#came down sick and got called for jury duty

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Tidbit Zi-O’s Back!...

... Ish?

So this isn’t the Ryusoul Tidbit of the day, that’s gonna come later.

But I finally felt well enough to think about Zi-O again, and look around in the tag a bit and now I feel a little better about some stuff. I’m still not a huge fan of arcs where the protagonists fight each other, but that’s just a general preference. Like, I don’t like it when William Shakespeare does it, and I’m a die-hard Shakespeare geek, it’s just a plot choice I’m not a huge fan of. Which is a little odd, considering how much of an angst bird I am...

Which brings me to this. I started this tidbit bc when I have overly emotional reactions to stuff, sometimes I can reason it out and solve it by writing. It took a little more than that this time (I blame being sick and no sleep), but after a couple days of calming and consideration, I feel better.

And I finished it.

It’s not great or anything, but I’m actually rather fond of it now.

He’s been angry before. In fact, he’s usually angry.

He’s never been this angry. Especially not at so many people.

There’s Ouma Zi-O, for causing all of this. Kuro Woz for constantly getting in the way. Shiro Woz, too, for even making this an option, pushing them so far. Another Zi-O for being a product, a reminder of the damage he caused. Zi-O himself, for making everything so much harder and complicated than it ever should have been. Even her, just a little, for going that far.

He’s ashamed at some of the anger, directed against his will at people who don’t really deserve it—well, some of them don’t.

But most of all?

He’s angry at himself.

He should have just taken the hit and pulled the trigger. If he had done that, things might have been different.

But he didn’t. And now it’s too late. He failed, and now this is where they are. He’s the only one left. All he can do now is take the one alternative available. The only one they know works. And then perhaps all those people who died will live.

No matter how he looks at it, one person’s life isn’t worth this.

Not even a… Friend’s.

He should have just accepted the burden from the start. He’s the soldier. If one of them truly has to do this, has to carry this crime, it should be him. No one else.

If he finishes it now, what will the future be? He’d never imagined how completing the mission might actually effect time. If Ouma Zi-O never exists, then things will go differently. Neither he nor she will ever go back in time—and without them the bus will never explode.

Maybe there will another her, come the new 2068. One who’s born into a peaceful world, where she never sees her father or her comrades die fighting an impossible opponent. Maybe…

Maybe there will be a new Sougo. One who grows up with his parents, and never has a dream that tells him he needs to be a king.

That’s the most comfort he can afford himself.

He pushed her to her death. His only choice is to kill Sougo.

But maybe the new versions can live better, fuller lives in the future this will create.

Even though they won’t be the ones he knew, not anymore. And they won’t know him.

Maybe there will be a new him, too. One whose father is never made hard-hearted by the world’s destruction. Who never has to be a soldier. Who never sees death. Who never loses his best friend. Who never has to kill someone he cares about.

Maybe they’ll even find each other again, somehow, some way.

It will a future where he has no place. Where he’s nothing but an angry, guilty ghost. Shiro Woz can gild it all he likes—there will nothing for him in that timeline, and no one. No past, present, or future.

Nothing but regrets he alone can recall. 

But what are his options?

Fight and win. Or fight and die.

Or… Both.

Or both.

Tense? What is tense? Also added some of the head canon I had about Geiz’s father, since we’ve had nothing about his family at all.

I don’t know what it is w/ me writing jerkass fathers. KR must be rubbing off on me. Quick! I need to write a good dad! DX

[acourtofsnakes]

Tor - Rogue, Chapter 3| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: A little bit of Mando pov for you all!! It’s a shorter chapter, just kind of the same as the previous but from our Space Dad’s point of view this time. Though there may be a little hint of your decision at the end…

Warnings: Injury detail/blood, swearing, angst? Hints of fluff?

AN: There’s a very small ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ reference to a certain Dornish prince and his nickname in here too. Wonder if you’ll find it? 👀

Also, thank you to @ithinkwehitametaphor​ for sending me the gif! i couldn’t for the life of me find it and you honestly saved my life 

Wordcount: About 3465

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar​  @weirdowithnobeardo​

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl ​

Mando’a Translation: Tor – justice 

He always thought it would end like this. Never in some big blaze of blaster fire or with his ship, but in some back alley, bleeding out, alone. 

Hell, maybe he deserved it. He’d killed enough people to warrant this end, slumped on the floor, too weak to save himself. 

He didn’t deserve a warrior’s death, a Mandalorian’s death. Not after all he had done.

Of course, it was his duty, his honour as a Mandalorian and a bounty hunter but… that sacred Creed did nothing to stop the thoughts that plagued him at night, the whispers that hissed in his ear during his waking hours. 

He almost laughed at himself. 

The Creed was all he had. 

Until…. Until the kid had come along. 

Until he saw that little wrinkly baby in the crib and… it had all changed. 

He couldn’t kill it, him, couldn’t take it back to the Client or his Clones. 

One look at that damn little silver ball, and eveyrhting went straight out the window. 

Fuck the Guild code. He would never kill a child, an innocent being that couldn’t even talk, could only make those little cooing sounds that even he had to admit were adorable. 

Rescuing him… it had given him something to live for. Something to fill his days and a reason not to go hurtling helmet first into danger with no regard for his own safety. 

Except… well, no. That wasn’t strictly true was it. He’d become more reckless since that moment, the rules that his bound his life for so long were slowly coming undone bit by bit. All of which made him so reckless, so… desperate?

You only had to look at the sheer amount of people lining up for his and the kid’s head to prove that. 

So maybe he didn’t always make the smartest decisions, but they were still alive, weren’t they? Had friends to help them if he needed it. 

In a short time, he’d gone from being Judge, Jury and Executioner, to being the person that people called when they needed help. Sometimes people didn’t even call him. He just showed up and offered his services. 

And truth be told… he liked it. He liked people looking at him with hope and admiration, rather than fear and jealousy. He liked the way people fussed over the kid, asking if Mando was taking good care of the child. Like they were a family. 

A Clan.

The sigil on his armour said as much. Him and the kid. A unit of two rogues. 

That’s what it all came down to, in the end. Everything was to keep Grogu safe. That’s why he stuck to the Outer Rim, taking jobs that would draw him further away from those that relentlessly hunting them, those who wanted to harm the Child. Besides, he needed the credits that came with the big jobs. Taking care of the little womp rat was expensive. Not to mention there was always something falling apart on his ship. 

So, when that guy in the hood had cornered him in the bar, given him the fob and told him about the bounty that no one could catch, he’d taken it without a thought. He’d had so many over the years that were supposedly uncatchable that the word had nearly lost its meaning. And this stranger had obviously sensed that, explained that it was true. Reeled off the sheer amount of hunters that had been sent that way, Imps, Trandoshans, Empire workers, IG-11 robots, even another Mandalorian. After hearing that list, Mando had expected some high-level bounty. An escapee from the deepest pits of the darkest prisons, someone who had done terrible, terrible things.

So… when he’d activated the puck, and the hologram of a woman’s face had come up… he was shocked. This woman… she was beautiful. Still young. She didn’t look like she bathed in the blood of her enemies, or killed children and babies, she looked… well, not exactly harmless. There was a glint in her eyes even on the hologram, a spark that warned of danger, promised pain to anyone that tried to hurt her. 

A survivor’s look. 

Something niggled at him, a feeling he couldn’t quite place. It might have been hesitation, but he ignored it. The bounty over her head was enough that he could take Grogu to one of those sanctuary planets and lay low for a few weeks. Maybe even a few months. The kid deserved it, to be able to play and explore. 

And himself… Maker, he was just so tired. 

So, he’d pocketed the puck and the fob, didn’t ask who the client was, went back to the Crest and then he was on his way to Sorgan. 

Maybe it would take him a little longer than usual to bring the girl in, but it was nothing that he hadn’t done before. After all, stealing back the kid, breaking into a prison, everything else that had occurred recently… this was a walk in the park. 

He still believed that, right up to tracking you. Even when he chased you. 

He had to admit, he did love it when they ran, even if his back was killing him. 

Something about the chase, the frantic fear of the prey as he hunted them down, the conclusion inevitable. It thrilled him. 

But… this felt.. different. 

You were different. You fought like it was a dance, whirling across the clearing and around his punches like there was a song only you could hear. And you were taunting him, laughing as you did. You lived for this, like you had been bred for it. No… you’d been shaped by it, shaped by the choice of cowering or turning into a wolf. A wolf, like those he’d seen in Lothal.

You were strong, you fought well, he had to give you that much. He knew he would have to work for it, but with the promise of safety lingering, he matched you move for move, determined to hold this out as long as it took. 

He’d read your file, read what had happened and used that to his advantage. The words had come easily, even though they had stirred something inside him, perhaps a mirror of the feelings he was encouraging in you. 

But then… then you just gave in. Straight away. And not like the others did. Not in the way that they had, thinking it would make him go easier, change his mind.

No, you had completely, utterly given up.  He saw it in your eyes. Saw that survivors glint gutter out, a wolf tamed back into her cage with her tail between her legs. 

And… it threw him. He had touched something, caught something deep within you as he taunted you. Something broken… that again whispered to his own deepest thoughts. Like calling to like. 

He’d ignored it, pushing that thought back into the part of his minds where his darker thoughts lay slumbering – for now. He’d carried you back to the Crest, shackled you to the wall and had made to leave you there. 

Only, he had seen that the wound on your shoulder was torn open again, ripped by your fight and his jamming with the rifle. It was bleeding through your tunic, and even with unconsciousness heavy in your body, you still looked somewhat pained. 

He’d hovered there, staring at the bleeding wound and having some kind of internal battle. 

It wasn’t fatal. It was just a recent injury that had torn open. You’d be fine. He nodded, turning around and making all of one step. 

But. A Trandoshan had been the last person to hunt you. They relished in the hunt, had probably fought dirty and used a poison. It might be infected. What if you died on his way back to dropping you off? Or got really, really sick?

Nevermind. The messenger for the Client stated you had to be brought back alive. Alive didn’t mean whole. He carried on walking, trying to focus again on something else… only to pause a couple of metres away. 

Help her. 

The Mandalorian had turned back around to look at you, a frustrated grunt slipping from his lips. He moved through the ship, grabbing a med-kit and then practically stormed back to you, nearly ripping your tunic as he’d eased up the sleeve. 

It wasn’t too bad, a deep wound but it hadn’t been infected, yet. He cleaned it up, spraying it with the last of his bacta-spray and binding it with the last strip of bandages. He’d have to get some more soon, dig up some credits from somewhere. 

A cruel reminder of why he took this job. What you were. A bounty. That’s all. 

Muttering a string of curses, he finished binding your wound, wrenching his hands away and then made his way back upstairs. 

A bounty. A means to an end. The way to getting a break that his aching body craved for. 

He was hunter. You were prey. 

That was the mantra he had to keep repeating to himself when he’d brought you up to the cockpit. 

Had to keep repeating when you were teasing him, which simultaneously ground on his nerves but also made his skin tighten in a way it hadn’t for a while. 

It had been a long time, so long since he’d that kind of verbal play with someone. 

Hell, it had been a long time since he’d had any kind of play with anyone. He just didn’t have the time anymore, not with Grogu and not when everyone knew who he was. How could you trust someone enough to sleep with them when nearly everyone wanted to kill you?

His new mantra had echoed in his head when you began to verbally poke at him, hitting home about being lonely. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you knew you’d hit a nerve. But thankfully you stopped. 

But not before that broken thing had called between you again. Your words were spoken with too much ease and casualness, someone who knew all too well the loneliness and starvation for touch and companionship. 

Maker, he had to get rid of you soon. 

It had almost been a relief to find the small bounty on this planet. You’d been asleep, the kid asleep too so he’d gone. He didn’t need to wake either of you up, you knew why you were here - he’d told you so this morning. 

Besides, it was a small planet, easy prey to catch when everyone here feared the dark. He’d be back in a few hours. 

With the way he was so wired, he’d probably be back in two. 

That’s the way it was meant to happen. 

Track down the bounty, disarm, bring him back, freeze him in carbonite and Mando would have you back in the sky before you’d even woken up. 

And it had happened that way initially. He followed the sharp tailed bounty from the fighting pits to a cantina. Had to sit and listen as he boasted about some girl he’d bedded the night before and had screaming his name. He then, of course, launched into detail of said night, drawling about this girl in such a derogatory way that it took all his training and restraint not to just shoot this creep in the head there and then and be done with it. 

But, the Mandalorian had endured it. Sat there for an hour or so and then followed him out into an alleyway. Mando kept hidden as the bounty had spoken to a friend, talking about another girl he’d seen. Apparently, this one was even better than last night. He had it on good authority that this girl would be game for anything he wanted to do and more. 

And then Spikey had started describing again, in detail, what he would do. And Mando had been disgusted, angry that this creep was talking about a woman this way, such sick and derogatory things. Spikey’s friend asked if this ‘slut’ had a name. 

And then…

Your name. That’s what he said. 

And that’s when it went wrong. 

Your name had barely come out of this animal’s lips when a red haze clouded over the Mandalorian. Everything in him screamed violence and his body went on autopilot, attacking this vile waste of space matter so quickly he hadn’t had time to breathe. Mando didn’t even notice the friend bolt, running away. He was just so focused on taking down the bounty, ripping him apart for what he’d said about you. This one would be brought in cold. He would say that it put up a fight, tried to kill him so Mando acted in self-defence. 

His previous mantra of the last two days was forgotten, overtaken by a need to defend you, make sure this guy stayed the hell away from you. Bring him down, freeze him in carbonite and get off of this planet. He fell back into that haze, relying on his skills and instincts. 

Except… except that when the haze cleared, he wasn’t leaning over the body. 

No, he was the one being pinned against the wall by the bounty, with a strength he hadn’t realised Spikey possessed. What the fuck was he?

Escape training came to him now, but before he could disarm and kill, the bounty began to spew those vile thoughts about you again. About how Mando was keeping you tied to a bed, for his own pleasure. How he was going to take you, ask to keep you, use you-

And then for the first time in his life, Mando forgot his training. He forgot about blocking and defensive maneuverers. He forgot about the myriad of weapons on his body, the Whistling Birds, the flame-thrower. 

He reached out in a blind fury to throttle this creep. 

He left himself open to attack. 

That was the first time he royally fucked up tonight.  

Pain had suddenly become a living thing in his side and waist as he slid down the wall, and then his only thought wasn’t of survival, it was of the kid, and you. 

You were back in the ship, both of you safe at least. Maybe you would know how to fly, know how to get yourselves out of there and run, escape. That’s what he’d hoped. You were smart, you were a survivor. You’d take the initiative and get yourselves out. Besides, he might not have admitted it, but he trusted you with Grogu. 

And then like he’d fucking summoned you… there you were. Launching into Spikey Tail’s side and getting him away. He could only watch as you engaged him in the fight, taunted him with that same tone you’d used on him. Only this time, he could watch you. 

Beautiful. 

There was no other word for it, as much as he might not have wanted to admit it. You fought like it was a dance, that prowling wolf in you giving way to a viper, striking and falling back with all the grace of dancers he’d heard about performing in Coruscant. 

He was almost breathless as he watched this deadly game – though that might have been the blood loss and blow to his head. 

He thought he might be sick when the sound of your ribs shattering bounced off the slick metal walls, the muffled cry of agony it tore from you. 

But still, the taunts kept coming, and he couldn’t help himself when you complained that Spikey Tail talked too much. You had possibly two broken ribs and yet you were still a cocky little shit. The impressed, huffing laugh that came from his lips was loud enough to be heard by you. 

And that was his second fuck up of the night. 

What started as an unexpected burst of warmth in his chest as you turned and smiled at him, had immediately frozen his lungs as Spikey slammed you against the wall, strangling you. 

Fear shot through Mando, colder than his body had begun to feel. He tried to get up, tried to help you but he couldn’t move. His limbs wouldn’t respond to him. 

He couldn’t save you. 

He was going to watch you die defending him. 

Just like his parents. 

No, no, no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that, not again. He swore against his body, gathered every remaining ounce of strength that he had and reached for his blaster, just as those sick comments of degradation and ugly lust began to fall from your attacker’s lips. 

All he needed was to give you an opening, just one tiny opening and you would do the rest. 

Spikey’s lips were creeping toward yours, fear bursting in your eyes as you scrambled for the vibroblade sheathed against your thigh. 

An opening, that’s all he had to do. 

And he did. He managed to haul his body back from the edge of death long enough to shoot the guy in the back. 

You took your opening. 

He saw the flash of your vibroblade, heard the muffled, wet noise as it sunk into his bounty’s neck. 

The guy fell to the floor in a dead weight. You dropped too and he managed to see you gasp for air, assure himself you were mostly okay before that flame of energy guttered out so quickly, he saw stars. 

Darkness hovered around the edges of his vision as he felt his life slip through his fingers – literally, his other hand was pressed to his side in an effort to try and staunch it but he didn’t have the energy to. 

This was it then. 

The way he would go. 

Nothing noble, or heroic. 

Bleeding out in a back alley. The creatures in the dark would take him soon enough. 

At least you would be able to take the kid and run now. At least there was that. 

And then he felt hands knocking his way, significantly smaller hands push into the wound. He couldn’t even make a noise of pain; it didn’t hurt anymore. His vision cleared again and there you were once more, leaning over him with blood sprayed over your face, falling from a cut on your cheek. 

No. No. 

What were you doing?? 

You were supposed to escape. You were supposed to flee the mess he’d bought you into and take the kid and run. 

He tried to speak, to convey these thoughts to you but his lips had stopped responding. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. But somehow, it was like you got what he meant. 

Your hands began to lift, and he had a weak wave of relief that was marred by the fresh soaking of blood that oozed out of his side. How much had he lost now?

Too much, by the cooling temperature of his body and the trembling that had begun. 

He had come close to death before, so many times before but this felt different. This felt like he was losing something. Something that was just within reach but he hadn’t had the chance to grasp at yet. And it was being wrenched away, taken from him and trickling over the stones beneath him in a deep, scarlet puddle. 

Maybe he’d begun to hallucinate too, because you were back, leaning over him, hands pressed into him again like they could stop the blood. He lifted his eyes and something in him curled up and panged when he saw that you were already gazing at him. 

Gazing right into his eyes. 

How you knew where they were, how you looked through the blackened visor without seeing, he didn’t know. But he could read the war raging inside of you, the battle off stay or go. 

Go.

Mando tried to talk again, but only managed a faint noise, a croak that sounded so pitiful, he might have cringed at himself had he not started to hear a ringing in his ears. Time was nearly up, ticking away his life and that glimmer of something. 

So, he instead just looked at you. You were clearly not made up yet, so he did something selfish. 

He put his life in your hands. 

If you left him here to die, he deserved it. It was justice. Justice for every ounce of pain he’d caused. The grief he’d doled out to mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, children. 

Justice for the life of treachery he had all but dumped Grogu into. 

Justice for letting his parents die for him and not save them. 

But, if you let him live…

Then he would try harder. He would repent for his mistakes. 

He would make sure you were dropped somewhere safely. You couldn’t stay with him, he wrought death and destruction to those around him whether he meant it or not  

But he could take you somewhere safe, maybe to Greef and Cara. 

Then he would hunt down whoever came after you next, giving you the respite that he was going to keep for himself. 

They were the options. 

A deserved death, or a new determination to set right his mistakes. 

These thoughts swum through his hazy brain at a surprisingly rapid pace, only a few seconds worth of time as he still watched what you would do with this choice. He could see that you understood, understood the choice he had selfishly bestowed upon you. 

Only it was too late. 

Heavy darkness thundered over him in an unrelenting tidal wave and with a choked gasp, he was dragged under, so deep he might have imagined your arms winding around his battered body, hauling him to his feet as much as you could. 

His brain giving him one last reprieve, perhaps, or maybe a cruel taunt to what might have been before he was sucked under and everything went numb. 

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[vanilla-vivillon]

Part two of Zoyalai kid as promised

Here’s part one- https://dablackdahlia.tumblr.com/post/650586205772201984/the-black-dahlia

Massive row spoilers

Prince Mycanae Juris Nazyalensky( My Kuh Nay Uh) was turning one years old

It was suprising how quickly he grew up

To Nikolai at least

For Zoya, who adored her son couldn’t wait for him to get older

For one thing while the baby didn’t cry to much at night (whitch was a blessing from the saints)

He couldn’t be Grisha tested

Most ravkans were tested around the age of seven though it varies

Myca was far to young

It was decided when he turned four he would be tested

And so the country was forced to wait four long years

Three more years to go Zoya thought to herself

Myca was an easy baby

That was what his doctors said

He barely if ever cried in the night and was sociable enough

Unlike Genya and David’s son Forrest Kostyk who from all of Zoyas interactions and everything Genya and David mentioned he was a nightmare

Constantly screaming

Hates to eat everything

And now that His teeth were a big enough size he started biting

She had gotten lucky

But Nikolai and her started talking about having more kids

And Zoya found she wanted more aswell

Nikolais pitch however would be far to amusing for her to not listen to

“Come on Zoya only children are the freaks in the playground!” Nikolai said gesturing incredulously

They just gotten Myca put to bed and were having much needed glasses of wine

He needed his rest for his birthday tomorrow

Even though they could’ve had many nannies take care of him that night, neither of them wanted that

Nikolai grew up like that and he wasn’t as close to his mother because of it.

Not to mention the old king was scarce most of his early upbringing

Zoya didn’t want that for Myca either

Of course with all of there duties they had to get some help but they always, always, made sure they put him to bed in the room across from there’s

“Nikolai I’m an only child” zoya retorted

“Touché, but what if something were to happen that Myca couldn’t become king? We would need another option!” Nikolai threw back

Nikolai having another realization

“Plus, it would’ve really helped me growing up to have a good sibling”

This was something Zoya thought about aswell

As a girl she wished for a baby sister

And so did her mother

Sabina had four miscarriages

The last one was the worst

She was safely in the third trimester when it happened

Sabina was distraught for weeks

And when she finally came to, she was different

Harder

Sadder

Meaner

And a couple years later marching Zoya down an aisle

“You know I’m already convinced Nikolai right?” Zoya laughed tired of this charade

Before Myca was born Zoya thought she’d have one

One child

One heir

But she had changed her mind and wanted more

Nikolai showed her a dazzling smile “perfect” he said with a kiss

Zoyas second pregnancy was different

Her morning sickness wasn’t as bad as her first

But a new thing has arrived

cravings

She was consuming unhealthy amounts of Ravkan chocolates

But nonetheless the baby’s due date was July eighth

The date came and passed

But it was nothing to be worried about

There was a lot of moments where they were like “this Is it, the babies coming” then nope

Zoya was 43 weeks pregnant

The baby would be post term

Nikolai would say this is a sign that this child was going to Be late for everything

A difference when Myca was born on the exact due date

But in the middle of the night July twenty second Zoya went into Labor

There second child was Prince Nazariy (Nah-Zuh-ree) Dominik Nazyalensky

He had Brown skin almost darker then Zoya’s and black hair

But it was his eyes that captivated people

He had sectoral heterochromia

His Blue eyes like his Mothers had parts of brown (example below)

They decided on his middle name after Nikolais friend Dominick after some rigorous debate

Zoya wanted to continue with Saint middle names

Nikolai argued Juris was a personal friend

In the end with Nikolais charisma he won

His name Nazariy was actually found in a simple baby book

While Mycanae was in old ravkan and they liked the nickname Myca

They were much more lax with there second son

They eventually decided to have four kids but wanted to wait until Myca would get tested before having there next two children

Time skip three years because your girl can’t detail everything

Myca was four years old and today was the day

He was dressed in his best clothes

What would happen is he would go up in front of the entirety of the Ravkan nobility and other ambassadors and such and would get tested

Zoyas power still couldn’t sense anything in him or Nazariy, but a couple months prior Forrest Kostyk was revealed to be an Alkemi

It seemed that when the grisha first used there ability it activates something and typically Zoya could sense it

Because now Zoya could see Forrest as an Alkemi easily

So while she couldn’t sense anything in her sons that didn’t mean there was nothing there

Zoya and Nikolai had finally gotten most of the details finished and it was them, Nazariy and Myca, and the triumvirate working out some details in the meeting room

Well, Nazariy was pretending he was a squaller by blowing on some paper

And Myca was clearly trying to convince him that wasn’t how it worked

It seemed Myca hadn’t quite grasped his two year old little brother couldn’t care less about what he thought

A fact that would never change over the years

“I don’t understand why we don’t just test him right here right now?” Adrik insisted for the ninth time “less risk”

“And then what if he turns out to be Grisha but presented before the nobility nothing happens? The grisha test only works when they just start out” Tamar responded

“It could still work in front of the nobility” Adrik insisted

“And if all else fails we can just tell him to summon a gust” Tolya added

Tolya was fiercely protective of the boys

It probably started when a couple months ago Myca showed a vague interest in his favorite Poet and the friendship bloomed

“Tolya most summoners can’t summon until days of practice” Leoni interjected “Plus, we’ve made plans on all outcomes and it’s to late to change them now, look on the bright si-”

“Nazariy spit that out!” Zoya interupted

Apparently the little hellhound put one of David’s nails in his mouth

Nazariy, learning his mother wasn’t to be trifled with quickly on, spit it out

Back to the conversation they started on a topic healthy debated

“There’s no way the kid is Grisha!” Adrik started on

“But Adrik he hasn’t gotten sick. And Grisha dont get sick to!” Leoni countered

This back and forth started since Zoya announced her pregnancy

It was a headache really

But when she turned towards the three boys who had come to mean the world to her it was all worth it

Nikolai was with the boys and was apparently taking on Nazariy’s side claiming him blowing on the paper was just as credible as Mommy’s lightning

Myca fought back and claimed any otkaxatsya could do that

It was something happening more often

Myca makes an offhand statement and Nikolai fighting the other side

It was adorable really how Mycas eyes would light up and debate with his father

Plus it would make him think more critically and would make a good king out of him

Not to mention how it really helped Nikolai and him bond

Nikolai and him had some trouble sometimes

Myca doesn’t usually respond to jokes

It seemed after his silly and rambunctious troublemaker of a brother was born he decided he would have to be serious enough for the both of them

Or at least as serious as a four year old could be

But rigourous debate on whether or not green looked good on Nazariy was something they both seemed to enjoy

And as much as Zoya wished she could watch forever it was time

Time to see if her baby boy had certain talents

Myca was scared

He was behind the door waiting to be presented before his mother, father, brother, who would all be seated on the thrones, and of course the rest of the nobility

‘People like you Myca!’ Nikolai would insist ‘there’s nothing to worry about no matter what happens!’

Myca thought he was trying to alleviate the pressure but it wasn’t working

Suddenly his que to come In was called and he walked in

Head held high and posture immaculate he waltzed through the door

The person who was testing him was the Baron of Banewood

An old man who hated nonsense, children, and Prince Nazariy since he was both of those things

He came forward and after some very boring speeches that Myca couldn’t bring himself to listen to until the Baron told him to stick out his hand

Myca complied and the baron produced a very big pin

Guess everyone wanted to be really sure he was Grisha or not

His eyes wandered to his family

Theyre faces looked calculatingly impassive

He knew it was a front

They needed to seem stable for the people

Nazariy who was standing next to the throne was having difficulties standing still

Myca felt bad for him

Half of being royalty is sitting still looking pretty

He trained his eyes back on his parents and saw his father give him a small wink

I got this, I’m prepared for the result, I can do this

As the pin was stabbed into his skin Myca felt it

That calling

That thing begging to come out whenever he saw his Mother doing something grand

Or when he really wanted his brother to leave him alone

And Myca let it overcome him

When he opened his eyes he could see the Baron knocked over and a small breeze

A firm hand clamped his shoulder

“Congratulations Mycanae” Tolya started dragging him away from the scene where the nobility were discussing the scene “Your a Squaller”

Hey so part two of the Zoyalai kid as promised. This was originally gonna be longer but then It became a 230 word monster and i cut it down and will save the rest for part three

35 likes and I’ll make part three

[plaidbooks]

Could you do an imagine of having a fling with Carisi and getting pregnant?

Fling

A/N: Hey Anon! Heck yes I can do that! Remember peeps, if you’re gonna  have a ONS, be safe about it! Hope you enjoy

Tags: alcohol and bad decisions, mentions of smut, mentions of vomiting

Words: 1726

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles

It had been…a long day. You were the owner of a coffee shop that doubled as a bookstore, and three employees had up and quit on you. You had scrambled to find replacements, and while the new kids were working out well, they were still new, and needed a lot of handholding. So, on Saturday night, with the shop closed on Sundays, you went to the bar, hoping to just drink until you could forget about your worries for a little bit. What you weren’t expecting was for the ridiculously cute man, his suit jacket over the back of his chair and his sleeves rolled up, to buy you a drink. You were already pretty drunk, your inhibitions low, so you chatted with the stranger, who also seemed pretty far gone.

“Why don’t we take this party back to my place?” you eventually asked, and he agreed, a lopsided smirk on his face, his bright blue eyes clouded with alcohol.

In the back of the cab, you had drunkenly kissed him, and he kissed you back, both of you exploring each other’s bodies with your hands. Pulling up at your place, you dragged him inside. Once the door was closed, he had pushed you up against the wall, his mouth biting and sucking at your neck. You grabbed at his gelled hair, pulling soft groans from him as he marked you. You both eventually made it to the bedroom, naked, and you pulled him on top of you as you collapsed onto the bed.

“Fuck me—give me all you got,” you purred at him, and he growled, shoving himself into you roughly. You moaned as he thrusted into you hard and deep. When you came, clenching around him, he was right behind you, spilling his release deep within you. You passed out soon after that, his arms draped over you.

 *******************

When you awoke, the man was already gone, leaving no trace of himself behind, except the marks on your neck and a small, handwritten note on your bedside table.

Last night was incredible. Sorry I left so quickly—I had work. Maybe we can do dinner sometime? – Sonny

He had written his number after his name, and while the sex—from what you remembered—was great, you really didn’t want a relationship right now. It was just a fling, a one-night stand. So, you crumpled up his note and threw it away before getting in the shower.

 ******************

The new employees were finally settling in, and life was getting back to normal. Though, you were still stressed with everything going on—it was the summer months, which meant tourists, which meant business. And while you were grateful for the profits you were bringing in, you really needed to hire on some extra help. You vaguely noticed that your period was late, but that was probably from the stress—it had happened before. Besides, you didn’t remember when you had it last month, so you weren’t positive how late you were, really.

You decided to sleep early that night—you had so many interviews the next day. So, setting an alarm for 6am, you went to bed, hoping for a full night’s sleep. But you tossed and turned all night, your stomach killing you. At 3am, you got up, sprinting to your bathroom, barely making it before you puked your guts out. Oh God, you could not afford to be sick at a time like this. You couldn’t sleep after that, still feeling nauseous, and vomiting once more after eating a light breakfast. Groaning in pain, you sent a mass message to all your potential employees, asking for them to please reschedule, and then you called your doctor.

“When was the last time you had your period?” she had asked, running an ultrasound.

You shook your head. “I don’t know, last month? I’ve been…too busy. I honestly don’t remember….”

She put the machine down, letting the nurse start disinfecting it. She gave you a small smile. “Well, you’re pregnant.”

“I-what? But…but I haven’t had…” you trailed off, remembering the drunken night in the bar, the man you had taken home. You didn’t even remember his name, let alone the phone number he had scrawled underneath his message. And that was weeks ago! That paper was long gone.

The doctor nodded knowingly. “You’re about six weeks along. Come back to the examination room; I’ll give you pamphlets, answer any questions you have.” You nodded, hopping of the ultrasound table, being extra careful now—you had life inside you!

 ****************

The doctor had talked for you for upwards of an hour; you wanted to keep the baby, that was definite. But how would you make time for it? Pay for it? You were so conflicted, so incredibly happy yet so incredibly stressed, lost. You had family you could talk to, and you were sure they’d help you, too. But you were going to be a single mother. You struggled to remember the man’s name; it was something light and fun. Benny? Sammy? That wasn’t right. You didn’t even know what he did for a living; hell, you vaguely remembered what he looked like. Gelled hair, tall, blue eyes.

And besides, what was the point of finding him? Did you think he’d want to be apart of this? Or would he laugh in your face and run, determined to not have to pay child support? Giving up on the idea, you decided to just do this on your own—outside help from family and nurses, of course.

 ***************

Six months later, you were well into your pregnancy, your belly swelling in front of you. Jury summons clutched in your hand, you waddled your way into the courthouse. You couldn’t be a juror at this time, but when you had tried to call the number on the paper, it kept saying disconnected. So now, here you were, pissed and exhausted, making your way to whoever could postpone your summons until after you gave birth.

“Here, lemme get that door for you,” a man’s voice said. He rushed in front of you, holding the door open and you froze, staring at him. He furrowed his brow at you, scanning your face in confusion—not because you had stopped moving, but because there was the faintest hint of recognition. “Have we, uh, have we met before?” he asked.

Gelled hair, tall, blue eyes. He was obviously a lawyer, coming to work. But how were you going to bring this up to him? “Ah, no, sorry sir. Thank you for the door,” you muttered, shuffling past him.

He watched you walk by him, then fell into step next to you, easily keeping pace with his long legs. “Are you sure? You look so familiar….”

“Positive. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find where I can postpone my jury summons,” you replied, your voice flat.

He stopped in his tracks, letting you walk away, and you let out a sigh. But you didn’t make it far before he shouted, “wait!” He jogged after you, catching up quickly. He grabbed your elbow, leading you away from the crowded hall. He dropped his voice. “Did we…meet at a bar? This would’ve been months ago—I understand if you’ve forgotten me.”

He really didn’t get it, did he? “Yes, we did.”

The man nodded, his forehead crinkled as he thought. “I’m not gonna lie; I was a little sad when you didn’t call,” he joked. “But I’m glad to see you’re doing well, and that you found someone.”

His smile was so genuine, so sincere…he really didn’t get it! He figured you didn’t like him, that you had found someone else, settled down. “Uh, thanks. I’m still painfully single though,” you replied, forcing a smile.

You turned to walk away, leaving him stunned. Following the signs, you quickly found your way to the window you needed, negotiating a new date in another six months for your jury duty. Having that taken care of, you made your way out of the bowels of the courthouse. You had almost made it to the front doors when the man from the bar had tracked you down once more.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but I-I have to know….” His voice dropped to a whisper, “is it…mine?” His bright blue eyes flickered to your belly, then back to your face.

You could’ve said no, denied it and spared him. But something must have shown on your face, because his eyes filled with such sadness, such regret.  So, you had no choice but to say, “yes, it’s yours.”

He took a shuttering breath, looking like he was on the verge of tears. “I…I’m so sorry. I-I should’ve used a condom.” He ran a hand through his hair, tears really springing up in his eyes now. “Fuck, I’m such an asshole.”

“Look,” you said, trying to stop his self-hating streak. “It takes two to make a baby, okay? I’m…just as irresponsible as you.” That made him let out a soft sob, and you switched to trying to make him feel better. “I’m not due for another two-ish months; why don’t we…I don’t know, get dinner one night? I mean…if you want—”

“Yes, please,” he replied. “I…I want to be in my baby’s life, no matter what happens between you and I. Please.”

He was desperate, and it was hard to say no. But you also needed to know him first. “Okay. Let’s start slow, get to know each other. We can figure out everything else later.”

He nodded. “Why—why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked. He didn’t sound mad, just confused, wondering why you would choose to keep this from him, to do this on your own.

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment. “I, uh, threw out your note and I’ve…forgotten your name. I had no way to find you. And besides, I was…afraid you’d be upset about it, afraid you’d ask me to t-terminate—”

His eyes went wide, “no, I would never!” He took a deep, shuttering breath. “Let’s…let’s start over.” He held his hand out to you. “My name is Dominick Carisi, but you can call me Sonny.”

Smiling, you took his hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Sonny. Now, if you don’t mind, my feet are killing me, and I need to sit before my legs collapse.”

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Not Joyce or Monet

PART THIRTY-NINE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: major discussions of parent death/death in general, smoking, drinking, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Jess publishes his second book and Ella receives a troubling call from Stars Hollow.

Flopping face-first down onto the bed, Ella breathed a sigh of relief. It would have felt strange not to have a little champagne at Jess’s book launch party. But, she was a lightweight. She was floating somewhere between tipsy, buzzed, and drunk. At least she was still capable of slipping off her shoes before making her way to the bedroom. She’d even managed to change into pajamas, brush her teeth, and wash her face. A far cry from the screwdriver incident at Liz’s baby shower. A heavy winter snow fell outside the windows and a touch of cold air seeped into the draughty apartment. Goosebumps rose lightly on her skin. In her state, they felt nice instead of uncomfortable. She was already dozing when Jess came in, having taken a quick shower. His hair was still damp as he climbed into bed next to her, the movement shaking her from her haze.

“Did you like your party?” she murmured, watching as he shut off the lamp and rolled over to face her.

His face was aglow with the bluish light of the snowy Saturday evening. “Mhm.”

She snickered a bit at his nonchalance. “I know you hate parties, but Chris insisted it was the best way to drum up business. And you do like surprises, Mr. Spontaneity. Matthew and I made it as lowkey as we could.”

“It wasn’t so bad, Eleanor. Really,” he said, shrugging. “You’re remembering that you whispered lines from Catch-22 in my ear all night, right?”

“I figured you’d need some Joseph Heller to make it through,” she explained, slightly sheepish.

Jess smiled. “Of course. And watching Chris and Leo get so drunk they do their acapella version of ‘Under Pressure’ could never be bad.”

“Leo does do a damn good Freddie Mercury,” Ella agreed, chuckling. “I didn’t realize the publishing agents would all go blackout level, too.”

“Oh, yeah. You should’ve seen what Chris did for the Subsect launch. It was like that scene where E.T. gets drunk. But if there were fifty aliens in the movie instead of just one,” Jess said flatly, begrudgingly.

“You must be a little drunk if you’re letting a cheesy eighties movie slip. Or have I finally converted you?” she teased, snuggling deeper into the pillow.

Jess smirked. “Not yet. Chris made me try his Manhattans to see if they ‘tasted too much like gasoline.’”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that they did,” Ella said.

“Someone give the lady a prize,” Jess shot back tiredly. “Good thing we walked there.”

“Yeah. And good thing I got to watch you catch a snowflake with your tongue on the way back.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed, cutie,” she said, forcing her laughter down. “I’ll be eating my words when you watch me fall on my ass while we’re ice-skating with April.”

She knew if he’d been entirely sober, he wouldn’t have gotten so caught up in his wonderment at the storm. But Ella had also seen him sticking out his tongue awaiting a snowflake in an old, yellowing photo album Liz had shown off during her baby shower. In it, Jess had been no more than three. Dressed in a raggedy winter jacket on some grimy corner of New York City. He and Liz were sticking their tongues out together. Seeing the photo had given Ella’s mouth a bittersweet taste. It was hard to imagine Jess ever feeling so relaxed around his mother. She saw the same rare awe from him on the walk home. Most of the time, he was so weighed down by the world he could barely come up for air. She thought she had never seen him look so young at heart before.

“Can’t wait,” Jess hummed, mocking. It was nearly time for April’s winter break, and Anna had somehow agreed to let her spend it with Luke, Lorelai, and Rory. Ella and Jess had opted to return to Stars Hollow for Christmas, after the bumps in the road on Thanksgiving. Two more days, and they’d be braving the icy roads on their way up to Connecticut. April had already called them to schedule a time for ice-skating. The proper, analytical way the little girl spoke never failed to amuse Ella.

“Me neither,” Ella quipped as her eyelids began to droop again. She could smell the minty scent of Jess’s shampoo.

As he watched her begin to drift off, he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. From what Matthew had said, Ella had essentially been put in charge of the party when Chris’s trademark irresponsibility made an appearance. Matthew had jury duty and couldn’t assume his usual role of organizer in the wake of Chris’s chaotic decision-making. What she’d managed to throw together, though, was one of the better parties Jess had ever been to. The publishers they knew usually sent younger employees to the underground press launches, and Chris had ended up making friends with most of the usual suspects at the launch for Jess’s first book. Ella had made sure the guest list only included familiar faces. If they just had to throw him a surprise party, which Chris demanded (normally, she wouldn’t have listened, but if it was a matter of getting his book better exposure, she was willing to risk it), she’d try to make it as comfortable for him as possible. Or, at the very least, bearable.

And she’d just gotten done with finals two days earlier. He could see how tired she was. Her nerves over the possibility of seeing her father during the winter holidays hadn’t helped her sleeping recently either. Though Jess wasn’t sure how it would actually pan out, she claimed she wanted an attempt at apologizing for what she’d said at Adam’s graduation. She was sick of family nonsense, she said. Maybe if she levelled the playing field, they could begin to understand each other again. Ella herself wasn’t sure exactly what had sparked her desire to try again with her family, but suspected it might have been Thanksgiving. Jess, simply put, was someone she admired. Seeing him trying to mend his relationships (even though he didn’t have to, even though it was difficult), made her feel just a little more confident. Maybe not everything turned out bad, after all.

Shutting his own eyes, Jess slipped his hand beneath Ella’s shirt, his fingertips ghosting over her back. She smiled softly at his touch, feather-light. A pleasant shiver rolled through her.

“Thank you for the party,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Well, thanks for writing my new favorite book,” she answered instantly, sleepy and sincere. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

.   .   .

There were still a couple hours left until lunchtime when Ella slipped through the door at Truncheon, but it wasn’t entirely uncommon for her to show up and work a little. Especially when she was on break from school and got antsy. Jess had debated giving her the easel he’d bought her for Christmas early, so she would have something new to focus on while he tied up the odds and ends at the book press. But, ultimately, he wanted to wait until the morning after they returned to Philadelphia. It would be far more surprising to wake up and find a Christmas present wrapped up in the living room on the morning of New Year’s Day than on the actual gift-giving holiday.

When he’d left for his last day of work prior to their trip to Connecticut, she’d still been half asleep. Her sketchbook was open on her bedside table, a pencil drawing of a child with hollow eyes having yet to be shaded. She’d been up late working on it the night before, on a roll. He hadn’t even shut the door to the apartment before she was out cold again. He’d been anxious to get back home, to pack and prepare for the trip. In his opinion, there was no use in only opening for a Monday and then closing for the holidays the rest of the week, but Matthew’s stickler spirit won out. Jess wasn’t going to be skipping around the store in merriment as the rest of the world took a vacation, but he also wasn’t moping around like Chris. He was in the midst of diffusing an argument between his two coworkers when Ella arrived.

He wanted to smile when he saw her, and almost did. But then he got a good look at her hazel eyes, and immediately he could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t that she was sleepy, though she looked a bit haggard in with her peacoat tied around her haphazardly and her hair wild, dotted with the snowflakes falling steadily outside. Instead, she looked almost unreachable. His Eleanor who was always so present and vivid and alive, even in the midst of drudgery. And she wasn’t daydreaming, either. She wasn’t off in her own thoughts, thinking of Emily Dickinson or James Joyce or Claude Monet. No; she was simply not there. Not really.

“Hey, honey. You’re early,” he began as she approached him, where he stood in between Matthew and Chris. The two of them didn’t even notice she’d come in until Jess addressed her, still too caught up in their argument over where to place the new books of free-form poetry.

Swallowing harshly, Ella gave a weak smile and raked her fingers through her hair. She walked up to them, wringing her hands together. Jess didn’t need to see her hands to know she had already bitten her nails down to the quick. At the interruption, Chris gave a frustrated huff and turned to Ella.

“Ella, please tell Matthew it makes zero sense to put the free-form poetry anywhere near the sonnets! They should be on opposite ends of the store, as far as I’m concerned,” he exclaimed in exasperation.

Matthew rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as his jaw clenched. “I’m glad you’re here, Ella. Please tell Chris that we don’t only sell poetry, and free-form or not, it has no business anywhere near science fiction!”

Furrowing her brows, distracted, Ella shook her head. “Um...I don’t know...but I….”

“What?” Jess asked as she gestured slightly with her hands. Her face was pale, and she almost seemed confused, at a loss for words. It didn’t happen to her often, to say the least.

Blowing out a breath, she tried again, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. “Back at the apartment...I just got a call from my brother. My dad’s dead.”

Jess’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What?”

“Yeah,” Ella said, nodding. As she continued, she took a hair elastic from her wrist and began pulling her locks into a ponytail. “Adam said he was in a car accident this morning. Driving home from some bar in Maryland. If I had to guess, he was still a little drunk from last night. No one else got hurt, which is good. He hit a patch of black ice, and he was going too fast, and I guess he just went right off the road. Into a tree. And he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.”

Her speech became more urgent with every word, as they heard it sink in for her in real time. But she was never frantic, only determined and stern. The spacey fog was fading from her demeanor, though it remained in her eyes. Only in her eyes. She didn’t give them time to respond, just kept thinking out loud.

“Noah’s already on a plane from Oregon, but I don’t think he’s gonna be any help. And Adam said Fiona’s freaking out, so I’m almost definitely going to have to make the arrangements. I know you guys have work and stuff, but we need to pack up and get there before the rest of the family does, or everything will probably just explode on principle. Fuck! This is just like him. To die a week before Christmas!”

“Whoa, hey, Eleanor, just slow down for a second, okay?” Jess began, taking a hesitant step towards her and grabbing her hand. He squeezed once, hard, hoping to calm her down at least a little.

“Jesus, Ella-” Chris began.

“I’m so sorry,” Matthew said.

Ella shook her head, her face stoic. “Don’t, okay? Don’t be sorry. No one needs to be sorry. He was a fucking drunk, and it finally caught up with him. I just need to get back to Stars Hollow to take care of this, and then maybe Christmas won’t be completely ruined. Sound good?”

“Elle, just hold on. You should sit down and-” Jess said, but she cut him off.

“No, Jess. Seriously, I’m fine. Let’s just go and get it over with, and then it’ll be done,” she said, her hand never leaving his though she didn’t squeeze back. Her tone was tight, clipped, but she didn’t sound angry. He recognized it from the night on the bridge when she’d told him about the days following her mother’s death. The way she held it all together, and blocked it all out. Numb and headstrong.

“Do you want us to come with?” Matthew asked, watching with uncertainty as Ella began to tug Jess towards the door, grabbing his bag for him and handing him his coat.

“What? Of course not,” Ella said, insistent, as though it were obvious. “All I need to do is steal Jess for a few days. You need to do whatever it is you’re gonna do with Mabel. And Chris needs to do whatever it is he’s gonna do with Leo, and you need to tell me about it when we get back. I can pretty much guarantee your stories will be more fun than mine.”

“Are you sure?” Chris chimed in, brow heavy with worry. Her iciness surprised him. He had never heard someone react to a parent’s death quite so flippantly before.

“Yes. Jesus, Chris, keep up,” she replied, in a way which would have spurred a playful argument on a normal day. Again, her nonchalance unnerved all three of them.

Jess interlocked their fingers again instantly once he had his bag and his coat, almost heading out the door already. She was moving too fast for him to process much of anything, only reacting. He hadn’t seen her in such a frenzy in a very long time. “Eleanor, wait. Stop.”

“I can’t stop, Jess. I told you, we’ve gotta get there before my uncle has time to hit on Fiona and before Noah has time to piss off Adam. It’s fine. I promise. I’m fine.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she pulled him out the front door instead. As they went, she shouted over her shoulder to Matthew and Chris: “Happy holidays! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

And then, she and Jess were gone. Chris and Matthew exchanged concerned, flabbergasted glances.

.   .   .

Flashback was the word that came to the forefront of her mind, as she stared up at the ceiling in the Gilmore living room. Luke and Lorelai were trying, and she appreciated it. They could both tell she didn’t want to talk about it, only wanted a bit of normalcy after the long day. And they’d obliged. After all, they’d had practice. Lorelai knew exactly what to do. She’d had Luke bring dinner home from the diner: turkey sandwiches and sodas. She’d suggested they watch a movie after dinner, something campy horror. Finally, they had settled on The Lost Boys. Ella knew how much Jess hated the movie, especially Kiefer Sutherland’s mullet, but he never complained once. A large part of her wished he would. She wanted it to be the way it was supposed to be. She wanted to have Christmas in Stars Hollow with the people who felt more like her family than her father did. Adam celebrating with one of his school friends in Boston, Fiona with her sister, Noah with his finacée in Oregon. But, of course, things never went as planned. Not in Ella’s experience at least.

At some point during the movie, she’d fallen asleep on the couch. No matter how much she wanted to stay awake until the end, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Dealing with Fiona’s blubbering and Adam’s silence and Noah’s anger had pretty well exhausted her. Not to mention the business setting up the funeral at the church. She’d spent nearly two hours with the pastor, but the service was only halfway planned. She wished Aunt Julie could arrive sooner, but the girls were in school until Tuesday. Erin had some big recital she was pitching a fit about missing. Ella couldn’t blame her. She wouldn’t want to be there if she didn’t have to be. No, they would arrive on Wednesday morning. Two hours before the funeral, set for noon. At some point before then, Ella would have to sort out the flower arrangements and the music and the programs. At least Luke was providing the food. She assumed he would before he even offered. And she would have to write the eulogy. But she wasn’t even thinking about it yet. Every time the idea of writing it entered her mind, she would start humming a Stevie Nicks song and pointedly ignore it.

It was all too familiar. The planning, the writing, the consoling. Since they’d arrived in Stars Hollow that afternoon, it had been a non stop barrage of tasks and tears. None of it was surprising. And it almost made her want to laugh. The minute she heard that her mother was dead, she had burst out laughing, a nervous reaction she couldn’t control. Granted, the laughter came from deep inside her, and probably resembled a pained shriek more than an actual giggle. But it was laughter nonetheless, and her father had recognized it as such. He’d yelled at her until his voice became hoarse. She knew it wouldn’t happen again. He was the dead one now, after all. But still, she didn’t let the anxious laughter escape. She didn’t let anything escape. After the punishment she’d received for letting go last time, she knew not to do it again. No one was there to smack her, to scream, but she just couldn’t bring herself to forget how it had felt. Like she couldn’t even grieve right. And the best way to grieve became to not grieve at all.

She laid with one hand on her stomach and the other behind her head, analyzing the popcorn ceiling. She’d awoken with the room dim and the TV shut off. A quilt which she hadn’t fallen asleep under was draped over her, and there were hushed whispers in the direction of the kitchen. She hadn’t planned to wake up until morning, but she hadn’t planned to fall asleep there either. They were supposed to be sleeping in the apartment above the diner for the vacation, while Rory and April took the spare beds in the Gilmore house. But neither girl had yet to arrive, and Lorelai insisted Ella and Jess stay over after dinner. It was no use driving over in the snow, even if Luke’s was only about a minute away. Ella couldn’t believe how similar it all was to before. Sleeping alone on the Gilmore couch as others worried over her a few feet away.

She listened, in spite of herself. It was too tempting not to eavesdrop when she’d already heard her name so many times. Luke was concerned about her forgetting to eat. Lorelai was concerned about her shutting everyone out and being overwhelmed by the funeral preparations. And both of them were concerned about her coming to blows with Fiona at some point in the next few days.

Sighing, Ella ran her tongue over her teeth and remembered she hadn’t brushed them. She debated not doing so, but decided to just bite the bullet. With everything else on her mind, she thought it best to eliminate all the outward elements which might impede her from getting back to sleep. She rolled over on her side, preparing to sit up, when she saw Jess. She thought he’d be in the kitchen, talking with Luke and Lorelai. Instead, he sat on the floor with his back against the sofa. His head was near hers, leaned back. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t snoring. She doubted he was fully asleep, but nonetheless attempted to get past him and rummage through the bag on the armchair to find her toothbrush. Her stealth proved lacking, however, when he began to stir as soon as she reached the bag.

“Hey,” he said quietly, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands and doing his best to seem lively. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, fishing her toothbrush out from the sea of clothes she’d thrown into the duffel before they sped away from the apartment in Philadelphia. “I just forgot to brush my teeth.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding and hoisting himself up. His neck was already sore from the position he’d dozed off in, unwilling to follow Luke and Lorelai into the kitchen with Ella asleep on the couch. “Me too. I’ll come with.”

She nodded back, grabbing his toothbrush as well. The whispers didn’t cease until they made their way into the kitchen, Luke and Lorelai looking up at their entrance. Ella debated using the upstairs bathroom, not disturbing the two of them. But she didn’t have the energy to climb the stairs, and it would be the first time she could get a good look at the new half-bathroom they added next to Rory’s room. The smell of the diner food lingered, and it made Ella’s chest feel just a touch less tight. Lorelai broke out into a small smile at the sight of the two of them.

“You need anything, sweetie?” she asked, speaking only to Ella.

Though she felt a bit uncomfortable under everyone’s gaze, Ella smiled back. There was a warmth in her stomach at Lorelai’s voice. She focused on that feeling, and only that feeling. “No, we’re fine. Just brushing our teeth. The dentist would be pissed at me if I broke the pattern after over twenty years.”

“That’s true. Always best to avoid the Sweeney Todd dentistry possibility,” Lorelai agreed, nodding. Then, she yawned theatrically and looked at Luke, who only rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “I think we’re gonna head upstairs. It’s past our bedtime.”

“Still got those four o’clock deliveries, huh?” Jess asked sullenly, eyeing Luke. Many a morning when he was a teenager, he’d been awoken at half past three by the sound of Luke’s alarm.

Luke sighed. “For the business that housed and fed you for two years? Yeah, I do.”

Ella snorted a laugh, and nudged Jess playfully in the ribs. “Like you’re not always up before the sun, even on Saturday.”

“Where do you think that started?” Jess shot back, pointing an accusatory finger at Luke. “He screwed with my internal clock for life!”

“I think that’s enough fuel for future therapy sessions for tonight,” Lorelai announced, rising from the table, Luke following.

“Agreed,” Luke grumbled.

As they exchanged goodnights, Lorelai gave Ella a kiss on the cheek. Immediately after, she scrunched up her nose and smudged the lipstick from Ella’s freckled skin with her thumb. To Ella’s shock, Lorelai also gave Jess a short hug before making for the stairs. Luke hugged Jess,  too. The two of them still had trouble showing physical affection for each other, as they probably always would. Ella had to stifle a laugh at the awkwardness between them.

When Luke hugged Ella, though, she felt tears prick at her eyes for the first time all day. She recognized his familiar smell, the soft feeling of his flannel, his strong arms around her. Somewhere in her mind, it occurred to her that the way it felt for Luke to hug her was what she had always wanted it to feel like when her own father hugged her. And she knew for sure she would never get it from him. She could finally be certain there was nothing left to do to repair her relationship with him. There was no time left for Jake to make her feel as safe as Luke made her feel. As he never had, even in her childhood. But by the time she and Luke broke apart, she had gathered herself enough. She cleared her throat and blinked away the glassy sheen in her eyes.

Luke ruffled her hair as he stepped back from her. If he saw that she was upset, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll get everything figured out tomorrow.”

“I know, boss,” she replied.

.   .   .

The cigarette smoke made her a bit nauseous, but it was also comforting in a way she was slightly ashamed of. The winter air was crisp and biting, and her cheeks were frosted roses. Embers glowed orange in the darkness as she took a long drag, burning her lungs. She was already regretting it, but she simply felt too tired to think out the actual consequences of what she was doing. She had tried. She really had. But falling asleep, with Jess snoring softly beneath her as they lay on the couch, was absolutely impossible. Fatigue was weighing down her bones, and there was a perpetual ache throbbing behind her eyes. But each time she got close to sleep, the thought of her father would flash across her mind, and she would be wide awake once more.

Once she gave up, she had managed to sneak outside unnoticed. The wind whispered past her, hollow and haunting. But maybe everything was feeling spookier because death was at the forefront of her mind. Then again, when wasn’t it? Though the shock had certainly hit her with full force when she heard the news, she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised. The other shoe had dropped. She knew it would, just when she let her guard down. The moment she forgot to worry, the universe had knocked her down again. She flicked her cigarette and watched the excess ash melt a small spot in the snow below the steps.

At the sound of the front door creaking open, she startled only a little. For a wild moment, she wanted to put her cigarette out and hide it behind her back, pretending to be innocent. Especially if it was Luke. But she had to remember she was a grown up. And the feeling disappeared entirely when she saw only a disheveled Jess wrapping himself up in his jacket as he came out onto the porch and sat down next to her.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here,” he remarked, holding her peacoat out to her.

She took it with a trembling hand.

“Thank you,” she said solemnly, breathing out a long stream of smoke as she spoke. The coat was old and cheap, and did little to help a Connecticut winter, but she shrugged it on anyway.

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. “Don’t mention it.”

They sat in silence, an owl hooting somewhere in the trees beyond the house. Ella didn’t put the cigarette out until it got so small it began to burn her fingers. After she’d discarded it, her breath still puffed out, along with Jess’s, in frigid white clouds. Flurries of snow fell in scattered sprays, but the night was mostly quiet and overcast. Jess crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

She spoke, as he knew she eventually would, after a few more minutes. Gesturing down to the crushed cigarette, her tired eyes met his. “Do you want one?”

“No, thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “Where’d you get those in the middle of the night in Stars Hollow, anyway?”

A thin smirk ghosted over her lips. “Snatched ‘em off Bootsy’s newsstand.”

“Really?” he asked, laughing slightly, with eyebrows raised.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, Mariano. I was sneaking out of my bedroom window long before you got here.”

“Touché.” His eyes lingered on her, hair glistening golden in the soft light and eyes still far off somewhere miles away. He hesitated before he continued. “Did you walk all the way to Bootsy’s without a coat?”

She shrugged, glancing down at the Doc Martens on her feet. “I’m fine. I had my good shoes on. Besides, it’s only like a minute away.”

“Alright.”

“Seriously, Jess. I’m fine,” she snapped after a moment.

“Okay. I get it,” he said instantly. “You’re fine. You’re not cold.”

Ella ran her hands through her hair. Her body shook as she yawned.

“You wanna go back to bed?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus, Jess! Stop trying to take care of me! Stop asking me questions! Just let me fucking sit here!” Ella exclaimed, huffing in frustration.

Jess recoiled slightly, and he nodded at her again. He ran a hand over his mouth and swallowed down the million other questions which were rising in his throat. The ones she’d refused to ask on the drive up, and the ones she apparently still wanted to avoid. “Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. “No, I’m...I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. We could watch one of Lorelai’s cassettes in there,” Jess suggested, fighting hard to keep his tone light, bracing for whatever reaction she was going to have.

“I love that she still has cassettes,” Ella said wistfully, though not smiling. Her voice was low and raspy as she stared out ahead of her into the darkness and the lightly falling snow.

He nodded a little. “I know you do.”

Ella’s hands were itching to hold another cigarette, but she fought the urge. The pack which sat on the porch steps next to her would almost certainly be crumpled up and thrown in the trash the moment she reentered the house. Along with the lighter. But it was nice to have them there. If she wanted. They sat wordlessly, listening to the rustle of the wind in the evergreen trees. Jess didn’t make a sound. He was just far away enough not to touch her, almost in silent askance of whether she wanted space. She did. And she didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to talk almost as much as she didn’t want to write the eulogy. She wanted to be able to push down the sorrow and the rage until they just dissolved and she was as happy as she had been just a day earlier. Yesterday, she may have even been hopeful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt hopeful about her family. But, now, she had to stop herself from reaching for a cigarette yet again. And she felt herself wanting a drink. A drink stronger than champagne at a book launch. And then the words started flowing before she could overthink them, before she could lock them away in her heart forever.

She swallowed thickly, looking down into her lap at her nail-bitten hands. “This is just like it was the last time.”

“Oh yeah?” he whispered, shifting a bit closer to her.

“Yeah,” she echoed, so quiet he almost couldn’t hear. She sniffed. “I mean, last time my dad was the devastated one instead of Fiona. But Adam still got pissed at Noah, and Noah only got more pissed because Adam was mad at him.”

Noah had only made it to town an hour before Ella left to go back to the Gilmore residence for the night, but he and Adam were at each other’s throats pretty much as soon as they saw each other. Upset that his Christmas vacation was being disrupted, Noah had insisted on staying at a motel instead of at the little blue house in which they had grown up. Adam wasn’t happy about it, accusing Noah of acting as though he was too good for them. In turn, Noah asked Adam why he wasn’t mad at Ella for staying with Lorelai. Adam had shot back immediately, saying Noah had abandoned the entire family the minute he could, while Ella stayed behind. At that point, Ella knew there was no way to diffuse the situation. She’d only offered to walk back with Noah to the motel, leaving Adam to sleep in his old room. Luckily, Fiona’s sister was already in town for the holiday. So, it didn’t wholly fall to any of the three of them to console her.

Jess and Luke had both offered to go over to the house with her after helping with the arrangements, but she’d insisted on meeting her brothers there alone. The surreality of the moment didn’t dawn on her until she saw Adam’s teary eyes and Noah’s flushed face. It was like she had stepped into the past. She’d come back to the Gilmore house to find Jess sitting in the living room, halfway through the Russian novel he’d brought with. In the face of his questions, she’d only given him the liner notes and then fallen mostly silent for the rest of the evening.

“And Lorelai and Luke won’t let me brush my teeth without asking me if I need anything,” Ella continued, with a scoff in her words. “And, I love them. I do. And I’m so fucking grateful that it hurts. But, I’m fine. I’m totally fucking fine.”

“So I’ve heard,” he quipped.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” he said.

She laughed breathily, lifting her head to look up at the sky. “Shut up.”

“Will do.”

Then, after a moment: “I just wish...I wish it wasn’t like this. I mean, he was a shitty dad. But he was still my dad.”

He watched as she chose her words, carefully. Her voice had more emotion than he’d heard all day. Bringing his arm around her shoulders, he hoped to lessen the trembling of her hands just a little. She leaned into him, letting herself feel his warmth but fighting the wateriness in her voice. Of all the things she didn’t want to do, crying was at the top of the list.

“And now...I don’t have parents. I don’t even have a dad who hates me and never calls,” she continued.

“He didn’t hate you,” Jess interjected.

She shook her head. “Yeah, he did, Jess. He fucking hated me. Because I looked like my mom and I didn’t like Fiona and I wouldn’t quit talking back at the dinner table. But it doesn’t bother me. I hated him most of the time, too.”

He hummed in response, listening.

Her face crumpled for only a moment. But, again, she regained her composure. A couple silent tears threatened to slip over. “But at least I had someone to hate, y’know? Now, it’s just...no one.”

She took in a shaky breath, and Jess began to rub circles over her back. He recognized that her shivering was no longer due to the cold but from the sobs she wouldn’t let loose. Ella’s stomach did a flip, as she clenched her hands into fists. But she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. She let a single wimper pass her lips. And then, the levee broke. She put her head in her hands and finally began to weep, cries from deep within her escaping at last.

“I just...I don’t have p-parents anymore,” she spoke through sobs, trying to get her voice under control but failing miserably. “I’m not anyone’s daughter anymore. I don’t belong to anyone anymore.”

Jess shut his eyes for a moment, feeling a crack in his heart as he heard her anguish. But a part of him was relieved she was finally letting it out. He knew not all of her tears were for her father, but for her mother as well. He’d never seen her cry so hard before, so hard she couldn’t catch her breath and she was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. She stopped being able to talk after a while, only crying, folding in on herself.

“I...I don’t...belong to anyone anymore,” she repeated.

Gnawing on his bottom lip again, Jess smoothed an affectionate hand over her hair. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Though he couldn’t see her face, Ella felt her cheeks heat up at his seeing her sob so openly. Jess spoke in a clear, strong tone.

“Listen, Eleanor, I know it feels like you’re alone without them, but that’s not true, okay?” he said.

She let out a tearful scoff.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m serious,” Jess continued, placing a hand on her damp cheek and turning her face gently so she would look at him.

She wanted to avoid his eyes, embarrassed, but simply couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere else. The sight of him almost made her physically relax.

An earnest crease stood out between his eyebrows when he spoke again. “You belong to me, and I belong to you. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it?”

She stared at him for a moment, stunned at his words, as tears kept rolling steadily down her cheeks. But then, her lip began to quiver and she closed her eyes. Jess was worried she was about to get angry again. But instead, she slumped weakly against him. He could feel her tears begin to wet the neckline of his t-shirt as she rested her head on his chest. Breathing out long and slow, Jess wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t know whether his words had helped, but he was doubtful. No amount of talking was going to make her feel any better. He couldn’t crack a joke or start a playful argument or do a magic trick. He could only be there. He simply sat and held her against the wind.

[thisspaceintentionallyleftblank]

Try, Try Again (pt. 9)

(Cpt 1) | (Cpt 2) | (Cpt 3) | (Cpt 4) | (Cpt 5) | (Cpt 6) | (Cpt 7) | (Cpt 8) ||  (AO3)

It’s Rex Time, babey!

Chapter 9 (2069 words)

It had been one week since Rex first landed in Apocalypseburg. One week since he’d taken Emmet’s place and started working to change the way everyone saw him.

The plan was simple - he’d get them all used to the idea of Emmet being tough, perform a few mind-blowing feats, and then when Emmet came back he could just step right into Rex’s newly vacated shoes.

Except that when he came back, he wouldn’t really be Emmet anymore. He’d be Rex by then, so technically he would be stepping back into his own shoes?

Time travel is confusing.

Regardless, Rex was super sure that his plan would work this time. And now, a week since his arrival, it was finally time for the real showstopper. All he needed was for his guest star to make her dramatic entrance. 

As much as Rex was loath to admit it, his feelings towards his former friends were… complicated. His feelings towards General Mayhem, the Systarian who had utterly destroyed his life, were less so. Smashing her into the ground would prevent the Matrimonial Ceremony from taking place, further cement his “tough guy” image, and also scratch a very personal cathartic itch.

Rex was nearly beside himself with anticipation. Almost absentmindedly, he checked the wiring again on the jury-rigged apparatus he’d spent the whole morning prepping. Given the simplicity of the machine, he found his gaze quickly drifting back to the cloudless sky, hungrily watching for that tell-tale shooting star. 

Any second now, he thought to himself, a thin and crooked smile on his lips.

“Okay Mayhem, you’ve totally got this. Just stay cool, act tough, bring the guest back to the palace. Easy peasy.”

Looking into the eyes of her reflection in the ship’s windshield, General Mayhem tried to steel her nerves with a small but mostly confident smile. 

“You’ve been training for this for months,” she reminded herself. “Sure the Apocalyseburg guys are super tough and dirty and grouchy and scary and- ” 

She cut herself off sharply with a hard yank on the ship’s yoke that sent it into a tight spiral. It swerved nimbly, narrowly avoiding a collision with a dark-blue pod that had suddenly darted out from behind a nearby glastroid. Mayhem righted her ship swiftly, her thumb already hovering over one of its many triggers, but the other ship seemed to have vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.

Mayhem frowned, peering into the inky black void, but to no avail. She was alone again. 

“I, uh,” she settled back into her seat. “I was getting off-topic anyways. The point is that everything is going to be just fine. Once they come to the Ceremony and talk to the Queen, they’ll totally understand what we’re trying to do. They have to.”

The thought firmly in place, she tried to just focus on piloting. Usually, she found flying to be quite soothing, and while today was no exception, she still found herself relieved to be nearing the alien planet.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, firmly placing her helmet over her head. “It’s showtime.”

The ship fell out of hyperspeed and began to streak along the desert landscape. As she drew closer to the wreckage of Bricksburg, a myriad of flashing sensors began beeping steadily. 

Slowly, she wove through the crumbled buildings. She hadn’t personally been here for a while, and from what she could see, the place was looking worse off than ever. The last time she had, uh, “visited”, the former citizens of Bricksburg had taken to hiding in secret bunkers scattered throughout the destroyed city. This meant, unfortunately, that she now had the unenviable task of trying to find one of those bunkers now. 

She was peering at her scanner when an alarm on the dash suddenly began to wail. With a jolt of surprise, she whipped her head around to see an image illuminated on the viewscreen. There, helpfully outlined in red by the computer, was some kind of projectile that had been launched. 

“Computer,” she commanded. “Enhance.”

The image immediately zoomed in and somehow increased exponentially in quality. Before she had time to study it, however, the mysterious object exploded in a flash of light and smoke, spelling out a message against the gray sky. 

“Happy New Year?” She squinted down at the viewscreen in confusion. “It’s like, late June...”

Regardless of some calendar confusion, this flare was a clear sign of life. Plugging its approximate coordinates into the computer, Mayhem began to steer her ship towards Apocalypseburg, into the jaws of a waiting trap.

Apocalypseburg was in chaos. Specifically, it was in more chaos than usual. Someone had set off a flare on the outskirts of the city, and now the lookouts on duty were reporting an alien ship approaching at high speed. 

The custom vehicles that had been dispatched to deal with the threat had all been quickly and handedly destroyed. In the wake of their failure, the retreat signal had been given, and now a horde of citizens were thundering into the Bat Fortress. 

Rex watched the pandemonium calmly. He’d already sabotaged the Fortress, jamming the gears so that the door wouldn’t be able to close. It simply wouldn’t do if his audience was unable to see him in his moment of victory. 

Leaving his stash of stolen flares, he darted through the city, making his way to Batman’s spear turret. As he scaled the tower, it shuddered to life and started launching a barrage of sharp-tipped iron spikes towards the enemy ship.

“READ IT AND WEEP!” Batman was yelling, somehow still confident despite each of his spears crumbling against the ship’s reinforced shields. 

With a sick backflip, Rex leapt through the air onto one of the spears. Racing down its length, he reached the tip at the moment of impact, just in time to slam his fist directly into the front windshield.

The window broke instantly, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across its surface and into the metal of the ship’s hull as well. For a second, he and the ship hung there, suspended in the air together.

Then, in a rush of sound and power, the ship exploded.

A cloud of sparkly blue smoke poured out, quickly filling the surrounding area. The citizens of Apocalypseburg paused in their desperate mad dash for survival, every eye turning to stare at the place where the ship used to be. 

“Nailed it.” Batman fistpumped victoriously, then turned to address the stupefied crowds below. “Everyone saw me do that, right?”   

Below him, Lucy bolted out of the Fortress, into the smoke. She’d been searching for Emmet in the crowd moments earlier, but seeing him leap at an alien spaceship like some kind of lunatic had clued her into the fact that she was looking in the wrong spot. 

“EMMET!” She hollered, wading through the smoke. As she entered the area, her vision cleared slightly, enough that she could make out various chunks of rubble and debris strewn about her. 

A sudden movement attracted her attention. The silhouette of the Systarian appeared, crawling out from underneath a chunk of twisted metal. As Lucy approached, the alien staggered to her feet. 

Her visor, a deep reflective blue, had been split cleanly down the middle, and Lucy could make out a thin sliver of the face underneath. In a smooth motion, the alien drew a blaster from her hip and leveled it in Lucy’s direction.

“Not so fast!” Lucy called out as she leapt into the air. Twisting skillfully, she kicked the blaster cleanly out of her opponent’s grip.

Mayhem hissed in pain, and reached back down to her belt to retrieve her ship’s control device. Before she could activate the repair function however, a hand grabbed her wrist. 

Rex stepped out of the smoke next to the two women, surprising them both with his silent approach. With his free hand, he easily plucked the device away from Mayhem and crushed it in his fist. 

Behind her mask, Mayhem’s jaw dropped in shock. The Apocalypseburgers were prepared beyond anything she’d ever expected. She had no choice but to try and retreat.

With a grunt of exertion, she kicked up at Rex’s hand, breaking his grip on her arm just long enough for her to turn, activate her suit’s wings, and begin to fly off. 

“She’s getting away!” Lucy whipped her head side to side, scanning the area for parts to make some kind of net or cage with. “Emmet, help me find- ”

Before she could finish her sentence, Rex leapt into action. Parkouring between the pieces of rubble, he quickly matched Mayhem’s altitude and jumped onto her back. One hand tightened on her wing, the sharp plastic edges digging uncomfortably into his palm. Unsurprisingly, his other hand balled into a fist and rammed directly into the center of her back.

Mayhem screamed, a distorted and garbled sound, one the speakers of her mask seemed ill-equipped to handle. One of her slender blue wings fell to the ground, followed soon after by Rex and herself. 

Lucy ran over to where the two of them lay prone and fell to her knees beside them.

“Emmet?” She asked, her voice trembling, as she pulled him into her lap. “A-are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. For a second, it looked like he was going to pull away from her, to try and lunge at the alien again, but the smoke had cleared enough now that the rest of Apocalypseburg was beginning to descend upon the scene. 

“You guys did it!” A voice cried out from the crowd.

“Let’s hear it for Emmet and Wyldstyle!” Another one crowed.

As everyone continued to cheer for the two heroes, a single figure broke away from the revelry, marching authoritatively towards Mayhem’s still form. Bending down beside her, Scribble Cop produced a pair of handcuffs and clicked them tight around her wrists. With a huff, he slung the alien up over his shoulder and began to carry her off. 

“Where are you taking her?” Rex asked coldly, finally pulling himself out of Lucy’s embrace and to his feet. “To the Slammer?”

Scribble Cop answered with his usual frown and growl combo, but also nodded. Rex nearly followed after him, but Lucy’s sudden grip on his arm stalled him in his tracks. 

“Emmet?”

He turned to face her, only to find some unfamiliar expression in her eyes. She glanced at the crowd momentarily, then pulled him behind her into an empty alleyway nearby. 

“Emmet,” she asked again. “What was that out there?”

“What do you mean?” Rex answered, genuine confusion in his voice.

“I- you-” Lucy stammered. “You hit her.”

“Well, yeah.” Rex barely stopped himself from sneering. “She’s an enemy.”

“She’s also a person.” Lucy replied, bewilderment clear on her face. “It’s not like we were fighting a giant monster or a robot or something.”

“Are you… mad at me?” Rex drew back from her. “Why are you acting like this? Punching stuff is tough. It’s what we do.”

“No! I mean, yes, it is tough. I just meant that we could have stopped her in a different way.” 

“I think,” her voice grew soft. “I think you might have really hurt her.”

Rex was quiet for a moment. What would Emmet do, he wondered. He’d probably just agree with Lucy. He’s say anything for her to be happy with him again. 

His gut curdled at the thought.

He wasn’t sure he could even force the words out. Lucy was wrong, not Rex. If he hadn’t used his Master Breaker technique, then General Mayhem would already be well on her way back to the Systar System, ready to come back with more reinforcements in tow.

What Rex did was necessary.

“You wanted me to be tougher,” Rex’s chin trembled with barely suppressed rage. “But now that I am, you’re still unhappy?”

“Emmet,” Lucy sighed. “That’s not what I’m trying to say!”

“THEN WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?” Rex screamed. His whole face felt red-hot, like all of the anger he’d been pressing back had begun to literally boil over. 

Lucy stepped back. Her mouth moved, trying and failing to form a response as her brain short-circuited on her. Rex watched for a second as she struggled, taking bitter satisfaction in the hurt and confusion in her eyes. 

Finally, without a word from either of them, he turned on his heel and left. 

[wakandan-flowerz]

Our Love In Color IX

A/N: We are turning up the heat in this fic. Thank you, everyone, for your support. I’m not sure who y’all think the reader is but she is Black and Plussized.

Warnings: Slight smut, angst, drama, plot progression. 

Translations: Yam ivu- my rose,

“Kehinde goes to trial this afternoon.” Aega whispered to you as you were focused on your duties.

“I hope she gets the right sentence.” You grumbled.

“I still don’t get it. Why push you?” Aega said.

“She’s always been nasty towards me and for no reason at all.” You said, picking up the pot and walking away to the table.

“Y/N, you never did anything to her, did you? I mean snide comments and pranks is one thing but…pushing you over a cliff.” she asked, following you.

“I remember nothing that I did that would warrant torment all the way up to pushing me over a fence that could have led to my death. She never had a real reason for any of it. This time just went too far.” You said.

Which that was the truth. Kehinde saw you as an easy target which her aggressions towards you only grew to adulthood to be a meaningless grudge. A grudge that she now had to go before the chief, judge, and jury to explain.

M’Baku didn’t want to be around that day. He wanted to be far from the situation and keep you occupied from it. You wanted until the other gardeners left as you locked the gate. M’Baku met you up the hill, with a smile on his face.

“Where are we going today?” you asked, giving him a hug and a peck on the lips.

“I thought we’d go back to our spot in front of the cave.” M’Baku said, taking your hand and guiding you up the path.

“M’Baku, it’s supposed to rain. I don’t know about you but, I’m not a happy person when I’m wet.” You said, following him.

Kehinde stood before the judge with M’Bako and Niyi sitting behind him. She peered over at the jury with blank eyes.

“Your plea?” the judge asked.

Kehinde sighed, relaxing her shoulders. “Guilty.”

“Where’s M’Baku?” Niyi whispered, leaning over to M’Bako.

“I don’t know. He should be here for this. He didn’t say anything about leaving.” M’Bako whispered, squinting his eyes as he looked out into the small crowd of people who came to watch the trial.

“Of the witness accounts from that day, it says you pushed another female gardener over the edge. From your perspective, how exactly did this happen?” the judge questioned.

“We were having a conversation which began a scuffle.” Kehinde sighed.

“And who made the first hit?” The judge asked. Kehinde let out a huff as she fixed her lips to speak. “Reminder, you are under oath to not lie.”

“I pushed her after she called me a cunt.” She said. There were mutters in the crowd as she openly swore in the court. “She slapped me then…she went over the fence.”

“Did you do so with the intent to kill or mortally harm her?” the judge asked.

“It didn’t exactly cross my mind that she would have fallen to her death.” Kehinde said, blandly.

The judge peered at her. “Do you have any remorse for what you did? You understand the charges against you, don’t you?” Kehinde said.

“Yes, I understand what sentence I face. My actions come with sequences I know.” She said.

“And what of you having remorse?” the judge asked leaning forward.

Kehinde sighed. “Yes.” She groaned. “I suppose I feel bad for what I did. It was a fit of anger. I feel stupid.”

“She’s not very convincing.” Niyi whispered to M’Bako who shook his head in agreement.

“Of this whole ordeal,” the judge began. “What was your motive? You confronted her and why?”

“She had wronged my cousin, Jolasun.” Kehinde said, trying to hide the laughter that wanted to escape her throat as she told her lie.

M’Bako sat up at attention, leaning forward on his knobkerrie. Niyi looked from her husband to Kehinde, ears perked up to hear the rest of this.

“What does your cousin, Jolasun, have to do with you pushing a girl over a fence and possibly to her death?” the judge asked, rolling his eyes as if he was tired of hearing her talk.

“I saw her and my cousin’s betrothed together being intimate. I went to ask if she and my cousin’s mate were truly in a romantic relationship. I wanted to confront her about it and the confrontation turned ugly.” Kehinde said.

M’Bako turned his head slowly to look at Niyi who was staring at the girl, wide-eyed.

Thunder clapped as the rain seemed to fall in sheets. You sat on the long slab of rock, arms crossed as you were wet.

“Sorry.” M’Baku said.

You sighed as you began to shiver. “I’m cold.”

M’Baku looked around in the cave with what little he could see. “I can put a fire together. But, you’ll have to come out of those wet clothes.”

“Fire first.” You said. M’Baku felt around for twigs, broken bark and wood, throwing them in a pile. You glared out at the opening of the cave as there were flashes of lightning and the rain just clouded everything.

The glow came from behind you as you smelled the smoke. You stared into it, the blazing red and orange growing. You got up and walked closer to it, feeling it’s warmth. “I still think about how sight is possible. I think about if I hadn’t bumped into you that day, I’d still see the world as bleak and boring. I had nothing to look forward to until you.”

M’Baku chuckled from behind you, sitting down and bringing you into his chest, planting a kiss on your forehead. “I thought was going to be terrible. Having to lead this tribe and do things I don’t want. Be with someone I didn’t want.”

“Do you still want to be head of the tribe?” you asked looking up at him.

“Of course. I just want to do it with someone I love.” M’Baku said looking down at you. “Now that you’re here, I don’t have to worry about that.”

“But, I can’t be there if…” you started. You gasped as you sneezed. M’Baku chuckled as he took your hands and stood you up.

“You need to come out of those wet clothes. I don’t want you getting sick.” He said.

You looked at him, taken aback. “Well if I’m going to take my clothes off, I don’t want you looking at me.”

“I’m getting out of my clothes too if that makes anything better.” M’Baku said.

“I still don’t want you looking.” You said.

“As you wish, yam ivu.” M’Baku said. He turned and walked towards the wall of the cave facing it.

You started to shed your clothes, getting down only to your undergarment as that wasn’t wet. You laid your clothes out so they could dry properly. You pulled your tube bra up and tried to spread it out so it could cover as much of you as possible. You fixed the short cloth slip but, it didn’t cover that much thigh so, you would have to leave it. You took a deep breath as you realized M’Baku was about to see you unclothed. You told yourself that it would be okay. He was your soulmate, he could look at you.

“Usana, I know you’re nervous.” M’Baku said, making you jump.

You stood up straight and took a deep breath. You realized that the anxiety wasn’t just yours. “Tell me if I’m wrong but, I think you are too.”

M’Baku looked down at himself and back up at the wall of the cave. He peered at his clothes that laid alongside him similar to how you laid your clothes. “Maybe so.” He said.

“Then, we’ll turn on three.” You said. “1…”

“2.” M’Baku said.

“3”

You both turned around and looked each other in the face first. M’Baku’s eyes were the first to break from your gaze as they roamed your body. M’Baku couldn’t help but, lick his lips at each roll and curve of your body. He could spy the stretch marks on your sides and stomach and the only thing he wanted to do was trace them. Your thick thighs now bare and unclothed were a marvel.

“M’Baku, stop staring.” You whined wanting to shield yourself.

“Yam ivu, I’m sorry. But you are beautiful.” He said walking up to you. “I don’t want for you to be ashamed of what you have.” M’Baku’s hands gripped your waist as he looked into your eyes.

“Well if you were nervous, I’m not sure what you had to be ashamed of.” You said, running your hands along his broad shoulders.

“Oh, see now look at you.” M’Baku said, earning a laugh from you.

The rain continued to fall heavily through the night. Both you and M’Baku sat on the slab of rock, watching the fire and trading stories. You were leaning on M’Baku as he supported the both of you. Then, M’Baku’s hand gripped your back, tracing each stretch mark and grazing the skin. You moved away from him and as he was getting ready to say something. You cupped his face and gave him a passionate kiss. M’Baku kissed back, letting you have your moment. You tugged on his bottom lip a bit surprising him. Naturally, you ended up straddling him, sinking your hips into his. M’Baku’s hands ran from your shoulders down your back and to your waist, holding you up. M’Baku broke the kiss to move your neck. A trail of soft, wet kiss made you gasp and moan. M’Baku stood up, hooking your legs to his body. M’Baku turned around and laid you back on the rock.

M’Baku went back to your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moaned as you wrapped your arms around his neck. M’Baku slipped from your grasp, trailing kisses and licks from your chest to your stomach.

“M’Baku, wait.” You said as you jumped up, startling him.

“I went too far again. I’m sorry.” He said.

“No.” you said shaking your head. “Believe me...I want to just as much as you but…”

“You’re scared.” M’Baku said.

“You haven’t…” you started almost afraid of his answer.

“Never.” M’Baku said.

You sighed. “Do we really want to do this? Here? Now?”

“Y/N, if you want it…” M’Baku started.

“I do! I really do but, I know we said we were taking things slow. And being here like this…” you said motioning between the two of you and the lack of clothing. ��This doesn’t make it easy.”

M’Baku chuckled as he sat up. He pulled your legs into his lap, placing his hands on your thigh. “I’ll be ready whenever you are ready. It doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“What would you rather?” you asked.

“I want it to be the right moment. Whether that is right now or a month from now. I just want to make sure this is what we want. I want to know what you like and do right by you when it comes to this.” M’Baku said.

You fell silent for a moment. “Can we…at least try? See where it goes?”

M’Baku nodded as he rubbed your thighs tenderly. “Only if you let me try something. If you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop. I won’t be offended it.”

“Just be gentle.” You said, your voice shuddering. M’Baku pulled you in for a soft kiss.

“Lay back, yam ivu.” M’Baku said. You obeyed him, laying on the rock. M’Baku kissed your neck all the way down to your waist. M’Baku pushed up your slip and hooked his fingers around the fabric. He looked to you to make sure you were still comfortable. You nodded allowing him to proceed. M’Baku pulled your pantie from you and set them gently to the side. “Relax.” He hummed as he put your legs over his shoulders. You bit your lip as you settled with being so exposed to him.

M’Baku first ran his index finger over your entire womanhood. You moaned as he continued that motion. M’Baku watched you glistened, his mouth watering. “Will you let me taste you, Y/N?”

“Yes, M’Baku.” You moaned. M’Baku kissed along your thighs, over each discolored mark and up to clit. His tongue made on long drag over the entire area of you. You arched your back, gasping. Your eyes shut as you enjoyed this new feeling. M’Baku watched your chest rise and fall as he lapped in between your folds. Your toes curled as you tried to prevent yourself from squirming. M’Baku held your thighs as you flicked his tongue at your nub. “M’Baku! Do it again!”

M’Baku flicked his tongue more. Your moans got louder and you couldn’t control your body much more. You bucked your hips away from him, being overwhelmed by the pleasure. Your orgasm that had risen so quickly began to  M’Baku immediately sat up. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” you moaned, trying to gather yourself so you could communicate. You sat there taking deep breaths as a smile came across your face. “You were…You were doing great. Again, please M’Baku.”

M’Baku smiled as he recollected your legs. He started with slow licks before returning to your clit. Kissing it and savoring the taste of you. Your moans began to rival the thunderclaps from outside. M’Baku reared up, pushing you further up the slab. Your hand gripped his hair as your legs lifted to the ceiling of the cave. Your breath became more labored as your thighs tightened around M’Baku’s head. He kept his hands firm on your thighs as he twisted his tongue against you. Your grip tightened on his hair, pulling it while pushing him further into you.

“M’Baku, I…I. Ah!” you cried as you lifted your hips. You let go of his head as you used your hands to brace yourself on the rock. You felt your orgasm ripple through you. M’Baku pulled away from you, spreading your lips to watch you. You whined as you came down. Fully relaxed and spent, your legs went limp on M’Baku’s shoulders.

M’Baku licked his lips clean as he stood up and crawled over you. “Did you enjoy yourself, Y/N?”

You sheepishly nodded, your hands finding their place on his neck. You looked down and saw M’Baku poking through his shorts. “M’Baku…I think I want the full thing.”

“Are you sure? We can stop here.” He said.

“No, let’s just try.” You said. You pulled on the waistband of his shorts, getting a glimpse of what he had. Your lips curled in as you got this nervousness. “Take them off. I want to see.”

M’Baku sat up and pushed his waistband down, freeing his member. You gasped at his size, sitting up. You didn’t think Hanuman made men like this. You took him into your hand, stroking him. He was thick and long with a slight curve. You looked up at him. “Go slow and be gentle?”

“Relax and tell me what you feel.” He said. M’Baku kept one hand by your head as he stroked himself, then positioning himself to your entrance. You took a deep breath as you practically felt him on you. “Relax, usana.”

M’Baku pressed his tip your entrance, making you moan. He looked at you, making sure you were comfortable. Your hands took their place on his shoulders, watching him. You kept your legs on his hips, opened up for him. M’Baku started to push into you and you yelped, sitting up. “Stop.”

M’Baku sat back on his heels, eyes wide, hands open. “What’s wrong?” he said. You covered your face with your hands, embarrassed and tears beginning to flood your eyes. M’Baku felt it. He swiftly pulled up his shorts and pulled you into his chest to comfort you. He combated the duplicated feeling of fear and embarrassment. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry.” You said. “I know you were into it but…”

“If you’re not ready then we aren’t ready.” He said. “Don’t try to rush this because you feel as if you have to do this for me.”

“Okay but, it’s not fair for you when you just did something for me.” You said.

M’Baku wiped your cheek. “Don’t ever think that us having sex should be like that. I did that for you because I wanted to. Not because I expected something back.”

“So you aren’t disappointed?” you asked.

“I’ll be honest. I was looking forward to it. But, I can wait. I rather we wait. It’ll be better when we are both ready.” M’Baku said. “We’ll make the moment special. It won’t be in a cave on a rainy night.”

You laughed, now feeling relieved. “I mean, this could have been very special.”

“Well, next time it rains I’ll bring you up here again and we’ll try again.” M’Baku joked. You both burst into laughter. M’Baku pulled you in for a hug. You leaned your head up, prompting a kiss from him. He smiled, obliging you and giving you a soft, tender kiss then pulled away.

“Really, Y/N.” he started. “We have all the time in the world. Nothing is going to ruin this.”

“Do you know anyone else he can confirm the story you told? Would anyone know that my son and this…girl are involved?” M’Bako asked Kehinde from the outside of her cell.

“I’m sure her friend, Aega, knows. Maybe a few people of your son’s side, I can’t be totally sure.” Kehinde said.

“Aega? Is this Aega a gardener too?” M’Bako asked.

“Yes.” She said, shifting in her seat. “She stays in the east village a street over from my own house.”

“If I find out you’re lying…” M’Bako said, leaning forward, glaring at her.

“I’m already serving my sentence, Lord M’Bako. I have no reason to lie or keep a secret. Ask Aega or whoever is close to your son.” Kehinde said. “I assure you. I didn’t lie in that courtroom.”

Tagslist: @randomwordprompts @muse-of-mbaku @yaachtynoboat711 @myboyfriendgiriboy @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @storibambino @great-neckpectations @theunsweetenedtruth @slimmiyagi @yofavcocoa @bidibidibombaclaat @rinsethemall @chasingsunlight

[mikeholdher]

The letter that never got sent...

I’ve been struggling with this back and forth for a long time. Do I send it? Do I leave you alone? What do I write? And I told myself that I would just keep writing everything down until I get it all out and then see what the verdict was. Unfortunately for me I believe in karma and even though you may not want to hear from me I felt in good conscience that I couldn’t actually leave this Earth without righting all the wrongs I did.

I’ve been through so many nights where I wish I had someone that understood me as much as you did back then. A lot has happened and most things have changed. I ended up going to jail for a stupid mistake. I watched my mom on her death bed refuse surgery. Sebastien died and all I could remember is how you jokingly acted like you were jealous of him. I’ve been in a car accident where I should’ve died. I went through a battle with bone cancer and lost an eye due to it. And now I have a bad heart valve. In all of these situations I wish I had someone to turn to and the only personally that truthfully came up in my mind was you. So being as I’m not sure when God is going to remove me from here I want to come clean about these past 10 years and our relationship as a whole.

I feel it’s something that needs to happen. For me at least. I’m sure there is some sort of resentment there for you as the things I did during our relationship were inexcusable. No female should ever deserve to get hit the way I hit you. We were volatile. And by the time I realized how far I had pushed you away it was too late. I get sick to my stomach when I look at the person I was back then and the only thing I am thankful for is that it humbled later on in life. That person is long gone and buried under years of regret.

To be frank I decided that I wouldn’t message you about this up until recently. Let it be known that I never talk about you or mention you to anyone. You have your life and I have mine. Our parents had jury duty earlier this year and while I try not to get involved and ask questions my dad came to me and said that he talked to your mom. I’m not sure what was said but he just mentioned to me that she wishes me the best and misses me. To which I just nodded my head and said okay. As I’m older now I understand that woman’s strength and I have that much more respect for what she was going through at the time. I have nothing but love for her and the rest of your family. Anyway fast forward to summer and Debevoise invites me over to his house for a cookout. He pulls me aside and says that his mom wants to talk to me about something. She peaks her head outside and motions for me to come here. So I walk inside and she gives me a hug and proceeds to tell me I need to eat cause I lost a lot of weight. Afterwards she ask me if I remember your mom. Which of course I say yes. “I was talking to her recently and she says that she misses you and is sorry for everything that happened and wants to see you. She is off today so she might come over here later is that okay with you?” It was fine by me. I’m not sure if she called her to come over afterwards or not as I didn’t see your mom but I’d be lying if I wasn’t curious about what she had to say. And here we are a couple of months later with me writing this.

I told you that If you were with me or someone else as long as you were happy than that is all that matters to me and I mean that. I’ve got no ill will towards Mark. I’m glad that you found someone who loves you like you should be loved and I wish you guys many more years together. You guys have a beautiful family and I couldn’t be more proud of you. I’m sorry for all the trauma I caused you over the years. I don’t need a reply. I’m more than happy just getting this off my chest as this was long overdue. Love you guys always.

[tazzflasharts]

I thought for 1ns id take the backseat and let ppl prove they got this without my constant meddling. Ppl want to act like im the problem. That im to stern and set in my ways. But so what.

When im not my family is stranded on the side of the road for days.

Or let some fuckers take over there place.

I admit there was a time that would be me.

But my experience means nothing to anyone ok fine.

I see now that i have grown from the guy calling out for help to the guy everyone needs but dont lesson to.

Well the hell with that im not going anywhere with this family. The older members ither only care about whats up in there lives. Or have no structure or discipline and hold the rest behind.

Then you got this paradox where theres not saposta be a leader. But there's this 1 guy everyone sees as like a god father of some sort.

He dont seem to care about the new members.

He 1ns came through and cut 25 members in the old days.

Now he pops back up after we all baled to be coyotes with out knowing any of us but the older classes and wants to start making cuts

I dont think someone whos not around for those glory days he had should suffer and be cut cuss he dont know us.

This isint a brother hood its a mess and now we new members sit and wait for this 1 guy to decide were not his ken so where not coyotes.

This is no more then a failing monarchy poorly disguised as a Brotherhood.

Ill be fine when it all falls apart cuss i can see it coming and ive tried to warn every1. Im just that scweky wheel everyone wants space from

But i try and close myself off and do me but ppl just keep on pushing me.

The only thing i care about right now is my house trailer my bikes geting them motorized geting my driver's licenses and a work truck starting my business and geting a peace of land

And holding my rental together long anuff to do all that.

Im sick of being that guy that makes a family outa good ppl in my life and little by little they use me and leave me behind.

But they cant do that to me anymore if i totally shut down and do me

And as for that 1 guy. I gave you a leather jacket outa respect not a sing of kneeling to you. It was mutual respect so I thought

I never asked you to bye me a motor for my bike you decided to do that i just asked about the motor i have and that i was willing to gift it to our other brother that needs it.

Where i need a hole kit i was willing to save up for myself.

I never wanted a hand out from you just help getting where you are.

But you can forget that motor. I dont want it or your help in anyway. You want to challenge everything i am and have dun for this club. Im nothing to you bro so just keep your shit for the sevent sheeple that will kneel to you

My day of kneeling to anyone is over.

I dont have shit but my place bikes and club and i thought this club was the path for my life but you dont make my fucher sacuer. And im dun.

The woman i love will never love me

my mom my be on the brink of dieing not that i can confirm that cuss iv been out of tuch for months.

Iv got bill collectors on the hunt for me. Cuss of hospital bills

Medicaid dicing me around.

Ssi wont let me work.

I vote so i get summons all the time for jury duty. Witch i cant do cuss most of the ppl in this town knows me and if i get put on a jury in this town i could be peged as a nark and shuned or worse.

And all i want is to diaper again and start a 2nd time over. Somewhere no 1 knows me. Only this time keep it that way. Just cut everyone off and die in a hole somewhere alone.

But nothing will stop me from proteting the 1ns i brought into this life and are only suffering with me to get thrur this ruff time.

The same 1ns you want to reject. Witch are the very same ppl that are responsible for the coyotes not being hunted killed or chased out of town.

Yalls inability to unite organize or even be aware of whats going on around yall is the very down fall of the club.

And the very members that atleast 1 member of the old school coyotes owes his life to us. If it wasn't for us they wasn't going to stop at his dog.

Thats 1 of your original brother's could have died while you live your life it was me and my team that had his back. And its me that still stands by him.

You want this new class to show you why we are coyotes.

But these 3 i brought in. Have shown me they know what it means. I made it clear to them what we was about.

Yall tyed of the life yall started so the rest of us gotta die off with you what about our fucking fuchers.

I promise you bro you fuck with those 3s patches you sacrifice your greatest Commander in training and the hole new half of the club to me.

Cuss i gave them a promise i wont abandon them or leave them behind.

I brought them in to this life and chaned there lives just like this club did for me.

But if thats not how the club realy is then we will go live our code and our way and yall can die out in your indecisive non-acting way of life

And we will be better off

[pistolkilled]

[ I’m going into this kinda blind, just in that I don’t know my own verse much yet and I’m just gonna make it up as I write it, but here we go: here’s my D:B/H verse drop ]

Wilford is an android in this verse, albeit a severely damaged one. Considered a deviant in main verse. (Pre-deviancy verse to be playable later.)

Similar to Markus, he was able to reboot himself in the junkyard and scavenge for parts to keep him going. It was mostly the parts that could physically keep him going that he found. Optics, limbs, etc. 

What he was unable to replace (though ultimately unnecessary - they all still function, they’re just corrupted) was his audio processor, his thirium pump regulator, and his damaged memory unit.

Because of this, Wilford is in a constant state of low power and dulled hearing. The problems with his memory unit result in no knowledge of his past before he rebooted and occasional short-term memory issues. He may know what’s going on as it’s happening, but it’s not uncommon for him to forget a subject after they move onto the next one. It’s unclear as to the rhyme or reason for this. There are no specific subjects he forgets and nothing specific he remembers. Whatever sticks in his memory is just what sticks, and it can make for a frustrating time for anybody who doesn’t have the patience to deal with him. 

It was also possible for Wilford to find a compatible pump regulator while in the junkyard. He did have one within reach from him, but let another android have it at the last second (specifically Kenny’s Yandere/plier - he just felt too damn bad for her to be able to take it for himself and go).

It’s unclear why he had such a soft spot for her specifically, if they just got to talking before she initially shut down in the junkyard or he just has a naturally soft heart, but it was ultimately the reason he decided to give her the parts and reboot her.

Wilford still checks on Yani from time to time and vice-versa. He doesn’t necessarily think of her as his daughter like in his main verse, but he does care for her very much.

The only thing anybody knows about Wilford’s previous life is that he was specifically designed for use in public media. Model WT300, specifically designed to operate in television production. He works with all entailed in set design and ultimately operating the cameras.

There are odd markings on his arms and other random parts of his body that suggest foul-play, though being that Wilford doesn’t expressly remember what, it’s lost on both him and William.

It’s unclear why Wilford was thrown in the garbage to begin with, although there’s a vague idea given the lingering markings.

Now aware of the reality of his existence, sometimes William (or anybody else in his trusted circle) does have to step in and keep Wilford from going self-destructive (instead of going on his rampages like in main verse). Despite his outward bubbly appearance, he does have a lot going on inside, on top of having to deal with being a half-functioning robot. He’s in a constant state of low-power, hard of hearing, his memory is shot, and it sucks, on top of the fact that he doesn’t even know what he did to end up this way. Sometimes it’s all too stressful for him to deal with.

His meeting with the Colonel wasn’t anything grand-extravagant. William has a soft spot for androids (more on that later) and it probably broke his heart to see someone as defunct and broken looking as Wilford had been after escaping the junkyard. He may have just seen him huddled up and scared under a makeshift shelter somewhere and decided to give him a home once he gained his trust. 

Wilford’s treated more like a roommate than a typical android - and it’s much easier to play him as such with his LED having been removed. Even if he was still within his initial programming, Will can’t find it in him to treat him as such. 

Wilford’s as protective over the Colonel (and eventually Damien and Astra, etc.,) as the Colonel is over him.

Florence is also an android in this verse, though a toddler version  (YB100) of the already discussed child model. 

Florence is another android Wilford stumbled upon during his time in the junkyard, although he may have been dumped right in front of him rather than Wilford happening upon him at some point. (This keeps other androids from possibly scavenging parts from him while inactive.)

Initially bought/used for a couple that couldn’t conceive themselves, Florence was deactivated and tossed out once it came to the light that the couple had actually conceived, thus eliminating their need for an android child.

Unlike Wilford, Florence was simply deactivated and thrown out, rather than being severely damaged and in need of repairs. It’s likely that Wilford scooped him up to keep him safe, having preyed on that already soft heart of his right from the get-go.

William, apparently, runs the home for orphaned and deviant androids, although not by design. 

His actual job is zookeeping, eventually to be promoted to beta-tester for the android animal zoos due to his extensive experience with animal upkeep. 

As such, he does now have a fair knowledge of android upkeep, although primarily among animals. It’s a skill he can usually jury-rig and refine for the upkeep of his own androids (although mainly Wilford with his deteriorated existence). 

Having already been an android sympathizer from the get-go (it’s always broken his heart to see androids treated the way they are for things beyond their control), working with robotic animals has really put his sympathy through the roof. There’s no technical reason for this other than the general oh no these animals are so cute and general wonderment of how far science has advanced to allow these adorable creatures to exist again.

Despite being able to take Wilford and the other androids in, he’s still not paid too well with his actual job. While he may be able to maintain upkeep with the androids, since Wilford’s broken parts are so critical and important, he isn’t able to afford replacements for them at this point in time. The least he can do is make sure Wilford’s state doesn’t get any worse.

It’s still a common theme in this verse that Will has a problem with his brother Mark (robeclad), though this time it’s due to his treatment/opinion of androids. While Will is a sympathizer, Mark seems to have the same general opinion of androids as the rest of society does, and it makes him sick. It’s a big part of the reason he was so willing to take in Damien (despite having the same face as his brother) and the child-android, Astra (magiccurscd). 

Although not actually his children, William does highly consider the child androids to be his kids. He won’t insist that they call him Dad (even though Florence will call both him and Wilford such), but he does think of them in a fatherly way.

It’s possible that he thinks of all the androids in this way to some extent, though he treats the adult androids with the appropriate respect.

Instead of just having a limp in this verse, the Colonel does actually have a robotic/prosthetic leg. (Though it is still an army related injury.) It’s probable that his knowledge of technology upkeep comes from keeping up his own part just as much as it does from work. 

The androids definitively under his care in the main verse (as of now) are: Wilford, Florence, and Damien. All other androids (mentioned or not) are subjective at the time of writing this.

Milford has a position similar to Rose in this verse, and similar to his position in the Fallout verse. He helps androids escape and relocate safely. 

He’s still William and Mark’s father, although they don’t live together in this verse. It’s probably fair to say he even considers Wilford and Damien to be his kids in this verse, too.

Melody is also still alive in this verse and helps him in his android escape endeavors.

While Milford isn’t exactly in the business to own/use androids himself, there are at least two androids that stick around the house of their own volition simply because they like the couple so much.

Since they’re a little older in age, the androids do help them around the house sometimes or they do remind them to take medications and such, but it’s not their primary duty. Anything they do for the couple are of their own volition, again. 

William lives in a two-bedroom studio apartment rather than his large 3 story house in main verse. One bedroom is his, albeit mostly set up like a study that happens to have a bed in the corner, and the other bedroom is dedicated to the child androids under his care (previously his office). It’s a little cramped with all his guests, but it’s what they have to make due with for now.

[winterverses]

A Taste for Learning - Chapter Three

There were a few bad moments the next day on the bridge. Ella had come in, hair all bound up, uniform clinging to that perfect body, and Jim couldn't help watching her a little longer than he’d meant to. “Tonight,” she'd said before they parted in the morning, both of them exhausted and satisfied, both of them aware that work was going to be a bit of an effort. Everything they'd done stampeded through his mind, his imagination determined to fixate on glimpses of the playful, passionate Ella he'd seen last night.

“Captain on the bridge,” she snapped, and his imagination suddenly cooled as if he'd suddenly been plunged into an icy stream. His eyes were on his instruments now, his hands moving through the familiar checks. Commander Vergne strode up beside him, watching him the way she always watched the Cadets, the lack of a sharp correction the only approval he got. It was so strange to think that for one night she'd been someone totally different… and somehow, not strange at all. Not when he was starting to understand more and more what kind of pressure came with a command rank.

“I was looking for you last night, Commander. Wanted to go over the half-term notices for the Cadets,” Garrovick said.

“I'll be happy to go over them any time we are on duty, Captain. I prefer to keep my free time for my astrophysics degree.” The Commander's voice was extremely neutral, cool, not inviting at all, but subtly different from the voice she used with Cadets. Assertive, but not dominating. Well, the Captain was the only one on the ship who outranked her.

“Come on now Vergne, didn't I see you leaving the bar last night with some guy?” the Captain teased, and suddenly Kirk realized just how wrong he'd been about Vergne’s relationship with Garrovick. Feeling a little sick, he found himself remembering all the times he'd heard the Captain tease her like that, trying to get some admission that she had gone drinking or found some company or whatever else, and how many times it had played out the exact same way.

“I’m afraid not, Captain,” Vergne said, her voice even and cool and neutral, just like before. Just a hint of boredom if you were really listening for it. “I was studying for most of the evening.”

How many times had she given that sort of answer, and how many times had it been because Garrovick had tried to corner her again? Jim couldn't even remember how often he'd heard exchanges like that. He’d always thought it was relatively good-natured and harmless… but knowing that Garrovick had been waiting outside her room last night twisted the banter into something distasteful at best.

“Cadet!” she snapped from right beside him, and Kirk suddenly realized he'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he’d missed something. “The Captain asked you a question. Answer it.”

Kirk half turned in his chair, as was acceptable when not underway. Ella had told him that if he was worried about giving something away, he could just pretend to be bored and explain as little as possible unless specifically asked, like his answers weren't all that important. Seemed like another sound strategy. “Sorry, sir. What was the question?”

“Did you send me on a wild goose chase, Cadet?” the Captain teased, and for one moment Kirk was utterly convinced that Garrovick knew everything somehow and that Ella’s career was ruined because of him.

Still, he couldn't let himself treat an off chance like a certainty. Kirk just made an apologetic little shrug. “Sorry, sir. I must have been mistaken.”

And that was it. “The Vulcans really lost out when you were born a human, Commander,” Garrovick said lightly, and moved on to pre-launch checks.

Later that night, Kirk left his shared quarters for Ella’s room, mentally flipping through the things she'd told him. Never admit anything. Never let them see you sweat. Never let your lies get elaborate. He wasn't sure he could pull it all off with her grace, but it was good advice for a lot of things, and he had a feeling he’d get a lot of practice. And once he'd stepped into Ella’s quarters and the door was closed behind them, she'd slid into his arms without a second of hesitation.

“You did well,” she murmured, and Kirk proceeded to demonstrate just how much he appreciated her approval.

Over the course of the rest of his term aboard the Farragut, Kirk found that he noticed some changes happening. He barely had any trouble getting girls to go out with him or come home with him anymore. Ella told him it was because he wasn’t so focused on sex, and that seemed to be true; he watched his classmates trying to pick up girls, and he could see the difference between what he was doing and what they were doing. They were too thirsty. It made them seem desperate, whereas he didn’t really care whether he got laid or not. There was always another night and another girl, so he got more interested in the girls themselves and they in turn got more interested in him.

He was getting even more of a reputation too, although it had changed a little. Before when he’d overheard girls talking about him, there had always seemed to be that caveat, whether spoken or not, that he got around. Now that was treated more like a bonus than a warning, and the girls that had already slept with him were usually down for another night, sometimes actively looking for it. Sometimes really actively.

The first time he’d seen a girl’s cheeks go all pink because someone mentioned him, he’d sent off a message to Ella, saying she’d better clear up a night for him because he had a lot to thank her for. And he’d made her scream, more than once.

God, that was fun. He'd really gotten a taste for the things she’d taught him.

Not that he never made mistakes in his attempts at covering things up. He’d nearly gotten himself expelled when all that shit with the Narada had happened. It wasn't until that was over that he found out the Farragut was one of the ships that had been destroyed. He was pretty sure his face went white when he heard, but after some discreet enquiries, he’d found out that Commander Vergne had managed to seal off a portion of the saucer edge and jury-rig a beacon so that the Fleet would find her and the members of the crew she’d been able to save. He’d sent off a message immediately, but when he didn’t get an answer, he started to worry again. Eventually, he got worried enough that he made an official inquiry, and heard that she was in a medically induced coma while they reconstructed her leg and fixed up some massive burns.

Bones had been suspicious from the moment he’d said he wanted to know when Ella was awakened. “You’re not next of kin and you have no reason to be there,” Bones had said, eyeing him.

“She was my CO,” Kirk shot back.

“Oh, and the fact that she’s a bombshell has nothing to do with this,” Bones snorted, but Kirk could tell that he didn’t really think that. “She’s not gonna look that great in a hospital bed, Jim.”

“She taught me a lot. I want to be there.” It was true. She had, a lot more than just sex. Navigating the labyrinthine pitfalls of Fleet relationships hadn’t been half so hard once she’d taught him what to look for and how to keep things discreet. And under the public eye, she’d given him a shot at a helm class she was running aboard the Farragut, even though technically he didn’t have the certifications for it. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done for other Cadets-- Vergne judged based on her opinions, not Fleet certifications, and she let everyone know it. But she was one of the best helmsmen out there, and he already knew how to take direction from her, so he’d sharpened his skills more than his supervisors had thought possible. Her endorsement meant a lot, not just to him, but to the other officers.

“Fine,” Bones had said. “I’ll let you know when to take some leave.”

The call came in about a month later, longer than he’d expected, but there had been medical complications in the meantime. Kirk took a week’s leave and headed down to the surface-- the Enterprise was stationed at Earth for the time being, so it wasn’t hard to manage.

Bones was wrong. She looked great. Tired, a little drawn with pain, but great. There wasn’t any family there-- Kirk had never known if she’d had any or not. That didn’t surprise him. The members of the Farragut crew that had shown up to see her when she woke eyed him like an outsider, though, and Kirk didn’t blame them. He hung back, letting them say their thanks and hellos, but when her eyes landed on him a weak smirk curved her mouth. “Jim. Now I know this isn’t heaven, cause you’re never getting there.”

“Don’t be such an asshole,” he said, grinning. “I heard you were sick or something. You look fine to me. You faking?”

One of the crew members angrily started to tell him off, but Ella quelled that with a glance. “Come here and kiss me. I need it, after all that bullshit.”

He did as requested. If she wanted to give up the secrecy, that was her call. She made it clear that this wasn’t a just-friends sort of kiss, and after that no one had a word to say about his presence or anything else.

He made it to the ceremony they had a couple days later, giving her the rank of Captain and decorating her for her heroics. And naturally, a bit of a fuss was made over his contribution to that whole thing too. By then, Ella had heard the whole story. If he’d thought for a second she’d treat him differently, he was disabused of that notion when she told him not to get a puffed head over it, and that one lucky break didn’t make a good Captain.

“I got it, I got it,” he said. They’d snuck out of the ceremony, and were sharing a slightly-questionable controlled intoxicant. It was hers for medical use, though, and no one was going to bust the two of them for something like that. Kirk inhaled, and passed the hand-rolled joint back to her. “I won’t let it trip me up. If I do, you’ll be breathing down my neck, and who wants that?”

“You do. Just under different circumstances.” Ella grinned and blew smoke in his face. “Coming back to my place tonight?”

“Thought they posted you already,” Kirk said.

“They did. Exploratory vessel. But my ship’s not ready yet-- still being built.” At his questioning look, she added, “Yeah. Farragut-A. She’s gonna have a better warp core than yours.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Kirk said. “I’ve got a better helm officer than you, even. I’ll take you on any day.”

“We’ll see.” Ella’s jaw tightened and she looked away. “He was keeping me back, you know,” she said suddenly. “Garrovick filed requests from me not to be given my own command. I didn’t make those requests. I would have jumped at the chance to have a command of my own… but I guess he figured if he kept me around, eventually he’d wear me down.”

Kirk didn’t know what to say, really. “Isn’t there anything I… I mean, can you do something about it?”

“Why bother? All it would do is drag his name through the mud. And… it wasn’t like he was a bad Captain. The only reason I had a chance to save anyone was because Garrovick stayed behind to manually deploy emergency bulkheads. I’m happy just letting it be. Got my Farragut, my command, my mission orders… I’m good. That’s all I want.” The expression on her face was something he’d caught glimpses of before, the kind of soft, dreamy expression he was sure she’d have if she ever fell in love. But it was the ship she loved… and Kirk was starting to understand that.

“So I guess once my shore leave is over, it’s goodbye, huh?” he said regretfully.

“Who says?” Ella asked, looking skeptically at him and handing him the joint. “God, Jim, you’d think we were never going to see each other again or something. All right, I’ll make you a deal. The next time we find ourselves in the same sector, starbase, planet, whatever, gimme a call and we’ll see if we can’t steal a few nights here and there.”

“What if you find some guy--”

Ella’s laughter was a little louder than he thought was justified. “I never did tell you, did I? Ha. Well, there you go. I like girls, Jim. Mostly, anyway. How the hell did you think I knew so much about how to get women off?” While he sputtered and tried to think of something to say, she added, “And any girl who isn't up for a night with both of us probably isn't worth my time. So I wouldn’t worry about it. Give me that, and let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve got more at home. How much time do you have?”

“A few days,” Kirk said.

“Good. That means we can save an evening to go pick up a girl or two. You do want to move on to the advanced lessons, don’t you?”

Kirk pulled her close and stole what was meant to be a brief kiss, sliding his hands down to grab that amazing ass of hers. But god, she was too much fun to kiss. He drew it out just as long as she would let him, lips and tongues catching on each other in the most delicious ways while he kneaded her full, round, utterly grabbable ass. When the kiss broke, however, he couldn't help asking the question that had been lurking in the back of his mind the entire time. “But if you like girls, how come I--”

Ella grinned roguishly at him. “Shut up, Captain,” she said, her hands already urging him down for another kiss.

Kirk laughed, but pretended Starfleet obedience. “Aye aye, Captain,” he teased, and was rewarded with another one of those intoxicating kisses.

Captain Vergne shows up in Walking Wounded because I wanted to take a peek into how relationships on an equal footing would work-- and, of course, how rare they would be when you're a Captain. Then, of course, I had to decide how that had all happened and ended up with a sort of Mrs. Robinson story in Kirk's past, which seemed pretty fitting for someone with his kind of brains, ambition, and disregard for rules and social mores. I hope you enjoyed this look into Kirk's past relationships! <3

[tabloidtoc]

OK, October 5

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Kelly Clarkson is finally breaking her silence 

Page 1: Big Pic -- Naomi Osaka with the U.S. Open trophy paid homage to her Haitian heritage in a vibrant orange dress and a colorful headwrap 

Page 2: Contents 

Page 4: Prince Harry’s sweet celebration -- from homemade cake to phone calls from the palace all the details on how he spent his 36th birthday 

Page 6: It’s been over five years since Miranda Lambert and Blake Shelton announced the end of their four-year marriage and while they’ve both remained tight-lipped about what actually caused the split but that may change as Miranda is penning a tell-all that’ll reveal lots of bombshells about her time with Blake as well as their breakup 

Page 7: Alec Baldwin already dad to a copious brood of young kiddos with wife Hilaria has been majorly overwhelmed ever since they welcomed baby no. 5 Eduardo, in the wake of Denise Richards’ departure from Real Housewives of Beverly Hills she’s planning a blistering tell-all about her ex-castmates especially Brandi Glanville who claimed to have an affair with Denise and old pal Lisa Rinna who turned on Denise to take Brandi’s side

Page 8: Demi Lovato who got engaged to actor Max Ehrich after four months of dating claiming quarantining together accelerated their romance has also majorly stepped on the gas with wedding planning, despite the longstanding bromance between George Clooney and Rande Gerber their wives Amal Clooney and Cindy Crawford simply don’t mesh because they have little to nothing in common -- Amal finds Cindy materialistic and Cindy is sick of being lectured about all things worthy whenever she hears from Amal, Tyra Banks made her debut as the new host of Dancing With the Stars with a fiery red gown and all the confident smizing she could muster but behind the scenes she’s gingerly tip-toeing into the role because she believes she came on too strong when she replaced longtime America’s Got Talent host Nick Cannon in 2017 and she learned from that experience 

Page 10: Red Hot on the Red Carpet -- stars look timeless in black -- Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Sara Sampaio, Cate Blanchett 

Page 11: Zendaya, Sienna Miller 

Page 12: Who Wore It Better? Sarah Paulson vs. Grace Elizabeth, Melissa Gorga vs. Bianca Peters, Josephine Skriver vs. Regina King 

Page 14: News in Photos -- Alessandra Ambrosio playing beach volleyball 

Page 16: Cate Blanchett took a break from her duties as jury president for the 2020 Venice International Film Festival to go shopping, Riley Keough on the beach in Malibu, Anne Heche 

Page 17: Will Smith caught up with his Fresh Prince of Bel-Air costars Daphne Maxwell Reid, Karyn Parsons, Joseph Marcell, Alfonso Ribeiro, Tatyana Ali and DJ Jazzy Jeff on the 30th anniversary of the show to tape a reunion special 

Page 18: Serena Williams lost in the semifinals of the U.S. Open, to mark the 19th anniversary of 9/11 Justin Theroux took his dog Kuma to One World Trade Center next to where the Twin Towers once stood, pregnant Ashlee Simpson 

Page 20: Kourtney Kardashian laying out by a lake, Justin Hartley and his dog Paisley, Irina Shayk and Bradley Cooper with their daughter Lea De Seine in NYC 

Page 24: Inside My Home -- Teresa Giudice’s marvelous mansion in Towaco, N.J. is for sale 

Page 26: Bindi Irwin and husband Chandler Powell have a few months to go until their baby arrives but the parents-to-be are staying cool and calm and collected as well as so excited -- Bindi has been balancing her duties at her family’s Australia Zoo while also keeping a diary filled with updates on her pregnancy and working on the safari-themed nursery 

Page 28: Hoda Kotb’s destination wedding to Joel Schiffman may be on hold but she’s seriously exploring the possibility of adding another baby to their brood, Zac Efron didn’t just fall in love in lockdown he may have found his bride -- Zac’s so smitten with the Aussie waitress he met while quarantining Down Under Vanessa Valladares he’d sooner get married than spend a moment apart -- Zac is due back in L.A. to film a remake of Three Men and a Baby but won’t necessarily be allowed back into Oz because of travel restrictions and Vanessa isn’t currently allowed to leave because of the clampdown on travel so the only way she could accompany Zac is if they got married, Love Bites -- Adam Brody and wife Leighton Meester welcomed a baby boy, Cardi B and Offset divorcing, Claire Holt and husband Andrew Joblon welcomed a baby girl 

Page 30: Cover Story -- Kelly Clarkson healing after heartache -- she is happy and healthy and ready to shed light on her painful divorce 

Page 34: Jack Nicholson coming clean -- Jack is gearing up to tell all about his wild life and finally reveal why he disappeared from the spotlight 

Page 36: Interview -- Dakota Fanning all grown up -- the star dishes on her latest project and being a showbiz vet at 26 

Page 40: 50 & Fab -- these ageless stars reveal the secrets to their amazing secrets -- Heather Graham, Giada De Laurentiis 

Page 41: Naomi Campbell, Julie Bowen, Taraji P. Henson, Kelly Ripa 

Page 44: Hollywood’s Mini Moguls -- Beyonce and Jay-Z’s daughter Blue Ivy 

Page 45: Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt’s daughter Zahara, Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony’s daughter Emme, Kylie Jenner and Travis Scott’s daughter Stormi, DJ Khaled’s son Asahd 

Page 46: Style Week -- Maddie Ziegler’s collaboration with Fabletics 

Page 48: Chic blue-light-filtering lenses -- Drew Barrymore 

Page 50: Drugstore Beauty Awards -- Lili Reinhart 

Page 53: Bebe Rexha 

Page 54: Entertainment 

Page 55: Q&A with podcast hosts Jana Kramer and Michael Caussin 

Page 58: Buzz -- 2020 ACM Awards -- Carrie Underwood, Taylor Swift, Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton, Keith Urban and Thomas Rhett, Maren Morris 

Page 60: Sound Bites -- Kristen Bell on letting daughters Delta and Lincoln drink nonalcoholic beer, Pink on husband Carey Hart, Chris Evans on accidentally tweeting a nude pic, Olivia Wilde on keeping her Marvel movie directing gig a secret, Paris Hilton on being done playing a character 

Page 62: Horoscope -- Libra Hilary Duff turned 33 on September 28 

Page 64: By the Numbers -- Hailey Bieber 

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Proxy Cosmos

(An alternate reality where Alec Ryder lived, and both twins were awake during the events of Andromeda.)

Chapter Six:

Scott had always loved winter, the slow drift of snow to the Earth. The silence as flakes blanketed away the colors into stark whiteness. Where things could remain silent, untouched even if for just a little while. It was soothing him, reminding him of home and things he wished didn't have to change. For now, having her home was enough.

A gentle tug of his bun woke him from drowsy thoughts, "Little brother."

"Sister."

"Come on," she whined, "hot chocolate it ready. We need to put up the ornaments."

"But Elsee," Scott wasn't sure why he was whining, he liked it just as much, "we're twenty-one, single. Why are we putting up decorations like kids?"

"I already spiked the cocoa, Scott."

Scott sighed, "it better be strong."

The shake of her head bid him not to worry about it, as she retreated to grab their drinks. Scott stared at the empty tree in the corner of the room, the room around it naked except for a couch. The rest of the house was empty or piled high with packing boxes, the last thing to take care of before the house was sold. Elsee had talked him into spending a last Christmas there, together. Alec didn't show, but Scott knew he had to make an effort on this front. Despite how many painful memories the house dug up.

It was easier with the place almost gutted and bare, but heartbreaking in the same note.

"Here you go," Elsee interrupted for the second time, "why the long face?"

Scott shook his head; even she wasn't her usual self in this old house, "neigh."

Elsee snorted, resorting to taking a drink rather than respond. Scott mirrored her.

"Did you put any cocoa in this?"

"I had hoped it would bring out our inner child."

Scott took his turn awkwardly chuckling, before braving another gulp of the hot liquid. Elsee scooted toward the box still closed by the tree, sitting cross-legged before it. Being the shortest of the Ryder clan, she was used to handing out the ornaments rather than being the one to put them on the tree. Slowly, reverently, she opened the box- four foam snowflakes lying flat on the top.

Two white, one purple, and one blue. Four names, covered in stickers and gems that only children could appreciate. The two white snowflakes were more orderly and a little less decorated, but somehow a few decorations had snuck onto both. Elsee gently touched the white snowflake with their mother's name on it. Looking to Scott before she dared to take it out of the box.

The sap had tears in her eyes.

They were both saps.

"I'm so sorry," Scott blubbered.

"I know how you are when you are upset," Elsee murmured, "I forgive you."

"I'm sure Dad hates himself, too."

"Let's not focus on that right now, please."

To cement the turning of his attention, she placed the snowflake in his hand, his fingers smoothing the plastic pipe cleaner that served to hang the snowflake. Placing it in the center of the tree. With his father's snowflake, he debated on where to hang it. Every year it was still a fight on who got to be next to mom. Usually, it was a spirited debate or based on some silly game like rock, paper, scissors... or a chilling game of tic tac toe. He put Alec's name above Ellen's. Elsee's name came next, he put that to the left bottom corner.

"Oh, little Arden Ryder," she mused from below.

The grunt was subconscious at this point. His legal first name was not Scott, part Arden. He never liked it, likely never would. It was so easy to make fun of that he insisted he be called by his middle name.

Again overcoming the urge to rip the ornament, he put it under the right side of his mother's name. His hand empty when he returned to hang the next ornament. He lightly pushed her shoulder in the attempt to rouse her.

"I think, we should only put those up. There isn't a point in the rest, it will just make a mess," being pragmatic wasn't usual for her either. But they could always try again later. If there was a later.

"Elsee, I really think you should join us," Scott finally mumbling the thought stuck in his mind.

"Why?"

Scott huffed, fidgeted, and took a drink before he could answer, "we need you."

"I don't want to talk about this either," Elsee admitted, her hand resting on the envelope that was next in the layer. Placing that beside her revealed an old Polaroid, and rolls of film saved in a container to preserve them.

"Are you really going to make us take a picture this year?" Scott remarked, settling beside his sister.

"Only after we look at the photos, Arden."

"Ugh."

Elsee gently pulled the photos from the container, the first one a picture of their parents close in age to Scott and Elsee now. The next few were more pictures of their parents, in various poses. Usually, Alec looking slightly perturbed. The next picture was of an ultrasound, and two sets off booties resting on Ellen's large stomach and a beaming Alec. His expression turned to stress, happiness, then a level of calm with each picture that marked a passing of a year. The last picture was a little different, with a sickly looking Ellen and a worried Alec.

Decided on not lingering on the picture, Elsee leaned into Scott holding the ancient camera at arm's length. "Say cheese!"

======

Scott watched Liam throwing his weight into the punching bag, eager to throw some of his anger into something that wouldn't scream for expressing it. With each strike came a grunt, with each grunt the intensity grew pushing him harder. Soon a sheen of sweat covered his body, reflecting the harsh light of the room.

Scott must have been staring too long, as Liam sauntered up to the weight bench he had perched on.

"Ryder," accent becoming heavier in his recent effort, "want to go for a bout?"

"Sure," the words stuck awkwardly in his throat, "Liam."

The man barely threw him a look in return, ducking under the ropes of the makeshift boxing arena. Scott all the while debating if it was proper to remove his own shirt, or if the man was doing it out of sheer confidence. With the jury coming in, he decided on not removing his shirt.

Liam circled first, giving it a couple of passes before leaping in to strike recklessly. Scott parried most of the hits with little injury, used to this sort of brawling. Watching the Relays was usually a boring job with little to bother them, so they found other ways to keep amused during their long shifts. Sparring being one of the more acceptable ways to pass the time.

Liam struck fast, and without hesitation. His punches aiming high. Scott didn't want to read far into it, but he also knew when another was angry in the way they sparred. Punches aimed for the face, the little scowls, and increased aggression. With Liam, the aggression was hard to place because Scott didn't know him too well, but the little scowls set him off. The man was unusually full of jokes and smiles, and that was lacking completely at the moment.

"You're working hard," Scott's light attitude caught Liam off guard long enough to make a square hit.

"All the time," Liam wiped his mouth, "started young. The smart little kid. Got angry a lot."Liam's punch connected hard with Scott's jaw, sending him stumbling back, "side effect of giving a shit."

"Liam, what's going on?" Scott raised his arms to defend from the next volley.

"We settled an outpost, gave some people hope. Great," the words coming with fiercer punches, leaving Scott on permanent guard duty, "But things went wrong. Shots get fired, and some of our team gets hurt. Nothing wants to be friendly with us, and nobody wants to take that risk to be friendly first. Goddamn it."

"You're taking on a lot," Scott was losing ground quick, "making all of this your problem."

"It is our problem, we're not going back," the next punch connected with Scott's nose, drawing blood, "we have to make it work."

He swiped the back of his hand under his nose, "Yeah, punching me is going to do that. Do we have a problem, Kosta?" Scott returned all the anger directed at him boxing the man squarely in his cheek.

"No," Liam must have answered out of reflex, "maybe. We came here to make a new home, and all I see is crew responsible for doing that fighting." His arms raised, attempting to end the fight before both of them just got pissed off, "I know I was an only child, but my family never fought like that. The one time my mum got sick we waited by her the entire time. Seems unfair to let any of your family be left alone when they are down."

Scott tightened.

"Maybe we should have listened to Elsee and gone in unarmed, instead of hot," Liam sighed, turning his back on Ryder, "maybe things would have been different. What if they could have been our friends?"

Scott's silence seemed to fuel Liam, rather than encourage him to stop.

"I need something...familiar," the man stooped down, swiping up a water bottle and offering it to Scott, "it has to be 'home.' I won't let my new squabbling family stop that."

He took the peace offering, taking a swig out of courtesy, "have you met my dad?"

"I bet he has something that will make him soft, the scary ones always do," Liam cooed with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Scott chuckled at the prospect if he could find that thing more power to him. Even at Alec reaching his goal of finding new stars to explore he was restless, maybe even worse than ever. At this point, it was just part of the man, like his eye color.

"But seriously, come see your sister at some point," Liam clapped his shoulder, "she'd like it."

It was easier to try and forget that Elsee laid in a hospital bed, still out from reconstructive surgery. They had been lucky the strangers had let them leave without any issues. Luckier that Lexi had managed to keep her from losing the entire arm. The ball and a portion of her upper arm replaced with a prosthetic. The prosthetic wasn't the problem, but the time required in therapy from the prosthetic would complicate an awkward situation.

"Did you get him good?"

Scott needed to pay more attention to what was going on around him, being spooked so often was getting old.

"Yeah, you should see the other guy," he quipped.

Vetra released a rumbling laugh, glancing over the blood down Scott's gym clothes, "was this a bad time to bring company?"

Scott had spotted the Turian standing a few steps behind Vetra, very similar in crest shapes and coloring, but with red markings instead of purple, "I take it this is the pain in the ass little sister?"

"Watch who you call little," Sid huffed.

"I do have the high ground," Scott added, standing in the ring raising him just high enough to look over both of their heads. It was a nice feeling for once.

"Sid," it came more as a warning, "Scott. Scott, Sid."

He thrust out his hand somewhat awkwardly, but the younger Turian seemed to not mind.

Vetra grinned brightly between the two, pleased that the introductions had gone well, "I just wanted to stop so that Sid would stop harping on me to meet the Ryders."

"Vetra, I did not," Sid called out in indignation, "you wanted an excuse to-"

Vetra shooed the girl from the Nexus training room, leaving Scott alone to grin like an idiot.

[the-revisionist]

The Tristan Chord, chapter 15

[Edited to fix typos, thank you @farminglesbian, and to change a musical selection that came to me out of the blue.]

xv. the book of miracles

The tragedy isn’t that love doesn’t last. The tragedy is the love that lasts. —Shirley Hazzard, The Transit of Venus

“High fructose corn syrup.”

The phrase, dropped like a gauntlet at dinner, brings idle conversation to a halt. It is spoken by Lawrence, who points in a very melodramatic j’accuse fashion at Flora.

In turn, Flora blinks at him slowly, decides he’s playing at something, and giggles.

Why do I not have normal children? Caroline wonders. One is terrified of Latin and cries at soppy commercials on telly, the other apparently hears voices and is seriously considering going to clown school. The jury, however, is still out on Flora. Please be normal, she silently begs the child. If I screw you up somehow, I won’t be able to bear it. Meanwhile the others assembled around the table—Alan, Celia, and Greg—stare at her, awaiting a Solomon-like proclamation on Lawrence’s bizarre declaration.

Caroline makes them wait. She gulps wine, girds her loins, and unfurls a mighty sigh. “What are you on about?” she asks Lawrence.

“She said it.” Lawrence wags his finger at his sister. “The other day. Quite clearly, I might add. At breakfast, I swear she was looking right at the cornflakes box—”

Greg gasps. “You didn’t let her eat any of those, did you?”

“What? No.” Irritated at the interruption, Lawrence screws up his face in a profoundly unattractive fashion, the expression on a scatological scale somewhere in the not-so-vast plane between taking a shit and actually smelling one.

“Good,” Greg says, “because they do have high fructose corn syrup in them. Corn flakes are the devil.”

God, I am going to be completely pissed before this night is over if this keeps up, Caroline thinks as she polishes off her second glass of wine. “Can I quote you on that?”

“That’s not the point,” Lawrence says. “The point is, like, totally out of the blue, she just says ‘high fructose corn syrup.’ Just like that. And I was like, ‘What did you say?’ And she looked all smug and wouldn’t say anything else! Not a single word. And she won’t say it now. She just won’t. I’ve been trying all day to get her to say it.”

Bright with paternal enthusiasm, Greg gives it a go: “Flora. Sweetheart. Say, ‘high fructose corn syrup!’”  

Celia pinches her brow.

Thoughtfully Flora regards her dinner plate. She positions several tiny pieces of broccoli upright on their stalks near a mound of uneaten casserole, creating a little mini-forest surrounding a hilly terrain. Caroline interprets this as a potential clue to a future occupation: Maybe she will become a naturalist. Or an urban planner. Or a demented celebrity chef.

“See? Nothing. She’s gaslighting me,” Lawrence says.

“Very significant achievement for two years old,” Alan observes. His mobile pings and he pulls it out of his pocket.

Celia glares at him. “Don’t look at it.”

“Just a peek.”

“I said don’t look at it.”

“I’m looking at it.”

“Don’t look at it.”

“I have to!” Alan protests.

“It’s dinnertime. You’re being very rude.”

“You know I have to,” he repeats. “Could be urgent.”

“They’re fine. The worst is over, that’s what the weather service says.”

“It’s still raining,” Alan says plaintively.

It’s been raining for a week, and as a result the valley is flooded. Well, Halifax is flooded; as for Harrogate, Caroline cannot help but summon words of wisdom from Gillian’s own personal saint, Morrissey: the rain falls hard on a humdrum town. It’s not exactly flooding of biblical proportions all around, as a rather hysterical local weatherman had decreed, but bad enough that Gillian’s farm and sheep have felt the effects: washed-out roads, power out, ruined hay, sheep driven to higher ground, and bad enough that Raff has been bunkered at the farm alone with his mother for three days and serving as the reluctant point person in keeping everyone else informed via increasingly irate and desperate texts to his grandfather.

“Well?” Celia prompts. “What does our Raff say?”

Alan squints at the mobile and enunciates slowly: “‘Is matricide a crime?’”

Lawrence gives his mother an inscrutable look. Caroline glares back in a manner that, she hopes, conveys that she will not be very easy to kill. Which he should certainly be aware of by now. He sulks and resumes surveillance of his sister, who tosses a piece of broccoli in his direction; whether it’s a peace offering or a come at me bro challenge cannot be discerned.

“Oh, dear,” murmurs Celia.

“Also, they’re almost out of toilet paper!” Alan places the mobile on the table. “That settles it. I think I should go out there.”

“But the roads may be bad, love.”

“Roads are fine now, rain should stop tomorrow.”

Celia’s eyes narrow. “Thought you said Gillian isn’t convinced the rain will stop.”

“Well—”

“‘She knows rain,’ you said. You always make her sound like she’s some sort of bloody American Indian, out on the prairie doing a rain dance.”

“There’s a mental image,” Caroline says. She starts clearing the table.

Alan frowns. “Harry will come with. If I ask, he will. We’d be all right, together. I just want to know they’re all right, want to see with my own two eyes.”

“Why don’t you sleep on it?”

“‘Sleep on it,’” Alan grumbles. “You’re just hoping I’ll forget.”

“Yes, dear, I am.”

In the kitchen Caroline stacks plates on the counter and grabs a casserole dish to scrape out before putting it in the dishwasher. As she turns around she finds her mother has magically materialized before her with the shocking stealth of a malevolent, enchanted garden gnome; rearing back to avoid certain collision, the contents of the dish—mixed remnants of noodles, various vegetables, and crumbly tofu in some kind of peanut sauce that Greg said was inspired by West African cuisine even though Caroline thinks he probably knows as much about West African cuisine as she knows about Renaissance poetry or the inner workings of her Jeep—find themselves gloppily splayed against her chest before gently sliding down her shirt and plopping onto the kitchen floor.

She counts to ten—normally an effective way of tempering her reactions, but in this case with random food gunk clinging to an expensive silk blouse finds herself going full on sacrilegious: “Jesus Fucking Christ!”

Lawrence enters the kitchen and then quickly backpedals out.

“Must you sneak up on people like that?” Caroline shouts.

“Must you swear like that? Gillian really is an awful influence on you.” Celia frowns at the floor. “Now that’s a right mess.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“I’m sorry but I wanted to talk to you alone, while I had the chance,” Celia says in an undertone.

“Well you’ve a captive audience now, so fire away.”

“You need to go to the farm tomorrow.”

Of course, the old woman would ask her to do precisely the one thing she does not want to do. “Why?”

“If you don’t go, Alan will and he’ll drag Harry along, and those two together—good God. If they don’t get stuck in the mud somewhere or lost God knows where while chasing errant sheep, Harry will drink all of Gillian’s wine and you know how she gets about that. In other words, they will drive her right ’round the bend and none of us, ever, will hear the end of it—well, I won’t hear the end of it, because she’ll blame me for not keeping her father put. She said as much to me when the rains started. She actually called me, can you believe it? She never calls me unless someone has a gun to her head. But she told me to keep him here.” Celia pauses to recharge from this breathless petition and plays with her necklace—pearls, a gift from Alan on their first anniversary. “He’s in fine fettle these days but I know, I just know, he will push himself trying to help her if he goes out there now and I don’t want him to risk making himself sick again.”

“I understand, but why me? Why not send—Greg?” As Caroline marvels at the nonsense out of her mouth, Celia seems to seriously ponder it but exactly five seconds later they burst into simultaneous fits of laughter.

“You are really funny sometimes,” Celia chortles.

“I know. Missed my calling.”

“But really, love. It’s not like you’d have to actually do anything strenuous. Just take them some food, you’ve got that leftover origami—

“—orecchiette,” Caroline says.

“—oh, and toilet paper, and just sweep the floors, wash the dishes, say an encouraging word or two and you’ll have done your duty.”

Like a wife, Caroline thinks.

“So will you?”

She sighs. “If you think it will—”

“Ah, wonderful! Thank you, love! You’ll go tomorrow then, will you? I’ll tell Alan right now.” Celia whirls out of the kitchen.

“I didn’t say yes yet,” she shouts at Celia’s retreating form.

Celia cackles triumphantly. “You’re my favorite daughter!”

She stares at the greasy smears on the floor.

The beginning of the flood had arrived at a most inopportune time: immediately after the pub kiss, which had left her fiery-cheeked and dazed on the ride home, quietly holding herself as she stared at pearl drops of light random and fleeting against the panorama of darkness. Twice William asked if she was all right. Later, alone in bed, she touched herself briefly and found no satisfaction in doing so. Bored before I even began, she had thought and then, oh Christ, quoting Morrissey, and finally, dismally she threw herself off the cliff into sleep. She woke to a morning heavily cloaked in rain and fog, the relentless downpour hissing with such persistence that when it briefly let up three days later the air rang with empty glory, not unlike the ripe silence following the violent peal of church bells.

At least Raff will get a good laugh out of seeing her in Wellies; she will actually get use of the pair that she bought years ago at the last threat of flooding. In fact, she is excited to wear the boots because they are a lovely, glossy black that will go smashingly with practically anything. Oh Christ, she sighs, and imagines the women’s mag headline: Dressing for Natural Catastrophe: What to Wear!

The drive to the farm the next afternoon is fraught with detours and muddy roads along a horizon that reminds Caroline of a Rothko: dark gray land and light gray sky cauterized together with a ragged white line across the horizon, the gleaming line absorbing every bit of light that daytime can possibly spare. Splinters of thin, light rain fall against the windshield. In the drive up to the farmhouse the Jeep gets caught in a muddy rut; she manages to back out and then maneuver around it, but the flood-damaged dirt road is bumpier than usual and despite the Jeep’s otherwise excellent shock absorbers Caroline gets a shaky, tediously unsatisfying ride that brings to mind the nadir of her sexual relationship with John.

As she pulls up within sight of the farmhouse she sees that Raff has spotted the Jeep from afar and he awaits her impatiently, bouncing on his heels. She is unprepared for the intensity of his greeting: He throws himself into her arms like a long-lost son or lover. She doubts she will receive a similarly enthusiastic reaction from Gillian; Christ knows you certainly don’t deserve it, she thinks.  

“Thank God!” he says. “A normal person.”

“It’s nice to be thought of in that way,” Caroline replies.

“Please tell me you brought—”

“—toilet paper, yes, and pasta, sandwiches, biscuits, salad—”

“None of that healthy stuff for us,” Raff says. “Oooh, look at those fancy Wellies! Very chic, Cazza. You look like a farmer on telly—like you could be on a show about a sheep farmer who solves murders all the time.”

Caroline rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. “So where’s your mum?”

“Out in barn. I find it’s best to keep her out there, away from polite society.”

After they’ve unloaded the Jeep she reluctantly follows Raff out to the barn while he talks of dead sheep, wet hay, and power outages; the sheep were two dumb, young ewes that fell down a ravine, some of the hay might be salvageable but at least half of it might be bad, and the power is back on.

They find Gillian pulling an empty wheelbarrow into the barn. From the knees down her jeans and boots are spackled with mud. Her left elbow looks skinned and the sleeve of the flannel shirt on that arm is torn, and her hair is greasy and pulled back into a ponytail. At the sight of Caroline she drops the wheelbarrow; the clatter echoes and Caroline jumps. Gillian frowns and tugs at her work gloves.

Over the past week Caroline has rehearsed various speeches in her head ranging from the florid to the plainspoken, but all these thoughtful peregrinations made her wish she could simply present Gillian with a Venn diagram of intersecting emotions where each panic-riddled state or practical consideration included Gillian as the common element. Additionally the circular aspect of the diagram alluded rather obviously to Caroline’s typical mental roundabouts on the subject. Even allowing for Raff’s presence, what comes out of her mouth is still light years from either an articulate summation of the current chaos of her mind, or a poetic expression of inchoate desire:  

“I come bearing toilet paper,” she says.

As expected she gets Gillian’s flinty look of irritated incomprehension, not unlike the time Greg tried to educate her on the nutritional value of mung beans in refutation of Gillian’s steadfast refusal to eat anything called mung.

“Sometimes you don’t get the hero you want,” Raff says as he claps a hand on Caroline’s shoulder, “but the hero you need.”

Gillian shuffles, stares at the floor. “That’s great.”

“There’s food,” Raff adds. “She’s brought food.”

“Good.” Gillian pretends that peeling off work gloves and tossing them onto a tool bench is an effort requiring both massive strength and supreme concentration.

Resigned to his mother’s surliness, Raff merely shoots her an exasperated look.  

Look at me, Caroline thinks, but now Gillian busies herself with wiping dry the handle of some dangerous-looking tool that could easily be used for disembowelment and so she quickly turns her attention back to Raff. “Are you hungry?” she squeaks at him.

“I am, but I was gonna shove off—” He hesitates, fixing a glance on his mother. “—if that’s still all right.”

Gillian nods, digs around in her jeans pocket. In flight, the keys to the Landy flash across the barn.

Raff swipes at the air and catches them. His face softens as he jiggles the keys in his palm. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I told you it’s all right. So go on already, go see your girls. Come back tomorrow.”

Not content to proffer a mere thank you, Raff strides across the barn and engulfs his mother in a bear hug. Caroline allows herself to be amused at the spectacle of Gillian squirming, looking irritated, then pleased, then smiling, and then berating her son’s manhood: “All right, stop hugging me before you start growing ovaries.”

Would that be such a bad thing? Caroline decides not to say this.

“I love you, man,” Raff drawls oafishly in imitation of an American drunkard.

This makes Gillian chuckle and Caroline experience a brief fit of jealousy. There was a time when she used to make Gillian laugh; was that gone now, did the leaden intensity of this thing between them somehow drain the light from their relationship as the cursed, bloody flooded valley drained the sun from the sky?

She clears her throat and asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

Back to the squinty glare. “Yeah.” Gillian grabs a wide broom. She swaggers in Caroline’s general direction and then effortlessly tosses the broom at Caroline, who manages an awkward catch of it. “Sweep in here. Muck it out a bit.”

Once again irritated at Gillian’s behavior, Raff asks pointedly, “What are you gonna do?”

“Well,” Gillian drawls as she continues walking away from them, “since we’ve got toilet paper, thought I’d celebrate by taking a shit.”

They watch her leave. While she walks down the path to the house she occasionally glares up at the sky, as if daring it to rain more.

Raff shakes his head. “She’s really too much.”

You have no idea, Caroline wants to say. Instead she hugs Raff again before he sprints out to the Land Rover. As he drives away, he waves with frantic, grateful desperation, as if she ceded a place on a lifeboat for him. It’s like Titanic and she is Leonardo DiCaprio, Raff is Kate Winslet, and Gillian is the fucking iceberg. No matter, Caroline smiles bravely in a quintessentially English well chaps we’re doomed fashion while waving listlessly back at Raff and murmuring, “God help me.”

After sweeping the barn Caroline sits gingerly on an ancient stool that should be consigned to the woodpile. The stool wobbles and abruptly she stands. She rubs her back, stares at the large metal tool chest tucked under the tool bench. The red enameled exterior has clearly seen better days; the tool chest’s squat body is covered with dents and dings and dirt. There are five drawers of varying sizes, ranging from the smallest at the top to the largest at the bottom. The largest drawer looks a bit crumpled, as if it had been targeted in Gillian-driven fit of pique; as a result, it does not close properly. Caroline is not certain what compels her—other than sheer nosiness—but she pries open the drawer. It is crammed with books: Both paperbacks and hardcovers, all in varying stages of age and decrepitude. History, poetry, literature. Even a Stephen Hawking book. Philip Larkin. J.B. Priestley. Wallace Stevens. Barbara Tuchman. A book called The Transit of Venus catches her eye—her hope that it is actually about astronomy is immediately dashed by an abstract, pastel cover that indicates it’s a novel or perhaps poetry. Some of the paperbacks are warped with damp, their pages as furbelowed as the skirts of a Victorian matron. 

All of these, Gillian’s books–as hidden and damaged as she is.

Caroline knows now that she has misjudged Gillian from day one. Thought she was reckless when in fact she possessed patience borne from a lifetime of denials and disappointments. Thought she was fragile and frail until Caroline discovered the untold muscles and sinew coiled under her skin and the sure and steady grip of her hands. Thought she was an uneducated rube and not a woman who secretly read books in a damp dim barn—probably because she didn’t want her shit husband to find out and knock her upside the head and who does it now simply because it’s a force of habit or is unwilling to admit to anyone that she needs the grace of solitude. Or both. Thought she was incapable of fidelity or love when she would gladly accept the smallest scrap of anything remotely resembling love, including its many seductive duplicities.  

Tell me a lie, tell me you love me.

The glinting rain, which had stopped shortly before she arrived, picks up again, deepening the puddles and dips along the rough path that leads to the farmhouse. She imagines Gillian walking this path everyday, through all kinds of weather. Day in, day out. Sun warming her skin, wind stiffening her clothes, rain soaking her bones, snowflakes dusting her hair. Or on days when she’s hungover, or menstruating, or too wired on coffee, or walking with a spring in her step because she had if off with someone she met recently and it was good. Or walking slowly because Eddie has broken her ribs and they’re still mending.

Gillian told her this story while in that strangely lucid state of drunkenness that lent itself to her compulsive confessions: She had been too frightened to go to hospital because they would have asked too many questions, so she spent a fortnight in bed feigning a bout of flu to everyone until finally, with her torso bound up with bandages—the perpetrator himself had gently wrapped her up while crying and saying it will never happen again, I swear to you—and stuffed with as much paracetamol and oxycodone as she could take, she went back to work, doing some light chores every day. The path to the barn every morning was the hardest bit, she had said, like walking a gauntlet and every uneven step sent waves of pain beating against her core; once she got past that, everything seemed easier. A miracle then, a bloody fucking miracle that she did not die, a miracle that the man Celia Dawson reacquainted herself with after so many years was not just a widower but a bereft parent showing them photos of his lost child—a handsome, weary woman with haunted eyes the elusive shade of sky, sea, and earth commingled. There, that’s her, that’s my Gillian.

Caroline riffles the stiff, yellowed pages of The Transit of Venus. As words flutter by she encounters her name in the book several times. There are signs and miracles on this rainy day to be interpreted and treasured in equal measure, and the last one is divination for the disbeliever: She stands here looking at Gillian’s books and know that this, all of this, is heading where it’s heading despite her complete and utter lack of faith.

CHAPTER SOUNDTRACK:

The Smiths:

“There is a Light That Never Goes Out” “William, It Was Really Nothing,”

EDITED TO ADD:

Patricia Barber, “You Don’t Know Me”

Note: The great Shirley Hazzard died recently, so the reference to her novel in this chapter is a hat tip to an extraordinary writer who, I fear, will not be as remembered and revered as she should be.

[daydesirre]

Week 1, and half

Where do I start? I’ve felt this heartbreak before. Monday, last week, my future all came crashing down. The ocean waves just kept pushing me under and I was desperately trying to swim up. But once you stop getting responses, you can’t help but just stop trying and sink. My heart was beating so fast, my anxiety raised, and I was trying to hold myself together. I was holding my breath. They say fake it til you make it and I was. I am perceived as a strong person because of this but deep down I was not okay.  I was turning 30 and a friend, who I met at jury duty, thought it’d be a great idea to celebrate. That’s what friends do. Sure, we’ve only been friends for two years but everyone is allowed to start new friendships. Big mistake. I had an overwhelming omen flow over me. I took notice of it, but challenged it. I thought no, we are adults, we have grown, we are strong. I’m just trying to celebrate me with a friend(s) and the weekend with my boyfriend. I’m officially 30. So, I left to the bar.  During this time, I was texting my boyfriend, let him know where I’m at. He said he was going to bed, and I asked you’re going to sleep already? No response. Of course I’m not going to text him while he’s sleeping. At the end of it all, I thanked my friend, went home, and slept. Super excited for the weekend. I knew I had to tell my boyfriend about my time out, but knowing him, I have to do it face to face so he doesn’t think anything else. When I woke up, I texted him good morning of course.  I couldn’t wait for him to get out of work. As he was coming over and called, he bombarded me with “who is this guy? how can you two be friends, you only met at jury duty? so it was only you and him?” I felt interrogated and defensive. I couldn’t understand how I’m not able to make new friends. I was repeating myself at this point but he made me feel that I was wrong. Wrong for going out, wrong for having a guy friend, just wrong. I felt so sad and upset. It was the day before my birthday and already it was going so wrong. He arrived, nonchalant, but I was already unhappy. I wasn’t given a chance to speak to him calmly or in person, he brought it up himself. My emotions were just too hurt to continue. Bad omen. I knew the weekend would have been a fluke. The past has taught me all too well that he can also pretend. I’m sure he didn’t want to ruin the weekend either, so we didn’t bring it up.   I was high from love since I hadn’t seen him for the whole month of April considering he was busy every weekend. Despite the shitty AC in the hotel room, I had loads of fun. I knew it was still bothering him, I didn’t want to fight about it during our time together, but I was hoping he could see that I still love him, that I’m not trying to get stolen away or anything...because that’s how his mind thinks. We talked about our future plans and silly things. We came back home, finally cuddled together because we weren’t dying in heat. I had to say goodbye the next morning because of work. I was starting to look up homes and he messaged me “can i ask you something and you won’t get mad?” Big mistake. I should never say yes in a text. He has the advantage of never seeing me and controlling the outcome and his mind is going to start manipulating him. Again, “who is this guy and how long have you been texting?” Again, I repeated myself. We met at jury duty, our whole group added each other on social media after the trial. Since I post games and other geeky material, we gradually talked about games and upcoming movies, etc. I gave him his name, I gave him his girlfriends name, I didn’t know what else to give to show that he’s just a friend and nothing more. Now, I should have remembered this, but the omen was trying to warn me that my boyfriend doesn’t trust me. Never has, never will. Not when it comes to the other sex.   Our conversation just spiraled because he wouldn’t believe anything I said. He attacked me saying I should have invited him, he doesn’t know him so it was wrong, if it was the other way and he was out with a girl it would have been worst etc etc. How many times in our past have I ever acted that way? The time I caught on his phone messaging to Ericka Perez apologizing to her that “he couldn’t handle his alcohol”, I never ever treated him like that. They even joked about that night and whatnot. I asked, forgave, and moved on. What about the time he told me he was at home playing games, but I find out that he posted on Snapchat (which we agreed not to have) him and his buddies out at the bar. I can’t even begin to continue about the other things. I don’t know who he talks to on Facebook or wherever for that matter, yet here I am, the only one who’s wrong.  Well I got the silent treatment. No contact, here we go again. “I need time to think about things.” Yeah I’ve heard that before, last relationship and this. It must be a guy thing. Four days later; Sunday. Thought it was good to text him again saying I missed him and if it was okay to see him. Again, received the cold replies. “I’m too hurt, angry, disappointed, you’re repeating your old habits. You’re not in my shoes. It’s not okay with me even though it is with you. I’m making my decision because you’re too blind to see, bye.” Pretty much long story short. Just hearing that, my world fell apart. My dreams, my future, time, my heart, my mind, my sanity, gone. Depression hit and I sank into the ocean again but this time I wasn’t holding my breath. I just drowned.   Now here’s the thing. That previous week during the issue, there was a white dove/pigeon, standing in the backyard. Now I’ve been praying that everything is going to turn out again, just give it time. Anyway, my dog did not chase it as he usually does with all the birds. Symbolism, right? I wasn’t too sure, I’m always skeptical. The week after, my boyfriend’s decision was made and I was spiraling into depression, praying and hoping for a sign, everything is going to be okay, that I’m not going to get sick or go insane; life is over. I was outside just doing my regular routine, and again white dove flew by. I contemplated the symbolism. Sure, I looked it up and in different cultures it still revolves around the same meaning. Peace, love, honor, purity, harmony, good fortune. Gosh, now I’m starting to get hopeful. I’m not sure the direction I’m going in, but it’s got me hopeful. So there I am, previously drowning in the ocean but now I wake up and start holding my breath again.

[bountyofbeads]

Two people were killed in a botched drug raid. Investigators say the official story was a lie.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2019/07/26/two-people-were-killed-botched-drug-raid-investigators-say-official-story-was-lie/

Two people were killed in a botched drug raid. Investigators say the official story was a lie.

By Brittney Martin and Eli Rosenberg | Published July 26 at 2:52 PM ET | Washington Post |Posted July 27, 2019

HOUSTON — Nobody disputes the raid’s grisly toll. Four officers were shot, and two people inside the home were dead, along with their dog, after narcotics officers broke down the door of a house in the outskirts of Houston.

Police had been given permission to sweep the house by a judge on the suspicion that heroin trafficking was taking place inside.

But disclosures in the months following the Jan. 28 raid have raised questions about the evidence used to justify it, the events that took place that afternoon and the motivations of some of the officers involved. These are questions police have struggled to answer, as national attention homes in on Houston amid a larger debate over policing tactics.

The police officer who led the raid retired abruptly in March, about a month after the police chief accused him of lying to justify it. Another officer retired around the same time. And questions about the integrity of these two officers were so significant that local prosecutors decided to review 14,000 incidents they were involved in, including 2,200 criminal cases — an unusual step reserved typically for questions of severe misconduct.

On Thursday, the family of the married couple killed in the raid, disabled Navy veteran Dennis Tuttle and his wife, Rhogena Nicholas, filed initial paperwork for a lawsuit against the city and police department.

“What this obviously raises is not just troubling questions about what was happening in this case and how easy it was for [the officer] to do what he did,” said Michael Patrick Doyle, the Nicholas family lawyer, “but how long and how many other Houstonians have been affected by this kind of conduct.”

The filing, a petition to take depositions to investigate the family’s claims, lays out more facts in the case. A private forensic investigator hired by the family says he does not believe the couple fired at the police at all. And new evidence calls into question the entire raid’s timeline.

FOUR WOUNDED , TWO DEAD

Houston Police Chief Art Acevedo briefed the news media twice in the 24 hours after the raid, and his story was consistent. He said police executed a search warrant — one that allowed them to force their way into the house without knocking — and were shot at as soon as the officers breached the door.

The first officer inside killed a pit bull after it charged, he said, before a man on the property came from the rear of the house and shot the officer in the shoulder with a .357-magnum revolver. After the officer fell, the woman in the house made a move for his shotgun, Acevedo said. The other officers on the team entered the house and fired on the woman.

Joe Gamaldi, the president of the Houston Police Officers Union, stood near Acevedo and unleashed an angry tirade when it was his turn to address the media.

“We are sick and tired of having dirtbags trying to take our lives when all we’re trying to do is protect this community and protect our families,” Gamaldi said. “If you’re the ones that are out there spreading the rhetoric that police officers are the enemy, just know we’ve all got your number now, we’re going to be keeping track of all of y’all, and we’re going to make sure that we hold you accountable every time you stir the pot on our police officers.”

Police said they found 18 grams of marijuana and a gram and a half cocaine in the house, along with three shotguns and two rifles, but they did not find the heroin that the search warrant was written for. National media reports focused on the number of police officers who were injured.

Friends and family of the couple killed questioned the entire premise — the narrative that they were selling drugs.

“I don’t buy it at all,” Tuttle’s sister told the Houston Chronicle. “Not one hot minute.”

Neither Tuttle nor Nicholas had a criminal record of note before the raid.

QUESTIONABLE EVIDENCE

Acevedo distanced himself from Gamaldi’s comments, calling them “over the top.” He also unsealed the search warrant for the raid. The affidavit, written by Gerald Goines, the narcotics officer who led the raid, said a confidential informant in regular use by the department had bought heroin at the house, which the informant gave to an officer. The informant also told the officer there was a handgun in the house, according to the affidavit.

A week later, one of the officers involved in the raid was removed from duty. The reason for the removal, according to the police union, was that a key officer was still in the hospital, and the department had questions they could not answer without his knowledge.

Documents from the department’s internal investigation into the raid that were released in mid-February, showed that the informant cited in the affidavit told investigators he or she did not buy drugs at the Tuttle-Nicholas house, nor had he or she done any work for the police leading up to the raid.

Acevedo went in front of reporters again, this time saying the search warrant, which was prepared by Goines, was based on “some untruths or lies.” Acevedo said he expected criminal charges in the case. It was a stunning admission that drew another round of national attention.

AN AGGRESSIVE TACTIC

No-knock raids have been in wide use since the 1980s, as police ramped up efforts to apprehend drug dealers.

Joseph L. Giacalone, a professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice and a retired New York City police detective sergeant, said the tactic, which requires a judge’s approval and is usually employed for late-night or early-morning raids, is meant to enhance safety for police officers searching for drugs and weapons.

By catching suspects off-guard, officers are better able to make arrests and seize weapons or contraband before any of it is destroyed. “The idea is to be a total surprise and catch people off guard, and don’t have time to prepare to fight you or get rid of evidence,” Giacalone said.

No-knock raids that have resulted in the deaths of officers or civilians have long made them a target of criticism from some police-reform advocates and civil libertarians.

In New York in 2003, a 57-year-old woman died after police broke down her door and threw a flash grenade into her apartment. They had the wrong apartment. In Atlanta in 2006, two police officers were convicted of felony voluntary manslaughter charges after a 92-year-old woman, Kathryn Johnson, was killed in a raid carried out with information the officers knew to be false. In 2008, an officer was killed by a 28-year-old man, Ryan Frederick, during a no-knock raid. Frederick said afterward that he believed his house was being broken into.

In Houston, local activists pressed the department to end the practice. As uproar about the raid grew, the department amended its policy for no-knock warrants to reduce, but not eliminate, their use. Acevedo promised that tactical teams and others serving search warrants would be outfitted with body cameras, as well.

ABRUPT RETIREMENTS

The FBI opened a civil rights investigation into the Houston raid in late February. The Harris County district attorney’s office announced it would review all 1,400 criminal cases that Goines was involved in during his more than three decades of police work in Houston.

The conduct of Steven Bryant, another officer who was also involved in the raid, has also come into question: notably discrepancies between stories Bryant told investigators and information in Goines’s affidavit, according to the Associated Press.

In March, the district attorney’s office said it would also be reviewing 800 cases Bryant worked on.

Goines and Bryant retired within weeks of each other that month, each with a full pension and benefits. Two other narcotics officers, including Goines’s longtime partner, retired from the department around that time, according to the Houston Chronicle.

THE FAMILY INVESTIGATES

Investigators hired by the victims’ family found evidence left uncollected by law enforcement at the house, including bullets, pieces of shotgun shells, two teeth from one of the victims and blood from the pit bull that police shot, which was about 15 feet away from the front door. They also said they found no evidence the couple fired toward police when they entered the house.

On Thursday, the family’s lawyer released cellphone video, recorded by a neighbor, that includes the sound of two lone gunshots at 5:02 p.m. Acevedo, when he first described the raid, said it began at “about 4:30, shortly before 5.” Doyle, the lawyer, says he believes the gunshots occurred about 30 minutes after the raid was over.

The petition filed by the family on Thursday said the investigators found that Nicholas was struck by a bullet that was fired by someone outside of the house who could not have seen her at the time she was shot — potentially contradicting the police claim that she was shot after lunging for an officer’s weapon. The police department has denied that any of the officers were hit by friendly fire.

Nicole DeBorde, Goines’s lawyer, said in a statement that the allegations were the result of a “one-sided filing by a civil lawyer seeking a civil payout.”

“Goines wants a thorough investigation conducted by people with no other agenda than to get to the truth,” she said, noting that federal and local investigations continued of the raid. “A civil lawyer seeking a settlement from the city and taxpayers is not a neutral investigator.”

Kim Ogg, the Harris County district attorney, continues to review the raid and present evidence to a grand jury to determine whether criminal charges are warranted against any officers.

Ogg’s office in April moved to dismiss 27 pending criminal cases, mostly around drug sales or possession, connected to Goines and Bryant.