#and I have a vague childhood memory of the two pairs of grandparents

[tj-crochets]

On the one hand I want to go sew something but have no idea what, and on the other hand I want to sit still and play more Coral Island and rest and recover It's great having my grandma visit, I love her dearly, but oh my gosh she whines about wearing a mask more than the ten year old I used to babysit did when he came to visit (for the record he did not whine at all he was really good about it even though he 100% does not wear a mask at home) and she insists she knows where things are in stores (she does not) and she keeps insisting we try to play pinochle except A. she does not remember the rules and B. she insists all the guides we are finding online are incorrect. This is because she does not play Actual Pinochle, she plays House Rules Pinochle-Adjacent Card Game, a game she made up herself and insists is the real pinochle. I have only ever played actual pinochle a few times like a decade ago. My brother has never played any pinochle. We have yet to play an actual game she just keeps launching into attempts to explain it that make no sense

[pathofcomet]

and it’s just around the corner

fandom: stardew valley 

pairing: sebastian/player (female)

summary:  She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back.

rating: explicit // word count: 25k // AO3

She cannot remember the farm per say, just the proof that she’s been there once: a dusty, yellowed photo of herself, smiling in a pink sundress under the shade of a gigantic oak, 4 years old and beaming. She can vaguely bring back the savour of cranberry jam on her tongue, the authentic, slightly sour taste that only meant home-made. She thinks they had a gray cat, and she can feel the smell of gasoline in her nose, from the long car ride there as a child. That’s all she remembers about her grandparents’ old farm; and anything of that lifestyle is completely lost upon her, or her memories of her grandpa. They haven’t been crazily close either: she was busy pursuing her education too far away to allow proper visits, and the phone signal failed the old man too much to allow even constant communication. When he died, they buried him in the city, next to his wife, and everything about the way he lived his life became hazy and forgotten in the lives of the living.

Which is probably why it is so hard to comprehend what she’s reading now, in her cubicle at work, defeated under her 16th time this month of overwork. Her grandpa was known for being eccentric, which is why she expected to see a card with hey, we all die in the end! or something written on it, and not the dreams of her childhood offered on a plate to her. She stares at the paper, reads and rereads it for 7 times before she’s convinced it’s actually real.

She’s touched at the care in his words, at the oozing affection on that piece of paper. It’s something that she didn’t know she was missing until now. A care sent across generations, to reach her – and when she feels like she needs it most. She doesn’t know if she should scream or cry or laugh.

She looks around: there are only a couple of other workers left in the office at the moment, in the late hours of the night. There’s delivery food all across the others’ empty desks, and a few of the girls switched their shoes, from heels to sneakers. And yet, as she stops, the clanking on the keyboard never ends around her, and the neon light remain buzzing above her, the static noise of her real life nightmare. The sigh coming from a co-worker several seats away is deafening in her ears. As she’s writing her resignation letter, for her boss to find on his desk at the first hour in the morning, she can’t help but notice how her vision shakes, how she can’t quite straighten her back under the pain of hours and hours of being hunched at a desk.

It’s not even the irony of it all, dying in a storm of unfair overworking while those above her wallow in money, that upsets her more. But rather, the way in which she cannot have any satisfaction out of it anymore. As a graduate, she thought she’d find happiness in a corporate job that pays well, but now the comfort of money means nothing when she doesn’t have the time to even spend it, and she can’t even recall what her hobbies are, let alone when’s the last time she did anything else but work, do house chores and sleep.

She cannot recall the last time she met up with some friends, visited new places or ordered online something else but a new pair of heels or a new shirt for work. Gods, now that she hit the brake on her wreck of a life, she can’t stop noticing how pathetic she’s been.

Her hands tremble as she signs the paper, as she tosses her meagre office belongings into her bag, as she pushes the elevator button. She’s already overthinking the decision, but it’s already made and she can only worry about what’s to be done next now. She’s 100% sure she’s not made for this, she has zero knowledge of how to take care of a farm and she still screams when she sees a spider in her apartment. But she’s tired, there’s a tiredness that never seems to let loose, and no matter how much she sleeps on Sundays, she wakes up feeling like she has her hands and feet tied. Even if to only rest for a while, and the whole ordeal would still have been worth it.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to her that night. She reads the letter over and over again, she measures the weight of the keys in her palms, she tries to put puzzle pieces together, from old photos she brings up from hidden boxes. Nothing tells her she made the right decision, though in her old photos, everyone looks so happy while on the farm. Maybe she didn’t even truly get to the end of her patience, just a bad day, maybe she still could have taken it for a while. After all, it’s not like she had that bad of a life. But then, it’s not like it was that good either. And once she started thinking of it, the idea of change became hauntingly tempting. The potential in this new place is infinite, and so, so terrifying.

But a change nonetheless.

She spends the next couple of weeks in a frenzy: selling most of her belongings, keeping only the strictly necessary. She keeps the pictures, of course. A few books, only those that she read during university and she felt like they changed her life, though she hasn’t revisited those stories since. Maybe she’ll finally have the time to, now. She sells or donates all her office clothes, expensive shirts and bags – all gone, because they remind her of some kind of work she never wants to do again in her life.

When she stops to count what’s left, looking at her near-empty apartment, two suitcases and a backpack put aside, she’s overwhelmed at how pointlessly she lived her life up until this point. She has nothing to show for all the efforts she’s made, and she can feel the skin all over her body itch with the realisation, itch for something else to do.

She doesn’t look back, as she’s returning the keys of her rented apartment. She has been paying expensively for the chance to live on her own in the big city, and there’s nothing but bitterness towards that idea anyway. She waits in the bus station with music playing at the highest volume, drowning out an incoming panic attack – as she’s struggling to count up to 10, reassure herself that she’s a grown fucking adult and that she can do something as easy as just moving someplace new.

Still, the scenarios roll in her mind, unperturbed, and she almost throws up thrice before she reaches her destination – and then she almost throws up again, as she’s watching the bus pull away, leaving her alone in the middle of nowhere. The sun is bright, but too bright and her clothes are sticking to her skin, even if it’s barely early spring, and the air is fresh. A fairy-tale start to her new adventure, and yet she feels like crying right then and there, a fain headache booming at her temples from all the anxiety she had to push away.

She’s already exhausted and it’s barely noon. She starts pulling at her suitcases, though the road makes it a tricky and tiring job. Then, just as she’s ready to take her first break, a hand grabs the handle, and she stares up in the face of a kindly looking old man.

Mayor Lewis; she still remembers the face, as he is the kind of person who probably always looked the same. They’ve last seen each other at her grandfather’s funeral, so there’s a bit of awkwardness hanging between the two of them, as she’s allowing him to help her with her luggage.

A redheaded woman is waiting for them in her truck, a bit of a distance away, and she helps them with her stuff. It’s easy to make conversation when friendly people are pushing it forward, and they seem way too enthusiastic about her presence. They don’t even comment about her sneakers, totally unfit for most of the roads in the town, or her outfit, that would rip or get dirty the second she’d encounter a field.

She already has a room prepared at Lewis’ place, there’s no way her old house can offer her proper living conditions just yet. That’s not a jab directed at her, rather at the passing of time and the overgrown state of her courtyard. But there’s nothing mean behind their comments, and they’re even offering all the help they can.

She’s trying to come up with a list of things that she might need, but Robin is already writing one of her own.

“She’s our architect,” Lewis whispers, winking at her in secrecy.

It’s weird and scary and she doesn’t know how to feel about it. Back in the city, she could have crumbled on the sidewalk and nobody would have cared. Here, it seems everyone jumps at the chance to do just that, help and care, and she’s terrified out of her skin. Her thanks are muffled by the weird knot in her throat. When balancing things out in her head, there’s nothing she can give them in equal measures.

The key in her hand feels foreign, but yet it’s that thing that grounds her to the moment, doesn’t let her slip away in that part of her brain that makes her forget things even happened. The house is, of course, a disaster, though someone had the good thinking of covering the furniture. The place is small, and it needs a good dusting, maybe even a new coat of paint. Robin, by her side, is still doing her job.

“Is there anything you want in particular?”

“No, not really. I don’t think so?”

She’s lost and overwhelmed. She’d like to just sit somewhere and start unpacking, maybe go and switch all of her things again actually, because there’s no way she can fit in with these people. But Lewis’ arm is around her shoulder, urging her back the way they came, promising her his special vegetable mix and green tea.

Once finally out of his sight, and comfortably settled in his extra bedroom, she squeezes a pillow close to her chest, hiding her face in it, and starts crying. She sobs – for the grandparents she didn’t properly appreciate while alive, that still left her with so much. For the chance that not many have to switch things around. For the state in which the farm is, and the immense effort she’ll have to put in building it back together. For the pain in her arms, the burn so unfamiliar that it must be only the sign of something new. She’s overwhelmed and scared, and hours pass before she finally falls asleep,

The next morning, she refuses even the breakfast, and immediately heads towards her place, luggage in tow. Mayor Lewis promised he’ll solve the problem of electricity and water running back to the place, so at least she can forget the administrative part.

She greets everyone she passes by, because otherwise the staring just gets too unbearable, and though they’re curious, they also remain polite too. But her courtyard and house are truly disastrous. She’s glad it’s still so early in the year, so the weeds didn’t grow yet on the path towards her door, so at least she can focus on dusting off the room, polishing the floor. She unpacks with nostalgic music blasting from her phone: plates in one drawer, her clothes in the other two. She builds herself a nightstand out of all the books she brought with her, and she washes the curtains by hand, letting them dry out in the sun.

She goes to the town for bedsheets and even more cleaning products, buys a basil plant for the windowsill. The place is small, smaller even than her city apartment, and she has nothing of her own to properly decorate it with, give it a specific charm, so she allows herself to get lost between the small isles of the store, and pick whatever piques her fancy. But this is fine, she thinks. This is, after all, the true definition of a new start.

She watches the sun set from her porch – she thinks she’d like an armchair for the place, it’d make a lovely reading pace if it’s not rainy, and there’s a soft lull from the TV inside, where the weather prognosis for the next day rattles on.

She finds grandpa’s old gardening books, and she starts reading them. She cleans up a small portion of the land, plants some seeds she picked based on Pierre’s recommendations. Gathers wood from the end of the forest that runs almost up to her house, practices splitting it in smaller branches, that she can carry and gather in the small tool shed, for the winter.

During the first night that it rains, she opens her door to a stray, lost dog. She hugs him close to her all through the night, as he whimpers and warms up – and in the morning she names him Max, and buys him dog food and a colourful bowl. She stops feeling so alone, so lost, a purpose forming, even though she can’t quite name it.

When too many days pass with her cooped only at her place, letters and requests for visits start pouring in her mailbox. Sometimes mayor Lewis comes pick her himself, walking around the town with her, stopping to present her to any villager they encounter. She feels like a circus freak being paraded around like this, but she smiles, wonders if Max is getting bored at home or if she could walk through the forest in search of some fruits.

 ***

Then, when the weather prognosis tells of many sunny days in a row, Robin shows up at her doorsteps, can of paint in one hand, brushes in the other – and her son behind her, to help her out.

She watches him, fiddling on the spot, looking like he certainly doesn’t want to be here and she smiles. Well, that’s at least a feeling that she can relate to, even when in her bed after a tiring day, she still sometimes yearns for everything that this place is not. Max helps. In this case as well, as he runs to the door and immediately jumps on him.

“Max, no!” she chides, though he settles calmly on panting up at the man for pats. Luckily, he hasn’t slammed him to the ground, as he tends to do with her, but that’s still no proper way of greeting strangers. “I’m so sorry…”

“Sebastian,” he says. “There’s no problem, really.” He’s scratching the dog between his ears, absentmindedly looking in through the door, at the small place she now calls home. There’s nothing much in there, but she finds herself growing protective over it anyway, at his gaze.

Max, the traitor, is now cuddled down at his feet. From the side, Robin laughs.

Her and Sebastian move the furniture, as Robin tapes newspaper on the wooden floor. She prepares fresh lemonade for her visitors and helpers before they start painting, and she takes a short break just to water her crops. They do the work in silence, mostly, just her phone turned on to fill up the space – and without mayor Lewis’ fast mouth, she isn’t certain what she could possibly talk about. From time to time, Robin asks Sebastian something – regarding his sister, or some things she asked him about before, which sounds a lot like nagging so she prefers to stay out of it.

She thanks them many, many times before they leave for the day. Especially since it was the weekend, and she’s sure they just threw away a perfectly free day on helping her put together her house. She just feels more and more indebted towards all these people. Even if Sebastian didn’t look her way even once.

 ***

She starts going to the local library, borrowing books and learning more and more things about the farm. She accepts the quests from the bulletin board, and in exchange she asks for fishing tips or some town history. She starts taking evening walks, with Max, picking up acorns. She gets stronger and better at all the farm work. She places various orders, starting to gather syrup from the trees near her house – and one lazy day, she makes jam, that she then sells.

She starts counting the money, making plans for the farm. She buys two chickens, and the one day when no one in the town sees her, it is because she struggled all the time to build a fence so that they won’t step all over crops and no fox would reach them during the night.

 ***

Everyone is friendly, showing up at her door with gifts for her new move: a handmade mug from Leah, a beautiful seashell from Elliot, an actual functional first aid kit from Harvey. She suspects the mayor’s doing behind all these kindness acts, and yet it’s with a reverent kind of gestures that she finds a place for all of them in her small house. She starts adding some kind of adjectives to this cast of characters that enter her life.

But with Sebastian, something’s different. She doesn’t know what makes her notice him again; that something that made him stand out from the mass of people she met in the past few weeks. Maybe it’s not even just one single thing, but a mix: like how he is the son of the kindest lady, paler than the farmers or football players, how he doesn’t want to stand out at all, how she has to go out of her way to find him, instead of the other way around.

Most of all, it’s the desperation she can feel off of him. There’s a force in him that cannot make peace with how things are for him at the moment – and it’s the familiarity of it that pulls her in, lets her gaze linger on him for a bit longer, makes her ask about him while smiling in the most innocent way, sipping tea in Robin’s office.

***

They’re not that different; she’s easy to fit in the village life, mostly because she’s so pliable for others, knowing the memory of her grandpa is attached to her as well. She sometimes feels like the older residents of the town look through her, instead of directly at her, and see the ghost of someone else they used to know. And the days pass, things fall together, and yet in her chest, there’s a clock ticking away, counting down the time spent here, because if she was looking for something like belonging, it seems this town buried it away with her grandpa, and things don’t seem that different from how they used to be. She just has dirtier nails now, and some decaying make-up skills.

So she never visits without a purpose, doesn’t get too friendly with most of them. She spends days in a row on her farm, ploughing the land, watering the plants, feeding the animals. Task upon task, she goes through all of them, grateful for how it’s silencing her mind, giving her the time and space to breathe. If she finishes early, she likes to go fishing, the breeze nice against her sun-warmed face, especially as the dusk approaches.

It’s the simplicity of life that lulls her into wanting something more, eventually, tentatively. She visits Robin, as she’s closing the store, so they can share some fresh-picked fruits while watching the sun set. She meets up with the mayor for chess during Sundays, stories of two best friends half a century ago embedded in every sigh, and she wins every time and that’s how she knows he just lets her. When she passes by to drop something for the museum, she spends the remaining afternoon in the library, browsing the collection, reading for the children fresh out of classes that ask her to do so.

But if anyone in Pelican Town would be asked, they wouldn’t be able to tell people that much about their newest villager. In truth, even for those closest to her, there’s an aura of mystery: whatever her life was before, she doesn’t go into details. Whatever and for however long she might remain in their lives, she doesn’t say.

To Sebastian, that’s what makes it easy. He doesn’t expect her to tell him anything, since she’s not pressing her curiosities either. Probably why she opens so willingly, why she creates a routine around his. She always stops at the edge of the river, where she knows she’ll find him in the evenings. They never talk for long, or of important things – but she thinks, the magic is in staring together at the same scenery, feeling much of the same things. After the third time, she asks for a cigarette from him, and she winks at him when he looks just a tiny bit surprised.

This is how it begins. The rest she almost doesn’t even notice.

 ***

She remembers the Egg festival; she’s sure she took part in one of the hunts back when she was little, though the details are foggy in her mind. She doesn’t remember any of the villagers, but she’s been a very shy child, and not even the promise of bunny chocolates was enough to persuade her back then.

Still, she worked for so long in a corporation, at this point the spirit of competition is embedded into her. She wakes up early, and she wears one of her dresses from before, even if she has to match it with grandpa’s old jeans jacket. She even puts on make-up, manages to water her plants as well before she’s walking towards the town.

She officially meets Maru and Demetrius, as they’ve been so busy during her past visits. Marnie clasps her in-between her arms, exclaims how pretty she is when not trying to imitate her house’s looks, and loudly kisses both her cheeks. Gus waves at her, and keeps presenting various plates to her, and by the time she can excuse herself, she’s glad she hasn’t eaten any breakfast. Jas and Vincent come at her yelling tag! and she spends the next half an hour running around, followed by the sometimes annoyed, sometimes happy smiles of the other villagers.

She buys strawberry seeds, more on a whim, because she was craving for some, and gets herself a cute bunny plush, since she’d had trouble sleeping, and she’s sure Max would appreciate her hugging a non-living thing more. She feels like she fits more, now, that she’s surrounded by everyone else, and she realizes that she knows them all, that they know her back – and there’s no outright hostility.

She greets Sebastian, and meets his friends. She compliments Abigail’s hair, Sam compliments her instead. He’s friendly and outgoing, compared to the other two in his group, but she notices Sebastian’s fleeting smile at the toy in her arms, so she straightens her back even more.

As soon as mayor Lewis starts his announcement, Abigail immediately seems more excited, especially since she is presented as the winner for the past decade. However, by the time the day ends, Pelican Town has a new Egg Hunt winner.

The straw hat doesn’t fit her outfit, and it’s not quite yet a necessary accessory, but she’s beaming at every villager that comes to congratulate her, even if she’s already so old and she shouldn’t be so happy about beating a few 10 year olds. Even Abigail is a good sports and promises she will beat her next year.

Next year – she wonders if she’ll even be around for that long. Her saved-up money is slowly trickling down, as she keeps buying things that she needs, and she has no idea yet how much profit she’ll be able to make at harvest time. She feels better knowing her doubts don’t show to others.

She walks part of her way home with Robin and her family. Maru is happily telling her something about her research, though it goes over her head and she doesn’t understand much of what’s going on. Demetrius and Robin walk several steps ahead, arms linked, and it’s a sweet sight to see, that they can be so close even after so many years.

Then, before she takes her turn to her farm, after everyone else said their goodbyes, Sebastian looks up at her.

“It suits you,” he says, so low she almost misses it, nodding his head at her hat. She blushes under the street lamp, but he’s already turned his back on her and he can’t see, so she can go on her own way and pretend it never happened.

 ***

She starts going to the mines, even if everyone tells her she better not. But she needs better tools, more resources and something to do on rainy days, so she goes anyway. She comes out late into the night, dirtier than she’s ever been, spider cobwebs stuck in her hair, but her backpack heavy.

The next morning, she struggles packing some presents for Robin and Lewis, for all the help they’ve showered her in ever since she moved. She doesn’t have much to offer, some syrup and a jar of jam, a few eggs. But as she’s going into town, there are three presents that she’s carefully carrying around in her bag.

She stops by Lewis first, sits on his stairs with a steaming mug of coffee between her hands, as he waters his small garden – and they chat about the weather, the fishing days that Lewis has programmed, their favourite Stardrop meal. The days get warmer and warmer, as they’re slowly rolling towards summer, and she’s feeling peaceful, listening to the mayor’s chatter, his grunts as he digs around, his yelling when she offers to help him around.

She drops by Clint to let him examine some of the stuff she found underground, and by the time she reaches Robin’s place, the older woman is taking her lunch break. She’s exclaiming happily at the gift, and invites her to stay for lunch. She helps her with the plates, and while Robin goes to gather the rest of her family, she sends her to get Sebastian.

She has to breathe deep, count to 10, before she has the courage to knock at his door. There’s the sound of something tumbling to the floor, and she winces; more shuffling, and the door finally opens to reveal a somewhat sleepy looking Sebastian. It looks like he hasn’t brushed his hair yet, as it sticks out in odd directions, and in his own space, he’s wearing some old, washed-out t-shirt that is several sizes too large, and sweats. She stares at him, entirely endeared, but also deeply aware that there’s a line she has just crossed by seeing him like this – and she’s not sure she was allowed to.

“Hi,” she says, at the same time he says “Shit”, closing the door on her. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to come up with a proper way to reach to this, but her mind coming up blank.

Eventually, she lamely says “Robin said lunch’s ready,” before she leaves for the kitchen again. Demetrius is already seated at the table, looking up at his wife like she hung up the sun on the sky. Maru refuses to show up, as she’s too invested in her research, but there’s the slam of a door from downstairs, and Sebastian eventually shows up, just as his step-father takes his first bite from his plate of spaghetti. Their guest has not yet picked up her fork.

Sebastian is now wearing actual jeans, and his hair looks a bit more tamed. He sits next to her, and the four of them eat in relative silence, though she’s obsessively thinking of her knee, against Sebastian’s, under the table and she wants to fucking swear at herself, for acting like a fucking cowardly high-schooler.

“So, why did you move to Pelican Town?” Demetrius asks her, in the end. She notices him wincing immediately after the dull thud from under the table, and she imagines that was Robin kicking him from asking a question that no one had dared poise to her until now.

She finishes chewing the food in her mouth, swallowing a bit more painful.

“I needed a change,” she says eventually, entirely too vague.

“From? You should tell Sebastian about your city experience, because he’s obsessed with leaving the town.”

There’s a disapproving tone in his voice that makes her wince, but her head snaps up at Sebastian, who looks both entirely annoyed and disappointed. She’d like to press her finger to the frown now so obvious on his forehead.

“Really?” she mumbles lamely instead. Sebastian’s now looking at her, and although across the table his parents are bickering with each other in low whispers, he doesn’t break the eye contact. He just nods at her question, grabs another bite of food – the words won’t make it any better.

She always thought that the people in this town are happy to live here, heck even she’s trying to understand the charm of the place and why her grandpa never left it. She always thought that if there is someone to leave it, that’d be her, in an example of another of her life’s failures. But here’s Sebastian, burning with a yearning for a city just as hers to leave it was.

He takes her back home, assuring her that his lunch break is long enough to allow him to do that. They’re walking side by side in companionable silence. Sebastian, unlike his father, doesn’t ask her anything, so when they reach her property, she hands him her last package.

“Can I?” he asks, a hand already tugging at the ribbon, and she smiles at him. Inside, there’s an assortment of minerals: quartz, obsidians. She’s found them during her time in the mines, and the only thing she somewhat remembers from her dialogue with Maru is that her brother loves this stuff.

“What’s this for?” he says, voice a little chocked, laughing at the end, embarrassed and overwhelmed.

“Thanks for that day,” she says. Then, more unsure… “And good luck for the future?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She’s already turned around on her feet, a hand up in the air in goodbye.

The next morning, even if Sebastian never eats breakfast, he makes toast and eats it with strawberry jam, from a jar cutely decorated in stickers, where in cursive, their newest villager wrote for Robin and family <3.

 ***

She goes to JojaMart to buy an electric kettle; she can’t quite yet afford to get her kitchen built in, so she’s been eating at the Stardrop Saloon or lived on oatmeal and salads. But the mornings are dreadful with instant coffee and cold tap water, so she’s finally investing in something to make her life a bit better. This lifestyle reminds her of being a student in the dorms, and it’s not something she thought she’ll ever return to.

Sam looks around for his managers, and when there’s none around, he stops next to her and they chat by the vegetable stall. She’s frowning at the price, way higher than what they can find in the town and what she sells her own products for.

“Capitalism,” Sam says brightly, tugging at his employee lanyard, and she laughs at him.

“Oh, trust me, I know all about that.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, which makes her snort. Shane, his co-worker, turns to stare at them, but he’s not telling them on, so she moves one step closer to him.

“I’ve worked in customer care for Joja Corporation.”

Sam mimics throwing up, turning serious again only when she’s elbowing his side. She’s painfully aware of all the cameras in the store, after all this time away from anything of the sorts.

“But for real, you’re way better in Pelican Town,” he says, even if she’s not yet quite convinced.

But he doesn’t continue pressing the matter. Instead, Sam invites her the next Friday for an evening at the Saloon, where him, Sebastian and Abigail are supposed to play live a few of their songs. She clasps her hands together, and agrees immediately. She used to love this kind of thing: but it’s been so long since she allowed herself to take an evening off, both in her life back in the city, and the life here.

 ***

She’s already a regular, so Emily nowadays greets her with a hug. Though this time she whistles suggestively at her outfit. Since it’s supposed to be a more special night, she chose a low cut blouse to go with skinny jeans, and she’s no more a formless body buried under work clothes. The only make-up is a very dark lipstick. Her… friends, she supposes, are already on the side, tuning their instruments. Sam grins at her, waving her at the table Gus saved up for them, where he ordered pizza for everyone.

They’re not playing for a long time, maybe half an hour, but by the end, everyone is loudly clapping at their performance. She’s the only one whooping, and Sam is loudly laughing at her embarrassed grin afterwards, runs to fall into her waiting arms and twirls her around in the air, feet not touching the floor.

“Who knew our biggest fan would be you?” he says, helping her pat her hair pack into place.

“I did. I mean, your band has Abigail.”

The girl in questions frowns a bit at her, suspicious that it’s less of a compliment than she tried to make it, turns on her feet as she moves to the music box, tosses a coin in and picks a song. It takes a few seconds for her choice to start loudly booming in the saloon, but as soon as she does, she moves to grab at Sebastian’s arm, dragging him to the dancefloor, though he looks like he’s a lamb taken to sacrifice.

Sam laughs at the two of them, then turns back to his new friend.

“Do you think these two will ever hook up?”

She chokes on the slice of pizza that she’s eating, punching at her chest so she can breathe again. Someone slides in the chair next to her to the table, a hand slapping her hard on the back until she can breathe properly again. Then, frowning, she turns towards the newcomer, because she can’t bear looking at Sebastian and Abigail, together, dancing. She doesn’t think she can look at them without imagining them doing exactly what Sam asked her about, and it’s a shaming thought that she burns down. Shane, the one sitting next to her now, has already picked a slice of his own from their order, and nodded in greetings at Sam.

Sam leaves to talk with Penny, spending enough time as it is in Shane’s company, so Shane moves even closer to her, so he can be heard over the loud music. He’s a bit of an asshole, as he’s looking nowhere else but at her cleavage and the skin she’s showing with her choice of clothes. He’s not even trying to hide it, licking his lips, speaking without even trying to lift his eyes.

“Didn’t know the sunshine and the emo buy are hiding such a beauty between themselves,” he says, snaking an arm around her waist, shoving the second pint of beer he arrived with in her direction. He already smells like the stuff though, which means he’s at least tipsy, if not outright drunk yet. There’s offense in the way he said those nicknames, horrible on their own as well, but she’s sitting between the wall and his body and he’s a man showing interest in her, clearly going out of his way to make it obvious.

She takes several big gulps from her beer, and then turns towards him, smiling. He can’t tell it is strained.

“Well, I’m here now,” she says, and the hand around her squeezes in response. She lets him talk, mostly shit about the town, then shit about himself, and she keeps drinking and drinking, glass after glass of alcohol, because then at least she doesn’t have to reply. In the dark, they must look pretty cosy to the others, because no one else returns to the table – and by the time she remembers she is supposed to have friends around, and looks around for them, her vision is unfocused and she can’t make out the shapes and figures all around.

But she can notice the slightly grown stubble on Shane, how he’s now so, so close to her, his lips brushing against her ear each time he tells her something. She feels like she’s about to suffocate. But he tells her about how beautiful she is, how hard he makes her – and he guides her hand to his pants, where she indeed can feel her effect, and it’s a surge of pleasure and power. She squeezes him through his pants, and he groans in her ear. Her nipples perk up. And then his lips move closer, to her neck, where his tongue is lapping at her skin, sucking against the space. She feels hot all over, in a way that she doesn’t know if she likes or not. His other hand is now fondling with her breasts through her blouse, and she gasps – which only makes him to go at it harder. His mouth finds her, his tongue moving against hers immediately. She’s lost in time, doesn’t know for how long he does it – her body becoming lighter and lighter with each swipe of his saliva against her lips.

Then, a cough from behind Shane. She snaps out of her daze, looks up. Makes eye contact with Sebastian, which feels as effective as a cold shower to her fogged mind. She yanks Shane’s hands off her, but he’s unbothered, turns to look at Sebastian with something like disgust and boredom.

“Can we help you?” Shane says. She hates how the word we sounds from his mouth.

Sebastian doesn’t bother to even look at the drunk guy, instead addressing her only.

“Do you want to go home? The others left already, but it’s getting pretty late…” He stops to stare at Shane, and she wordlessly nods at him. He starts moving instantly, shoving Shane away so he can grab her wrist and help her out of her chair. She needs a few seconds to stabilize herself on her feet, stop the dizzying headache that hit her at the sudden movement.

“Come on, man, what do you think you’re doing?” Shane asks, though he also has troubles standing on his own feet. He makes do with leaning against the table, doing his best to look as menacing as possible.

In his arms, she shudders at the sound of his voice, clutches her fingers around Sebastian’s leather jacket. He doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t want to touch her either, so he just stands still.

“She’s coming with me,” is all he says, and when he starts towards the door, she follows silently. He offers her jacket, which he picked up earlier, before checking on her, and she hangs her head even lower in shame. The cold, outside air is quickly sobering her up, and she really can’t believe she lost herself, just as if she were a college freshman. She burns with embarrassment.

Once out, Sebastian moves a bit away from her, offering her space, though he always extends an arm in her direction when she stumbles on both existent and imaginary obstacles. The silence now is excruciating.

“Say something,” she croaks, her throat hurting from all the alcohol.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, and he stops, looks at her for the first time since the start of all this situation. She knows she probably looks like a mess, lipstick smeared all around her mouth, clothes hanging awkwardly, but his eyes just search hers. She suddenly feels like crying. He must see it too, because he’s moving closer to her.

“Can I-” he tries, sighs, moves a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can I touch you?”

She nods, but he doesn’t move.

“I’ll need verbal confirmation.”

“Yes.”

She’s outright staring at him now, as he makes his way to her, cups her face in between his hands. His fingers are cold against her flushed skin, but it grounds her to the moment. Sebastian’s eyes are moving now, across her face: stop at her jaw, her neck, where Shane sucked painful love bites against her skin, visible even only in the light coming from the street lamps. He hesitates before moving his gaze downwards, where similar marks were left by his fingers against her tits. She feels like used goods, even if there is no judgement from Sebastian.

“Did you want that?” he asks again, sounding deadly serious, so she’s trying to think equally as seriously about his question. It’s hard, her thoughts all jumbled up, a soft kind of edge to everything going on in her head.

“I don’t know,” she answers finally, her head pressing more firmly against his palm. Sebastian’s thumbs are now moving softly against her jaw, and she wants to purr, just like a cat, maybe hang on to him for more of his warmth.

“God,” he says, and it sounds like a swearword. He unglues himself from her, extends an arm that she gracefully takes as they continue on the road to her house. He doesn’t say anything more until they arrive on her porch, though he looks like he’s thinking very hard. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.

Max is happily snoring on the warm ground, and she lets go of Sebastian to run the short distance to her dog. She goes on her knees, grabs Max’s head in her hands and coos at him like she would to a baby, talks lovesick nonsense to the dog, pats him all over.

Her voice sounds fucking cute, Sebastian thinks, but instead he fishes something from the pockets of his jacket, bends down so he can press it in her palms. She immediately turns to look at him, eyes big and questioning.

“Take those in the morning, okay? You’ll need them,” is all he says, raising a hand and waving it in a goodbye.

 ***

Sebastian is right. She wakes two hours later, empties all the contents of her stomach, tears burning at her eyes, and when she wakes again, she thanks all the gods that outside it is raining, because she only gets up to get a glass of water and swallow the pills. Her head is killing her, and her heart aches in embarrassment at the way she acted. She hangs between screaming out in frustration at her own self and complaining about being hangover the whole day, hating herself so, so very much.

She still shoots Sebastian a text, thanking him for taking care of her, in so many ways, the night before. He leaves her on read.

For the next week, she busies herself with work on the farm. She makes another batch of jam jars, which she sends to Lewis for selling. She plants a new tree sapling, harvests strawberries, even builds an ugly-looking scarecrow out of an old broom. She cuts down wood, saves up stacks of it for when she’ll eventually afford Robin’s services. She goes in the mines, once or twice.

Then one of Lewis’ invitations is waiting in her mailbox, for another festival. Spring is coming to an end, already a sweeter, warmer breeze in the air, so the whole town is to celebrate the exact thing.

 ***

But Pelican Town is a small place, and so it never forgets gossip too easily. On that evening, enough pairs of eyes saw her fumbling in the dark with Shane, and so enough pairs of eyes are now watching her suspiciously as she greets the mayor. She’s wearing some city dress again, though more modest, and ribbons in her hair. She’s forcing herself to smile at everyone she encounters, trying not to seem so affected by the outright cold shoulder.

Sam still greets her, though, grabbing her in his arms.

“Oh, handsome!” she says, and laughs when he’s looking around, to check if anyone else heard her. But he is wearing a suit, his hair is gelled down and he smells like his mother. His eyes are searching hers though, and she thinks Sebastian might have said something to his friend. But thankfully Sam mentions nothing.

She looks behind him, at Sebastian, dressed in a costume as well. Her heart starts beating faster in her chest; his hair is pushed back, and his forehead is now uncovered. He sits relaxed, his hands in his pockets, like he doesn’t really want to be there and she hasn’t seen someone look that heartbreakingly gorgeous.

“You too,” she says. Sebastian raises an eyebrow at her. “Look good, I mean,” she clarifies, and she clears her throat before the awkwardness chokes her.

It’s a big understatement, but it’s the best she can do right now. There’s a small smile that she gets in reply. On the other side of the field, by Robin’s side, Abigail, Penny and Maru look absolutely stunning in their festival dresses, with the flower crowns on top of their heads. They’re laughing at one of Abigail’s stories, and they’re just beautiful and young and entirely enrapturing. She wonders if she didn’t fuck it up so badly earlier, she would have been invited to be one of them.

This time around, there’s not as much mingling with the people as earlier in the season; people are a bit warier, though she supposes she deserves it. She’s busy setting down a mat under a blossoming tree, preparing some kind of picnic and viewing spot at the same time.

“You look beautiful,” she hears from behind her, and she turns around to find Shane. A bit behind him, Marnie is engaged in a conversation with the mayor, and by his side, there’s Jas, who immediately shoves her sandals away so she can step on her mat and sit next to her.

She offers her tea and strawberries, places her own hat on top of the child’s head to protect her from the sun, who squeals in delight that she can show off the winning prize of the egg hunt. Then, she turns back to Shane:

“Is she your daughter?”

“Gods, no. She’s my goddaughter.”

She sighs, relieved a bit. In the morning, Shane looks just scruffy, some kind of sober, but his face is still red and puffy, sign of alcoholism. She knows Jas lives with him and Marnie, and it can’t be a good environment for a child, but she’s heard the rumours that he’s not that much at home anyway. She’s worrying for the young girl, but she also trusts Marnie to handle the subject, not really her place to say anything anyway.

Shane moves closer, his hand grabbing the end of the scarf she’s wearing around her neck, tugging so it comes undone between his fingers. She gasps, palm gluing to the skin there, reaching out for him.

“Give it back,” she all but growls it out, eyes frantically looking around, hoping no one is actually looking their way, since everyone is focused on preparing for the dance.

“I did that, right?” he asks, finally stopping, and she takes back her scarf, hangs her head low, so that her hair can cover her movement, as she ties it back in place.

“Yes, you fucking asshole,” she spits, but doesn’t move away from him.

“I was honest, you know. About you looking beautiful. Then and now too.”

“Thank you,” she says, and stays in place even as Shane gets closer to her. He’s also dressed up, wearing an actual shirt and everything, his jaw freshly shaven. He even looks somewhat attractive, and just like last time, she’s grateful for the attention. Back in Zuzu City, no one bothers with any kind of dating, no one bothers to notice someone else at all – no sweet lies, no prelude, just a dick and a cunt. So this feels new and flattering at the same time.

She sits down on her mat, reluctantly serves Shane too with some of her freshly picked strawberries. Jas moved over to Vincent and Jodi, her hands carefully holding on to the hat that’s still a bit too big for her, so it’s only the two of them in this corner. The music can’t start soon enough, because she can feel stray eyes looking to them.

The dance starts, and she watches, transfixed as the pairs walk towards each other, meeting in the middle in an embrace. Almost immediately the dresses flutter in the air, twirling. There’s an admiring exclamation from somewhere in the crowd, Jas happily clapping along to the rhythm. She looks at Sam, all but drinking up Penny’s laughing face. She looks at Abigail, tightly holding on to Sebastian’s shoulders. She looks at her friends dancing with the girls they have a crush on, and something in her chest rips apart.

“Hey,” Shane says. “Wanna get out of here?”

She nods wordlessly, and he takes her hand. No one looks at them, as they discreetly make their way behind everyone else. Once out the field, Shane breaks into a run through the woods. They stop in a clearing, both breathing hard from their run, and Shane grins at her, before straightening his back, walking purposefully her way and deciding to kiss her. It’s hard and rough, much like he’s been handling her until now too, but she still moans.

His hands are already moving at pulling his belt apart, and he takes her hands and moves them towards his dick.

“Come on, play with it,” he whispers breathlessly, as he’s pulling apart her scarf for a second time today, mouth finding the tender skin, reinforcing the fading marks. She’s feeling needy herself, she’d like him to shove down her panties and eat her out, but she makes do with moving her legs one against the other, seeking some kind of friction, as her hands are moving from his tip towards his balls, slower at the beginning, and faster once he starts grunting in her ear, pumping into her hands.

Then, he grabs at her hair, and she has to bite her tongue to stop from yelping.

“On your knees,” he says, already pushing his weight on her shoulders, and more or less willingly, she gets to the ground. The uneven dirt hurts her skin, and yet she has to ignore it, because Shane is already guiding his dick with his hands towards her lips. She forces herself to open her mouth, hopes he’ll better get down to do the same thing for her.

Her mouth is warm, and she’s fucking good at what she’s doing, sucking hard and taking him all in, like a good bitch, even if tears are forming at the corner of her eyes and her throat is burning. He pulls out, just to slam, hard, back inside her wet, welcoming hole – and in just three shoves, he comes undone, half coming in her mouth, half out just so he can have his fantasy of his cum leaking on her face.

Her dress is stained, and almost all her arousal is out of her. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, presses a palm against the painful strain in her jaw. Shane hurries to put his now flailing dick back inside his pants, and he’s not helping her back up.

“Gotta go,” he says, and he’s patting down his pants, where she held onto and left some creasing.

“What?” she asks, suddenly annoyed. “What about me?”

“Solve it yourself, princess.”

He starts walking away. She screams after him.

“Oh, fuck you!”

“My pleasure, next time!” he shouts back, but he doesn’t stop, as he’s making his way back towards the festival.

She shoves the middle finger up in the air, stomping her feet at the same time, shrieking.

“You fucking asshole!”

He chuckles at her tantrum, but he’s spent and satisfied, while she’s there frustrated and fucked over, so he’s not bothering to take her too seriously.

There’s no way she can go back there without everyone else figuring out exactly what she’s been up to. Of course, Shane looks no different than his usual, maybe he’s even surrounded by some post-orgasm glow, but there’s some bleeding from one of her knees, his now dry cum on the front of her dress, and her hair is nothing but a mess. She can’t believe how fucking stupid she can be, and how she fell again in the same old game of “I give you some attention, you give me some sex” that she’s been playing for ages now. It seems like habits don’t change, no matter if she’s in Zuzu City or Pelican Town.

And for what? Just because she felt lonely and jealous, because she felt like no matter how much she’ll try, she’ll never be anything but a passing fancy to these people that know each other inside out?

She makes her way towards her farm stomping her feet, swearing at Shane and mumbling curses all the way. Once back, she draws herself a hot bath and, in the tub, finally somewhere safe, she touches herself, moans out into the air a name she doesn’t dare to even say out loud, and thinks of someone who never even looked at her in any way to indicate she might want her too.

So, she must make do with fucking Shane?

But as she succumbs to her orgasm, moving lower into the water, maybe she can just order a dildo online and leave it at that.

*** 

On the first summer days, she takes up fishing. She buys a bottle of mead, because she’s heard from mayor Lewis that’s the favourite drink of their local fishermen, and she goes down the beach to beg.

She wants to learn fishing, she says. Just a couple of lessons, whenever he can leave his store and he’s willing to – she really just wants some new hobbies. It’s dreadfully awful to have only three functional TV channels, and only a dozens of books. Even Max is just a dog, and there’s a limitation to what he is capable of. Willy is funny and wise in the way only old men who love the sea can be, but he’s patient in his explanations – and sure enough, very soon, she catches her first fish.

She takes a picture of it on her phone, proud of her achievement. She sends it to Sam, to boast a bit and to annoy him, because he’s currently stuck at his part-time job. Then she goes shell hunting, because she’s too giddy to do any actual work. The villagers recently rebuilt the small bridge on the beach, and it’s lovely to get to take a walk like this. She wants her house to have the same fresh feeling, so she visits Robin for an upgrade.

And she knows she’s paying for the work, but with Robin, she feels like she’s asking for a favour, so she must give something back. And because she feels guilty, for having thought so angrily and jealously about Sebastian and his life, she wants to say sorry in a way, even if he has no way of knowing why she’s doing it in the first place.

Robin’s outside the house, just having come back from an exercise class at Caroline’s. She greets her visitor just a bit more strained than usual, and well – there’s no doubt that if there’s a gossip mill in the town, that’s probably the weekly gathering of middle-aged wives.

The farmer sighs, agrees to wait in the house while Robin takes a shower, before they can discuss about work.

“Is Sebastian home?” she asks, and the older woman makes a dismissive sign with her hand, which means she can go and check for herself.

The door to his room is slightly open, and he actually asks her to come in when she knocks. She greets him from the doorway, suddenly shy when he speaks, suddenly guilty that she’s interrupting him. She sits down on the couch, starts by watching him work, and then eventually she gets distracted by the posters on his walls, and the huge book collection he is showcasing on his shelves. It’s work that she’s familiar with, the stuff she liked to read before, when she used to have time for her hobbies, about worlds that she could escape to only by reading about them in books, featuring magic and dragons and robots.

He doesn’t seem to mind her looking around, as long as she’s quiet. Then, he eventually finishes, and sighs, stretching out his arms.

“Sorry about that, had to finish what I was working on.”

“Ah,” she nods. “And what is that?”

“I do freelance programming,” he answers. “I just want to save up enough to move from here. You know, if I’d gone to college, I’d probably be making six figures right now… but I just don’t want to be part of that corporate rat race, you know?”

“As a rat,” she says, a smile already on her face, “I totally agree with you.”

He looks at her; this is the first hint he gets – of something more about her. He’s heard from Sam, of course, about her actual job in the city, but it’s different to know it from her, to know he has her trust, to hear the defeat behind her voice, even as she tries to hide it with humour.

Then the moment is broken, the ping from his IM breaking the companionable silence between them. Normally, he’d have to explain to people why he is not in the mood to meet up with others, his introversion something out of a freak show with the villagers, but she just nods at him in understanding.

But the next interruption is almost brutal, Robin returning to pass on Abigail’s message, so filled with dismissal at his work, and indifference at his preferences. The easy air about him, as he was talking about a work he clearly loves and his dreams, is now entirely stifled – and instead he, defeated, just accepts all of this, even if he complains. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.

This situation makes her blood boil, though: because she’s been in his exact spot. She’s had people look down at her choices for as long as she’s decided to walk her path, out there in the city – and now that she knows what it’s like not to, she can’t take to be the witness to it happening in front of her. Of course, some people will always have something to say, but it should be different with those considered friends – considered family, no?

From the kitchen upstairs, Robin is calling out her name – now, suddenly, she doesn’t really want to go, especially when she knows her presence is soon to be replaced by someone else’s. So, she acts daringly. She touches his arm, as she raises to go:

“You know, I think you’re doing an amazing job, especially considering your conditions. And trust me, it really is better than being a clog in the corporate system, and your work is important, even if it’s important for you only.”

As soon as she came, she’s gone and he loses his chance of asking for more. She left behind another sloppily packed present on his desk, a piece of quartz inside. He gets up, moves to put it up on his shelves – and shit, he wonders if she noticed the other stuff she’s given him, up there.

 ***

So Robin starts coming around with her carpenter tools, sometimes so early in the morning that she’s welcoming her still in her Disney pyjamas. They drink instant coffee, warm this time – and they discuss recipes that she’d like to try in her new kitchen, or the kind of animals she’ll grow in the barn. She learns that Robin loves goat cheese, and she shares that she absolutely hates peppers. She asks about Sebastian and Maru’s childhoods, she tells of her grandpa’s favourite magic trick.

The sound of Robin’s hammer accompanies her through her motions, as she’s ploughing the land for the summer crops. She didn’t really understand how lonely she has been all these months, just going through what she has to do. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, even if just for a few stolen minutes.

Sebastian drops by during his breaks sometimes, to bring his mother’s lunch, and both women nag at him so much that he ends up eating with them, Max nestled at his feet under the table.

Once, she walks back with him towards the town; she needs to drop by Pierre’s, to order some kitchen utensils – and by Lewis’ house, to leave him a note with info on her next batch of syrup and honey, that she sells for some good prices. He strains himself to walk in a pace that matches hers, even if he just wants to hurry home and take a nap.

She noticed, how tired he looks lately: hair more dishevelled, the slight stubble on his chin, the dark under his eyes. She knows, from Robin, that he spent even more time than usual in his room, refusing to meet even Abigail or Sam. She’d like to press her palm on his forehead, check for any signs of sickness.

“Are you working a lot these days?” she asks, fumbling with the edge of her t-shirt, feeling shy and worried that she might be overstepping.

“Had a tight deadline, but it’s over now.”

He pushes the hair out of his eyes with his hand, pats the pockets of his jeans with the other. He takes out his cigarettes, and then swears.

“Shit, do you have a lighter?”

In fact, she does. Sometimes, when she goes to the mines, her flashlight flickers and dies out, so she started the habit of carrying candles on her expeditions, and always a lighter in her pocket. She offers the fire; she has to stand on her tiptoes and he has to bend down to make it work.

Sebastian looks at her; she’s determinedly staring at the ground. They’re so close that even in the summer heat, she can feel his breathe on her cheek. Once the cigarette is lit, she almost scrambles away, pressing her palms to her cheeks, complaining about the hot weather.

She starts walking faster, afraid of what she might do if Sebastian looks into her face. There’s a small smile on his face that she can’t notice.

 ***

Pierre’s store is more of a general hangout spot for his daughter, though – Maru is eating her lunch with Abigail in a corner, and she waves at the two of them as she turns towards the counter. Of course, Pierre convinces her to buy several types of flower seeds – and she walks around the town with those in her arms. She thinks she might actually be his best customer. Or easiest, which in his case, it is one and the same thing.

That’s how she meets Evelyn: in the town square, taking care of the flowers. In truth, she never stopped to think about who maintains the town, and now she seems to have her answer. There are many people around; Penny with the kids, playing in the water fountain. Mayor Lewis and Harvey discussing in front of the clinic, Gus sticking a request on the board.

But the old lady spots her shopping, and sits her down on a bench, where she lectures her on the proper way to take care of them.

Then, the tone shifts – and the older woman asks her about the animals she’s growing (they’re well), how she finds Pelican Town (nice) and what’s her favourite flower (hyacinth).

“You know,” she laughs. “I almost married your grandpa.”

She sputters, unsure how to take this wild what-if she’s presented with. Of course, if Evelyn would have ended as his wife, she wouldn’t be here at all. And still, her curiosity gets the best of her.

“What happened?”

“Oh, George – that’s my husband, dear – bought an old farm here in town and moved one day. The next thing you know, everyone was smitten with the new farmer, me included. And by then, your grandpa was already in the army.”

And when he returned from the army, he returned with a wife – that’s a story that she knows. Grandpa met her grandmother at one of the dance evenings organized for young soldiers, and if the story she was told as a child is to be believed, he danced with no one else that night, the next and all the other ones that followed.

“How was he like?”

Sometimes, when it comes to someone you love, it’s hard to consider them from another point of view than the one you were always familiar with. He has always been just her grandfather to her, yet Evelyn here has seen him growing, becoming all those things to all those many people: son, neighbour, husband, father.

“He always worked hard, stirred trouble wherever he went and loved this town like no other,” she says, a faint smile on her face, lost in memories.

That sounds like the old man alright.

“Th-thank you, Evelyn.” Her voice sounds a little chocked. Just a little.

“Psssh, please. Call me Granny.”

The old man takes her hand, squeezes her fingers in hers – and pats her butt when she gets up to go home.

 ***

“Hey, mom,” she says, pressing the phone closer to her ear. It’s the first phone call she’s making from the landline, and there are jitters all over her skin. She hates that she has to stay still, glued to one spot the length of the phone’s cable. Her brain goes in override.

“Darling!” her mother exclaims from the other side. There’s some shifting, the sound of a door closing, then a sigh. “How are you? How’s Pelican Town?”

She tries not to sniffle outright, tries not to cry that she wants her mother when she’s a fucking grown-up adult, but that really is how she feels. It was all okay, the construction almost to an end, her crops growing beautifully – and then Max gnawed at her only good pair of shoes, and the thing sent her into a spiral of self-pity. She really has no idea what on earth she is doing here.

Instead, she asks: “Did you like living here?”

She is grandpa’s only living child. After her older brother’s death, she simply packed her stuff and moved to a shitty dorm in city, got married in two months and had her almost immediately after. Nowadays, her father is drowning in alcohol and her mother is drowning in work – and she wonders if the first coping mechanism may be more useful than the latter, though her last experience seems to point to a no.

“No,” her mother says. “But depends on what you’re chasing, or what you’re running away from. So, do you like living there?”

She tugs at the phone cord, shifts on spot, looks at Max sleeping a few feet away.

“M-maybe? I don’t know.”

“That’s not a no,” her mother says, ending the call immediately afterwards.

She sits on the same spot, with the tone dead in the background for a very long time, just staring out the window at the setting sun.

 ***

With the new barn built, she visits Marnie about filling it with the appropriate animals. She’d like a sheep, just because she thinks knitting would be a useful hobby to pick up by winter. Maybe a goat, so she can make cheese and thank Robin properly for all the overtime work she put in finishing her house so early.

Jas is out with Vincent, but before discussing the price of the animal, Marnie hands her the straw hat and her picnic mat. She burns as she takes those from her, not knowing what to say. It’s been two weeks since she ran from the town’s celebration, and even now, she burns with the shame of that day. She starts looking around.

“He’s not-”

“At work, dear,” she says, and finally she starts calculating and writing down something at her desk.

“So you know.”

“Everyone knows,” she says and sounds forcefully cheerful, although she must understand what weight her words have, because the farmer is slouching in a chair, head hanging in her hands.

“There’s nothing going on,” she wails, looking up at Marnie, begging her to believe her – even if she’s just a stranger, asking for a bias against her own blood relative.

“Nothing going on anymore?” Marnie corrects, moves to pat her on the shoulder, signalling at the same time for the young woman to follow her. She nods her head, defeated, and Marnie has to wonder what exactly did this hard-working farmer see in her drunk nephew. She feels relieved to know that she put an end to it. Maybe exactly because she got involved with her good for nothing boy that she feels a bit more forgiving towards her.

She talks her in getting another chicken too, as an apology for having fucked around with her nephew. She doesn’t have the heart to correct this motherly woman that it was, in fact, the other way around. But either way, she’s forgotten.

She knows that because the next day, Penny calls her and asks her to spend the day together with the kids on the beach. She shouldn’t be that surprised to see Sam there too.

 ***

She asks everyone she gets along with over, after the house expansion is finished. She spent most morning just preparing various recipes, to fit everyone’s taste. Penny arrives first, dropping an apple pie on her kitchen counter and moving around the house to admire Robin’s work. She’s been thinking of doing something about her trailer-living situation for a while.

Abigail and Maru arrive together, with a plate of Robin’s spaghetti. Her and Demetrius decided it’s better to skip the evening, seeing how everyone else there is the same age as their children. She learns that Abigail is supposed to start her second year of university in autumn, and that Maru is going to do her master’s in astrophysics.

She whistles appreciatively, makes fun of her literature degree on the way. The two then huddle together in a corner of the porch, feeding Max stray bits of food and cooing at him when his tail starts wagging.

Sam and Sebastian arrive the last, each carrying a board game in their hands. It’s smart thinking on their side, because she’s not sure what she would have entertained her guests with otherwise. They huddle around the table, filling up plates with at least five different food recipes, passing iced tea and lemonade around. Abigail has this perfect skill of being able to imitate Lewis’ announcement voice perfectly, which in turn makes Sam snort his drink out of his noise. It makes everyone else lose it, and afterwards there’s no awkwardness hanging between them.

Penny helps Sam clean up in the kitchen, and they’re gone for way longer than necessary, though everyone else at the table is polite enough not to comment on it. Abigail and Maru, sitting one across the other, keep looking at each other while the other is not looking, and Abigail might be eating so much chocolate cake that she risks getting sick.

Sebastian sits next to her, smiling softly at a story that Penny is telling, from their time together in high-school. She should, technically, feel left out of the loop, but each time she mentions someone unknown, or a habit they used to have as a teenage group, Sebastian leans over closer to her, and whispers explanations into her ear. His voice, low and smooth, makes her feel like she’s melting down her chair.

Sam and Sebastian go out for a smoke, and she’s following them too, asking for a cigarette from Sebastian, letting her lighter pass around in a circle. The sun has already set, and there’s only the soft buzzing sound of her lamp in the air. The boys are talking about their rehearsal schedule, ask her over sometime, which she happily agrees to.

“Hey,” Sam says, kicking at her leg with his shoe. “Are you single?”

“What the fuck?!”

Sam raises his hands in the air, talking with his cigarette between his teeth. “Don’t shoot the messenger!”

She was ready to punch his elbow, but is now lowering her arm, frowning at him. Behind Sam, Sebastian continue smoking, refusing to get himself involved in this mess.

“Whose messenger?” she asks, though there’s a teasing edge in her voice, clearly proving that she doesn’t believe anything else but his own curiosity brought him to this rudeness.

“Look man – uhm, woman I guess, we’re all friends here, no judgement zone.”

“You just laughed at Maru for liking math two minutes ago!” she points out, this time her kicking his leg.

“You can just not answer the question,” Sam says, pacifying, turning towards Sebastian to offer him his lighter, as he’s already on his second cigarette.

“No, it’s fine.” She feels embarrassed for causing a scene, when it’s not even such a big deal. “I am single.”

She starts walking a bit away, making it seem like she’s inspecting the shrub just next to the stairs.

“So no Shane?” this time it’s Sebastian asking, which is surprising because she did not expect him to care.

“No Shane,” she confirms, her voice a bit weaker than she intended it to be.

Sam punches the air in a victorious movement, grinning at her.

“Thank God, that guy’s a fucking asshole.”

He shivers a bit in the cold night air, wearing only a t-shirt, and with a goodbye thrown over his shoulder, he goes back inside. Sebastian moves his hand in the air a bit, gesturing to his unfinished smoke, but she’s still not making a move to go back.

“But him and Penny… totally a thing, right?”

“Totally,” Sebastian says, and they both burst out laughing.

***

When Abigail phoned to tell her about Luau, she actually mostly whined that summer festivals are the most boring ones, because everyone is so busy tending to crops and making the most out of the long days. The farmer herself was actually taking a break, at the height of the summer heat, with a glass of iced water, but counting down the minutes before she’d be back in the garden, pulling out the weeds and gathering ripened fruits.

She still gets invited to Luau with everyone else; somewhat of a temporary, potentially forever fixture to their group. There’s a gaping hole opening in her stomach when she thinks of this, anxiety bubbling all inside her body making her feel sick. She feels like something terrible surely must happen soon, considering how much joy she gets from all these people.

She has sent some stuff to mayor Lewis, to add to the potluck soup: fresh tomato, some mushrooms, basil. But still, the thing looks completely inedible.

“Are we trying to kill the governor?” she asks, as she’s carefully looking at the bowl in her hands.

Sebastian laughs, turning his upside down in the sand. She’d really like to do the same thing.

“It’s tradition!” Maru explains, frowning at her brother.

“Are we choosing governors based on the quality of their stomach?” she tries again, this time sniffing at the stuff. Its consistency looks absolutely… gluey.

Sam joins the laughter this time, and Sebastian pats Maru’s shoulder in some attempt at an excuse. Abigail is the only one who actually eats the stuff, though her face turns somewhat pale as soon as she is done. The governor looks like he is perfectly fine, and even praises their soup, which makes everyone visibly relax.

 ***

Maru’s birthday was a solitary thing; just another ordinary working day, celebrated only with chocolate cake in the evening with the entire family. Robin builds her another bookshelf, Demetrius and Sebastian get the money for a new telescope. No other guests are invited, though random gifts still find their way to her mailbox: a stray astrology book, a new case for her glasses.

Sam’s not that different, though they all heard the rumours that immediately after his shift, he visited the museum, and spent a very, very long time there. They meet on Friday night at the Saloon though, so that the band can play and the others can cheer. They’re spectacular, as usual, and when doing something they love, all three of them look younger than she has ever seen them.

Penny is at her side, an arm looped around her waist, and they’re both swaying their bodies on the rhythm of the music. Sam winks in their direction, though the redhead pretends she doesn’t see it.

 ***

On one of their river discussions, Sebastian mentions frogs to her once; something she’s been terrified of for as long as she remembers. But there’s just such a soft smile on his face, and his voice is so calm: and as such, she thinks to give it a try. Which is exactly why he finds her one day, as he goes to visit Sam, by the river bank, on all fours, staring into the water.

She yelps when he hears him calling out to her, fluttering her arms in the air in a panic. It’s that movement that makes her stumble forward in the water. She doesn’t know how to swim, but the water is low enough to not be a problem, but as she gets up, sitting on her ass in the middle of the river, she scowls at him.

“I hate you,” she says.

He smiles, and with the sun at his back, it’s the most beautiful sight she’s seen. He offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully, trying to remain as dignified as possible, considering that her clothes are now stuck to her body and there might be some mud on her butt.

“What were you doing?” he asks, and she immediately reddens under his attention.

She mumbles her answer; she’s a terrible liar, so she doesn’t even try. This time, Sebastian actually laughs at her, and she crosses her hands at her chest, both indignant and cold.

“I hate you,” she says again, this time accentuating each of her words. But there’s no fire behind it, so he ignores her remarks. Instead, he unzips his hoodie and, slowly, places it on her shoulders.

“But-” she starts, already moving to remove it, give it back, refuse the help, her natural instinct kicking in. He hasn’t stepped back, and having him so close, she notices the subtle smell of his aftershave, the dark marks under his eyes. She wants to get on her tiptoe and let her fingers run through his hair, so soft from up this close. Then he speaks, the magic breaking, and she moves her eyes down to her shoes, shy all of the sudden.

“Sam’s living real close, so it’s really no problem.”

He’s trying very hard not to move his eyes away from hers, face burning red with embarrassment – and only then does she realize she’s wearing a white shirt, and she’s wet –

“Oh,” she says, lamely, moving her arms through the sleeves and zipping it up. “I… I’ll wash it and bring it back to you.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he says, before awkwardly saying his goodbyes. Sam will chew him out for being late, and Abigail will frown at him for not letting them know about this ahead of time.

But their new farmer will stand by the river bank for a long time still, looking down at the water, even when Vincent passes her by and laughs at the wet pool that dripped at her feet.

***

She likes taking the mountain path, especially during hot summer days: less people to stop and chat with under the sun, more shade from the trees, chances to see a wild bunny or a squirrel, maybe picking up some wild fruit. She learnt to enjoy these things, that felt like such a chore back in the day, when she was simply a child helping out her relatives. Maybe because, from start to finish, in everything she does for her farm, she leaves a part of herself in there.

She’s as familiar with Robin’s garden as she is with her own, and that’s why it takes her brain a bit to catch up with what she is seeing.

She didn’t even expect to see Sebastian at all, and especially not like… this. Sprawled under his motorcycle, the picture perfect of her dream boy from high-school. It’s then when it dawns on her that she might have some other reasons too, for visiting Robin today, for picking the mountain path, for going to the mines so often, even if she’ll never admit it to anyone else.

For a second, she hates him so much for having been so kind to her, for having taken care of her, for his beautiful smiles and his unending understanding. For having made her like him so much, when this recluse and silent man seems to dislike everything that she is starting to like lately.

She crushes the feeling coming up in her chest; the despair and the need to go and run as far away from him, before they make eye contact, before her beating heart goes into override.

Sebastian heard her approaching footstep though, and as he’s coming up, t-shirt clinging to his chest, she closes her eyes. God help her not to jump this man right here and now.

“Hey you,” he says, the corner of his lips lifting up a bit seeing her.

She waves, taking a deep breath as she approaches him, taking a seat on the outside bench. He picks up the tool that he needed, and goes back to work. She stays put right where she is, watching him.

“You know, it’s fascinating to watch someone do something I know nothing about,” she laughs, thinking of her useless literature degree as well, her dirt stained nails and her dead-end job back in the city, so opposed to his programming skills and the coppery smell of his motorcycle.

“That’s how I feel when you talk about farm upgrades with mom,” he says, and then asking her for another tool – it’s the round one with a yellow handle.

She shifts closer; he gets out from under the metal labyrinth of his bike enough to nod at her in thanks when she hands it to him. But he understands her feeling better than he manages to put it into words, especially since he’s been an outcast in the village for so long; heck he’s not sure anyone else but her even accepts what he’s working, let alone understand it.

But if there’s someone who can get it, it’s certainly the city girl who gave up everything to become a farmer. Much as he wants to drop everything here just for a shot at the big city. It’s the same strangling hope in his voice, that she’s detected the first time they met, when he talks about his short escapades.

He gets up, wiping his hands on a dirty old rag. There’s a dark stain on his cheek that makes him so incredibly cute, and yet the contrast couldn’t be more obvious with his muscles.

“You could come with me next time,” he says, and he purposefully looks at her, digging out her reactions.

She blushes, all red, prettily and opens her mouth to say something, closes it again. Then, with a bit too much eagerness, that makes her seem just a bit too desperate to do the right thing, she says:

“I’d love to.”

“Great,” he says, and this time it’s a full smile that he graces her with.

They move to enter the house now, the sun setting at their back, and he holds the door open for her. She has to squeeze by him, so close that she can feel the smell of oil mingled with his sweat, and the always present soft aroma of soap.

Robin is in the kitchen, preparing hot chocolate for everyone; Abigail is over too, in Maru’s room, the two’s laughter loud enough to be heard from downstairs. Demetrius is in his office, researching something in one of his biology tomes.

She immediately moves to help Robin; now familiar with the layout of her kitchen, with everyone’s favourite mug. His mother yells at Sebastian to go and take a shower before even daring to enter her kitchen, which is exactly the reason why he moves closer to her instead, loudly kissing her cheek.

Robin shrieks, hitting him with the spoon she’s holding in her hand. Their guest watches the scene with a soft smile; she likes it when there’s no bitterness between the two, which is something that comes way easier when no one else in their family is around.

She presents Robin with her first goat cheese; it’s experimental yet, really I have no idea if it’s any good, but she gathers her in her arms anyway, thanking her from the bottom of her heart. She carefully places it in her fridge.

And while Robin goes to Demetrius’ office, forcing a break out of this man as they plan to drink their hot chocolate together, she’s tasked to bringing up the girls’. She knocks, but it still doesn’t feel like sufficient incessant to stop whatever they were doing, because when she opens the door, Maru’s in Abigail arms, having a somewhat lost look on her face. Abigail’s lipstick is all over Maru’s neck, and smeared around her lips, and both their mouths are pulsing red with the pressure of shared kisses.

She blushes under their eyes, hates to have interrupted what she just did. It’s worse than if they were having sex, because the tension in the air is so thick she can choke on it.

“R-Robin said-” she tries, but she’s so embarrassed that she just leaves the tray on the desk, and all but bolts down the stairs.

Shit, she thinks.

“Shit,” she exclaims out loud as well. She’s so wind up she doesn’t hear the footsteps following her, and she almost screams when Abigail’s hand comes down her shoulder.

“Hey, look, let’s be chill about it and keep it a secret, yeah?”

“Of course,” she nods her head. “And I’m really sorry…”

“Our fault for being daring enough not to lock the door. But in our defence, we didn’t think that would happen,” Abigail says, winking at the other woman, before moving upstairs, probably to calm down her lover.

The theme of her life is that she is a big, stupid, idiotic fool. She’s been jealous for months on a relationship that didn’t even exist, and now she feels guilty and embarrassed all over again for what she did when overcome by those emotions. She stands in the middle of the hallway, hating herself so much that she would burst into flames if she had magical powers.

Sebastian finds her eventually, grounds her back to reality with a soft touch against her elbow and a soft call of her name. She startles like she’s been shot, almost jumping out of her skin, before things start refocusing around her. Sebastian, after his shower, smells like pine and mint, and he’s wearing shorts.

“Come on,” he says, slowly guiding her back to the kitchen, where their drink probably went cold already. At the back of his leg, Sebastian has a tattoo: a man lying face down, ten swords hanging above his body.

“That’s cool,” she nods her head at the design, sipping from her hot chocolate.

“Thanks. Sweet sixteen present, teenage rebellion and everything.”

“I ran away from home when I was sixteen,” she says, and Sebastian rises his eyebrows, clearly sceptical.

“For real!” she laughs. “I came here, to gramps.”

“Can’t remember you ever being up here,” he says, but now he’s curious.

“Well, of course, he called my mom the second I entered the house, and next morning she came to pick me up, but still.”

Sebastian snorts at her story, and she’s beaming at him with the largest smile possible, having gotten such a reaction out of him. It seems like it’s so easy for her to rile him up, or to get him involved enough in what she’s doing that he can’t filter his reactions anymore.

He walks her home that evening; she insisted he didn’t need to go through the trouble, since she’s out even later all the time, but Robin pushed, especially since Abigail was to sleep over, so she didn’t need Sebastian to walk her home.

In the end, she had company on the way home.

“Sorry for the trouble,” she says. Sebastian is smoking again, and only shakes his head. They continue their conversation from earlier, about how they used to be as kids and teenagers, periods in time that feels very far-away. Then she tells him of her past job, how she used to want to kill herself every time she entered the building, how there was no more city around her, and just the clutch of overwork and need for money.

She breathes easier here, she says. She hasn’t seen the stars in years, she adds.

She’s looking up at the sky, but Sebastian is looking at her.

She’s seemed lost on that first day, overwhelmed as she looked around at her inherited plot of land, and he’s given her two weeks maximum to survive in there. And here she is, rounding on six months, looking like she’s always belonged.

She hands him his sweater, thanks him again, in that sweet voice that matches her face, but not her personality when she’s swearing. He wishes the road between their houses was longer, longer than to Zuzu City, so long that they could have the entire night at their disposal.

 ***

“You’re late,” she says, from where she sits on the pier, her feet just a few centimetres above the water surface.

She’s barefoot, and she’s wearing a thin and short dress, and showing so much skin that Sebastian is a bit distracted at first. Technically, they haven’t set a meeting time, but he is indeed the last of the villagers to arrive on the beach for the dance of the moonlight jellies. By now, the others are also grouped together, leaving her alone.

She pats the space next to her. He sits down, yawning.

“Sorry, I was up until 3am reading a new book.”

She lights up then, shoots question after question at him: about his favourite authors and books, hints at the volumes he knows she’s seen on his shelf. They decide to buddy read a book together, and the next day he finds her favourite novel in his mailbox, he sends his instead. His are in pristine condition, while hers are underlined all over, notes scrambled over the margins that he spends a lot of time trying to decipher, corners dog-eared. The first few are a hit and miss, then slowly, as they go through the volumes, writing long texts and handwritten note with their thoughts on it or calling each other late into the night, they start to figure each other’s state, collections growing on each side.

On Penny’s birthday, no one can find the young woman almost the entire day. For that matter, they had the same problem with Sam too.

On Abigail’s birthday, she knocks on the farmer’s door in the middle of the night. The other woman is sleepy, bleary eyed, and she knows that something serious is going on because Abigail doesn’t even make fun of her pyjamas. She opens the door, wordlessly. Makes some tea, as Abigail plops on the rug on the floor, nuzzling Max.

She passes her a steaming cup of tea, sits in front of her in much the same manner.

“What happened?”

It takes Abigail a long time to reply, and when she does, she stumbles over words.

“I-I came out to my parents. Let’s say they didn’t take it too well. Sebastian lives with M-Maru so it didn’t feel like the smartest move, and Sam’s mother already has enough things to worry about. I had no-nowhere else to go.”

She shouldn’t be this surprised when the farmer leans closer, wrapping her arms around her, squeezing her close. Abigail reaches up her hands, tugs at the pyjama top and starts sobbing. There’s a large wet mark on the other woman’s shoulder when she is done, though she doesn’t seem to notice it as she’s running around her house, pulling out a rolled up mattress and building a make-shift bed in the middle of the room. She’s gentle as she moves Abigail to her bedroom, helps her in bed, petting at her hair, and chanting it’ll be okay over and over again.

Abigail’s already asleep when she moves to the kitchen, scrolling through her contacts list. It takes a few seconds before the person at the other end picks up, and Sebastian’s voice sounds muffled. She imagines him for a second, face half-hidden in his pillow, dishevelled hair. Then:

“It’s Abbie.”

The next day, Sam and Sebastian show up on her doorstep at 6am with chocolate cake, and they barely even greet her before moving inside, slamming open the door to the room where Abigail’s sleeping, essentially waking her up. But they also jump on the bed, squeezing themselves in the small space, peppering her face with kisses, even as she screams at them to stop, that they’re gross. But she’s laughing.

Over breakfast (eggs and salad and chocolate cake), they discuss what they should do next. There’s enough space here for two people, and it makes most sense to have Abigail live here for a while, until things calm down a bit.

“Did,” Abigail starts, unsure, playing with a tissue, “Maru tell your parents?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, and he feels like he really needs a smoke.

“I guess it went well.”

Abigail ends with a laugh that resounds dry and bitter in the room. Sam’s leaning towards her, holding her hand.

“Your parents will come around,” he says. “They just need to get over the initial shock.”

Except Abigail, everyone else nods. It’s hard to imagine Pierre staying mad at anyone, let alone his own daughter. But Pelican Town is a small enough place that such a thing might take a long time to forgive in the eyes of others. After the guys leave that first day, Abigail spends the entire day in bed. The next one, she joins her host for coffee, asks about the pumpkin patches.

When the Stardew Valley Fair rolls around, she helps the farmer fill Robin’s truck with her products. The older woman hugs Abigail that day like she’s a long-lost daughter, which makes her cry all over again.

 ***

The Fair itself is nice; the trees around had already started to turn orange, and it gives the place a really cosy atmosphere. Almost everyone in town buys something from her stall, and Marnie even comments that she fits right in. She enters Lewis’ competition with her pumpkins, but she loses to Shane’s chickens, which is a totally deserved win on his side, though she hates to admit.

Abigail makes up with her family that day, because the second she steps in town, her mother drops a crane of jars, swears, and runs up to her baby girl to hug the life out of her, cry and apologize. Pierre is sniffling at his stall, next to her – and she passes him her handkerchief.

Then, because Abigail is Abigail, she kisses Maru in front of everyone. George whistles, loudly and everyone laughs, which ends any discussion on the topic. With this scene, the farmer thinks she has just fallen a bit in love with the man herself.

Shane approaches her, to boast his win.

“Congrats,” she says, though she is pointedly not looking at the bow pinned to his chest. Jas has already been over, stopping everyone and showing it off.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, and she’s glad the stall stands between them, because she knows he would have liked to be much closer than this.

“Glad you took the hint.”

“Is the freak gang that entertaining, little girl?”

There he goes again, with his horrible nicknames and that shit-eating grin. She hopes he’d choke on all the bullshit he’s spewing, some day.

“Yes.”

She sounds firm, serious and soft at the same time. There’s a small smile on her lips as well, and probably it’s that combination that makes Shane realize she’s entirely truthful. So, he laughs. For sure, he must find her stupid and foolish, and yet she only feels relieved as he watches him walk away, shaking his head like he’s disappointed.

As evening approaches, Sebastian stops by her stall. It’s almost empty now, most of her products sold earlier in the day. He sits next to her, smoking, looking at Sam winning the big prize at darts for Penny. She all but swoons.

Sebastian gets up, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

“Do you want to walk around?”

She nods, he helps her up. She asks Pierre to watch over the rest of her stuff, and when they move from stall to stall, her and Sebastian are so close that their shoulder almost touch, though none moves to put more space between them. She keeps stealing glances at him, as he explains to her about his favourite stalls, and how it used to look like back in his childhood.

They eat Gus’ famous burgers, and her heart almost stops beating when he leans closer, pressing a tissue to the corner of her mouth. He starts by looking her in the eye, but then her own eyes drop to the flutter of his eyelids, the curve of his nose, eventually settling on the plumpness of his lips – and his gaze follows suit, tracing the same path on her face. They sit in silence, staring at each other, until Gus’ boisterous laugh makes them both startle.

She mumbles her thanks, looking at her plate, too afraid to look at Sebastian.

They play darts too, though she only manages to hit the target only once, and only on its furthest ring.

“Sam rigged this game, didn’t he?” she asks, which makes him smile.

Sebastian pays for his turn, raises his eyebrows at her when she’s expectantly watching him. He throws the first dart while still looking at her, and it hits bull’s eye. She screams in delight, clapping her hands together.

He moves his hand to the back of his head, embarrassed at her reaction, even if he so desperately wanted it in the first place. He asks her if she wants any of the prizes, but she shakes her head. As cheesy as it might be, for her it’s enough that she can enjoy the fair, and that she can do it alongside him.

 ***

When she counts her savings the next day, it’s not as much as she would have liked. So she starts going to the mine again, because she can sell well everything that she finds in there, and for a couple of weeks, it works out just fine. Until it doesn’t anymore.

She knows the place is old, but the crack of the stair giving way under her weight was not an expected problem. The lurking animals and the unmapped areas, sure. But not the wooden step of the stairs.

It takes her by surprise, and she doesn’t have fast enough reflexes to find another footing, so she falls all the distance to the ground. She lands on her side, and there’s a terrible crack in the shoulder that makes getting up so, so painful afterwards. She’s bleeding heavily from one of her knees as well, and several bruises are already blooming on her legs and arms.

Her flashlight also went out on impact, so at first she is disoriented, her head booming with the sound of her fall. Then she gets scared, her heartbeat in her throat, and before she can even think more of her wounds, she forces herself to count up to 100, as slowly as she can, bringing her breathing back to normal, forcing her body to refuse the incoming panic attack just yet.

No one knows she’s in the mine right now, so technically even if they were to notice her disappearance, it will take a while until they find her. And it was already dark outside, judging from the last time she looked at her watch, which makes searching for her unsafe until at least tomorrow morning. She can’t just stay here and wait for someone to find her, even if that is all that she truly wants to do.

She winces when she finally raises to her feet. She’s unstable and everything hurts, but she’s most worried about her arm. She tried to pick up her discarded flashlight, but the movement hurt so much she left out an agonized wail.

Tears start biting at her eyes when she bumps into the stairs, after fumbling through the dark for it. She tries not to think of all the steps until the surface, and then her walk back home – and instead tries to take it one step at a time. She can support her weight only on one arm, and her legs hurt each time she raises them, the skin at her knee ripping open a bit more with each move of her leg up. She takes it one at a time, stops often to breathe deeply, give some part of her body some respite. She struggles even more when she finally gets to the broken stair, and she has to cover twice the distance.

When she eventually collapses on the ground at the entrance to the cave, she can smell the fresh night air, and she can hear the rustling of the leaves, and she starts crying. Somewhere down there, where the mine caved in, trapping workers under the stones and dirt and in unending hallways, is the body of her uncle. Of course, she could have easily shared the same fate today, if she would have been a bit higher, if she would have fallen on one of the sharp stones littering the lower floors instead.

She forces herself, again, to just breathe. But even as she makes herself stand up and walk the long way home, her mind is drifting further and further away, the pain now more dulled at the edge.

That’s why she doesn’t catches when someone calls out her name, doesn’t realize she’s not alone anymore until said person catches her arm to make her stop. Unfortunately, it is her hurt arm, and she shrieks, tears pooling at her eyes, as she’s stumbling away.

Sebastian stares at her, mouth agape, looking like he’s just seen a ghost. He moves his eyes over her body, taking in her state, though he’s unsure in some spots, if the stains on her clothes are blood or dirt.

“Shit, you need to see a doctor,” he says, moving closer again, but she flinches upon his approach.

He passes a frustrated hand through his hair. Dumbly, she wonders what he is doing out here, by the river, in the middle of the night.

“Can I touch you?” he asks. He’s still keeping his distance, though he’s looking at her in a strange way, like she’ll fall off her feet at any moment. Although she nods, this time more aware, more in tune with her surrounding, this time around he approaches more slowly, careful with his movements.

She leans onto him, sighing in relief.

“This will hurt,” he says, and before she has time to think about it, he gathers her in his arms, head at the crook of his neck, her good arm around his shoulder, as he starts carrying her. She just whimpers pathetically, at his chest, blushing furiously and trying not to overthink the gesture, or her weight, or the fact that they’re stopping in front of Harvey’s clinic at fuck knows what time.

Harvey answers on the second knock, looks at the state she’s in and simply mumbles I need my coffee, allowing them inside. Sebastian is still carrying her the flights of stairs up, before finally setting her down on a bed. He’s breathing hard by now, but he’s not complaining. In the light, she can see how wild and panicked his eyes are, how deep his frown is as he searches her body for wounds.

Now that they can see, her shoulder is at a weird angle.

“I’ll have to set it back,” Harvey says, sipping loudly from a fresh cup of coffee, sitting on a chair next to her bed. He looks up at Sebastian, checks the time on his wrist watch. “You can go if you want to.”

“I’ll stay,” he replies almost immediately, making her shiver on the bed, a movement that both men catch. “If that’s okay with you.”

She nods, pleading with Harvey to let him stay, to which he agrees. His job is not made any more difficult, since Sebastian looks perfectly healthy, the weird sleep schedule aside. She doesn’t notice when Sebastian moves, shifts so he can sit next to her on the bed, wrapping his fingers around hers.

Harvey descends like a shadow above her, snapping her bones back in place. She squeezes Sebastian’s hand in her good one, so hard that his bones crack, her fingers digging in his skin until they draw blood. But she only inhales sharply, letting out a string of soft curses, teeth grinding together in pain. When she looks at them, she feels only betrayed, because they both clearly knew what was to come, and did their best to make it as fast as possible.

Harvey hands her a glass of water and some painkillers, and only then does she realize she’s still holding onto Sebastian’s hand. She lets go slowly, smiling at him, patting his hand in silent thanks, though Sebastian cannot smile back at her.

“So what happened?” Harvey asks, moving on to cutting open the leg of her pants, cleaning up the cuts, disinfecting her wounds.

She speaks, evenly, though her panic shows through in some parts, and Sebastian rubs calming circles on her back with his palm. She leans into his touch, swaying in place, eyes fluttering closed, opening them again at a slower and slower pace.

“You should sleep here tonight, so I can monitor your condition,” Harvey says, and Sebastian rises, helping her lay down on the bed, covering her with the blanket, as she’s already fallen asleep.

The two men move downstairs in silence. The clock on the wall shows 4 a.m.

 ***

She wakes to Granny knitting on a chair next to her bed. It’s such an odd image that it takes her a while to recall all the events of the night before. Then, she startles upright.

“Easy, darling, all’s good,” Granny says, though she didn’t even look up at the younger woman.

She learns that Marnie visited her farm earlier, feeding her animals. Abigail took Max to her place, Penny came by with pie. And Sebastian is downstairs, on his 3rd coffee of the day, not having gone home since he first dropped her at the clinic.

Granny smiles to herself when the patient looks longingly at the door, her skin on fire.

 ***

Harvey keeps her for one more night, though she is feeling alright, and she insists so to everyone coming around to check on her. She thought Robin will pick her up, something that she agreed to after much pestering from the woman, but instead the one waiting for her in front of the clinic, leaning on Robin’s truck, is Sebastian.

“Mom had something come up,” he says, moving to get her backpack, filled with the stuff from the mine and some clothes that Abigail picked for her. He opens the truck’s door for her.

“I could have just walked,” she says, though her leg is still stiff.

He shuts the door on her, and until he joins her in, she has time to mull over what exactly she wants to say.

“Thank you,” she beings. “For everything and I’m sorry.”

She fidgets on the spot, as he starts the engine and begins driving.

“Why are you apologizing?” his voice is soft, the corner of his mouth tilted up just the tiniest bit.

“For all the trouble?”

It sounds more like a question,

“You know I’d gladly be troubled for you.”

She does not know that, in fact. She turns to look out the window, at the stretch of trees on the road to her farm, and she wonders when she became such a person to others.

When they arrive, she invites him in, but he politely refuses. She needs to rest. But he does walk back to the car, fiddling with the gloves compartment, coming back with something in his arms. He presents it to her, carefully wrapped, and watches attentively as she opens it, catching her reaction.

In her hands, she has the first volume of what she knows is Sebastian’s favourite comic.

Abigail will tell her, later on, that before he came to pick her up, he drove all the way to Zuzu City so he could pick a copy for her. So on an autumn rainy day, she makes herself a cup of tea, and curls in her bed, opening the book.

She takes her sweet time, searching every detail in the art, rewriting particular quotes in her journal. Then her thoughts fly without her even wanting to, to a particular someone she’d like to have next to her, to explain her favourite parts. She’d like to have him by her side more than that though, as she wakes and works, a person that makes it so much easier for her to just be.

She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself, hugging the book close to her chest. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back. But the image is now stuck on a loop in her mind: stray sun rays filtering through the curtain, and Sebastian in the door frame, with her mug of coffee in his hands, offering it to her as she wakes.

She tortures herself with thoughts like this afterwards, whenever she finds a moment of respite in her work, as she hurries to sell the last of her crops, to preserve the mushrooms, fill the sill with grains for the animals and the storage outside with wood.

 ***

The first time she gets out of her property after the accident is to attend a dinner on Robin’s birthday. In the town here, it’s not a big deal, so she feels particularly honoured to have the older woman invite her.

However, Robin sends Sebastian to pick her up. She’s on the porch, bundled up in her favourite sweater and a shawl, petting Max, when he pulls up in her courtyard on his motorcycle. He’s wearing a leather jacket, and as he moves to get her helmet, she’s only staring at the way his muscles are straining under the material.

He helps her put it on, clasping it under her chin, his fingers lingering on her skin, and they stare in each other’s eyes for a few long seconds. Then, he holds out a hand, helping her get up, and guides her arms around his waist.

She’s basically glued to his back, and she wonders if he can hear how loudly her heart is beating. He tightens his hold against her arms, signalling that she should hold on tighter, and she does, even though she closes her eyes to will the embarrassment away.

Robin welcomes her with an enthusiastic hug, and she’s delighted to see Abigail has been invited as well, and she’s now sitting next to Maru at the table, discussing something with Demetrius. She’s sent her present in the mail earlier this day, more goat cheese and a few quartz pieces, and the redhead thanks her happily.

When she passes Sebastian on the hallway, she stops for a few seconds to thank him for the ride, warmly clasping his hand in hers. Then just as quickly she lets go, joins everyone else in the kitchen.

Most of the conversation is just the parents dotting on the newly formed couple, though there is a passing comment of the pumpkin soup currently served being Sebastian’s favourite food, so she makes a note to ask the recipe from Robin the next day. There’s an anecdote about how Demetrius and Robin first met, though it makes both their children cringe at how young and lovesick they still sound recalling it. Abigail talks about her studies, Maru continues, though their degrees are vastly different.

The farmer turns to look at Sebastian.

“What about your work?”

The conversation stills, a bit awkward. No one ever asks what Sebastian is doing, since freelancing is such a grey area in their mind – though they fail to see that almost everyone in this town is the goddamn owner of their own work.

“Well,” he starts, playing with the food on his plate. “Actually I’ve got a promotion recently and a really big project coming up.”

She clasps her hands together, beaming up at him.

“That’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

Everyone at the table nods politely, Robin even congratulation her son. But he thinks of her question, and lately the answer seems to be no, because each of his successes brings him closer to leaving Pelican Town, and he’s not sure he wants to anymore.

 ***

By the end of the evening, everyone is more or less tipsy, made soft by the drink and the warmth of the house. Robin insists that she should sleep over, afraid to let her return home this late. She almost puts Sebastian and Maru in one room, but the daughter refuses so vehemently, that Sebastian instead just tells her he’ll take the couch. Their mother stares for a long time after both of her children, as each turns to their guest, and instead decides to retire for the night, together with Demetrius.

That’s how she ends up sitting on Sebastian’s bed, as he’s searching for a towel and some clothes for her.

“Maru is leaving next spring for a research program,” he explains. “That’s why-”

“She wants to make the most out of it,” she continues.

“Yeah.”

He understands the feeling; it’s why he’s more often than not out of his house these days, afraid that one day he’ll have to root himself out of this place, and he will leave many things behind to regret. And many people he will miss.

He throws the clothes in her direction, points her to the direction of the bathroom.

She’s feeling more awake after the shower, and she’s drying her hair with a towel as she enters his room again. She wears one of his hoodies, but on her it looks almost like a dress, coming down halfway to her knees, sleeves rolled several times over. The sweatpants are equally as large.

“I like your socks,” she says, wiggling her toes, an ugly, green gooey face dancing with the movement.

She’s way too freakin cute, Sebastian thinks, though he only smiles at her as he passes her to go and take a shower. When he returns, she’s snuggled in his bed, a comic book in hands, the sequel to the present he’s given her before. She doesn’t hear him come in until he plops on the couch, and then she looks up at him, cheeks immediately flushing.

“Aren’t you cold?”

He’s wearing a tank top, loose enough around the chest area that she can see his collarbones. She knows she’s staring, yet she can’t tear her eyes away from the skin of his arms, or the taut stretch of his top against his chest. When eventually, finally, she moves her gaze up to his face, he’s smirking, clearly having caught her in the act.

“I never get cold,” he replies, shrugging, though he tenses the muscles on his arm, and her gaze immediately snaps back there.

He’s outright laughing right now, which makes her turn her back to him, pulling the blanket over her entire body and mumble an embarrassed good night.

But she has a very, very hard time falling asleep.

 ***

“I don’t wanna go,” she whines at Sam, pulling at his clothes, dragging him away from the maze.

He just laughs, tugging her harder instead. His little brother scared her as soon as she arrived for Spirit’s Eve, and since then she refused to leave his side, on edge all the time.

The town is decorated in skulls and supersized spiders, and Abigail took to walking around with a witch hat on and a sword in her hands, which everyone agreed was cool but also relatively worrisome.

She swears, loudly, clinging even closer to Sam’s arm, when Sebastian joins them, carrying two glasses of punch. He chuckles, but still passes one of them to her.

“You don’t celebrate Spirit’s Eve in the city?”

“Well,” she says, taking a large gulp of her drink. “There it’s more about getting shit-faced in a club, and less about your heart going for a run when you turn the corner of the street.”

“Amen, sister,” Sam yells, grabbing her glass and downing it all in one go.

“Hey!” She punches his shoulder.

“It made you laugh though!” he says, leaving so he can get her a refill, and well, he’s not wrong, because now she feels way more at ease than before.

Sebastian shifts closer to her, for which she is grateful.

“Is it really that bad?”

“I just hate jump scares,” she whines, again. “And I’m sure the maze is filled with them.”

“You know you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, right? We can just sit on a bench and watch the skeletons.”

“We?”

He’s pressing his palm to his neck. “Well I’ve cleared the maze every year, so.”

So they sit, together.

 ***

Back in the city, she can never tell when it will snow anyway – but here in town, the air is crisp and cold for days before. Robin shows up one early winter morning, and helps her isolate the house as much as possible, around the windows and the doors, so that no cold seeps in, so that all the warmth stays. She might need to renovate the house next year, but for now, it will have to be enough.

Robin sips at the coffee she’s been offered, and pretends not to see Sebastian’s books sprawled all around the farmer’s house, on the kitchen counter, on the bed, next to the TV. She also equally doesn’t comment on one of Sebastian’s jackets hanging on the back of the chair that the young girl is currently occupying. Robin takes another sip, and smiles in her cup.

Back in the city, when it snows, it never piles; part car fumes, part all the people walking around doing their business. But here in the town, when she wakes up one morning, all she can see around her house is a wide expanse of whiteness. Max runs past her, jumps into the snow, comes back in so wet but so happy, that she doesn’t mind having to towel him near the fire from the fireplace.

But she’s left with too much time on her hands; she watches Queen of Sauce almost obsessively, following along in her own kitchen, surprised when her food is actually good. She starts knitting, phoning Granny each time she stumbles through a row. She reads, almost obsessively. And she does go to the mines, but for shorter periods now, scared of not repeating her injury, even if the Adventurer’s Guild repaired the broken stairs.

Then Sam calls her over one day and welcomes her to the world of DnD, him and Sebastian more or less forcing everyone else to start a new campaign with them. It’s the happiest she’s seen them both, so she tries to keep up with the characters, stops to ask about plot holes. They explain things in tandem, finishing each other’s sentences, for almost an entire hour, because you see, this race can’t have this magical power. Sam pulls out his guide, passing it around so that everyone can look up the kind of character they want to create.

That first evening together, that’s all they do in fact: filling stat sheets, searching reference pictures on the internet. And they eat Jodi’s delicious snacks, gossip a bit about Marnie and mayor Lewis’ affair, that the whole town knows about but somehow only the two of them missed this detail.

They turn it into a weekly meeting, rotating their meeting place through all their houses, sometimes the Stardrop Saloon in the days when they know it’ll be more empty and calm. They fight imaginary battles, Sam’s voice guiding them through cities and enemies and friends, saving each other’s asses and forging alliances. It’s the best fun she’s had since arriving in the town, though if anyone were to tell her this a year ago, she would have laughed directly into their faces.

They break the tradition only once, when instead they decide to go ice-skating. Each winter, if the temperatures are low enough, the lake freezes, making it a perfect rink. To be fair, it’s her favourite sport – probably only sport that she’s so excited to do, that she jumps on the spot as she waits for her turn to lend a pair of skates.

She’s looking a bit ridiculous, wearing 3 different layers and one of her grandpa’s padded vests, a beanie on top of her head. Sebastian finds her just really cute. She skates around holding one of Maru’s hands, Abigail the other – because she’s the only one who doesn’t really know how to do it.

Then Sam starts a game of tag with Jas. So they start chasing each other around, yelling when they’re caught only to start again. Penny almost trips, but Sam’s catches her hand and stabilizes her, even if he’s it now. Abigail and Maru skate around holding hands, working more like one person than two separate ones, though Abigail lets go only when it’s her turn to chase someone; and she’s fast as a flash, her turn over in under a minute.

She touches the farmer’s back, and she’s left in the middle of the frozen lake, trying to think who to go after. Her intention is to go after Vincent, his voice shrill with happiness when he realizes he has to run away from her, but her skates catch in the ice.

She only has time to gasp out a swearword, preparing to fall flat on her face. But there’s an arm around her waist, though the angle is awkward and her weight too heavy, so both of them fall to the ground.

She blinks, trying to make sense of the new position. She didn’t hit the cold ice, instead Sebastian’s body cushioned her fall. She’s on top of him, hands on either side of his head, and she’s staring into his eyes. She’s so close that she can feel his chest heaving.

“You good?” he asks, a hand moving to settle around her waist.

It snaps her out of it. “Shit, I’m the one who should be asking that.”

She’s trying to get up, though she’s embarrassed and fumbling, and her first movement just positions her ass on Sebastian’s thighs and crotch area. He shudders, inhaling loudly – and she can feel him stir under her.

“Oh,” is all that she can say, eyes blown wide catching his. Though there’s something more there: curiosity, and a growing interest.

“You guys okay?!” Sam’s voice is distant to her ears, though she waves a hand in the air, to both show that they’re okay and ask for a break from their game. Sebastian says nothing, looking up at her like a man found guilty of murder, face flushed, though he hasn’t moved his hand from her waist.

She grinds her hips, pushing harder against Sebastian’s body, watching in fascination as he’s squeezing his eyes shut, a frown on his forehead.

“Stop,” he says, sounding wound up and chocked.

So she does, rolling from on top of him, pulling herself to her feet, smiling when offering him a hand up. Though he’s not smiling back, he takes her hand.

***

“Happy birthday!” she shouts, when Sebastian opens the door to his bedroom, holding up her present to him.

Behind him, music plays loudly, and she can see Sam and Abigail arguing about who gets the last slice of pizza. She’s the last to arrive, but that’s also partially because outside there’s a real blizzard. Penny comes to hug her in greeting, and she high-fives Sam. Most of the time, they just drink and joke around, chatting about random things, his oldest friends telling tales of Sebastian.

After a couple of hours, Sebastian catches her eyes, motions towards the outside. Sam has given up smoking, being more of a social smoker, just like her. But since he got together with Penny, a fact to which they finally admitted after merciless teasing from Abigail, he quit.

They stop in the hallway, putting on their coats – and she hands him the present again, though he hasn’t noticed her coming up with it.

“You might find useful what’s in here.”

So he opens it to find a matching hat and scarf, in a dark navy. They’re clearly handmade, and handmade by her he suspects – and he’s touched by the time and care she had to put in her gift. Nestled between the material, there’s also a frozen tear.

“God, I-I love this. Thank you.”

She beams at him, obviously relieved. He puts the frozen tear carefully in the pocket of his jacket. She helps him with the scarf and the beanie, her hands lingering on his shoulder for a second afterwards, admiring him.

Outside, in the courtyard corner where they’re smoking, there’s a snowman. Sebastian almost feels like kicking it when she mentions in passing that it’s cute.

“I built a snowgoon but Demetrius made me get rid of it, yet Maru’s cute little snowman still stands…”

He didn’t mean to sound this bitter. She shifts, coming in closer, taking his empty hand in hers.

“If I just disappeared, would it even matter?”

He means it like a rhetorical question, just for himself – but she’s strengthening her grip on him, forcing him to look at her. She wants him to understand that she’s entirely serious.

“It would matter to me.”

 ***

It’s drizzling, a mix of snow and rain, weather suddenly warming up. On the beach, anyway, snow never piles up, and when Sebastian turns around, he finds her standing a few feet away, staring out into the sea. She is drenched, shivering lightly with each gust of wind, and now that her concentration has been snapped by his movement, she’s staring at him instead.

He gestures her closer, and she stops by his side. Now, closer, he can see that she’s shivering more violently than he initially though, and she’s certainly not dressed properly for the weather.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks, softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes, head leaning toward his touch, and he finds himself cupping her cheek without thinking too much about it.

“What are you doing out here?” she counters, blinking up at him.

Maybe it’s the absolutely pathetic state that both of them are into that makes him answer honestly to the question. Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s her.

“Looking out at the bleak horizon… It makes me feel like it’s worthwhile to keep pushing on.”

He shrugs, trying not to look as serious as his statement. Lately, he’s been having more reasons to believe that same thing, but old habits die hard, and there’s a particular calmness in being somewhere where no one else is. Or, he thinks, looking down at her, almost no one.

“I just like the sea,” she says, and any awkwardness that he still felt dissipates with her admission. The water is raging, stirred on by the storm, crashing violently against the pier, and they stand in silence, his hands carefully petting her hair, pulling her closer when she shivers again.

“Fuck, do you want to catch your death?”

He undresses quickly, placing his jacket over her shoulders. It doesn’t make much of a difference, but it’s more waterproof than what she’s wearing, and also carrying his warmth. He pops open the umbrella he’s carrying, and with an arm around her shoulder, pulls her to his chest.

“You know,” he starts, his palm rubbing circles on her back. “I would normally feel anxious doing this with anyone. But somehow, you’re the exception.”

Her head turns, chin resting on his chest so she can look up at him.

“I want to kiss you,” she says, and Sebastian chokes on whatever he wanted to say before. “Can I?”

She’s on her tiptoes now, her lips so close to his that their breathes are mingling, yet she’s giving him the choice of covering the remaining distance. Which he does, hungrily, almost desperate for it, both hands cupping her cheeks as their mouths clash. The umbrella falls into the water, and yet they don’t care enough to notice it.

They stop for a moment, coming up for air, and then they’re back at it, and despite the fire growing at the pit of her stomach, the kiss is languid, exploring, tongue pressing against tongue. Slight movement, a change in their position to deepen the kiss, her fingers now playing in the hair at the nape of his neck, his hands at her waist.

He kisses her like he never kissed somebody else, and went hungry for it all this time. His fingers move under her sweater, and the sudden cold touch makes her break apart. His touch turns comforting, pressing against her skin, and she sighs. Their foreheads meet.

“Fuck, I wanted to do that for so long,” he breathes and she laughs.

“We are two idiots, right?”

“Big idiots,” he nods, and she takes his hand in hers, starts pulling him in the direction of her house.

 ***

She starts the fire in the house, as he’s slowly undressing layer after layer. In the bathroom, the bathtub is filled with hot water, waiting for him. He’s down to a t-shirt and his boxers when he cups her elbow in his hand.

“Join me?” he asks, voice a bit strained, but firm.

She can only nod, dazed, not trusting that this is not just a dream, afraid that speaking will ruin the moment. He sits down on the edge of the tub, gesturing for her to come closer. She’s standing in front of him, and he’s gentle in guiding her out of her clothes, letting them drop to the floor. He strays from his purpose sometime, to press a kiss against her hip, or at the tip of her fingertips.

When she eventually ends up stark naked, his eyes are hungry, but his touch not, as he guides her inside the hot tub. She sighs in pleasure, closing her eyes. She opens them again when she hears the rustling of clothes, to watch him undress. He’s a bit slow, a bit shy, joining her inside the tub. The water almost spills over. She tries not to think of his cock, the precum leaking. She tries to ignore the uncomfortable heat growing between her legs.

She helps him shampoo his hair, he washes her back. They go off track from time to time, kissing lazingly for a long time, his hands massaging her breasts, her teeth grazing his neck. Until she moans, a loud sound. Until he gasps, her name caught between his lips.

Then, with ease, he helps her out. They share one, large towel, huddling together until they reach her bedroom, giggling like children. They’re almost to the bed when he stops, looks at her.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

He’s a liar, because his cock is pulsing with want and she can feel him against her hip. She pouts.

“But I want you.”

He kisses her pout away, pushes at her shoulder until she falls to the bed with a yelp, hands wrapping against him, taking him down with her. She’s laughing, pleased with having him on top of her, when his mouth moves downwards on her body, kissing against her collarbones, sucking at the skin, biting at the skin, until there’s a dark mark behind. He throws her a pleased grin, moving lower yet again.

Sebastian takes one of her nipples in his mouth, a hand moving up to tease the other. Her hands immediately wrap in his hair and she gasps. He pulls at the sensitive area, with his teeth and his fingers, licking it better immediately afterwards, and she writhes under him. He kisses his path downwards, though his lips kiss at her hips, he bites at her thighs, always circling around where she most wants him.

“Seb,” she whines. “Please.”

He stops his ministrations to look at her, frowning and pouting, hair dishevelled against her pillows, her body flushed all over, his marks so obvious against her skin. He feels himself growing at the sight, though he smirks at her.

“Please what?”

She blushes.

“Please eat me out?”

It sounds like a plead and a question and a prayer and a command all at once, and he’s on her in the blink of an eye, tongue lapping at her folds. Her back arches, but his hands are keeping her in place – and he maintains a constant, slow rhythm.

Until he doesn’t, one of his fingers entering her in full, with ease. Sebastian chuckles.

“You’re so wet, baby.”

Her walls squeeze at the nickname. He adds another finger; watches, transfixed, as it disappears inside with the same ease. He starts pumping them inside her, and the sound of her wet pussy taking it all in is so hot, that he groans.

Buried down in her to the knuckles, he opens his fingers apart. She moans, pushing down, searching for more, more, more. He scissors her, spreading her wide – and his head moves lower yet again, lips kissing against her clit at first.

Then, he adds a third finger. He can feel her stiffen under him, so he pulls her clit in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, just as he starts pumping his fingers inside her. Now her hands are holding on to her sheets, and she’s mumbling some curses, halfway lost to her pleasure, moans louder and louder as he speeds up.

He raises his head just for a second, to chuckle against her heated pussy.

“Come, baby.”

So she does, and he continue pumping inside of her, letting her ride her orgasm. She still sighs when he pulls out his fingers, immediately missing the feeling of being filled up with him. He moves to pepper her face with kisses, petting at her now sweated forehead.

“You did so well, baby.”

He’s teasing her, knowing how much she likes the nickname. So instead she looks down between their bodies, his cock against his navel, leaking – and looking like the most beautiful dick she has ever seen in her life. It’s not the biggest one she’s seen, but he’s thick and she’s never wanted to taste something more than the cum that’d spill out of it.

Still staring, she moves her hands to grab it, her fingers dancing over it, starting with his leaking tip, spreading his precum all over his length, before stopping with a slight squeeze at its base. Sebastian shivers over her, eyes closed, mouth open in an unspoken prayer, because he’s not sure even god can help him now.

Holding his dick in her hands, she helps him adjust at her entrance. At first, he teases against her cunt, pressing his cock between her folds, rocking his hips back and forth as they both moan in tandem. She’s already dripping over the sheets again.

He grabs at her hand, fingers entwined.

“You ready?”

“For that dick? Born ready,” she says, chuckling, but not moving her eyes away from where he’s starting to push inside her.

“Fuuck,” he says, just as she moans, only the tip in. The stretch is painful, but so fucking delicious and she’s a blabbering mess begging for more, pulling him closer with her free arm. He slams inside her, forcing the rest of his length inside in one go, and she swears. He kisses at her eyebrows, at the tip of her nose, apologizing softly.

“Tell me when to move again,” he says, and true to his words, he seems content to just kiss her, tongue at her neck, words whispered and lost in her hair, but making her shiver nonetheless just because there’s the hot breath so close to her skin. She’s trying to adjust to his entirety of him inside her, not hurtful but not entirely comfortable just yet either, and his mouth now licking at her hypersensitive nipple seems to slowly do the trick.

“Move,” she says, and he does.

He’s slow at first, almost frustratingly so, pulling out almost entirely, before slowly filling her up again. She moans, drawn out sounds, with each movement – and she almost doesn’t notice when the speed picks up, when she starts moving her hips to meet his actions. They’re a mess of grunts and moans, gasps and swears – and he squeezes so hard at her hip when she comes again, the orgasm washing over her with an intensity that it’s almost blinding, that she’s sure he’ll leave bruises.

Sebastian looks like a man in pain, inside her as she’s coming back to herself after the orgasm. She kisses his cheek, hands rubbing against his chest muscles.

“Do you want to cum all over me?”

He almost trips with the haste that he’s pulling out of her. She’s waiting, on her back, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Sebastian rises on his knees – it’s embarrassing that he only needs two more pumps to come. Most of it falls on her tits and neck, though she’s happily licking every bit that she can reach with her tongue, swallowing it all like a good girl.

“Fuck,” Sebastian says, falling next to her on the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

She beams at him, getting closer. They kiss for a while, bored and tired and messy, teeth clanking together, tongue at the corner of the mouth. There’s a string of saliva between their lips when they separate.

She gets up, goes to the toilet, returns all cleaned up, before coming back to the warmth of the bed, dragging the covers over both of them. Sure, the sheets are dirty, but that’s a problem for her future self, because right now, all she wants to do is snuggle at Sebastian’s back, an arm draped over his waist. So that’s what she does.

 ***

When they wake, they fuck on the kitchen counter, the angle hitting her just right. Truthfully, half of her butt is in the air, her legs wrapped around Sebastian’s torso, as he snaps his hips up in her, deeper and deeper each time. She’s never been so glad she doesn’t have neighbours in her entire life. Maybe because it’s been so long on her part, or because Sebastian is really just that good, she’s loud – and she loves to feel him stirring inside her, with each of her moans and praises.

“So good,” she gasps, fingers digging almost painfully in his back, and he proves his point by ramming into her, ripping a sob of pleasure out of her.

He’s wearing a condom this time around, so there is no mess to clean up, and they drink their coffee afterwards – talking about this and that, not even skimming the topic of what they’re doing, or why.

He kisses her goodbye though.

And on Winter Star, while she’s getting ready for the feast with everyone else, Sebastian comes by. He welcomes him warmly, and he sits on the side of her bed, watching her finish her make-up and doing her hair, and though he doesn’t move, she keeps catching his eyes in the mirror, looking at her every movement hungrily.

“We’re not fucking after all this effort I just put in,” she says, pointedly plucking her lips and applying a bright, red lipstick.

“I want to take you out on a date,” he says, ignoring her childish theatrics, but shaking his head with a soft smile.

“Sure.”

She tries to sound nonchalant, but her heart is beating in her chest. As much as she’d like to have him bend her over the table and take her like a bitch in heat, she’d much prefer him being her boyfriend while he does so.

“Good, let’s go then.”

“Now?” she yelps, when he grabs her hand and walks her towards the entrance.

“Now,” he says. He helps her putting on her beret, she straightens the scarf around his neck. “I’ve already called Sam and told him we won’t make it to the feast.”

“You did? What did he say?”

“To have condoms on me,” Sebastian says, face serious, which is why it makes her snort.

“And?” she’s wiggling her eyebrows at him. “Do you?”

He slaps her butt as she’s getting out instead of a reply. She turns at him, the slightest darkness in her eyes.

They go for a ride, promise not forgotten. They drive for a long time, and when they finally reach their destination, he tells her to keep her eyes closed, keeps his palms against her eyes as he guides her steps.

When he moves his hands away, she gasps. Spread ahead of her, the lights of Zuzu City against the usual darkness of the night. Sebastian moves next to her, grabs her hand in his.

“I come here when I want to get away from everything and just… think.”

He’s been doing this a lot lately, ever since she came to the valley, became his friend. Torn between his dreams of the city and the familiarity of home, he came here often thinking about what he should do.

He’s fumbling with his cigarettes, before eventually lightning one. Leaning against his motorcycle, she’s still looking out at the landscape in front of them.

“It gives such a strange, sad feeling…”

She’s almost saying it to herself. She doesn’t understand why he is showing this to her, and she can only think of how much he wants to be a part of those lights shining in the distance. She knows, if he is to walk that path, there’s nothing she will do to stop him.

Sebastian gets close to her, slings an arm around her shoulder. His gaze is still fixed to the city out in the distance, but when he speaks, it’s all just for her.

“The city used to draw me in… but now I’m finding myself happier at home in the valley.”

Her head snaps up so fast that it almost hurts. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything, afraid she’s overstepping, afraid she actually misunderstands whatever is going on, afraid to hope too much.

He turns to her, knuckles slowly caressing her cheek.

“You’re the only one I ever brought to this place. You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

She shakes her head; wants to hear it. He leans down, pulling her close with his other arm, covering her sound of surprise with his mouth, kissing her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to his kisses; he’s a passionate but patient kisser, drawing out the movements for as long as possible, biting and licking at her lips, smiling smugly and lazily at her when he is done.

“I want us to be together. For real.”

She jumps in his arms, the move making him stumble a bit, but they’re not falling. She looks in his eyes, the gaze as touching and passionate as it’s ever been.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

“Wha-”

But she kisses him.

 *** 

She’s obsessed with saying those three words. Now that she has the right to say it, it blooms out of her at his every gesture. She says it out loud without embarrassment or care as to whoever else can hear it. She says it as good morning and as good bye. She says it when he stays the night, and when he asks her over to play a new game together. She says it in front of Maru and mayor Lewis. She says it when he comes inside of her. She says it when he lets her borrow his sweater. She says it when he calls her in the evening after work.

It makes him dizzy with how wanted she makes him feel.

It’s the middle of the night and they’re waiting, alongside everyone else from the city, for the clock to strike exactly 12, and the fireworks to blast into the sky. She’s holding onto his arm, chatting happily with Sam about a cover song they’re planning. Her weight, next to him, is something new to get used to – but she’s always fitting herself right there with so much ease, that it seems almost natural.

The countdown begins, mayor Lewis’ voice booming across the square. At 8, she joins in. At 3, he does too. The fireworks blast with a loud noise, and she squeezes herself closer to him, her eyes to the colouring sky, her lips to his ear.

“Make a wish, babe.”

She closes her eyes, thinking of everything she wants in the upcoming year. He looks at her.

“So, what did you wish for?” he asks.

She tugs at his jacket, kisses him.

“You.”

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 12: Chiaroscuro

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2138

Content warning:  Content warning for references to child abuse and overtly racist cops.  Bear in mind that it was already written into the plot before 2020 happened.

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the brilliant pandabearer

“I am disheartened by this reprehensible act against two of our citizens.  We do not condone hatred, bigotry, racism, or intolerance of any kind here.  I hope this brings us together as a community.”

         -Narinder Rao, Bryson City Mayor

         The sheriff was trying to play dominance games with an alpha.  He left Remi cooling his heels in the waiting area for ten minutes despite the fact he’d arrived promptly for their scheduled meeting.  Shaw had tried to avoid him outright, but Remi pulled the media card and he relented immediately; he’d won his position by a scant margin and didn’t have the political clout to withstand a media frenzy.  If he still refused to play ball after this, well, Remi still had a few more cards up his sleeve.

         Several deputies seemed to have important business in the front office while he waited.  While he wasn’t in the mood to play, RainFire needed to cultivate as much rapport with Enforcement as possible.  So he donned his easy-going demeanour like the well-worn armour that it was and flirted and charmed while not promising anything.

         “Mr. Denier,” Shaw called, noticeably irritated he had to come in person since his receptionist was currently slipping his phone number into Remi’s hand.  He’d scented the other man before he spoke, of course, but there was no need to be rude to the young psy in front of him who was obviously inexperienced in flirting.

         “À plus tard, cher,” he winked, tucking the slip of paper into a pocket to dispose of later.  Red flagged the younger man’s cheeks and he ducked past his boss to make his way back to his desk.

         The sheriff’s polite smile was strained as Remi sauntered over to him; he made sure to keep the leopard in his line of sight as they walked back to his office in silence.  Stale coffee and the maelstrom of dozens of people assaulted his senses.

         “I always wondered, what made you decide to come here?” Shaw asked, southern accent thick, as Remi settled in one of the two chairs facing his desk.  He stifled the urge to bare his teeth in annoyance at the small talk when all the animal wanted to do was tear out the throat of its enemy.  It was too uncivilized to bother with social niceties, especially when it saw the man as a threat to be eliminated

         “It was what was available for a new pack,” he shrugged, seeing no need for prevarication.  The information was out there for anyone who cared enough to look, and he had a feeling the Sheriff had done his homework.  There was more to the process, of course, but that was the bare bones of it.

         “Doesn’t seem right that the good folk of this county don’t get a say in a pack of predators moving in,” Shaw feigned bewilderment and shook his head, light glinting off a pate shaved to hide the fact he was mostly bald.  “It would’ve been better for everyone if we’d all stayed in our own lanes.  Nothing good ever came of pandering to the other races.”

         “Talk to your Trinity representative about that,” he said flatly.  “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, where are you at in the investigation into the assault that occurred outside Acapella two nights ago?”

         “Mr. Denier-”

         “Alpha,” he corrected.  “My proper title is ‘alpha’.”

         “Alpha Denier, it’s still the early stages.”  In a false display of sympathy, Shaw leaned forward to loosely weave his thick fingers together on top of the desk.  “We have no fingerprints, no DNA, no witnesses, and no suspects.  You must understand that we have limited resources and an inquest would require much of that with very little chance of success.”  Shaw spread his hands as if in remorse.

         “DNA evidence was taken at the hospital.”  What he didn’t say was that the pack had taken their own samples, while theirs wasn’t admissible in court, there was still a chance that it would help identify the assailants for some extra-judicial justice.

         “The hospital didn’t have a protocol for preserving evidence, no need for it before you people moved here.  The samples weren’t logged properly and got destroyed.  A damn shame, but I’ve been assured they’re remedying the situation.”  It didn’t take the nose of a changeling to tell that Shaw was lying, he didn’t bother to hide his smugness at stonewalling Remi.

         “RainFire offers its assistance in the investigation.”

         “You don’t have the authority.”  The flat rejection was no less than what Remi had expected.

         “One of the survivors is changeling, therefore changeling laws apply should RainFire choose to exercise our rights.”  What went unsaid was that changeling justice was swift, brutal, and brooked no interference.

         “Forgive me if I doubt you’n’s impartiality.”  The smirk that had been dancing in the human’s eyes died, leaving them flint hard.

         “Local Enforcement leadership has already proven its own lack in that area.”

         A vein in the officer’s forehead throbbed as his blood pressure and heart rate increased.  The cat wondered how hot the blood would be, how far it would gush if it sank its teeth into the human’s carotid arteries.  The temptation to allow the leopard to surface was callow, yet strong, and completely unnecessary.  Fear filled the office, hovering beneath the thick cologne Shaw wore.  He wondered if the sheriff’s sense of smell was dulled or if he thought the cloying concoction would hide his reactions from Remi.  It might have worked against a changeling who hadn’t grown up surrounded by the stink of constant fear, but the acrid bite was etched too indelibly in his memory.

         “It’s becoming increasingly clear that local Enforcement’s reluctant to protect the changeling community but is more than willing to police it.  RainFire will respond to any attack on changelings or humans with changeling affiliations within the area we have claimed.”  Remi let the leopard rise in his eyes, not enough to change his pupils, just enough to remind Shaw he was right to be afraid.

         “I won’t tolerate a witch hunt.”  The sheriff gave his best imitation of a snarl.

         “Nor will we.”  The leopard’s growl was genuine.

         Whenever Lorel found herself in need of parental advice, she inevitably called her aunt.  Maternal, of course, since she only knew her father’s name and that of his now-defunct pack.  Even though her grandparents raised her, calling them was out of the question, unless she felt like a lecture and shame; in her experience, there was no such thing as unconditional love.  No, what she needed was a calm perspective from someone who wanted the best for her.

         Pacing the living room while the call went through, she rubbed her palms up and down her arms.  There was a strange buzzing under her skin.  All the feelings and sensations bouncing around in her head drove out what she intended to say by the time her aunt Nora answered.  What came out instead was peevish.

         “Did you know that RainFire intended to expand their territory?”

         “Sorry… you… breaking… up.”  Her aunt’s words came haltingly even though there was no interruption in the video itself.  Lorel could still make out every coil of hair that was so like her own, albeit auburn compared to her copper, glowing in the Australian sunlight.  The vague, pastel memories of her mother showed in the older woman like ghosts.  Her childhood impressions of her mom were of someone a little less colourful, gentler, but with the same mass of curls.  The familiar sight seemed to chase back the gloom of early evening filling the corners of her own living room.

         “Static hasn’t been an issue for nearly fifty years.”  Not since the psy had invested in international telecommunications infrastructure.

         “Yes, I did know, and I knew you wouldn’t have taken over the bakery if I told you.  You deserve to-” she sighed and held up her hands, apparently at a loss for words.  “To be whole.”

         “I’m fine,” snapped Lorel.  “What I don’t need is a pack of leopards threatening to kill me for the crime of living where they want to stake a claim.”

         “What you need is something you’ve never been given,” she replied evenly.  “And I’m partly to blame for that.  I should have done more.”  At that, Lorel swallowed the acerbic words on her tongue.

         “We’ve been over this: you’re barely fifteen years older than I am and were in college halfway around the world,” she reminded her aunt with as much gentleness as she could summon.  “Speaking of which, how are your classes going?”

         “Harder than I remember, but I’m enjoying it so far.  Nice attempt at changing the subject, though.”  She wagged a finger at her niece, who pretended to be abashed.  “Give them a chance, Lolo.  If it’s not what you need, my cousin’s still willing to buy you out, but at least you’ll know.”  Unable to look into a face filled with such tender love and concern, Lorel hugged herself and looked down at her feet.

         “Besides, some of those cats are drop-dead gorgeous.”

         “Aunt Nora!” she snapped her head up to gape at the other woman.

         “I’m old, not dead!”  Laughter lit up her entire being, wrapping around Lorel like a warm hug, and she couldn’t help but smile along with her even as she shook her head in fond exasperation.  While she was on the edge of forty, her aunt could be- and had been- mistaken for her sister, and certainly young enough to be studying for a second career as a marine biologist.

         “I love you, Lolo, and I know you wouldn’t have taken this risk on your own.”

         “Yeah, who wouldn’t want to risk death threats?”  Lorel unfolded one arm to wave her hand in a flippantly sarcastic gesture.

         “You have choices: give the leopards a chance or sell to Marselo.”  Her harsh, no-nonsense tone had Lorel twisting her face into a moue of distaste.  Sometimes she wondered how Nora and Klaudia Maddox could possibly be related, but then, when least expected, her aunt revealed a spine of pure steel and the family resemblance was undeniable.

         “You didn’t even want SweetCheeks, something about moving to Hicksville, Nowhere?  I had to guilt you into it.”  The older woman’s insistence had seemed strange at the time but made sense now that Lorel knew what her ulterior motives were.

         “Yeah, well, I like it so far,” she admitted begrudgingly, burrowing her bare toes into the Aegean blue area rug.  “You built up a good business.”

         “Damn straight,” Nora sniffed with obvious pride.  “So, you better take good care of it, ya hear?”

         “Yeah, yeah, love you, too.”  She rolled her eyes and thrust both hands into her hair.  “They’re dangerous, No-No.”

         “You’ve survived things that would break other people.  I know you were taught to fear them,” a shadow of remorse crossed her face, “but my money’s on you.”

         “What if I can’t?”  The question was a whisper because she couldn’t speak past the knot in her throat.

         “What if you can?  Imagine what you’d be capable of.”  The strength of her aunt’s love and confidence in her was still a kick to the heart and she’d always regret not confiding in the other woman when she was younger.  Nora had fluttered like a vibrant butterfly at the edges of her youth; shame and a twisted sense of protection had kept Lorel from reaching out to her sooner, she didn't want her spirited aunt to put her life on hold for Lorel's sake.  What support Nora could provide, no matter where she was in the world, had gotten her through some of her toughest years.  As an adult, she soaked in as much of Nora's love as she could, and tried to return it as best she knew how.  “I have to go, I have a date with some algae.  Let me know what you decide.”

         “I will.  I love you, No-No.”  She kissed two fingers and pressed them to the comm screen.

         “Love you, too, Lolo.”  Her aunt mirrored the gesture on her end before they both hung up.

         Twilight seemed to rush back into the room once the screen went blank; for once, she didn’t bother turning on a light and allowed the shadows to envelop her.  It wasn’t fully dark to her eyes, never had been, yet she still kept nightlights around the house; a childish habit Nora had never ridiculed her for, seeming to understand without words why an adult changeling would fear the night.

         “We are all sons of light and sons of day. We are not of night nor of darkness.”  Her grandfather’s voice echoed in her head, accompanied by the remembered pain of sudden light on her sensitive eyes.  “Why are you sitting in the dark?  What are you trying to hide?”

         Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

[allisondraste]

Temperance (33/42)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:    Nathaniel wishes it took longer to return to Vigil’s Keep. 

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

[AO3 LINK]

Fereldan Countryside, 9:31 Dragon

Nathaniel sat across the campfire from Liss, pretending not to notice when she glanced up from her book to eye him sharply.  As she read, she turned each page with an exaggerated amount of force and pointedness, a display of irritation that was much less subtle than she likely believed.  She might as well have torn out the pages, wadded them into little balls and tossed them at his head. In fact, if she had lobbed the whole book at him, he wouldn’t have been surprised.  He probably wouldn’t have even tried to dodge.

They had not spoken since that morning, when Nathaniel had taken it upon himself to drive a wedge into yet another of his relationships, just as he’d done with Lucia the night before.  He knew it wasn’t his place to tell Liss what she should and shouldn’t do, and he was frustrated with his complete inability to let it go. If she wanted to become a Grey Warden, then she should. However, the thought terrified him, and he’d let his fear get the better of him.  Now, despite sitting just feet from her, he’d never felt further away.

The four of them had decided to break the day long trip to Amaranthine into two, less exhausting halves, and thus set up camp on the road from Denerim.  The camp was painfully quiet, tension hanging like smoke in the air, suffocating and oppressive. With Liss preoccupied by her pointed, passive-aggressive reading in Nathaniel’s direction, and Lucia gazing absently into the fire,  Alistair’s discomfort was obvious. He sat on the ground, craning his head around and darting his eyes in every direction, plucking at hardy weeds that shot up through the frozen soil, and fidgeting endlessly. At one point he emptied out the entirety of the contents of his pack, and put each item back in one by one.  When he asked to do the same for Lucia’s and she refused, he pouted and scooted over more closely to Liss.

Peering over her arm to look at the text in her hands, he asked, “New book?”

Liss’ posture relaxed almost instantly as she turned to look at Alistair with a soft smile. “Actually, it’s an old one.”  She marked her spot and closed the book turning it so that he could see the front.

Squinting, Alistair read the words. “Songs of the Pirate Queen?” He took the book from her hands and began to thumb through the pages.

“Mhmm,” she answered cheerfully, “It was one of my mother’s favorites.  She had at least three copies at any given time. I think she missed the sea more than she let on.”

“What,” he asked enthusiastically, still skimming the pages, “Was your mother a pirate or something?”

Liss laughed.  “Actually, yes! Well, before she married my father, that is.  My grandparents weren’t too happy with the arrangement, but Papa loved her.”

Nathaniel’s chest tightened at the memory of Lady Eleanor, and the nearly inaudible waver in Liss’ voice as she spoke about her.

She continued, “You know The Soldier and the Seawolf?  It’s actually about my parents.”

“Huh, I didn’t know th— oh.” Alistair’s eyes widened and his entire face flushed as he slammed Liss’ book shut.  He stiffened and looked out into the fire.

Liss giggled and brought her hand to her mouth, a gesture she often used when she was attempting to hide her amusement.  “I’m so sorry. I should have warned you that it explores some… mature themes. It’s very tasteful, I swear.”

“No, no it’s fine,” Alistair spluttered, fumbling around with his words, “Er, I mean, I’m fine. It’s just.”  He waved his hands vaguely and cleared his throat before sighing and handing her the book back, placing it gingerly onto her lap as if it might bite him.  

For the first time during the exchange, Lucia looked up, smile spreading across her lips as she studied Alistair affectionately, face brightening in a way Nathaniel had never seen. She looked at Liss and spoke.  “Alistair’s favorite book is The Ugly Nugling, if that tells you anything.”

“It’s a classic,” Alistair stated proudly, “And it has the most lovely message.”

“Which is?” Lucia raised her eyebrows.

“Even if you have beady eyes and creepy little hand…feet… things, you still have value.”

“And did that help you in your formative years as a nug,” Nathaniel asked suddenly, surprising himself.  

Alistair laughed.  “Yes, come to think of it.  It did help me through a rather rough spot when the other nugs wouldn’t let me join their nug games.”

Nathaniel snorted, and glanced reflexively in Liss’ direction.  She was still laughing, bright smile painted across her face. Then their eyes met, her smile fading as she looked away.  His chest tightened until she looked at him again, eyes full of amusement and sparkling in the firelight. No doubt she was fighting a desperate battle to keep the smile from returning to her face, a battle she seemed to be losing if the smirk twitching at her lips was any evidence. Though he knew she was still angry with him, that he would still need to find some way to make amends, the brief, shared moment was a relief that he had not done as much damage as he previously thought.

Conversation came more easily after that, a thin veil of humor and lightheartedness to hide the angry bronto in the room until the sun settled beneath the horizon and stars twinkled brightly.  Liss was the first to doze off, open book face down on the ground beside her. Even with two heavy blankets wrapped around her, she still looked cold and uncomfortable. For someone so distinctly Fereldan, she’d never appreciated cold weather, and he knew she must be miserable.  Several feet beside her, Alistair had fallen asleep,too, his head on Lucia’s lap as she looked down at him fondly, raking gentle fingers through his hair. Nathaniel envied their contentment even though he knew there was immense pain buried deep beneath the surface. He envied the ease with which they settled back into one another.  If he’d only kept his temper at bay, his opinions to himself then maybe he and Liss could have been… something already. Maybe he would have been allowed to at least explain why he hadn’t written to her. He let his gaze wander back over to Liss, watching as her body rose and fell with each breath. They’d been so close just a day ago. How had it all gone so wrong?

“She’s been through a lot, hasn’t she?” Lucia’s quiet voice startled him, and he turned to look at her.  She was watching Liss as he had been, brows knitted.

Nathaniel sighed heavily, taking a moment before answering to quell the unwelcome tears burning behind his eyes. “She has.”

Lucia fell silent for a moment, took a deep breath, and spoke again. “I am sorry if I have caused strife between you two.”

“You—“ Nathaniel cleared his throat, “You haven’t.”  He needed to say more, to apologize to her for how he’d treated her, but he froze and the words escaped him.

Luckily, she continued.  “Alistair wasn’t too happy with my decision to recruit her either.  He said that she was not in a good place to make that kind of choice.”

“He’s right.  I think it’s a mistake,” he said, bluntly and Lucia flinched, “But it’s hers to make, and I apologize for acting as if you are responsible.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Liss is stubborn and difficult to refuse,” Nathaniel assured her, “Even if you were responsible, it wouldn’t discount the need for an apology.  I was out of line.”

“It’s okay, Nate,” Lucia said, dropping her standard formality to use his shortened name.  She looked back down at Alistair, as she traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “I understand why you might want to protect her from what we are.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, looking away from her.  He didn’t know what else to say or do. Again, she had proven herself wise beyond her years, and he was ashamed.

The rest of the night passed without event. It also passed without a wink of sleep for Nathaniel— not that he’d even tried— and the remainder of the trip to Amaranthine had flown by quickly, too quickly.  It would not have bothered him had their journey been halted by bandits or a pack of hungry wolves. Anything to delay Liss’ inevitable joining and what that meant one way or another. He hardly spoke, only because everything he wanted to say would be the wrong thing.  So he bit his tongue until he thought it might bleed as he always had.

When they arrived at Vigil’s Keep, the relative peace and quiet startled Nathaniel.  It was a shift from the hustle and bustle of Denerim, and he’d almost forgotten how few people there truly were in such a large space, even after just a few days.  As they entered the large, vacant area that was the main hall, he noticed Liss glancing at him from the corner of his eye, no doubt curious at his reaction to his childhood home, the place she’s seen him off to at the end of each summer.  If he were honest, it still made him nervous, as if his angry father would be waiting around every corner to welcome him home with a barrage of insults. Of course, his father was dead, and that wouldn’t happen. Never again.

“Well slap my ass and call me a nug’s uncle,” boomed Oghren as he approached, rather swiftly for the stocky dwarf, “If it isn’t my favorite little pike twirler.”  He reached up and punched Alistair playfully in the abdomen.

Alistair flinched, but laughed and gave Oghren a shove. “I suppose there is no talking you out of that nickname, huh?”

“Not a chance,” Oghren said proudly, puffing out his chest. “Guess you heard I’m a Warden now.”

“I did.  Glad to have you among our ranks, Ser Dwarf.”

“Well, shit,” Oghren muttered.  Nathaniel swore he saw a glimmer of tears in Oghren’s eyes as he and Alistair shared the Warden salute.

It wasn’t long before the others arrived to the main hall, with the exception of Justice, who’d been exceptionally quiet and reclusive since The Mother’s defeat.  Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Kristoff’s body had begun to decay beyond use. In any event, Anders and Sigrun appeared as their typically enthusiastic selves, Velanna trailing behind with her arms crossed over her chest and a standard scowl painted on her face.  Guilt bubbled in Nathaniel’s chest at the thought of parading Liss around in front of her. Velanna had been more than understanding, but this would most likely be an insult to injury.

Without wasting any time, Anders approached Liss.  “Hello, my lady. I’m Anders. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Liss blinked and her face reddened, clearly flustered.  “My name is Elissa, and the pleasure is mine.”

“A charming name for a charming gi—“ Anders yelped as Velanna elbowed him in the rib cage. “What did I do this time?”

Instead of answering Anders, Velanna looked at Liss. “Andaran atish’an, Elissa.  I am Velanna.”

“And I’m Sigrun!”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Liss said politely, “You can call me Liss, by the way.  I prefer it. I’m just so accustomed to giving my full name.”

“You’re the Cousland girl, aren’t you?” Oghren had stopped teasing Alistair and chimed in.

“I am.”

“I’m sorry about your family,” he said in an unexpected display of social appropriateness. “It’s a damn shame.”

“Thank you,” Liss mumbled, clearly unsure what to say. She could not have planned for so many people outside of the nobility, and especially outside of Highever to care about what happened to her family.  

“Elissa,” Lucia shouted.  She’d been away from the group speaking with Seneschal Garevel.  

Liss turned abruptly. “Yes, Warden-Commander?”

“Can you come with me for a moment? We have some matters to discuss before this evening.”

As if it were an instinct, she looked to Nathaniel who nodded at her, and then she answered Lucia.  “Sure.”

Liss, Lucia, and Garevel exited the hall, and Alistair remained standing awkwardly, kicking at the floor with his boot, as if he were avoiding eye contact with a pack of wolves. Oghren introduced him to everyone as an old friend and comrade, and he seemed to ease up when they did not devour him whole.  Tense and growing increasingly anxious as minutes passed by, Nathaniel separated from the others and paced around the hall before settling on a spot to stand, right next to his mother’s portrait. It seemed they had decided not to take it down after all.  

“You’re especially talkative today,” chirped a familiar voice from behind him.  He turned to see Anders leaning against a bookshelf and grinning.  

“What can I say,” Nathaniel answered with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “I just have so many things to say.”

“Ouch.  Touchy, are we?” Anders moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder.  “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the new recruit who you kept gazing at longingly, would it?”

“I was not gazing at her longingly,” he snapped.

“Yeah, and I’m a Templar,” Anders replied, eyeing him pointedly, “Oh, wait. You mean we aren’t trying to see who can tell the most outrageous lie?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m stunned, truly.” The mage rolled his eyes, and waved his hand flippantly.

“Are we talking about Nate’s lover?” Sigrun had appeared as if out of nowhere and Anders jumped.

“ Lover? ” Anders’ face lit up with mischief.

“She’s not—“ Nathaniel attempted helplessly.

“She is why you went to Denerim, is she not?”  Velanna had approached as well, an utter betrayal.

“I—“

“Knock it off,” Oghren scolded as he joined the fray, pushing past Anders and Sigrun.  Nathaniel had never been more relieved to see the dwarf. “Let the boy think about his pretty Cousland girl in peace won’t ya?”

Oghren elbowed him and cackled, clearly not his calvary after all.  Nathaniel supposed that it if he was to have friends, he had to endure a bit of fun at his expense every once in a while.  This was simply the worst time, the worst place, and he was not remotely in the mood to entertain it. Just as he opened his mouth to tell them all to get off his arse, someone cleared their throat from behind the group and everyone turned to look at Alistair who stood several feet away, waving and smiling sheepishly.

“Hey, uh, Nathaniel,” he said, motioning toward the hall with his thumb, “I think Luc— er, the commander wants to talk to you.”

Nathaniel frowned, unsure what Lucia would need to talk to him about, but he welcomed the excuse to escape the friendly mob. He nodded and followed Alistair down the hallway at the back of the room, the same that Lucia and the others had left through just moments before.

“Do you know why the commander needs to speak with me?”

Alistair laughed and stopped walking. “She doesn’t.”

Nathaniel blinked a few times. “Oh.”

“They were just a few pitchforks short of a mob,” the other man explained, chuckling and leaning against the wall, “Consider this your daring rescue.”

Nathaniel smirked.  “It’s odd. I always thought knights in shining armor had magnificent white steeds.”

“Oh...that. You see,  I have this thing where I fall off horses.” Alistair shrugged.  “Sorry to disappoint.”

They shared a laugh, and then Nathaniel clapped him on the shoulder. “In all seriousness.  Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”  Alistair looked down the hallway in one direction and then back down the other.  “Full disclosure: I have no idea where I’m going. Is there another way out of this hallway or did I just trap us here? Because that would definitely be something that I would do.”

Shaking his head, Nathaniel began walking down the hall, away from the main room where his friends no doubt waited for him to emerge, motioning for Alistair to follow after him.  Luckily, Vigil’s Keep was rather circular in design. They passed the door that led to the seneschal’s office, where Lucia and Liss most likely were, turned a corner, and went up several flights of stairs until they reached a door that led outside to the battlements.  He opened the door and stepped outside, Alistair close behind. It was cooler than it had been when they’d arrived, and the sky was overcast with clouds that threatened to break open at any moment.  

“Perfect weather for a Joining,” Alistair remarked.

“You don’t say,” Nathaniel answered tersely.

They shared a moment of heavy silence, as they continued walking.  Then, Nathaniel spoke. “I apologize for being rude to you before. I have not been at my best these past few days.”

“Yeah, well.” Alistair looked down and rubbed the back of his neck.  He straightened up and flashed an embarrassed grin.“Neither have I.”

So much had transpired in such a short span of time, it took Nathaniel a moment to realize he was referring to the kiss.  He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he didn’t really know what to say. It was not something he really felt entitled to an opinion about, although he certainly had one.  

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Alistair said somberly, walking toward the parapet before them and leaning over. “I didn’t mean to, um, get in the way of anything.”

“You didn’t,” Nathaniel sighed and moved the stand beside him. “This is all on me.”

“I am worried about her too,” Alistair said, “We all get a little reckless when we’re afraid.”

“She’s afraid? That’s not why she told me she decided to join.”

“It’s not what she’s told anyone.  She’ll say it’s because she’s always wanted to be a Grey Warden or that she’s looking for a new purpose, or some other romantic, Liss-like explanation for her decision.”  Alistair stared vacantly out over the keep. “And those are all probably true, but the real reason she’s doing it is because she’s terrified.”

“Of what?”  Nathaniel was ashamed that he’d known Liss his entire life and couldn’t answer the question for himself.

“Being alone.”

“Pardon my skepticism, but how do you know?”

Alistair turned and looked at him, bitter smile spreading across his lips.  “We have a lot in common, Liss and I.”

“I see.”

“I think that’s why things happened the way they did...not that it’s an excuse or anything.”  

Nathaniel nodded absently, more than a little frustrated that he hadn’t seen it himself.  Of course Liss was scared of being alone, Liss who had never been without her family, who lost almost everyone she loved in one night and who blamed herself for it, who spent a year on her own, scraping and struggling to get to the capitol.  She had finally achieved some sense of stability in Denerim with the council, and with Alistair’s friendship, and then those, too, began to fade. Why had he not seen that? Had he realized, their conversation the day before would have gone so much differently. Much less trying to talk her out of it, much more assuring her that she wouldn’t be alone, no matter her choice.  He wished with every ounce of himself he hadn’t jumped to conclusions.

Then, maybe there was still time.  Pushing off from the parapet, he turned abruptly to head back inside the castle.  Alistair eyed him with confusion. “Wait. Where are you going?

“I have to talk to Liss,” Nathaniel stated sharply, “Now.”

Note: The book Liss is reading is actually the title of a really wonderful hawkebela fanfic that I couldn’t recommend more highly! ;D

[ecto-american]

Like Father Like Daughter

Summary: "I don't wanna!" Maddie's heart stopped as her granddaughter's annoyed, narrowed eyes flashed a brilliant glowing green at her before the girl returned her attention back to the TV. "Sweetheart, what was that?"

Rating: K+

Inspiration: It's just a plot bunny I had for a while.

Pairings: JackxMaddie, JazzxOC, DannyxWhoever. I had a specific ship in mind, but I left it purposefully vague so you can picture him as being with whichever DP lady you'd like.

Warnings: Contains fanchild OCs for JazzxOC and DannyxWhoever

Other Notes: It’s originally on AO3, along with a second chapter that I’ll post at another time, but I wanna go ahead and just begin crossposting some stuff. I’m planning a companion piece of sorts to this so might as well spam it everywhere I can.

Other Notes: I'm not really all that good with kids. Dawn's age is just kind of vague, but she's not in school yet. Probably around 4ish? I think you start kindergarten at 5. But also to be specifically clear, Danny's wife in this fanfiction DOES know his secret.

Maddie heard the child making car noises to herself as she moved the toy car along the carpet. She smiled, glancing up from the invention she was tinkering with, a relatively harmless little gadget, just a new and improved version of a ghost detector, to see Dawn crawling a bit on her knees to reach another toy from the toy box in the living room. She opened the lid, reaching deep inside.

"What are you getting into, sunshine?" Maddie teasingly asked. The little girl glanced behind her to flash a grin at her grandmother, black hair sticking out every which way. This was despite the girl's mother having dropped her off earlier with her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She still had the ponytail, but her hair just seemed to want to constantly stand up on end in a permanent cow lick.

"Vroom vroom," she replied, and she held up a toy airplane that she had retrieved.

She sunk to her knees again, making soft engine noises to herself as she 'drove' the plane around on the floor. Maddie smiled, and she began to eagerly screw the last bit of the ghost gadget together before standing up. She moved to put it on a shelf, out of reach of curious little hands. The invention was essentially done anyway, just in need of some testing, which would wait. Maddie sat down on the floor.

Dawn's bright eyes lit up in excitement, and she eagerly made the plane take off, hurriedly crawling towards her grandmother. Maddie opened her arms and allowed for the girl to 'crash' into her in an explosion of giggles, happily settling in on her lap.

"Uh oh, crash landing," Maddie told her, and she picked up a fire truck. "Here comes the fire department to help!"

"Grandpa would help!" Dawn added, and she wiggled to grab another toy car, one Jack had made of the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle. Maddie smiled.

"Yup, grandpa would come to make sure ghosts didn't crash the plane," Maddie replied. Dawn wiggled out of her lap and onto the floor, reaching to grab another car to come assist with the plane crash. The home was pleasantly silent as the two played.

Wednesday mornings were a special time for Maddie, where she got to be alone with Dawn, and she cherished them. On Wednesday mornings, Maddie would never understand quite how it even began, Jack would go golfing with Vlad before picking up their youngest grandson from morning kindergarten, who would join them until the other grandsons trickled in from their various after school activities. The Fenton grandparents often had a full house until their children came to pick up the grandkids. Dawn wasn't due to be enrolled in school until next year, nor eligible for any activities just yet. Had he been home, the Jack would be on the floor with her and Dawn, playing with their only granddaughter and Danny's only child.

Maddie gave a small chuckle to herself at Jazz's brief jealousy when Danny and his wife found out that they were having a little girl. Jazz had five very energetic boys, and Maddie knew this energy had no limits first-handed. One of the best perks of working from home was the luxury of being able to spend a lot of quality time with her children growing up, and now, she got to watch her grandchildren grow up first hand. Well, Jazz's boys anyway.

"Mom, I'm just not sure," Danny had said defensively. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea Maddie had proposed.

"She wants to go back to work in the future, and we already keep the boys," Maddie replied with a frown. "Danny, it's not any problem to leave Dawn with us while you two work. We don't mind."

"It's not that," Danny was so hesitant. Her son was resting in his living room, laying down on the couch, a four month old Dawn sleeping happily on his chest while Maddie sat in the armchair nearby. "I-I-I, just, you know. It may not be safe for her. You and dad are so active in the lab, what if you accidentally spill something on her?"

Maddie tried to not take it too personally. She remembered life as a first time parent. Danny had already grown incredibly overprotective of his little girl. Even now, he kept a protective hand on Dawn's back to keep her in place, as if the infant was going to suddenly float away.

"We wash our hands religiously, and what would it matter anyway? She's human, even if, somehow, something got onto her, she'd be perfectly fine. Any and all chemicals and liquids and gadgets we have only target and harm ghosts," Maddie lightly argued. Danny flinched, and she noticed that Danny's hand gripped Dawn's onesie, anxiously. "Danny we'd never let her into the lab anyway, and we've been keeping everything down there anyway. You know how nosy the boys are. They get into everything."

"Uh...just...let me think about it. And we both have to talk about it, ya know?"

Maddie shook her head, giving a light eyeroll at the memory. Danny was so overprotective of Dawn. It was endearing, but honestly. She dreaded to see him when Dawn became a teenager. It had taken nearly two years, much convincing and a lot of promises before Danny and his wife caved, allowing Grandpa and Grandma Fenton to keep Dawn while her parents went to work during the day. It hurt a little that Danny seemed so hesitant to let his own parents keep Dawn, especially when there was not nearly as much of a fuss when the other side of Dawn's family got to see and keep her. Jack had assured her that Danny was just worried because they had such a dangerous profession, while Danny's in-laws had a much more relaxed job. Maddie had agreed, despite her heart and gut telling her it was something else.

She forced herself to put aside those thoughts as she noticed Dawn going to grab another toy from the box, this time a spaceship toy. The girl seemed to take intense fascination over it, and she sat down next to the toy box to intensely inspect the toy. It was a new addition to the toy box, Danny's when he was a kid, and Maddie gave a soft smile. She was definitely Danny's little girl.

From the couch, Maddie heard a familiar text tone. She reached out to grab her cellphone with her fingertips, pulling it closer to view the message that she was already so accustomed to getting. A message from Danny, on his lunch break, asking her how Dawn was doing. Could her son be more over-protective?

Sure enough, there it was. Hey mom, love you. How's Dawn? Maddie rolled her eyes, and she sent back the same old, same old text. Hey sweetie, Dawn's doing good. Love you too, have a good day.

She put her phone on the coffee table, glancing at Dawn.

"Your daddy's silly," she informed her, earning giggles from Dawn.

"Daddy fell out of a tree yesterday," Dawn told her. Maddie frowned. This never came up in conversation with Danny.

"Is he okay?" Dawn stared blankly at her. "Did Daddy get hurt?"

"No," she replied. "He missed the ground."

Maddie thought little of the statement. Dawn often said odd things. She brought it up to Jazz, who was quick to say that sometimes kids just said weird stuff that didn't make sense. Dawn's mother defended the words. Maddie had a few memories of Jazz and Danny saying odd things, as well as some of their childhood playmates, and so she brushed it off. Dawn had quite the active imagination as it stood.

She spoke often of a ghost that haunted their home, describing her as a white haired ghost that was Danny Phantom's cloned cousin. Whenever Maddie or Jack showed discomfort, Dawn was always quick to clarify that she was a good ghost, and that she played fun games with Dawn. There was also a ghost puppy that Dawn often spoke of that protected her when she felt scared by becoming a huge dog like Clifford the big red dog only he was green, as well as a giant white, fuzzy ghost with a really, really cold ice hand that often made it snow just for her. There was a pretty princess ghost that turned into a dragon that would take her and her dad on magical trips to really, really old timey-times and who let her be a princess for a day once, trying on her crown and letting her sit in the royal chair. Another fuzzy ghost, this time black that she couldn't quite understand, but who was always very sweet to her and let her pet him. Dawn often reported that he was soft, and while he had sharp claws, he had never cut her, not even on accident.

Danny and his wife insisted it was the overactive imagination, and the grandparents soon agreed. A very active, if odd, imagination. It worried Maddie that Dawn seemed to think so positively of ghosts.

"Why was he in a tree?" she asked. Dawn giggled.

"Hiding from Mommy!" Maddie let out a small chuckle herself. That sounded about right. She glanced at the clock. 11:20am.

"Crash Nebula will be on in ten minutes," Maddie told her. "If you'd like to watch it, you need to pick up the toys you played with today."

Dawn's nose scrunched up, lower lip sticking out in annoyance at the idea of cleaning up, the expression being almost an identical mirror to Danny when he was her age. She looked around at all the toys she had dragged out over the course of the morning.

"I don't wanna," she whined.

"Too bad," Maddie's voice became firm. "If you'd like to switch activities, you have to clean up from your last one."

"Can I do it after?" Her lower lip stuck out further, and Dawn's eyes grew sad. A puppy dog attack, and Maddie gave a small smile.

"Then it'll never get done," she replied, tone light. She was used to the age old game of dealing with kids, and she stood up. "I'm going to go to the lab to put my own activity away." Maddie gestured to the invention she had put on the shelf. "When I come back, I expect to see all the toys put away."

Maddie picked up her invention, and she went down into the lab, closing the door behind her to prevent Dawn from wandering down. She began to put away the tools she had brought upstairs with her, as well as the invention in a proper place. Maddie picked up an ecto-gun Jack had been working on earlier, examining it to see the progress. She'd love to bring it upstairs and show Dawn, but she knew Danny would lose his mind. He had been very insistent on Dawn staying out of the lab, her daughter-in-law too.

She'd never understand that. Jazz's boys came into the lab regularly, with Jack or Maddie supervising of course. The boys had even helped with simple invention tweaking and tinkering. The Fenton grandparents even had the absolute cutest photo that Danny, ironically, had taken of Jazz's oldest mimicking Jack exactly. Jack was working on the Specter Speeder, using a wrench to tighten a bolt, and his oldest grandson was using a plastic toy wrench on his toy Specter Speeder (again, another toy Jack had created for the grandkids).

Maddie was a bit heartbroken that Danny wanted to deny Dawn the precious gift of science, engineering and family ghost hunting secrets that she and Jack had to offer. Her daughter-in-law seemed conflicted, wanting Dawn to have the experiences but also heavily mirroring Danny's worries, incredibly concerned when Jack had initially brought up that he was going to get the simple blueprints together to begin a small ghost tracker building project with Dawn, just like he had with all of Jazz's boys. Nothing they hadn't done before with a grandchild. But it freaked the parents out.

She sighed. Maybe when Dawn was a bit older. Or maybe at the next family dinner, she'd bring it up to Danny. There was nothing in the lab for him to be afraid of Dawn getting. Everything down there effected ghosts, and only ghosts. Anything that would be harmful to a human, such as some of the chemicals and gasses needed for some of the more biological side of ghost hunting and testing, was always locked away under key in a cabinet. Always had, always was. No exceptions. It was a safety rule Jack and Maddie took seriously.

Hell, Danny himself grew up practically being an active participant in the lab. Yes, as he hit his teen years, some of the inventions began to target him. They were just glitches in the system, and they only ever targeted their son. Maybe he was afraid of a similar malfunction? But he was never in any true danger. The inventions, the lab, the OP center, it'd only harm ghosts. Danny knew this by heart.

Perhaps if she could get Dawn excited about it, Danny would cave. He did nearly anything and everything to make his special little sunshine happy. Maddie clearly remembered her son swearing up and down a storm as he struggled to put a background playground set of sorts together (with Ryuu, Jazz's husband, and Tucker's eventual help). Dawn was always so eager to play helper whenever Jack or Maddie needed a hand repairing the kitchen sink or the TV, an electronic toy or the Fenton RV. With her imagination focused on ghosts and the interest in repairing, she had the Fenton ghost hunting spirit in her. Maddie could just feel it.

The idea cheered her up, and Maddie finished tidying up before going upstairs to check on Dawn. She heard the TV playing, the familiar cartoon theme song playing. She entered the living room, frowning.

"Dawn," Maddie scolded, putting her hands on her hips. Dawn glanced over her shoulder at her grandmother in annoyance, scowling. "I thought I asked you to put away the toys before you began watching TV?"

"I don't wanna!" Maddie's heart stopped as her granddaughter's annoyed, narrowed eyes flashed a brilliant glowing green at her before the girl returned her attention back to the TV.

"Sweetheart, what was that?"

Dawn's head snapped towards her with wide, thankfully baby blue, eyes. Maddie wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her. She was getting a bit up there in age-no. No. She knew what she saw.

"What?" Dawn asked.

"Your eyes," Maddie said. Her entire demeanor shifted, and she was puzzled. Dawn looked guilty, as if she was caught stealing some of Jack's fudge (again).

"I'm watching Crash Nebula," was all Dawn said, and she turned her attention to the TV. Maddie shook herself out of her shock. Eye color change or not, Dawn still did not do as asked. Maddie strolled over to the TV, pressing the power button. Dawn's eyes grew wide. "Grandma!"

"Dawn, I asked you to pick up the toys ten minutes ago," Maddie reminded her. Dawn's eyes narrowed at her, giving an angry grumble. Maddie's heart skipped a beat as the girl's eyes flashed green again in her frustration. The look on her face was so familiar, but it wasn't an expression she ever remembered Danny giving her. It was eerily familiar yet not.

"I wanna watch Crash Nebula!" she argued. Maddie frowned.

"You may watch it after you clean up," she told her. Dawn's face scrunched up again, and her lower lip trembled. Maddie gave a soft sigh, anticipating the temper tantrum to follow.

As expected, the ghost hunter soon had an angry, tearful grandchild laying on the floor face down, screaming and crying. Maddie paid it no attention, simply sitting on the couch and waiting. Surprisingly, Jazz was the one almost infamous for her temper tantrums, and Maddie always found that letting it pass worked best. She sat back, watching Dawn cry and kick her legs angrily at the air. Her hands were clenched in fists, but she held them still as she bawled. Maddie squinted. Was...she glowing?

Dawn was. She had a faint glow to her, and Maddie sat up straighter, leaning in. Was it a glow, or was it just the lighting? She did have the curtains open wide to let in light. Maddie couldn't tell, and she stood up to walk over. Dawn had calmed down by now, and there was no glow, assuming one had been present to begin with. The girl simply laid on the ground now, sniffling unhappily.

"Are you finished?" Maddie asked. Dawn just nodded. "Are you ready to pick up your toys?" Dawn shook her head no. "Then I think it's time out time." Dawn's lower lip trembled, and more tears poured. Maddie used her hand to lightly nudge her into standing up, which Dawn did very slowly and reluctantly.

Maddie gestured to the small step stool in the corner that had been unceremoniously placed there years ago when the first grandchild temper tantrum had happened, and never removed. Dawn dragged herself over to it, and as soon as she sat down, she began to cry again. Maddie sighed sympathetically. She hated punishing any of the grandkids.

"I'm going to go get started on lunch," she told Dawn. Dawn sniffled, giving a nod. Maddie stole a glance as she went to the kitchen.

From her spot at the counter, she could see Dawn. The girl was sitting still, sniffling and beginning to get upset hiccups. Lunch was just going to be a simple sandwich and chips, and Maddie broke out the needed ingredients, keeping Dawn within eye and earshot. She tore her eyes away from Dawn for less than a second, to assure she was scraping jelly properly from the jar, but she froze when she saw...an empty step stool.

"Dawn?" Maddie called out, both as a warning but also initial panic beginning to set in.

"Yes?" her voice came from the living room. It sounded like she was still in the corner, but Maddie didn't see her.

"Dawn, where are you?"

"I'm sitting!"

Maddie frowned.

"I don't see you!"

"I'm sitting!" the voice was desperate and whining, louder and more insistent.

"Where are you sitting?" Maddie asked. She tried to keep her voice calm and level, but inside, she was angry and confused. Where was she?

"On the stool!" Dawn insisted.

Maddie's eyes scanned for any signs that Dawn had gotten up and moved. Her eyes drifted over to the couch and chair, and they went back to the stool. She jumped when she saw a familiar, teary-eyed girl sitting on the stool. She put her hand to her chest. Her heart was going crazy. Maddie knew for a fact that Dawn was not sitting in the stool a few moments ago.

"Honey, what happened?" Maddie tried to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice, and she did, but she knew she sounded a bit panicked.

"I didn't move!" Dawn cried out, lower lip trembling.

Dawn was never a liar. She was almost honest to a fault, and she had never, to Maddie's knowledge anyway, lied to her before. She was a good kid, a very sweet kid. Maddie didn't know what to believe. She knew she didn't see Dawn just a moment ago. She was almost afraid to leave Dawn alone in the living room again.

"Sunshine, why don't you come help me finish making lunch?" she asked. Dawn seemed to brighten up at the idea of leaving time out early.

"Okay!" she agreed, and the girl's sour mood seemed to lift.

Maddie kept a close eye on Dawn, but nothing else happened. As normal, lunch was served and ate. As normal, Dawn offered to help clean up. As normal, Maddie got the message that Jack had finished his golf game (having lost by a long shot but as normal, he had fun hanging out with his best friend and was on his way home soon with Dawn's cousin). It was too normal now, and Maddie couldn't help but wonder what happened in the living room.

After cleaning up from lunch, Dawn was finally willing to pick up and put away the toys.

"Do you want to watch Crash Nebula on Netflix now?" Maddie offered, and Dawn's eyes lit up, thankfully still blue.

"Yes please!" she chirped, and Maddie handed her the remote. She already knew how to work Netflix, and within moments, Dawn found the familiar icon of her favorite show and began an episode. Maddie smiled, leaning over to kiss her temple, earning a small giggle.

"Grandma's going to go get something from the lab real quick," Maddie spoke up. Dawn just nodded in response, already engrossed in her activity.

Maddie disappeared down into the lab, heart and head pounding anxiously as she tried to process what exactly happened. She knew Dawn was there. But then she wasn't. Of course, it would be logical to just assume that her granddaughter had gotten up and out of time out. Kids did that all the time. But to disappear from view and return as quickly and suddenly as she had...Maddie wasn't buying it.

She shook her head, picking up the detector she had been working on earlier, also plucking a few small tools before bringing it upstairs with her. Maddie didn't want to be blind to the obvious. Her granddaughter simply had discovered lying and was doing so to do. She couldn't get caught up in the nonsensical details.

Maddie returned to see her granddaughter in the exact same spot on the floor as she had left, eyes glued to the TV.

She settled into her seat, glancing at the clock. Jack would be home in less than a half hour or so. Maddie hummed lightly to herself, turning on the invention to begin testing. The display lit up, and it began to slowly load. Soon, the main menu popped up, and Maddie began to fiddle with the options and controls she had programmed. For now, she just wanted to assure that the controls worked at the basic level, that the options all showed up and that the settings could be adjusted, that the screens lit up and that the mapping system worked as needed.

She frowned as she noticed that it was detecting a nearby ghost, as indicated by the dark green outline that was designed to alert if a ghost was within a selected radius, the default being a ten foot. Was it glitching already? How could a ghost be nearby without her noticing?

Curiosity caused her to go into an option that gave the exact location of the ghost in question. The device should be able to scan a ghost and read their ectoplasmic signature, which would give the quick answers one would need if a ghost was nearby. Was it safe, how dangerous, who was it, etc.

Her heart froze, and she sat up straight as it told her a ghost was very, very close to her, barely three feet away. Which meant it was close to her granddaughter. It had to be a malfunction. It couldn't be within three feet of her without her noticing. Maddie went to check the information the device picked up on the supposed ghost.

Name: Unknown

Age: Unknown, est existence: 1wk

Pwr lvl: ERROR 412

Misc: ERROR 412

Maddie's breath caught in her throat. Error 412 simply meant that there was a lack of ectoplasmic sampling to get a proper reading. But with a ghost supposedly so close? She was on high alert, and she put her hand on her hip, where an ectogun was always there, just in case. As well as the Fenton lipstick. With one hand searching for the exact pinpointed location, she stared at it in disbelief as it told her that the ghost was two point six feet in front of her, sitting in the same spot as her granddaughter.

"Dawn?" Maddie spoke up, voice almost trembling a bit in worry. Dawn scowled, twisting to look at her, and for what felt like the hundredth time that day, Maddie's heart skipped a beat.

"What!?" came the cranky voice of her granddaughter, who was glaring at her with annoyed, bright green and glowing eyes. Maddie recognized the scowl. It was the same kind of scowl and glare she saw Phantom wear all the time towards her, and those eyes were a perfectly replica of his.

[lauren-scharf]

The Mathematics of Memory

The Mathematics of Memory

An Imitation of Form of Eula Biss’ “The Pain Scale”

By Lauren Scharf

For Grandpa Will

0---

An advanced fifth grade math class told me of the unique qualities of the number zero. Nothing can be divided by zero. There’s no way to carry out such an equation. I fantasized what it would be like if I could find a way.

 I am sitting on a plane to New York, preparing myself to be coddled by parents, grandparents, and cousins, who have been counting down the days until my visit, and they’ve finally reached zero.

 An underachiever in all other subjects, I excelled in math because of my ability to remember things through numbers, as though their values and patterns made up an alternative language.

 Can zero be divided by zero? I think of this and ask my high school A.P. Calculus teacher. Her quirky response explains that black holes are where God divided by zero. I immediately imagine writing zero over zero on the next exam, and watching the equation animate to a swirling vacuum that sucks the surrounding scribbles and equations inside, leaving a blank page.

 In a deck of cards, there is no zero. Each card has some worth. The closest suitable are the Jokers, which belong to no suit and are commonly discarded before a game is dealt.

 The New York excursion is for my youngest cousin’s Bat Mitzvah, or “Bas Mitzvah,” as my Grandpa says it. It’s the last of this generation, and there is yet to be a Bar Mitzvah. Grandpa makes a regular joke at reunions like these. “Where are all the boys?” There are no grandsons. The Scharf family name stops here.

 Any number over itself is one, except the infuriating zero.

 ---1---

My sister taught me fractions when I was little. I didn’t ask her to. She also liked to correct and poke fun at my childish mispronunciations. “Count-culator” made sense to me for the purpose it served, as well as “Old-timers.”

 “It’s ‘Alzheimer’s,’ Lauren.” She had to write the word out for me before I caught my mistake.

 An ace holds a discontinuous value in a deck of cards. Aces high means eleven. Aces low means one.

 I was a year old when I took my first plane trip, once again to New York. I don’t remember a thing about it but home videos show the brown shag carpet and gold furniture in my grandparents’ house just as it all looks today. Nothing’s changed there.

 My grandpa taught me how to gamble. I was the only first grader to recognize the checkers pieces as poker chips.

 ---2---

My favorite children’s game was Memory: a deck of cards, usually with pictures if meant for a younger age, is set up in rows and columns, face down, and turned up two at a time in an attempt to find a match. I was unbeatable. My parents and their friends were so impressed by how quick I was to recall a pair and pick up techniques. “You have to pick up the one you think it is before the one you’re sure of,” I would tip-off to my opponent.

 Grandpa’s game is called 31. Much like 21 but with an extra card in each hand. Players take turns picking a card from the deck and discarding; if the top of the discard pile follows suit of the next player’s hand, they may pick that card instead, but forfeit the secrecy of their suit in hand.

 The higher the card number, the higher its value. Face cards are ten. Aces are high.

 No one ever picks a two from the discard pile. It’s not worth the risk, not to mention the subsequent mockery from other players.

 “A deuce for my favorite Grandpa!” One of my favorite things about 31 is playing just ahead of my Grandpa so I can discard all of my worst and lowest cards, simply to catch the looks on his face.

 Grandpa has my eyes; or I suppose I have his. They light up and widen when we’re caught by surprise, but squint into slits when we smile, more so if we’re laughing. His eyes are a little more hidden among wrinkles and behind a thick pair of bifocals.

 Memory storage is marked by two stages: long term and short term. It’s difficult to draw a line between the two. How long is long and how short is short? My understanding is that the long term is for the firsts. First kiss, first pet, first day of kindergarten. While short term is for the lasts. Last night, last Tuesday, last book you read.

 In one of her first games of 31, my sister jumped from the table and shouted “Thirty-two! Thirty-two!” She was convinced she had two aces of the same suit.  

 Thirty-one is the highest score you can get in 31 (fittingly). An ace and two tens, all one suit. This hand ends the round instantly and every player but the holder of 31 surrenders a chip to the middle. A player can also end the round by knocking with what they believe to be the highest hand, or at least not the lowest. The lowest hand must pay up.

 My sister had two aces alright. One, hearts, the other, diamonds. We made her pay double.

 ---3---

Some experts separate memory storage into three stages, adding the “Sensory stage” to long term and short term. The sensory stage acts as a filter to determine what information will pass into short term, and perhaps eventually long term, or if it will be stored at all.

 Information is only in this stage for a flash of a second, like an exposure to film. That kind of information, however, is preserved through a different medium.

 One of my first vivid memories is of a day in preschool when my mom was late picking me up. I couldn’t tell time but I knew when the hands formed an “L” pointing to the number three, my mom was due to walk through the door.

 This was most likely not the first time she ran behind, but it was the first time I noticed. I developed a tickle in my throat, and as the angle of that “L” turned more acute, the tickle progressed to more of a scratch. I wanted my mommy. At three years old, this was the first time I would recognize a common sickness coming over me.

 My family took a trip to Rhode Island when I was three. My mom had to tell me that; I had no recollection of being in Rhode Island. To me it was just another trip to the east coast to see family. When on the beach I saw my grandpa’s jolly sized belly and asked why he had an inny belly button while I had an outty. He told me it was to make a nice home for the spiders that lived in there. That, I remember.

 The most infuriating hand to pick up in 31 is three tens, each a different suit. Thirty points altogether yet the hand is valued only at ten. The first card I pick up from the deck determines what I’m collecting. A couple times, this has been a fourth ten of the remaining suit. At some point, I’ll have no choice but to discard a high card, reluctantly assisting my opponents.

 ---4---

I’m not the best at Memory anymore. Ever since a childhood friend became the first to beat me, I’ve been on something of a cognitive decline. We lost touch years ago, but I remember her birthday was four days before mine.

 Many fail to see the pattern in dates, which are frequently the first details to fade from memory, despite that each presents its own reminder in the form of a reoccurring anniversary.

 They also separate into four seasons.

 All of the cousins and I were born in summer; six birthdays fitting perfectly from late June to early September.

 Memory retrieval in the human mind is broken up into four common components: verbal recall, aural recall, visual recall, and tactile recall.

 Retrieval through speaking, retrieval through hearing, retrieval through seeing, and retrieval through touching or writing.

 Numerical recall is perhaps too rare or vague to classify.

 Grandpa’s birthday is in March. My dad says he’s 88 years old, but I don’t think he’s remembering correctly. Like father, like son.

 The four suits of a traditional deck of playing cards are spades, clubs, diamonds, and hearts.

 These suits originated from the French style of playing cards and, while not the first, they were the cheapest to manufacture, and thus the most popular.

 Other countries alter, slightly, the name and appearance of certain suits. For instance, clubs are acorns in Germany and Italo-Spanish or Latin decks have cups in lieu of hearts. These discrepancies are mostly found in cartomancy, or tarot cards.

 Whatever the icon, each suit follows a pattern rooted in the feudal system: Spades for nobility, clubs for peasants, diamonds for merchants, and hearts for members of the clergy.

 The suits also consistently associate with riches and romance, adversity and agriculture. Can you find each match?

 The four elements, earth, water, fire, and air tie into the four suits as well, though this pattern is more obscure and it is arguable which suit belongs to which element.

 ---5---

When my dad told me of the changes in conversation with my grandpa, how he asks the same questions every five minutes, I shrugged it off as a natural consequence of aging. I’ll believe it when I hear it for myself.

 My memory runs on aural recall.

 Some card decks hold five different suits, the fifth tying in the classical element Aether, a void or space, dark matter, pertaining to the space above the terrestrial sphere.

 In mythology, Aether is the open sky where only the gods live and the pure air which only the gods breathe; heaven.

 Aristotle names Aether as the fifth element but noted that it lacked the qualities of the other four in that it could be neither hot, cold, wet, nor dry, and its only recordable change was in density.

 Much like a black hole.

 An estimated 5 million Americans suffer from Alzheimer’s disease. By 2050, the number is expected to hit 13.4 million.

 ---6---

Almost 60% of Americans think Alzheimer’s is genetic.

 Like eyes, or a smile, or a family name.

 No matter how random they may seem in the world of arithmetic, numbers consistently go hand in hand with formula. Strategy requires such a pattern to ease the task of memorization. This is how some people are able to memorize Pi to a thousand digits, if they really have the time and patience to do so.

 My sixth grade locker combination was 24-6-42. Two plus four equals six minus four equals two.

 The combination of my locker in 12th grade is a blur.

 ---7---

Seven is my lucky number, which sounds very cliché, but I picked it for my favorite month, which has my birthday, July. The 10th of July if you’d like to remember it.

 Seventeen is my sister’s lucky number, chosen, I think, for the day her birthday falls on. But then her name also has seventeen letters. Then again so does mine.

 Therapies show that keeping the brain engaged with patterns and puzzles delays (though does not prevent) memory loss and confusion.

 All these years Grandpa was teaching the family how to gamble, I should have explained to him the grids and patterns and tips and tricks I found in Memory.

 Just a reminder, my birthday is the 10th of July. Seven/ten. Seven plus ten is seventeen. Seventeen letters are in my name. If you didn’t remember it before, perhaps you will now.

 ---8---

Alzheimer’s starts in patients when certain forms of the gene apolipoprotein E, or ApoE, promote the formation of an abnormal amyloid precursor protein, or APP. APP clumps together to form plaques that break down tau proteins, whose purpose it is to stabilize a neuron’s structural integrity. Once broken down, the neuron dies, leaving a hole that disrupts the electrical signals traveling among the nerve.

 Much like a black hole.

 Tau ÷ (APP × ApoE) = x over zero. I found it.

 When film is overexposed, it processes as a white, almost heavenly void or space.

 Not only is there no cure for Alzheimer’s, but there’s also no way to test absolutely positive for the disease until an autopsy is performed. I think that’s a bit too late.

 Unlike a three year old with a sore throat, my Grandpa is 88, give or take, and he doesn’t know if he’s sick.

 Screenings, recall tests, and family member reports promise 80 to 90 percent accuracy.

 It’s getting there.

---9---

I once read about a photographer who developed a journal documenting the final three years of his father’s life. The old man lacked all short term memory storage and would ask his son over and over where his mother was, as though no one told him of her death.

 Tired of watching his father’s heart break again and again, the photographer joined the game of pretend, and told his father she’d simply gone to Paris to join the circus. The pretending continued until the father’s death at ninety-nine.

 Once parties and brunches that follow the very last Bat Mitzvah die down, the family finally gets a chance to crowd around the kitchen table for a good old game of 31.

 “Where are all the boys?” He asks this more and more these days. I want to think that he believes it’s funnier with repetition, but part of me wonders if maybe he doesn’t remember asking just minutes before. Another part wonders, and worries, if he’s really not sure of whether or not he has grandsons.

 They’ve gone to Paris and joined the circus, Grandpa.

 ---10

Grandpa knocks with the confident gambler’s attitude he’ll probably always have.

 The family each takes one last turn before we reveal our hands.

 Grandpa has three tens; thirty. However his hand is only worth ten. He’s forgotten the suits.

 This game, this last game, goes in my long term memory.

[artificialqueens]

Sunshine, and Glory Too (Trixya) - Chapter 3 - fannyatrollop

A/N: Violet’s ball gown is supposed to resemble her S8 crowning gown. I kinda thought of Lady Sybil in her harem pants, but in red for Katya’s outfit. 

Previously On: Chapter One | Chapter Two

Katya said that she spent a lot of her childhood up in Snow Country, where Lady Sasha’s family ruled. It was difficult for an outsider to piece her past together after so many retellings and inconsistent facts, but it was possible that Katya’s ancestry could be traced back to the North. Trixie vaguely remembered mention of a grandparent they would visit when she was small, whose passing heralded much fewer visits. It was more sensible for them to chase warmth, perhaps, what with their profession, so the presence of a relative would explain things to a more satisfactory degree if true.

Trixie had first heard of this the night of the salon, when Lady Sasha approached them and subsequently engaged in what was probably hours of conversation. Trixie couldn’t be certain about how long they spoke, as she was quite tired by then and likely dozed off against Katya’s side, with fingers stroking her hair softly as their owner began chattering brightly to a brand new friend.

While she was still conscious, Trixie listened as the two bonded over a place they both held as precious in their hearts, with its strange red flowers that bloomed right through sheets of snow. Legend had it that they had been conjured to please an ancient fae queen, who had long since moved to the separate realm the fae now called home. The greater part of their numbers may have left, but ancient magic would remain always if it had the chance to lay down roots.

As a special case, Katya had resided at the Academy some years more than the royal ladies. She could no longer be disappointed by the fact that there was no hope of seeing all that snow in the wintertime, not as long as she remained where she was. At the very least, she was able to use her special glass to take a visual tour of those Northern lands she remembered so fondly.

Katya had never tried using her glass to see anything other than what her parents and the rest of the company were doing, she said she cared more about easing her loneliness than testing the limits of Ginger’s gift to her. She was properly amazed when she attempted it and was able to show Trixie the famous red flowers, so stark against the pure white backdrop.

Katya offered to let Trixie see what her father might be doing, knowing the state of affairs between her and her mother. Trixie declined, not wanting to watch as her father sired bastards and wasted their meagre income at some tavern. She did ask for a look at what Kim was up to, and found that she was in transit to an unknown destination, using a bundle as a cushion so she could sleep. Trixie hoped she would return soon. She longed to see her, though without the urgency she had felt when she did not have Katya in her life.

By the time the first fleeting snowfall of winter came upon them, memories of a time when she did not have Katya by her side had become less present in Trixie’s mind. She didn’t want to think of the day when they would have to part ways, though she once quipped that when it happened, Katya would be able to look upon her through her glass. Rather than amuse her, as her comments usually did, Katya fell into a sulk that only dissipated once Trixie had held her for some time.

***

The Winter Ball was held on the cusp of spring, but winter wasn’t much more than a sprinkling of snow here and there at the Academy anyhow, so it was fair enough to use that name. More importantly, the princes who would be coming for the Ball were just as likely to have seasonal events at their courts, events that would supersede travelling miles to take a gander at the marriage market. Any lady aged one-and-twenty was gently encouraged to attend, though attendance was strictly required of the special cases.

Kim had returned with bundles upon bundles of fine fabric. She only had time to give Trixie a quick hug before she was shuffled into a room with Violet, to help her decide on the concept for their gowns. It was more than a month before the Ball, but Trixie wouldn’t scoff at the early start to the work when it would give Kim much needed time to construct a masterpiece for Violet, as well as her two ladies.

Before their journey, Trixie and Pearl had been provided with gowns that complemented Violet’s style, to create a visual harmony between them all at the Academy. Trixie’s dresses had needed to be altered to the reality of her figure, and she often struck a discordant note to Violet and Pearl’s better matched ensembles if they all happened to be in the same space. It couldn’t be helped when the two of them dressed together, as they did most things, and Trixie was not able to coordinate with choices she was not privy to. Since the Ball was a one night event, and gowns were being made with the purpose of making a good showing there, they would finally look how they were supposed to: the princess dressed in splendour, flanked by two well-appointed ladies in, if not identical, semi-matching gowns that relate in concept to her own.

For Violet, that was the whole purpose of the evening. She had no reason to be excited about the princes’ arrival, not since she’d already made up her mind about her future husband and was engaged in convincing him to agree.

“She’s just about done wearing him down,” Pearl told her, without pausing her needlework.

“How do you think they’ll manage?” Trixie asked, tactless out of genuine curiosity. “Everyone knows he’s the only child in his family. I thought Violet would go for a younger son, she’s better off not leaving her kingdom, isn’t she?”

“Well, genius, if you had paid attention and had any knowledge of geography you’d know his lands are right next to ours,” replied Pearl. “They’ll travel to see each other from time to time, but mostly handle their kingdoms’ affairs separately. The heir will get both, and all of our descendants will then live in a country with a coastline.”

Trixie nodded. “And this is what she wants?”

Pearl sighed. “I don’t know, Trix. She has to marry someone. She talks about it like it’s a game of strategy.”

Pearl stuck her needle into her work. Trixie could see her hand trembling.

“What will become of you?”

“She says there will always be a place for me by her side and that I shouldn’t worry about being sent away with nowhere to go, like kings often do with their mistresses. You know she’d never hear of being questioned for her actions,” Pearl sighed. “I’ll always be taken care of, as long as she lives, and she will do her best to provide for me if I have to carry on after she goes. That’s all I can ask for, really. For her to love me as best as she can. She… has to be the queen.”

Tired of conversation, Pearl went back to her work. Trixie moved closer, so she could let her siphon off some of her warmth.

***

Kim forbade Trixie from helping her with the preparations for the Ball, and was so deeply engrossed in the project that she only had hope of seeing her if she needed to take measurements. It was too important an endeavor to double as a chance to socialize, and she had been provided with more qualified assistants. Trixie was decent with a needle, but she was no master. So, she continued to keep Katya company and mind her affairs as usual.

Katya was determined to ignore the Ball for as long as possible. Ginger had begun a campaign of trying to cajole her into placing some importance in the event, as it would mark her debut as a viable candidate for a royal marriage. Her heart wasn’t entirely in it, but she expressed that those above her in authority had a vested interest in Katya’s progress as a future queen consort. She had, after all, been separated from her family and friends for four long years, and this was her opportunity to reap the rewards.

Katya laughed, replying that she considered meeting Ginger and Trixie plenty rewarding.

Ginger glanced in the direction of the heavens, perhaps for guidance. As none was forthcoming, she sighed and went back to playing the mother to Katya’s recalcitrant child.

“Katya, I’m being serious with you. Your progress has been lacking, or so I’ve been told. You must show that you learned something from being here. I’m sure there will be a prince, somewhere, who will look past the hopeless mess that you insist in being and realize what a treasure you are nonetheless. But it would make me so very happy if you would make an effort for me.”

Pausing for gravity, Ginger braced herself for further opposition.

“And we need to make you a new dress.”

Katya wrinkled her nose, with all the distaste of a lady who liked to spend as much time as she could in trousers. Being so athletically-inclined lady, fashionable dresses hardly suited her. Sometimes, to help with her daily exercises, she would fashion her skirts into something like a pair of trousers, leading Ginger to crow about how it was quite useless to waste time mending that which Katya would only ruin again at her earliest opportunity.

“How stiff will it be?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” said Ginger, with a sympathetic smile. “I can make allowances for comfort, if that will make you more amenable.”

Katya, nevertheless, continued to ignore the situation to the best of her ability, preferring to take Trixie on a walk in the light snow than to linger in that conversation for much longer than she had to. The temperature was such that the snowflakes vanished on impact with the ground. Still, they held each other close out of their own preference.

After that, they relaxed by the fire with hot apple cider, and drifted off to bed when it got too late.

“I’m getting a new dress made, too,” said Trixie, with Katya safe in her arms.

“For the Ball? You’ll be there?”

“Of course. I am of age, and I cannot allow my princess to go unaccompanied. Not for such a special occasion.”

Katya suddenly became more alert.

“Are you going to be married too?”

Trixie snorted.

“No, not yet,” she said. “No sensible prince would cast their eye on a lady in waiting, not for marriage at least.”

Katya hummed, settled back down to rest her head against Trixie’s chest.

“No sensible prince would ever look at me either,” she muttered. “I’m too loony, even by royal standards.”

She then mumbled something about Trixie being the softest pillow she could have, and promptly fell asleep.

***

As expected of anything Kim got her hands on, Violet’s gown was a work of fine art. It was a deep blue, with floral embroidery and a wide skirt. She could use the neck as a cowl, and when she pulled it up over her dark curls she looked positively regal.

Trixie and Pearl were pillars of white and gold; their gowns had more narrow skirts, and were pale cream in colour with golden embroidery. Their hair was done up similar to Violet’s, with little ornamental stars woven in. Trixie had never felt so elegant in her life. She had to be gently pried away from the looking glass before she wound up forever staring at her reflection in shock.

The evening of Violet’s selection had been stately, but it was nothing like the Winter Ball at the Academy in splendour. For the first time, however, Trixie did not feel underdressed. Sharp eyes would notice she was dressed just like another lady, and a small thing like that was enough to betray her place in the social hierarchy. A princess’ ladies were not at the Academy for their own advantage, for all that they could enjoy their stay just as well. It was better for Trixie, though, since she could enjoy being beautiful for an evening without the pressure of making herself agreeable to a potential suitor.

Adore had been indecisive about attending. Like many of the non-human ladies, she had no real need or interest in making a marriage alliance, and too many of the attendees would be focusing on that to be satisfying companions. She deigned to bless them with her presence in the end, because she loved a good party. She had little shells woven into her hair by some art, and wore a loose, shimmery green gown. Trixie talked with her for a good portion of the night, and found a space with which to dance a little. Adore lacked grace on land, all the while swearing she was an excellent dancer in the water, but as always her good humour made up for her shortcomings as a partner.

Ginger and Katya had reached a compromise in terms of her evening attire. In order to allow her full freedom of movement, Ginger concocted silk trousers made presentable with a delicate bodice, and a diadem for her hair. It was all done up in shades of red, Katya’s favouritecolour. Ginger’s supervision of her charge had lapsed in regards to actually dressing her hair. It sprouted, loose and wild, around the ornament she would fiddle with if her hands were free.

Katya had explained that she had agreed to focus on dancing with the princes, or at least talking with them, until around half past eleven, at which point she could quit the ballroom if she wished. She often called upon Ginger to conjure up the time for her, sometimes while a bemused prince looked on. Trixie once caught her showing another how she could coax her leg over her shoulder.

They would often catch each other’s eye, as Trixie found it far too easy to track Katya’s movements, and Katya would pause to find her in the crowd if she was no longer where she had last seen her. Dancing and talking with Adore, or holding Pearl’s hand when Violet allowed a few lucky princes the privilege of dancing with her, prevented her from staring too much.

Adore had whispered to her about how her lover was approaching as they spoke, so Trixie only smiled when a pair of hands covered her eyes from behind. She felt like as long as it was that pair of hands, she would never be startled.

“Are you quite tired of dancing?” Trixie said, as Katya granted her use of her eyes once again.

“I’m tired of all the fun I’m having,” Katya replied, spinning her so that they were facing each other. Trixie studied her face carefully, looking for and finding signs of stress. There was a tightness about her smile, radiant as it was despite itself, and her eyes were stretched a touch too wide.

“Why don’t we run away for a bit?”

Trixie was glad to see a sliver of the tension melt away from Katya’s face as she nodded with a grin.

***

Katya’s grip on Trixie’s hand was tight as she let herself be pulled outside. The night was clear, and they had both been covered in a warming charm from having run into Ginger on their way out. Trixie loved the stars at the Academy; the sky was not dotted with stars so much as the stars were dotted with small patches of sky. They walked into the gardens, close enough to the hall that they could still hear the music, much softened by distance. They found a patch of grass they could both lie down on if they pleased. Katya didn’t care about any harm that might come to her clothing from plopping herself on the ground. Even though Trixie did care a little bit, as her dress was very fine and had been made by a dear friend, she let herself drop as well, kicking off her slippers, and letting them lay at her side.

Trixie watched as Katya slowly settled into a relaxed state, her smile melting away as a consequence, her features softening.

“I’m trying to think of a word to describe how you look tonight,” said Katya, barely above a whisper.

“Are you?”

Katya hummed an affirmative.

“I’m torn between heavenly and… Oh, I can’t remember the other one.”

Trixie giggled. “I’ll take heavenly.”

Katya rolled onto her side, reached out to touch one of the stars in Trixie’s hair. Trixie focused her mind on the faint music still seeping from inside. She thought of how she’d watched princes attempt to lead Katya in dance after dance. She hummed along to the tune. Katya’s fingers traced down from her hairline to her jaw.

Trixie touched the corner of one of Katya’s eyes with her thumb. They were both lying on their side, facing each other. Trixie loved the colour of Katya’s eyes. She was reminded of Adore singing a love song to the sea so many nights before as she looked at them.

“Would you dance with me?”

Trixie didn’t know why Katya said it so softly, and she’d never seen her so still unless she’d been lulled her into that state. But Trixie nodded, raised herself back to her feet, and turned to pull Katya up as well.

They couldn’t quite figure out who would do the leading, but they could follow each other’s steps well enough. Trixie had never had a dance partner that was as short as Katya was compared to her, and Katya was not wholly proficient with the ballroom style of dancing. Trixie didn’t care about any of that, only that the music was sweet, and that they slowly came together into an embrace.

“My lady,” whispered Katya, and Trixie’s heart spilled the secret it had been hiding rather poorly from her consciousness.

Trixie’s very first kiss took place under moonlight, as did her second and third. Katya soon held her hand and led her back to her chambers.

[theshatteredrose]

The Treasure Seeker: Saga 1 - Chapter 1 (Etrian Odyssey 5 Fanfiction)

Summary: Dragoon Drayce Pendragon comes from a long line of notorious treasure hunters and rebellious archaeologists. When he is asked by Prince Ramus himself to enter Yggdrasil, his goal isn't to be the first to reach the highest branch or defeat the strongest monster. His goal is to document every myth and find every treasure rumoured to be inside - and outside - the mysterious Yggdrasil. To do that, however, he needs a guild. Fortunately he has inherited his own ridiculously large guildhouse to house them in!

Pairings: To be revealed later, but honestly go all out, I don't mind :P

Warnings: The usual - gayness, bro-ness, male relationships of all kinds, violence, action, swearing, fluffiness, doing my own shit and ignoring canon

AN: Yay, finally starting an EO5 book~! I’ve been talking about it a lot so I thought I better bite the bullet and start it :D Before I start, though, I need to clarify a few things. One; I am not necessarily following canon here. I’m taking some canon information and just running with it because, well, why not? I’m doing my own thing and making up my own shit, as I usually do. There will probably be a few spoilers here or there, but I won’t go into great detail. So, yeah, no asking why I didn’t do this or why I did that when it wasn’t in the game. I’m taking some artistic liberties here and running with them.

Two; I’m going out of my usual norm and trying something different. Instead of a 40+ chaptered novel, I’m going more for short saga series, concentrating on a floor at a time. Ambitious? Absolutely. How far will I take it? Let’s see~

That’s all I can think of at the moment. I’m excited about finally starting a new series and I hope you’ll enjoy reading this as well. I’ll try to update at least once a week, but I’ll be sure to warn you if I can’t.

Ok, enough of that! Hope you enjoy reading and be sure to check out my other sites and leave encouragement because that is always greatly appreciated~

Wattpad | AO3 | FF.Net

Chapter 1:

~*~*~*~*~*~

The horse driven carriage rambled along the stone paved roads that led into the city of Iorys. The sun was high in the sky of clear blue, not a cloud to be seen. But what was the most notable was the large tree that stood above the bustling city. With its far reaching branches, reaching well beyond the limit of the naked eye and the twisting, some would say spirally dancing trunk and spiralling roots that reached deep into the earth.

Yggdrasil.

The mythical Tree of Life, as some cultures claim.

Drayce rested his elbow upon the window of his carriage and stared up at the mighty tree. While many found the tree to be daunting, with its twisting branches and mysterious glows of purple and blue seen higher up, Drayce saw it as a dream come true to be finally allowed to traverse the mysterious labyrinth found inside.

For over a thousand years the tree and any exploration had been completely forbidden in the wake of the devastating Legendary War. It had been magically protected by powerful Celestians and feverishly guarded by Earthlain royals.

Though Yggdrasil had been sealed away, the myths and legends of the mighty tree continued still. And with it, the seemingly never ending gossip and tales of powerful treasures. The most famous, in the treasure hunting community at least, was the legendary treasures that the infamous and dangerous royal simply known as the Despot had acquired and then hidden, for he was the one responsible for the devastations of Yggdrasil all those years ago.

Drayce knew all about the treasures and myths of the Legendary War. He, after all, came from a long line of feisty treasure hunters and rebellious archaeologists. The Pendragon Boys as they were often known as. With his skills as a dragoon, there wasn't a place on this planet that he wasn't willing to venture.

Tearing his gaze away from the tree, Drayce looked down at the scroll in his hand. The one with the royal Iorys seal.

To think that he was lucky enough, that his family was notorious enough, to be asked by Prince Ramus of the Earthlain people to visit and to, hopefully, work with or for him in the hopes of recovering ancient treasures that were lost during the Legendary War.

Honestly, it was a dream job for anyone, let alone someone who had been raised as a treasure hunter and archaeologist.

His request to visit Iorys came at the best time, actually. His grandfather left him the deed to his ramshackle guildhouse before he took off on a so-called “Merry Adventure”. Adventures he was prone too. Old age hadn’t slowed him down in the slightest. But there was a good reason for that now.

His beloved wife passed away just a couple of months ago. And since then, he had been on many adventures.

Though it was probably wrong to think, but Drayce did believe that after his grandmother's death, his grandfather simply lost the plot and threw himself back into exploration in order to hide his grief at his beloved wife's death. And to, perhaps, mourn on his own for a while.

He could understand why his grandfather would do such a thing. His grandparents had been married for well over 50 years. Childhood sweethearts. He loved her to bits. They were also so affectionate in a sweet way. And his grandmamma was such a beloved and key figure in his life that Drayce himself still felt the sting of her passing. She was and always well be sorely missed by many.

It probably didn’t help matters that many people from the treasure hunting community and their village believed that his grandmother, or Grandmamma as he called her, died from a broken heart. Drayce felt that it was true. He knew it was. He just…couldn’t remember who or what it was that broke her heart.

Drayce idly rubbed at his right temple with the heel of his palm as he fingers curled into his short red hair. His Grandmamma’s heart must have been broken about the same time he lost part of his memories. When he was about nine years old. He could remember vague things of his childhood, but they were just that. Vague. And they didn’t make sense.

He couldn’t help but feel that something was missing. Something important. Something that was…very important to him. A part of him.

“Hey, Hotshot, quit daydreaming, we’re almost at the centre of Iorys.”

With a shake of his head, Drayce pulled himself from his thoughts and lifted his gaze to look at the blue-haired man that sat across from him in the carriage. With his narrow eyes and stern pout constantly on his lips, Blayke, his best friend, looked like the perpetual sour-puss. He was oh-so easy to rile up, though, and had a limit supply of patience.

But as a fencer, he was sharp-witted, quick on his feet, and willing to fight by Drayce’s side no matter what kind of trouble they found themselves in. Sure, he would bitch and moan at Drayce about it later, but Drayce knew he enjoyed the thrill of danger and adventure, too.

And Drayce love rubbing that in his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Drayce said as he carefully placed the royal scroll into his red jacket and rested his elbow on his knees. “Do you think we should visit the Royal Council first, or stop by the guildhouse and drop off our belongings?”

Blayke folded his arms across his chest. “It’s your call. But personally I think we should visit the Council Hall first. Knowing you, you’ll get caught up inspecting every nook and cranny at your grandfather’s old guildhouse that you would forget to visit the Council at all.”

Drayce gave him a disgruntled pout. “Wow, rude.”

Blayke, however, just gave him a bland look. “Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t say you were wrong, only that you were rude,” Drayce quickly countered with a grin.

As per usual after their bantering, Blayke just rolled his eyes and ignored him. Well, appear as if he was ignoring him.

When Blayke heard that Drayce had virtually been summoned to Iorys by the Council, he agreed to accompany him. Something along the lines of Drayce needing a keeper because he would often get too caught up in his treasure hunting duties that he would forget to eat. Or something like that. But Drayce was fairly certain, almost a hundred precent certain, that Blayke was just using that as an excuse to cover up the fact that he enjoyed and dreamed of being an explorer as well.

Besides, Drayce couldn’t traverse the labyrinth alone. He was energetic and gung-ho for certain, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that trapesing along the dangerous paths of the ancient maze alone, without any prior knowledge at least, would be all but suicidal.

“But you’re right. Let’s head to the Council Hall first,” Drayce said. “Prince Ramus would be waiting, after all.”

With a nod of his head, Blayke unfolded his arms and turned in his seat to speak up to their driver, directing him to stop by the council building first. They then fell into silence as they turned their attention to the passing scenery outside of their windows.

The streets of Iorys were bustling with people of all shapes and sizes. Some dressed in normal attire, seemingly going about their normal lives, while others were in explorer clothing, weapons and shields at their sides. And there were quite a large number of would-be adventurers to be seen. The four races of Earthlain, Celestian, Brounii, and Therian mingling together effortlessly, all excited to venture into the labyrinth and hopefully place their guildname into the royal achieves as the one to have conquered the labyrinth.

Seeing everyone, seeing all the potential explorers increased Drayce’s own enthusiasm and energy. He couldn’t wait to establish his own guild and head into the labyrinth himself. He had heard so many tales and myths regarding the mysterious but naturally formed pathways, after all.

After a few minutes of openly admiring the beautiful scenery of Iorys, the driver of their horse-driven carriage announced to them that they have reached their destination.

Drayce was the first to step from the carriage with Blayke close behind him. He took a few moments to stretch his legs and to look around. The first thing he noticed, besides the marble white architecture and brick red roofing tiles of the Council Building was the fact that the building was perched atop of a rocky curvature overlooking the city below. And that the thick truck of Yggdrasil was so close, almost as if he could reach out and touch it.

He would also get vertigo if he tried to tilt his head back enough to look up at its tallest branches.

From where he stood, he could sense the magmatic energy of Yggdrasil. And how it seemed to reach beyond even the heavens.

It was truly beautiful.

“I’ve asked the driver to wait for us here,” Blayke’s voice pulled Drayce from his thoughts. “So let’s get going.”

Drayce nodded his head as he turned his gaze away from Yggdrasil and followed Blakye to the entrance of the Council Building. As they walked silently up the stone steps, they both noticed that groups of explorers were venturing in and out as well. Some appeared to be excitedly talking amongst themselves, while others appeared huffy and annoyed.

Their varying expressions were most likely in response to a particular mission. Drayce had heard on the grapevine that though the labyrinth was open to explorers, they weren’t willing to have anyone and everyone enter at will. A mission was created to prove themselves, not only as explorers but as citizens of Iorys.

Made perfect sense, but many were no doubt annoyed at the so-called restrictions.

As they made their way inside, Drayce had to pause once again to admire his surroundings.

The architecture was incredible. Exquisite. The sandstone pillars with gold trimmings, the chess-inspired flooring of precision made stones of high quality, the marble statues that stood at attention; time and loving dedication was clear to be seen.

The building had to be more than three-hundred years old. He could tell by the mosaic designs on the walls and ceiling. Yet it was in remarkably good shape. Well taken care of.

Hmm…since it was made over three-hundred years ago, there was the high possibility that there were hidden servant quarters and passageways. There would also be quite an extensive library. Perhaps even a hidden library.

In the years after the Legendary War, there was still a great amount of uncertainty. The architects of that time period were renowned for creating secret safe rooms and passageways. Preparing for the possibility of another devastating war.

Blayke hitting the back of his head with his hand pulled Drayce from his musings and he immediately turned to look at him with a disgruntled pout. Before he could mutter the words “You didn’t need to hit me” as he raked his hand through his short red hair, something he always did just after Blayke physically pulled him from his ponderings, the blue-haired fencer arched an annoyed eyebrow at him.

“We’re here to explore the labyrinth, not the council building,” he said, seemingly responding as if he had somehow read his mind. Or simply knew what he was thinking.

The fact that Drayce had been holding his chin as he stared at his surroundings and mumbling under his breath probably gave it away, too.

“Try to keep your head on straight when you’re speaking with Prince Ramus,” Blayke continued to scold and fuss.

Drayce rolled his eyes and reached into his jacket to pull out the scroll requesting his presence. “I promise not to make a fool of myself and get us kicked out. But get ready to run before he calls the guards.”

Entering into a long and brightly lit hallway that was lined with white statues of various classes and standings, they approached a set of stairs where other explorers had gathered. At the top of the small staircase was a figure in royal garbs flanked by two guards who watched everyone with caution.

A young man, seemingly no older than sixteen, with dark blue hair and bright blue eyes, smiled politely at Drayce and Blayke as the two approached him. “Hello,” he greeted simply. “Are you explorers wishing to enter the labyrinth?”

“Well, yes,” Drayce said as he held out his summoning letter to the young man. “But for good reason.”

The young man looked both puzzled but expectant as he took the scroll from him. As he unfurled his, his eyes widened and for a fraction of a second, an expression of excitement appeared in his eyes. He soon squashed that, however, with a look of royal politeness.

“Ah, yes, thank you for coming all this way,” he said as he handed the scroll back to Drayce before he bowed his head slightly as he introduced himself. “I am Ramus, Prince of Earthlain Royalty. Please, call me Ramus.”

“It’s nice to meet you, and to be here,” Drayce said in earnest. “My name is Drayce Pendragon,” he introduced himself and reached around to loop an arm around Blayke’s neck in order to drag him closer and to poke his cheek with his finger.

“And this is my partner in crime, Blayke.”

Blayke immediately frowned and squirmed in Drayce’s grip, tugging at his arm with both hands. “I’m here to keep you out of trouble,” he all but hissed.

The corner of Ramus’ mouth twitched for a moment, as if wanting to break out into an amused smile, but royal protocol seemed to prohibit it, so he simply nodded his head.

“Come, let us speak more in my office,” Ramus said as he turned to lead them.

Drayce released his hold on Blayke and silently the two followed the young prince. After a moment of walking along plush blue carpet and taking a few corners, they reached a set of doors with gold trimming of eccentric designs. With a single push of his hand, Ramus opened one of the doors and motioned for Drayce and Blayke to step inside before him.

Ramus’ office was as grand and beautiful as the architecture outside the room. A large desk made of red wood, polished to a bright sheen was situated in the middle of the room, surrounded by cabinets and bookcases, all filled to capacity.

True to his treasure hunting nature, Drayce felt the urge and need to look through the bookcases and drawers for anything hidden or interesting. He, however, shook it off as even though he meant no harm, the need born out of sheer intrigue rather than malicious nosiness, it was still seen as highly intrusive to dig through someone else’s belongings.

But, man, were his fingers twitching.

“Again, thank you for coming all this way,” Ramus said as he led Drayce and Blayke to his desk and to the two chairs that sat before it. “It is reassuring to have someone from the famous treasure hunting clan here in the city of Iorys.”

Drayce smiled a friendly smile as he sat down and rested his hands atop of his knees. “It’s an honour to be here,” he said, sounding like a true professional. Wouldn’t Grandmamma be proud?

Ramus moved to the other side of his desk, of which honestly looked too big for him, and sat down in a red-velvet, high back chair. That also looked too big for him. “Do you mind if I get straight to the point?” he unexpectedly asked.

“Not at all,” Drayce immediately responded. “In fact, I prefer it.”

“Thank you,” Ramus once again spoke politely before he folded his hands atop of his desk and a serious expression appeared on his face. “I’m sure you you’ve already concluded to the reason why I’ve summoned you here. And in short, yes, I wish for you to find information on the whereabouts on the lost treasures of the Legendary War.”

Ah, just finding information? Drayce was hoping to actually find the legendary treasures, too. Not so much for himself, but more so to keep them away and safe from others as, if legends and tales were any indication, these treasures were so important, so powerful that the Despot himself hid them in magically sealed vaults. These treasures were reputed to be powerful.

Myth or not, it would be best if they don’t fall in the wrong hands.

“Yeah, I know all about the Lost Treasures,” Drayce said as he leaned back into his chair. “Legend says that the Despot took the knowledge and information of whereabouts of his precious treasures with him to his grave. These treasures were so important to him that he created vaults to seal them away in. Vaults with three locks; a physical lock that requires a key, a magic lock that requires a spell to release, and a mental lock that requires the one trying to open the vault to solve a seemingly unsolvable puzzle.”

“Doesn’t legend also say that there are at least ten of them?” Blayke asked. “And that doesn’t count the myths and tales regarding the Despot’s most trusted war generals and commanders. They have their own legends about their ruthlessness before and during the war.”

Ramus gave them a sympathetic look as he nodded his head. “Yggdrasil itself has many myths and legends pertaining to it. Tales of before and after the Legendary War. In the search for information regarding the Lost Treasures, you are likely to encounter other fables of hidden treasures, too. Perhaps some tales that are meant to draw you away from seeking the Lost Treasures.”

Yggdrasil was over a thousand years old. Plenty of time for legends and myths, as well as beliefs and cults, to rise and fall.

So much to learn and find.

“Sounds awesome,” Drayce said as he smiled broadly. “I can’t wait to get started.”

Ramus smiled an honest smile but he soon frowned slightly. “But…” he unexpectedly paused for a moment to bite his lips together. “I can’t necessarily allow you free reign of the labyrinth. Well, not yet. There are certain protocols in place. Even for professionals.”

Drayce immediately knew what he was inferring. “Ah, you want to test my mantle with a mission, right? The same one that other guilds and explorers are having to complete?”

Ramus gave him a small, polite smile and almost hesitantly, as if afraid of offending him, nodded his head.

“No, that’s completely fair,” Drayce replied good-naturedly and smiled when he saw Ramus’ shoulder drop a fraction in relief. “I didn’t come here expecting special treatment or to step on anyone’s toes. Besides, this mission would be a good indicator to what to expect in the labyrinth. A win for the both of us in the end.”

“I’m honestly pleased by your understanding and enthusiasm,” Ramus said, his smile still courteously polite, and yet appeared more sincere nonetheless. “If you wish, I will give you the information and supplies needed to start on your first mission now. There is no need for you to rush, though, as you have only just arrived in Iorys. Please take your time. You will need to form a band of fellow explorers first, yes?”

Drayce nodded his head. “This is our first time visiting Iorys, so I’m sure there’s still a lot for us to see outside the labyrinth, too. But we will take the first mission now. At least register for it.”

“Hm,” Ramus simply said as he rummaged around in his desk before pulling out a parchment of paper and a form of some kind. “I suggest that you visit Egar, the guild leader, and register a guildname for yourselves.”

“Good place to start,” Drayce answered back idly.

“Would you like for me to suggest an inn where you can take up lodgings?” Ramus asked as he handed over the documents.

Drayce shook his head as he reached forward to retrieve the information on the first mission and pushed himself to his feet. “Nah, we’re good,” he said with a smile. “We have a place already planned.”

Ramus looked somewhat surprised, but that soon turned to intrigue. “But this is your first time setting foot upon Iorys’ soil, yes?”

“It is,” Drayce answered before a large grin slipped across his lips. “But I’m from a longline of treasure hunters, remember? I have connections. My grandfather owns an estate here in Iorys. We have all the accommodation we need. Don’t you worry too much about us.”

With a few polite farewells, Drayce and Blayke walked out of the Council Building and back to their awaiting horse and carriage.

Their next stop was his grandfather’s estate, where they were to meet up with Ashton, his father’s trusted understudy who had already migrated to Iorys a few months before. And after that? Well, looks like he would need to head out into Iorys and find some willing guild members to drag along on his adventures.

Shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

[kurokali]

Very long, personal ramblings

When I was young, I didn’t know that it was “strange” that I didn’t live with my parents.  I’d never known anything other than living with my grandparents (Nana and Papa), and since I didn’t have many friends my own age, I didn’t go to other kids’ houses and see what their families were like.  Sure, I knew intellectually that most kids lived with their parents, but my own situation didn’t register with me as odd.

For my very early childhood, I didn’t see my biological parents at all.  I knew that Nana and Papa were my grandparents, but I had no memory of a life away from them.  My biological father, John, was still in the Army then, and he was stationed in Frankfurt, Germany.  He, my biological mother (Brenda), and my baby sister Alex lived there until she was three.  I have a few vague memories of staying up late to go to the airport in Greensboro when their flight came in.  I was in kindergarten or first grade when they came back into my life.  I hadn’t missed them--they were vague strangers who sent me Haribo gummies and photos of a little girl I didn’t know.

Once back in the States, John and Brenda were more like an uncle and aunt who visited occasionally.  They’d bring my little sister over to visit.  She’d sometimes spend the night.  Once in a great while, I might go visit them at Pa’s house (Pa was my paternal grandfather, who I saw much more of growing up than either John or Brenda).

As I got a little older, I began to realize that things were a bit odd.  One day...I must have been in second grade...my sister, now five, said to me “Daddy has a girlfriend.”  I laughed and said “yeah, Mom.”  Turned out that John and Brenda were getting divorced.  I wasn’t told until I asked my grandparents about what Alex had said about “Daddy’s girlfriend.”

The divorce honestly didn’t affect me too much, though, being a kid, I milked it for sympathy in school.  My second grade teacher and I always clashed, so one day when she snapped at me for “misbehaving” (I was talking to two or three other kids, none of whom were similarly chastised), I jumped on the “I’m just so upset that my parents are getting divorced” bandwagon.  I spent the next several months going once a week to an in-school support group for kids whose parents were splitting up.  In retrospect, that group, more than anything else, was where I first began to really comprehend just how different my family dynamic really was.

Years went by.  I saw Brenda more than John--whether that was due to her caring more or to the fact that it was her parents raising me, I don’t know (my grandparents detested John--I don’t think they ever really liked him, even before I came along).

As I got older and it was decided that I was “old enough to understand,” I was told very basically that I lived with Nana and Papa because my parents had been too young to take care of me (Brenda was 18, John 17).  As I got older still, more details emerged from various sources, though never from John or Brenda directly.

Eventually, I learned that when I was two, Brenda and John had decided that they wanted to take me with them when the Army transferred John to Fort Campbell, Kentucky.  My grandparents were hesitant, but Papa decided that they had to be given a chance to be my parents.  A few weeks later, Pa called my grandparents to tell them that he was driving to Kentucky to “bring Samantha back home where she belongs.”  It seemed that at least one of John and Brenda’s neighbors had called Pa to tell him how concerned they were about me.  I know, from what I’ve been told, that at the very least I was left alone for hours at a time while the pair of them went out God-knows-where.  If there’s more, I don’t know it.  I have no memory of Kentucky at all.

When Pa brought me back to my grandparents’ house, it was determined that I would not leave their care again.  John and Brenda signed legal custody of me over to my grandparents.

Knowing that my younger sister lived with our parents bothered me for years.  I was certain that there was something wrong with me.  Why else would they keep her and not me?  Looking back now, I thank God on bended knee that I was never raised by those people.  My sister is still dealing with the repercussions of being shuffled back and forth between two narcissists, as far as I know (I’m also estranged from her, because I found out that I can’t trust her not to spread information about me and my family to Brenda and John).

Moreover, as I learned more and more about the people with whom I share DNA, the more I realized that I wanted nothing to do with them.  John has bipolar disorder--he cycles between taking medication and dropping medication because he “feels fine.”  He’s been abusive to Brenda and probably his other exes--I have two ex-stepmothers, at least, and the last I heard, his latest wife/live-in/whoever had also left him (I honestly don’t know if I’d ever even met this one--I can’t keep track anymore).  My sister once told me that he’d been abusive to her, but at the time, she was hysterical on the phone, making horrific accusations at everyone in the family and telling me how abusive the man she was living with at the time was...two days later, when I called her back at the time we’d agreed on, she was contentedly watching TV with this guy while we talked, and I still don’t know if any of what she told me was true.

Brenda’s been little better than John.  She’s a habitual liar who remembers her past in the way that makes her look best.  She claims to have no memory of the myriad times she took advantage of Nana and Papa, her parents.  Part of Brenda’s problem, I know, stems from drinking.  I can’t remember a visit from her that lasted more than a day without her drinking several beers a night.  One of my earliest memories of her drinking too much is from a visit when I was eight or nine.  I found her in our living room, sitting on a couch, sobbing.  At this point in my life, I’d rarely seen an adult cry, much less putting on this sort of overwhelming emotional display.  I couldn’t imagine what could possibly be wrong.  When she looked up and saw me, she asked me, still in tears, “Did you know that Uncle Gale died??”  I did know.  I’d attended his funeral.  When I was three.  Another time, I commented to her that I couldn’t stand the taste of beer and didn’t know how anyone could drink it.  Her response?  “Well, you liked the taste of it when I gave you sips when you were a baby.”  I couldn’t even formulate a response to that.

I’m not saying that she had an easy life.  Her own biological mother gave her to my grandparents when she was seven.  Nana was talking at work about how she and Papa couldn’t have children.  Marilyn’s response?  “I have too many kids. ��Have one of mine.”  Brenda knew this was what happened, but at the time, she was thrilled to go to a home where she was loved and wanted, where she was the only one getting attention.  My grandparents stayed in contact with Marilyn and her family because Brenda had siblings.  For years, Marilyn interfered when it suited her, making wild promises to Brenda about cars and no rules and no curfews.  Despite my grandparents’ best efforts, Brenda left and went to live with Marilyn for a while, until she realized that Marilyn only wanted to interfere with her stability out of spite.  Until Marilyn’s death a few years back, Brenda was on-and-off with her, and I have no idea if they were on speaking terms when Marilyn died.

But my acknowledgment that Brenda hasn’t had it easy does not and will never equal my acceptance of her behavior toward me, toward Nana, or toward my sister Alex.  Much like Marilyn did with her, Brenda has spent my entire life treating me like a toy that she could set down when it bored her and then come back to when she feels like it, to find it waiting patiently for her.  For many years, that was how I acted.  I was pathetically grateful for the crumbs of attention she fed me.  I watched helplessly when she and her third husband lashed out at Nana for refusing to co-sign on a house loan for them.  I remember standing in our hallway with what was no doubt a foolish look of stunned disbelief as they packed hurriedly and stormed out, cutting their visit from New York short.  Brenda yelled as they left that my grandma “had money coming out of [her] ass but wouldn’t help” them.  Living as close as we did and never having money for luxuries, I remember wondering where all this money was supposed to be.  As far as I know, there’s never been any apology for that lovely incident.

My sister, as mentioned earlier, has been out of our lives for years.  My husband, who ironically shares the same name as her, has never met her.  She has a toddler and (I think) is either pregnant again or just had another baby.  Alex has refused to speak to Nana for over a decade because she swears that she was promised a car if she got good grades one year in high school.  We could barely afford a car for me, so I know that none was ever offered to her by Nana.  Alex told me that Brenda remembers this alleged promise, as well--even when she agreed that Brenda was an untrustworthy liar, she clung to her belief that Nana had somehow cheated her and has not forgiven her for this manufactured slight.  My sister vacillates between not speaking to one or both of our biological parents (though on occasion, she chooses to repeat her claim that John is not her biological father, another of Brenda’s helpful assertions) and being the best of friends with one or both of them.  The last time we spoke on Facebook, back in 2010, she congratulated me on dropping my maiden name entirely--a few months later, she was living with John and his significant other at the time.

Perhaps the biggest failing of my biological parents can be seen in my brother’s short life.  Yes, I had a brother.  His name was Jason, and I didn’t know he was my brother until I was 13, though I’d known him all my life.  When Brenda was pregnant with Jason, she didn’t tell anyone.  I was only 10 months old when she got pregnant again.  Nana asked her if she was pregnant, but Brenda denied it and said she’d just gained some weight.  In August of 1987, she called Nana and Papa from the hospital to tell them that she’d just given birth, but that Chris and Katrina, John’s uncle and aunt, were going to adopt the baby because John and Brenda couldn’t afford a second child (they barely supported me--for years, Pa sent checks to Nana and Papa, but I never knew why until I was much older), and Chris and Katrina couldn’t have children of their own.  

For 13 years, I was told that Jason was my cousin.  Jason was the golden child.  The only boy of our generation, he was raised in the lap of luxury.  Chris and Katrina adored him and gave him love, as well as granting every material wish he had.  But they didn’t raise him to know that he was adopted.  He was told around the same time I was that John and Brenda were his biological parents, and that he had two sisters he hadn’t seen in years.  I saw him once as my brother, when I was 18 and he was 17.  I didn’t know it at the time, but Jason had taken the news of his adoption very badly.  He, much like I once had, had decided that John and Brenda had given him away because there was something wrong with him.  If I’d know that he thought that, I’d have done everything in my power to disabuse him of the notion.  He didn’t know what they were like. He didn’t know about their selfishness, their childish tantrums, their constant lies and promises that were never kept.  And then Brenda insisted on inserting herself in his life.  She wanted to play mom now that he was almost an adult, just as she’d wanted to do with me until I finally cut off all communications with her.

I can’t say with certainty that what happened was Brenda’s fault.  Jason developed a drug addiction.  I didn’t know until it was too late.  Chris and Katrina took him to rehab after rehab.  They spent thousands of dollars trying to get him the help he needed to cure his illness.  I’d lost touch with Jason during this time and thought he’d just decided that he didn’t want to have anything to do with me. It hurt, but I accepted what I thought his decision was.  Then I got a phone call from Nana, telling me that my brother--the young man who looked so much like me, but who I barely knew--was dead.  He died of an overdose at the age of 20.  Chris and Katrina told me at the funeral that he’d never gotten over feeling that he was lacking because he’d been given up for adoption.  He never understood how lucky he was to have been raised by someone who loved and wanted him.

As I’ve said, I don’t talk to John and Brenda anymore.  I got tired of being lied to, of being made promises that were never kept, of being ignored when I was inconvenient.  I decided that I couldn’t keep letting them come into my life and get me all wound up just to leave again when it suited them.  

Brenda is still tangentially in my life, however, as she is Nana’s daughter and Nana still loves her.  I made it clear years ago to Nana that while I will never tell her who she can and can’t talk to/see/whatever, I will not speak to Brenda and I will not stay in the same place as her.  I intended, when I learned that I was pregnant, that Brenda would never see my child.  Nana balked me, however.  She kept Athena for us when she was a baby, while I finished out school.  One day, we came in to have Nana tell us that Brenda and Marc, her current husband, had come by while we were gone.  She let Brenda hold Athena and let her take a picture holding my daughter.  I was stunned.  Outraged.  I couldn’t believe that she’d done such a thing against my express wishes.  Her defense was even more infuriating--she asserted that I should be grateful that she’d been honest about it, because she “didn’t have to tell” me at all, and it’s her house and Brenda is her daughter, and I can’t tell her who she can and can’t have in her own home.  I’ve never forgiven Nana for that, though I have moved past it for Athena’s sake. Thankfully, she has no memory of that day, since she was so small.

I said all that to say this: Nana is having surgery in August.  Brenda has offered to stay with her when she gets home, which is fine. I can’t do it, and it’s about time she acted like a decent person to Nana.  But Nana said to me the other day “you’re not going to let Brenda being here stop you from coming to see me, are you?”  I could not believe she’d even asked it.  Knowing that I can’t stand being around Brenda.  Knowing what Brenda has done over the years.  I thought she’d understand that I would not be coming over until Brenda was gone.  I’d call every day, of course--but to be in the same house as her?  I can’t stand the thought of it.  But now I feel like I’m going to be guilted into coming over because Nana’s good at guilt trips.

[anundefinedwoman]

Chasing Guilt Away

Guilt - n. 1. the fact of having committed a specified or implied offense or crime. "it is the duty of the prosecution to prove the prisoner's guilt"

synonyms: culpability, guiltiness, blameworthiness, wrongdoing, wrong, wrongfulness, criminality, unlawfulness, misconduct, sin, sinfulness

2. a feeling of having done wrong or failing in an obligation.  "he remembered with sudden guilt the letter from his other that he had not read" synonyms: self-reproach, self-accusation, self-condemnation, feelings of guilt, guiltiness, a guilty conscience, a bad conscience, pangs of conscience, remorse, regret, contrition, repentance, shame, disgrace, dishonor "eat your food and enjoy it without guilt"

I'm not sure what it says that I'm moving from love to guilt in my free association writing. They are stark contrasts of one another.  In love, I didn't know it.  It seemed out of reach.  Or maybe it seemed skewed.  I still remember the first part of a poem I wrote when I was 15/16:

What is love? How does it feel? Is it good? Is it real?

Where do you get it? How much does it cost? I need some desperately- Before I get lost.

But guilt was never something I was ever lacking.  I'm not sure if that's taught or just innate.  I find myself at this point 2 hours before my appointment with my therapist and I should be a lot further than I am now.  I am not a procrastinator by nature.  In fact, procrastinators annoy me.  I live in a house full of them.  I haven't had any awareness that I am consciously trying to avoid doing this.  It just seems to happen that way.  I have nothing to show this week and I even missed last week because my oldest son was sick.  Then I had days I didn't feel well.  Then my ancestry/DNA kit came back that I had been waiting 8-10 weeks for.  Excuses, you know?

I feel guilty for this, yes.  I probably should feel guiltier, but I don't.

Guilt is a funny thing.  It's a form of manipulation or gaslighting our "loved" ones or friends put upon us when we are helpless.  That seed of doubt.  The mistrust of yourself; making you feel selfish, ungrateful, or foolish for wanting something extra just as an example.

And then you know what happens? The treatment done by others, becomes a learned response that you begin doing to yourself.  I was told how ungrateful I was being during my childhood, I should basically just shut up, take the neglect, emotional and physical abuse and even be happy that I had the roof over my head and got new school clothes.

Those of us brought up in environments like this are conditioned to be co-dependents.  

The way I see it, we can either push everyone away and hold them at arms distance because our lack of trust in others (another byproduct of our environment) or fix the broken we see in everyone else.  Maybe it's easier than addressing what needs to be fixed in ourselves.

 It's interesting, isn't it?  I feel I am getting off my topic of guilt, but I am just going to go with my train of thought here.  See where this leads me.  Perhaps I can tie it back to guilt.  After all, I have always said there have been two thing my life has always been ruled by.  But always first by someone else.  Guilt being one.

But I wonder... Are you co-dependent?  Have you ever struggled with it?  Perhaps you are a "recovering" co-dependent.  that term makes me chuckle a little.  Perhaps you have or feel you have a hybrid form of co-dependency, (because we are weird and sometimes it's just hard to define us & feel like we are understood).

I did not grow up around addiction per se.  I grew up around self righteousness, selfish, angry assholes who neglected their responsibilities of parenthood onto others. I grew up around extreme dysfunction where I was controlled into submission and even jealousy by an imaginary granddaughter name "Debbie H****" who was as mysterious, good and as invisible as Santa Claus.  They used her to manipulate the little child in me.  Soon other family members would tease me about her.  They talked about her as if she were real.  I remember when I moved to England as a preteen, my grandfather wrote me once (and it was so special getting a letter from him) where he spoke about her in the letter. Sometimes I feel like there is this access of evil that runs through my family with all that has occurred to me, my mother and my aunt.  But the part of me that loves my grandparents ferociously wants to defend that they had no idea what they were doing; the damage this could have caused.  Could it?

I lay in bed at night sometimes and I think about perhaps something I said, or didn't say, or how a situation was handled and I persevere on the subject and how it may impact my children especially.  But I do this with everyone.  This is where guilt gets me.  I just want to make people happy.  Even if it means I'm not.  

The last few years I have gotten much better with this, but this has been my downfall.  I put others needs before my own.  Their worth, their needs take priority over mine.  Another learned behavior.  I've always had to.  Growing up my voice never counted.  My feeling never counted.  I guess I learned to push it down.  There were times when I would show emotion and was told I wasn't allowed to cry or feel sad or angry about something.  But I AM an emotional person.  I honestly don't know how I survived my childhood and teen years being so neglected and emotionally and physically abused.  I begin to detach and I ponder upon this.  I fiddle with my lip.  I stare off at the area rug in front of me in the distance and it becomes a blur and soft sounds of Pandora radio with cars passing by with loud sounds of birds chirping become my focus, but I am not there.  I have awareness.  I can come back.  I have control.  It scares me some and I realize this is where I probably should stop and look over the link my therapist gave me last week on what to do on staying in this present and not detaching - I want to push through, however.

It's like those moments when you are trying to concentrate,   i.e. write because maybe you have a deadline and maybe you have ADHD, which I do. (could be an effect of this, but I did take my meds today... huge squirrel moment!!)  As I was saying, perhaps you have ADHD, or are distracted or you are just a deep thinker and you suddenly stop mid-sentence, stare off into space and think about something - deeply, almost trancelike.  You might be 'lost' for a few moments.  Perhaps it may take someone snapping their fingers or tapping you on the shoulder and saying, "Ground Control to Major Tom" (if your name was Major Tom).  Talk about HUGE squirrel moment.  I am not sure why I felt the need to go off on a tangent describing all of this in such great lengths when my focus should be on guilt.  

I saw something the other day on Facebook in the form of a quote meme that bothered me a little.  I know a lot of people will agree with it.  It said:

"You're responsible for how long you let what hurt you, haunt you."

Obviously the person who wrote this has never faced complex trauma.  They obviously don't understand it.  We didn't ask for any of this.  None of this has been our choice.  If we are in therapy seeking help, that is our choice.  But do you know how many times I have been in therapy?  I had reached a point where I felt that my only alternatives were a life of unhappiness which I couldn't bear to live, or death.  I felt beyond broken.  And I have only to this point talked about small pieces of my childhood which is already so fragmented because of my memory or a  self preservation mechanism.  Because I have tried therapy so many times in the past and cannot get passed my past, it is hard not to feel hopeless and dejected.  I don't want to play the victim card, because all of us who have been through what we have are survivors, not victims.  Seeing the above quote written by some person with no understanding only makes those who have tried and tried again and again feel guilty, like it is their fault.  

I recognize a pattern within myself.  I have created this illustration to describe the pattern.

With guilt comes obligation, doesn't it?  To fulfill promises you made to others, even if you don't want to go along anymore.  Vagueness suits me here.  It could be anything.  You choose.

Moms especially (or any parent) know a thing or two about guilt.  We have to juggle so much.  We willingly and gladly put their needs before our own.  But when they start growing up and it's time to start with self-care, going out, an occasional splurge on self, talk about guilt!!!  I have such buyers remorse when I have spent anything on myself.  Guilt and worth go hand in hand for me.  I returned my birthday present this year.  I actually return many of my gifts.  I feel guilty for accepting them.  Like I am unworthy of them.  Especially if someone is giving it to me.  If I go out and buy myself a new pair of earrings or shirt, it’s less guilt inducing for me.  Weird, huh?  I might have to put some thought into that.

Like I have discussed with my therapist, what I know intellectually and in my heart, or viscerally, are two separate matters.  I have enough insight or common sense to know I shouldn't feel guilt over X, yet deep down no matter what I know or tell myself, I still feel guilty, or unworthy.  Is this a case of "the heart feels what the heart feels?"  Or is this conditioning mixed in with good insight or mixed in with results of therapy that knows it on a level that I believe but I just can't stop feeling?  Where does that line get drawn?  The line between belief and feeling?

I think I am babbling now and I am going nowhere productive with my thoughts. I feel there is so much left unsaid.  In fact I know there is.  My thoughts feel muddled.  It's as if when I'm sitting here in my chair writing, I can almost picture an Indy 500 race car shooting out from my brain like some kind of Peter Gabriel video going in dozen of different directions almost simultaneously with contrails following them.  Maybe some things are better left unsaid, huh?

For now guilt shall march on...

[torreygazette]

A Grief Remembered

The day my mother died was a rainy one.

My dad later told us that it seemed like every significant day in their marriage minus their actual wedding had been a rainy one. I remember how disgusting that day was. The rain was heavy and the humidity made it feel like you were swimming through the air.

Today marks a year since that day. It occurred to me that I had not reflected on what it was like in the days leading up to and including her last day here on this earth.

A few weeks before she died, shortly after Thanksgiving of 2016, my mother lapsed into a comatose state. The doctors had been giving her pain medication, but the cancer that ravaged her liver had slowed down the processing of those medicinal substances. The comatose state was the result. We had to wait for her liver to filter the medicine. I had driven down from San Marcos for the weekend when my father told me her current state. I sat in the hospital room, listening quietly while the family members around me softly cried and tried talking to my mom. I had tears in my eyes, too, but my allergies were extraordinarily bad that day. Nevertheless, it seemed to make my family feel better that I was crying with them albeit not for the same reasons.

Different family members and friends came in and out of the hospital room trying to get my mom to respond in some way. At one point it was just my father, my brother, our next door neighbors, and me in the room. My father asked me to sing to her, that maybe she would hear and respond. I didn’t think it would, but it didn’t hurt to try. I began to softly sing “It Is Well with My Soul” as I stood by her bed and held her hand. The next door neighbor joined me after a verse, and she sang a lovely harmony. My father had tears in his eyes. My brother began to sob and left the room. My mother remained unresponsive through the final notes of the song.

A few days later, she woke up.

Just A Smirk

My father told me that the doctors had recommended no further treatment, as her body was already too weak and the cancer had spread too far. They gave an incredibly vague timeline of three days to three weeks before she died. He told me they were sending someone over to talk about hospice options later that afternoon.

When the hospice attendant came, he began talking and I stopped listening. The majority of our immediate family was in there; my grandparents were listening with tears streaming, my father held my mom’s hand and smiled softly, my brother just stared at the man. But I caught my mother’s eye. I smirked at her. She smiled weakly back at me. I don’t know what she took from my smile. I had meant to convey all the love and affection that I held for her, telling her with a smirk that everything was going to be okay—even as her body was ravaged by cancer and death lurked at the door. Later that evening, I took her hand in mine. I don’t remember the conversation that followed, but I do remember toward the end of it she said, “I’m going to miss you, Michael.”

In hindsight, I’m surprised I didn’t burst into tears. I think I responded with something like, “You won’t even be worried about me. But I’ll miss you.”

Finally, she was moved to hospice. My father opted to not take her home that she could have twenty-four-hour care from professionals. I think it was also on his mind not to place a greater burden on my mother’s parents. I think I was able to see her twice at the hospice facility. Both times, I walked in to see her in her bed, free of wires, tubes, and IVs, hopefully, a little more comfortable.

For roughly six months, she had greeted me with “I love you.” This day was no exception, except that I finally understood why when she whispered it to me that day. She didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to see me, or how many times she would get to tell me that she loved me.

I don’t remember the final words my mom and I shared. I only remember helping my grandmother clean as my mom got sick, my dad’s constant presence, and holding her hand as we both fell asleep. Time was up, however, and I had to work the next morning in San Marcos. I kissed my mother, hugged her, and (hopefully) told her I loved her. And then I left, never to see her alive in this world again.

Two days later, I woke up to rain. I got up, made my coffee, and headed to church. Everything was normal, but it didn’t feel like it. When I finished teaching Sunday school, my best friend asked if she could come with me to see my mom. For whatever reason, I said, "No, perhaps another day." Something about the day didn’t feel right.

So I drove in the rain. Fast—what my mom always said not to do. I was hungry. I texted my dad, told him I was almost to the hospice facility and asked if I had time to stop for food. When he responded that they would wait for me, I asked again, “Do I have time to stop for food?”

“No,” he said.

I pressed the gas pedal down a bit further.

When I arrived at the hospice facility, the lot was empty. The only two people standing right outside its doors were my father and brother. And that’s when I knew for sure. I quickly got out of my car and walked up the stairs to them. Neither greeted me, my father only half smiled through tears, and then both he and my brother buried their faces in my chest, sobbing. I held their heads against me, trying to control my own breathing.

A minute passed, and I walked into the facility, past the front desk, past my already mourning family, and into my mother’s room. I choked back a sob and grabbed her hand, alarmed that it was already cold. 

A host of things followed. More family came through, some of my brother’s coworkers came by, and some of my friends came too. One brought me a bottle of chocolate milk.

I remember excusing myself to use the restroom, whereupon I collapsed on the floor, unable to stop the tears and sobs from exiting me. Believe me or not, it was at this point that I forced myself to whisper the Gloria Patri:

“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.”

Perhaps it was a bit sanctimonious, but I had to force myself to say it. I truly meant it, and I could feel unbelief wanting to corrode the hope I had in the forgiveness of sins and the resurrection of the body, and the eternal life that my mother had already begun to share in. Despite pain, anger, loneliness, and grief, I felt a joy that my mother was no longer in pain. So I had to confess with my mouth.

We finally took our leave of the hospice facility and returned home. I arrived first. With a friend’s help, I began to clean out our refrigerator which had begun to smell in due to the absence of my family. More family members began to arrive and a man from my old church brought Bill Miller’s for us eat. I don’t even remember if I ate or not, I just remember having a couple beers.

For some reason, they chose to go into my parents’ room to return some items that my father had with him, and to sort through some of my mother’s jewelry. I remembered that when I was young, I had bought her a pair of clip-on earrings from a thrift store that were gold colored and set with fake sapphires. She never really wore them, because she was a grown woman who didn’t want to wear clip-on earrings, and she preferred wearing silver jewelry. I searched for those clip-on earrings that night in every nook and cranny in her dresser and couldn’t find them. I broke down in hysterical sobs, truly uncontrollable this time, as my hands scrambled to find the stupid little gift I gave my mom.

I don’t remember much else from that day. The last memory I have is falling asleep between my father and brother in my parents’ bed.

The next morning, I was sitting in my adolescent psychology class at 11 am. I still had assignments to complete, finals were the following week, and I had offered to plan, sing, and speak at my mother’s funeral. But the week flew by, and everything got done, by the grace of God.

And suddenly, a year has passed by.

Not Left Orphans

I miss my mom. I feel very lost some days. Her death has left me in a dark mood for a whole year. I’m told that doesn’t go away but recedes some. She left a gaping hole in my family, at her job where it took three people to replace her, and in my own life. As a son who has lost a mother and the deep ache that I still feel, as though a part of me is gone, I cannot imagine my grandparents who have lost a daughter, or my father who has lost his wife.

The monotony of my life in the last year has almost driven me mad. The silence in my life has almost done the same. Her death was a catalyst in my life for many unfortunate scenarios.

I couldn’t help but feel and utter those terribly selfish words “Why me?” I am but the youngest of those who knew her well, which means, to my utter dismay, that I had the least amount of time with her. My grandparents saw each of her 52 years. My aunt had 44 years, my father had over 32 years, and even my brother had 25 years.

I think of the twenty years I was able to spend with her, despite being cognitive for even less time, and I feel slighted. But then I remember a friend of mine from childhood who lost his mother around age 6. I remember the friends of mine in high school who lost their mother sophomore year. Or another friend who lost their mom just after they had graduated. They all would count me more fortunate than them for the additional years I was able to share with my mom.

A year later I feel more like a child than I did when I planned her funeral nearly alone. I feel less equipped to deal with prolonged loss and grief than the immediate shock when I was forced to act. I am trying so hard to not wallow in the grief of “why me” to the extent that I forget the grief of my family who need me. I am trying so hard to remember that I need them as well. I am trying to fit into my mother’s shoes, helping my family where I can, being with them where I can, and mediating where I can. But I am twenty-one. And I am scared of the future. I still have so much to deal with in my own mind, how can I help those around me?

Or perhaps these must happen simultaneously.

I am told by those who have lost their parents that the first year is the hardest. And it has indeed been hell. But despite my wandering heart and the incredibly incessant wave of depression and unbelief, I have hope. I struggle to keep it, but I have it. Of course, I do not worry about my mother. She is beyond all harm and woe. But for my family, I have hope that we might heal. I have hope that we might grow in Christ and with each other due to this tragedy. I have hope that we might delve deeper into the truth of what it means to be Christians, bonded both by baptism and the blood flowing in our veins. I have hope that we might be kept steadfast in the faith, that we might see Jesus and my mother when He raises us from the dead.

I can no longer run to my mother for hurt, help, or a hug. She is no longer able to defend me like lioness of a mother that she was, nor is she able to counsel me with her incredibly sharp mind. Once upon a time, the idea of not being able to help her family would have driven her crazy. But even her faith has been made perfect in death. And I have this image of Mary, the mother of Jesus, the Theotokos, greeting my mother as she came into glory and reminding her that I, too, am entrusted to her Son. And that is the safest place I can be.

“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live.” – John 14:18-19

“His grief he will not forget; but it will not darken his heart, it will teach him wisdom.” – J.R.R. Tolkien

[canaryatlaw]

Ugh I'm really bad at going to bed when I want to lol. Today was pretty good. I dragged my ass out of bed at 8:30 and got ready to go to the beach. I don't really have a bathing suit (I have one but idk if it fits and I didn't bring it with me anyway) so I just wore a bra and underwear with a tank top and shorts and faked it because whatever. We left for the beach around 9 and made fairly good time, getting there around 9:50. Parking was already swamped, and we had to drive around for a few minutes but soon found a spot on the street and discovered that you can pay for the meter by phone if you don't have enough quarters (interesting). So from there we walked over to the public access point, not very far. We were right over by where we used to always stay when we would come down here to visit my cousins. Where they actually live is kind of out in the middle of nowhere, and the only thing nearby is a motel, and my parents don't really do motels if at all avoidable (spoiled rich people that they are) so we always opted for one of the touristy hotels on the beach, because hey, beach! I was just happy to be back at the ocean. I dutifully put sunscreen on, then laid back for a little while before deciding to go in the water. At first I was being hesitant and not wanting to go all the way in but then I saw the waves and thought about how some of my happiest memories from my childhood are at the beach jumping waves with my (other) cousin and my brother because nobody was making fun of me and I was simply accepted as part of the group, and I just said fuck it and ended up jumping through waves and dunking my head under for a good while with my cousin, and it was very much fun. I got to talk to my cousin a bit while we were out there about college and such and how to prepare and just practical advice and shit, so that was good. Eventually we went back, and I guess my mortal mistake was not reapplying sunscreen at this point, because I ended up with stupid ridiculous sunburn on my arms and legs and I'm very irritated about it. But anyway. We sat with my mom and aunts for a while, then the adults (or adult adults) went for a walk and I just sat with my cousin, and looked at the ocean and just ended up thinking. And I sat there and I thought about how much I missed the ocean, the real ocean, and how much I've enjoyed these days with my extended family, feeling that sense of love and community that seems so lacking in so many of my lonely days in Chicago. I thought about my grandparents and how I didn't get enough time with them, and how I never got to know my grandpa on my mom's side very well because he lived in Arizona and we only ever saw him for a few days a year. I thought about how my dad is already in his 70's, and while he's in good health he's still getting older and it's obviously going to still be a few years before I have any kids. I thought about how I want my kids to know their grandparents, to spend time with them while they can and build those relationships while they have the chance to, before they're taken from them too soon. I thought about how my cousins all lived in different states, and how I'd like my kids to be very close with their cousins, that they'd grow up alongside them, that my kids would know their uncles and aunt and feel so loved by all the family around them. And I just sat looking at the ocean and I decided I don't want to stay in Chicago after I finish law school. I don't really know where this decision came from. Sure, there's all the above, but up until now all of that was true and staying in Chi was still a rational decision to make. But now....I just don't want to anymore. Maybe it has to do with the job in New York City that I want so badly, that while I love the work I do now that is what I really want to do, what I want to do long term. How I'd be close enough to my family but not so close that I'd feel the need to get away that sent me packing in the first place. I need breathing room. I'm not moving back home. But I wouldn't be opposed to being closer, a lot closer than Chicago. I don't know if this job in NYC is what God does have in store for me, but I know I really want it. I guess we'll have to see what happens. I will really really miss my church in Chicago though. I love it there oh so much and I can only hope to find a community that resonates with my soul so much again in a new place. I love the people there and their beautiful hearts, and I will miss them dearly. But, anyways. We stayed at the beach until about 2 when we wanted to head back since we didn't want to spend the whole day there. We stopped at one of the little beach stores because my aunt (the one from Michigan) wanted to look at stuff. I wound up getting two pairs of shorts, like soffee style, because the shorts I was wearing yesterday were way too big for me as are the majority of my shorts now haha so I'll be needing to do something about that. I'm not really crazy about this aunt. She's technically my step-aunt I suppose, as she's not the mother of my cousins, though my uncle divorced her before I have any memories of them. I remember vaguely before they got married, and I remember it happening and gaining two new cousins (or step-cousins technically, but we've dropped that mostly). Growing up I thought I didn't like her because my cousins didn't like her and I liked them, but as I got older and those cousins haven't really been around, I've realized that she's really just a rude person and is always very demeaning towards younger people and it definitely just pissed me off as a kid (and sometimes still pisses me off). But anyway, not the point. We got back in the car and briefly stopped for coffee, then drove back to the house. I showered to get the sand off me and get the salt water out of my hair, then tried to aloe up the best I could. Everyone was kind of chilling at this point so I pulled out my laptop, only to find the mouse pad being erratic and not responding correctly, so I cursed and shut it off, hoping it being off for a few hours will fix the issue and it'll work for me to live tweet the Tonys tonight. Shortly after this we started playing badminton out front, and the neighbors came over, so I sat and talked with the mom for a bit. This is the mom of the girl I was talking to last night, and I very much enjoyed talking to her as well. We eventually moved to the back for some reason, then started playing bs, and today apparently was not my day for it because I didn't win either of our games lol. The second was interrupted by dinner, which we had steak for, then we finished and it was like 7:40 at this point so I checked my computer which was thankfully cooperating at this point and waited for the Tonys to start. I knew this year would be a bit odd because I admittedly have not been paying attention to the theatre season at all, and I've only seen one show that was barely nominated, so I wasn't really familiar with any of the front runners. I knew the concept of DEH and had seen Ben Platt perform on one of the tonight shows, but that was about it. I had mixed feelings overall about the night. Kevin Spacey was funny enough. I really enjoyed the Falsettos performance, so I'm very glad that was apparently recorded and I can see it in movie theatres since it closed way back in November (I don't know why, it looks hilarious). I wasn't impressed at all by hello dolly or Groundhog Day, I thought they were both very boring and I didn't quite know how they got nominated. War Paint I felt like should've been more impressive for the star power it had, but the music just wasn't very good. The DEH performance was of course great, it was a strong choice of course to pick a song that really only features your main actor and not an ensemble piece like most shows do, but Ben Platt did a fantastic job of carrying it and I was totally obsessed with the set design, holy crap it was awesome. I have tentative plans at least to see that show before the summer is over, assuming we can get tickets. I was sad Anastasia didn't win for featured actress or costumes, I can't speak for the costumes for other shows but Anastasia's were BEAUTIFUL, some of the best I've ever seen, and undoubtedly deserved a Tony for it. And Mary Beth Peil was did an amazing job in her role and I wish she got recognized for it. It also pissed me off it didn't get nominated for best musical when fucking Groundhog Day did which looked fucking terrible???? Like why??? Why is that a thing and why did it get nominated for best musical???? I have so many frustrations. Ugh. And Christy Altomare belonged in the leading actress race and Ramin Karimloo belonged in the featured actor race, but I digress. Great Comet had a fun performance, I enjoyed their costumes as well (mostly how it went from 1800s to punk rock in about two seconds) although I'm still not entirely sure what the show is actually about, or how it was conceived (something about war and peace)??? I liked what they did with having the playwrights talk about their plays, it was super effective in getting invested in them and better than how they used to do it. I also appreciated how they introduced them with the writers name first for the revivals. DEH winning of course surprised nobody, though it'll probably make ticket prices go up (sigh, as if they weren't high enough already). But yeah, it was decent, a good watch at least. And that pretty much summed up my night, just followed by an inability to get off my phone, though my phone has picked up the annoying habit of dying on me when the battery isn't dead but won't turn back on unless plugged in??? Ugh, not happy about it, but have a Genius Bar appointment for it Tuesday. Flying home tomorrow, but more on that then. Sleep for now. Goodnight peeps. Stay lovely.