#and are INFINITELY more interesting to me than anything happening in fucking England

[hmslusitania]

Library: We see you're searching for the letters of Pope Innocent III. Did you want the Letters of Pope Innocent III to England and Wales between 1198-1215? Did you want a review of that book by 75 different people? Did you want the new edition of that book? Did you want the new edition of that book with a different preface? What about with a different introduction? What about a different edition? What about a list of all the papers and books that book has shown up in in reference? 

Me, crying: I DON'T WANT THAT BOOK AT ALL IN ANY FORM

Library: so you want Pope Innocent III’s letters to Ireland. I see. I see how it is. 

[mermaidsirennikita]

bridgerton--the good, the bad, the ugly

The short of it: Bridgerton excellently captures the tone of Regency romance novels and offers a lot of escapism and great sex scenes, but could definitely use some serious work in terms of how it depicts race and it should have made some further alterations to the dated and flawed source material.  Definitely loved a lot of it and am hotly anticipating the second season, but I want to see more work done and I HOPE that this encourages the adaptation of better (and less inherently flawed) romance novels.

Now for the longer take.

The Good

Bridgerton depicted sex and romance in a way that is totally different from anything I’ve seen in period dramas, for sure, but possibly different from anything I’ve seen on TV.  The romance of it all was woven into almost every aspect of the show. There is the handsome and seemingly severe but extravagantly wealthy and sexually adept duke sweeping into town.  The (multiple) rakes who just want to have fun while also being hot messes.  The awakening of female sexuality and the copious use of the female gaze.  (Note the pretty modest and minimal focus on female nudity, while we get plenty of lingering shots on Simon.).  People want love!  There is pretty minimal violence and perhaps the most physically violent scene involves Simon beating a man up because HE IMPEACHED DAPHNE’S HONOR~.

The sex scenes themselves focused on Daphne’s pleasure for the most part, and were probably among the best I’ve seen since Outlander in terms of chemistry, in terms of the visuals, in terms of focus on sex as an act of emotional connection and FUN. Yes, there was some Unlikely Vaginal Orgasming, but we also saw Simon tell Daphne about masturbation.  On the wedding night, he was pretty clearly touching her to help her enjoy it.  He ate her out... a good bit.  

And aside from that, we got all of the grand speeches, the stolen glances and touches, an excellent buildup of sexual tension that led to some pretty hilarious moments.  

I also really enjoyed many of the performances on this show.  Rege-Jean and Phoebe had great chemistry and excellent back and forth.  Jonathan was a GREAT Anthony.  I would argue that as lackluster as I found his relationship with Siena (more on that in a minute) it largely existed as a way to set him up for his romance with Kate.  He now has even more of a reason to be down with love, as opposed to solely relying on a kind of flimsy tragic backstory.  Additionally, his overprotectiveness of Daphne added tension to the story and made him a source of comedic relief for me?  I loved it.  Give me disaster Anthony all day; can’t wait until he falls to the enemies to lovers trope just like Simon fell to his FLAW-FREE fake dating plan.

A lot of the changes I found were really good.  Obviously, it was important that the show incorporated greater diversity (though they need way more).  Benedict was INFINITELY more fun and interesting than he was in the novels, and acted as another standout for me.  As much as I hate Portia Featherington, I think that the elevation of her to a proper villainess is probably necessary and Polly Walker excels at those types of roles, though they need to maybe have her be less like, actively racist.  I adored the addition of Queen Charlotte; she was excellent comic relief.  Lady Danbury’s expanded role and relationship to Simon was one of the best moves they made.  It touched my entire soul.

Buuuut....

The Bad

The show needs to work on casting more men that are frankly on Rege-Jean’s level.  It feels a bit awkward to see a guy that is by most people’s standards kind of stunning and then.... Colin looks twelve.  Lord Philip is like... a farm guy.  Get rid of the sideburns, we’re in romance novel territory.

In the same note, the girl who played Siena wasn’t a great actress and wasn’t super stunning, so even though I’m fine with her being a placeholder....  Eh.  Go for better casting.  The woman playing Madame Delacroix would’ve played that role so much better and I really enjoyed her dynamic with Benedict because she was just fun.

Frankly, I don’t know what the fuck they’re going to do to make me want to watch Penelope and Colin fall in love.  Their book was already a bit basic--fun, but far from revolutionary.  I don’t really get why they would receive attention similar to that of Kate and Anthony, basically.  The issue is that Colin, again, looks and sound rather young and twerpy.  It obviously wasn’t great for him to be tricked into raising another man’s child, but.... For fuck’s sake, how much would that have affected his life on a practical level.  He’d never know unless he was told, thanks to the lack of DNA tests.  He was marrying far out of his league in terms of attractiveness.  He’s a rich white guy in England with a supportive family.  

I really disliked the fact that Colin told Marina in his huffy little tantrum that he would have married her anyway--because would you have, buddy?  Really?  The thing is that Marina had no way of knowing that and her entire life (and the reputations of her cousins) was on the line.  She didn’t know if she could trust Colin to keep her secret.  They barely knew each other.  He basically came off as a whiny child and I’m fine with him staying in Greece if that’s the plan.

Penelope was just... psychotic.  And that was really disappointing, because I love Nicola and would love to have loved to see the fat girl get her sexy love story.  But first off, lol, it wouldn’t have been sexy because Colin was miscast.  Second, she basically tried to destroy Marina’s life and that of her sisters?  And herself?  Because Colin?  Because Colin, a guy who hasn’t even shown any amount of attraction to her at this point?  Her tears, her whining, it was all too much.  Penelope was dealing with a crush and Marina was dealing with the real Grown Woman issues of a child out of wedlock and as it turned out a dead lover and they were not on equal footing.

I mean, Penelope could very well make a great villainess at this point, and if done well I’d embrace it.  But I do not know how the fuck they can make me interested in her love story.  And the idea of her basically being launched into villainy because she was this chubby white girl obsessively jealous of a beautiful black woman...... not a great look.

The show definitely needs to explore diversity in terms of sexuality too--I don’t think it’s correct to read Benedict as straight because he still seems to be open to exploring.  Once he has more screentime, I think he could totally end up being bisexual, and it’s possible that the writers were trying to feel the audience out in terms of their receptiveness to taking a straight character who has a big straight love story in the books and making him LGBT+.  Eloise could also easily be a lesbian, and I’d be thrilled to see that happen.  They need to do something to expand the world, and if there are 8 Bridgerton kids, all of them being straight as an arrow seems SO unlikely.

The Ugly

Obviously, the rape scene was bad and should have been written out.  Simon could have gotten caught up in the moment and blown up at Daphne after he accidentally didn’t pull out in time.  Men.... accidentally don’t pull out in time... a lot.  That’s how babies happen.  It would’ve been believable, and due to our sympathies being with Simon largely, I don’t think he would have become irredeemable if he was more at fault than Daphne.  

As it was, I will say that the scene was somewhat better than it played in the books because Simon was conscious and totally sober, and it was a bit?  Confusing?  That he didn’t just roll Daphne over and pull out?  Because she wasn’t really clearly trying as hard as she was in the book to wrap her legs around him and hold him tight.  But it remained a rape scene.  The show also did a better job, I think, of establishing how fucked up it was that Simon took advantage of Daphne’s lack of knowledge.  Whatever he said about thinking she knew what was up--he knew she didn’t even know about masturbation.  He had to know she wouldn’t understand what pulling out meant.  He did very clearly mislead her to think that he was sterile and therefore denied Daphne her ability to give informed consent.  Did that justify what Daphne did?  Nope.  Two wrongs don’t make a right.  But both of them did a fucked up thing and I think that we honestly could’ve stopped at Simon’s misleading.

The issue too is that this leads into a bigger problem the show had.  It wanted to include diversity (yay!) but did not consider the total implications of what was happening (not yay).  Daphne and Simon’s dynamic is inevitably influenced by the fact that she’s a white woman and he’s a black man, regardless of whatever handwaves happened.  This influences the sexual assault and makes it even more messy.

Speaking of mess, I’m not sure what exactly would have fixed the “we don’t want this to be a colorblind casting” issue... but the explanation they came up with wasn’t good.  Never mind that this makes everything SUPER confusing (racism is over like..... maybe 50 years MAX after Queen Charlotte’s marriage if we assume she was a teen when she married and is in her 60s now?) but Lady Danbury’s dialogue explaining this was HORRENDOUS.  “One of them fell in love with one of us”.  The implications are awful.  I don’t know if perhaps setting back the integration of society centuries earlier would have helped?  But this wasn’t it.

Additionally, the writers and casting directors didn’t seem to get that diversity is all well and good, but what about the fact that almost every black character has a light skin tone?  Why are there so few black female characters?  Why is Marina, the most prominent woc on the show, given the “pregnant and desperately trying to trick a man into marrying her until her jealous white cousin fucks her life up and she is humiliated into settling for a loveless match” plot?  I desperately hope we see her next season, falling in love with Sir Phillip or perhaps having experienced a plot twist that gives her someone else...  And she better not die. Eloise can find someone else if Marina really ends up with Sir Philip.

Ultimately, again, I really loved the show.  But it needs to work on some things.  I think that a lot of its issues can be addressed and fixed in a future season, and I HOPE they do that.

[mikaze-discord]

Quartet Night: Love letters

Annnnnd these are the love letters written for Quartet Night!!!

Please enjoy under the cut~

REIJI KOTOBUKI

From Anon:

I've always been drawn to characters with complex (and fairly dark) personalities, so liking Rei-chan was honestly inevitable for me.

He looks like a very bright and cheerful character at first, which he is, but sometimes that part of him is a little misleading because, in actuality, he's a character that holds a lot of negative feelings about himself due to a past that he can't seem to move on from. He holds a lot of those feelings to himself because he doesn't want to burden anyone else with them. He's a reliable, cunning, and ultimately selfless character that chooses to shoulder a lot on his own out of his infinite care for others, and perhaps a secret sense of atonement, all hidden behind his bright demeanor and goofy smile, and it's endlessly interesting to me.

Besides the duality of his personality, he has a lot of other endearing quirks to love about him. He loves his mom a lot and is a mama's boy. His old-man jargon and catchphrases never fail to amuse (I still can't get over the way he says "my girl"). His obsession with anything even remotely British is something my APH England phase can relate to. His style of music brings a lot of pleasant feelings of nostalgia for me, and his pretty voice suits them a lot. And most of all he's just a very good boy overall. I rate 99999 out of 10 would love and support him and also maybe pay for his therapy because god knows he needs it. Happy anniversary!!

From another anon: 

Would you like to hear a story? You do? Very well then, may this story be one you enjoy.

What do I like about Reiji kotobuki? A Lot of things actually!

Well, I've always really liked Reiji as a character as he seemed to be one of the more interesting characters to me, due to how complex he is with his backstory and general just personality.

I have always really enjoyed how Reiji just solves problems too? Like he is just such an outgoing person who deserves all the support!!!

Like the best word I can use for Reiji is just, unique. Everything about him is just so Reiji. From the way he talks, to his nicknames or even his texting style. Like have you seen how many people use emoticons when texting as Reiji? It's just so him.

I like his way of thinking too! I feel like some of the interactions in the games are just so interesting, just seeing Reiji’s point of view. How he deals with a sort of survivor’s guilt and all of that.

Personally, some of my most memorable roleplaying moments were watching a Reiji rper in action, like just seeing them interact and flow so seamlessly with the other characters was just so fascinating to wee baby rper me. Such a large part of playing Reiji is just how you flow with the people around you and comedic timing. I have so many funny moments where Reiji was just interacting with people and it was just so inspirational (?) like I couldn't stop the smile on my face. I had learnt alot from them. I still consider them my roleplaying senpai almost! I don't talk to them anymore but I really had an amazing time just seeing their spin on the character.

I don't find him to be a romantic partner towards me nor do I see any of the characters in that light, but I've always found Reiji as such a personal character. Not even just towards me, like even with other utapri stans. The most relatable character always seems to be Reiji.

I've always been pretty similar in many aspects to him and I often find myself relating to him in numerous ways like his vibe is just relatable! I have often found myself trying to make other people laugh and have fun that many times I'm spreading myself thin and feel unappreciated...Reiji really helped with that.

This is where i start getting into the really personal stuff LOL feel free to skip if you dont wanna hear the angsty backstory.

I had really come to love Reiji when I had just...hit a low. I had a group of friends who I enjoyed hanging out with and just talking to, but they weren't very good friends per say. I often had to schedule every activity we did and I spent days and nights trying to think of concepts that might be fun. They took it for granted.. I had spent 4 months trying to make a game for them, and they had constantly pushed back times that we would play it. Using excuses to not play it, without telling me out right what they did not like or even why. The site I used was later taken down without notice and thus I had lost all my progress. Later, they had mentioned how they would like to play it except that later ended up being two years later. I really wish I could've solved things with that friend group like Quartet Night did but that didn't happen. That is when I started seeing things Reiji’s way? Not to say that it was the same or similar scenario to Reiji but I had just associated it with him.

RANMARU KUROSAKI

From Anon:

Ran is such a fun character! He sounds like a "rough outside, soft inside" kind of character, but his roughness is more like an integral part of him and it's through it that he shows he cares rather than setting it aside. That's what made me want to rp him. I also like how he is such a strong guy who's always determined to do his best in everything he does despite so much having gone wrong in his past. And it's very satisfying to see him form bonds and start to trust people.

From @mikaze-san:

Originally, my favourite Utapri boy was Ai, and it had been the robot boy for several years upon entering the fandom. In fact, it only switched to Ranmaru sometime late last year but regardless, I would still die for this man. Part of the reason why I switched is because I’ve always been a fan of Suzuki Tatsuhisa and I have a huge bias towards any man who wears nail polish without fearing being “feminine” because fuck gender roles.

As someone who studies fashion, I think Ranmaru is very coordinated and confident when it comes to portraying himself that way. He knows he’s not very good at expressing his emotions and utilises his passion for rock and playing the bass to portray those feelings through his songs. It’s also incredibly inspiring to know that he bounces back from pretty much anything considering his backstory and the stuff he deals with in the game/anime.

But my main reason for loving Ranmaru so much stems from the fact that I admire him a lot and want to be more like him. For a long time last year, I got to roleplay as Ranmaru in a few Utapri groups and through those experiences, I gained a better understanding and appreciation of the characters that I wrote for. In some weird way, by highlighting his flaws, character progression and how he dealt with different emotions, I ended up providing insight into how I dealt with similar issues by looking at them from a 3rd person perspective.

I used to be very shy and was very shut off from friends and family, and due to this I’ve always admired people in my life or fictional characters that are so confident in being who they are. Ranmaru particularly struck that chord in me because his bluntness knows no end. He’s very opinionated and doesn’t fear confrontation, in most cases being the one to provoke it. He speaks his mind openly without being overly anxious of the consequences. This is something that I feel is especially relevant today with being your authentic/unapologetic self is such a trend.

It’s something I’ve also noticed with having met people in or outside of this fandom, the notion of idolising a fictional character containing traits that we want to see in ourselves. Which made me think about a lot of my favourite kinds of characters which at the end of the day all boil down to sharing one similar trait: Being a bitch.

And in Utapri, Ranmaru embodies that. So naturally it’s very easy for me to idolise him.

(Tldr: I like his bitchy attitude.)

AI MIKAZE 

From Arashi:

It's hard to put into words why I love Ai Mikaze, perhaps it's because I'm subconsciously drawn to him, maybe it's because his hair and eyes are my favorite color, maybe it's because his voice is that of an angels, there are many reasons why I love him. I couldn't tell you a definite, "These one or two reasons are the entire reason I love him", but I'll try to sum it up.

I grew to love him by admiring his personality, his smile, his determination to reach his goals, everything about him made me happy. He's strict and a little scary at times, but when he sees people caring for him, he becomes happy and in a way, sentimental. He's not sure how to explain the way he feels, but he tries. I think I admire how he holds all the little things precious to his heart as he learns about them, and he wants to understand how to care for others and how they care for them in return. Even after six years, he still remains the most dear to me. I think that he now has a sentimental value to me, because even if I 'loved' another character more for a while, I will always come back to Ai. Ai deserves the world, and I'd give it to him if I could. He'll always be special to me, and I think that he very much deserves that.

From Maronda: 

My love for Ai started after I found Shining Live by chance and started to play. At first I wasn't particularly attached to any of the characters and decided to go back and watch the anime to maybe remember some context other than who Starish was. When I got to the episode focused on Ai and his "secret" I was absolutely thrown off by it all. I ended up feeling like I had so many questions and I knew that the anime would give me little to no answers, so I frequently turned to rambling on the internet about it. Eventually, this fixation on weird things about him seemed to turn into a clear fondness for him, and friends made me realize just how much I liked him. Knowing the cold and often strange aspects of his personality was due to something out of his control was something I resonated with as someone on the autism spectrum. He reminded me of some of the ways I used to think and behave.

I also began to notice other things I loved about him. Things like how soothing I found his voice, the pleasant shade of light blue in his hair and eyes, how ridiculously pretty he is... but the best things are the endearing parts of his personality. Though he's somewhat harsh, he's still entirely genuine. His curiosity is absolutely precious and his occasional awkwardness in expressing emotion or understanding the emotions of others made me empathize with him. And if you look at the Ai in Shining Live and compare it to the Ai in the anime and games... he really has changed a lot and grown as a person. He now seems so much gentler and understanding, and he clearly values the friendships he has now too! I think he's a wonderful character and ever since friends of mine encouraged me to selfship I've essentially been in love with him, but it also makes me happy to see other people appreciate him for other reasons as well. He's just so lovable!

CAMUS

From @uta-no-fakku-sama:

At the very beginning of my UtaPri interest, Camus never really caught my attention. That is until he became my first My Only Prince UR. I’ve come to appreciate him a lot more ever since, and now he’s become my favorite QUARTET NIGHT member! Along the way, I learned more about him and realized he’s one of the more complicated characters to understand. Nonetheless, I absolutely adore him. I tend to tease and make fun of him a lot, but deep down I truly do like him a whole bunch!

From @/waddamaloooon on twt: 

A little Camus appreciation post

(alternatively known as; how this guy managed to harshly take my heart and step on it like the gumin I am.)

Hello, this is Suikamaru, here to share a tiny story of why I, and eventually you, love Camus Rondo Cryzard.

At first glance, his looks appealed to me, but not his behavior (and ironically enough, his voice) so I didn't bat an eye on him. I've always been on a neutral leaning to dislike opinion on Camus, which is quite understandable because have you SEEN the way he acts. Unfathomable.

…..To a Young Suikamaru, that is.

I've grown, so naturally I've changed preferences regarding characters, ikemen, and who to stan and who to avoid like the plague. I will lie if I said that I expected to like that blonde confectionery devouring machine at any point of my life.

But it did happen so who are we fooling here.

It dawned on me that Camus is the type of character that you cannot appreciate unless you go in depth into his lore, backstory, and see him for who he really is. Because then everything else will make sense. And that never happened in my case until I started roleplaying as him.

I realized that he's not just a two faced, sweet toothed mean man. He's a perfectionist, someone who's always been raised since his childhood days to be nothing less than complete, who has locked on his heart and emotions to devote himself completely to the purpose given to him. He has the looks and brains for what though? He should be a little stupid honestly.

But his intelligence gave him the complexity that he just needed for his characteristics. Because as aforementioned, he's not someone to easily like or fall in love with. And I think that's quite rare in characters, and very much appreciated due to the fact it gives the fans a chance to not actually stay on a flat level of knowledge regarding their favorite characters.

I've slowly started to see myself in some aspects of him, which was the number one factor of liking him. Then came the Maeno magic when I realized Camus shares the same VA as another character that I love as well. (Hamelin, from SinoAlice.) From then, everything went downhill.

In a good way. I think..

Well, that is all from me, please read about this handsome man and appreciate his hard work both as an individual and as an idol. There is SO much to him that's p much overlooked and I'm getting broke from spending my money on his living expenses rent free in my head. Take him off my head.

[my-self-ship-wonderland]

Janet and Jack fanfic (it’s a long one, 7689 words)

“Excuse me”

The voice brought Janet out of her focus, and she peered casually round the side of her computer to see the door. The voice was american, and in east england american accents were an exciting rarity. Janet glanced at the man, and then flicked her eyes back to her computer screen. 

“Hi, sir.” her teacher greeted the man and invited him with a nod of her head. The man was almost definitely not a teacher, but the supply teacher would have no way of knowing that. Paranoia flooded Janet’s head, images of murders or kidnappings, men who could just waltz into schools and steal children. He flashed a smile at the teacher, who returned it with fluttering eyelids. ‘Ted Bundy was charismatic too’ thought Janet, and looked down at her keyboard. He wasn’t going to kill anyone, he was probably just checking the lights or something. He didn’t look much like site team, dressed in a blue shirt, and a massive navy blue coat with shiny brass buttons, he looked more like a military mannequin at the museum than a real person. He pulled what looked like a card out of an inside pocket of his coat, and the teacher’s face relaxed into understanding. He whispered a name to her, and she checked the register, and pointed towards Janet. She froze. She stared blankly at her screen, trying to control her thoughts long enough to think clearly. The teacher called Janet’s name quietly. “You’re leaving early Janet, you’ve got an appointment” She said ‘appointment’ conspiratorially, as though Janet already knew. The man waited by the door while Janet logged out of the computer and picked up her bag with shaking hands. She left the classroom, her mind racing. She definitely didn’t have an appointment with anyone, and she didn’t have any reason to be pulled out of class. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to outrun him, and she couldn’t confront him point blank. The moment he knew she knew she was in danger, the more danger she would be in. She could hide somewhere in the school, she knew it better than he did. But she needed to get somewhere she could run without getting caught again. And what did he say to her teacher?

“You aren’t wearing a lanyard.” she said, her voice stilted

“I must have left it in my car.”

Alarm bells went off in Janet’s head. He couldn’t have left it in the car, they gave visitors a guest lanyard at the reception. 

“Oh. I do that sometimes. Who are you?”

“I’m with CAMHS” he said, showing her the same card he showed her teacher.

“Oh, okay.” Alarm bells were screaming in her head. She definitely hadn’t been referred to CAMHS without being told. And she hadn’t done anything to trigger it. Short of landing herself in hospital, there wasn’t much she could do to convince the school counselor to refer her. 

“Yeah, we just need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” she said, a plan forming in her head. “Do you mind if I go to the toilet quickly first?”

“Uh, sure.” he said. “Where are they?” 

“I can manage by myself, I’ll just catch you up in the main corridor. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, alright. Just be quick.”

Janet nodded, and trotted towards the toilets. She ducked into a cubicle and listened for his footsteps, her heart pounding. When she heard none, she unlocked the door and ran to the other end of the corridor, and out the double doors. Wincing at the noise they made she ran up a staircase and into the language block. She raced down the corridor, dodging straggling year sevens, and ducked around a teacher. “Sorry miss, no time!” she said as the teacher tried to scold her. She turned a corner and burst through another set of double doors, trying to reach a certain classroom. If the teacher was in there, she’d help her. She’d taught Janet for years, since year seven, and Janet trusted her. The CAMHS trick was dirty, she thought as she skidded on the shiny floor. If I try to tell anyone that he’s dangerous, they’ll think I’m sick and send me with him anyway. She felt sure that if she could just explain to her teacher, she would believe her. She was almost there, just another corner to go. 

She was flying past windows of lower school kids who watched her like it was the most interesting thing in the world, and as she turned to glance over her shoulder she felt a hand on her arm and she was dragged into a room. Janet spun around and jerked the hand off her arm, expecting to see a maths classroom and a disproving teacher, but was met instead with weird orange lights, metal grated floor, and a pulsing column surrounded with a table-control column-thing. “Oh, what the fuck”

“Hey, language.” She snapped her eyes towards the woman who spoke, and was met with someone who looked more her idea of a CAMHS worker, except dressed differently. She had straight blonde hair in a bob, very pierced ears, and was pointing a wide metal rod at Janet like it was a magic wand.

“No, no, no, absolutely not.” said Janet, and she ran out the door. She glanced over her shoulder at the room she was just in, and was confused to find it was a 1960’s police box. It was sat in the middle of the maths corridor, as though it had been built with the school. “What the hell?” she whispered, poking her head around the side of the box. It had been much bigger than that on the inside. She walked around the whole exterior of the box, her hand pressed firmly to the blue wood.

Janet picked up a pen lid discarded on the windowsill, and eased open the door again. She threw the pen lid as hard as she could into the room, expecting it to hit a screen or a painted wall, but it flew into the depths and disappeared into the infinite dimensions of the room. “What the living fuck?”

The woman began speaking, but Janet ignored her and shut the door again. She had a decision to make. She was stood in front of a box that defied physics, with a lady who looked very sciencey and clever, with a fancy metal science thing. However, she was also being chased by a large american man who was lying to her school. Potentially, they were working together. Potentially, the sciency lady was evil, and the american was good, or vice versa. Janet had no way of knowing, but was very overwhelmed. She did not have much time to be overwhelmed, however, as she heard the american man running around the corner. Panic surged through her, and she ducked behind the box, out of sight. 

“Doctor!” he called, and the woman opened the door. “I’m sorry Doctor, I lost her.”

“Ah, that’s alright.” the woman, Doctor?, had a yorkshire accent, and didn’t seem upset at the american’s failure. “I just had her here, actually. She threw a pen at me, which I thought was a bit rude.”

‘A pen lid. And I didn’t throw it at you.’ Janet thought, but she bit her tongue. A metallic whirring sounded, and there was silence. Janet strained her ears to hear if they were saying anything, when a hand caught her shoulder. Janet yelped. “Oh, brilliant.” said the woman, poking her head around the box. The man pulled her round towards the door, and Janet struggled free. “Look, Janet, I know you’re scared, but we’re honestly not gonna hurt you!” said the woman, smiling encouragingly. 

“Bullshit” said Janet, glaring at the man.

“She’s right, we’re trying to help you,” he said. 

“You were trying to kidnap me.”

“Okay, let's all take a step back.” said the woman. “Hi, I’m the Doctor, this is Jack.” Jack smiled, and did a little half salute.

“I know it’s weird and scary, but you need to come inside, just for a minute.”

“No,” said Janet, a little shrilly. “I’m not going inside your weird fucked up box, and I’m not going with either of you, and I'm not listening to you anymore, because that is how people get kidnapped and murdered”

“You didn’t mention she was so angry.” said Jack to the Doctor, and Janet glared at him again. 

“Of course I’m angry! You pretended to be a CAMHS worker to steal me out of class, and put me in a box that shouldn’t exist! It’s bigger on the inside! I feel like I’m in a fucking coma!”

Janet’s tirade was cut short when her left hand started bubbling. Janet looked down in horror at the twisting lumps growing under her skin, and rounded furiously on the pair. “What did you do to my hand!” she cried, tears forming in her eyes. “Doctor..” Jack warned, eyeing Janet's hand with apprehension. 

“Yes, I know!” said the Doctor, fiddling with her metal rod, and pointing it at Janet. A thick green worm burst through Janet’s skin, which then sealed itself like nothing had ever happened. “I’ve got it!” said Jack, leaping forward and grabbing the worm, holding it at arm's length. “God, these things are disgusting.” 

”Now do you believe we’re trying to help you?” asked the Doctor, moving aside as Jack backed into the box, still eyeing the worm with disgust.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.” Janet whispered, running her fingers over the skin of her hand. “What was it?”

“An alien parasite.” answered Jack, emerging from the box wiping his hands on a rag. 

Janet screamed with her mouth closed. 

“No, sorry, but no, absolutely not, no way, I'm not doing any of this, I’m going back to class.”

Janet turned to walk away. 

“What, not even a thank you?” She heard the american accent behind her, and she flipped him off over her shoulder. 

Janet started to feel a little dizzy, but she brushed it off as the anxiety. She kept walking, and she heard the Doctors’ voice behind her, sounding a little echoey. 

“I’m on it.” she heard Jack say, and she heard his footsteps down the corridor before she collapsed. 

She woke up on cold metal. “What the fuck?” her eyes adjusted to being awake, and she realised she was in the box again, lying on some weird shallow stairs. “Oh, come on!”

She sat up, and felt something heavy shift on top of her. “What’s on me?” She moved the heavy fabric around until she saw a shiny brass button, and she pushed the coat off her. 

“Hey!” she heard Jack say, and he picked the coat off the floor and put it on, dusting it off as he looked at her. 

Janet stood up. The woman, the Doctor, was standing at the control table thing, fiddling with buttons and levers, and Jack was stood against a column that looked suspiciously like a salt lamp. “Why do you dress like you’re a museum display?” Janet asked, her anger and fear beating her politeness down with a bat. 

“It’s my uniform. Cap’n Jack Harkness, at your service.” 

Janet stood up and shoved past him. “Yeah, well you can go be at your own service.”

“Ha! What happened to quiet and scared?”

“It got kidnapped.” 

Janet opened the door, and almost fell out. Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the room, and shut the door firmly again. “That’s why we don’t do that.” he said, letting her go.

“Those were stars.” Janet said, her knees suddenly weak. “How were those stars, are we in space?”

“Yep!” said the Doctor, walking away from the control column. “We’re travelers in time and space. This is my ship, the TARDIS.”

Janet sat down against another salt lamp pillar. “Oh, I’m gonna wake up with an IV drip.” she murmured, her eyes closed. “I’m being fed through a tube right now, I just know it.”

“Hang on a minute,” she said, opening her eyes again. “Why did you come to my school? If you can go anywhere in time and space, why come to the worst bit of england?” 

“You had an alien parasite.” 

“So? Loads of people get sick, why did you come to me specifically?”

“I was in the area, picking up Jack.” 

Janet looked at him. “He doesn’t look very local.” 

“Look, you just have to trust us on this.”

“Why! You have done nothing trustworthy today.” 

“We just saved you from an alien parasite!” said the Doctor indignantly, as Jack snickered.

“That’s not trustworthy, that’s even more weird! My hand wasn’t doing anything till you showed up!” Janet looked at Jack, who was still laughing. “”What's wrong with Captain Camhs?”

Jack swallowed his laughter. “Doctor, I have got to show her the Hub.”

“What?”

Janet stood up, and Jack sat on the steps and patted the metal next to him. Janet hesitantly obliged. “I work at a government department in Cardiff, dealing with aliens.” Janet scoffed, but Jack shushed her and kept talking. “Cardiff is built on a rift in space and time, and alien stuff falls through and gets washed up in the city. Torchwood is dedicated to-” 

Janet snorted. “Torchwood? That sounds like a strip club” 

“Hey! Take it up with Queen Victoria, she named it.” 

“Jesus, how old are you?”

“Far too old.” piped up the Doctor, busy waving her metal stick at the worm, which had been shoved in a jar.

“And looking good for it, dontcha think?”

Janet looked at him blankly. 

“Fine, forget it. Queen Victoria created Torchwood to defend England against aliens, mainly her.” Jack pointed at the Doctor.

“That was just a big misunderstanding.” said the Doctor. 

“But she’s human?”

“Don’t.” advised Jack. 

Janet groaned. “Fine. So she’s an alien, you’re as old as queen victoria, we’re in space- in a spaceship- and you live in Cardiff, yeah?” 

“Yeah, that’s about it. And I can’t die.” 

“Oh piss off.”

“It’s true!  Doctor, tell her!”

“It’s true.” said the Doctor, not paying much attention.  

“Okay, whatever.” said Janet. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I wanna show you the hub, in Cardiff, where I work. You seem like someone we could use.”

“Like in the staff way, or in the organ harvesty way?” Janet asked.

“Staff way.” Jack laughed. 

“Fine, but I want to go straight home afterwards.”

Jack didn’t say anything, just stood up. “Doctor, could you drop us off in Cardiff?”

“Course Captain. I am getting funny readings off this worm though, I’d keep an eye on her if I were you.”

The Doctor flipped a lever with what was, in Janet’s mind, far too much force, and a throbbing hum filled the room. After a few seconds, the room thumped, and the humming stopped. 

“Home sweet home.” said Jack, and Janet couldn’t tell if he sounded sarcastic or just american. 

Janet followed him out the doors, and looked around at the windy square. “Come on, we’ll take the tourists' entrance.” he said, and Janet followed him, against her better judgement, to the big silver statue in the center of the space. They stood on a big stone square, and Jack offered his arm. “Are you really that old?” Janet asked. 

“Fine, don’t take it.” Jack said, withdrawing his elbow. The square began to move, and Janet grabbed onto his arm like a vice. 

“Sorry.” she said, clinging on to him like an upright koala, and the lower the square got the tighter she held on. 

A piercing shriek echoed off the stone walls, and Janet looked around to see a pterodactyl swooping in the air. She closed her eyes. When the stone hit the ground, Janet stepped off with shaky legs, grateful to be on solid ground. “Why do you have a pterodactyl?” she whispered. 

“She’s a pet.” said a welsh voice, and Janet turned to see a man in a suit standing nearby. “I didn’t realise you’d be back today.” he said, turning to Jack. 

“Oh, I can never leave my favourite team for too long.” he said, putting his arm round the man and clapping his shoulder. 

“Oh, Jack” said another voice, from a higher floor. A woman’s head popped over the railings. “We’ve had some funny rift readings, I thought you might want to have a look.” The woman’s eyes shifted to Janet. “Oh, hello!” Janet waved cautiously. 

“Tosh, I’ll be right up. Ianto, do me a favour, show her around?” Jack seemed in his element, and Janet stood silently, watching. “Course, sir.” said Ianto, half smiling.

Jack turned around, already halfway to the metal stairs. “Now what have I told you about the sir?” he said, mock serious. “That’s insubordination.”

“Then file a complaint, sir.” said Ianto, and Jack laughed as he walked up the stairs. “Toshiko, talk to me..”

Ianto turned to Janet. “Are you alright?”

Janet nodded. “Right. I’m Ianto Jones.”

“I’m Janet.”

“Okay. First things first. Would you like a drink? Coffee, tea?”

“No thanks.” said Janet

“Okay. I’ll give you the tour.”

Ianto led Janet towards the same stairs Jack had walked up, but before they could go up a circle of wall rolled away to reveal a door. Janet felt like she couldn't take one more surprise. “Oh, you would not believe the cheek of some people!” A woman with brown hair walked out of the circle door, waving her hands, “Honestly-” The woman saw Janet, stood beside Ianto, and stopped talking. “Hello.” she said, and her voice was suddenly very gentle. “You lost, sweetheart?”

“No. Jack brought me here.” Janet said. 

The woman looked surprised. “Right! Ianto?” She looked to her colleague for help. 

“I don’t know either.” he said

“Sorry. I’m not really sure why either.” said Janet

“Oh no, don't be sorry.” said Gwen. She turned and jogged up the stairs. Ianto gestured towards the same stairs, and he and Janet ascended too. Gwen was talking animatedly to Jack, over the head of the woman from before, who smiled at Janet as she went past. Ianto led Janet past another desk, empty this time, and stopped her at an archway. He poked his head over a set of railings, and then turned back to Janet. “You can come in.” he said kindly. Janet followed Ianto down the white tiled steps, and almost bumped into a dark haired man in a lab coat, carrying a tray of what looked like vials of blood.

“Right, what is that?”

“Janet, this is Owen.” said Ianto, expertly ignoring Owen’s rudeness. 

“Hello.” Janet waved hesitantly, and Owen just smiled half heartedly. “Ianto, no offence mate, isn't she a bit young for you.”

“Dickhead.”

Ianto chuckled, and Janet bit back a smile at Owen’s offended expression. 

“Charming.”

Jack’s voice came from the main room. “Ianto, Janet, get in here. Owen, you too.”

They climbed back up the stairs and walked back out through the archway. Jack was standing with Gwen, and the other woman had spun her chair around to face them. Janet stood with Ianto and bit her cheek. 

“What, you prefer him to me?” Jack asked, feigning offence.

“Well, given that he’s never broken into my school.”

“I didn’t break in!” said Jack, indignant.

“Did you come in through the front door?”

Jack considered. “A front door, yeah.”

“A front door other than the front door of that weird box?”

“I stopped you from dying.”

“No you didn't, that woman did the actual saving, you just chased me around for a bit.”

Owen stepped in between Jack and Janet. “Sorry Jack, just to clarify, have you kidnapped a child?”

Both Jack and Janet thought about it, and Janet started giggling. Jack started laughing too, and they stood and laughed so hard they struggled to breathe, much to Owen’s confusion. “Oh my god” choked out Janet, before collapsing into fresh peals of laughter. “Oh my god, you actually did.”

Jack gasped with laughter. “I’m so sorry.” he managed, before laughter took over again. 

The pair laughed until they couldn’t anymore, and Owen looked at Jack sceptically. “Jack?” asked the woman, who Janet thought was called Toshiko. 

“Sorry Tosh. Right, everyone, this is Janet. Janet, this is Tosh, Gwen, Ianto, Owen.” He pointed at the torchwood members as he spoke, and Janet smiled at them. “Janet, I need to talk to you, in my office.” Jack’s tone had become suddenly serious, and Janet's newfound sense of comfort in the hub disintegrated. “Right, okay.” she said. She could hear the others talking behind her, as she followed Jack into his office, but she couldn't hear what they were saying. Jack shut the door behind her, and gestured for her to sit down. 

“Janet, I’m really sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Janet asked, dread filling her chest.

“That parasite that was in your hand.”

Janet nodded.

“You need to be calm when I say this.”

Janet nodded her understanding, crushing fear filling her lungs. 

“It isn’t a parasite that can survive in humans.”

Janet froze. She was so confused, and she wanted to ask questions, but Jack kept talking.

“You aren’t alien, you’re from earth, you just aren’t human. You’re a kind of android.” 

Janet didn’t say anything. She just swallowed thickly.

“You were built for a war that never happened, and you were deposited at a random point in earth’s history. There are thousands of you. You were given false memories, and woven into life in this time-”

“No.” Janet was filled with shock and anger in equal measure. “I remember being little, I remember being alive, I’m just a person.”

Jack shook his head, and Janet’s anger won out over her body. 

“You’re lying!” she said. “I know my memories are real, I have scars. I have actual scars on my body, I remember putting them there, and if I look there they are, you can’t tell me that’s not real.”

“You’ve been on earth for 5 years.” said Jack. “Are any of the scars from before then?”

Janet thought about it, and stood up, even angrier. “You’re lying, I know I’m human, of course I’m human, I’m going home.”

“How, you’re in Cardiff, no money and no car.” said Jack 

“I’ll fucking walk, I don’t care, I’m going home.”

Janet made for the door but Jack stopped her.

“You can’t go home, that’s what I’m saying. The parasite was essentially a physical computer virus, it wiped all the integration circuits. All the information of your past has been wiped, along with your present. I’m sorry, but you don’t have a home.”

Janet wanted to cry, but no tears came. She felt like her stomach was tearing itself into ribbons, but outwardly she couldn’t react. 

“I don’t believe you.” she said finally.

“Ring your mum.” Jack said, and his voice was heavy.

“I will, I will ring her, and she’ll tell me I’m not a robot.” Janet said, pulling her phone out of her blazer pocket angrily. “Hi mama. What do you mean, mama it’s me. Your daughter? I haven't got the wrong number, mama, it’s me. You have two daughters, mama it’s not funny anymore, it’s me.”

Jack watched sadly as Janet spoke to a mother who no longer remembered her. Janet glared at him. “She hung up.” she said, and the tears still couldn’t form. Jack didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say. 

“Captain? How come I can still remember them? Why did it not delete my ‘wrong memories’?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. But you have a choice. The Doctor and I, we’re travelers through time, and since we’re both immortal, we tend to get around. Janet, when the Doctor scanned the parasite it was way older than we thought. It might have wiped some of your human reflexes that were wired in. She thinks you might be immortal too. So you gotta choose. You can either go with the Doctor in the TARDIS as her companion, zip around the universe, save planets, almost die, or you can stay with me at Torchwood. Either way, whichever you choose, the one you’d choose would look after you. Because if you’re immortal, you might not age. You might be stuck as a 16 year old forever.”

Janet took this information in. “Do you just stay in Cardiff? Like, all the time?”

Jack rolled up his sleeve. “This is a vortex manipulator. It’s like a wearable tardis, but it works just as well. I can go wherever and whenever I like, and you could come too.”

Janet thought for a little while longer. “If it’s okay, I’ll stay with you. You seem nicer. And Cardiff is cool.”

Jack nodded, then stood up. “Great. There’s a few things that need to be sorted out. Tosh will need to make you a staff profile, and we need Owen to take a look at you, figure out exactly what that parasite did.”

Janet nodded. The idea of joining torchwood seemed exciting, but she was still upset about her family. As they left Jack’s office, they bumped into Ianto. He looked at her pityingly. ‘I must look terrible’ she thought. “Are you sure I can’t get you that drink?” he asked, and Janet nodded. “Do you have hot chocolate?” she asked quietly. 

Ianto nodded. “I’m sure I can find some.” he smiled, and he turned to Jack. “Sir.” he said, nodding at him, and turned towards the ground floor. 

Jack rolled his eyes, and they walked along the corridor to Tosh’s desk. “Tosh.” Jack said, and Tosh turned around to look at him. “I need you to make a profile for Janet. She’s joining the team. Strictly Hub only- no missions.”

“It’ll be nice to have company when everyone’s out.” Tosh said, and turned back to her computer. 

“Don’t you need my details?” Janet asked, and Tosh shook her head. 

“Already got them.” she said, typing furiously. 

“Come on.” said Jack, and he led her back to Owen’s room.

“Okay, up on the table Janet.”

Janet did as she was told, and found the table wasn’t as cold as she had assumed it would be. “We’ll start with a blood test, that way we can get everything else done while the sample gets analysed.”

“Okay. You’re much nicer when you’re wearing a stethoscope.”

Owen smiled sardonically. “Yeah, call it professionalism. Sleeve up.”

Janet winced as Owen drew blood, and pulled her sleeve down without looking at the puncture mark. “I don’t like needles.” she said as Owen looked at her.

He decanted the blood into a vial, and picked up an object that looked a little like a thick, metal magnifying glass. 

“This is a sort of portable x-ray.” he explained, switching a knob at the side. 

“Uh, we think.” added Jack. “It came through the rift a couple of months back, still not totally sure what it’s used for.”

“Your bedside manner is really terrible.” said Owen, scanning Janet up and down with the x-ray.

“I can confirm that.” Ianto poked his head over the railings, holding a steaming mug. Janet watched as he walked down the stairs, understanding dawning on her face. “Thank you” she said, as Ianto handed her the mug. The x-ray machine beeped, and Owen looked at Jack with apprehension. “Jack, her bones are made of metal.”

“Aha.” said Jack. “Then that means..” He snatched up a scalpel from a metal try and ran it across the back of Janet’s hand. 

“Ow! What the fuck!” Janet looked down at the wound,and watched in horror as her hand knit itself back together. “No, that’s worse, what the hell is that.” 

“Jack,” said Owen cautiously. “What is she?”

“She’s part of a military troop from the future, stealth soldiers. They were scattered all across earth and programmed to think they were human, which she did until about two minutes ago. She’s not dangerous, but she is immortal, so I’m consigning her to torchwood so I can keep an eye on her.”

“Oh!” said Ianto. “We’ve got the storage room in the vaults that’s been empty for a couple of months. I’ll phone around, see if anyone’s got a bed going spare.”

“Good man. Owen, let me know when the blood comes back.”

Janet left the medical room, rubbing the spot where the cut had been, and sat awkwardly on the sofa, watching everyone go about their jobs. 

She felt the sofa dip beside her, and looked round to see Gwen. “It can all seem a bit mad at first, can’t it.” she said, her voice kindly. 

“Yeah. It’s not even like I can leave. I haven’t got anywhere else to go.” The tears finally came, and Janet collapsed into sobs. 

[time jump]

“Captain? Captain?” Janet’s voice echoed around the metal room, and she winced at the volume. “Seriously where are you.” she whispered. A panel on the metal floor shuffled sideways, and Janet walked over to it. “God's sake.” she said, and she went to kick it out the way when the metal door slid open. Janet jumped, and stood on top on the panel, trapping Jack under the floor. Stuck in the vents, Jack strained his ears, hoping that Janet wasn’t about to get her first taste of his least favourite aliens. 

“Intruder, intruder!” the Dalek said, it’s robotic voice chilling Jack’s blood from his hiding place. 

Janet was terrified, but she knew there was nothing they could do to her. She decided to show off a little bit, and she pulled a blue and silver gun from her pocket. 

“Weapon detected, exterminate, exterminate!” Jack heard the Dalek firing, and it killed him that he couldn’t help Janet. He heard her groan quietly as the rays hit her, but of course she didn’t collapse. Her body was built differently to his. “Okay you B-grade R2-D2” Janet said, still not moving from Jack’s panel. “It might not look like it, but that really, really hurt, and now I’m really upset and holding a gun.” She fired shot after shot through the Dalek’s metal exterior, and finally stepped off Jack’s panel. 

“I hate you so much.” she said, helping him out of the floor. 

“Why?”

Janet adopted a poor american accent. “Oh it’s such a great trip, oh we’ll have so much fun, oh we’ll be the only ones on the whole planet.” She dropped the accent, and glared harder. “You have a fucking time machine, how hard is it.”

“If you didn’t wanna get shot so much, you could let me help sometimes.”

Janet rolled her eyes. “Yeah, some human shield you are. It’s easier and quicker if you aren’t involved, and I don't like sitting and waiting for you to wake up again.”

Janet’s face shifted as she said that, and Jack felt ill. She was far too young to have gone through so much. He often thought she saw herself as a soldier, there was no need to rest, her body didn't need it. She got tougher each day. The loss of torchwood had hit her hard, and watching Jack become mortal had been more trying on her than she would ever admit, and since then she had done everything possible to avoid his dying. Privately, in her own head, Janet was afraid that he was on a timer; that he only had so many deaths left and one day he just wouldn’t wake up. She wasn’t going to let him waste a life on sparing her a few seconds of pain. 

“I tell you what.” he said, fiddling with his wrist strap. “We’ll go somewhere good, really good this time.”

“Yeah? Where’re we going?”

“How about a space cruise? Rose was always talking about how good the views were when the Doctor took her.”

“That sounds cool.” Janet said, and the promise of relaxation softened her a little. 

“Okay, hold on.”. Janet grabbed Jack’s arm, and they disappeared from the room. 

They arrived in a glittering lobby that looked like a fancy hotel from a film. “What year is it?” Janet asked Jack, as she smoothed out her skirt. She felt very underdressed. 

“I don't know. Around the 4000 mark, I think, I can never be sure.”

“Woah.”

The lobby was empty, except for a man standing behind a desk wearing a suit. Jack walked over to him, and Janet followed on his heels. Even after all the danger and the travelling and the death, Janet still followed behind him. The soldier and her Captain. 

Jack leaned on the desk, and the man looked up from what he was doing and smiled. 

“Welcome to the Queen Mary eight, can I take your names?”

“The name’s Cap’n Jack Harkness.” said Jack, flirting shamelessly. Janet bit her tongue to stop from laughing. No matter where they went, who they spoke to, Jack could always find someone to chat up. 

“I’m Janet.” she said, nudging Jack subtly in the ribs. 

“Nice to meet you both. My name's Queneth, I’ll just quickly check the system for your booking.” He typed on something that looked a little like a computer keyboard, but more round and with more buttons. “Hmm. Neither of you are on here.. Did you book in advance?”

Jack looked at Janet, and Janet got the message. “We definitely did, I remember. I couldn’t have forgotten, the system was so easy. Unless I did it wrong, oh, I said you should do it instead of me!” Janet turned to Jack with apologetic eyes, and Queneth stuttered. “No no no, I’m sure that’s not what happened. We’ve been having a few administrative errors of late, I’m sure it’s just a little glitch in the system, nothing more. You go through, I’ll update the rosta.” Queneth pressed a button on the desk, and the large door set into the wall opened to reveal a dining room full of other passengers. Janet smiled at Queneth, and Jack winked as he walked passed, leaving Queneth flushed as the doors shut behind them. “Screw immortality, that’s your real superpower.” Janet laughed. She and Jack rarely went to places like the ship, and the warmth and the glamour peeled her harshness away like paper. She was still hurting, and still full of grief, but she was relaxing, and a hint of her old self was showing through. “Can I help it if I’m irresistible?” Jack asked, striking a dramatic pose. 

“You can help winking.” she responded. She looked around at the other passengers. They were all stood around like mannequins, drinking wine out of sparkling glasses and wearing beautiful clothes that made Janet’s pleated skirt and denim jacket look shabbier than usual. Jack didn’t seem to mind how much he stood out in his coat and shirt, and was busy making eyes at a group of girls who were giggling and batting their eyelashes in his direction. 

Janet followed his eyes and groaned. ���Oh for the lord's sake” she whispered, and dragged Jack over to a window, much to the girls’ disappointment. She was tempted to glare over her shoulder at them, but her jealousy of Jack’s admirers had always been a secret, and she didn’t want to reveal it now. She wasn’t romantically interested in him, the age thing unnerved her, but the two of them were, as far as she knew, the only two immortals on earth, and she didn’t like the idea of sharing the only other person who would live as long as she would. 

“Spoilsport.” joked Jack, and they stood looking at the dark, starry skies outside the window. “You see that cluster of stars there?” he said, pointing to a little group as small as pinpricks in the sky. Janet nodded. “I used to go there all the time when I was in the time agency, take a bit of a break.” “With John.” Janet said, and Jack nodded. That killed the conversation somewhat, as each thought about the last time they had seen the captain, and the loss and fallout that had come from it. 

They just stood, staring at the beautiful skyscape in silence.

“So what about earth?” asked Janet eventually. “Is earth still there in the 4000’s?”

Jack smiled. “Yeah, course it is. The ship’s called the Mary eight. No other planet would care about your monarchs.”

“Well yeah, but is it one of those new earths, or is it actual earth.”

“Oh, well it was probably built on a new earth. I think earth one is a sort of retirement planet, it’s not that interesting. And you’ve got tectonic plates, that’s not very attractive.”

“Ah.” said Janet knowingly. “We’re the last crumpled planet on the shelf.”

“Exactly.” Jack laughed.

The rest of the evening went fairly well, they danced, they ate food that was simultaneously strange and familiar. The girls Jack had attracted some hours ago had found their own partners, but still snuck looks in his direction as they spun on the dance floor. Janet just rolled her eyes. Soon it was time to retire to their rooms, which would prove to be a challenge for Janet and Jack, but as the wide double doors opened, revealing a sparkling corridor, an alarm began blaring, and the doors slammed shut again. Jack and Janet, amidst the panic of the guests, ran to the windows and, peering against the glass, saw fire spreading from the end of the ship. 

“Shit!” said Janet, and Jack jumped up, pulling her along to a gap in between two large flowering plants. He fiddled with a iridescent blue screen, and a door slid open, concealed in the wall. He pushed Janet through it as the ship’s crew entered the dining room, and before the door could shut he beckoned to a woman nearby, standing in a beautiful blue dress and fiddling nervously with her pearls. She followed him eagerly, and the three stood in the electrical cavity of the ship. “Jack,” Janet asked, eyeing the woman warily. “Why couldn’t we just stay in there? We aren’t any safer here.”

“No, but I don’t think they’re going to be telling the whole truth, and I want to know what’s going on for myself. These ships don’t use combustion engines, the only way it’s on fire is if it’s arson.”

“Lovely.” said Janet, and they set off through the inner corridors of the ship, the posh woman in tow. Jack led them through the corridors with precision, and Janet followed, checking periodically that the woman was still close behind. Eventually Jack led them to what looked like the captain’s level, only to turn around and push them straight back the other way. “What is it, what?” asked Janet, twisting her head to try and see over Jack's shoulder. 

“Change of plan.” he said, taking Janet’s hand. “We’re going to the survival room, it’s worse than I thought.”

“Survival room?” asked the woman, and Jack nodded.

“Every ship this size has one, it’ll be somewhere. And everyone else is probably there by now.”

He took off running, dragging Janet behind him, and the woman, Celia, followed carefully. They raced through the ship, turning this way and that, and eventually they found a set of metal stairs. They ran down them gratefully, Celia a little way behind them. 

Jack and Janet stood in the lower rooms of the ship, green light around them. A siren sounded somewhere and they looked at each other skeptically. “It’s you!” Janet said. “Every time we go somewhere, no matter how peaceful it is, everything goes to hell! It’s you, you’re like some nightmarish electromagnet.” 

Jack just scoffed, and they glanced down the corridor. “Hurry up!” Janet yelled, her voice bouncing off the metal grated walls. Muffled grumbles came in reply. Finally Celia rounded the corner, gingerly clutching her dress. “Hell on earth, can you hurry the fuck up please?” Janet said, and Jack knocked her arm. 

“I’m sorry, but this is a very expensive dress-” she said, still moving slowly. Janet grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her through the corridors. “I’m sure you’ll be a delight for the necrophiliacs, hurry up” she snapped, cutting her protests short. Jack led the way through the maze of corridors, ducking under jets of steam bursting from broken pipes, and Janet followed closely, still dragging Celia. “You know, when your friend said to follow him, this wasn’t what I thought we would be doing.” 

Janet smiled. “Yeah, I think you might be the only person he’s ever said that to who didn’t end up doing that.” she said, and walked into Jack’s back. Celia piled into the back of Janet, and the three of them clumped together awkwardly. “What is it?” Janet asked, and Jack looked at her. He moved to the side, and let Janet see the electrical wires that were thrashing around like snakes in the passage. Janet sighed. “Yeah, okay.” she said, before Jack could even say anything. “And don’t come after me until it’s safe either, we’re on a time crunch.” Janet scurried into the corridor, and grabbed each wire, yelping as the electricity surged through her. She tucked the wire into the grating securely, and moved on to the next one, with Jack and Celia a few steps behind each time. Eventually, she managed to clear the corridor, and with a few unsteady steps made it to the other side. Celia ran past her, and up to a large metal door, but Jack stayed next to her. “Are you alright?” he asked, holding her shoulders securely.

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’m fine,” Janet replied dazedly. “Just a bit dizzy. Electricity is so horrible.” She shook her head, then grimaced and closed her eyes.

“Okay, here we go.” Jack scooped Janet up into his arms, and hurried down the corridor to reach the metal door that Celia was stood in front of. He banged on the door with his fist, shifting Janet's weight to one arm. “Let us in!” he shouted, and a small rat faced man pulled the door open, then closed behind them. Jack set Janet down gently, and she stood next to him, his arm still around her shoulders. 

The room was full of rich travelers from all planets, all dressed in their finery and thoroughly shaken up. Janet slowly recovered her ability to stand without swaying, and looked around the room. Most people she looked at were either talking amongst themselves, or staring silently into space, fear and confusion written on their faces. A few were glancing at Jack, Celia being one of them, and some were angrily looking around the room, as though the sudden destruction of the ship's upper layers was simply a dissatisfying part of the experience. Janet’s eyes fell on a figure standing in the corner, dressed in black. “Captain.” she whispered, nudging him in the ribs. She nodded her head towards the figure, who had rippling green skin, and Jack kept his eyes fixed on them. They stood very still, almost unnaturally still, then slowly began to walk to the middle of the room, where Janet and Jack were standing. Janet put an arm subtly in front of Jack, which collided with Jack’s arm as he attempted to do the same. They looked at each other. “You aren’t going first.” Jack said quietly, eyes flicking between Janet and the figure. “You’ve died way too many times, just let me take it.” Janet said, taking a tiny step forward. 

“I can handle it.” Jack said firmly. 

“Doesn’t mean you need to, just let me.”

“Is this loyalty or just stubbornness?”

“Same thing.” hissed Janet, still trying to nudge Jack behind her. Jack was on the verge of picking her up and moving her forcibly behind him, when Janet stopped nudging him. “Jack.” she whispered, and flicked her eyes to the figure. They were stood directly in front of them, with a black leather bag over their shoulder. No one spoke. 

“Can we help you?” Janet ventured, attempting to break the silence. Quicker than anyone Janet had ever seen move, the figure reached into the bag and pulled out a crossbow, which they then fired into Janet’s chest. Several passengers screamed, and Janet’s knees buckled with the pain. She grabbed Jack’s arm in panic, and he caught her as he fell. Janet could hear him shouting at the figure, but she wasn’t clear on what he was saying. Breathing shallow breaths, she stood up gingerly and planted her feet. “Do I look,” she spat, pulling the crossbow bolt from between her ribs and letting it clatter to the ground, ignoring the screaming pain in her chest, “like the sort of person who dies?”

The figure took a step back, shocked and confused, and Janet lifted her shirt to show the wound knitting itself back together with frightening speed. 

“Excellent” said the figure, and their voice sounded like a hiss. “More deaths,” they lifted the crossbow again. “more money.” They fired a second bolt at Janet, and Jack pushed her aside, letting the bolt sink deep into his stomach. He dropped to the floor, clutching his abdomen, and Janet knelt down hurriedly next to him. “I’m sorry, this is going to really hurt.” she whispered, and tore the bolt back out of his flesh. Jack made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a shout, and Janet grimaced. “Sorry, sorry. I told you to just let me take it, it would be over for me by now.” She tucked her hand under his head as she spoke, cushioning it against the hard metal floor, while the other hand fluttered helplessly around the wound. Jack’s eyes closed, and Janet sat patiently on her haunches, ignoring the aching cold attacking her knees. She heard a click behind her, and clenched her jaw. “You fire that damn thing at me again and I will shove it up your arse, don’t fucking try me.” she said, not looking up. Jack took a shuddering breath and shot upwards, arms flailing. Janet grabbed his shoulders and Jack held her arms tightly, getting his bearings. 

[bnrobertson1]

LET’S ALL GET BRAINWASHED!

Upon watching the appropriately hypnotic documentaries Holy Hell and The Vow, I find myself pondering a question I never thought I would as someone who has seen Rocky IV over thirty times: maybe brainwashing isn’t so bad?

“No,” you’re probably thinking, “you gorgeous idiot, brainwashing is bad. Because Nazis and Commies and George Orwell and government experiments and stuff.” And yes, there are certainly some very bad things that have (and will) come from coerced conviction. Giving one person or system total control of anything will inevitably lead to a flawed system as people themselves are inherently flawed, and those willing to coerce aren’t exactly known for their restraint or tact, especially when given virtually unlimited power over someone else. But between watching the aforementioned documentaries, binging Alex Garland’s superb Devs, and reading Huxley’s Brave New World for the first time*, I’m starting to think that the dangers of brainwashing have distorted humanity’s views, in the process obscuring its vast potential benefits for society at large.  

*No, I didn’t just take Psych 101 recently. Why do you ask?

So how could I be advocating for something with such potential risks? Well, for starters: it works! * Whether it’s stopping smoking or helping relieve PTSD, hypnosis has been proven to help people where other methods have failed. But that is merely scratching the surface. Consider the desperate subjects of Holy Hell and The Vow. They all have similar stories: for whatever reason, these people feel like they’re lost or lacking and are looking for something to achieve happiness, community, and/or a higher plane of consciousness. They’re seeking that thing that will make them whole- ie the journey literally everybody on earth takes at some juncture in one form or another. And- at least initially- they find it! You see, right on your TV, pure gravity-less joy illuminating their whole beings, the weight of doubt and limitation lifted. Sure, it’s doing things we may perceive as silly like singing songs about joy’s joy’s joy or stitching their cult leader a sequined Baja, but the happiness itself is nonetheless unmistakable, and leads to actual breakthroughs in cognitive ability. And with regards to the potential embarrassment, the only place where dignity and true joy are seen together are in the minds of some seriously stuffy and/or seriously shameless people.

*Used a lot of exclamation points in this piece! Apologies!

Alas, these rapturous feelings are often achieved through various shadowy systems, the masters of which are often self-fashioned messiahs who are just savvy (or manipulative) enough to tweak their followers’ brains to their liking. If this sounds similar to drugs or religion or anything else that causes a shift in consciousness, that’s because it exploits similar weaknesses in the brain to achieve the effect. Unsurprisingly, much like with drugs or religion, that initial thrill wears off, creating a desperation to recapture it. And this is where things usually go bad, leading to brandings or other bizarre/ illegal rituals that typically serve the insatiable ego of the cult leader*, as to be one of these people, you need charisma, and the other side of that coin is narcissism.  Which, indeed, makes it sound bad- at first. But compare it to human design.

*They themselves trying to recapture that initial high of being praised like a deity

Because what is more “brainwashing” than our own genetics? Are our emotions, the very real byproduct of those genetics, not the epitome of a “shadowy” system? Sure, we’ve studied them, but we seem to know virtually nothing about this beyond-complex system. And they’re nearly impossible to explore objectively because they’re nestled where we can’t sense them- specifically inside of our heads- all the time! They make us into contradictory vessels that constantly work against our own self-interest, slaves to neurological impulses and reactions we cannot control, because if we contradict them, they will punish us with anxiety, depression, or another litany of ways our own system is designed to biochemically weaponize itself against us. They push us to anchor ourselves with toxic relationships, ones in which the sporadic lapse of suffering feels like actual joy.

Sure, our cursory knowledge of this can lead to a lot of conscious-altering fun in the short run (booze, VR, one-night stands), but it’s akin to watching a robot bang itself in the head with a robot hammer in hopes of a brief kaleidoscopic wave* appearing on its robot LCD display. We get a euphoric rush when we do things that destroy our bodies and pangs of regret when we do what’s actually in our best interests. Our intellect is prisoner to our emotions, a never-ending strife that tears us apart. We use our immense brainpower to obsess over utter horseshit** as opposed to unlocking its immeasurable potential for something that would benefit both us and society as a whole.

*I assume this is like a bong hit for robots.

**Welcome to my blog!

It needn’t be this way. There are practices and systems- and yes, some would call them “brainwashing”- that fight these self-destructive, doubt-ridden processes directly, rewiring our reward system to let us feel great while actually using the entirety of our capabilities to achieve something more than what makes us feel good for a few fleeting moments. What if we could escape the scarcity-based laws of diminishing returns by programming our brains to experience things with such purity that every time we do something feels like the first time, thus transcending our brain’s magnetism to stimuli that inevitably make things less special the more you do them? But, as has been seen, these systems have their own problems*.

*Most notably, making Hall of Fame baseball players want to kill the Queen of England.

Take the big one people associate with brainwashing: the forfeiture of personal freedom- or its very root, free will. And it’s true, by giving your brain over to something, at some level you lose control of it. But doesn’t that happen anyway? And for that matter, what about free will? I’m not suggesting it doesn’t actually exist*, but as humans there are a very finite amount of likely responses one can have to a situation. It maybe a lot, but it’s finite. Sure, you can react to something so unexpectedly as to appear random, arguably the most “free” thing there is- like when someone punches you in the face you could decide to call Pizza Hut or when you hear REO Speedwagon you can lick the sidewalk**, but is this seemingly “endless” range of options actually freedom? Also, even in modern America, where “freedom” is in our birth certificate multiple times, we’re not actually free to, for instance, say whatever we want to say. This has been demonstrated ad nauseam over the last few decades with the rise of cancel culture***. “But wait,” you interject smugly****, “we have freedom of speech, not freedom of consequence.” Excellent point. But couldn’t someone technically- as in physically- pass out flyers saying “Pol Pot is a pussy” in mid-century Cambodia? Or yell anything they wanted in St. Peter’s Square during Stalin’s reign?  There were no mandatory mouth shackles I’m aware of? Is that also freedom of speech? Sure, the consequences of those actions would be far more dire- life instead of livelihood- but they’re nonetheless consequences, restricting people in their potential actions.   

*Although I seriously doubt it does

**This actually makes total sense.

***I’m not saying actions shouldn’t have consequences, or that the cancel culture is a bad thing necessarily. But it absolutely is a form of censorship- ie, a repression of our natural freedoms. (Don’t cancel me!)

****You smug, cancelling fuck!

But let’s posit we are free. While we we still would have a limited range of choices, when aggregated, they lead to a world of (virtual- but not actual) infinite possibility, but who really takes advantage of that? Isn’t everybody so wrapped up in the battle between thought and feeling that potential is more of a cruel, imprisoning tease than something actually achievable?* Due to this, we’re all pretty much stuck in our lanes no matter what, programmed to do what we’ll do. That “crazy” dude you knew in college will fall into his pattern soon enough. You may not perceive it as a pattern, but it is. So, while freedom is something that makes us feel awesome saying**, in reality it’s so limited as to not really exist. Every “free” adult I know either works 40+ hours a week or is beholden to some other sort of mechanism that could be taken away in an instant.  

*To paraphrase Creepy Keith from The Vow: “Hell is on your last day of earth meeting the person you could have become.”

**And the best George Michael song

But what about “Truth”? Well, isn’t objectivity in itself kind of “brainwashing?” For example, color doesn’t actually exist- it’s just how human’s perceive different wavelengths of light. Or take the fact that eye-witness accounts are typically untrustworthy because of the brain’s shortcomings. Doesn’t the theory of relativity prove that truth is inherently, well, relative? And it applies more to than just personal experience- in a societal sense, what more is morality than a sort of temporal societal brainwashing? Or a system of right and wrong based in relativity? You may feel bad when you sleep around on your wife, or steal a Pinto, but really, those are just things society has essentially brainwashed you to believe are bad. And those brainwashers are doing it because it serves their best interests for you to create more consumers and not steal their shit. In 200 years, when the only occupation is “Water Thief,” the people who survive will be those who get a rush of Dopamine when they swipe a bottle of Fuji from the weak-ass babies.

I could go on.

And will!

Technology both complicates the topic of brainwashing… and makes it more relevant. Netflix’s The Social Dilemma is a pretty bad use of 90 minutes but not because it isn’t timely*. The film explores how reliability on all things tech and the dawn of personalized digital echo chambers have made us victims to our own biologically-wired confirmation bias. Thus, technology is using your own biological (and I stress this again, because brainwashing plays on the weakness of the brain) impulses to reward “social” behavior in its attempt for popularity, something the brain associates with procreation.

*The movie sucks because 1/3 or so of it is a weird parallel story that needlessly dramatizes the points the film is discussing. Perhaps it makes it more digestible for some, but I felt it forced and infantilizing. Plus, it stars Pete from Mad Men (in three roles!) and the shit-head son from Righteous Gemstones which kind of takes you out of the appropriate headspace for watching what otherwise could be titled “WE’RE FUCKED!: THE FILM”

If you’re curious why the separation in this country has gone from “divide” to “chasm,” it’s because Big Tech has introduced systems into our daily lives that prey on our neurological weaknesses. Our brain is defensive of our beliefs as in many ways they are the bedrock of our identity. THIS IS A DESIGN FLAW OF OUR BRAINS THAT TECH COMPANIES EXPLOIT FOR ALL THE MONIES. And it’s an insidious one at that, as it’s impossible to see from a personal perspective, so it (ironically) propagates in the soul like ink pellets in a fishbowl in a tech ad. We all feel like we’re right and everybody else that disagrees is a Bloomin' Onion of an idiot. What a fun set-up. 

Thanks to the integration of social media’s tentacles into our beings, when something comes up that challenges these beliefs, we’d rather point to another source that suggests we’re in fact just fine, thanks, instead of having to face the fact that we could be wrong and need to change if we want our sense of sanity or morality or whatever to remain intact. It’s far intellectually easier and self-defensively strategic to just find another source that tells us “Hey, that thing that’s making you question yourself? Well, it's just lying to you because of some clandestine, nefarious system” as opposed to bucking up, biting our lip, and actually self-reflecting with the hope of change. Don’t get me wrong: being wrong sucks all sorts of choad! But the grace in humanity is in its capacity to improve*. To see its wrongs, to make amends, to apologize, to forgive, to express actual humility. Sure, there is something to be said for sticking to your guns, but the reality is one man’s discipline is another’s stubbornness- and the cold, hard truth is machines are better at both of those things by a wide margin. By not embracing change’s inevitability, we all nurture a system that temporarily fluffs our ego with pride, but is incendiary to the fabric of society as a whole.    

*A close second: The Baconator

Unsurprisingly, “brainwashing” as a whole is demonized by those doing it now, entities who believe the world will be optimized when there are 10-20 companies who control every facet of life. One thing they control: a lot of the media we consume. In the 21st century, the most recognized source of brainwashing��s ill-directed damnation is probably The Matrix. In what is its most iconic* scene, protagonist Neo must choose between the red pill (representing “the hard truth that frees”) and blue pill (signifying “blissful ignorance”). Neo, of course, picks the red pill which was good for the plot of a sci-fi movie but a pretty dumb selection if you really think about it.

*A word now defined as “Most Meme’d”

When I saw the film for the first time twenty years ago, of course I would have argued for taking the red pill. I probably would even said “freedom” and “truth” multiple times while emphatically explaining my 1000% correct decision to the poor soul who offered the question, Camel Light smoke billowing out of my ear holes*. But that’s because when you’re a teenager, especially an American one, you are taught to lionize the pseudo-rebellious, who in reality are just narcissists with savior-complexes. 

*Is the “ear” the hole? Or the fleshy part? I digress…

But what if we flipped this- to value happiness over so-called freedom? This is what makes Brave New World so believable- that if humanity were somehow trained to make this fundamental intellectual shift they’d be... well, happier. This is a premise I agree with:  I’d take happiness over freedom any day of the week. If some fundamental change in thought could make digging ditches feel like I was writing the Declaration of Independence or composing Beethoven’s 5th or hugging my 12th child, I absolutely would sign up. You could argue this is selfish, but I could argue the opposite as well*.  

*Fret not, I won’t

Because the human brain is engineered to procreate, it’s meant to be social. And defensive. This makes its rewards system- the things that make us just feel good- very vulnerable to the same things that social bonds are- such as hysteria and blind hatred and a lack of empathy. The faults of Groupthink often masquerade as “freedom.” And that limits us in so many ways. One could argue that this isn’t a flaw at all, it is actually the best thing, as it has led to pretty much all human achievement up to and including love, the apex of a humanity where people banging-it-out is pretty much the point of the species. But what if there was a way to transcend biological (and consequently societal) impulse? A way to reprogram society- or its individual members so simply making more of ourselves isn’t the only point? What would that new goal be? It just seems short-sighted for humanity’s only goal to be “make more humans”- perhaps a better mission would be to make all currently living humans happier as a whole? That seems it could kill two birds with one stone*, as those who don’t have to constantly fight for survival are more likely to reproduce. Instead, we’re caught at this wretched intersection of evolutionally biology and big tech, where we have the tools to evolve the human race by evolving its mindset, but that would require a leap of faith most won’t take, because we hang onto a lot of the systems that got us this far- competitiveness, fierce protectiveness of our own genetic code- even though they simply don’t work as well in a more technologically-dominated society (see: late stage capitalism). Unless we want to live in a world where there are ~400 happy people and just enough people around to run the machines that feed them and take them diamond-tasting or hunter-hunting or whatever billionaires do. It would be a utopia- for those 400 people. But for a more inclusive solution, we may need to rewire our reward system- and this is where brainwashing could come in.  

*Or perhaps that should be our new goal- kill all the birds!

So, Big Tech, if you’re out there reading*, I’m 100% cool with you breaking out the big scrubbing brush, digital shampoo/ conditioner, and giving my nervous center a big ole’ scrub. But I have some requests.  

*A funny thing: Not even Big Tech, which reads all data on the internet, will be reading this. Ha. Ha.

I request you make exercise feel like ecstasy, kindness to feel orgasmic, failure to feel fine (yet still be edifying), disappointment to feel like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups taste, and anger to last as briefly as a blink. For the shortcomings of others to inspire, not irritate. To recognize the humble as though they were rock stars. I want the experience of forgiveness and compassion to be akin to listening to Sticky Fingers for the first time and selfishness like that bit of fraternity hazing where we had to listen to “I’m a Little Tea Pot” on repeat for 6 consecutive hours. But I want my system to be flexible with the times, to realize something good now could be bad a century from now. So don’t make it tied to humans as they themselves are flawed. Make it regulated by emotionless things that have absolutely no scratch in the game- like hyper-intelligent machines. And holy fuck I just described The Matrix. Well, in that case, just hook me up with that blue pill.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Hail Mary: Part IV

Part I  Part II  Part III 

I woke knowing instantly, breathtakingly, that Jamie was there, holding me. 

Thank God. 

Thank God he’d come after me. 

Thank God that his voice was behind me, urgent with tenderness, and his arms alive with exactly the same as they pulled me close against the chill. “Are ye warm enough, mocree?” 

‘Oh, yes,’ I tried to whisper, but the words were subsumed by a tiny sound from my throat—a mew?— of simple, silly happiness; of closeness, of sweetness, and of complete security. I let myself fall back into the dark of him, the heat of his chest against my back; his knees behind mine; my mind swirling lazily, freely within the haven he had made for me within himself.  

Then I woke again and his soft, warm mouth was latching slowly into the curve of my neck and shoulder. I was moaning and he was moving higher; higher toward my ear as he whispered unknown syllables into my skin. Moaning. Moaning and feeling his breath, his lips, his love at my ear. Moaning, on my back in the heather with Jamie on top of me, slipping his hand into the neck of my shift to free my breasts. Moaning, gasping as he put his mouth on them, suckling me hard; moaning as his hand slid hard under my hips, pulling me up against him. Feeling him hard, even through the layers of clothing. Bucking against him, my fingers digging into his back. Moaning as he moved urgently forward and back, his mouth never leaving my nipple; moving with him, keening.

“I need ye,” he groaned suddenly in a hoarse whisper against my breasts, his grip on my thigh tightening hard and the motions of his hips growing alarmingly urgent with need. He was gasping from it, his whole body shaking. “I need ye now, mocree.”

“Have me,” I was groaning back, reeling with my own desire, feeling an electric wave travel through me as I heard his moan of lust, as he grappled frantically with my skirts. “Jamie, Jamie I’m yours—Pl—”

I woke, bolted upright, and gasped violently all at once, so fast and suddenly that the horse reared against her tether nearby and whinnied in terror. Instinct brought me flying across the clearing to calm her, but the moment she subsided, I staggered backward and fell hard onto the ground on the far side of her tree, shaking uncontrollably from head to toe—from rage or—something else—I couldn’t tell.

“Goddamn FUCKING hell!” I hissed in fury and despair into the night as I dragged myself up to lean against the tree. “Can’t he leave me the hell alone?”

No, I canna…And ye ken why, lass.

After Jamie’s startling proposal—that ridiculous…. heartbreakingly beautiful  proposal— I’d spent the rest of my evening on my hasty but effective escape plan. I’d passed round the laced whisky multiple times along with the plain that flowed freely in honor of Jamie’s pardon; no one had noticed that they were sinking further and more quickly into drowsiness than was usual. Before that, I had contrived a deep and sudden interest in discussing our route with Ned, memorizing the maps he pulled forth from his saddle bag, devouring them and repeating to myself over and over as he talked: that direction to the Ness. Follow it up to Inverness. Then a bit south and a bit east, and not far to Craigh na Dun. 

All had gone to plan. Until Jamie had followed me. Granted, I’d traveled infinitely faster on the horse onto which he’d thrown me than I would have on foot, but —

Jesus, the way he had looked at me—begged me—

But I had had to go—right then—had told myself I wouldn’t stop even to sleep, wouldn’t stop for a moment till I reached the standing stones and was back in Frank’s world. Yet, I had all but fallen from my horse, and hadn’t even bothered with a fire; just curled beneath my earasaid and fallen into a deep sleep.

But apparently not deep enough to keep out Jamie Fraser.

I sat there in the freezing night, bringing my knees up to my chin and hugging them in frustration. “Beauchamp….you stupid…. lust-crazed—”

It’s no’ just lust. Ye ken that, as well as I; ye ken what there is between us, mocree. 

“I didn’t even know what that word means, you bastard!” 

But it was clear enough from the way he had spoken it, the way it had sounded in the night as he’d reached for me, that it indicated some deep…. 

“I care for you, Claire”

“Dear God,” I whispered into my arms, longing, defeated. “…Jamie…”

Yes, of course there was something between us. 

Of course I felt it between us almost from the first.

Of COURSE that night in his arms had been… 

“Jamie Fraser, you stupid boy! Why the BLOODY hell did you have to propose?”

But thank God he had. Thank GOD, or else I’d have—what? Had him in the woods at the first opportune moment? Had—a life with him?

…I bet it would have been a good life…

Dear God. 

“Who….are you, Beauchamp?”

My horrified question resonated in the darkened glade, indicting, with no answer reverberating back. 

Go. Go now and don’t think of anything but your husband. 

That’s who who’ve got to be: you’re Frank’s wife. 

I scrambled to my feet and untethered the horse as quickly as I could. 

What a ridiculous fool I’d been, so be lulled into a prisoner’s security with the MacKenzies. My HUSBAND was back in the twentieth century with no notion whatsoever as to what happened to his wife. He’d spent nearly six weeks frantic with fear. And I’d all but forgotten him. 

“I’m coming, Frank,” I whispered as I set off at a gallop. “I promise.” 

The entire morning, the entire afternoon, the entire evening, my mind was a terror fugue, a mad fury of fear and guilt, punctuated by the haunting tones of Welshman’s song of the woman of Balnain. 

I lived for a time among strangers

Jamie. 

who became lovers and friends

Jamie, with the wounds I inflicted upon him showing in his eyes. 

lovers and friends

Jamie… 

lovers 

Jamie…

NO: FRANK.

FRANK, waiting. 

FRANK, worrying. 

FRANK. 

At last, as night fell once more, the hill of Craigh na Dun appeared in the distance. I kicked the horse hard and we raced up the slope, both of us panting and heaving. Could the animal feel my terror? 

I saw the moon come out 

FRANK. 

and the wind rose once more,

so I touched the stones

FRANK. 

and traveled back to my own land

FRANK. 

and took up again with the man I had left behind

FRANK. 

The stones were wailing, keening. 

I threw myself off the horse.  

“Frank…Frank…Frank….” was on my lips as I staggered to the stone circle. 

And as the wind did rise, 

rose so high my skirts billowed around me,

I slammed my hands against the screaming stone.

Frank. 

And nothing.

“Frank.”

Hours. 

Blood dripping down my hands and smearing the stone. 

“Frank….” 

“Oh, God… Frank….”

I had no voice in the dawn light. I had no tears left. 

My body was curled around the base of the stone, cradling the memory of the life I had had.

Once more.

Once more, the stone under my bleeding hands. 

And nothing.

Exactly. 

The sun was blinding me as I dug, the dirt like glass in my scraped and bleeding hands.

In the hole at the base of the stone, I placed my gold ring. It glinted in the sunlight as I stared down. 

From F to C with love. Always.

“Goodbye, Frank.”

Thank God the horse hadn’t strayed far. I found her at the stream and caught her by the halter, the panic I had felt rush through me in waves during my night on the hill surprisingly absent.

Frank was gone. Or rather, I was gone. The stones were a one-way voyage that was now complete. It was that simple. The Frank part of my life was now done. 

Why doesn’t his loss hurt you more? Have you no heart, you coldhearted—

But those were only echoes of guilt, calling out faintly to me from the hole I had dug—the hole I had covered over, handful by handful— at the base of the stones. 

And part of me had known it all along, hadn’t it? Since the first moment I’d realized I’d gone back to another time? The Welshman’s song had given me hope, yes, but of course I knew that there was always the chance I would never be able to return. 

In truth, I’d been grieving and healing from the loss of Frank ever since I arrived at Leoch. I had fled to the stones out of guilt, pure and simple. Lord, my very thoughts on that ride told everything in black and white: 

‘Frank is worried;’ ‘Frank is your husband.’ 

NOT‘I can’t bear another day without Frank;’ not ‘what if I never see Frank again?’; not ‘I ache to have you back in my arms, Frank.’

No. It was : “You’ve got to fight your way back to Frank. You’re his wife.” 

I loved Frank; had always loved, him even from the first…but I didn’t feel a visceral need of him when we weren’t together; not now, not when we first met, not even during the war. 

I hadn’t ever felt in almost eight years—even with nearly all of our marriage spent apart— the way I felt now, missing Jamie.

Yes, perhaps I would hear those echoes from Craigh na Dun many times in the years to come; but I had made my choice and I was turning the horse without conscious thought. 

I could make my way south to England, blend in and start a new life among the familiar voices, quietly, living out my life alone in atonement for what was lost and what wickedness had clouded my heart. 

But it was north that I was turning; north that I made for with all haste; to the life that the stones had just made possible. 

North.

To Jamie. 

[more to come]

[larryspecificrecs]

2016: Jul. ~ Dec.

✔ January ~ June : Top 30 AU || Top 10 CANON || every month

Top 30 longest AU fics

1. Shake Me Down by @agreatperhaps12 [?, 208.5k]

Harry’s new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization. ~ 2016.08

2. A Love Like War by @downgoesanotherhero [E, 173.8k]

the one in which Louis Tomlinson is a cliched rock star: he’s got everything except for love. But then he meets Harry Styles; the man that, against all odds, saves him in every way a person can be saved, even when Louis didn’t know he needed saving in the first place.  ~ 2016.12

3. Only You Can Be My Alpha by @wubwubnparmaham​ [M, 153.1k]

The one where Louis is banished from his tribe, and lands himself in Harry’s instead. The alluring Pack Alpha makes Louis question his nature and he doesn’t know how he feels about that. But you can’t fight destiny.  ~ 2016.09

4. Even The Stars Fall For You by Larry_Darling0124 [M, 152.4k]

Louis W. Tomlinson is the 23 year old son of a multi-billionaire, Simon Cowell, and working at his father’s company. Harry Styles is an 18 year old who just graduated high school and is taking a year off before going to college. […] Louis is entranced by Harry and Harry is taken aback that the gorgeous Louis is interested in him. Harry has no idea what he’s getting himself into though. In a world of money, contracts, and jealousy… can a relationship ever really work? Or was it doomed from the start?  ~ 2016.12

5. Empty Gold by @insanitylxve [?, 148k]

AU where Louis Tomlinson attends the vigorous, demanding performing arts school: Guildhall in hopes to complete his theatre degree. He is a scholarship student, always having to work twice as hard to prove his worth which has caused him to feel resentment and anger towards his subordinate position. Harry Styles is the wealthy, naturally gifted actor who effortlessly snatches all the main roles within the class. The complete contrast to everything Louis is. Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles have had bad blood and despised each other for the two years they attended Guildhall together, making each task a competition between each other. […]  ~ 2016.11

6. like fires in the night by @capriciouslouis [M, 138.5k]

Louis comes to university looking for a drama degree and a purpose in life. He gets significantly more than he bargained for. He’s got a secret stash of weed under the floorboards, his grades are going to shit and his mates keep getting pissed. There are secret passageways in the wardrobes and he really needs to get Niall a girlfriend. And most importantly, he can’t take his mind off the mysterious law student down the hall…  ~ 2016.09

7. Run Like the Devil by @churchrat [E, 137.8k]

Supernatural AU. Louis hunts demons; Harry’s the strangest demon he’s ever met, and he keeps fucking meeting him.  ~ 2016.09

8. You Call Out My Name (For The Love You Need) by @alltheselittlewritings [?, 135.8k]

Louis thinks he has fallen in love. He’s so sure about it. Then everything changes. He gets into a car accident with his mother and suddenly his life turns from living into being an angel. He doesn’t know what to do with his time, until his mother gives him a task. Harry is trying to make it as a singer. He spends his days on the streets, playing his guitar, and his nights at a pub. He loves his whiskey and he likes his one night stands. When a guy with blue, bright eyes sits next to him in the pub, he realizes things could be a lot different.  ~ 2016.10

9. Façade by @written-with-no-end​ [?, 133k]

An AU where Louis is the lead singer of The Rogues, Harry is the lead singer of White Eskimo and both are sick of being in the closet so kiss one night to fuck with the media.  ~ 2016.09

10. The Night Sky is Changing Overhead by @domestic-harry [E, 124k]

Harry is a tattoo artist, Louis is a drama professor, and they meet during an argument at a café. ~ 2016.11

11. All The Attention, All These Intentions by sweetlullabies [?, 120.9k]

the fake relationship au where Harry is an aspiring musician and also Louis’ biggest fan–until he actually meets him.  ~ 2016.07

12. One More Chance by @bumblebees91 [M, 117.6k]

Before Elijah could answer, the band started and the sound of an unknown melody flowed through the room, sending everybody silent as they waited. From the up-tempo beat he figured it wouldn’t be a slow song, and when the first words left Harry’s mouth, he found himself gaping. A deep husky voice hit him with a punch and settle into his core, raising goosebumps that vibrated over his skin. […]  ~ 2016.08

13. Never Be by @cherrystreet [E, 117.5k]

The one where Harry Styles moves to Connecticut from England for nine months as a part of a study abroad program, and he just so happens to move in with Louis Tomlinson and family.  ~ 2016.10

14. Luscious blood by Deidei [M, 116.8k]

Louis Tomlinson, a human, has been living in poor living conditions together with his mother since he was born. Ever since he can remember he has loathed the stronger, faster, more developed kind that rule this world; Vampires. But will his opinion change after he meets his soul mate that is an arrogant, royal vampire named Harry Styles…  ~ 2016.12

15. we’re not friends, we could be anything by @wakeupwakeupwell & @yoursongonmyheart [E, 115.5k]

the one where Harry and Louis are unlikely uni flatmates who definitely don’t like each other and definitely won’t fall in love (even if Liam and Niall think otherwise).  ~ 2016.08

16. Boy Falls From the Sky by @fookinloosah [?, 110.3k]

Superheroes. America is full of them — complete with masks, nauseating pseudonyms, and neon spandex suits. There’s none of that nonsense in Britain, thank you very much…until Harry Styles’ X Factor audition takes an unexpected turn, and Britain’s first hero is born. Also featuring Louis as a man of many masks, Zayn the rebel comic artist, Liam as Britain’s counter-attack to Justin Bieber, and Niall the trusty guitarist.  ~ 2016.12

17. Wasn’t Expecting That by @mummyamy10 [E, 103.2k]

the one where Harry is a single dad and gets more than he bargained for after a one night stand of sorts.  ~ 2016.10

18. Flightless Bird by DonnaHaywardsHead [E, 97.7k]

AU where Louis Tomlinson is a principal dancer with The Royal Ballet. When his rival from ballet school, moody dance prodigy Harry Styles joins the company, old wounds are reopened and old passions reignited. During the company’s production of Swan Lake the secret that doomed their love is finally revealed, but will it be too late?  ~ 2016.09

19. Been Together Since Way Back When by @alivingfire [E, 95.7k]

[…] the painfully realistic college au where everyone’s poor, lovesick, tired of school, terrified of the future, and still having the greatest times of their lives.  ~ 2016.08

20. Lockdown by caballero78 [E, 93.4k]

Making the move from the City to a small town should’ve been the best decision for Louis; urban to rural, busy to tranquil. Pursuing a Masters degree in Architectural Design, he’d secured an internship and needed to escape to somewhere smaller that will allow him to focus and build a life. However a local, elusive criminal turns all that on its head when he learns a bit more about the six foot something monster that lives on the hill.  ~ 2016.07

21. Here In The Afterglow by @fondleeds [?, 88.6k]

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.  ~ 2016.12

22. keep them in your mason jars (i’ve come home) by @since-he-was-eighteen [E, 84.9k]

the high school au where louis believes he can hold memories inside mason jars to last a lifetime, and harry holds both louis and his unique tradition deep in his heart.  ~ 2016.07

23. It’s getting cold these days by @felinophilia & @braveryboyfriends [M, 83.9k]

Harry lives in the rugged quarters of London and works at a café. His life has been reduced to attributes: chain-smoker, runaway, depressed, infinitely lonely. His relationship is ripping at the seams, he’s short on cash and the newest regular at work won’t stop bothering him. Winter has never been colder. ~ 2016.07

24. Pinkies Never Lie by @lads-laddylads [E, 83.6k]

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.  ~ 2016.09

25. Cameras Flashing by @juliusschmidt [E, 81.7k]

[…] As the album’s release date approaches, will Tomlinson and Styles be able to pull off the most risky PR scheme of the millennium and beat Zayn in sales or will the heat of their feelings for each other compromise everything?  ★ HL Famous/Not Famous Fic Exchange

26. In the Clear by @thedarkestlarrie​ [M, 80.7k]

After Princess Gemma and her fiance Niall are captured by the witch from across the land, Harry and Louis are forced on a journey together to save them. Featuring Lumberjack Liam, Magical Zayn, unsolicited tattoos, and untangling the past.  ~ 2016.07

27. come away with me by @fukcinglouis [?, 80.3k]

Louis has to pick up the pieces of his and his daughter’s life after his wife dies, and Harry is a beautiful stranger that just wants to help.  ~ 2016.07

28. This Feels A Lot Like Love by @larryvisionary [E, 80k]

[…] Harry didn’t expect for his senior year to be filled with a blue-eyed boy with sharp cheekbones and an even sharper tongue. Then again, he didn’t expect to fall in love either. […]  ~ 2016.10

29. Into the wild by Deidei [M, 76.6k]

[…] Louis Tomlinson, a mischievous and adventurous Omega ends up stranded onto an unknown and mysterious island, after a shipwreck, where he’ll be forced to learn to survive as a wild wolf. Here he’ll meet an Alpha that sparks an interest in him that no Alpha ever could. Not used to the new surroundings, the new social and cultural norms and the wolves will he be able to live in the wild?  ~ 2016.07

30. We’ll Cast Some Light (You’ll Be Alright) by @fondleeds [?, 74.4k]

There’s a standard procedure for this. Scan, track, kill. But with a solar eclipse and a Greater Demon with unfinished business looming, the path to keeping England safe from harm becomes complicated and shadowed by mystery and secrets. For Harry and his team, times have never been harder, especially when a few old friends turned foes show up. Harry is left with just over forty days to overcome the hurdle of tension between them and reconcile their past, and figure out just what Louis is hiding from him before it’s too late.  ★ H/L Fantasy and Sci-fi Fanfiction Exchange

Bonus 1. Coming Up For Air by @downgoesanotherhero [E, 73.2k]

the one in which Harry is a lawyer-to-be and Louis hates lawyers. But maybe… Maybe not this one.  ~ 2016.07

Bonus 2. Tastes like Gold by @ventracere​ [T, 73.2k]

AU. A lot of musicians dream about making it big and Harry is no exception. He has all the pieces to build a rocket ship to the music industry, but he’s missing the key. The songwriter. Ft. overbearing mangers, stunts, and a grumpy Louis Tomlinson.  ~ 2016.08

[giantpurplerabbits]

The World is Round - 18/09/16

///(((I’m just going to note that what follows is a rather intense piece of writing that I spurted out on a particularly godless journey on the aforementioned date. I’m fine now, really. - 03/05/17)))\\

I smell awful. Really awful. I should be a museum exhibit. It may be terrible, but I feel freed by my smell. I feel like the smell of my exterior may have finally attuned to my interior in a way that has finally freed me from general expectations.

I wonder whether other people can smell it? I believe they must be able to. But from what distance? 15 feet? 20 feet? I’m counting in metric because it feels a lot better at accounting for short distances. Or is that imperial? I must check later when I have an Internet connection.

I don’t normally write. I’m a very lecherous being really. It’s probably why the smell is helping. The warning people never normally get. I don’t really know how to feel about my ability to destroy people. They come to me. It must ultimately be what they want. I’m what they want. For no real good reason. A change of perspective I suppose. I guess that is what destruction is good for… A change of perspective.

One might wish that people had a better ability to judge their interests. But then, really, that’s not very high on the problem list of the human race. Really, anyone who’s not a genocidalist is really a saint. But then who am I to judge? I’m sure genocidalists have lives too. Long, long lives of seconds and minutes and hours and days and years and decades of moments that struggle to conjure up a human being. Who is anyone to judge? We’re fucked, really.

So it continues, boring and monotonous. I’m currently on the train. A world is falling past me. Many worlds in fact, but I won’t get into listing infinities again, I’m sure you get the idea. I just saw The Fat a White Family. Good band. Expressing so you don’t have to. I feel thankful to them really. In many ways they’ve sacrificed decent lives to provide what some might consider to be artistic meaning. They’re not very well people, that’s for sure. I think Descartes tried to do something similar. But in all honesty, everything he discovered was wrong.

The words are falling out of my head. Sooner or later this will all stop.

Tomorrow is a blank cheque. A blank cheque of my time, effort and money. I don’t want to talk about work. So I won’t. Other than to say that I work as a projectionist. Yes with film once. The world is becoming increasingly less isolated and increasingly more obsolete. Trains stopped. Anyway. It’s not fun. Not as much as it ought be.

Data.

I’m lazy, insecure, relatively hopeless, reliable (but not in love), , ,

To be honest I’ve kind of given up. I used to be happy, you know like that real kind of happy, where you know you’re miserable, but you know you’ll always be miserable, the truth is that this is practically as good as it’s ever going to get. I wish I wasn’t so accurate in my predictions. So after years of struggling with all that, I’ve finally given up. My life is sacrificial bread, now I’m just trying to figure out how best to give it away.

Everyone and everything /everyone is dying in 2016, it’s practically celebrity deathmatch./ sorry people on the train are interrupting my train of thought. Is telling me the same thing at the moment. Something along the lines of the past was good (that one comes to varying degrees, after all, the recent past was good, beyond that is…) the present is a transitional phase, the future will be complicated. Fairly straightforward.

I was quite thankful not to get shot by something extremists tonight. It would have upset my girlfriend too much.

Next station is the airport.

It’s only a matter of time till there is a terrorist attack in England/London, so say the experts. Culture is eating itself, with little seeming to flow in. The planet is invariably dying. We’re past the levels where our man made pollution was manageable. It’s really as apocalyptic a time as it has ever felt. I feel like in my more luxuriously bitter moments, one can count the number of generations left with a couple of half-severed fingers. When culture goes, so do the rest of us. And bring it on. The UK and the US are drowning in their own mistakes, the world is given to mass disaster, human nature is evil and the world celebrates mother Theresa. Just cut the chord, nothing is worth the suffering of so many, and no it’s not for any damn good reason.

Rant over. Life gets boring when one invokes too much emotion. I always quite liked the long-necked things in Star Wars episode II. I always felt like they were essentially what the human race would be if built slightly better, but hey, they were arms dealers and responsible for the death of everything, so who am I to judge?

Yawn yawn yawn.

Why am I so obsessed with being built to fail? Defective? It was only today I realised that was actually regarded a trait of being an INFP. How rewarding. Nice to know I’m on schedule.

One has to be very careful when one gains an interest and belief in the mystical not to let it damage your life to levels you’re not willing to support on a purely rational level. But then I’m a pretty rational person. I like logic too much. It’s why I’m not really to be trusted with people. I mean, I’ve got an emotional side too, it’s just, it’s quite well governed by the rational one, which means under bad influences I can become pretty well… Pragmatic, that’s the word I wanted. It also means that in the past I’ve thought that you could deal with people logically and that when they said they understood and agreed with you they meant you were on the right side of history. That’s not really how it works.

So the mystical is not a thing I can explain very easily (the justification comes and goes in my mind) all I can say is it starts with energy and fairly common things that one can easily witness, and comfortably spreads out beyond that. Magic does seem to be a thing. Some people seem attuned to it, some not. But that’s not a morality or value judgement, it’s merely an observation, but then I do a lot of that too. No wonder I ruin people.

My cigarette appears to be vomiting out tobacco of its own free will. I can’t blame it, I only smoke, like most people, as a form of long-term undetectable suicide. I wouldn’t mind getting stabbed tomorrow. But then maybe I would once it happened. There’s so much freedom in the inevitable, or maybe good will is a better word. People really enjoy the feeling (by which I mean on what would appear to be an instinctive level) of having lost control. I mean sure, enjoyment is a strong word, but then, emotions can be quite odd things. Enjoyment might be the least desirable one.

A little, long or middling time ago I dated a crazy girl. She was not very well. Times were tough. If she ever read this she might have a problem, so I’m going to stop.

Secret doors, morality calls. What is one to do. Try and care. Well. Caring is inevitable, for some anyway.

Did you ever see that film ‘The Act of Killing’? I’m not explicitly recommending it, because some people won’t enjoy it. There’s that word again… Enjoy… Misuse, or truly an odd emotion? Anyway, it’s not an enjoyable film. But it will show you something.

I hope you realise I’m an unreliable and deeply flawed narrator because otherwise you’re probably not going to enjoy this very much. Also, I’m not fishing for compliments, I’m perfectly happy to accept this is a really pointless, vain, unreadable (well now you’re being just a bit silly) boring and poorly written piece of writing WITH self-aggrandising statements, I mean… Semi-colons, I mean, colonoscopies, I MEAN ANGRY VOICE DEEP TONE LOW THROAT VOMIT IT OUT … eurgh…. Writers should leeArn to not … (Self-aggrandisement again, not fun) (invert commas? No) getting closer… It’s a stupid joke I’m sure you can finish it…

Now at Haywards Heath.

There was a man opposite me, that is at the table adjacent to mine, who was frowning I suspected (drowning by numbers) at my having my feet up on the seats. I took them down. As he left he took the bag of wrapping which I had left on that table when I had been previously sat at it and put it in the bin as he left. Would I have done the same? Maybe so, actually, as I left. I envisioned a situation somewhat like that one when I left the bag there in the first place. It was somewhat guilty of me I recognised, to not be taking full account of my rubbish, but then I know how trains are cleaned, at least partly, firstly people wander down the aisles and pick stuff up. I feel for these people I really(?) do, but it surely must be said without doing whatever the opposite of reducto ad absurdum is (y'know, butterflies and Hurricanes type stuff) that there will be nothing lost to that person by picking up that bag and putting it in the bin. The Karmic cost of the action, should there possibly be such a thing, surely can’t be that high if to be honest entirely existent, but then if karma exists then who the hell knows who’s fucked in the hereafter or not. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t balance out down here, but then these are old arguments.

No I’m not very educated, yes I’m aware, the occasional references to philosophical ideas, terms or really anything that to the wrong mind may be considered to be an attempt at learnedness should know I’m fairly in on the joke, an A-level in philosophy doesn’t count for shit, it’s merely a joke unto itself, and to be honest in the long run I didn’t even get a good grade. I like to think because I didn’t like the way the second year was graded as goes for my academic college life (or, the years I learnt I didn’t want to be an academic) but then that’s just inflation.

The next station is Brighton. Nearly home. Hipster twats here I come.

Split-infinitives… That’s the fucker.

[infinitehouseofbooks]

BLOG TOUR - Demon Assassins

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by Bewitching Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.   INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR Thank you so much for inviting me to your blog! I appreciate your interest in my books.   What initially got you interested in writing? I’ve always been a writer. Poetry and the school paper in high school and interminable, far less interesting, writing as a psychologist. Words have always come easily to me, so I write fast, which helps. I’ve spent a lot of time in the backcountry by myself. Stories always ran around in my head and one day toward the tail end of 2008, I came home from a Labor Day trip to climb Bear Creek Spire, sat at the keyboard, and began breathing life into my fantasies.   How did you decide to make the move into being a published author? I started with short stories and after having about 15 of them accepted for publication, I moved into longer works. At the beginning, I wrote for publishers. It’s only been the last couple of years I made a full commitment to being an Indie author.   What do you want readers to take away from reading your works? Many of my books have a dystopian setting. I probably do that because I want others to understand how truly fragile our environment is—and how easily we could lose it. For my romances, I want readers to see that everything worthwhile takes effort. No one gets everything they want. Not in my stories or in real life, either.   What do you find most rewarding about writing? I love the flow. I feel more like a medium than anything else when ideas are flowing, and I live in that story world right along with my characters.   What do you find most challenging about writing? Marketing. I’ve had a love-hate relationship with it from the beginning. I went from a profession where I needed to be darn near invisible to one where I sometimes feel like I live in a fishbowl. The transition hasn’t been an easy one.   What advice would you give to people want to enter the field? Treat writing like a job. Be structured and disciplined about it. Set daily word count goals and stick with it until you’ve gotten there. Depending on how my day goes, I’m often at the computer late at night because I won’t let myself sleep until I have that day’s chapter written. Don’t expect instant success, or success at all. There’s not much money in books. This is something you do because you love it—not because you think you can be the next Nora Roberts. I’m finally making a decent income, but it’s taken years, and I still plow half of what I earn back into cover art, editing, marketing, and now audio.   What ways can readers connect with you? www.anngimpel.com www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel http://anngimpel.blogspot.com @AnnGimpel I also have a presence on Pinterest, G+, and Linked In ABOUT THE BOOKS Witch’s Bounty Demon Assassins Book One Ann Gimpel   Dream Shadow Press 66K words   Release Date: 9/6/16   Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance   Urban Fantasy Romance with a heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!   Book Description:   One of three remaining demon assassin witches, Colleen is almost the last of her kind. Along with her familiar, a changeling spirit, she was hoping for a few months of quiet, running a small magicians’ supply store in Fairbanks, Alaska. Peace isn’t in the cards, though. Demons are raising hell in Seattle. She’s on her way to kick some serious demon ass, when a Sidhe shows up and demands she accompany him to England to quell a demon uprising.   Gutsy, opinionated, and outspoken, Colleen refuses to come. Witches need her help, and they trump everything else. Despite breaking a prime Sidhe precept concerning non-interference in mortals’ affairs, Duncan offers his assistance. Colleen fascinates him, and he wants to discover more about her. Lots more. The Sidhe might be the best-looking man Colleen’s ever stumbled over, but she doesn’t have time for him—or much of anything else. She, Jenna, and Roz are Earth’s only hedge against being overrun by Hell’s minions. Even with help from a powerful magic wielder like Duncan, the odds aren’t good and the demons know it. Sensing victory is within their grasp, they close in for the kill.   Amazon    BN    Kobo    iBooks    ARe    Google Play    Author’s Store   Excerpt from Witch’s Bounty:   Rain worsened from a steady drizzle to a pounding, punishing deluge of icy sleet. Colleen Kelly strengthened the spell around herself. It sizzled where it ran up against the droplets. At least she wasn't quite as wet as she would have been without its protection. Pavement glistened wetly in the last of the day's light. It was just past three in the afternoon, but December days were short in the northern latitudes and Fairbanks was pretty far north. “At least it’s not snowing,” she muttered as she pushed through a nearby glass-fronted door into the magicians’ supply store she owned with two other witches in the older part of downtown. Bells hanging around the door pealed discordantly. She sent a small jolt of magic to silence them. “I heard that. Not the bells, but you. It’s supposed to snow this time of year. How could you possibly be pleased the weather patterns have gone to hell?” Jenna Neil stalked over to the coatrack where Colleen stood. Blonde hair, hacked off at shoulder level, framed a gamine’s face and shrewd, hazel eyes. Jenna towered over Colleen’s six foot height by a good four inches, and her broad shoulders would’ve made most men jealous. Between her trademark high-heeled boots and a scruffy embroidered red cloak tossed over skintight blue jeans, she looked as exotic as the anti-hex hoop earrings dangling from each ear. Colleen rolled her eyes, shook out her coat, and hung it on the rack. “Spare me your lecture about global warming, okay? It’s cold enough to snow. It just isn’t, for some reason.” “Mmph.” The line of Jenna’s jaw tensed. Indian spices wafted through the air, mingling with the scents of herbs, dried flowers, and desiccated body parts from small animals. Colleen’s stomach growled. Breakfast had been at six that morning—a long time ago. Pretty bad when even dried newt smelled like food. “Did you cook something?” she asked. “And if you did, is there any left?” A terse nod. Jenna turned away, walking fast. Colleen lengthened her normal stride to catch up. “Hey, sweetie. What happened? You can’t be in this big a snit over the weather.” Jenna kept walking, heading for the small kitchen at the back of the store. “A lot of things. I was just having a cup of tea. Shop’s been dead today.” She disappeared behind a curtain. Colleen glanced over one shoulder at the empty store. The phalanx of bells around the door would alert them if anyone stopped in. The minute she tugged the heavy, upholstery fabric that served as a kitchen door aside, the pungent tang of Irish whiskey made her eyes water. “You said tea.” “Yeah, well I spiked it.” Colleen grunted. “Smells like you took a bath in booze. What the fuck happened?” She grabbed the larger woman and spun her so they faced one another. “We got another pay-your-tithe-or-die e-mail from our Coven.” Jenna’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “So? That’s like the tenth one.” There were new policies none of them agreed with, so they’d joined with about twenty other witches and stopped paying the monthly stipend that supported their Coven’s hierarchy. “It’s not what’s bothering me.” Jenna pulled free from Colleen, tipped her cup, and took a slug of what smelled like mostly liquor. Colleen fought a desire to swat her. Getting to the point quickly had never been one of Jenna’s talents. She clamped her jaws together. “What is?” “Roz called with…problems.” Jenna turned and started toward the steep staircase ladder leading to her bedroom above the shop. “You can’t just drop that bomb and leave.” Colleen made another grab for Jenna to keep her in the kitchen. Worry for their friend ate at her. Of the three of them, Roz was by far the most volatile. “What happened? I thought she was in Missouri, or maybe it was Oklahoma, visiting that dishy dude she met online.” “Didn’t work out.” The corners of Jenna’s mouth twisted downward. Colleen quirked a brow, urging her friend to say more. Jenna plowed on. “He only wanted her for her magic. Turned out he preferred men.” “Aw, shit.” Colleen blew out a breath. “She must’ve been disappointed.” Half a snorting laugh bubbled past Jenna’s lips. “Maybe now she is. At the time, furious would’ve been closer to the mark.” Colleen’s throat tightened. “Crap! What’d she do? She didn’t hurt him, did she?” “Not directly. She turned him over to the local Coven.” “Thank God!” Colleen let go of Jenna and laid a hand over her heart. Roxanne Lantry was more than capable of killing anyone who pissed her off. It was how she ended up in Alaska. Roz hadn’t exactly been caught when her cheating husband and his two girlfriends went missing, but she hadn’t stuck around to encourage the authorities to question her, either. Colleen and Jenna had already left Seattle when that little incident went down. Roz repressed her antipathy for Alaska’s legendary foul weather and joined them. Magically, she was strong as an ox, and she had a hell of a temper. Colleen’s stomach growled again. Louder this time. It didn’t give a good goddamn about anything other than its empty state. She pushed past Jenna to the stove, lifted a lid, and peered into a battered aluminum pot. Curry blasted her. The spicy odor stung her eyes and made her nose run. “Whew. Potent. Mind if I help myself?” “Go ahead.” Jenna sat heavily in one of two chairs with a rickety wooden table between them. She picked up her mug and took another long swallow. Dish in hand, Colleen slapped it on the table in front of the other chair and went in search of a mug of her own. There weren’t any clean ones, so she plucked one out of the sink and rinsed it. Back at the stove, she tipped the teakettle. Thick, amber liquid spilled from its stubby snout into her waiting mug. Jenna waggled the whiskey bottle in her direction. “Nah.” Colleen settled at the table. “It would go right to my head. Maybe after I get some food on board.” She tucked in. After the first few mouthfuls, when the curry powder nearly annihilated her taste buds, the pea, potato, and ham mixture wasn’t half-bad. Jenna drank steadily, not offering anything by way of conversation. When Colleen’s dish was empty, she refilled her mug with tea, filched a couple of biscuits from the cupboard, and sat back down. “Are you going to talk to me?” “I suppose so.” Jenna’s words slurred slightly. Colleen cocked her head to one side. “I suggest you start now, before you forget how.” “Oh, please.” Jenna blew out a breath, showering the small space with whiskey fumes. Colleen waited. The other witch could be stubborn. Wheedling, cajoling, or urging wouldn’t work until she was good and ready to talk. Finally, after so long Colleen had nearly chewed a hole in her cheek, Jenna finally muttered, “Roz called.” Colleen ground her teeth together. “You already said that. It’s how you knew what happened with the guy.” Jenna nodded. “There’s more.” She picked up the whiskey, started to pour it into her mug, then apparently changed her mind and drank right from the bottle. “She’s in Seattle. Checked in with Witches’ Northwest, just to say hello, and because she wanted to touch base with people she’s known for a long time.” Another long pause. Colleen batted back a compulsion spell. It wasn’t nice to use those on your friends. She shoved her hands under her bottom to reduce the temptation. Jenna lowered her voice until Colleen had to strain to hear. “The Irichna demons are back.” “But our last confrontation wasn’t all that long ago. Only a few months. Sometimes when we best them, they’ve stayed gone for years.” Colleen shook her head. Even the sound of the word, Irichna, crackled against her ears, making them tingle unpleasantly. Irichna demons were the worst. Hands down, no contest. They worked for Abbadon, Demon of the Abyss. Evil didn’t get much worse than that. No wonder Jenna was drinking. Colleen held her hand out for the bottle—suddenly a drink seemed like a most excellent idea—and picked her words with care. “Did Roz actually sight one?” “Yeah. She also asked if we could come and help. More than asked. She came as close to begging as I’ve ever heard her.” “Erk. They have a whole Coven there. Several if you count all the ones in western Washington. Why do they need us?” Colleen belted back a stiff mouthful of whiskey. It burned a track all the way to her stomach where it did battle with all the curry she’d eaten. Jenna just shot her a look. “You know why.” Colleen swallowed again, hoping for oblivion, except it couldn’t come quick enough. She knew exactly why, but the answer stuck in her craw and threatened to choke her. The three of them were the last of a long line of demon assassins, witches with specialized powers, able to lure demons, immobilize them, and send them packing to the netherworld. When things worked right. They often didn’t, though, which was what killed off the other demon assassin witches. It didn’t help that demons as a group had been gathering power these last fifty years or so. Witches lived for a long time, but they were far from immortal, and demon assassin ability was genetic. She, Jenna, or Roz would have to produce children or that strain of magic would die out. So far, none of them had come anywhere close to identifying a guy who looked like husband material… Colleen looked at her hands. Even absent a husband, none of them had a shred of domesticity. Certainly not enough to saddle themselves with offspring. “What’s the matter?” Jenna grinned wickedly, clearly more than a little drunk. “Cat got your tongue too?” As if on cue, a blood-curdling meow rose from a shadowed corner of the kitchen and Bubba, Colleen’s resident familiar, padded forward. When he was halfway to them, he gathered his haunches beneath him and sprang to the table. It rocked alarmingly, and Jenna made a grab for her cup. The large black cat skinned his lips back from his upper teeth, bared his incisors, and hissed. “Oh, all right.” Colleen clamped her jaws tight and summoned the magic to shift Bubba to his primary form, a gnarled three-foot changeling. The air shimmered around him. Before it cleared, he swiped the liquor out of her hand and drained the bottle. “Would’ve been a good reason to leave you a cat,” Jenna mumbled. He stood on the table and glared at both of them, elbows akimbo, bottle still dangling from his oversized fingers. “If you’re going to fight demons, you have to take me with you.” “No, we don’t,” Colleen countered. “You don’t follow directions well,” Jenna said pointedly. “Isn’t that the truth?” Colleen rotated her head from side to side, starting to feel the whiskey. At least once when they’d humored the changeling, he’d almost gotten all of them killed. Problem was she couldn’t predict when he’d follow her orders, and when he’d decide on a different tack altogether. Then there were the times his fearlessness had saved them all. Bubba might be a wildcard, but he was her wildcard. “You forgot when I welcomed your spirit into my body—and kept it alive—while the healers worked on you.” Bubba eyed Colleen, sounding smug. “If you hadn’t decided to play hero, and needed to be rescued, the demons wouldn’t have injured me.” Colleen winced at the sour undertone in her voice. That incident had happened five years before. Maybe it was time she got over it. “Nevertheless.” He tossed his shaggy head, thick with hair as black as the cat’s. “When you conjured me from the barrows of Ireland, and bound me, we became a unit. You can’t go off and leave me here. It would be like leaving a part of yourself behind.” His dark eyes glittered with challenge. “I hate to admit it—” Jenna sounded a little less drunk “—but he’s right.” “See.” Bubba leered at them, jumped off the table, and waddled over to the stove with his bowlegged gait. Once there, he opened the oven, climbed onto its door, and peeked into the pot. He started to stick a hand inside. “Hold it right there, bud.” Colleen got to her feet, covered the distance to the stove, and dished him up some of the curry mixture. “Get some clothes on and you can have this.” He clambered down from his perch and over to several colorful canisters scattered around the house where she stashed outfits for him. Keeping Bubba clothed had been a huge problem until she’d hatched up a plan, and sewn him several pant and shirt combos with Velcro closures, since he didn’t like buttons or zippers. The changeling dressed quickly and took the bowl from her. “I could’ve gotten my own food.” “Better for the rest of us if you keep your paws out of the cook pot.” Jenna stood a bit unsteadily. “I’ll be right back.” Bubba stuffed food into his mouth with his fingers. “Where’s she going?” His words came out garbled as he chewed open-mouthed. Colleen looked away. “Probably to pee. Maybe to throw up. Um, look, Bubba, it might be wiser if we took a quick side trip to Ireland and released you.” She glanced sidelong at the changeling spirit she’d summoned during a major demon war forty years before. He’d been truly helpful then, especially after he’d mastered English, which hadn’t taken him all that long. In the intervening time, he’d mostly clung to his feline form, eating and keeping their shop free of mice and rats. They’d lived in Seattle the first ten years or so after he joined them, relocating to Alaska to conceal their longevity. She dragged the heels of her hands down her face, feeling tired. It was getting close to time to move again, but she didn’t want to think about it. Bubba shook his head emphatically. Food flew from the sides of his mouth. He scooped a glob off the floor and ate it anyway. “I have to agree to being released. I don’t want to go back to my barrow. I like it much better here.” Colleen sucked in a hollow breath, blew it out, and did it again. Bubba was right. Rules were rules. He’d had a choice at the front end. He could’ve refused her. Witches respected all living creatures. The ones on the good side of the road, anyway. No forced servitude for their familiars, despite rumors to the contrary. Jenna lurched back into the kitchen looking a little green. “You okay?” Colleen asked. “Yeah. I drank too much, that’s all.” She rinsed her mug at the sink, refilled it with tap water, and sat back down. “Did you two come up with a plan?” “I’m going.” Bubba left his dish on the floor and vaulted back onto the table. Jenna rolled red-rimmed eyes. “That was the discussion when I left.” “Your point?” Colleen swallowed irritation. “Nothing.” The other witch sounded sullen, but maybe she just didn’t feel well. “I offered to free him—” Colleen began. “I refused,” Bubba cut in. He shook his head. “No recognition for all my years of loyal service. Tsk. You should be—” “Stuff it.” Jenna glared at him. “We have bigger problems than your wounded ego.” He stuck out his lower lip, looking injured as only a changeling spirit could, but he didn’t say anything else. “I suppose we have to go to Seattle,” Colleen muttered, half to herself. “Don’t see any way around it.” Jenna worried her lower lip between her teeth. “What exactly did Roz say?” “We didn’t talk long. Her cellphone battery was almost dead.” A muscle twitched beneath Jenna’s eye. “She’d just stopped in at Coven Headquarters and the group mobbed her. Said we had to come. They’ve already lost about twenty witches to stealth demon attacks.” Colleen’s heart skipped a few beats. Twenty witches was a lot. Maybe a quarter of the Witches’ Northwest Coven. “Crap. When did the attacks start?” “Only a few days ago. They’d planned to call us, but saw it as goddess intervention when Roz showed up.” “Damn that Oklahoma cowboy.” Colleen pounded a fist into her open palm. “If his Coven doesn’t flatten him, I will.” “He wasn’t a cowboy.” Jenna’s voice held a flat, dead sound. “He was supposed to be a witch. You know, like us.” “Doesn’t matter.” “Do you want to close things up here, or should I try to get someone from our Coven to fill in at the shop?” Jenna looked pale, but the tipsy aspect had left her face. Colleen shook her head. “We haven’t sold enough in the last few weeks to make it worthwhile to pay someone to clerk for us.” “Okay.” Jenna’s hazel eyes clouded with worry. “When do you want to leave?” “If you asked Witches’ Northwest, we probably should’ve left three days ago.” “How are we getting there?” Bubba squared his hunched shoulders as much as he could and eyed Colleen. “Excellent question.” Jenna looked at Colleen too. She raised her hands in front of her face, palms out. “Stop it, you two. I can’t deal with the pressure.” Colleen clamped her jaws together and considered their options. Roz already had a car in Seattle. It didn’t make sense to drive their other one down, plus it would take too long. Flying with Bubba was impossible. He looked too odd in his gnome form and his cat form didn’t do well with the pressure changes. They had to teleport, which would seriously deplete their magic and mean they couldn’t fight so much as a disembodied spirit for at least twenty-four hours after they arrived. Jenna screwed her face into an apologetic scowl, apparently having come to the same conclusion. “Look, I’m sorry I’m not more help. There’s something about that particular mix of earth, fire, and air that I always bungle.” Air whistled through Colleen’s teeth. It had been so long since they’d teleported anywhere, she’d almost forgotten Jenna’s ineptitude with the requisite spell. “How about this? You go down to the basement and practice. I’ll get a few things together…” “What do you want me to do?” Bubba asked. “You can help me,” Jenna said. “I’ll do better if I have an object to practice with.” The changeling scrunched his low forehead into a mass of wrinkles. “Just don’t get me lost.” “Even if she does, I’ll be able to find you.” Colleen tried to sound reassuring. She was fond of her familiar. In many ways, he was very childlike. Heh! Maybe that’s why I’ve been so reluctant to have a kid. I already have one who’ll never grow up. The bells around the shop door clanged a discordant riot of notes. “Crap!” Jenna shot to her feet. “First customer in two days. I should’ve locked the damn door.” “Back to cat form.” Colleen flicked her fingers at Bubba, who shrank obligingly and slithered out of clothing, which puddled around him. She snatched up his shirt and pants and dropped them back into the canister. “I say,” a strongly accented male voice called out. “Is anyone here?” “I’ll take care of the Brit,” Colleen mouthed. “Take Bubba to the basement and practice.” She got to her feet and stepped past the curtain. “Yes?” She gazed around the dimly lit store for their customer. A tall, powerfully built man, wearing dark slacks and a dark turtleneck, strode toward her, a woolen greatcoat slung over one arm. His white-blond hair was drawn back into a queue. Arresting facial bones—sculpted cheeks, strong jaw, high forehead—captured her attention and stole her breath. He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Discerning green eyes zeroed in on her face, caught her gaze, and held it. Magic danced around him in a numinous shroud. Strong magic. What was he? And then she knew. Daoine Sidhe. The man had to be Sidhe royalty. No wonder he was so stunning it almost hurt to look at him. Colleen held her ground. She placed her feet shoulder width apart and crossed her arms over her chest. “What can I help you with?” “Colleen Kelly?” Okay, so he knows who I am. Doesn’t mean a thing. He’s Sidhe. Could’ve plucked my name right out of my head. “That would be me. How can I help you?” she repeated, burying a desire to lick nervously at her lips. “Time is short. I’ve been hunting you for a while now. Come closer, witch. We need to talk.” Witch’s Bane Demon Assassins Book 2 Ann Gimpel   Dream Shadow Press 66K words   Release Date: 9/6/16   Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance   Urban Fantasy Romance with a heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!   Book Description:   Last of the demon assassin witches, Roz, Jenna, and Colleen have escaped disaster so far, but their luck is running low. Demons strike in the midst of Colleen’s wedding, and Roz launches desperate measures. As she shape-shifts to keep one step ahead of evil, at least it takes her mind off her other problems. Personal ones. She burned through a couple of marriages and hooked up with a string of loser men before, after, and in between. Though she wants to be happy for Colleen, the jealousy bug bit deep and hasn’t let go.   In Roz’s secret heart, she’s attracted to Ronin, one of the Daoine Sidhe. He’s so profanely beautiful she can barely breathe around him, but he’s also headstrong and arrogant. Not good partner material—unless she wants to end up dusting her heart off one more time.   Ronin set his sights on Roz the day he met her, and he can’t get her out of his mind. Unfortunately, she’s so prickly getting close to her requires scheming. He casts an enchantment to lure her at Colleen’s wedding, but she senses the spell and calls him on it. Demons swarm out of the ether before he can come up with another strategy. Killing them trumps everything. Roz is used to calling the shots. So is Ronin. Sparks fly. Tempers run hot, right along with an attraction too heady to ignore.   Amazon    BN    Kobo    iBooks    Google Play    ARe    Author’s Store   Excerpt from Witch’s Bane:   Roxanne Lantry—Roz to everyone who knew her—paced up and down the sodden lawn outside the huge old Victorian that housed the Witches’ Northwest Coven headquarters in Seattle. Rain pelted her from beneath a gunmetal sky, but it was better out here than inside. She fought an unfamiliar thickening at the back of her throat and balled her hands into fists. “I will not cry,” she muttered to an inquisitive ground squirrel that ran across her boot tops, but telling herself and controlling her emotions were two different things. One of her two best friends, Colleen Kelly, would be getting married in less than half an hour. Roz had been inside, in the midst of all the bride-craziness, but seeing Colleen swathed in cream-colored lace sent her into a tailspin. What the fuck is wrong with me? She kicked at a hummock of grass and yelped when it didn’t move, but the pain from her stubbed toes helped her focus. If she was honest, not an easy task when men were involved, she knew exactly what was bothering her. “Yeah,” she mouthed the words, lecturing herself. “Two failed marriages and a whole bunch of loser dudes before, after, and in between. I’m jealous and I need a good, swift boot in the backside. Just because Colleen finally stumbled across Mr. Right doesn’t lower my odds of ever finding someone who’s gorgeous and magical and worships me.” Now if I could only believe that… Roz was happy for Colleen and Duncan, the Daoine Sidhe she was marrying. They made a great couple, but surely there was enough connubial bliss in the universe to sprinkle a little her way too. Her last go-round with a strikingly handsome Oklahoman she’d met online had ended in fireworks when he’d admitted all he really wanted was to tap into her magical ability. When the rubber met the road, he didn’t even like women. Her stomach churned. She hated being made a fool of. She’d turned the guy in to his Coven for false advertising and laying a trap to delude a fellow magic wielder, but she doubted they’d done much to censure him. Water dripped off her nose. She stuck out her lower lip and blew upward, but the rain kept on dripping. Roz shook her fist at the low-hanging clouds, recognizing it for displacement activity. What she really wanted to do was pound her fist through the Oklahoman’s nice, straight nose. Enough of this. Give it a rest. That happened months ago. For Christ’s sake, I need to get moving, go inside, and trade my jeans and serape for fancy duds. Roz took a few deep breaths to settle her angst. She couldn’t show her tear-stained face to the world. She’d never live it down. When she closed her eyes, the Oklahoma asshole formed behind her lids, taunting her. Roz clenched her jaw and summoned a calming spell. It seemed like cheating, but time was short. As the wispy edges of magic caught her up, they soothed her frazzled nerves and she turned hard right and headed for the house at a brisk trot. She, Colleen, and Jenna Neil were the last of a long line of demon assassins. Witches with specialized powers, they lured Irichna demons, immobilized them, and sent them packing to the netherworld. When things worked right, she and her sister witches—along with Colleen’s familiar—shanghaied the demons and locked them behind the gate guarding the Ninth Circle of Hell. The demons didn’t go without a fight, though, which was what had killed off the other demon assassin witches. It didn’t help that demons as a group had been gathering power these last fifty years or so. Witches lived a long time, but they were far from immortal, and demon assassination ability was genetic. She, Jenna, or Colleen would have to produce children or that strain of magic would die out. None of them had a shred of domesticity, so no one had signed up for motherhood. At least not yet. I can’t put two weeks together without a major demon battle these days. How the hell could I take time off to raise a kid? Rain ran down her neck and Roz shivered. Thinking about demons chilled her bones. Realizing she’d stopped walking, she plodded toward the house again and forced her thoughts to the magicians’ supply store she owned with Colleen and Jenna in Fairbanks, Alaska. The other two witches had moved there months ahead of her. She hated the idea of all that snow and cold and winter nights that lasted twenty hours, but she’d boxed herself into a dicey situation and hadn’t had much choice. Her temper, never very controllable on a good day, had gotten the better of her, and she made short work of her cheating husband and his two—yup, count ’em—girlfriends. After that, she’d packed up and headed her aging Subaru north. Next stop, Fairbanks… That had happened a few years ago. So many, it was almost time to move on before anyone noticed she and the other witches didn’t seem to grow any older. Roz shook her head, not wanting to go there, either. She forced her mind back to the special skill she shared with Colleen and Jenna. She hated to admit it, but demons held the high cards these days, and she had no idea how to even the odds. Aren’t I just the queen of cheerful? She gave herself a mental shake with instructions to snap out of her funk. Roz made it to the huge house and tugged on one of the ground level doors. When it didn’t open, she hit it with a jolt of magic, and the deadbolt snicked aside. She stopped long enough to shake water off her and then loped down a long corridor with a concrete floor toward one of the old mansion’s many stairwells. Fluorescent lights, recessed into the ceiling, gave off a sickly yellow gleam that matched her sour mood. She’d just begun climbing upward when a rush of footsteps sounded from the hallway below. “There you are,” Bubba, Colleen’s familiar, cried out and leapt up the stairs after her. Roz glanced over a shoulder and saw he was in his normal form: a three-foot-tall changeling with oversized feet, long arms, and a bow-legged gait. His shaggy, black hair had been brushed until it shone, and his dark eyes glittered mischievously. Colleen had a hell of a time keeping him dressed, but today he sported black pants and a black jacket over a white shirt. “Yes,” Roz countered, still feeling out of sorts. “Here I am. The question is why aren’t you upstairs with everyone else?” “Colleen got worried. She sent me to hunt you down.” Bubba crossed his arms over his chest, looking pleased with himself. Roz rolled her eyes. “Bubba, look—” “Uh-uh.” He uncrossed his arms and waggled a finger at her. “Niall. Remember, you all promised to use my real name from now on.” “So we did. Crap! I don’t have time for this.” She unkinked her neck and trudged upward. “No kidding,” he agreed. “Everyone’s here, and you’re not even dressed yet.” Rather than focus on her shortcomings, Roz changed the subject. “You’re looking pretty spiffy, bud.” “Do you like it?” “What I saw of it. It’s sort of like a black tuxedo, but with Velcro instead of buttons.” “I hate buttons.” Roz grinned in spite of herself. “I know you do, sweetie.” She came to the third floor landing and pushed the stairwell door open, holding it for the changeling. “Run and tell Colleen I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” Without waiting for an answer, she walked briskly halfway down the long hall and let herself into her bedroom. Locking the door behind her, she unlaced her wet boots and toed them off. Next she shucked her sodden clothes, ducked into the bathroom, and gathered strands of coal black hair, pulling it into a ponytail with both hands. Once she had her hair together, she wrapped her head in a towel. She didn’t believe in hair dryers, so once she’d soaked as much water as she could into the towel, she grabbed her comb, made several sections, and plaited her knee-length, straight-as-a-stick hair, weaving it into a pseudo-French braid. Before she left the bathroom, she inspected her face in the mirror. She never wore makeup because it made her look like a clown. Her bronzed skin and stark bone structure declared her Native American blood more clearly than words could have. She smoothed her eyebrows with a few drops of water and considered which of two outfits to wear. Colleen had said it didn’t matter to her, so long as Roz didn’t show up in her usual tattered blue jeans and combat boots. With a snort of amusement, she padded back into the bedroom and pulled a long, beaded black buckskin skirt off a hanger. She stepped into it and laced the side fastening. Next came a turquoise deerskin top, also beaded, that clung to her like a second skin. In addition to not bothering with makeup, she also didn’t care for underthings, so the outline of her breasts was clearly visible through the soft leather. She slipped a heavy silver and turquoise necklace over her head, arranging her braid on top of it, and grabbed a matching ring off the dresser. The only thing left was her moccasins. Roz wriggled her feet into them, enjoying the way the deerskin warmed and hugged her feet. Jenna always wore high heels, but Roz had never understood how she could tolerate them. They’d had a few heated discussions years ago before Roz finally gave up. “To each her own,” she told the mirror. Satisfied she looked presentable, she focused the threads of her calming spell, strengthened it a bit to make certain she’d last through the ceremony without breaking down and bawling like an idiot, and let herself into the hallway. The buzz of a crowd reached her from the main floor. She glanced toward the stairs and then the other way, wondering if Colleen was still up here. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to find out, she walked two doors down and knocked. The door flew open almost immediately and she looked into an accusing set of pale blue eyes. “It’s about fucking time,” Colleen exclaimed. Auburn hair with lily of the valley woven into it swirled around her, falling to waist level. At six feet, Colleen was normally a good four inches shorter than Roz, but today she wore heels and they were of a height. “Huh?” Roz murmured, confused. “I almost went downstairs. I had no idea you were waiting for me.” “We’d planned to all go down together.” Colleen sounded sullen. “You know, like a proper wedding party.” “If we were all that proper,” Roz said, “Jenna and I would be wearing matching—” Jenna made chopping motions with both hands and unfolded her well-rounded frame from off the bed. Blonde hair, hacked off at shoulder level, framed a gamine’s face with shrewd, hazel eyes. Rather than her standard, thrift store couture, today she wore a short beige silk skirt, a lacy blouse, and her trademark high-heeled boots. Huge, golden hoops graced her ears. She walked to Roz’s side and looped an arm through hers. “Don’t think anything of it. The bride—” she waved an airy hand Colleen’s way “—has been antsy as a scalded cat all day.” Colleen closed her teeth together with an audible clack. “Maybe I’m making a mistake.” Roz and Jenna turned to stare at her. “What?” Jenna asked, incredulous. “Hey, if you don’t want him—” Roz began. “No shit,” Jenna interrupted. “Tall, blond, drop dead gorgeous. Those green eyes are to die for and those shoulders.” She made panting noises. “The couple of times I saw him without a shirt, I almost came just watching his muscles rustle beneath his skin when he walked.” Colleen rolled her eyes. “You two are impossible. Can’t a bride have a case of jitters without her two closest friends turning into vultures?” “No.” Roz looked down her nose at Colleen. “Considering how long and hard I’ve hunted for decent partner material…” She let her words trail off before the extent of her jealousy leaked out. The door blew inward and Bubba marched in, hands on his hips. “Come on. Everyone’s ready.” He lowered his voice, but not by much. “I think Duncan’s worried that you—” he pointed at Colleen “—got cold feet.” “She nearly did,” Jenna muttered. “Aw, crap. Guess I need to go tell everyone the wedding’s off.” Bubba did an about face, but before he could sprint through the open door, Colleen snatched him up. “You’ll do no such thing.” She swallowed audibly. “I’m ready. I guess.” “Let go of me.” Bubba writhed in her grasp. “Not before you promise to keep your mouth shut.” Roz smirked. Circumspection was not exactly the changeling’s long suit. She walked to Bubba’s other side. “I’ll take him.” She held out her arms. “I can walk,” the changeling said with a great deal of dignity, “as soon as Colleen lets go of me.” “You haven’t promised,” Colleen said. “Please, sweetie. It’s important to me. A girl needs to have some things stay private.” He blew out an annoyed sounding breath. “All right. I promise.” Colleen relaxed her grip. Shaking himself like a dog might have, the gnome-like changeling chuckled. “Too bad. Something like that’s a prime piece of gossip.” Colleen broke into a broad grin. “Right up your alley, eh?” Roz made shooing motions. “Let’s get going. You don’t want all that food the Sidhe catered to get cold do you?” “I don’t care about food,” Colleen mumbled. “I’m so nervous I probably won’t be able to eat a thing.” “Well I do,” Jenna said. “I’m with Roz. Let’s get this show on the road.” “Have a couple belts of whiskey,” Roz suggested. “It’ll do wonders for your nerves.” The hallway air brightened and shimmered. When it cleared, Titania, Queen of Faerie, shook floor-length silvery hair out of her ice blue eyes and pushed it over her shoulders. A diaphanous gown, more jewels than fabric, floated around her tall, thin frame. “Is there some problem?” she inquired with asperity, and her gaze zeroed in on Colleen. Colleen half curtseyed. Roz considered it, but didn’t because Titania wasn’t her queen. “No problem at all.” Colleen inclined her head. “We were just on our way.” The Queen of Faerie’s severe expression softened. “Thank the goddess. For a minute there, I was afraid you were going to break Duncan’s heart.” She strode forward and thumped Colleen’s chest with a bony forefinger. “If you ever hurt that boy, I’ll hunt you down and make you very sorry.” “That boy—” Colleen held the queen’s gaze “—is a thousand-year-old man.” Titania furled her perfect silver brows. “Details. Besides, it’s rude to contradict me. Privilege of age and rank and all that. Let’s go. I haven’t performed a marriage in centuries. I’m quite looking forward to it.” Colleen’s eyes widened. “I thought Naomi, the leader of this Coven, was going to join Duncan and me.” “We both have roles to play.” Titania’s mouth twitched. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let one of my own be bound in marriage without my magic involved.” “I have no idea what I thought,” Colleen managed, but she looked ready to throttle the queen. Before things got any tenser and Colleen started in about it being her wedding, Roz herded them out the door and down the hallway. Colleen stopped for a moment at the head of the stairway, tension rolling off her in waves. Roz wrapped an arm around her. “It will be fine,” she whispered. “Just fine.” After a quick hug, she let go. As if those six words did the trick—or maybe it was the hug—Colleen swept down the long, curved staircase, looking regal. Roz, Jenna, and Titania jostled one another as they made their way down the twenty-five steps. Bubba made an end run around them and fell in behind Colleen, where he picked up her lace train. They marched through the dining area where caterers and witches bustled about laying out a spread of food that smelled delicious, into a large, luxurious room that took up much of the bottom floor of the old Victorian. At one point, they’d talked about having the ceremony outside, but the weather put the kibosh on that idea. Roz wondered why they’d wasted their breath even considering an out-of-doors event. It was the winter solstice in Seattle. She bet there’d never been one when it wasn’t raining like crazy—or snowing. Chairs lined the wood-paneled great room, and a fire burned merrily in a huge stone fireplace that took up one end of the sumptuous space. Old-fashioned chandeliers were festooned with hundreds of blazing candles. Witches sat on one side of a center aisle, Daoine Sidhe on the other. Roz guessed between three and four hundred people were in attendance—more Sidhe than witches. Everyone turned in their seats to stare at Colleen, and a collective aaaaah surged through the room. Roz clamped down on a grin. Colleen really did make a lovely bride, with her Irish complexion and red tresses. The creamy lace dress was perfect. White would have made her look washed out. Titania strode around all of them and took her place at the head of the room. Roz noted with amusement that Naomi held her ground when Titania tried to push her to one side. Before she and Jenna left Colleen to find their seats, her gaze landed on Duncan—Lord Regis—and her heart nearly stopped. All Sidhe had an ethereal beauty, but Duncan practically glowed. Dressed in a black tuxedo with a crimson cummerbund and diamond studs, he cut an impressive figure with his high forehead, sculpted cheekbones, and strong jaw. Longish blond hair had been braided in tight rows, but the severe style suited him and make him look like an ancient warrior. Roz averted her gaze, afraid he’d catch her staring, but he only had eyes for his bride. She said a quick prayer asking the goddess’s blessing on their union and turned toward the witches’ side of the room. Because Ronin came up from her other side, she didn’t notice the Sidhe leader until he wove an arm around her shoulders. “I saved you a chair next to me.” Her heart slammed into double-time rhythm. She’d met Ronin two weeks before at his castle in northern England, and they’d shared several spirited conversations over meals. Something magical and electric had sparked between them, but she’d chalked it up to everyone’s emotions running full tilt. She’d just escaped demons by the skin of her teeth, and he was dealing with shame or guilt—or whatever he felt—about forcing witches into being demon assassins two centuries before. While his attentiveness had been welcome—and more than a little flattering—she’d been more focused on her relief at being alive than anything else. Besides, after the Oklahoman, she’d sworn off men—forever. Ronin smiled, not looking anything but glad to see her, and her heart did a funny little flip-flop, in addition to beating much too fast. Dark hair hung loose to his shoulders, and his blue eyes twinkled warmly. Every bit as handsome as Duncan, he was dressed in formal clothing, black with a blue cummerbund, and what might have been ruby studs. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m supposed to sit over there.” She gestured in the general direction of the witches’ side of the room. “No one will notice,” he assured her and hooked his hand beneath her arm. Roz didn’t fully understand why she let him guide her to a padded straight-backed chair near the front of the room and help her into it, but there was something irresistible about his energy. Too late, she recognized a mild compulsion spell. Anger spiked, but now wasn’t the place to give in to it. With every shred of self-discipline at her disposal, she forced her attention to Duncan and Colleen reciting their vows, and to Naomi, who’d muscled her way in before Titania could get rolling. When Ronin draped an arm around her shoulders, she shot him a harsh look that made him move it damned fast. Good, she thought. It’s about time the Sidhe realize their days of pushing witches around are over. Yes, he was gorgeous, and he seemed interested in her, but the last thing she needed was some overbearing mage mucking things up. She still wasn’t quite certain how Colleen’s marriage to Duncan would impact her and Jenna. They’d always been kind of like The Three Musketeers, demon style. The permanent addition of a Sidhe was bound to have some effect. Exactly what was hard to gauge. Who am I kidding? We didn’t just get Duncan. We’re stuck with his kinfolk now too. All of them. She bit back a sigh. If the series of meetings a couple of weeks before in the U.K. was any indication, she, Jenna, and Colleen would have to fight to be recognized as anything remotely close to equal. Roz snuck a glance at Ronin. He sat straight in his seat, his profile heartbreakingly beautiful. His long-fingered hands were clasped together in his lap. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what they’d feel like stroking her body. Warm. Electric. Compelling. Maybe I should give him a chance, a tiny, inner voice piped up. Bosh. Roz tried for a stern note, but the other part of her brain wouldn’t shut up. Witches Rule Demon Assassins Book 3 Ann Gimpel   Dream Shadow Press 68K words   Release Date: 9/26/16   Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance   Urban Fantasy Romance with a heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!   Book Description:   Jenna’s a special witch, sort of, when her magic works, which it often doesn’t. One of three remaining demon assassins, she and her sister witches, Roz and Colleen, are Earth’s only hedge against being overrun by Hell’s minions. On the heels of Roz’s and Colleen’s weddings, Jenna is headed for the U.K. when a demon confronts her. Any other witch could teleport out of the plane, but not her.   Frustration about her limited power eats at her. It would be pathetic to get killed for lack of skills a teenager could master.   Tristan is a Sidhe warrior, but his primary gift is attunement to others’ emotions. He fell hard for Jenna, but hasn’t had an opportunity to act on their attraction beyond a few kisses because she returned to Alaska, and he’s been in the field fighting demons.   As seer for the Sidhe, Kiernan is haunted by visions, particularly an apocalyptic sending that seems to be coming true. A confirmed bachelor, he doesn’t understand his attraction to Jenna, but it’s so strong he can’t fight it. After a while, he doesn’t even try, despite recognizing Tristan’s claim to her.   Startling truths surface about Jenna’s magic, and then there’s the problem that she’s falling in love with two very different men. At first she believes she has to pick one of them, but her spirit refuses to walk away from either. It’s impossible to choose between a seer with dreams in his eyes and a beautiful man who intuits her every need. Standing on the verge of Earth’s destruction, will she defy convention and follow the song in her heart?   Amazon    BN    Kobo    iBooks    ARe    Google Play    Author’s Store     Excerpt from Witches Rule:   Jenna Neil sank heavily onto her airplane seat and kicked off her high heels, shoving them beneath the seat in front of her. With a small sigh of relief, she rotated her ankles to take the pressure off her aching arches. She’d always loved heels—the higher the better—and insisted on wearing them, never mind they definitely lacked a comfort factor. Once she’d shot past six feet, she figured it didn’t matter if she added a few inches to her already overbearing height. A flight attendant leaned over to hand her a pillow and blanket. Jenna tucked the pillow behind her head as she listened to the safety briefing and estimates of their arrival time in London. She closed her eyes, but it didn’t ease how tired and gritty they felt, and smoothed her too-short denim skirt down her thighs. A red wool sweater and matching denim jacket finished off her outfit. She’d been so excited about getting out of Alaska and away from the layers she was forced to wear through the winter, she’d probably underdressed for the current jaunt. Less trendy clothes were tucked in her checked luggage, but they weren’t exactly accessible. The last few days hadn’t offered much opportunity for rest. She, Colleen Kelly-Regis, and Roxanne Lantry-Redstone—Roz to everyone who knew her well—were the last of the demon assassin witches. Having escaped Irichna demons by a ridiculously narrow margin—again—the three of them were on their way to the U.K. where they could do it all over again. Jenna grinned ruefully. Demons running amok through the British countryside had thrown witches and the Daoine Sidhe together after two hundred years of enmity. It had also netted impossibly hunky husbands for her sister witches, but that was beside the point. Staying alive was a much more front and center problem. Because Irichna demons had become so much more aggressive, everyone but her thought it would be best to travel separately. She hadn’t agreed, but she’d been the one dissenting vote. As far as Jenna was concerned, there was always strength in numbers, but the others were convinced their current strategy would confuse the demons long enough for everyone to regroup on the eastern side of the Atlantic. Colleen and Roz were teleporting with their husbands. Niall, Colleen’s Irish changeling familiar, was making his own way back home along with two Scottish changelings, Llyr and Krae. Jenna had never been much good at teleporting, so she’d opted to fly commercial. It would place her arrival at least twelve hours after everyone else, but she could live with that. At least the first leg of her journey, from Fairbanks to Seattle, and thence to New York, had been uneventful. Thinking about Irichna made her shiver, so she unfolded her blanket and draped it around her shoulders. Demons didn’t get much worse than Irichna. As Abbadon’s chosen henchmen, they played for keeps, and Abbadon was the biggest and baddest of Hell’s denizens, so nothing was off limits. Demon assassin witches had been a craw in his throat for a long time, and lately he’d upped the ante to get rid of them—permanently. Them means me, and I’d do well not to forget that. Jenna blew out a weary breath. One of her not-so-distant ancestors had been forced into demon containment two hundred years ago by the Sidhe, breaking every rule that bound magic-wielders, but the Sidhe hadn’t cared. In the intervening years, demons had managed to kill every single witch with demon-assassin ability—except for her, Roz, and Colleen. The Sidhe were primed to take back some responsibility for ferrying Irichna to the Ninth Circle of Hell where the gatekeeper locked them away, but that hadn’t exactly happened yet. She gritted her teeth and unclenched hands she’d balled into fists around the edge of the thin airline blanket. The aircraft backed out of its slip and headed for one of the many runways at JFK Airport. While it would be lovely to have help with the demons, working with the Sidhe held its own set of problems. For one thing, most of them were insufferably autocratic, which was how Jenna’s great-grandmother had ended up being suckered into picking up the demon banner in the first place. Even though Titania, Queen of Faerie, appeared marginally tolerant of Colleen’s and Roz’s marriages to Sidhe now, she’d given Duncan quite a bit of grief over his proposed marriage to Colleen at the front end of things. By the time Ronin, the de facto Sidhe leader, made it clear he’d set his sights on Roz, Titania had backed down a few notches, probably because they were beset by Irichna. Jenna thinned her lips into a hard line. Hundreds of years before, Ronin’s human partner had died in childbirth, and the child along with her. Apparently, both the Queen and King of Faerie made it clear Ronin had sunk himself by choosing to marry someone outside his race. In the face of their indifference, Ronin had carried his grief alone. It’s just like it is with humans. Everybody’s got to have somebody to look down on… Jenna tamped back a cynical grin. The Sidhe had made strides accepting other races, but they had a way to go before they moved beyond their intolerant past. Jenna pictured her friends’ husbands, and a small sigh escaped. Like all the Daoine Sidhe, Duncan Regis and Ronin Redstone were heartbreakingly stunning. Duncan’s blond good looks and green eyes provided a counterpart for Ronin’s dark hair and deep blue gaze. When Jenna scratched the surface and did a little soul-searching, she had to admit she’d never expected to find a permanent partner. Girls like her—well rounded and obscenely tall—weren’t exactly in demand. Colleen was beautiful with her waist length auburn hair and pale blue eyes, and Roz was unusual and striking. Her Native American heritage and long, lean frame turned heads whenever she passed by. Guess I’m the odd witch out these days… Jenna pressed her lips together. It remained to be seen how her friends’ marriages would impact their lives. Some things would have to change because she couldn’t quite envision Duncan and Ronin simply moving in to her Fairbanks, Alaska, home along with their new wives. For one thing, all the Sidhe maintained amazing abodes in the U.K. Places that resembled castles more than houses. Jenna reined in her thoughts. There were a lot of unknowns, but the main problem would be surviving the next few weeks. Once they got the Irichna on the run—if that were even possible—then she could figure out more prosaic things, like if she’d be the only one still living in Fairbanks and running their magicians’ supply shop. Before the thought even finished forming, she knew that arrangement wouldn’t work. She, Roz, and Colleen had to stay together, and if the others insisted on remaining in the U.K., well then she wouldn’t have much choice in the matter. If she returned to Alaska by herself, she’d be a sitting duck for Irichna to swoop down and overpower her. She shivered again and considered asking for a second blanket. In an attempt to divert herself and maybe unwind, though it seemed unlikely, Jenna started to push her seat back and then remembered she wasn’t supposed to quite yet. The plane’s engines were revving, but they hadn’t left the ground. She heard the captain instruct the flight attendants to prepare the cabin for takeoff and tried to relax in her plush first-class seat. If the goddess was good to her, maybe she’d catch a few hours of sleep before the plane landed. A flurry of supernatural energy caught the edges of her attention, and Jenna’s gut twisted into a sour knot. She sat up straight and craned her neck to scan the cabin, defensive magic at the ready. Her eyes widened in disbelief as Krae’s unmistakable form shimmered into being, and the changeling bounded into the empty seat next to Jenna. Her long, bright red hair hung loose, and her eyes shone like emeralds. Krae’s stocky body was draped in wide-bottomed green silk pants and an embroidered black tunic. As was usual with changelings, her feet were bare. The creatures drew their power from the earth, and Jenna assumed they didn’t want layers of leather or rubber or neoprene between themselves and their magical well. With their three-foot height, broad shoulders, and longish arms, they looked like a missing link between humans and the great apes. “What are you doing here?” Jenna kept her voice low. “Don’t worry,” Krae replied, not exactly answering Jenna’s question. “No one can see me except you.” “Where are Niall and Llyr?” “Niall joined Colleen and Duncan, and Llyr is with Roz and Ronin.” Of course, why didn’t I think of that? Jenna cleared her throat. “Why did you make different plans?” Krae cocked her head to one side and crinkled her gnome-like face, making her look even more outlandish. “We discussed it and decided you might need help.” A corner of her mouth curved into a frown. “Personally, I thought it was a bit overdrawn, but Niall was most insistent about remaining with Colleen.” “Can he join her teleport spell after it’s already set in motion?” Jenna was curious, but if Krae could teleport into this aircraft, maybe the other two could tap into a spell she’d always considered sacrosanct. “Not directly, but he communicated with Colleen telepathically, and she altered her destination to pick him up. Llyr did the same with Roz and Ronin.” Krae dusted her palms together and grinned. “Nothing easier.” The changeling swept her agate-green gaze around the first-class cabin. “When will they feed us?” “As soon as we pass through ten thousand feet, which won’t be long since we just took off.” Jenna paused for a beat. “If you weren’t thrilled about the plans to get to the U.K., why didn’t you speak up back in Alaska?” “We did. No one listened to us. Roz and Ronin were so wrapped up in lust and pawing at each other, all they wanted to do was get to his manor house as fast as they could.” “Well, they did just get married,” Jenna pointed out in defense of her friend. “And I don’t recall anyone but me voicing concerns about splitting up to travel.” “That’s because you weren’t paying attention, either. Look, sweetie, if the Irichna win, no one will be tupping anyone.” Despite being much shorter than Jenna, the changeling managed to send a withering glance her way. “Point taken.” Jenna shot an equally scathing glance back. “Next time, if you feel strongly about something and no one’s paying attention, talk louder.” “Rehashing the past is a waste of time.” Krae bounced up and down in her seat. Jenna considered telling her to fasten her seatbelt, but if no one could see her, there wasn’t much point. “Be sure to take everything they offer foodwise,” the changeling instructed. “I’m hungry.” “Shouldn’t be a problem since I’m not.” Jenna lapsed into silence. “Why so glum, witchy girl?” Krae trained her ancient eyes, which probably didn’t miss a trick, on Jenna. “Oh, no particular reason.” Jenna stifled a snort and rolled her eyes. “I find facing death several times a day downright exhilarating.” A bell sounded, and the fasten seat belt icon winked out. Moments later, the first-class cabin flight attendant leaned close. “Are you all right?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” Jenna snapped and then winced at how surly she sounded. “I heard you talking and thought maybe you needed something.” The flight attendant smiled encouragingly. Airlines had moved past using Barbie clones long since, and this woman was middle-aged with streaks of gray in her dark, shoulder-length hair, the beginnings of wrinkles around her blue eyes, and a kind expression. “Food,” Krae prodded, not bothering with telepathic speech. “Thanks for being concerned.” Jenna managed a genuine smile for the cabin attendant. “I am hungry, so snacks would be appreciated whenever you get around to serving.” “Of course.” The woman smiled back. “I’m Suzanne.” She tapped the nametag hanging around her neck. “Just press your call button if you need anything. Other than that, relax and enjoy your flight.” “You could’ve been a bit more assertive about our dinner,” Krae complained. “I’m guessing they can’t hear you, either.” Jenna switched to telepathic speech. “Of course they can’t.” Krae blew out an annoyed-sounding breath. “Look, witchy-girl, draw a spot of magic and shield your speech. That way no one will bother us, and we can talk.” Feeling like an idiot because she hadn’t come up with the idea herself, Jenna drew the requisite spell before she spoke again. “I was actually hoping to sleep.” “You can do that after we eat and talk.” Jenna turned to face the changeling and raised a quizzical brow. “This is starting to sound bigger than you. Whose idea was it for the three of you to split up, and for you to join me?” Krae’s generous mouth twitched into a grin, and she jabbed a finger in the air between them. “Smart witch.” “You didn’t exactly answer me.” “No. I didn’t.” Jenna pressed her tongue against her teeth to manage her annoyance. The last thing she needed was a rousing game of twenty questions, so she trained what she hoped was a non-confrontational gaze on Krae and shrugged. “We have seven hours, feel free to take your time.” The changeling’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re burning up with curiosity. I can smell it.” Jenna didn’t bother to point out she was so trashed from the past few weeks that she doubted she had enough energy to burn up with anything. Suzanne handed her a bottle of water and a tray with an assortment of appetizers. The flight attendant had no sooner moved on to the next passenger than Krae bent over the tray and dug in. The changeling looked up after inhaling half the finger sandwiches and most of the nuts. “Sure you don’t want any of this?” “Help yourself.” Jenna adjusted her seat so it tilted backward, twisted the cap off the water, and drank deeply. “Beer, wine, or a cocktail, miss?” a masculine voice asked. Jenna glanced up at a cabin attendant she hadn’t seen before. He was tall and rangy with very blue eyes, white-blond hair, and a gold band on the third finger of his left hand. She swallowed a smile. With looks like his, he might have begun wearing the ring in self-defense, to slow the tide of women throwing themselves at his feet. He arched a brow and gestured toward the drink cart. “Um, maybe a cup of coffee with a side of Irish whiskey.” “Excellent choice.” He beamed at her, displaying very white, very even teeth. He may have winked, but she wasn’t quite certain. “Would you care for cream or sugar?” “Both.” Once he handed her drink over, she uncapped the small bottle of spirits and dumped a little into her cup. She’d traveled through so many time zones already, it scarcely mattered whether it was evening yet, and the liquor might have a salutary effect. The steward’s gaze traveled up her body in frank appraisal before he moved to the passenger across the aisle. Jenna’s face warmed a few degrees. What the hell? Was he sizing her up for a quickie in one of the plane’s johns? Krae twisted her head and stared at the man. The air glistened wetly where the changeling deployed magic. She wasn’t particularly subtle, and the man’s spine stiffened, but he didn’t turn around. “He felt that.” Jenna pitched her mind voice just for Krae and shielded it to boot. “Indeed he did.” Krae narrowed her eyes. “Do you know what he is?” Jenna shook her head. “Pity,” the changeling went on, “neither do I.” “I don’t think it’s a good idea to send more magic his way,” Jenna murmured. “As it is, what you did tipped him off. How did you know something was wrong?” “How else?” Krae shrugged. “I almost missed it, but something…odd drew my attention when he looked at you. If he’d been human, his gaze would have held more heat. Instead there was an…unnatural hunger.” She hesitated. “More like he was relieved he’d found you rather than wanting sex.” A shudder iced Jenna’s blood. Unlike Roz and Colleen, she couldn’t simply teleport off the airplane. Her heartbeat sped up. “Maybe you should leave,” she told Krae. “No point in both of us being trapped.” “Uh-uh. We hold our ground for now. It’s possible his presence has nothing to do with you.” “Not very fucking likely.” Krae picked up another small sandwich and stuffed it into her mouth. Jenna snuck a peek at the steward just in time to see him disappear through the curtain separating first class from the remainder of the aircraft. Because she was desperate for information, she sent a tendril of magic snaking outward and yanked it back as soon as she determined the man wasn’t an Irichna disguised as human. Duncan had run up against one masquerading as a priest near the Witches’ Northwest Coven headquarters in Seattle. It had lured two female teenagers and would have drained them of life if Duncan hadn’t intervened. As it was, he wasn’t certain either had survived because he’d left them at a hospital and hadn’t hung around long enough to find out. Jenna ran options through her mind, not liking any of them. She didn’t want to end up in a pitched battle inside the aircraft. Hell, they’d probably lock her away as a terrorist the minute the plane landed, and Irichna would pick her off from her cell. “I was serious,” Krae’s out loud voice intruded. “There’s at least a small possibility he’s simply some sort of mage. He might have gotten a magical hit off your aura and was curious.” “What did you want to talk about earlier?” Jenna changed the subject because she could speculate about the mystery steward from now until he made a move against her, and it wouldn’t change the outcome, other than making her more aware to watch out for him. “How much do you know about my race?” Krae countered, answering Jenna by asking a question of her own. “Mostly what I’ve gleaned from living with Niall for forty years. Why?” Krae popped the last sandwich into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “We’ve always known we would have a key role to play in major battles against the Irichna. It’s written in our histories, and we’ve prepared as best we could.” Jenna drew her brows together. “Niall never mentioned it.” “It’s quite possible he didn’t know. We’ve done our damnedest to keep that particular bit of knowledge quiet, so the Irichna wouldn’t target us before the time came to play our part. Not that we didn’t inform our people—and try to coach them—but Niall’s been gone for a good many years.” Jenna rolled her shoulders to offset the iron bar of tension sitting between them. “You sound like a preacher threatening the latter days are nearly upon us.” “They are.” Krae’s expression turned deadly serious. “More whiskey, miss?” Jenna started at the sound of the steward’s voice. He’d returned to the cabin so quietly, she hadn’t heard him. “Um, no.” She resisted the temptation to look at him. It would give her more information, but that was a two-way street. “As you will, miss.” He pushed the drink cart past her. It made quite a bit of noise, which led her to suspect he’d used magic to muffle his presence earlier. How long had he studied her without her knowing? Why hadn’t Krae sensed him? Worse, he’d apparently made his way back to the front of the plane, pushed the rattling cart past her, and served other passengers without alerting her to his presence. Not good. Jenna shielded her mind—just in case—and clamped her jaws together when he sashayed into the curtained galley alcove between first class and the cockpit. Her heart thudded against her ribcage, and her throat was dry. It was looking like she’d need to do something, but what would attract the least attention? Krae uttered a muted expletive in Gaelic, bolted from her seat, and whisked after the steward. Jenna stared after the changeling with her mouth hanging open. She pushed upright, remembered her seatbelt, and fumbled with the clasp. By the time she was free of it, a flash of multicolored light practically blinded her, flaring above, below, and through the curtain. Heedless of the other first class passengers, who couldn’t sense expended magic anyway, she threw her power wide open. Jenna didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it whistled from between her clenched teeth. She drew her lips back, hissing in satisfaction once she realized the blast of power had come from Krae, not the man. Balancing on the balls of her stocking-clad feet, Jenna strode forward and pushed past the curtain. The steward was shaking his head back and forth, his face screwed into a mask of pain. Power flashed from the changeling’s hands. “No more,” he rasped, tottering from foot to foot. “I won’t hurt either of you.” Jenna dragged an invisibility spell over all of them, layered a don’t look here spell over that, and prayed to the goddess no one would enter the small, enclosed space for the next few minutes. “What are you?” She shoved the question hard into his mind. “I already figured that out,” Krae said sourly. “He’s a minor demon sent to keep an eye on you and report back.” “I already told you I hadn’t,” he whined. “And I won’t. You can bind me with magic.” “That’s not good enough,” Jenna growled. ��Demons lie.” “So do changelings and witches.” He shot her a venomous look that belied his promises of non-interference. “We’re wasting time,” Krae said and settled into a low chant. A look of horror twisted the steward’s handsome face into something unrecognizable. He tried to walk past them but clearly couldn’t move. The air thickened, took on a blackish tinge, and stank of ozone just before smoke rose from the creature and he vanished. Jenna drew back, impressed. Whatever Krae had done was magic well beyond her own abilities. Footsteps sounded on the far side of the curtain. Suzanne. Jenna recognized her energy and ducked into a passenger restroom. If Krae was powerful enough to banish the demon, shielding herself from the flight attendant should prove trivial. Kicking herself for being sloppy, Jenna pulled the magic from her spells to make the cramped galley appear as normal as possible. “Paul,” Suzanne’s voice was pitched low, “your drink cart’s here. Where are you?” Jenna flushed the toilet and splashed cold water on her overheated face. She took her time drying off and settled her features into a bland expression before stepping out of the john. With a nod and a smile at Suzanne, she pushed the curtain aside and returned to her seat. Krae was already there, doing her best to mask a self-satisfied grin. “Okay, I give up.” Jenna eyed the changeling. “What did you do?” “Teleported him outside the plane. Nature took care of the rest.” Jenna thought about it. “While it’s good he’s gone, how will we know he didn’t report in somehow?” “We won’t,” Krae said shortly. “Which means we’ll have to be very careful not to lead the enemy right to wherever we’re staying after we land.”   About the Author: Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients, now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over 30 books to date, with several more planned for 2016 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren and wolf hybrids round out her family.   www.anngimpel.com   http://anngimpel.blogspot.com   http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel   http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author   @AnnGimpel (for Twitter)