt Gina!” Marinette exclaimed, jumping up and down.

Instead of correcting his sister, Dick just shook his head with a laugh. Why does everyone we hear of instantly become family?

~

Marinette sat at a tall table in a quiet cafe. Her tiny legs swung eagerly underneath her as she hummed to herself. Her brother was up at the counter ordering their drinks. She was sketching, or trying to. It was really hard to focus when she was so full of jitters.

Today was the day they were supposed to meet Ms. Gina and while Marinette was excited, she was just as, if not more, nervous. She has always been this way with new people.

————————

That is the end of what i have written BUT NOW the outline:

Section One

Dick is older in this 16/17

Mari is 5 or 6

They grow up with their parents, until they die, again.

Dick is old enough to be emancipated/take custody of Mari

(Bruce didn’t adopt them but he helped Dick get emancipated and gave them loads of money)

Their parents were free spirits and loved to travel

Dick decides they should keep that alive.

The two stay with the circus traveling for around a year

And they continue to travel for 1 or 2 years

They meet Gina

Dick kinda wants to settle down Gina recommends Paris

They go to Paris

They get an apartment (thank you plot convenient Bruce money)

(she’s around 10 or 11 now. He’s 19 or 20 now)

Dick wants Mari to make friends or get a feel for regular school so she goes to FD

Section Two

Separately, Damian and the league are in turmoil (the coup happens)

Thalia might die Idk

Damian, not knowing what else to do, flees to Paris?

Tom and Sabine have always wanted children but were never successful

They find this aggressive child on the streets of course they take him in

Damian would grumble about their ‘lower status’ but would of course be secretly grateful and surprised at the unconditional love and care he receives from T and S

Section THree

Back to Mari

Being raised by Dick, she learned to be true to herself and also headstrong

She takes no crap from Chloé

(She eventually learns of her situation with her mother and they become less aggressive towards each other)

(she also learns a lot of different skills and fashion things)

Section Four

Damian arrives at FD

(He’s like 10 or 11 Mari is like 11)

Damian and Mari are both ahead of the curriculum (Both home schooled) same class

She is her kind self, doesn't know anyone else well and Dami is another new kid.

They stick together out of a sort of necessity

He’s cold at first but (go figure) he softens for her eventually

They slowly grow closer as friends

Dick becomes another behaviour mentor and Brother esq figure to Dami

Dick also sees Daminette’s in love right away

He teases Mari about it

Bada Boom they're 13 now

Section Five

Miraculos canon GO

Mari gets ladybug Dami gets cat

Mari doesn't get a crush on Adrien (the gum incident doesn’t happen because Chlo and Mari are on better terms)

Mari and Dami both immediately recognize each other in costume

Mari’s outfit is black with red detailing sans her cape/glider that’s full red with the five black spots. Has deep red boots that go up to the knee. Her ribbons are longer and can detach to use as a makeshift ribbon dance things (she also goes by Ladybird instead of Ladybug)

Damian’s outfit is his assassin outfit but black and tan undertones with cat ears (his pupils don’t change to slits) Damian goes by Leopard

Dick notices a change immediately He confronts Mari, She caves and tells him too

(She consequently reveals Damian’s Identity as well. No one could have that kind of chemistry with Mari that quickly)

He signs her up for many martial arts classes (She already had training in a few, picking up a lot from her travels)

Damian also helps train Mari in some ~Assassin Skills~

Basically, they’re bad asses.

The only thing stopping them from defeating Hawkey boy quickly is the fact that they can’t find where he is

Section Six

Moving on, Salt

Lila happens

Lila still sets her sights on Adrian (he’s got money at this point Damian is just a baker's boy to Lila.

Lila isolates the two from the rest of the class, even more so than they already were

Damian thinks the class are even bigger idiots

Lila is still an awful person and wants to make both Dami and Mari’s live miserable

Lila tries to go to Dick about Mari “bullying” her

He laughs in her face (he choses laughter instead of seething anger. thanks Hawky)

Lila then tries to get through to Tom and Sabine about Damian

This time it works, they have less reason to trust Damian (and he was also a major prick when they first took him in

(this happens over a year or so. Lila slowly gaining the trust of the class and Tom and Sabine)

The environment gets very toxic Dami and Mari decide to leave the school and go to online schooling (like at college level)

Section Seven

Time skip. They are 16 now

The two have had feelings for a while, they now realize them

Dami is less emotionally stunted, having both Dick and Mari around (Tom and Sabine too but they kinda suck now) so he doesn’t panic much

Mari is full panic mode

Dick is just in the corner all smug-like. (“you didn’t know you loved him? I’ve known this for years”)

Que pining

Lots of pining

There’s some angst, Tom and Sabine are negligent towards Damian (not mean but still neglectful)

He ends up staying with Dick and Mari more often than not

Eventually they both confess after a particularly rough akuma battle (the one where mari becomes the guardian?)

Both of them almost watched the other die. That was too heartbreaking for either of them to not confess

So they are together now.

It was an easy transition, they were already married pretty much

They’ve already figured out who Hawky boy is. They just need evidence

They get evidence. They also discover Lila was working with him

They take care of the Hawkmoth situation

Section Eight

Everything is good now right? Wrong

Batman Finally goes to Paris once Hawky is defeated,

(he kept in touch with Dick all these years and knew what was going on, {He practically became their “uncle Bruce”} He only stayed away cuz Hawkmoth)

When Damian sees Bruce visiting Mari’s House he freezes,

Mari: “what's wrong Dami?”

Dami: *whispers in her ear*

M: “He’s your WHAT???”

D; *whispers more*

M: “I- You- Um- WHAT”

D: *walks up to Bruce* “Hello, I know this is an odd way to meet but I am sure you know of Thalia Al’ Ghoul.” *B nods wairily* “Yes, well, I am your son. And unfortunately hers as well.”

“Yes, I’d be perfectly happy to do a blood test.”

Dick and Mari are shook

“Damian, You must come to live with me in Gotham”

Dun

Dun

Dunnnnnn!!!!!

End Part One

Again I am sincerely sorry I was not able to complete this story in time. Like I said before, I will (maybe/probably) be finishing this and planning a part two! I hope you enjoyed! (even though it’s the first fanfic i’ve written)

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Nine

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Fernstar?”

The little leader blinked hard, trying to get the blur of sleepiness out of her eyes, and looked up at Viceroyclaw.

“We ought to rest a bit,” she murmured, her wide head close to Fernstar’s to keep their conversation private. “It’s been daylight for a while now, and…”

“I know.” Fernstar sighed and looked behind her. Her collective of Fleet cats, from the powerful patrollers to the scrawny scouts, were boldly following after her, but she could see that they were just as exhausted as she was.

As clearly as her tiredness would allow, she announced, “We’ll stop for a few hours. Let’s get as much sleep as we can before we continue. The trail is still fresh.”

There was a collective sigh of relief. Fernstar stopped a few steps away, where a smooth stone allowed her to climb onto it as a perch. She nodded to everyone, and they all barely took more than a step before curling up where they were, eyes shutting at a record pace. Even Fogpetal only did a quick scan of their surroundings before lying down herself. Viceroyclaw jumped onto the stone with Fernstar, lying close enough that their fur brushed. Fernstar didn’t even acknowledge her guard – drowsiness muffled her thoughts, and she swiftly fell asleep.

When she awoke again, she felt much more alert, but she frowned. Something had scratched at the back of her mind in her sleep, just beyond her hearing, and she wasn’t sure what it was.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Boarpaw was walking past her and paused to rear up a little and meet her at eye level. “You had a bad dream or somethin’?”

Fernstar squinted, focusing, then shook her head. “It’s nothing. Where’s Viceroyclaw?”

“She went huntin’ with Glorypelt and Newtbite. Said they’d be back soon.”

“Good.” Fernstar glanced sideways. The rest of the Fleet were still asleep in the midday sun, which she could see was slowly drying the dew and mud. The warmth sank through her fur and eradicated the last of her shivers. She stretched and yawned. “If you’re tired, you can keep sleeping.”

“Oh, no, ma’am, I’m fine,” Boarpaw said quickly, standing tall. “I was keepin’ watch, ‘case someone came up on us.”

Fernstar gave him a patiently amused smile. “We’re the ones ‘coming up’ on someone.”

Boarpaw looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, voice quieter. “Well, just bein’ sure.”

“Rest a little more, Boarpaw,” Fernstar ordered in about as gentle of a voice as she could. “We’ll be fine.”

Boarpaw shuffled again, opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then nodded sheepishly and walked away, lying down with his fellow Fleet members. Fernstar restrained a chuckle when she heard him start snoring mere moments later.

The wind picked up a little, parting Fernstar’s fur and sending ripples through the grass in the flatland they were resting in. Fernstar watched the shimmering waves, contemplating whether to sleep again herself or to wait for the hunting patrol to return.

Entirely too soon, her thoughts turned to the current mission, and that disappointed hurt clutched at her heart again. Memories of Redheart as an apprentice directing adults in hunts or solving disputes for her juniors almost made Fernstar’s smile return. When Redheart’s mother had died, she’d gone through a change in activity. Not that she hadn’t been a hard worker before, but suddenly she was foregoing sleep to handle problems and somehow transforming the rowdy Clast cats into a respectable family – or about as respectful as they could get while still getting to wrestle for fun. Fernstar hadn’t waited more than a month or two after her naming ceremony before appointing her as the new deputy, and no one had been surprised. There had, of course, been arguments that Redheart was too young, but anyone who’d known her for even a week knew that she was the best choice. Everyone expected her to become leader one day. So had Fernstar.

So what changed?

Try as she might, Fernstar couldn’t figure it out. Going from being a loyal member of the Clan, working up the ranks to eventual leadership, to recruiting cats to leave the Territory with no end goal stated… there wasn’t a connection that she could think of. Redheart had always been sensible and collected, and she had always made it known that she believed in building a better future for the next generation. Abandoning the safest place in the known world (small as the world was) with expecting queens and apprentices in tow was the complete opposite. It just didn’t make sense.

What also didn’t make sense was the sudden turning of the spies. Mistface, at least, Fernstar could understand. He and Greyleaf were in a very tightly bonded family – Mistface had only been recruited because he was the one cat Greyleaf would trust above anyone else, except perhaps their mother. But the others had no reason to ditch their post and follow Redheart wherever she had gone. Laurelclaw was a very meek, peaceful boy, and Beetlefoot was dedicated to his role as a member of the Fleet. Neither of them seemed like the types to run off.

The really odd one was Darkpelt. Fernstar was very familiar with the spy. She was crafty and practical, and took great pleasure in her work. She had been used by the leaders plenty of times, dropping by to give them reports of troublemakers or ambitious deputies to watch out for. Any cat that hired her to find out information would find their time well spent and the price of prey and herbs easy to hand over. She barely ever demanded payment anyway; she just loved being a secret pair of ears.

This sort of cat did not seem to be the sort to foolishly walk off after a wanted molly. Someone in Clast had recalled overhearing her mention that she ‘had a job to do’, but as far as Fernstar was concerned, her mission was completed. All she needed to do was give her report and then wait for the investigation to be done, potentially followed by a trial (which was now almost certain, as much as Fernstar hated to admit it). Darkpelt had never lingered on spying before. She’d release her information to the leaders and leave it at that until she was called back.

What had Redheart said or done that was so compelling that this particular spy wanted to follow her? Was there something she hadn’t told the others, or the leaders?

“Fernstar.”

Fernstar flinched out of her contemplation. Viceroyclaw had managed to get almost in her face without her noticing, front paws on the stone she rested on, a ground squirrel in her jaws.

“I brought you something,” Viceroyclaw mumbled around the prey.

“Oh-“ Fernstar sat up. “Thank you. Did you catch something for yourself?”

Viceroyclaw nodded at something on the ground. She placed the squirrel at Fernstar’s feet before ducking down and retrieving a much smaller mouse.

Fernstar managed to not snort. “I think this squirrel would be better suited for you.”

Viceroyclaw blinked, confused, before glancing down at the squirrel which was a third of Fernstar’s size and murmuring, “Ohhh…” She replaced the squirrel with the mouse and climbed onto the stone, sitting across from her leader and tucking in quietly.

The two ate for a bit, Fernstar observing the other two hunters waking up their friends with lunch. She waited until she had finished her meal and Viceroyclaw was slowing down on hers before speaking.

“I just can’t understand,” she said. “This whole situation is so bizarre.”

Viceroyclaw hummed and looked up with her eyes, an indication that she was listening as she continued chewing.

“It seems to have come out of nowhere,” Fernstar went on, half to herself. “Redheart isn’t like this. And Darkpelt and her team leaving with her…” She looked at her high deputy. “Do you have any ideas why this is happening?”

Viceroyclaw chomped once, twice, swallowed, and cleared her throat. “No. But I don’t really think it matters, the ‘why’. She and Greyleaf did what they did. They should be punished for it.”

Fernstar’s face must have fallen, because Viceroyclaw hurried to add, “Or at least handled. Whatever you and the others decide to do.”

“Right,” Fernstar muttered. She looked back at the Fleet cats, who were all chatting while they ate. They were all so tightly bonded together – some would argue for them being even closer than any of the regular families’ members. She had no doubt that if one of them were in Redheart’s position, at least a few of these cats would follow them into the night. They were loyal that way.

But as far as Fernstar knew, there was no loyalty to anyone in the runaway group except Mistface to Greyleaf, and Greyleaf to him and Redheart. The apprentice, Littlepaw, was supposedly followed by her pseudo-mentor, so there was a connection there, but they didn’t have anything to do with any part of this. What part of a former seer’s dreams encouraged her to just walk off after an almost-certain-to-be criminal? Wouldn’t StarClan have told her to stay away from Redheart, if they still spoke with her?

Would they find other cats? Would they attempt to recruit evacuees again? Who would go with them anywhere?

A light flickered in Fernstar’s head.

She could think of at least one cat. Perhaps one that they were already on the way to collecting.

“Fogpetal!” she called.

The Fleet deputy raised her head up from the remains of her vole and stood up, excusing herself from the conversation she was in. She trotted up to the rock and silently stood at attention.

“Do you know if the Vultures have moved from their position?” Fernstar asked.

Fogpetal shook her head. “They should still be there. They have kits to raise, from what I heard.”

“Good.” Fernstar was surprised by her own sigh of relief. “Then I want two of these cats to make their way over to their camp and guard Greyleaf’s mother. Her name is Nettlecloud – she’s a grey, elderly molly.”

“Oh.” Fogpetal’s eyes widened in realization. “I see. I can have them collect more guards on the way there, if you’d like.”

“That would be good,” Fernstar said. “Send whoever you think is appropriate. Whoever can at least hold back a healer and his Scattered brother.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Fogpetal said, joking.

Fernstar narrowed her eyes. “We may be surprised.”

Fogpetal immediately went serious again, dipped her head in respect, and returned to her party. Fernstar heard her speaking to them and giving orders. In a moment, a grey-brown tom named Thrashercloud and the tortoiseshell Newtbite set off at a loping canter, calling their 'goodbye's and 'good luck's to the others. Fernstar could respect that they didn’t waste any time.

Fogpetal looked back at Fernstar. “Shall we keep moving?”

“Yes.” Fernstar got up. “Before this trail dries up. Everyone ready?”

The Fleet cats immediately followed after their deputy, all confirming that they were good to go. Fernstar didn’t waste any time either – she jumped off of the stone, Viceroyclaw right next to her, and looked at an approaching Boarpaw.

“Can you track a scent?” she asked.

“Oh, of course!” Boarpaw brightened up, looking much more awake. “Me and my mentor, we can do it.”

“Then the two of you will run south, ahead of us, and make sure the trail doesn’t turn anywhere.”

“Right away.” Boarpaw immediately took off at a run, his pale ginger mentor jogging after him with a slightly frazzled smile to Fernstar.

“The rest of you, follow me,” she said to the patrol, and walked forward, ignoring a pang of guilt. “We have hunting to do.”

[northernindigenousbeautyhailey]

TAMRA JEWEL KEEPNESS.

FEW CHILDREN IN CANADA JUST VANISH. Fewer still stay gone for longer than a couple of days. Some are found alive, others are hurt or killed, but rarely does a child simply disappear. The RCMP’s National Centre for Missing Persons and Unidentified Remains database lists 147 missing children, in a country of more than 35 million people. Of the sixty children under the age of twelve, a quarter are thought to have been abducted by their parents. A large portion of the others were lost to apparent accidents or misadventure, falling through ice or swept away in the pull of wild rivers, their bodies never recovered. The database shows twenty-four children in the past sixty years who have inexplicably disappeared. Because there are so few, we know them. In Edmonton, there is Tania Murrell, six when she vanished while walking home from school for lunch in January 1983. In Toronto, Nicole Morin, eight when she disappeared from a condominium building in July 1985. Michael Dunahee was four years old when he went missing from a playground in Victoria in 1991. In Regina, there is only Tamra Keepness.

THE LAST TIME anyone saw Tamra, she was five years old, with bobbed black hair and soft, round cheeks. In one picture, she wears a T-shirt dotted with flowers, standing against the colourful collage of a classroom wall. Her smile is broad and open, her eyes lively. She was so smart that her mother called her “my little Einstein,” so feisty that when a little boy pushed her once, Tamra shoved him right back, and harder. She liked playing Mario Kart on Nintendo and climbing her favourite tree, down the block from her house.

July 6, 2004, was the first time Sergeant Ron Weir would hear Tamra’s name. He was getting ready to leave on vacation that day when he got an urgent call back to the police station. Weir was a veteran cop with the Regina Police Service and head of emergency services, which included search and rescue. In a meeting, officers from the major crimes unit laid out what they knew: sometime between the night of Monday, July 5, and the morning of Tuesday, July 6, a five-year-old girl had gone missing from her home in central Regina.

Weir had been a police officer for twenty years. He knew that kids often went missing and turned up safe a short time later. Sixty-five percent of missing children and teens are located within the first day, and almost 90 percent within the first week. But Weir also knew that Tamra was too young to get far as a runaway. Patrol officers had already checked the neighbourhood to make sure Tamra hadn’t wandered away or ended up at the house of a playmate or relative, as was often the case with missing children. They’d found nothing. Even in the early hours of the investigation, Weir suspected this case would be different.

TAMRA LIVED with her mother, stepfather, and five siblings at 1834 Ottawa Street, a shabby brown-and-white two-storey with a windowed porch at the front. The house stood between 11th and 12th avenues, just east of downtown Regina. The neighbourhood was a mix of long-time elderly residents, young families drawn by low prices for heritage houses, and ramshackle homes where residents struggled with poverty and addiction. The area was sometimes known as the “low stroll,” a place where women and girls sold their bodies for drugs or booze and men drove around looking to buy them, circling the neighbourhood in trucks and station wagons. Many of the women and girls who lived or worked in the area were First Nations, like Tamra. Long before calls for a federal inquiry into missing and murdered Indigenous women would dominate the political conversation, women were going missing from those streets. It was from that same area that nineteen-year-old Annette Kelly Peigan disappeared in 1983, followed by eighteen-year-old Patsy Favel in 1984 and Joyce Tillotson in 1993. Two years later, two young white men picked up a woman named Pamela George, sexually assaulted her, and beat her to death.

The last public development came in November 2014, when a Reddit user posted to the website a scrawled map with the words: “Location of Tamra Keepness, check the wells.”

Tamra’s house was less than a block from the Oskana Centre, a halfway house for federal parolees, and not far from the Salvation Army’s Waterston House, a residence and shelter inhabited by former inmates and men struggling with drugs, alcohol, and psychiatric issues. Residents of both facilities had been responsible for serious attacks in the past. Just four months earlier, convicted violent sex offender Randy Burgmann had lured a woman into his room at Waterston House with alcohol, before violently sexually assaulting her and leaving her beside a dumpster to die. The Oskana Centre had previously been home to both serial rapist Larry Deckert and Billy John Francis Whitedeer, who began committing violent sexual offences on children when he was ten years old. A few blocks farther was the Ehrle Hotel, one of the worst bars in town, from which patrons spilled soggy and staggering onto the sidewalk, and which appeared regularly in police reports and court testimony.

Police also had serious questions about what was happening at 1834 Ottawa Street. There was a broken window and blood spatter in the porch. Social Services had been involved with the family since not long after the oldest child was born in 1993, and there had been more than fifty reports made to crisis workers, most often about Tamra’s mother’s use of alcohol and drugs, and neglect of the children. Her mother’s boyfriend had a history of violence and domestic assault. In most cases, investigators knew, children are hurt by people closest to them.

POLICE STARTED with a thorough search of the area immediately around the home, then cast their efforts outward in an expanding grid. As the sun rose on the morning of July 7, 2004, the search effort intensified. First, there were ten officers, then twenty, then more. Some officers accompanied trained volunteer search teams; others questioned family members and potential witnesses, going door-to-door gathering leads or chasing down tips. The RCMP training academy provided cadets, and members of the public soon began arriving on their own to help.

Police set up a command-centre bus in the parking lot of a nearby church, from which Weir co-ordinated the search. Though it was an urban environment, the terrain posed serious challenges. The area was filled with overgrown yards, empty houses, piles of garbage. Tamra weighed forty pounds, and stood three foot five. There were so many places a child could hide or get trapped or be held, where a child’s body could be concealed or dumped. Searchers in orange vests worked in grids, knocking on doors, inspecting junked cars and crumbling garages, peering under discarded mattresses and piles of wood, looking down manholes. Police stopped garbage pickups, checking all the bins in the neighbourhood, the trash putrid and reeking in the summer heat. Some bins had already been emptied, so plans were made to search the dump as well.

And what if she had been taken farther? Not far away were industrial areas, large abandoned lots and buildings, Wascana Creek, and beyond that, the vast Prairie. With a thirteen-hour head start, someone in a vehicle could have had Tamra in Vancouver before she was reported missing.

When they were not speaking to police, members of Tamra’s family waited anxiously on the fringes, watching the searchers, eyeing the growing assembly of reporters and news crews holding out microphones and pointing camera lenses. “It’s not like her to go off by herself,” said Tamra’s father, Troy Keepness, sitting on the front steps of his ex-wife’s house, his voice tight with worry. “We’re trying to do our best to get her back.”

Weir worked in the command-centre bus, surrounded by maps and whiteboards. A scribe logged every aspect of the search in real time, recording ideas and progress. No one wanted to break, not for food or rest. Everyone knew the situation grew more serious with every passing hour. As the heat of the day gave way to evening, Weir stood outside and looked up. A strong wind had come in, and storm clouds were spreading, darkening the Prairie sky.

The next day, police strung crime-scene tape around Tamra’s house and the one next door, drawing it through the back alley and across six garages, long slashes of yellow dividing the street. Officers guarded the perimeter while forensic investigators went in and out of the house in boots and masks. “While we don’t have any direct evidence that Tamra has come to any harm, we also don’t know where she is,” police spokeswoman Elizabeth Popowich told reporters. “And if, in fact, this comes to a point where we determine that she’s come to some harm and it’s because of a criminal act, this location could potentially be the scene of some evidence.”

THERE WERE three adults in the house that evening: the children’s mother, Lorena Keepness; her boyfriend, Dean McArthur; and a family friend named Russell Sheepskin, who had been staying with the family. All three had come and gone during the night, and investigators were starting to question their movements. There were no signs of forced entry to the house, and there were gaps, inconsistencies in their timelines that didn’t make sense to investigators.

The story the three told publicly, compiled from various interviews, was that Lorena and McArthur got into an argument while watching a movie on Monday evening, and McArthur and Sheepskin left the house around 8:30 p.m. to go drinking. The men returned briefly to drop off a bottle of formula for the baby, then left again. Lorena went out around 11 p.m, kissing Tamra goodbye before she went. The oldest child in the house was ten-year-old Summer, the youngest was Lorena and McArthur’s nine-month-old baby. Lorena returned briefly to check on the children and then left again around midnight. At about 3 a.m., Sheepskin returned home drunk and saw Tamra sleeping on the couch. Not long after, McArthur got back to the house and assaulted Sheepskin on the porch, punching him through a window and then stomping on his head. (Both men later said the fight had nothing to do with Tamra.) Sheepskin walked alone to the hospital to get stitches, and McArthur went to stay at his aunt’s house a few blocks away. Though it should have been a short walk, he said he got lost and kept passing out as he walked there. He didn’t arrive for at least two hours, until 5 or 5:30 a.m. Meanwhile, Lorena got home around 3:15 or 3:30 a.m., climbed in through a window, and passed out on the couch. She said that she got up to undo the latch on the door for her mother around 8 or 9 a.m. and that the two eldest children, Summer and Rayne, left on their own in the morning to attend a summer day-camp. Lorena didn’t realize Tamra wasn’t there until about three hours later, when the five-year-old didn’t come downstairs. At 12:16 p.m., a family member called the police and told them Tamra was missing.

Rayne, who was eight, said he had gone to bed squeezed into the space between the wall and mattresses piled on the floor in an upstairs bedroom. He told his mother he felt Tamra get up at some point, the slight movement of a child’s weight. All he could remember was that it was light outside.

FRIDAY WAS hot again and wet from the previous night’s rain. An odour of decay hung in the air around Ottawa Street. Tamra had been gone three full days and become national news. Her picture seemed to be everywhere, hanging on street poles and store windows. In news stories, she became “missing five-year-old Tamra Keepness,” but more often she was just Tamra, as if we knew her. The front page of the Regina Leader-Post spoke directly to her, asking, “Tamra, Where Did You Go?”

Tips flooded in to police. On the street, there were rumours that Tamra had been seen at a dollar store with an older woman. Business owners in the neighbourhood said detectives had been looking for a middle-aged white man named Roch or Rocky, but police wouldn’t confirm whether that was related to the search. Lorena and McArthur said they gave police the names of five people they thought could be suspects, including a man who had befriended Tamra and later been discovered to be a pedophile. For a while, there was even a theory that Tamra had never existed at all, that she had been a scam to get extra money from Social Services. (Hospital records proved that was not the case.)

Searchers were coming from around the province to volunteer, streaming into the city from towns and First Nations communities, motivated by the faces of their own children or grandchildren to help in whatever way they could. “I’ve got a boy, and he’s twenty-one,” said Jerry Scott, one of the volunteers who joined the search. “And if he left, I’d go nuts, too.” Around the city, people organized vigils and barbecues, brought water and snacks for the searchers, wrapped ribbons around trees to show their support. Some left teddy bears and angels on the steps of Tamra’s house. Days of intensive searches had turned up lots of items that seemed as though they could be connected—clothing, a child’s shoe—but none of it belonged to Tamra. “I’m starting to go on different conclusions, like maybe someone took her, I don’t know,” Troy Keepness said. “I just hope nobody would hurt my daughter.”

WHEN Tamra had been gone a week, police announced they were suspending the ground searches. At a press conference, Regina police chief Cal Johnston announced a $25,000 reward for information and vowed, “We will find Tamra.” Police questioned sex offenders living in the area and obtained surveillance tapes from convenience stores, bars, gas stations, and the Greyhound bus depot nearby. Johnston confirmed that “criminal interference with Tamra is a distinct possibility” and drew attention back to Tamra’s house and family. “There were comings and goings from the house that night that remain not fully explained to our satisfaction, and we continue to ask those questions,” he told reporters. He would not elaborate.

Tamra’s family was growing increasingly angry at the police, and the strain of the situation was starting to show. Lorena told reporters she’d signed consent forms for police to search her house and had given her DNA, but still she felt as if they were focusing too much on her family and not enough on trying to find Tamra. She was angry that police hadn’t closed the highways out of the city and that there was no Amber Alert because police said it didn’t meet the criteria. “I’m fed up,” she told reporters. “They are wasting time. This is my little girl we’re talking about.”

The family was growing frustrated with the media, too. Lorena’s mother yelled obscenities at reporters one day, and on another, members of the family nearly came to blows with a TV reporter doing a live update from the front lawn. They had been watching the news inside the house when they heard the reporter imply what many in the city were already wondering: If not someone in that house, then who?

On July 19, two weeks after Tamra had been reported missing, police charged McArthur with assaulting Sheepskin the night Tamra disappeared. McArthur told reporters he had been interrogated for twenty hours, not about the assault, but about Tamra and about what had gone on inside the house that night. “It was always the same questions, and they were assuming that I knew the answers to those questions, but I didn’t know the answers, and I still don’t know the answers,” he said. “I would never hurt a hair on that little girl’s head.”

Two days later, Tamra’s brothers and sisters were removed from the home by child-protection officers. Tamra’s twin sister wore messy pigtails and clutched a colouring book and a yellow blanket as two women led the children away down the front steps of the house. Neither government officials nor police would say whether the children’s seizure was related to Tamra’s disappearance. When the children were gone, police searched the house again.

One night late that summer, Tamra’s father, Troy, showed up at the house with a baseball bat and confronted her stepfather, McArthur. Troy was charged with assault, though McArthur later said police “got things misunderstood.” “Everybody’s looking for answers,” he said. “We more or less talked.”

LORENA KEEPNESS was fourteen years old when she ran away from her home on the White Bear First Nation, 200 kilometres southeast of Regina. She had been in residential school for about three months, but that wasn’t what did it. For her, it was the same ugly stuff at home. She found her way to Regina. When her mom tried to take her home, Lorena wouldn’t go. She lived on the streets instead.

She had her daughter Summer Wind when she was twenty, her son Rayne Dance not long after. It was after the ultrasound for her third baby that she walked home in a daze and told her husband, Troy, “We’re having twins.” She kept repeating it until it sunk in, and then they just stood together in the kitchen and laughed. Her mother said “Way to go!” but Lorena told her, “They came from God. Not like I planted those in me.”

The babies were born on September 1, 1998. Fraternal twin girls, each weighing more than six pounds, carried almost right to term and curved around one another like pieces of a puzzle. Lorena and Troy split up when the twins were little, and after that, the girls stayed sometimes with their mother, sometimes with their father or with other relatives. Lorena and Troy each struggled with substance abuse, and their lives were sometimes too troubled and unstable to have the children with them. At five, Tamra was bold and courageous, and protective of her twin sister. Once, Lorena heard a soft knock in the middle of the night and opened the door to find the twins standing there. The children had left their father’s house and walked four blocks back to Lorena’s in the middle of the night, Tamra leading her sister by the hand as they found their way through the dark. REGINA POLICE received more than a thousand tips in the first six weeks after Tamra’s disappearance. At one point, a Volkswagen van that had been stolen the night Tamra disappeared was found burned outside the city. A jail guard told police she and a former inmate had stolen it, picked up Tamra, and then dumped the child’s body in a ravine on the Muscowpetung First Nation. Ron Weir led a week-long search on Muscowpetung, draining multiple beaver dams with compressor pumps, while searchers slogged through water up to their hips. The jail guard later confessed she had made up the story. She was charged with mischief and wrote a letter apologizing to the police. In court, her lawyer said she had been trying to get her abusive boyfriend locked up again.

Returning from medical leave to the police department in the fall of 2004, superintendent Troy Hagen could feel how Tamra’s disappearance was weighing on his colleagues. Hagen noticed it in everyone he spoke to, from the police chief down, whether they were involved with the case or not. Sergeant Rod Buckingham, one of the lead investigators, was among those who felt the growing frustration. “It’s a mystery,” he would say. “And I don’t like mysteries.”

Officers had spoken with more than 6,000 people by then, but there had been no arrests, and leads were drying up. Shortly after, a special task force was struck to re-examine the case, to see whether anything had been missed. The name of the project was iskwesis ayishowak e mamayahi, a Cree term meaning “little girl bring people together.”

TWELVE YEARS LATER, Lorena Keepness spends her days doing odd jobs and picking bottles, trading them in at the depot for cash. She is forty-three and lives with her eldest son in a rundown shack of a house on Victoria Avenue, a fifteen-minute walk from Ottawa Street. Lorena’s children were never permanently returned to her custody after the disappearance, and the three babies she had after that were all taken by Social Services, too. Tamra’s twin sister is seventeen now. Lorena says she is an athlete, smart and beautiful. Lorena lost her family pictures when someone threw all her stuff in the garbage a few years ago. The only photos she has of Tamra now are the ones on missing-child posters.

Tamra’s twin and her older sister, Summer, don’t want to be interviewed. Neither does Tamra’s father, Troy. McArthur couldn’t be reached. Lorena needs a six-pack of Black Ice beer to talk. She doesn’t really want to be interviewed either. She has never liked reporters or their questions, and it hurts to talk about that time. “But part of me wants to,” she says, as her face crumples. “Part of me needs to share what the fuck happened. Someone stole my child.”

Lorena has heard many theories about what happened to her daughter. Some believe Tamra wandered away and was abducted by a driver cruising the area or that she got lost, then crawled in somewhere so small she has never been found. Other theories focus on the adults in the house that night. Some officers will say off-the-record that they think Tamra is in the dump but that they just couldn’t find her in the mountains of debris. Many in the city believe that Lorena and McArthur sold or traded Tamra to pay off a cocaine debt. Lorena has heard that one the most. One night, she was at a bar and heard some women talking, loud enough so she could hear. “Yeah, she sold her kid for dope. She has a whole bunch of babies. She has kids just to sell them for drugs.” Her friend told her not to listen, but Lorena couldn’t ignore it. She swore at the women, promised she would get them for even thinking she could do that to her child. They met at the same bar again the next day, and that time they fought, a tangle of hair and fists. One of them had a knife and slashed her twice on the back of her arm. More scars to wear for life. It wasn’t the only time. One night, she was attacked in Moose Jaw. Not long ago, a woman shouted “Baby killer!” at her across the street.

Lorena and Dean McArthur are still together, on and off—“more on than off,” she says. Police tried hard to turn them against each other, but she always believed him in the end. He may be all kinds of things, she says, but he’s not a baby killer. “If I thought he did something to my daughter, I would have killed him myself,” she says. “I think the police were just so sure. They figured, ‘These guys are a bunch of nobodies. She did her own child.’ They already had their conclusions drawn before they even tried to look for anything.”

The suggestion she could have had something to do with her daughter’s disappearance still pushes Lorena to the point of violence. You can see her eyes flash, her muscles tighten at the question. But she holds back— it’s not worth going to jail. She’s had enough of the police, has grown used to the accusations. In the past twelve years, she’s repeated her story publicly many times, and it has never really changed.

REGINA POLICE have never released full details about the investigation into Tamra’s disappearance, on the grounds that it remains an open case that they still hope to solve. In an interview, Troy Hagen, now Regina’s police chief, would not speak about any working theories or confirm any specifics of the investigation, including whether one of the people questioned about Tamra’s disappearance had failed a polygraph test. Instead, Hagen echoed what police have said since the beginning: That there remain important unanswered questions about the comings and goings from the house on Ottawa Street that night. That they will continue to investigate every tip. That they won’t stop looking for Tamra until they find her. He pointed to cases in the United States where children have been gone for years, sometimes decades, and then been found alive. In Canada, twelve-year-old Abby Drover was held in an underground bunker in Port Moody, British Columbia, for six months after being abducted by her neighbour in 1976. There was an intensive search of her community—including by her abductor—but she had been only feet away from her house the entire time. She was found alive. It seems impossible, but it happens. “I refuse to lose hope,” Hagen says.

The years since Tamra’s disappearance have exposed the epidemic of missing and murdered Indigenous women in Canada. Suspected serial killers are facing charges in the Prairies, but there has been no public indication that Tamra’s disappearance may be connected to any of those cases. Hagen said police have also explored a possible connection with thirteen-year-old Courtney Struble, who disappeared from Estevan, a city 200 kilometres from Regina, four days after Tamra was last seen. Investigators initially believed that Struble was a runaway, and she had been gone for seven years before RCMP announced that her case had become a homicide investigation. No one has ever been charged, and her remains have never been located. Hagen says it’s strange to have two unsolved missing-children cases linked so closely in time and geographic proximity. He says the possibility of a connection was “very much” explored by police, but there doesn’t appear to be a correlation. The police investigation into Tamra’s disappearance is one of the largest and costliest in Regina’s history, but Hagen says it has never been about the money. If there were more leads or work for investigators, the police chief says he would reconvene the task force “in a heartbeat.” But the flood of tips has slowed. The reward for information that leads to finding her, now $50,000, sits unclaimed. The last public development came in November 2014, when a Reddit user with the name MySecretIsOut posted a scrawled map with the words: “Location of Tamra Keepness, check the wells.” The person later wrote that the map belonged to their grandmother and had come from a great-aunt who had visited an inmate in Alberta. “We, like many others, haven’t forgotten about you, Tamra, and continue to search and hope you are found,” the person posted. Police searched twenty-one wells around Muscowpetung but found nothing.

Sheepskin died on January 1, 2009, “with his family by his side,” according to his obituary. Many of the police officers who worked on Tamra’s case have retired or moved from the department to other jobs. Hagen says he thinks of Tamra whenever he is walking through the forest, not looking for her but always half expecting to see her there. Sometimes he looks at people he passes on the street, examining their faces and imagining what Tamra might look like now.

THROUGH THE YEARS, Lorena has developed her own theories about what happened to her daughter. These days, she mainly wonders about a drifter who used to stay with them, a woman Lorena knew from when she was a girl. A woman who sometimes told people she was pregnant even though she wasn’t, who Lorena knew by one name but whose medical documents said something else. The woman was around so much that Lorena’s children called her Big Auntie. Big Auntie had been staying at the house before Tamra disappeared, but left after she and Lorena had a falling out. Lorena says it took a long time to realize Big Auntie wasn’t coming around any more. When she did, she put word out on the streets, but no one there had seen her either. Big Auntie didn’t even show up for her own sister’s funeral in Regina a few years back. Lorena says she told the police about Big Auntie many times, but doesn’t know whether they ever found her, or whether they even looked. “She’s just gone now,” Lorena says. “Same time as my child.” Maybe it’s something. Or maybe Big Auntie is missing, too.

When I ask Lorena whether she thinks Tamra will ever be found, she struggles for an answer. “I don’t know,” she says. “But can I tell you about a dream I had?” There are two, both so vivid it’s as if they were real. In one, Tamra is inside a big house in a city Lorena has never seen. There are silk clothes draped around, and broad windows, and Tamra is upstairs, sitting on the edge of a bathtub putting on stockings. She is grown, with dark, shiny hair like her mother’s but cut straight all around. In the other dream, Tamra is still a little girl, running into her mother’s arms. “There you are!” Lorena says. “There you are!” She picks up her child and holds her, until Tamra wriggles free and is lost again.

[misssophiachase]

Here is it, part three! Unlike all my other stories each chapter is from dual points of view (divided into two parts) because I think this keeps the story moving faster and more fluidly. Let me know what you think of this format and the story so far : ) Read from the beginning at FF and AO3. 

Synopsis: She skipped bail and he’s tasked to track her down. As a seasoned bounty hunter, it’s a fairly routine job on paper for Klaus Mikaelson but then he meets Caroline Forbes and has no idea what to do with her.

Thrill of the Chase - Part 3 - I Shot the Sheriff

Cumberland County, TN (Interstate 40)

Caroline

"Interesting song choice," Caroline offered, unable to help herself as the scenery rushed past her window. She decided to blame it on her friend called guilt that decided to rear its ugly head at the worst possible time.

"Why? You don't like Bob Marley?"

"Who doesn't like Bob Marley?" She countered, trying to ignore just how good he smelled from this close proximity. A mixture of soap, mint and something else enticing she couldn't quite identify.

She was actually a little thrown by the fact this very song was on her fugitive track list and the guy who picked her up on the side of the road just happened to be playing it.

Oh, and for the record, she didn't get in his car that easily, it took at least nine minutes. Even if every fibre of her being was ready to hop into his passenger seat as soon as he strolled over in all his blonde curls and black henley goodness. Caroline decided to blame it on distraction, pure and simple.

She'd managed to fumble through what she thought was fairly standard small talk followed by outlining her current dilemma. Given he had neither a spare tire or cell service, Caroline either had to trust him to call for help after leaving her by the road still stranded or go with him to the nearest town.

She figured the second option, albeit one her parents wouldn't endorse, was more expedient. She had places to be after all.

Yes, he could have been a serial killer, but she certainly wasn't squeaky clean herself. Plus, she was starving and had run out of snacks and really needed to use the restroom. She wasn't the pee in the bushes type of girl so Caroline had no other choice. Well, that's what she kept telling herself.

"So, do you think he did it?" She asked, probably against her best judgment.

"Did what?"

"Commit the crime. It's one thing to shoot the sheriff, because you know maybe he deserved it, but to be blamed for the deputy too? That's rough."

What he did next, she wasn't expecting. He let out a rich and throaty chuckle and Caroline didn't think it could sound any better than that sexy, English accent. But it did. It was so mesmerising that Caroline found herself laughing along.

"So, you're ready to throw the book at the poor guy?"

"No, I was just amused by your analogy. Here I thought the song was about corruption and injustice in general but you seem to take it almost personally." She cursed inwardly thinking that playing it cool was not her best trait.

Who was she kidding? She was woeful. Mainly because Caroline was a nosey person by nature but by posing questions she was just asking for them to be returned. She also didn't think they'd be analysing lyrics about committing crimes. Caroline might as well have stamped guilty all over her forehead.

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for the underdog."

"Nothing wrong with that, love."

"I have a name you realise?"

"Yes, but you didn't feel the need to share it when we first met even if I told you mine," he offered, his eyes not leaving the road. Even housed under those aviators, she didn't need to see them to know they were rolling.

"You could be a serial killer for all I know, Klaus," she said, emphasising his name. It was unexpected for sure but the more they talked, Caroline started to think it suited him. "Not that, you know, I'm, uh, giving you ideas or anything," she rambled, unable to stop the words tumbling from her mouth.

First, she was talking about shooting law enforcement and now mass murder. Yeah, Caroline was dealing just fine with her current situation.

"Thanks," he shot back. "You know, for not giving me any ideas. If I hadn't met you god knows how many people I could have killed today at least."

"You're hilarious," she drawled. "So, why did you stop? By the road I mean, not your killing spree."

"My conscience," he began. "It has this annoying way of niggling at me until I do the right thing. Plus, maybe if I do something good the universe will return the favour."

"I'm convinced that's an urban legend."

"Oh, like the killer in the backseat?" Caroline couldn't help herself and turned around to inspect it. "Gotcha."

Maybe the universe was more in tune than she first thought given it was playing tricks on her and not the good kind. Caroline had a mind to right all of her wrongs then and there but knew that would take a lot more energy and will than she currently possessed. She'd said as much to her friend Bonnie and that was only a couple of hours into her road trip.

"Your dad sent his favourite henchman to my apartment," she joked through the phone. "He could have at least sent one of the cute ones."

"I'm sorry, I'll be sure to tell him to send Tyler or Jesse next time," she drawled. "How is the lovely Alaric?"

"Urgh," she groaned. "I had to take a shower afterwards, he's that creepy."

"I'm sorry to put you in this position, Bon," she apologised. "When I made the decision to run I guess I didn't think about the ramifications. I should have realised that my parents know no bounds when it comes to harassing people, my friends included."

"Stop right there, Caroline Elizabeth Forbes," she chided. "I mean sure you didn't tell me you were actually going to run away in the first place but given the circumstances I can hardly blame you." Caroline winced knowing that it didn't sit well with one of her best friends.

"I didn't tell you because the less you knew the better," she reasoned, knowing she had good intentions at least. "I was always going to get in touch, I just needed to put some space between me and the city first."

"Well, now that he's gone can you please tell me why you've decided to go all Harrison Ford on me?"

"Clearly someone's been watching too many movies."

"And clearly someone is living one."

"I didn't kill my wife," she argued. "Not that Harrison Ford killed his wife either but you know what I mean."

"Please just tell me you have a plan and blasting NWA's choice thoughts about the police in your car doesn't count." Caroline muted her latest fugitive track, not realising just how loud it was playing.

"What makes you think I don't have a plan, Bonnie," she scoffed, feeling a little offended, even if she knew her friend was right. "I brought snacks and everything."

"Because that's the most important thing," she groaned. "I know things are strained with your parents and…"

"Don't say his name," she interrupted. "He, who shall not be named, doesn't deserve it."

"He called me."

"He what?" She squeaked, almost driving off the interstate as she said it. "I thought you would have had him blocked months ago."

"I kept his number so I knew if the idiot had the audacity to call, turns out he did," she explained. Caroline couldn't really argue given she'd done the same thing.

"When did he call?" Caroline asked curiously.

"About a half hour ago."

"Does he know that I…"

"No, I don't think so. I only answered to get him off your back and throw a few of those choice insults I'd stored up the past few months. But he said he's been trying to call you for a few days now, something you didn't feel the need to share obviously."

"Lucky me. Look, I didn't want to make you any madder than necessary given that hot temper," she continued before Bonnie could argue back. "I didn't answer and have no intention of listening to the string of pathetic voicemails he left either. Those are right up there with my parent's incessant pleas to get me to come home."

"He said he wants to talk."

"Well, too little too late," she muttered, thinking that nothing could salvage what was irreparably broken between them. Now, he was just messing with her and she didn't want to play. "But idiot aside, just know there's somewhere I need to be and I'll reevaluate things after that, I mean what's another week?"

Sure, she was living in a fantasy world but Caroline needed the time alone to put things into perspective. She figured her therapist Camille might even agree with that part.

"So, where is Kat these days?"

"Wow, I really suck at this 'on the run' thing."

"No, I just figured if anyone was going to play the Louise to your Thelma it would be her."

"Hey, I could be Louise!"

"You and I both know that's laughable," she joked. "And remember Thelma did get to do the nasty with Brad Pitt."

Instead of buoying her, the comment only made her feel pathetic that the last time she got laid was forever ago and the person was her poor excuse of an ex boyfriend.

"Well, what would a fugitive road trip be without bedding a cute cowboy in some skeezy motel," she quipped. There was only one guy she planned to see on this trip and things between them were purely platonic and uncomplicated. "Look, I should really get going, Bon, but I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Be safe," she murmured into the phone and Caroline felt like she was going to cry. It had only taken a few hours and she was already turning into a ball of emotional mush. Some hardened runaway she was.

"So, where are you going?" Caroline asked, determined to block out all other thoughts that might make her regret this little trip.

"Says the girl who won't tell me her name," he shot back, finally turning to face her, albeit briefly. Caroline shivered involuntarily, it seemed so much easier to converse when he wasn't looking straight at her, even in sunglasses. "Why? Where are you going?"

"Oh you know, here and there to visit some friends."

"How extremely specific," he joked. "I've been here and there and I have to say it's not too bad for the most part. You must have been a geography major, right?"

"You enjoy teasing me."

"What can I say? It's been a long drive so far, it's nice to have some company even if most of our conversation has centred around crime and punishment." Caroline felt her face warm, hoping that the blush creeping up her neck wasn't going to completely envelop her and give the game away.

She turned to look out her window, the scenery hadn't changed all that much since she climbed into his car but then she noticed a green sign ahead.

Welcome to Crab Orchard, Tennessee - Population 673

Looks like they'd arrived, to what and who Caroline wasn't quite sure.

Klaus

"Twizzler?" Klaus looked up distractedly to see his new, blonde friend waving a bunch of the red candy in his face.

"No, thanks," he offered. "I try not to eat anything…" he trailed off, subconsciously stroking his abdomen.

"Fun?" She inserted the word in his sentence, but didn't miss the way her eyes travelled to his abdomen and took in every stroke he made. Looks like Klaus wasn't the only one slightly distracted.

"Let's just say I practice this healthy regime and sugar is pretty much enemy number one."

"Like I said, no fun," she reiterated, her eyes finally meeting his and proceeding to bite onto one of the strands, her pink lips enclosing around it.

Klaus didn't think he'd ever seen something supposedly so innocent look anything but that. He watched in interest, unable to look away if he tried. When she started to moan happily from the taste, Klaus had to look away while trying to contain the thoughts he shouldn't be thinking in the first place.

She was a skip - his- after all. And apparently he was here to apprehend her, not entertain untoward thoughts. It seemed as if his professionalism had flown out the window the moment he clapped eyes on Caroline Forbes. He'd been inwardly arguing with himself for most of the drive. She was sitting in such close proximity to him completely unaware. The most unbelievable part? She was in his car without any need for coercion or handcuffs. Klaus couldn't remember the last time one of his felons had been this easy to capture.

Klaus figured it had something to do with her innocence and seemingly trusting nature. Something which intrigued him from the outset. If she was his friend or girlfriend he'd be absolutely affronted by her willingness to jump into a stranger's car but she wasn't. Although, if Klaus was being honest, he wasn't unwholly upset she was by his side at that moment.

At the same time, he couldn't help but think how good she smelled, a mixture of vanilla and roses - post rainstorm. She also had this adorable habit of scrunching up her nose when she spoke, a nose with a slight dusting of freckles he couldn't and didn't want to ignore.

Klaus shook his head, trying to concentrate. He really needed to apprehend her and he needed to do it now.

They were waiting for the mechanic in the sleepy, little town of Crab Orchard to tow her car back to the gas station and replace her busted tire. Klaus had offered just to purchase it and go back himself but the guy, who seemed way past retirement age, had insisted and refused to relinquish the tire otherwise. Klaus knew it was all a money making exercise but didn't argue. Given the size of the town they probably didn't get much business as it was.

So, here they were. Caroline moaning over twizzlers and him trying to ignore just how much it was affecting his resolve.

Crab Orchard was only a couple hours out of Nashville and it would have been so easy to keep driving and deliver her directly to Lucien's agent at the airport who would personally escort her back to New York. But something stopped him.

Yes, she was beautiful. He thought so when he saw her picture and then when he pulled up alongside her on the road but after talking to her, Klaus was incredibly intrigued. And he wanted to know everything about her.

He knew he had places to be, his siblings hadn't stopped reminding him as evidenced by numerous texts and his recent call while she was using the bathroom and buying a year's worth of snacks inside the tiny gas station.

"So, what do you think the Wicked Witch of the West wants?"

"Hello to you too, Kol."

"Don't tell me you're buying into Rebekah's drivel about the urgent need for this family reunion and down south of all places?"

"Of course, not," he shot back, thinking this was no doubt one of Rebekah's usual attempts to make herself the centre of the universe, not that she had to try all that hard. "You know I like to keep my family time to an absolute minimum."

"I'll pretend we're still talking about sister dear," he drawled sarcastically. "I don't know why I had to leave Chicago in such a hurry, we can't all have broomsticks to ferry us from place to place on a whim." Klaus had to fight the urge to laugh. Kol, albeit the epitome of an annoying, younger sibling, always had that keen ability to hit the nail right on its head.

"I suppose we'll find out in just under a week," he sighed, wondering how much longer Caroline would occupy his time before that. "Have you spoken to Elijah and Henrik?"

"You know how Elijah bores me, Niklaus," he replied knowingly. "Henrik is on his way from Florida with a girlfriend, Lizzie someone."

"Can't say I'm surprised that he's the only one with a girlfriend." Klaus and Kol liked to joke that Elijah should have been in the priesthood; his love life was that stagnant.

"And how about you?"

"How about me what?"

"How about your girlfriend, Hayley isn't it?"

"She's not my girlfriend, never was," he growled, probably a little too fiercely given his brother's response.

"Wow, message received," he laughed. "Although, does she know that? Because last time I visited she was being extremely girlfriend-like."

"I never asked her to be," he grumbled. "It was casual, nothing else, and for the record she knew that, well apparently." For some reason it was his bail skip that came to mind at that very moment and not his ex-girlfriend, or whatever she was. He didn't want to analyse why either.

"So, Lucien tells me he has you on assignment in Tennessee?" Klaus wanted to admonish his younger brother then and there for the job but for some reason he wasn't altogether upset anymore since meeting Caroline.

"Yeah, just have to apprehend this skip and send her back to the City," he murmured, thinking that wasn't what he wanted to do with her at all. "Piece of cake," he lied.

"Well, I'll let you get back to your bounty hunting," he teased. "Don't be too hard on the poor girl, whoever she is."

"I'll try," he muttered, disconnecting the call before she proceeded to tempt him with twizzlers.

"So, it looks like we don't have the right tire for this particular, vintage model," their great-grandfather of a mechanic explained.

"But, George, you said…"

"I said I'd look at it first before making any assessment," the geriatric swindler not dissimilar to one of his distant relatives interrupted. "I can have something first thing tomorrow."

Klaus stifled the urge to roll his eyes. It would be cheaper and much quicker for him to travel to Nashville and back with a new tire. But then Klaus realised that meant less time together and given he needed to gain her trust that wouldn't work.

"And where would we stay?" Caroline asked, impatiently tapping her heel on the ground. Clearly this was messing with her plans and Klaus wasn't altogether unhappy with the development, purely for bounty hunter purposes of course.

"My wife Eileen runs the cutest bed and breakfast just down the road, she'll give you a good deal." Given George's price gouging tactics, Klaus highly doubted that. "And my brother Jack runs the local bar, best beer and steak in three counties."

Of course he did but Klaus wasn't going to complain. As they made their way towards his car, Caroline nudged him playfully.

"Bed and Breakfast? How utterly quaint and romantic, just don't get any ideas, mister."

"I can't help that we are responsible for propping up the economy of this town and all of George's family."

"Well, I suppose with great power comes great responsibility," she joked. "And given we're stuck here together, the name is Caroline." 

Even though he knew that from her file, Klaus had to admit her telling him felt nice. Klaus had no idea what she was doing to him but he wasn't complaining. Besides, what harm would one extra night do?

Lots as Klaus was about to find out.

[zebraslovescupcakestoo]

Golden eyes Chapter 28 final.

“...but there's more to the story. You might want to sit down.”

More to the story? Sure I barely knew her well, but why is that? I sat down and I looked straight in his eyes again with a serious look.

He then started. “Your sister was one of the very few, along with your father, who wasn't afraid of the mafias like Alfonso's. It was a personal mission for her to stop a certain someone. But it wasn't Alfonso himself.”

I was confused. “Remember when I said that there was a mole in the higher ups of the police force? She figured out who it is, but she never had the chance to say who it was.” He told me the truth and my eyes were widen with shock. “She... got killed for that?”

“That and your father was also the next in line too when he found out about it. He was close to figure out who it was and then 'he' called a favor from Alfonso to eliminate him as well. Both your family member and 'us' were 'eliminated' by the 'mold' in that police department.” I gasped. This is a whole different puzzle piece... These people that I used to worked under... one of THEM is a mole for the mafias like Alfonso's! That 'mole' is also partially responsible for the death of my father AND my older half sister for doing the right thing! I... I can't believed it!

I did my best not to shout or show any anger, no matter how much I wanted to lash it all out. “How... dare they do this? Inky and Winky... They've lost their mother and their grand father... To that b@stard who thinks they're both a 'threat!' Bernard! Please let me help you! I want to get th-!” He stops me there with a halt signal and was frowning. I remembered when he does that, he's gonna trying to tell me something REALLY important. “B-Bugs...?”

“Felix... I don't want you to get involved more than you had to on this case. The 'mold' have already took more than two very good police officers we both knew and I promised your father a long time ago that I would keep you safe from him. Not to mentioned the kids, have you ever thought of what will happened if you kicked the bucket unexpectedly?”

I then realized what he means... If I'm gone... my nephews will have no one to look out for them. God knows where the authorities will send them aside the orphanage. But then I remembered my good friends... I don't want to lose them too! They're probably the only ones that I can trust and knew me well...

Bernard relaxes a bit when he saw me what I just realized. “You see? You're much more valuable to them. Not just the 'gift' from your mother. Aside the Alfonso, there's a couple of others, including the 'mole' itself. Although, the third guy ain't gonna live much longer than about a year. Less luckier than my position right now.”

“What? Who is it and what do you mean not going to live much longer? ...and in your position?” I was a bit weary on the last part.

“Again, it's not your job to go after them, it's mine. I promised to your father, remember?” He was serious on that subject. I know that I'm just as stubborn as him too, Bernard. But I can compromise if I can have at least some details.

“If you tell me just who it is after you that's 'dying,' I'm not going after him. I've got my sight on one bad guy already.” He's still wasn't convinced. “I swore! I won't go after whoever is after you that's 'dying.' If he is what you're saying is true, why should 'that' person be more dangerous than Bendy and the 'mold' itself when he's not going to live much longer?”

He sighed and asked me this. “You promise for me that you'll keep your word of NEVER going after him?” I nodded with determination.

He then said the name of that one person that Sam warned me to NEVER make any contacts with.

“His name is Dorian Diabolos. The 'Devil' himself in the underworld. I'm sure that one of your friends had warned you about him. I even heard a friend of an acquaintance of mine that you even paid a little 'visit' in a group of friends the other day. It was a risky tactic for you to be even getting close to that casino place. Helping or not.”

“The 'Devil'... Why is he after you? And why is he 'dying?' Nobody has the skills that can outmatched or even tied with him.” He's not like he's a God or something like that. But he's nearly impossible to defeat in combat alone. Not even the top CSI can take him down.

“The same reason why Bendy is after me and will try to kill me when he gets the chance. I know how to take him down too if I played my cards right.” He quoted those parts. “One of the options for me is to wait for him to 'expire' because I found out he's critically ill. Even if he sold his soul to the REAL devil himself, it won't save his body.”

His body? “What kind of deadly disease did he got? Or was it something else?” I may not be a doctor but...

“I found out about his secret of his 'power.' It was some drugs he created and took over the years. But to be more specific, it was a homemade 'medicine' booster he made for himself. It's a very powerful yet extremely dangerous drug that makes a person's fighting style looked like a possessed demon. In most cases, it can maxed out the combat performance and it can also makes you feel invincible, but the aftermath once it's taken can cause irreversible damage to the organs. He's almost at the end of his life yet that old goat still eats them like candies whenever he's in a bind.”

I was surprisingly shocked again and looked down thinking. “That... explains why Bendy wanted that cylinder-looking machine... it must have belonged to him for those 'medicine' boosters he's making... If he founded out about making those drugs looking like medicine, he could have targeted the pharmacies... That would have been a scary out come...”

“Well let's count it as a lucky moment he didn't. But the goat can still make them without it. We're fortunate enough that the formula for it was too complex to learn it by heart and that he keeps it all in his head. He's like one of those guys who keeps the 'bests' for himself.”

“So that means... He's not going to give out the formula for that horrible booster to anyone?” Bugs nodded at my answer.

“Sooner or later, he'll get what he deserves. Oh, I also found out that he had a runaway daughter that he wanted to be 'returned' so right now is 'not' a good time to go after him.”

Runaway daughter? “I never heard anything about him having one. He's usually with a mistress or two.” That guy is like any other rich playboy in this day and age of celebrities, despite his status.

“I got even more stuff on him that it makes me one of their 'wish list.' So again, leave 'that' guy to me and leave the 'mold' sit still for a while. You're lucky enough that you're only been fired from that station.” He puts his left hand on my right shoulder and that makes me look at him again.

I know it sounded frustrating to me that I can't do anything for now, but at least I know WHO I'm up against again. Not just Bendy Drew. “I understand... But Bugs, I still want to help you... After what happened since that day dad was killed, I was almost alone...It wasn't easy for me, but I'm much stronger now that I was before. Can you please let me help you with whatever I can? I don't want to lose you again.” I sounded like a kid who didn't want his parent to leave heir child all alone.

“I know... But I promised to stay alive until all of this is over with those three. There's still Detective Pikachu that I sometimes meet up with him. He can tell you where I've been. So you don't have to guess where I've been.”

“R-really? I-I promise not to tell if you do! Ah!” Speaking of allies... I realized one thing.

“Uncle Bugs...Can I ask you something about the Disney brothers?” He raised an eyebrow. “I... I saw a 'past vision' of when Mickey gave Bendy a ransom for his brother. I even saw you coming to their rescue... And I know how you manage to convince them that you're a friend... You knew them before the hostage situation... and it was a picture of my mother that you used to convinced them.” That caught him off guard. “Bugs, tell me the truth. Did you used to see my mother, even after I was born? I'm not going to hate you if you tell me.” I know that you used to love her, even if she loved my father instead.

“Well...” He was a bit hesitant on that, but he confessed. “Squirt, I'm not gonna lie and... I'm sorry for what I'm going to say.” He then got up from his seat just to stretch a bit. “Before that incident and before you were born, I was in love with her. The first time I've met her was from your father on one working graveyard shift. She literally bumped into him when she was on a chase. She actually stole a necklace from one rich guy that he took that's rightfully belonged to someone. Despite it was wrong, she had the prove it who it rightfully belong.”

“And did you and dad arrested her?”

“Nah, actually, he took it in as a 'favor.'” I was really surprised. Dad didn't take her to the station on first impression? This is something new. He BARELY lets criminals away like that! Why was my mother so different to him?

“In exchange of her freedom, she would become our ally. She knew the underworld and the black markets in this city, so it would make our jobs a tad bit easier. Overtime, we grow fond of her and she was one unique person that was very special.”

“Did you... loved her?”

He blushed a bit and scratched the back of his head. “Well... I did. I used to think I was going to be the one for her. But she chose your father instead. I was a bit heartbroken, I admit, but I knew I had to respect her choice and I wanted her to be happy.”

“Then what happened when she disappeared for months? When she found out about having me? Did either of you went looking for her?”

“We did. When she didn't show up for days, we searched. The only thing we got in contacts were letters without address. Until after nine months later, I had a call from her. I immediately rushed to that place she wanted me to see and once I arrived, I saw why she went into hiding. It was a big surprise for me.”

“It was me she wanted you to see. Right?” He nodded and smiled a bit. “You got that right, squirt. She held you close and she was scared. She just learned that her past was catching up to her and that she might put you in danger if you were to be discovered. She wanted to have a 'normal' life for you.”

“Then how did dad reacted when he found out?”

“I can at least now say that he fainted.” Dad fainted?! Are we talking the same guy who was like made of steel?! I don't mean literally. “It's not that it was all new to him, but he never expected to have you in his life after his divorce.”

I looked down and thought about it. “Hey, don't be such a downer, squirt. You're actually an unexpected blessing to him like she was. He was a bit of a mess after his divorce and when he lost his custody of seeing his daughter. Both of you have saved him from that.” He patted my head again and I looked up again. “Then... when I was given up, why didn't anyone helped her? She needed help more than I was when those eastern guys called the yakuzas were after her. Are they really that bad?” I did wanted to know why nobody was helping her all this time.

“It's... a bit more complicated. I did at the beginning to help her shake them off. But no matter what we did, they always had a good grip on her location until 'we' manage to escape from their sight. It was like an endless cycle. Those easterners, the yakuzas to be specific, are not to be underestimated. She then eventually joined a resistance group that used to be called the Red Dragons Mafia. I believed those kids have told you their story. Right?”

“Y-yeah... they did. But Bugs, why are they after my mom all this time? Is it about the 'gift?'”

“Yes, it is. Those snakes were going to use your 'gifts' for their personal agenda. If they found out about you-”

“I'll be in danger and so will my friends and family.” That part I know well. “I sort of heard it from Bastet... and I understand. God knows what I'll be doing right now or if I'm fortunate enough to be alive at this point... I'm not gonna blame anybody for the separation. I just want to know why.”

“Now, you sounded like your mother. She was always looking for both sides of the story.” He then smiled again.

“I doubt it. I always think that I would be more like y dad... I'm nothing like what they say.” I said it with honesty.

“True, cause your old man was being honest too. Even if it wasn't easy. Now, anything else? I need to hide again soon before any mafia goons starts to look around.”

“Ah! Actually, did you... allied with those two brothers after that day?” I had that morale question since I've grown close to them and their Blue Dragon crew.

“Why ask that kind of question?” He raised an eyebrow on that.

“It's just... I still want to believed in the justice both of us and the others who does, but then there are others like Mickey and Oswald, who they also believed in justice of their own brand. Bugs, is it... alright for having allies like that? Like you and dad was with mom?” I was anxious until he responded.

“I knew them well and I know what you mean. As long as they do the right thing or they don't kill unnecessary, an enemy of my enemy is my ally. In today's age, we need all the help we can get against those gangsters and assassins we're up against. They're not the bad guys.”

“Then... it's alright if we work with them?” I asked again just to be sure.

“Of course.” He nodded and he got up. I immediately hugged him one more time before he disappears again. “I... Just wanted to tell you to be careful... You're probably the one person that I can look up to like a father... Please stay safe and tell me in whatever communication you can... I just want to at least know you're alright.”

He chuckled, hugged me back and ruffled my hair again. “Don't worry about me, squirt. I'm not that easy to kill and I will.”

-------- Two months later -------------

After that night I've reunited with Bernard 'Bugs' Bonney, I've been kept very busy with my 'new' life here.

Once I was healed, I immediately started to know the areas here and there. I've also grown close to the police officers here and I also trained like crazy! Sheba was a bit overly eager to train with me, but luckily Sam was there to help me out. I also found a new place to live for me and my nephews. I was very fortunate the apartment place was still close to the school the kids go to and it was at a very good price too! Luckily we didn't overstayed too long at Woody's place while he was away.

Speaking of him, he's doing fine back in Ireland and he's coming back in about two weeks. That's gonna make the station even more lively once he returns!

I also befriended quite a few people here. Shopkeepers, vendors, and even residences. This district is almost as peaceful as ever. It's like the whole 'mafia' thing never really happened. Granted, I did got a glimpse of thieves and crooks from time to time, I also investigate the other districts too for other things and searching.

I'm still working under the law, the JUSTICE law, for my father and my older sister who died in the line of duty... and was killed by both the mafia and that mold in the force... I swore to Bugs that I will leave the 'mold' to him and I will respect that decision. Even if it is hard for me to do so.

But at least I can rest a bit easy about the 'Devil' guy I was warned about. He's only got a few more months to live... I hope that the 'real' one reserved a special place for him down below for all the crimes he committed and related. Until I get the confirmation, I'll keep my guards up until he's officially dead.

And about my 'gift'... I decided to use them on occasions. I still wanted to use my detective skills first before I use it in my investigations for when I'm really stuck. I also wanted to say that I've 'passed' my test... I'm now at what I believed to be half way done with my training... It's gonna be a bit too long to explain all the details, but I'm feeling more confident that I'm gonna be finished with my personal training and that I won't have to wear my rings as much as I have to.

But I also kept in mind about my time with the kids and my friends... I do my best to be there for them as always. Sometimes it's a bit hard, but I do manage to make up for it...

I walked up the metal stairway to a roof top in Chicago's Chinatown district. Why do you ask what I'm doing? Just keep reading...

I was told from a 'friend' of his that a certain rabbit was back in town. I saw him laying down on a makeshift bench out of one large crate. He was wearing a blue Elvis inspired jacket, a white shirt I assumed, a pair of black pants, knee high boots and he had a rabbit mask next to him. He seems like he was resting.

I know that tiring feeling for 'overworking.' Yet he still looks so cool like that...

“You got something for me, Hēi māo? I can hear you coming from down below with something heavy.” He looked at me and smirked. “Well, well. I haven't seen THAT for quite sometime.”

I was wearing a red fedora with a yellow ribbon, a red overcoat, a yellow sweater underneath, black pants and shoes. I had a suitcase I've carried at my side too...

“It used to be my mother's. I'm guessing that she used to wear 'men's' clothing on occasions?” I commented and blushed a bit.

“I thought I wouldn't see that again. How did you manage to find them in good condition?” He asked.

“It was on one of my 'personal' investigations that I stumbled across an old suit case that had my mother's first name that I found in an abandoned, old building. I also found this that came along with it.” I handed out the suitcase. “There's ten thousand dollars in here. I want you and your brother to have them.”

That surprised him, and he declined. “Why the heck would you hand it over to us? We're not poor.”

“It's for everything you both done to me... I have my life back in control with my 'gift' and got my job back somewhat. Plus, you guys could have sold the ring for the debt that Mickey had with the Disney company. That... really means a lot to me now more than ever. If anything, it's the least I can do to say thank you.”

“It's not like he's going to be forever in debt. He's close to clearing it pretty soon, despite it wasn't easy...” He looked down as if he was angry and guilty.

“Oswald. It wasn't your fault. Bendy is responsible for what he did to you and Mickey. Now please stop blaming yourselves for that.” Gosh! They both shared the same traits...

“Whatever, we don't need it and it's yours to keep.” He pushed it to me. “But I don't want it.” I push it back. “It belong to your mother and now it's yours.” He does it again. “Then at least keep it for emergency.” And so did I.

He was getting frustrated. “There's a place called a BANK. Learn how to use them, Hēi māo. We don't want ANYTHING in return.”

“But I don't want to claim it as my own and I don't mean as a cash in. I want you two to have it and use it for a good cause.”

“Why us of all the people?” He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Cause... you guys are working really hard on taking down the Alfonso mafia along with Bendy... and you're both on the look out for those yakuzas that took your adopted 'family' at the same time. I still wanted to do the right way like my father and my older sister used to do, but if anything... I want to help too.”

“You want to join us?” He asked.

“...” I didn't have anything to say for that... Until he gave me his answer.

“If you're still not sure, I'm not going to force you. You could be a valuable addition to our team if you do. We still have time before anything else with Bendy's involvements.”

“Speaking of Bendy, he's still not laying a foot in this territory after that drug bust. I believed that he was kept busy with the 'day job' and publicity appearances in the social life. I guess he might be planning something else for 'us' and  I don't know when he'll strike.”

“If he does 'tried' to strike, he can only do so much here. We may have the skills and numbers in our advantage, but it's still gonna take even more if we're going to take him down for good.” He then looked out beyond the roof tops.

“I know. Catching criminals is only half the job. To make sure they stay behind bars, you'll need hard evidence too. Bendy was VERY careful to not leave any evidence of his presence at any crime scene.” I looked out to his view as well.

“Don't forget. He also has some people in his pocket at the court house. Ain't gonna have much luck with them if he's caught IN the Chicago borders. But if he was caught in 'another' state...” He smiled devilishly but handsomely. “He won't have much luck. Even with all the money he 'got' to burn.”

I was a bit breath taken at that look he makes... yet I felt frighten. He averted his eyes to me.

“Remember that bullet that struck your side and the weapon he used on you and our 'last' job?” He showed me a photo of the used to be the same gun. “We manage to recovered all of the pieces the wolf had crushed. Also...” He puts them away. “Before our grand 'entree,' we knew that we needed a really hard evidence: his own words. We place a tape recording well hidden in that factory.”

I was astounded. “Wh- How did that turned out?”

“Exactly what we wanted. A confession for all of the crimes he said in that factory. We were lucky to have a very extended tape reel for the time we were there. Cause it was a long one.”

“Then, are you guys going to use it?” He then frowned. “Not anytime soon. We still need to severe his ties here. Remember, he has the 'laws' here that serves him as a safety net or insurance. Whatever you wanted to be called. If we use it now, he's only going to use them as an escape charge.”

“Hey... There was some mentioning of both your involvements... Are you both alright with that?” I remembered that they USED to be in the Red Dragon 'mafia'... And their involvements in their last job...

“It may sound crazy, but we did manage to gather some evidence that proves our 'innocence' and our mentor's too. All we need to do is wait for the right time.”

“And... how much longer will that be? I'm not trying to rush, but... what are you waiting for?” I looked deep in his eyes. But once he looked back at me, I have that chilling feeling down my spine. I immediately looked away, but then he took my jaw and made me look back in his eyes. I somewhat see anger, yet there was something else...

“You might think it's something superstitious, but I have that nagging feeling that something big is about to happened... Again.” My eyes widen. “Is he planning another drug operation?” He shook his head and lets me go.

“Nah... But it's gonna hit him hard this time... and I've waited long enough since that night he bended me over and made me his b!tch... He's getting exactly what he really deserves. For what he did to me, the 'family' we grew up with and all the people he destroyed and scared for life...”

I was lost in his words... It's like I'm seeing a reflection of myself... “But let's be clear on one thing. I know it sounds like wishful thinking, but let's not try to kill anyone out of thrills. I don't want to have bloods on our hands just like Bendy would have for his enemies.”

“Trust me, it's not going to be us... because there's more characters in this city than we know and don't, that will do the job.”

In other words... it's going to be a certain someone that will bring him down a leg and THEN 'we' step in to finish the job.

“I need to get back soon. Now take the bills in your account-”

“No. I still want you to take it. At least for safe keeping.” I still didn't want the money. “Again, we don't want it and it's 'yours' to keep.” He was getting annoyed.

“Then I'll flip you for it! Heads you take it, Tails I keep it!” I took out a quarter and showed how serious I am.

He raised an eyebrow and then agrees. “I guess it's better than 'talking' it out. Fine, I accept.”

I smirked and fling the coin. Just as it came down, he quickly snatched it and showed the tails side vertically. “Hey! That's cheating!” He just smirked. “That's how we do a flip coin here.” I just glared at him, but he laughed it off. “But if you insist, I can take it off your possession for the moment. If Mickey was here, he would have said the same thing I would have.”

“At least he's nicer...” I softly scoffed. It was a bad move for me once I saw his left eye gleam and it send a chill in my spine. Then he smiled devilishly again. “Oh? Do you have a crush on him now?” I stuttered a bit and shouted. “BW-hatthe?! NO I'M NOT!” He then quick snatched my chin and that surprised me with a blush. “Alright. Then how about me, Xiǎo māo? You still haven't give that answer to my question a couple of months back...” I was blushing redder. That Chinese words... means kitten?!? He's calling me that now?! I wasn't responding so he took his other hand and he was like holding my face closer to his, unconsciously dragging myself closer to him.

“Xiǎo māo, I'm still waiting for that answer.” I was still mesmerized in his deep blue eyes... Every time I see in them, it's like I was in a trance... I then realized he was inches away from my face and I was blushing in a deep shade of red.

“Heh.” He said before he lets go and I immediately backed up, only to get tripped backwards by his right foot he cleverly put behind mine without me noticing.

“Ack! Don't. DO THAT! Why are you doing this to me?!” I lifted myself up, only to get my chin up and faced him again.

“Depends if you're gonna answer mine first.” He gave me a coy look and I was flustered. Dang that good look!

“I-i-i-I DON'T know! It just... I don't know!” It was all I can think of at the moment. He took a few seconds to think and then said.

“Well, if you still don't have an answer, I can wait for that too. You better not having a crush on me once you figure it out.” I blabbed out something inaudible when he said that! He then cuts off with a question. “So how did you and that grey hare detective doing? Is he still alive since we've last met?”

I immediately regained my posture cause despite he just drives me crazy at the moment, I'm still somewhat owed him for finding Bernard that I was also looking for and they 'saved' us from the 'mold' in the police force.

“He's doing fine the last time I've heard from him by Chief Pikachu... It may have been by letters before we had to burn them, but at least he's doing fine. I just... wished that I could help out more.” I did made a promise to Bernard that I will leave the 'mold' to him, but I still wanted to help him in anyway I can.

“You're working yourself to an early grave and you STILL wanted to help? You sounded just like what my little brother would have said with the animators.” He rolled his eyes.

“But I... Never mind. Just...please take the money for safe keeping. It would make me feel better if it can be of any use for a good cause.” I just want to leave already!

He then thinks about it for a minute and then picks up the suitcase. “If that's what you wanted, then I'll take it off from your paws for now. But I'm still not going to use it unless it was necessary.” It's still better than nothing so I nodded. “Thanks. Are you planning to stay for a while?”

“Only to check. Bendy is still not making a move here yet, but we're still not going to slack off. If I were you, I'd focus on self improvement. If you can't stand a chance against me, you're not gonna have much with him, only worse.” He then leaves the roof top by the apartment door...

I then looked out to the neighborhood once again, thinking of what have been going on all this time and took a deep breath.

From the day I've met them, it's been one surprise after another and I was not expecting that 'WE' all had a common goal.

Sure, it sounds crazy that I'm 'co-operating' with vigilantes like them, but they respected much better than most of the people that I've worked with (excluding my friends.) I guess that I've saw a new point of view of justice...

Is it alright for me to be allied with them? Then again, my father and Bernard did gave my mother a chance...

I then looked up to the sky... thinking if they were all up there... looking down at me...

“Mom... Dad... Sis... I hope that I'm doing the right choice here. If Bernard trust them enough to work with them, than I will too.” Is what I decided.

Look out, Bendy! You may have 'removed' me from the Chicago Police Department, but that's not going to stop me from taking you down!

Bring it on all or nothing!

THE END... For now.

Read Chapter 27 here or read the beginning here.

AND THAT’S THE END!!!!!

You have no idea of how much I wanted to finish this....

I’m sorry that I didn’t wrote much in the author’s note, I had something going on.

So just to finish this up, I wanted to thank you for reading my alternate prequel story of the BBTIM.

Like I’ve said, this is not really a canon prequel, it’s just a pass time I did while we wait for the next pages to come up. I DID wanted to be close to the canon as possible so if in the future canon that my story was not true, I didn’t know at the time.

So I hope you’ve enjoyed reading and have a nice day! See you next time!

BBTIM Characters belong to Marini4. Some OCs belong to me, Disney and others.

[acsversace-news]

During the second episode of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, whose nine-episode run ended last night, came a moment so warm and simple that it felt like an embrace. As Versace (played by Édgar Ramírez) sketched at his desk, his boyfriend Antonio D’Amico (Ricky Martin) tussled on their nearby bed with some guy so hot he didn’t even need the camera’s focus for that to be felt. Antonio got out of bed and asked Versace to join them. Versace said would. “Go play,” he told Antonio. He glanced over at them, and as the camera pulled in for a close-up, his eyes softened and his mouth began to spread into a mild grin. There was no tension, no apparent jealousy or irritation; what was palpable is what those in the polyamorous community might call “compersion,” a sort of anti-jealousy or the pleasure derived from your partner’s pleasure, specifically when the source of that pleasure is someone other than you.

At that moment, I realized this show wasn’t so concerned with spending much time explaining its finer points to its heteronormative viewers—if you didn’t get what was going on there, the levels of joy that open relationships yield at their healthiest/most consensual, that scene was likely lost on you.

It was so refreshing to see a show speak to queer people—namely, gay men and the people who understand them—so directly, so boldly. Even though Versace was built to look back (and then, via its reverse-chronological structure, back and then back some more), I can’t imagine this show being possible before right now. It takes years to build up this kind of confidence.

The story that show runner Ryan Murphy and writer Tom Rob Smith chose to tell—about serial killer Andrew Cunanan’s murder spree in 1997 that culminated with the titular assassination—turned out to be a goldmine of issues that have faced gay men in the past 20 years, many of them still relevant today. HIV. Coming out. Being outed. Don’t ask don’t tell. Homophobia. Casual homophobia from fellow gay men. Aggressive homophobia from fellow gay men. Racism (specifically anti-Asian). Religion. Gay panic. Suicide. The way you put your life in someone’s hands when you make yourself so vulnerable as to hook up with a stranger in a private setting.

The Show had a sneering, almost punk attitude toward straights, the oblivious brand of whom were often symbolized by cops.

There were appearances from beloved actors Judith Light and Cathy Moriarty (I hesitate to call them gay “icons” but surely to some, they are). There was the knowing thrill of getting to see Ricky Martin play gay in a fictionalized 1997, back when he himself was in the closet (where he remained there for 13 more years). There were not one but two songs by Laura Branigan (in terms of commercial impact versus ardent gay following, Branigan was approximately the Carly Rae Jepsen of her day) featured: “Gloria” and “Self Control.” Ditto that for Lisa Stansfield (less of a gay touchstone than Branigan but no less great): “All Around the World” and “This Is the Right Time.” In fact, if Versace were nothing but its soundtrack, it would have made me feel more seen that most shows—so many of its songs feature on the all-time best-of playlist on my iPhone, obvious choices (Soul II Soul’s “Back to Life,” Ralph Tresvant’s “Sensitivity”) and deep cuts (Deee-Lite’s “Runaway”), alike.

More than any show I’ve ever seen, Versace had a sneering, almost punk attitude toward straights, the oblivious brand of whom were often symbolized by cops. We saw multiple minds blown, grasps on human interaction go limp, as police investigated Cunanan’s murder spree of four gay men: Versace, David Madson (Cody Fern), Jeff Trail (Finn Wittrock), and Lee Miglin (Mike Farrell). (Cunanan’s fifth victim, William Reese, was believed to be straight, and certainly not targeted for his sexuality.) After D’Amico’s incredulity after a cop inquired as to whether he was paid by Versace for sex or to be his partner, the cop excused himself: “Sorry—this is new to me.” At Trail’s murder scene, one cop spotted a porn DVD left by Cunanan to out him and announced to his partner, “Power Bottoms?”

“The hell is this?” asked the partner, surveying the rest of the toys on the bed, like a bottle of poppers, a ball gag, some duct tape. “It’s a gay thing,” said the first. “So what are we talking about?” “Guy turns up. Maybe they know each other, probably they don’t. They do what they do. All this... extreme stuff. It goes wrong. David ends up in a rug. The other guy runs. Doesn’t steal a thing.”

The show also rather deliberately illustrated that the problem with Versace and D’Amico’s purported open relationship wasn’t in their practice, but judgement from outsiders—symbolized here through Penelope Cruz’s portrayal of Versace’s sister Donatella. She berated D’Amico: “He wasn’t enough for you. This house, this life. You wanted more. More fun, more men.” At least the TV Donatella did—much of the dialogue in the series was speculative, filling in holes where interactions weren’t documented, or perhaps didn’t exist at all.

But Versace’s greatest cultural contribution was the way it contrasted the wide range of interpersonal issues amongst gay men. A masterclass in experiential diversity that could make The Boys in the Band read like one long monologue, Versace contrasted with rigor. It contrasted between Versace’s interview with The Advocate in which he openly and proudly discussed being gay in public, and Trail’s Dateline interview in which he talked about being gay in the military while shrouded in anonymity-preserving shadows. It contrasted between Versace’s sister attempting to dissuade him when he told her about the aforementioned interview, and Trail’s sister encouraging him to come out to his family. It contrasted between the lie Miglin lived as a closeted man married to a woman, and the lies Cunanan lived, which changed at any given moment to suit whoever was listening. It contrasted between the way Versace’s mother instilled in him the value of hard work, and the entitlement Cunanan’s father instilled in him by proclaiming his son innately special.

Versace devoted much of its time to meditating on an issue rarely examined in the mainstream: gay-on-gay crime. Cunanan (played by Darren Criss), who strove to be someone, exhibited tenants of the best little boy in the world theory, but to a murderous extreme. He was, in fact, the worst best little boy in the world, who apparently internalized his father’s idea of exceptionality to the extent that he coveted Versace’s status as a gay man whose power superseded his sexuality, where public acceptance was concerned.

“I think the pathology of Andrew is that he is, without question, the most homophobic character in this story, even though he’s gay,” Smith told Vulture. Like a closeted politician who votes against his people, Cunanan would, per Versace’s retelling, weaponize the vulnerabilities he detected by talking to gay men and being a gay man himself. Norman Blachford, who was 58 in 1994 when he began seeing and then supporting Cunanan, is depicted on the show as having said, “I’ve been living with this my whole life: We fall sick it’s our fault. We’re murdered it’s our fault.” “You can rob us, you can beat us, you can kill us. You’ll get away with it,” responded the show’s Cunanan, projecting empathy while the darkest of lightbulbs went off in his head.

“I want you to know that when they find your body, you will be wearing ladies’ panties,” he told Miglin before killing him. “Surrounded by gay porn. I want the world to see that the great Lee Miglin is a sissy. Soon the whole world will know that the great Lee Miglin, who built Chicago, built it with a limp wrist. The cops will know, the press will know, your wife will know, your children will know, the neighbors will know. Tell me something, Lee: What terrifies you more, death or being disgraced?” An episode later, a step back in time, had Madson admitting he was scared to get into the car with Cunanan after Trail’s murder. He wondered if he was afraid that Cunanan was going to kill him, which he actually did, “or was I afraid of the disgrace? The shame of it all? Is that what I’m running from?” The show, based mostly on Maureen Orth’s book Vulgar Favors, argued that Cunanan exploited the sort of in-group conversations between gay men that typically foster bonding and relief. The degree of betrayal was astounding.

Last month, an essay on Attitude’s website argued, per its headline, that “Young Queer People Shouldn’t Be Obliged to Care About LBGT History—And That’s the Biggest Sign of Success There Is.” It was so poorly argued and fundamentally myopic that it scanned immediately as trolling, but it was heartening to see enormous response refuting its self-entitled intellectual laziness. Versace was the most graceful counter-argument to this mindset imaginable. In history, there are lessons that we haven’t seemed to learn, patterns yet to be broken. Like a pill hidden in a caramel, it wrapped a bunch of cultural observations in a salacious story. The show linked Cunanan’s ability to hide in plain sight for two months after his initial string of four murders to FBI apathy, if not homophobia, since at the time three out of his four victims were gay men—more recently, the slow response to investigate the deaths of alleged victims of 66-year-old Canadian landscaper Bruce McArthur raised similar concerns of police bigotry.

Cunanan was distorting his persona over a decade before people were curating elements of their lives to present to the world on social media. He was self-absorbed and unabashedly materialistic. He’s an extreme example who went to extreme measures, and like any melodrama worth investing in, Versace used those extremes to comment on a greater truth. Criss’s performance was just swishy enough to stop short of caricature and deranged to the point of ramming its head against the top—the show routinely featured him staring blankly into a space just above the top of the camera, as high-pitched music unraveled to score his mental state.

But Versace was allergic to glamorization, which initially may have seemed counterintuitive for a show that was nominally about fashion. Versace was in the business of breaking facades, of explicating just how toxic those facades could be. Its roughly reverse-chronological structure placed the grand guignol of Versace’s slaying up front, and then worked backward to explain, humanize, salute, and mourn. The Versace family called the show “a work of fiction” prior to its airing, and at the end of every episode ran a disclaimer that read: “This series is inspired by true events and investigative reports. Some events are combined or imagined for dramatic and interpretive purposes. Dialogue is imagined to be consistent with these events.” But the show proved that something need not have happened to be true. Andrew Cunanan’s murders were shocking, but more so was how relevant his story, and those of the lives he destroyed, remains.

[onemorenight-rpg]

| | ▶ | |  

name: Aria Fleming age: 532 born: Touraine, France last known residence: Drifter

One half of the infamous identical twin Amet sisters. Unfortunately, the half that is not spoken very highly of. Legends float around about how she’s killed packs of hunters on her own, some believe she’s partnerless, there’s a number of Amets who can agree that she’s nothing but an urban legend. But if you were to actually meet Aria Fleming and if she let you actually get to know the real her you wouldn’t find a tough warrior. On the outside she’s beautiful, innocent looking, and charming. She’s able to portray this intimidating image but no one realizes that deep down, she is nothing more than just a scared little girl. Aria and her sister were orphaned by the time they were eighteen years old, something that despite Aria’s unshakable foundation, shook her quite severely. Their mother was a human who had died in child birth and their father had eventually killed himself after reconnecting with his partner due to the depression of losing his wife and the hatred he held for his own kind. Aria never has seemed to dwell on it but she actually was extremely affected by her father’s death and often questions if he was right about the Amets being a horrible mistake. Aria and her sister, Charlie, quickly fled to England and the girls began serving for the royal family. It was then only weeks later that Aria met Preston Sharpe. The man she will always remind Charlie that she met first. Preston Sharpe took Aria by surprise for many reasons. He was innocent looking, a gentleman. Though having an incredible gift, he never seemed to take advantage of it. He was someone Aria knew she could destroy completely if she wanted to, and the way he was able to look at her as if she was some kind of angel, it made the uncaring Aria actually feel something. It was after seeing the way he and her twin sister had looked at one another that turned it into a game. She had an overwhelming feeling of jealousy but also found it amusing so, she seduced the man. After turning Preston and Charlie against each other she figured her work was done and disappeared all together. She migrated to the United States and spent only a few months in North Carolina until realizing her sister was also preoccupying the state and left. Choosing to runaway yet again, Aria found herself settling into Texas in the winter of 1862. It was there she decided to nurse the wounded having next to no chance at meeting an Amet on the battlefield. These days she wished she really hadn’t have assumed that. It was there she caught the eye of one of the southern soldiers - Carter Hensley. An Amet. His attitude matched hers and the two were able to challenge one another, it was almost as if both could see the tortured souls underneath. Their relationship soon became physical and while Carter babbled about their lives together after the war, Aria questioned why in the hell she was actually harboring feelings for him. She never truly fell for anyone, it was supposed to be the other way around. It terrified her but she knew there was no harm in it and there wasn’t anything that could go wrong. The two became closer and closer until he arrived to the medics tent with a bullet wound in his chest. Missing supplies and panicking, Aria left to the nearest town to get bandages, either unintentionally ignoring or completely oblivious to the pain in her own chest. She arrived back only to see his wound was almost completely healed and it was then the two knew. They were partners. While Carter was happy with it, Aria became aware that she now had a weakness. She had someone who could possibly be injured because of her. Telling him she never loved him (lie) and never will (another lie, along with a string of derogatory terms) she turned on her heel and disappeared. After leaving Carter, Aria’s world turned upside yet again at the sight of her swelling stomach. Nine months after disappearing from Carter’s life, Aria gave birth to a daughter. Katima became Aria’s entire world, despite what anyone else chooses to believe, even including Katima herself. Her daughter became the most precious thing in the world to her, so precious, that she knew Katima’s life would better off without her in it. Aria left Katima at the age of seven with a human family in Russia. Aria was left alone yet again, spending her sleepless nights wondering what her daughter or her daughter’s father were doing. To the world, Aria Fleming has been a myth for quite some time now. No one has seen her, no one has heard from her. Or so some people think. While some will mention they interacted with her sister, it was actually Aria impersonating Charlie. She’s known to do it and often uses the tactic to get her things she wants or to get close to people who fear her. The truth of the matter is, Aria spent time in Europe. England, Bulgaria, Russia, France. She tried her best to portray a human and even had fallen into a few relationships over the years. The people from her past constantly tugged at her and she would check up on everyone from time to time but it was never enough for her to reveal herself. She couldn’t see Carter or Katima and have them look at her in disgust or hatred. It would kill her. Recently, while going after a group of hunters who fled to Spain, Aria was captured and no one was aware. Chained in a dark, hot, dirty basement for seven months, she finally regained her strength after being bled out and tortured for the first five months and escaped, slaughtering anyone she could get her hands on on her way out. After becoming one of the first to catch onto the uprising with the Hunters from her experience, Aria figures it’s time for a homecoming after hearing that her sister is with Carter. Being chained like a literal animal has left her a little shaken and she’s hoping that maybe, just maybe, she can find some comfort and protection in her past.

power: Telekinesis; The ability to manipulate and control objects with the mind, often in ways not visible to the naked eye. fc: Penelope Mitchell

partner: Carter Hensley

There was a point in time when Carter was the absolute love of her life. The years have not made her forget the fact, she also has the bond of him being the father of her child. (Even if he doesn’t quite know) Deep down, Aria loves the man unconditionally but always has to weigh the options which causes her to be afraid of having someone to worry about. With her sister and daughter also in the mix, she just doesn’t really know how to handle those emotions and feelings. The only remedy she has been able to come up with when it comes to Carter, she runs. She checks up on him through the years from a distance but tries not to make that known, she simply can’t help herself. Aria admires his strength and finds his sarcasm and impulsiveness to be some of his best qualities.

THE ROLE OF ARIA FLEMING IS TAKEN

[bookstoreromantic]

Took My Love (took it down) 1/3

Summary: The tight-knit town of Storybrooke isn’t exactly the world’s most ideal place to be licking one’s wounds, but even a town where everyone knows everyone else (and their business) can still provide the odd surprise. (Or, the Tortured Musician fic featuring ex bartender Emma Swan.) ~6k

Rating: M

a/n: Yes, it’s rated M. Yes, this is the first time I’ve posted something with smut in it so for the love of god be kind. I’ve written ahead a bit so that I could post the first part if I hit a wall and since I haven’t opened the doc since before xmas... here we go!

Also available on FFnet and AO3. Multiple and profuse thank yous to @swallowedsong​ and @initiala​.

i.

           Unlike her son, Emma hasn’t made the long drive from New York to Storybrooke in over three years. Not since she packed up their things and left town two days after Ruth’s funeral. It’s been easier in the years since to just put Henry on a bus at the start of summer vacation and send him off to spend two weeks with his uncle. To claim being too busy or not able to get the time off work when David asks why she doesn’t come along. Going back now feels a lot like giving up. And it probably is, in a way.

           She’s spent so long being determined to make it on her own. Just her and her kid in the big city, living an unglamorous life but having grand adventures while they do it. David hadn’t been happy when she’d picked up and left after his mother died and she doubts he’s going to be much happier when he learns the reason behind her unannounced visit. If she hadn’t been so completely blindsided she might have been able to come up with a different plan, but Henry was already packed and ready to go and Storybrooke, well…

           Storybrooke is the closest she’s ever gotten to having a home.

           Not that she has any desire to move back permanently. This is temporary, she repeats to herself over and over on the drive. Just a chance to clear her head. There are too many ghosts in the sleepy seaside town to make her ever think about moving back. Too many mistakes. Too many things she should’ve done and words she didn’t say and the chance is gone now, there’s no going back and starting over.

           New York was supposed to be the place where she could figure her shit out in anonymity. Instead it’s sent her from the frying pan to the fire — running away from her adult mistakes and back to the small town that had picked apart each and every one she’d made as a teenager and a too-young mother.

           Emma knows full well that she’ll never be able to repay the kindness that Ruth Nolan showed her when she bailed her pregnant, runaway self out of jail and hired her a lawyer. She’d barely been able to take care of herself and her son back then, let alone chip away at the debt she owed her foster mother. And then a brain aneurysm stole her away from them, killing any ideas Emma might have had of being able to make it up to her in some far off, misty future where her life wasn’t a complete mess.

           It’s still a mess. It’s always going to be a mess, she thinks. But she’s picked herself up in Storybrooke once before. Maybe these two weeks will give her the chance to do it again.

           Her twelve year-old is dead asleep in the back of the bug by the time they cross the town line and Emma takes a deep breath, guiding the car along the winding forest roads until they finally turn onto Main Street. It’s too late now to throw herself on David and Mary Margaret’s hospitality so she parks the car just outside of Granny’s and kills the engine, counting down silently from five as Henry starts to stir.

           “Are we here?” he mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

           Emma smiles, remembering how she used to drive the town’s empty roads at night back when he was a baby, hoping against hope that this time he wouldn’t wake up when the engine shut off.

           “We’re here,” she says, reaching back to ruffle his hair. He grumbles and tries to swat her hand away and she laughs as she opens her door. “I’m gonna go get us a room. Grab the bags from the trunk?”

           “Yeah, okay.”

           Emma smiles at him again before getting out of the car and heading up the walkway. She might still be a mess, but she must have done something right to wind up with such a genuine and laidback kid. Henry had barely even batted an eye when she told him things were over with Walsh and would it be okay if she joined him in Storybrooke this year, maybe? He’d just given her a hug and asked if she was okay then promised to make sure their vacation together was ‘epic.’

           Emma isn’t okay. She’s furious. And humiliated. And furious over feeling humiliated. But Henry worries too much about her happiness to start with, he doesn’t need to know that she got taken for a fool.

           Neither does David, for that matter. Not crashing at the Nolan house means she has another few hours to figure out what stripped down version of events she’ll give to her over-protective foster brother.

           She doesn’t need help, no matter how well-intended it may be. She just needs to get herself together and get out. That’s the plan. The trick will be in not letting the parts of Storybrooke that are wrapped around her heart cut too tight.

           It’s a beautiful day in Storybrooke, the irksome voice on the radio alarm informs him, and Killian couldn’t care less. He has no idea how much he drank the night before — his nightly habit tends to operate on a sliding scale of reasonable to whatever’s worse than binge drinking. To his credit, he doesn’t black out as much since Liam brought him to Storybrooke (he agreed to come help with the store, he’s not going to completely let his brother down when he needs him) but having work to do during the day does nothing to make the nights any easier.

           Nights are for her. Night was when they used to stay up until dawn working together, playing with rhythms and melodies and lyrics until the song came alive. Night was when they’d be up on stage with the boys, playing a set or two or three at whatever bar would have them and telling themselves that this one would be their break. Night was when they’d fall into bed together, trying in vain to keep quiet in cheap motels with thin walls. All of his best memories with Milah happened at night and so night is when he drowns for missing her.

           It’s been over half a year since she died. He doesn’t know who he is anymore without her.

           One more day, he tells himself. One more day manning the cash and then he can do whatever the hell he likes with his Saturday night. Killian swings his legs over the side of the bed to get up and knocks over an empty beer bottle in the process. It rolls across the room until it hits the wall but he ignores it, along with all the others that sit scattered about the studio apartment. It’s not like anybody sees the place to care that it’s a mess. His brother let him the flat above the shop after one too many drunken nights crashing at his place with his sick wife and eleven year-old son in the house. But so long as he shows up to work to open on time, doesn’t drink on the job, and joins them for family dinners — irritatingly pleasant affairs where nobody talks about Elsa’s chemotherapy or admits that Killian is still a grieving, drunken mess — he’s mostly left to his own devices.

           To be honest, he’s not so sure if that’s a good thing. But his brother has his own family to worry about and Killian’s penchant for public intoxication when he first came to town has not exactly endeared him to the locals.

           He showers quickly, the cool water clearing the last of the sleep from his addled and hung over brain. The jeans are the same as he’s been wearing all week but he pulls on a clean shirt for appearance’s sake. Breakfast is a couple slices of toast slathered in peanut butter and washed down with orange juice — the same bloody thing seven days a week, he broods but he doesn’t care enough to bother making something else. Killian locks up and heads downstairs, entering the shop from the back. He flicks on the lights, starts the coffee, and unlocks the door right at nine am sharp.

           Atlantic Twine & Net has been a Storybrooke fixture for over forty years, a commercial fishing supplies store with a prime location on Main Street right next to Granny’s Diner. His brother kept the name when he bought the place awhile back and has done his part over the years to keep Storybrooke’s various fish ‘n chips restaurants well-stocked with local fare. Fishing’s not exactly Killian’s area of expertise, but he’s been at it for a few months now and most everyone who comes in knows what they want already. Liam used to join him for a few hours in the middle of the day but Erik is out of school now and no boy wants to spend their summer vacation stuck at their father’s work. Killian loves his brother, he really does, but the job is dull and repetitive and kills whatever desire to play is still left in him.

           When Liam asked him to come to Storybrooke and help out while Elsa underwent treatment Killian initially stayed in their guest room, an arrangement which led to a series of nasty fights as Liam urged him to move past his grief. His older brother disagreed with seemingly every choice that Killian had made — leaving the band and quitting music, letting the bottle get the better of him, letting his life fall apart over a woman who’s been gone now almost longer than he ever had her to begin with.

           But Liam has a son. He’s got no bloody choice but to keep it together despite his wife’s illness. And Killian, well… falling apart is the only thing he’s good at anymore.

           To admit that it feels strange waking up alone would imply that she slept much at all after checking into Granny’s and collapsing on the lumpy mattress. She’d managed to doze in front of the tv for a bit when they first got in, but as soon as she’d actually brushed her teeth and gotten ready for bed her brain had decided that it preferred to be awake. Preferred to turn each and every moment from the last two years over in her head and try to pinpoint all the signs that she’d missed. There must have been clues, nobody is that good of a con artist. But Walsh had been sweet and attentive and so good to her and Henry.

           He could afford to be good, she thinks bitterly. He was stealing from her after all.

           Throwing off the covers with a groan, she grabs the spare pillow and flings it over at Henry, hitting him in the face with a satisfying thump. Her son jumps awake with an indignant shout and Emma grins.

           “Get up, kid. We need to get to breakfast.”

           The promise of food perks him up and he swings his legs over the side of the bed to pick the pillow up off the floor and throw it back at her. “Granny’s?”

           “What else? Come on, we’ve got to get moving if we’re gonna beat your uncle and Mary Margaret there.”

           Saturday morning breakfast at Granny’s has been a Nolan tradition since well before Emma first came to Storybrooke and she doesn’t expect David to start breaking that tradition any time soon. She and Henry probably spent more time at the diner than anywhere else while they were still living in Storybrooke and stepping inside brings back a rush of memories. Nothing has changed in the past three years, from the faded checkerboard floor to the old vinyl-covered booths. Granny used to love to talk about how she was going to spruce the place up but it was just one of those small town refrains. Like Leroy always being grumpy, or Dr. Hopper always taking the same route at the same time for his dog’s afternoon walk. They may as well be civic institutions.

           It makes her wonder if her initials are still carved into the underside of the table in the back, or if they’ve been covered up by discarded gum. Neal had carved the two pairs of letters as they sat and drank milkshakes and plotted their escape from town. She can still remember the heady feeling when he’d taken her hand and guided her as she traced the letters and the heart that encircled them and has to shake her head at the thought. Leaving town and going to the big city was the refrain of half of Storybrooke’s teenage population, after all, not just her and Neal.

           Henry heads straight to what she assumes is still David’s usual table and she slides in next to him so that they’re both facing the door and can see her foster brother’s face when he walks in.

           “Do you think Mary Margaret will cry when she sees us?” Emma asks, leaning in conspiratorially.

           “Definitely. You know they’re gonna want us to go stay with them, right?”

           She snorts. “Four people living in that loft? I think we’re better off sticking with Granny’s, don’t you?”

           “Yeah, probably.” He sounds fine with it but looks away with a frown and she narrows her eyes.

           “Hey,” she says, nudging him with her elbow. “I’m sure you can have a sleepover or two while we’re here.”

           Henry nods but she can see him putting his face back on — the same way she does most mornings — and shit, maybe her son isn’t as okay with the breakup as he wants her to think.

           “Speaking of sleepovers—”

           “Emma?”

           Whatever Henry was about to say gets interrupted and they both turn to see her foster brother and his fiancée gaping at them from the doorway. Emma slides out of the booth with a grin and is almost immediately wrapped in a hug by David.

           “What are you doing here?”

           Emma just smiles into his shoulder for a moment before pulling away to hug Mary Margaret. “We thought we’d surprise you,” she says as Henry tackles his uncle.

           “This is definitely a surprise,” the other woman says, squeezing her hands before letting go. Emma doesn’t miss the small frown when she notices the diamond missing from her ring finger but ignores it in favour of leading them all back into the booth.

           “What time did you get in at?” David asks. He’s barely sat down before Ruby comes around with his coffee and Emma waves a hand to brush off the question.

           “Late, we didn’t want to be a bother.”

           “Mom dumped Walsh,” Henry chimes in helpfully and she scrunches her face up in distaste.

           “What happened?”

           Emma shakes her head. The last thing she wants is for David to get  his hackles up. “It’s not important. I just thought a change of scenery would be a good idea for a little while.”

           He opens his mouth to argue but Mary Margaret steps in instead. “You’re welcome to stay with us, you know,” she offers. “We might have only been expecting Henry, but we’d love to have you both. We can set up the air mattress, or maybe—”

           Emma shoots her son a look out of the corner of her eye and he smirks. “We’re good, but thank you.”

           David looks like he wants to question her again — she can just see them all piling up on the tip of his tongue. Are you staying the full two weeks? You always said you couldn’t get time off work, why is it okay now? Why did you leave the man who you were planning to marry? And she takes a deep breath.

           “Should we order? Let’s order. Who’s having pancakes?”

           Bloody hell is he glad to be closing up shop for the day.

           The thing about running a store in a small town is that most days are the same and the only ones that are any different are the ones where something goes wrong. Killian had spent most of the morning tracking down a missing shipment from one of their suppliers and the rest of the day fending off Leroy’s complaints about their lack of his favourite hoochie lure.

           (He swears, if he hears the word hoochie one more time today…)

           It’s not the sort of day that leaves him wanting to go over to his brother’s, but family dinners were part of the deal they made when Killian took over the flat above the store so he has little choice. Liam likes to keep an eye on him, and he seems to believe that Killian would subsist purely on rum if not for his nightly, unappetizing attempts to sop up the booze in his stomach.

           His brother took over household cooking duties once Elsa started chemotherapy, setting out to recreate the food of his and Killian’s youth. Which would be fine if he didn’t stubbornly misremember said youth. Despite Liam’s claims at being a great cook (“I raised Killian, didn’t I? He’s strong and healthy enough, if you ignore the last year.”) it was Killian who had manned the kitchen growing up. Liam worked to buy the food, but he never got anywhere close to actually putting it on the table.

           Which means that nearly every night since he’s been in town, Killian has gotten to enjoy poorly cooked dinners and a brother who shuts him down every time he offers a suggestion.

         Tonight, of course, is no different. Erik eagerly provides the conversation, detailing grandiose plans for his summer vacation, but Killian’s in no mood to show interest and watching Elsa push food around her plate turns his stomach. He pushes his chair back from the table about halfway through the meal, setting his plate on the counter with a clang and leaving the kitchen. He means to just take a minute, just a moment to himself away from everyone aggressively ignoring how not fine they all are. He just needs to get the tightness out of his chest before he goes back, makes his apologies, and makes his escape.

           He’s barely left the room before he hears someone following and that tight feeling turns to frustration before he can tame it.

           “Uncle Killian! Uncle Killian, are you leaving already?”

           “Aye, lad,” he says, tamping it down as best he can and grabbing his coat off the back of the couch. “What is it you want?”

           “I was hoping maybe you could teach me how to play guitar tonight. Dad said I’m old enough now, I can use his old one.”

           The request makes Killian stop dead in his tracks and he turns to look from his nephew to the doorway where Liam is standing watching them.

           “You put him up to this, then?” he asks, raising his chin to address his brother and ignoring the bouncing eleven year-old in between them.

           Liam frowns and sets a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Go back to the table and finish eating with your mum, yeah?”

           The change in the boy is immediate and they both watch him leave the room, suddenly fixated on his feet. Killian knows what’s coming next and already has a scowl ready when his brother turns and starts in on him.

           “Would it kill you to—”

           “Don’t pin this on me, brother,” he spits, cutting him off. “You know I don’t bloody play anymore. It’s not my fault that you went and put ideas in his head.”

           “No, you don’t play anymore. You don’t do much of anything anymore, do you?”

           Killian recoils but manages to keep from flinching at the barb. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

           “I ran into Leroy today, he said we were out of stock on quite a few things.”

           “Of course he bloody did. The man can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.”

           Because obviously it wasn’t enough that he’d spent hours trying to track down the order, despite the fact that it was Saturday and most businesses were closed. No, the town tattle-tale has to rat him out to his brother as if it’s something that’s even remotely in his control.

           “He shouldn’t have to keep his mouth shut, Killian!” Liam fumes. “What happened with the Golden Bait shipment?”

           “How the hell should I know? It never showed up! Some days it’s like this town doesn’t even bloody exist for all the problems I run into when suppliers try and deliver.”

           “Garth’s been selling to Atlantic Twine & Net since before I bought the store,” Liam says, crossing his arms. “Never had any problems with him in the past. If you’re not going to take this job seriously—”

           “So it’s my fault then?” Killian retorts. Liam doesn’t answer and he grinds his teeth,  hand clenching at his side. “Right. Well, this has been fun,” he says, voice thick with false cheer. “We’ll do it again tomorrow, shall we?”

           Killian lets the door slam shut behind him and storms up the street back to his apartment. Jumping in the car he’s got parked around back, he turns the ignition and floors it down Main Street.

           He hates this bloody town. Hates everything about it and there’s no way he’s spending the evening at home, above the store that’s given him nothing but grief all day. Thankfully, tonight’s the one night he can leave and not have to worry about fucking up his life any more than it already is.

           Small towns have their benefits, Emma’s realized. And one of those is the ability to be in your pajamas at nine o’clock on a Saturday night, armed with snacks that you don’t have to share and settled in for a Mummy movie marathon. Henry’s traditional first-night-in-Storybrooke sleepover with John and Michael had proved the perfect excuse to not linger around the loft after dinner with David and Mary Margaret. She loves her foster brother, but constantly stepping around the topic of Walsh gets exhausting after a few hours.

           David used to be content to let her have her space — to this date they’ve had exactly one conversation about the Neal debacle, where he promised to both always have her back and to never bring it up again. But apparently when she moved away from Storybrooke it triggered all of his protective instincts, even the ones that usually tell him she can take care of herself.

           Emma didn’t come back to Storybrooke for an inquisition. She knows everyone has questions — she does too. She just needs a little more distance from it all before she can try to offer any answers.

           She needs to remember how to breathe with her armour on again.

           The door handle jiggles and Emma startles, eyes narrowing as she mutes the tv in time to  hear a key being slid into the lock. She doesn’t know what kind of help Granny has hired in the time she’s been gone, but it’s way too late in the day for anyone to be changing sheets.

           “Do not disturb!” she calls out but it’s already too late. The door opens to reveal a dressed-to-the-nines Ruby Lucas, garment bag in hand.

           “Oh my god. It’s worse than I thought.”

           Emma groans and sets her popcorn aside, shoving the blankets off in order to get up. “Still abusing your master key, I see.”

           “I’ll have you know that it’s for emergencies. Which this clearly is. Here,” she says, holding out the arm with the garment bag. “Put this on, we’re going out.”

           Emma tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms over her rubber ducky pajamas. Ruby had been the perfect partner in crime as a teenager but once she had Henry wild nights out got traded for nights in with movie marathons and nail painting. “I’m not going out, Ruby. But you’re more than welcome to join me for movie night.”

           The other girl shakes her head. “No. No, not happening. You are better than this, Emma Swan. Is this what you would be doing on a Saturday night in New York?”

           “I would be working on a Saturday night in New York. This,” she counters, waving an arm back at the snack-covered bed, “Is a great night off. I have no more desire to go drink in a bar tonight than I do to go work in one.”

           “You’re letting him win, you know.”

           “Where would we even go?” Emma asks, switching tacks. “The Rabbit Hole closed down, I saw the sign.”

           “Rockland is like, a fifteen minute drive away. I will even be the designated driver, so long as we take your car ‘cause mine’s in the shop. Please, Emma,” she pleads. “I’ve missed you. And it’s been so long since I’ve had a proper wing woman. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

           Emma sighs and glances back at the tv and the bed where she’d been so comfortably ensconced just a couple minutes before. “Fine, give me the dress.”

           She pulls it out and gives it a quick once-over in hopes of finding an excuse to shoot it down but Ruby did well. The leather mini dress is in her size and it’ll show a lot of leg but at least her chest won’t be out on display. Ruby practically sashays past her to sit on the bed, hitting the old mattress with a bounce that makes the coils creak in protest.

           “Y’know,” Emma says, stopping at the doorway to the bathroom. “I’m surprised you haven’t re-opened the Rabbit Hole yourself. Weren’t you always talking about not waiting until you inherited Granny’s?”

           “I thought about it,” she replies, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing a piece up before catching it with her mouth. “But something like that I’d want a business partner for and I haven’t found the right person yet.”

           Emma knows a possible out when she sees one and she takes a few steps back into the room. “You know, I’ve worked in a lot of bars. I could give you some tips, if you want. We could get a bottle of wine, finish the snacks, enjoy some Brendan Fraser…”

           For a moment it seems like Ruby might be considering it but then she claps her hands and stands back up and Emma knows she’s lost. “That sounds like an awesome idea. For another night. But right now, you need to go and get changed and then let me fix your hair and make-up so that we can go out. Go!” she says, turning her around by the shoulders and punctuating it with a little shove.

           Emma rolls her eyes and flicks on the light in the bathroom. “It was worth a shot.”

           “It sure was,” Ruby agrees. “But you need this. Trust me.”

           Venturing out to a bar was a horrible idea, he thinks, cursing the fact that his sudden urge to get out of Storybrooke has got him surrounded by the company of strangers all of whom are eminently more sociable than him. He picked the bar because it was closest to where he parked but he can grudgingly admit that it does has some atmosphere. And it’s busy enough on a Saturday night that the noise drowns out most of the demons the booze leaves behind. (One of the downsides to drinking somewhere other than his apartment — he can’t have more than one or two unless he wants to sleep it off in the car.)

           He used to play in similar pubs before he got the band together, when it was just him and his guitar going through a set list of covers with some original songs slipped in. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of picking it up again. Sometimes he even wishes he could. Back in those early days he sat on a stool with a beer at his feet and played for himself more than anyone else. Liam thinks that Killian doesn’t want to move on, but he’s wrong. It’s just that music changed for him as soon as he started working with Milah. She made him better. Made him a stronger artist in every way. He doesn’t know how to do on his own what they once did together, can’t even fathom writing songs without her as his partner. He’d always been a good lyricist, but Milah cut straight to the heart and gave his words a power that he’d never managed even with all of his tinkering.

           Nothing else could ever measure up. It’s far easier to just drink his way through the memories instead.

           The blonde on his right chokes on her drink, and it pulls his attention away from his thoughts and back to the little show that he’s been following for the past fifteen minutes or so.

           “That’s awful!” she exclaims, pushing the glass away from her. “You call that a cocktail?”

           Killian can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he tries not to be obvious about his eavesdropping. The woman and the barkeep have been a source of amusement since she took a seat next to him and apparently the would-be Romeo’s original creation does not meet the lady’s standards.

           “Something funny over there, buddy?”

           He shakes his head but can’t keep from needling the poor bloke. “Just glad I ordered something simple,” he says, raising his rum in salute.

           The blonde eyes him skeptically before rolling her eyes and turning back to her suitor. “You know what? Just give me what he’s having.”

           The new drink is delivered with a scowl and Killian offers his glass to clink. “You’ve crushed that poor man’s heart, love,” he remarks.

           “He’ll get over it,” she replies, touching her rum to his and taking a sip. He follows suit, turning in his seat to face her better.

           Killian can’t fault the bartender for making an attempt; she is absolutely stunning. Her hair tumbles in loose, long waves down her back and she’s wearing a tight leather dress that definitely didn’t come from any of the area’s meager retail offerings. He’s not had near enough alcohol to even consider making a pass at her, but there’s something a little familiar in the set of her shoulders and the way that she holds herself and he’s got his hand out before he can think better of it.

           “I’m Killian,” he offers.

           She shifts on her stool to look at him, glancing down to his hand and then back up to his face. He waits patiently while she eyes him and can’t stop his smile when her hand slips into his.

           “Emma.”

           One drink turns to two turns to stepping outside for some fresh air and before he knows it they’re crammed into the back of her Volkswagen beetle, making out like damned horny teenagers. She’s straddling him, her dress riding up her legs, hair falling like a curtain around them. The whole world has narrowed down to how she feels and tastes and Killian runs his hands up her thighs to push her down further, needing to feel her pressed where he wants her most.

           Emma moans into his mouth when their hips meet and then breaks the kiss to shift a little, hiking the leather dress up to expose her ass completely. He bites at her earlobe when she settles back down, sucking it into his mouth as she sets an easy rhythm. Her nails dig into his shoulder, her other hand fisted in his shirt while she grinds against him and Killian sets to work kissing his way down her neck, paying attention to every little gasp and moan and sigh that she makes.

           She’s fucking glorious. And he’s never going to see her again so he doesn’t hold anything back. He licks and nips and sucks hard enough to bruise, squeezing her ass and rocking his hips up to meet her. Emma drags his face back to hers and damn it but he wants to touch all of her. The leather is unbearably sexy but it covers too much of her chest for his liking. Killian traces the line of her underwear instead, urging her up a bit higher onto her knees and letting out a groan when he finds her soaked through her panties. He pushes the material aside and trails a finger up through her wet until he reaches her clit, softly circling the nub before sliding a finger into her.

           Emma gasps against his lips, her forehead pressed to his. “More.”

           He’s happy to oblige, adding a second finger and twisting his wrist to maximize his range of motion in the cramped space. He keeps the same rhythm that she’d set earlier, pumping his fingers into her while brushing his thumb against her clit with each thrust. Her nails rake down his chest, but the bug is too tight for her to reach where he’s hard and aching and she curses in frustration. Killian just chuckles against her skin and bites down on her shoulder.

           Emma gives up with a moan and starts to rock into the thrusts of his hand. “Fuck, yes,” she mutters. Her breath hitches as he curls his fingers inside of her and then, “Shit, don’t stop.”

           She’s close, her core clenching around his fingers and it’s enough to make his control snap. He needs to feel more, needs to see her come apart above him. Killian grinds out a curse and abandons rhythm in favour of speed. He catches her lips in a brutal kiss, squeezes her breast roughly through the dress until the moment she pulls away with a gasp. Emma trembles around him, her head rolling back as she rides out her high and he feasts on the sight.

           She’s a bloody goddess, he thinks, gently removing his hand. Killian holds the two fingers up to eye level, wishing that he had more light so he could admire the slick coating of her release. Emma smirks down at him and then lowers her head, sucking his fingers clean and he bites back a groan even as his other hand grips her hip, pulling her back down to him.

           He can taste her when she kisses him and his tongue seeks hers hungrily. He’s just about to go back for more when an ambulance passes by and Killian stiffens up involuntarily. The haze of lust clears without warning in spite of Emma’s hands sliding down his chest on their way to his belt.

           “I wasn’t exactly planning on this,” she says, kissing a line along his jaw as she works at his pants. “Do you have any —”

           “No,” he manages, hoping she’ll mistake the strain in his voice for arousal. A cacophony of sirens are going off in his head and he fights to push them away, to stay in the present with the gorgeous woman who’s on top of him.

           It’s a losing battle though, always has been.

           “That’s okay,” Emma murmurs, her voice full of promise. “There are other things we can do.”

           He stills her hands when she jerks the belt open and her eyes jump up to meet his.

           Killian swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. “Perhaps another time.”

           “Seriously? Because I don’t mind.”

           He shifts underneath her and forces a crooked smile which he knows comes off as more of a wince but he can’t find it in himself to be worried about the impression he’s leaving when his heart is hammering in his chest and the sirens won’t stop blaring and it’s too tight in the car, he needs to get out out out. Needs to get to her.

           Emma practically falls off his lap and onto the seat beside him and he grabs for the door without thinking, scrambling out of the car and sucking cool night air into his lungs.

           “Hey, are you alright?”

           He’s bolted almost halfway across the tiny lot already but he turns around when she calls after him, her blonde hair falling around her face as she pokes her head out of the half-open door.

           “Aye,” he croaks. “Goodnight.”

[danithebookaholic-blog]

REVIEWS! - MYSTERY THRILLERS

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I love a good mystery-thriller! I enjoy trying to workout the mystery on my own before I read what really happen, then there’s nothing quite like the thrill of a good thriller! This week’s review is all about the chase, the questions, and the anticipation of what will happen next with Mystery and Thrillers!

The line up for this mystifying thrill ride:

📚Greer Hendricks & Sarah Pekkanen’s An Anonymous Girl (2019 Adult Thriller) 📚Jon Ronson’s The Last Days of August (2019 True Crime Audio Book) 📚Jane Corry’s My Husband’s Wife (2017 Psychological Thriller) 📚Lisa Gardner’s Right Behind You (2017 Mystery Thriller)

From one bookaholic to another, I hope I’ve helped you find your next fix. —Dani

An Anonymous Girl 

By Greer Hendricks & Sarah Pekkanen

Publication Date: January 8, 2019 Genre: Adult, Mystery, Thriller

Synopsis:

The next novel of psychological suspense and obsession from the authors of the blockbuster bestseller The Wife Between Us.

Seeking women ages 18–32 to participate in a study on ethics and morality. Generous compensation. Anonymity guaranteed.

When Jessica Farris signs up for a psychology study conducted by the mysterious Dr. Shields, she thinks all she’ll have to do is answer a few questions, collect her money, and leave.

Question #1: Could you tell a lie without feeling guilt?

But as the questions grow more and more intense and invasive and the sessions become outings where Jess is told what to wear and how to act, she begins to feel as though Dr. Shields may know what she’s thinking… and what she’s hiding.

Question #2: Have you ever deeply hurt someone you care about?

As Jess’s paranoia grows, it becomes clear that she can no longer trust what in her life is real, and what is one of Dr. Shields’ manipulative experiments. Caught in a web of deceit and jealousy, Jess quickly learns that some obsessions can be deadly.

Question #3: Should a punishment always fit the crime?

From the authors of the blockbuster bestseller The Wife Between Us comes an electrifying new novel about doubt, passion, and just how much you can trust someone.  

Purchase:

Amazon / B&N / Kobo / Google Play / IndieBound

Review:

 Before reading Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen’s An Anonymous Girl, I had read several reviews stating that it was ‘Overrated’ and ‘Not up to all of the hype’ everyone was giving it. Let me say, that if you, too, have read these reviews then please note that you should take them as a grain of salt and toss them over your shoulder! I wish I hadn’t waited so long to pick it up!

Could you tell a lie without feeling guilt? Have you ever deeply hurt someone you care about? Should a punishment always fit a crime?

An Anonymous Girl is a fantastic psychological thriller that will have you not only sitting on the edge of your seat until the very end, but will also have you questioning your own morals. Fans of Caroline Kepnes’s You will instantly gravitate to Dr. Shields’s subtly creepy obsession with Subject 52, Jessica Farris, and the hope that she “could become a pioneer in the field of psychological research.”

An Anonymous Girl is rife with mysteries and psychological conundrums. Just when you think that you have finally figured things out, Dr. Shields is not only two steps ahead of Jessica, but ahead of you, too! Minuscule details about doubt, passion and trust, add up to one final test for Jessica, and an ending that you’ll never see coming!

 Dani's Score out of 5: 📚📚📚📚📚

Audio Book Review

The Last Days of August 

By Jon Ronson

Publication Date: January 3, 2019 Genre: Non-Fiction, True Crime, Mystery, Journalism, Biography, Abuse

Synopsis:

In December 2017 the famous porn star August Ames committed suicide in a park in the Conejo Valley. It happened a day after she’d been the victim of a pile-on, via Twitter, by fellow porn professionals - punishment for her tweeting something deemed homophobic. 

A month later, August’s husband, Kevin, connected with Jon Ronson to tell the story of how Twitter bullying killed his wife. What neither Kevin nor Ronson realized was that Ronson would soon hear rumors and secrets hinting at a very different story - something mysterious and unexpected and terrible. 

In The Last Days of August, Ronson unravels the never-before-told story of what caused this beloved 23-year-old actress’ untimely death.

Purchase:

Audible Original

Review:

I thought the idea of this book was great and I loved that it was in a podcast formatting almost.  Everything was done really well, including the 'investigation,' but my biggest problem was that I felt the story, like August's life, ended too abruptly; there was no conclusion, no end other than what we know from the beginning: August is dead. I know that at the very beginning, Jon Ronson plainly and clearly states that this is not a murder mystery, but seeing how the whole story goes in that direction, I would have liked a better conclusion, one that didn't leave me feeling like I dangling off the edge of a cliff.

 Dani's Score out of 5: 📚📚📚

My Husband’s Wife 

By Jane Corry

Publication Date: January 31, 2017 Genre: Mystery, Thriller, Psychological, Suspense

Synopsis:

 When young lawyer Lily marries Ed, she’s determined to make a fresh start and leave the secrets of the past behind. But then she takes on her first murder case and meets Joe, a convicted murderer to whom Lily is strangely drawn—and for whom she will soon be willing to risk almost anything.

But Lily is not the only one with secrets. Her next-door neighbor Carla may be only nine, but she has already learned that secrets are powerful things. That they can get her whatever she wants.

When Lily finds Carla on her doorstep twelve years later, a chain of events is set in motion that can end only one way.

Purchase:

Amazon / B&N / Kobo / IndieBound

Review:

I am 100% done with this book and I’m still not sure how I really feel about it. The writing was done very well, and made you think, but it also became dull and boring on more than one occasion, taking the thrill out of “thriller.” It’s definitely more of a crime-mystery than a mystery-thriller.

Jane Corry’s My Husband’s Wife was an interesting story that had many different components that needed to be there to make the ending workout in the way that it did. While reading it, I kept wondering why on earth a certain character was in the book at all other than to add some drama to the current scene. Turns out, that character ends up playing a pretty vital role in the end results. Another character I was just completely annoyed with the entire book and kept wondering when Corry was going to kill them off (I hoped and prayed, they annoyed me so much!) But turns out, they, too, were very vital to the end result, and to the title.

As a side note: I was also very surprised to see that this book was published back in 2017. I have seen it (I feel) EVERYWHERE lately and thought for sure that it was a new book within the last couple of months. When I realized that it came out in 2017 I was shocked. I am very curious to know why it took so long for me to notice it, and why it has been showing up everywhere I look now.

All in all, it was a good crime-mystery. It does drag a bit, but it was very complex and I do give props to Corry for that. I did constantly question which character was saying the title; you think you know, and then in next chapter you’re unsure again. If you’re looking for a thrill, put this one down, it’s not for you. But if you’re looking for a crime, this is a good one for you!

 Dani's Score out of 5: 📚📚📚📚

Right Behind You (Quincy & Rainie #7) 

By Lisa Gardner

Publication Date: January 31, 2017 Genre: Mystery, Thriller, Suspense

Synopsis:

Lisa Gardner's latest thriller following her runaway hit Find Hertakes her wildly popular brand of suspense to new heights.

Eight years ago, Sharlah May Nash's older brother beat their drunken father to death with a baseball bat in order to save both of their lives. Now thirteen years old, Sharlah has finally moved on. About to be adopted by retired FBI profiler Pierce Quincy and his partner, Rainie Conner, Sharlah loves one thing best about her new family: They are all experts on monsters.

Then the call comes in. A double murder at a local gas station, followed by reports of an armed suspect shooting his way through the wilds of Oregon. As Quincy and Rainie race to assist, they are forced to confront mounting evidence: The shooter may very well be Sharlah's older brother, Telly Ray Nash, and it appears his killing spree has only just begun.

As the clock winds down on a massive hunt for Telly, Quincy and Rainie must answer two critical questions: Why after eight years has this young man started killing again? And what does this mean for Sharlah? Once upon a time, Sharlah's big brother saved her life. Now, she has two questions of her own: Is her brother a hero or a killer? And how much will it cost her new family before they learn the final, shattering truth? Because as Sharlah knows all too well, the biggest danger is the one standing right behind you.

Purchase:

Amazon / B&N / Kobo / iBooks

Review:

If you’re looking for a mystery thriller that will take behind the scenes with both the police and the the man they’re hunting, then Right Behind You by Lisa Gardner is a perfect fit!

I thoroughly enjoy reading mysteries when you get to see behind the scenes of both the good and the bad, and it’s not an easy task of the author to do this and still keep you guessing! Gardner did an amazing job of letting you be on opposing sides, but holding back enough information in the process to keep you guessing all the way to the end. Just when you thought you knew who it was or what was going to happen next, characters camouflage themselves just enough to stay hidden, the scene changed dramatically, and you’d find yourself just as confused as the profilers.

I really enjoyed Right Behind You! I had a very hard time putting it down, and even found myself dreaming of it, awaking to read for several hours in the wee hours of the morning. I only have two small complaints:

1) I wish there were a touch more to the epilogue. It was a great ending, but I wish there was a smidge more to it.

2) The cover photo on my copy is misleading (see photo above for what my cover looks like). I know this probably comes off as trivial, but I am one that slightly judges a book on it’s cover. I tend not to read book synopsis before reading a book. I don’t like getting a prejudged assessment of the book I’m about to read. Instead, I like to make an attempted guess as to what I’m about to read based on the title and the photo on the cover. While this is not always the best approach, I find it fun to see if my thoughts based on these two things play into the actual story any. A truly great book art designer will give you a snippet into the book, and I feel this design did not. I get the broken glass/window, but the background photo looks like two dead bodies laying in a bush, which does not happen in the book. Maybe the legs are supposed to be Sharlah being chased by her brother, Telly? But then why are they lying on the grass? It’s just very confusing and not the best option. The cover for the paperback was was definitely a better choice (see cover to right), or even a close up of a camouflaged face… My preference, but then again that is what a review is.

Overall, I really, really enjoyed Right Behind You. I would recommend it to anyone that enjoys a good police mystery-thriller. As for me, I look forward to reading Gardner’s other works, including the other six Quincy & Rainie books!

 Dani's Score out of 5: 📚📚📚📚📚

Pair Them All With: Ouragan Pinot Noir

This Oregon Pinot Noir opens with aromas of rope cherry and spice, leading to a round palate of strawberry and a hint of vanilla, with a medium-ling finish of toasted almond, floral notes and silky tannins. Pair with grilled salmon, sushi and soft cheeses.

Website

Have a book you’d like to suggest or one you’d like me to review? Please feel free to leave your comments down below.

[useyourrwords]

Tag // The Liebster Award

I am feeling the love guys!

I have been gone for months and I know I haven’t been forgotten because while I was gone I was nominated for this award by the always sharp and murdery Krystin @ Here’s The Fucking Twist! 

Go and check out her answers to the questions she was given! Or even just check it out just to see photos of her super fucking cute pets!

This award is great because there’s such a variety of questions and answers and it helps bring exposure across the blogging world!

AND it’s run by an Aussie so I’m inclined to like it that little bit more!

Krystin’s Questions

Honestly, these are all super great questions and I have no idea how the hell I’m going to come up with my own!

I’m the worst at coming up with questions. I always hated whenever I was assigned to interview someone is school because it meant I had to socialize for one, and then on top of that I had to create questions for the people I was being forced to talk to!

That makes it sound like I hate being tagged in things like this…I promise I don’t!

The reason I much prefer these types of things than the assignments from high school years past is because I get to socialize in the comfort of my own home, behind a screen with other introverts who love books as much as I do!

I’ll still struggle to come up with questions though.

     1. If You Could Have Any Fictional Character Come To Life, Who Would You Choose?

I have too many favourite characters and most of them would probably try and kill me.

Maybe I’m struggling so much to choose one because I don’t really want any of them to come to life. I might be the only one here, but I like my favourite characters in their books because honestly?

I’m scared I might not like them in real life! Also, how am I going to enjoy my favourite books if all the characters are just out and walking about in my world?

If I had to pick I might choose Monty from The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue.

Just to get his version of Shakespeare works because that would be hilarious!

     2. What Popular Book Do You Actually Hate?

A Court of Thorns and Roses!

I absolutely hated that book, liked the second one though but God damn was the first one hard to get through.

Tamlin reminded me of everything I hate. Feyre’s choices made me want to scream and Nesta pissed me off any time she was on the page.

3. If You Have A Boat, What Would You Name It?

Well, this is a question I wasn’t expecting!

It would probably be something literary because that’s how I name almost everything.

The Bard.

After my favourite character Lila Bard from the Shades of Magic Series!

     4. Favourite Quote?

Oh god, there are so many! I can never just pick one!

So, I’ll pick one that I recently came across last night and that I shared with my mum. It very poignant for us after the last year.

A woman’s first blood doesn’t come from between her legs but from biting her tongue. -Meggie Royer, The No You Never Listened To

     5. What Is The Scariest Book You’ve Ever Read And Why?

I’ve not read any really scary books but I have read one that was so creepy it had my heart pounding.

Frozen Charlotte by Alex Bell.

     6. List Your Top 3 Favourite Movies Of All-Time.

Krystin! Why are you trying to make me so decisive! This is just plain cruel!

Love, Simon She’s The Man I’m going to cheat and also add the first two Kingsman movies here as well because I fucking love them for the same reason I love She’s The Man – they’re fucking ridiculous and I have a crush on the main character Thor Ragnarok

They’re the three that come to mind first, but I could probably have given a list of 20!

     7. What’s Your Favourite Ice Cream Flavour

Usually anything with lots of chunks of stuff in it! I don’t like just normal plain ice cream. After my year long obsession with Ben and Jerry’s in 2015, I can’t go back to basics!

But if I could to pick up any ice cream I’d probably go with the Clusterfluff from Ben and Jerry’s!

It’s peanut buttery goodness and also I just really love saying Clusterfluff.

And now that I’ve googled it, it looks like they don’t have it in Australia anymore!

I guess I should pick another one then!

I really like the Connoisseur Matcha Green Tea one!

I also just discovered the Connoisseur Hazlenut Icecreams and OMG I could inhale those if I didn’t have any self-control.

     8. Who Would You Want To Play You In A Movie About Your Life SO Far?

That means I need to pick someone my age!!

God, I have no idea.

Shannon Purser?

But she’d have to wear a wig or dye her hair.

     9. When You’re Having A Bad Day, What Do You Do To Make Yourself Feel Better?

Different things;

I read or watch Youtube. 

A couple of years ago I was getting really moody when I was PMSing and would go out of my way to get into to arguments so mum would just yell at me to go watch Youtube for a while and calm down.

If I want to use my brain then I’ll usually blog.

Usually, all I need is to just write a post where I vent about everything and get it out of my system and then delete most of it, just keeping a little bit in my post.

If I want my brain to turn off completely then I watch trashy reality TV.

If I want to feel like my life is less of a shit show, then shows like Real Housewives are great. If I just want a laugh and maybe a little cry then RuPaul’s Drag Race is always a good option.

If I just need to cry, like get it all out, then watching something I know will have me crying is always good.

I tend to pick up Grey’s Anatomy for this. But more often than not I’ll stumble onto something sad when I need it.

If I just need a really good laugh through my tears, then progressive sitcoms work wonders.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine helped me get through a particularly bad time.

Seriously it was the only thing that could stop me from crying for so much as a split second one night.

     10. What’s your Favourite Season?

Autumn!

It’s the perfect mix of cold but not too cold that it makes my FMS flare up and cause pain.

     11. What Books Do You Have On Request At The Library?

Go by when I’m writing this up it’s

Lumberjanes, Vol 9 Lumberjanes, Bonus Tracks Rat Queens, Vol 5 Giant Days, Vol 7 Giant Days, Extra Credit Princeless: Raven the Pirate Princess, Book 2 I Hate Fairyland, Vol 3 Raw. Vegan. Not Gross.

I always have a lot of holds on at any given time because I put a hold on the next graphic novel of my favourite series as soon as I finish the one previous because they take the longest to get a hold of usually.

  My Questions

What TV series best represents your life?

What do you think is your true identifier? (You know the thing people say when they’re trying to tell someone who they’re talking about but one or both people don’t know your name.)

What is one lesson that you want to bestow on the generation below you?

If your pet could text you, what kind of texts would you get from them? (If you don’t have a pet right now, any pet you’ve had will do!)

Describe your life in 10 hashtags.

What’s your craziest ‘I can’t fucking believe this happened to me/I can’t believe I did that’ story?

Which author would you want to turn your life into a book?

Who is your internet crush? Someone who you talk to online. Can be an ‘I want to date you’ crush or a friend crush!

What is your favourite recipe? Share it! I just want recipe ideas.

What would your drag name be?

What book/TV show/film do you think is highly underrated? Give it a shout out!

I tag;

Jillian @ Jillian The Bookish Butterfly

Destiny @ Howling Libraries

Melanie @ Mel To The Any

Avery @ Red Rocket Panda

Nicole @ The Bookworm Drinketh

Em @ Runaway With Dream Thieves 

Marie @ Drizzle And Hurricane Books

Jamieson @ Jamishelves

Carrie @ Carrie’s Book Reviews

Dani @ Touch My Spine Book Reviews

Olivia @ Purely Olivia

Bonus Tag;

 Krystin @ Here’s The Fucking Twist!

I know you’ve already done this twice but I really want to see your answers to my questions so I’m tagging you again for selfish reasons.

However, you don’t have to do it if you feel twice is enough.

I look forward to reading everyone’s answers!

Coming up with these questions were really hard but I’m actually pretty proud of the ones I came up with!

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[carasueachterberg]

This time I really thought I’d seen the last of Gala.

That was my thought, anyway, as I watched her disappear through the woods in pursuit of a herd of deer. She was headed in the general direction of Maryland, and I was pretty sure she would make it.

We were about a mile and a half away from home on our regular run when the deer appeared. Gala did what she usually does – leapt in the air after them.

Because we run with the Easy Walk harness, this usually means that as she reaches the end of her lead, the harness forces her to do a lovely pirouette in midair and land facing me again.

This is the point where I say, “Leave it,” in my firm, take-no-prisoners voice, and then she does not leave it. Most days it takes three or four pirouettes and reminders before she gives up and simply prances for a quarter mile or so.

On Friday, she had done about four pirouettes, when she went airborne for a fifth. This time, though, when she landed, the leash inexplicably unhooked and she was gone like a flash. I was left, yelling her name in vain, holding the empty leash. I looked at the leash end wondering how on earth she’d broken it. It looked fine; completely intact. WTF?

Somehow, and heaven knows it could only happen with Gala, she had twisted just right and forced the leash to release. This was a brand new leash. Because Gala has been steadily chewing through every leash I own, I’d just gotten a nice package of brand new leashes from OPH. This sturdy pink lead had a rubber gripper and I thought that would be a nice change from running with the leash that has three knots tied in it where Gala had gnawed partway through the nylon. When I’d clipped it on her that morning, I noticed the different type of snap, but thought nothing of it; I was just happy to have a better leash to run with.

I ran after Gala for a few hundred yards, but the brush in the woods got very thick and in only minutes there was no sight or sound of her. I trooped back to the road to get a better cell signal and called Chris, another local foster with OPH. I told her what happened and she got on the horn to OPH Lost dogs contingency and posted Gala’s picture on the local Facebook pages.

I tried to call my college age son to come get me, but he can sleep through anything, so after four attempts, I gave up and called a neighbor. Next, I pulled up the site, Next Door, on my phone and posted about Gala.

Next Door is a micro social media site specific to your immediate area. It’s great for letting neighbors know about emergencies, road closures, suspicious book salesmen knocking on doors, or for selling/giving away unwanted items and finding house-sitters, but it’s also excellent for finding lost dogs.

After I posted a description and my best guess for Gala’s wearabouts, I sprinted towards home. My neighbor picked me up about a half mile from my house and drove me the rest of the way. I grabbed a better leash and a package of hot dogs, and jumped in my car.

For the next hour, I drove around calling her, and driving up the long gravel driveways of my few and far between neighbors, leaving notes and numbers everywhere. My phone buzzed with a text from Donna, a woman who had seen my post on Next Door and asked which roads I was canvassing. She was out looking for her dog (a litte white westie, if you’re a local keep your eye out), as she does daily, for the past three months since he went missing. She said she’d drive the roads and look for Gala, so I zoomed home to get warmer clothes, my hiking shoes, and my son.

Brady and I were gathering essentials, when Donna called to say she’d spotted Gala. She was on the road,  a mile or so away, following our running route, headed towards home. Donna said she’d follow her, and Brady and I jumped in the car. We were almost to where Donna and Gala were, when a man on foot scared her and she reversed course and sprinted east towards Stewartstown. Donna stayed with her and when Gala darted in a driveway, she drove past the driveway, turned around and effectively blocked the road with her van. When Gala emerged from the driveway she was forced to reverse directions again and head back towards us. I stopped the car and Brady jumped out.

Gala was running full speed at us and I could see the terror in her eyes. Her tail was tucked between her legs and it was clear that she was running blind as she zipped past Brady. I jumped out of the car and crouched down in the road. I clapped my hands and called her. She was probably a hundred feet away from us by then, but she stopped and looked back. She froze and I patted the ground and kept calling her, using my puppy voice and smiling at her. The moment she realized it was me, relief flooded her face and she bounded back towards me, practically bowling me over in happiness before leaping into the car.

Donna pulled up in her van and I thanked her and told her I looked for her dog every day on my runs. We were both teary and so relieved.

As another friend said who stopped by to see the puppies (puppies???!) that weekend, Gala seems to have nine lives, but she’s burning through them quickly.

Here’s a few things I learned on Friday in the two hours that Gala was missing:

Don’t ever use a leash with a clip like this. I threw mine out.

The moment your dog is missing, get the word out. Don’t wait until you’ve searched for hours and can’t find it. Don’t worry about troubling people or overreacting. If you don’t find the dog quickly, you may never catch it. Gala was clearly in another mode when we saw her. She loves Brady, but ran right past him in her panic. OPH’s Lost Dog volunteers had already generated a flyer to hand out and had volunteers prepared to drive to my area within the hour. If not for Donna, we would have needed all their help.

If you have Next Door or another site like it in your area, you should join. It’s more effective than Facebook at getting the word out to your immediate neighbors. I’m the lead for our Next Door nieghborhood (Tolna Junction) and I started it by inviting my neighbors. No one can join a neighborhood unless they’re invited. If a person asks to join, someone in the group has to verify that they live in the area. This keeps unwanted people from clogging up the site with unhelpful information or using it for their personal gain. It keeps the group specific and effective.

Be sure your dog is micro-chipped and wearing a collar with tags. Gala was headed back our way and she’s a smart girl, so I’m pretty sure if she wasn’t hit by a car in the process, she’d have found her way back. Still, if a dog is lost it’s much easier to get it back if it’s chipped. Gala is chipped, but she lost her tags months ago. I already ordered more.

I have awesome neighbors.

That’s this week’s Gala saga, so now I’ll tell you real quick about the Pepper Puppers!

They arrived last Saturday and are gorgeous Catahoula Leopard Dog mixes. Jalapeno, Chili, Habanero, Poblano, Cayenne, and Sweet Bell are incredibly snuggly little pups who would like you to hold them all the day long.

They are approximately three months old, but that’s optimistic as they act and look younger than that. Their teeth aren’t nearly as big as the Highway Pups who were also billed as 3-month-olds.

Their colorings are amazing and several have light-colored eyes. Poblano, the boy pup has crystal blue eyes. The rest are girls. Cayenne has one brown and one blue eye. Several have the traditional Catahoula dark patches, and two have partially pink noses. Sweet Bell is Weimaraner-colored and leggy.

They are quarantined for the rest of the week to be certain they are healthy and not carrying anything contagious from North Carolina. This means they’re trapped in my puppy room. They clamor for the fence at any sign of people. They all LOVE people. Anyone local who’d like to come snuggle a puppy, please let me know. They are happiest in someone’s arms, and I only have two.

We’re getting to know them and I’ll write more about their individual personalities in the next post. Thanks to Nancy Slattery for these close ups:

Cayenne

Chili

Habanero

Jalapeno

Poblano

Sweet Bell

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to know more about OPH, volunteering, fostering, donating or adopting a Pepper Pupper (or Gala!), click here.

If you’d like to know more about my books and blogs, visit CaraWrites.com.

If you still need tickets for Bark, Wag, and Wine, click here. (and let me know if you’re coming so I can look for you!)

Blessings,

Cara

  Runaway Gala (& The Pepper Puppers) This time I really thought I’d seen the last of Gala. That was my thought, anyway, as I watched her disappear through the woods in pursuit of a herd of deer.