#i have so many other smaller thrilling transitions in this chapter as well

[fivekrystalpetals]

Retrace LII is my favorite chapter in the Head Hunter Arc. Not only because ofc it has teeny crumbs of my self-indulgent ship,,, but also because.... Transitions! oh boi, the transitions from one suspenseful scene to the next and the overall tension kept me on the edge of the seat the whole while, I didn't even know when I had gotten to the end of the chapter...

See:

1] Let The Party Begin—

I legit thought it was Break who lost his head; it was impossible but my first reaction was to shout out "WHAT!"—

2] This one ;-;

⬇

3] the one where Break apprehends an unknowing Elliot

[multisfabulis]

Land’s Trust in Light

Arrival in Thornewind (Chapter 1/6)

Word Count: 4090

Oh, look, a new Corona's Shadow entry that doesn't feature Verreth? That's possible?!

I kid but it honestly feels good to not be writing Verreth for CS for a little bit. CS was never meant to be a Verreth love story, it only ended up like that because I went straight into writing "The Road to Forgiveness Be Damned" after finishing "A Single Ray of Light in a Sea of Darkness" because I simply wanted to write more Ven and I started to regret my decision around the time I wrote the rough version of the third chapter. Obviously, I stuck with that decision to the end but it was throughout that time I had wants to write Verreth and I wrote those as well. However, all the Verreth segments are what I consider to be side stories, which I know may be hard to believe but trust me, because Ven and Ferreth are not the main protagonists of CS. Eric, if anyone remembers him, is. The Verreth segments were only added to the CS series because I didn't want to make a whole new series entirely focused on Verreth and take them out of something they are main characters of.

Does this mean I'm done writing Verreth? For now, yes. Outside of occasional updates to "Only Through Acceptance Will Love Find Us", I wanna focus on both this and other smaller projects, like RLD and fanfics. Just in case anyone's lost hope, the next big project is Verreth-related, with Ferreth taking the protag role a la TRFBD. Let's just say we're finally getting a look at his backstory and a reason as to why he has self-worth issues.

God, it feels great to be writing in Eric's POV again. It's been over 2 years since I finished ASRLSD so I am making the most of this!

Surprisingly enough, there wasn't much change during the transition from rough draft to publication, which actually made this harder to write. I'm so used to there being at least one major change that I got tripped up by this. The only major change here is the addition of descriptors and needed elaboration and those, I feel like, are key to "beautifying" writing so I don't count those.

One last thing is the "flirting" present in here. I honestly don't know if that can be considered flirting because I'm not someone who flirts or is flirted with on a daily basis. I'm pretty much the dense harem anime protagonist so please forgive me for the terrible flirting.

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

     Thornewind was gorgeous. Sure, Eric was looking at it from a distance atop Asha, but it made one hell of a good first impression. Thornewind seemed colorful and vibrant and he wanted to explore every last inch of it. He gently kicked Asha’s side and she began walking at a slow, leisurely pace.

     Thornewind was a town nestled in the mountains north of Aurora Zenith. The tiny glimpse he saw of it left him awestruck, from its tall, rich buildings packed closely together to its bright windmills scattered across its many open fields. Then there was the sight that awaited him over the ridge, stealing his breath away.

     There were tulips that stretched as far as the eye could see. A sea of blue, red, orange, pink, and yellow blossoms swayed in the summery breeze. It was strange how all these tulips were in bloom when Augvesta had just rolled around but he didn’t put much thought into it. Botany was more of Ven’s expertise and she would be positively thrilled upon seeing this.

     It was soon after crossing the garden he arrived at the entrance. It surprised him to see how lax security was if they let a complete stranger in without so much as a request for papers. He didn’t mind it, though; it just struck him as odd since no one was allowed entry if they weren’t deemed trustworthy back in his childhood home. He and Asha passed through the threshold and was rendered speechless.

     Towering brick buildings loomed over him while a rainbow of others stood further ahead of him. Paths of smooth stone ran in every direction, the opposite of Aurora Zenith’s dirt roads that swept up dust with enough energy behind it. He could hear the tinkling of wind chimes and the fervor of voices all around him. Thornewind certainly had Brinegarde beat in its lively atmosphere.

     He hopped off Asha, making sure to keep the reins in a firm grip. Her deep brown eyes met his as he slowly put a hand on her face and stroked. She didn’t flinch, which was a good sign of progress.

     “You’re such a good girl, Asha,” he murmured, moving his hand down to stroke her neck. “Let’s find a place for you to rest, hmm?”

     It didn’t take long to find a stable. He led her into one of the empty stalls and fed her a couple sugar cubes as a reward for all the hard work she’d done over the past two weeks. The last thing he did was tell the stableman how to care for her during her stay and that he’d be checking up on her daily. Waving goodbye to Asha, it was time to explore Thornewind.

     With it being mid-afternoon, it was pleasantly warm as people crowded the streets on their day-to-day routine. The sound of the wind chimes grew louder and the scent of delicious meals made his mouth water in anticipation. Thank god his anxiety wasn’t ruining this for him. He could hardly contain the bounce in his step as he excitedly toured around the busy thoroughfares. It was rare for him to see and visit new places so he wanted to make the most of this trip.

     There were two things he noticed. First was that most of the people he saw weren’t humans nor were they elves. Their ears were similar to Ven’s and they had what seemed to be like fangs sticking out from their upper lips. What really threw him off, though, were their sizes. Many of them were easily a foot or so taller than him just from a distance and were definitely well-built. Whatever these people were, they’ve caught his eye and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enticed.

     Then there were the stares. He initially thought they were wondering what a human was doing here till he realized it was what he wore. It wasn’t like he was wearing an extravagant suit but he still clearly looked like a noble, or so he assumed. He wasn’t trying to show people up. He was just taught to always dress his best for important events and he considered his reason for being here to be one such.

     Now came the realization he was lost. He had become so engrossed in his surroundings, an hour flew by without him noticing. He needed to find the lord of this town and talk with them about the relationship between them and Aurora Zenith. Allies were essential in political affairs, after all. The bad part was, he had no idea on where to start looking.

     Well, as much as he hated to, he had to ask someone for directions. It couldn’t be that hard, right? All he’d have to do is go up to a random person, ask them on how to get to the lord’s house, and that’d be it. Simple and easy!

     He felt a hand touch his shoulder and heard a voice ask, “Hey, are you okay?”

     He let out a startled shriek and turned to face the stranger. There was a man in front of him with his hands up in a conciliatory manner towards him. One of the first things he noticed was just how big he was.

     He’d never seen anyone taller than Alek before and it honestly unnerved him. The man had the same pointed ears and fangs as everyone else so he must’ve been one of the not-human, not-elf people. He had dark brown skin, messy brown hair with a small braid that reached his shoulders, and bright green eyes. What was really peculiar about him were the bandages starting from the middle of his arms and ending all the way down to his fingertips. He was definitely hiding something underneath those but Eric could care less about what right now.

     “Hey, hey, hey, calm down, okay?” the man said in a soothing tone. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

     “I would hope not!” Eric breathed in, placed a hand on his chest, and breathed out. “It’s not every day some random stranger walks up, claps a hand on my shoulder, and asks if I’m okay right in my ear.”

     “Well, you seemed troubled so I thought you might’ve needed help,” the man replied, putting his hands down.

     Feeling rather embarrassed with himself for that pathetic display, he cleared his throat and asked, “As a matter of fact, I do. Could you please tell me where the lord of this town is, I need to speak with them right away.”

     “You wanna talk to Bris?”

     “If that’s their name, then yes. I have some important business to discuss with them.”

     “He’s not far from here, I can take you to him if you want.”

     That would probably be the best course of action. He was never good at memorizing directions and reciting them to himself only confused him more. He had no one to blame but himself for being in this situation to begin with so…

     “Sure, that’d be great,” Eric conceded. At least this guy was kind and generous enough to show him the way there.

     “All right, let’s make our way over there.” The two men began walking down a street that wasn’t as busy as before. “By the way, my name’s Ferreth.”

     “I’m Eric, it’s nice to meet you,” he said, flashing him a friendly smile.

     “So what brings someone like you to our fair town of Thornewind?” Ferreth asked. “I thought I’d recognized all our visitors since those don’t come by very often.”

     “It’s as I said. I’ve traveled a long way to see Bris in the hopes of discussing important business with him.”

     “What kind of business? Are you an important person?”

     “I’d say being lord counts as pretty important. I’ve come all the way from Aurora Zenith to see if our two towns could potentially become allies.”

     “Oh, wow. I, uh, didn’t think someone as cute as you could be lord.”

     He tilted his head in both curiosity and confusion. “I don’t see what my appearance has to do with anything but I can assure you I wasn’t lying.”

     “I didn’t think you were. I just wasn’t expecting a man in your position to be so…good-looking.”

     “So what were you expecting?”

     “You know, somebody the complete opposite. I mean, I’m figuring you’re, like, smart, charismatic, kind, and everything else Bris is like.”

     Ah, that’s what was happening here. He had an inkling of it the first time Ferreth mentioned his appearance but now he was sure. Alek had never done it with him and there wasn’t really a need for him to. As flattered as he was by it, his heart was and always will be Alek’s.

     Chuckling, he said, “Well, I think my boyfriend would agree with you on some of those things but I’m more modest about them.”

     “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ferreth had a defeated smile on his face, gracefully accepting his loss. Eric liked how easygoing he was.

     “So what’s your relationship with Bris like?” he asked.

     “Oh, me and him are best friends. We’ve known each other since childhood but I’d say we’re more like brothers than friends by this point.”

     “Sounds like you get along with him really well.”

     “Don’t get me wrong, Bris and I have had our fair share of arguments but what friendship hasn’t? We have each others’ backs and no fight’s ever gonna change that.”

     Ferreth had a certain fondness in his voice when he spoke about Bris. It was easy to see the love and devotion he held for Bris and it warmed Eric’s heart. He was admittedly envious of their friendship. He never had any friends as a child aside from Alek and, while Alek’s irreplaceable, he wished he was able to make some back then. At least that seemed to be changing with him befriending Ven during his trip to Brinegarde so maybe he still had a chance to form everlasting relationships.

     “Here we are!”

     The two stopped before a giant windmill. Dark red brick made up the exterior and the blades turned gently in the breeze, creaking ever so slightly. There were hardly any windows aside from the two in front and there was a wraparound balcony set up just below the wooden roof. Eric didn’t know windmills could be habitable, which made him want to live here if only a little.

     “Wow…”

     “Let’s go on up, shall we?”

     They climbed up the stone steps leading to the front door. It was a tall, dark wooden door stretching up towards the wraparound balcony, with a black, wrought iron ring on the side as its knocker. Before he could think of a script in his head, Ferreth grabbed the ring and hit it against the door a few times.

     Almost immediately after, a woman answered. She wasn’t much taller than him, though he figured the top of his head would be just scraping her chin, and the slim blue dress she wore did little to hide her defined muscles. She had porcelain skin, long, wavy rose pink hair flowing down to her waist, and sandy brown eyes, reminding him of the shores of Aurora Zenith’s beaches. She was stunningly beautiful and his throat felt suddenly dry.

     “Ah, Ferreth, are you here to see Master Brirsyrun today?” she asked. Her voice sounded soft and airy like a lovely breeze.

     “Hey, Aissyl, I’m actually here because my new friend wanted to speak with Bris regarding some important matters, right?” Ferreth put a hand squarely on Eric’s back and pushed him forward slightly.

     “Oh, uh, yes!” he spoke quickly. “My name is Eric Travere and I’m the lord of Aurora Zenith. I’m here today because I needed to talk to Brirsyrun about improving the relationship between our two towns.”

     “I see. I shall ask Master Brirsyrun if he’ll see you now, please wait a moment.” She closed the door.

     That could have gone a little better, he thought as he released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in. He heard Ferreth trying to stifle a laugh from beside him and promptly wanted to die. Guess he wasn’t the only one she had that effect on, if this has happened before.

     “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Ferreth asked, pretending like he didn’t know the answer.

     “Yes, well, I can’t deny that she’s quite beautiful,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Have you tried anything with her?”

     “When I first met her, yeah, and she swiftly turned me down.” He clicked his tongue, as if remembering the memory wasn’t pleasant. “Let’s just say she’s not interested in men like us. Or any man, really.”

     Before he could say any more, the woman known as Aissyl opened the door and invited them inside. The room he entered seemed to be what he’d liken to a waiting room or lounge. What little of the walls he saw that weren’t decorated in exquisite murals were painted a warm honey color. There were a couple of cushioned chairs sitting by the small window and a low table set in front of them. He didn’t have time to check out much more before Aissyl led them through an arched threshold into another room he presumed to be Bris’ office.

     It wasn’t terribly big but it worked fine for its purpose. Unlike the lounge, the walls were a cerulean blue, similar to the sky at dawn before the sunrise. There were tall bookcases standing on one side of the room and a spiral staircase leading up to the second floor on the other. A leather chair sat behind a pine desk atop a nondescript forest green rug. He figured the unusual empty space in front of the desk was for additional chairs if they had guests over. They must not get many of them if they hadn’t gotten a chair specifically for this room. A man was sitting at the desk when he looked up and Eric believed him to be Bris.

     The first thing he noticed was the cream-colored scarf worn around his neck, which he found odd since it was late summer. He looked to have a lean yet muscled body and, when he stood up, seemed to be just shy of Aissyl’s height. He had sun-kissed skin, cropped blond hair, and cloudy gray eyes. A smile broke out across his face upon seeing Ferreth and he walked around his desk.

     “Hey, I was wondering when I’d see you,” said Bris.

     “Well, I was planning on coming by here anyway but my new friend here--” Ferreth wrapped an arm around Eric’s shoulders, making him jump slightly-- “needed help finding you so why not save a trip?”

     “Right.” Bris walked up and offered a hand. “I’m Brirsyrun, son of Nulzrot and Tallo of the air.”

     That was a…unique way of introducing himself, he thought curiously as he put his hand in Bris’ and said, “I’m Eric Travere, lord of Aurora Zenith.”

     “Aissyl said you had some important matters to discuss?”

     “Yes, well, I wanted to talk with you regarding the relationship between Thornewind and Aurora Zenith.” He took a step forward, shrugging off Ferreth’s arm. “You see, I’m planning on going to the rest of the major cities and asking them for their cooperation. In simpler terms, I’m in want of allies. I already have the town of Brinegarde as one so Thornewind’s my second stop.”

     “I see. Well, I’d like to talk more of this tomorrow morning because I have some things that need attending to today. Will that be all right with you?”

     “No, that’s good, that’s great! I’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

     Wow, a guaranteed meeting? No waiting for someone because they were fooling around instead of doing work in their office? This trip was already leagues better than Brinegarde’s and it was all due to Bris being a responsible adult. That pompous jackass Lianthorne could take some pointers.

     “I think, with that being settled, we’re done here.” Bris gestured towards Ferreth. “Ferr, could you show Eric to the Dravitae Inn so he’ll have a place to stay during his time here?”

     “Of course, my lord,” Ferreth replied with a joking smile.

     “Don’t call me that, even if it’s a joke,” Bris protested, despite his own grin.

     Aissyl led the two men outside with Bris following behind. Eric and Ferreth gave a short wave goodbye and they were off. He made sure to remember any and all distinctive markers on the roads as they walked. He didn’t want to be late for the meeting tomorrow because he was lost again.

     “So, how was your first impression of Bris?” Ferreth asked, folding his hands behind his head. “Pretty nice guy, right?”

     “Yeah, he seems like a really decent person--” he let out a chuckle before sighing wearily-- “which is a lot more than I can say about Brinegarde’s lord.”

     “I’m guessing they weren’t as nice.”

     “God, you would not believe. They’re probably the most arrogant and pretentious asshole I’ve ever met.”

     “At least Bris isn’t like that, thankfully.”

     “Yeah, thank god.”

     Despite his complaining of it, he didn’t regret his trip to Brinegarde. It was a beautiful town, like many other coastal towns, and the sweets were to die for. Meeting and becoming friends with Ven, however, was easily the best part of that trip. No beauty or tasty treats will come close to the joy having her in his life brought. She was Brinegarde’s saving grace.

     “You know, I’m curious…” He put a finger to his chin as if thinking about something before continuing. “What do you do around here, Ferreth? It must be a job that gives you a lot of free time if you’re allowed to cart me around all day.”

     “Oh, I guess I’m what you’d call a handyman,” Ferreth replied. “I do general repairs wherever they’re needed and I basically do work people don’t wanna do themselves.”

     “So it’s like you’re an errand boy, then?”

     “I’d say handyman’s an upgrade from that but yeah. It may not be the most ideal job but it lets me help people and it doesn’t pay so bad, either.”

     “No offense and all but…isn’t there something you’d rather be doing than being a handyman? I mean, I guess I don’t really understand it but still… Do you have something to aspire to?”

     He swore he saw him tense up and a glimmer of something he couldn’t quite detect before it disappeared as he answered with, “Not really.”

     That was most definitely a lie. He couldn’t figure out why Ferreth would lie to him over an innocent question like that but it was none of his business. There might’ve been more going on underneath the surface and they had only just met earlier today. No sane person tells a complete stranger their entire life story hours after meeting them. He was entitled to his secrets, as was he.

     It was soon after they arrived at the Dravitae Inn. It was a simple four-story building, with pale green walls, a dark red shingled roof, a pair of large double doors serving as the entrance, and windows on either side that allowed passersby a peek inside the establishment. On the corner was a hanging metal sign that had the name of the inn inscribed on it with a sleeping dragon below. It seemed like a good enough place to stay in during his visit.

     “Here we are.” Ferreth turned towards him. “You gonna need help getting to Bris’ tomorrow?”

     “No, I should be good. Besides--” he placed a finger to his temple-- “I have a pretty good memory so I think I have the path there memorized.”

     “All right, well, good luck tomorrow,” he said, gesturing his hand in a motion reminiscent of a salute. “Enjoy the rest of your stay.”

     He began walking back the way they came. Eric watched his figure shrink smaller and smaller before he was out of sight completely. He hoped he’d have a chance to talk with him more throughout his stay here in Thornewind. He had questions he wanted answers to, such as the nature of the people here and what he was like. For now, though, it was time to check in.

     A quick chat with the innkeeper later and he had his room. It was slightly smaller than his room back at home but it brought some comfort. A queen-sized bed sat on the right side of the room and an average cupboard opposite it. The armoire was tucked away into the upper left-hand corner while a small table and chairs were in the upper right-hand corner. A single window was set at the back, which gave him a decent view of Thornewind in the late afternoon.

     He set his bag and key down on the table before flopping onto the bed. God, he wanted nothing more than to lay there for a minute or hour. He still wasn’t used to walking and talking by himself so he was thankful for the short rest. Hey, maybe by the time he goes to Emberranth, he’ll have the skills of a functioning human being and not that of an introverted shut-in.

     He sat up, reached into his pocket, and took out his pendant. The crystal inside the bottle glinted slightly upon being held up to the light. He smiled as he brought it close to his chest, hoping his mother was watching over him.

     Tomorrow was his meeting with Bris. Other than that, he had a few days to spend time doing whatever he wanted. Sightseeing, buying souvenirs, trying out Thornewind’s cuisine, he may as well treat himself as a tourist more than a visitor. He never got to do these things before now so he wanted to make the most of it.

     May he leave Thornewind with an unforgettable experience.

[lastbluetardis]

Family of Six (2/14)

After James and Rose bring their newborn twins home, they work to find a balance between all four of their children, and each other. Ten x Rose AU, Soulmates AU.

This chapter: teen, 5500 words

Ages of the Tyler-McCrimmons at the start of the chapter: James: 39, Rose: 33, Ainsley: 9, Sianin: 5, Twins: almost one week

If you like reading my stories, consider leaving me a tip? Or leave a reply on this post to tell me what you thought? And as always, reblogs are very much appreciated so more people can see this.

Chapters will be posted every other week --- next update: July 23rd

AO3 | TSP | FF | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14

Despite not having had a baby in the house in nearly five years, James and Rose fell back into their old habits faster than they expected. Contrary to popular belief, they found caring for newborn twins to be relatively easy. Well, as easy as it can be when caring for any young infant. But it didn’t feel like double the amount of work—instead, it was as though the normal amount of work had simply been applied to two babies.

Though they needed tending to every couple of hours, the twins couldn’t exactly do much apart from eat, sleep, and poo. And unlike their other children, wherever James and Rose set the twins down, they were always in the same location when they returned.

While James and Rose appreciated their babies’ lack of mobility, Sianin did not.

“They’re so boring,” she grumbled as her mother temporarily abandoned the coloring book they were doing together so that she could feed the babies.

“That’s their job right now,” Rose replied, arranging the U-shaped nursing pillow to give herself and the babies better support. “They’ll get more fun when they can start interacting with you.”

“I want to play with them now.”

“I know, but they’re too little to play like you. You have to play to their level for a while, like Ainsley does for you.”

Sianin blinked up at Rose as though she’d never considered the possibility that Ainsley had to alter how she played in order to include Sianin. 

“They’ll start smiling in about a month or so,” Rose continued. “That will make it more fun.”

Sianin huffed out a disbelieving breath.

“It will,” Rose assured. “I remember when you were a baby, Ainsley would spend hours on the floor with you doing anything she could to make you smile and laugh. It’s more fun than it sounds, I promise.”

Sianin didn’t look convinced, but she set down her crayons and scooted closer to her mother. She didn’t have an open arm, otherwise Rose would have drawn Sianin into her side, but Sianin rested her head on Rose’s shoulder and peered down at the babies’ faces.

“Does that hurt?” Sianin asked, pointing to the babies latched to Rose’s breasts.

“Not usually,” Rose replied. “When their teeth grow in it’ll get uncomfortable at times. But that’s when we’ll start transitioning them to solid foods.” She stroked her fingertips across her babies’ scalps and watched them nurse. “So what do you think of your sisters?”

“They’re boring,” Sianin repeated, making Rose snort. “And loud. And messy.”

Rose frowned. “Isn’t there anything you like about them?”

Sianin reached out and traced her fingertips down Hannah’s arm until she got to her tiny hand. The baby clamped her fingers around one of Sianin’s and held on tightly.

“I dunno.” Sianin tapped her finger to make the baby’s hand bounce. “They steal you and Daddy a lot.”

“I know. They’re really little and need loads of help and attention,” Rose said, her heart aching that Sianin didn’t seem completely thrilled about having baby siblings.

“Maybe it would be better if there was only one,” Sianin suggested, and Rose couldn’t help but laugh at her daughter’s hopeful expression.

“We can’t exactly return them,” Rose chuckled.

“Can’t we just… give one away? She could get adopted.”

“‘Fraid not,” Rose answered. “Besides, how would you pick which one to give away?”

Sianin shrugged. “Close your eyes and point.”

Rose shook her head, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sianin’s head. “Even though you might not like them very much yet, your Daddy and I already love them both as much as we love you and Ainsley.”

“Really?” she asked dubiously.

“Really really,” Rose answered. “Could you imagine your Daddy or me wanting to give you or Ainsley away?”

“No.” She breathed out a sigh that was far too dramatic for a five-year-old. “I miss spending time with you and playing with you.”

“We’re spending time together now,” Rose pointed out.

“But it’s not the same.”

“Our routines are going to have to change a little bit. But change isn’t a bad thing, y’know.” Rose kissed Sianin again, wishing she could pull her baby into her lap. “Do you think Ainsley didn’t struggle with the adjustment that happened when you were born?”

“I asked Ainsley. She said she can’t remember but she always loved me and was happy to have a baby sister.”

Rose, remembering back to the many tantrums Ainsley had thrown when they were busy with the new baby, smiled. 

“I’ll tell you a secret.” She leaned in close until her lips were at Sianin’s ear. “Ainsley didn’t like having a new baby around for the first few months either.” Sianin’s eyes went wide, and Rose winked. “But now look at the two of you. You’re best friends. I hope that you have the same relationship with these two that you have with Ainsley.”

Sianin sat silently for a few minutes, resting against Rose’s arm.

“I guess they’re kind of cute,” Sianin said eventually, though her tone was reluctant.

“I think so, too,” Rose agreed.

“Their faces aren’t as smooshed anymore.”

Rose laughed. “All newborns have smooshed faces. Even you and Ainsley. Go grab a photo album so you can see.”

Sianin slid off the couch and trotted to the bookcase, collecting her and Ainsley’s baby books. She carried them back to the couch and climbed up beside Rose and opened the album across her thighs.

“See. Ainsley’s face was smooshed, too,” Rose said, looking at Ainsley’s newborn photo. In her opinion, her children were all the most beautiful newborn babies in the world, smooshed faces and all.

Sianin giggled and opened her album next.

“I was a fat baby.”

“All babies are fat,” Rose said. “That’s half their charm.”

“But look.” Sianin pointed to her height and weight measurements, then to Ainsley’s. “I’m fat.”

“You were perfectly average,” Rose said firmly. “Ainsley was a few weeks premature—a few weeks early—so it makes sense that she was smaller. And as for these two, twins tend to be smaller because there were two of them growing in my belly at once.”

“I suppose,” Sianin allowed.

She flipped through the photo albums lazily, giggling as Rose recounted various memories associated with some of the photos. Like when Ainsley was a wee toddler and went through a phase of refusing to wear clothes. Or when Sianin had colored all of her toenails with permanent marker.

Rose was relieved that Sianin hadn’t stayed disappointed that their coloring session had been put on pause, and she hoped her daughter adapted soon to the new family dynamic.

She had to admit, she hadn’t considered the notion that maybe one of her children might not want a baby sibling. It made her heart hurt, especially since she and James had tried so hard and for so long to have a baby. Was she a selfish mother for focusing on her own happiness at the arrival of the twins instead of Sianin’s? Was she a neglectful mother for not realizing how apathetic Sianin was to the presence of the babies?

Something cold twisted in her chest, and she tried to banish those negative thoughts. Surely Sianin would come around? And if not, Rose would simply have to try extra hard to make sure she spent as much baby-free time with her daughter as she could. Though she prayed it wouldn’t be like that; she wanted nothing more than for all of her children to love each other as deeply as she loved them, even if that was a high bar to set.

Rose swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. “I love you loads, Sian.”

“I love you too, Mummy,” she answered, turning her face to kiss her mother’s shoulder.

A few minutes later, the front door opened.

“We’re back,” James called out unnecessarily.

“Why don’t you go help your dad and sister put away the shopping?” Rose suggested to Sianin.

Sianin closed the photo albums, put them away on the bookshelf, then went to the kitchen. 

Rose looked down into her youngest daughters’ faces. Maddie had finished nursing and was staring at Rose’s chest, blinking slowly as a bit of milk dribbled down her chin.

“Was that yummy?” Rose brought the baby up to her shoulder. She rubbed and patted Maddie’s back, coaxing out not only a burp, but some spit-up as well.

“Bet that feels better,” she whispered as the warm, viscous liquid rolled down her chest. Since the onesie was soiled anyway, Rose shuffled the baby so the outfit sopped up more of the sick. “Mummy will get you all cleaned up in just a minute. How about you lie down while I burp your sister, eh?”

She made quick work of getting Hannah burped—spit-up free, thankfully. With Hannah content and drifting off to sleep, Rose wiped up residual milk from the corners of her mouth and chin, then set the baby in her cot.

When she turned to take care of Maddie, Ainsley skipped into the room.

“Hiya, Mum,” she said brightly, then crouched down beside Maddie. She wrinkled her nose and said, “Ew.”

“Ew indeed,” Rose said, though the mess on the baby’s clothes was fairly mild. “Can you grab a new outfit for her?”

Ainsley sped off down the hall, returning with a long-sleeved, long-legged onesie.

“Can I do it?” Ainsley asked as Rose went to unsnap the buttons on Maddie’s soiled onesie.

“Sure,” Rose said. She gestured for Ainsley to kneel beside her. “Remember we have to be very, very gentle with her head and neck. Move slowly.”

Ainsley unfastened all of the buttons on Maddie’s onesie, then eased her sister’s arms out of the sleeves. Rose talked Ainsley through working the fabric up the baby’s torso, and how to hold the back of her head and neck while pulling off the fabric.

“Well done,” Rose praised. “Naked baby: check.”

Ainsley laughed, then rolled up the tiny onesie and dropped it to the floor.

“Let’s change her nappy while she’s naked,” Rose said, seeing the colored stripe indicating the nappy was wet. 

Rose made quick, efficient work of changing and cleaning Maddie, then set the soiled nappy to the side to supervise the rest of the dressing process.

“Next we pick her up and put her on the new outfit,” Rose instructed, hovering her hands over top of Ainsley’s just in case her nine-year-old didn’t support the baby properly. But Ainsley picked Maddie up, only looking a little awkward while doing it, and she set the baby down on the fresh outfit that Rose had opened up and splayed out on the sofa.

“Next we’re gonna guide those little arms through the sleeves,” Rose cooed, both to Maddie and to Ainsley. “Be careful to not get them stuck. She might be extremely floppy and flexible, but you can still hurt her if you move too fast or try to force her limbs through.”

After a bit of finagling, Ainsley got the baby’s arms and legs into the proper locations.

“Now we kiss that little belly.” Rose peppered kisses to Maddie’s bare torso, careful not to touch the umbilical cord stump. Apart from some flailing limbs, the baby didn’t react. “Then we zip her up and it’s all done.”

Ainsley zipped the front of the outfit closed and beamed at her mother.

“Well done, sweetheart.” Rose kissed her eldest’s temple. “Do you like helping with the babies?”

“Yeah,” Ainsley said, nodding enthusiastically. “They’re so fun!”

Rose was pleased that at least one of her children enjoyed being a big sister. Stifling a sigh, she kissed Ainsley’s head again.

“Thank you for everything you do to help, Ains.” She cradled her daughter’s jaw in her palm, tilting her head up to look into her eyes. “I really, really appreciate it.”

Ainsley’s cheeks flushed with the praise and she flashed a wide, toothy grin that looked achingly like James’s.

“Mummy, can we go back to coloring now?”

Rose looked over as Sianin walked into the room.

“‘Course,” she answered. “Give me five minutes to clean myself up, though.”

Rose stood, then picked up the soiled onesie and nappy.

“Should I move her?” Ainsley asked, nodding to the baby on the sofa.

“Nah, she’ll be okay for a few minutes,” Rose said. “Can you make sure she doesn’t roll off though? She shouldn’t be able to, but just in case.”

Ainsley nodded, then focused all of her attention on Maddie. Rose’s heart clenched to see Ainsley playing with the baby, even though the baby didn’t have much of a reaction yet.

Rose chucked the nappy in the bin and the onesie into the laundry pile, then went down the hall to her bedroom. As soon as the door closed behind her, she sat down on the edge of the bed and kneaded the heels of her hands into her forehead.

“What’s the matter?”

Rose yelped and jumped; she hadn’t realized James had been in their loo. He held up his hands in apology. She sighed. ���I dunno.”

James frowned and came to sit down beside her. Before he could, though, he must have seen the baby sick caked onto her neck. “Just a sec.”

He went into the en suite, turned on the faucet, and came back with a damp flannel. He mopped up the lingering spit-up, then sat down beside her.

“Was everything all right when Ainsley and I went out?” he asked softly, wrapping his arm loosely around her waist. “Were the babies awful?”

“No, no. They were perfectly fine.” Rose leaned against her husband and was quiet for a minute. “I don’t think Sianin likes the babies.”

Her eyes burned and her nose stung at the admission.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“It’s just… she never wants to help with them. She doesn’t want to interact with them. I asked her today if she liked them, and she couldn’t find anything good to say. She even suggested we give one of the twins away.”

James’s snorted, but wrapped his arm tighter around her body.

“I’m serious, James. Did we make a mistake?” Rose whispered, a tear falling. She wiped it away impatiently. “Should we have realized ages ago that Sianin isn’t the type of kid who would do well with a younger sibling?”

“I think it’s a little early to be jumping to conclusions,” James said carefully. “We’ve been home for all of four days. You and I both know it can take quite a bit of time to get used to the new routine that comes with having a baby. Or two, in our case.”

“I know, I know,” Rose grumbled. “I just… I don’t want any of my babies to be unhappy. And Sianin seems unhappy.”

“Give her more time, love,” he said gently. “I think she’ll come around.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not just trying to make me feel better?” Rose asked.

“I always try to make you feel better,” he said. “However, I truly believe that Sianin will adjust. It might take her more time than Ainsley, is all. But if she still has her heart set on giving one of the twins up, let’s keep Maddie, eh? She’s quieter.”

Rose laughed out loud and pinched his ribs.

“You twat, you’re not supposed to have favorites!”

“I’m not picking favorites. I’m merely picking what’s best for my eardrums.” Rose could hear the grin in his voice, and just like that, most of the weight lifted from her shoulders.

Rose snuggled closer into his side and breathed him in for a few minutes. She would have gladly stayed there for hours. It was quiet in their bedroom, and he was soothing. It would have been so easy to lie back and take a nap, especially if James curled up beside her.

“I should go back out,” Rose said. “I told Sianin we’d keep coloring.”

James pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then stood up, holding out his hand for hers. She stretched her back once she was standing while James went to her dresser and rooted through the drawers. He returned with a new shirt for her.

When she donned it, he slipped his fingers loosely through hers and brought them to his lips for a kiss.

“We’re gonna be all right, Rose,” he said. “I promise. There hasn’t been a challenge yet that we haven’t overcome together.”

Rose squeezed his hand. “I think you’ve found a side gig as a motivational speaker.”

He stuck his tongue out at her, but opened the door for them to walk down the hall. Now that the barrier of the door was gone, they realized one of the babies was fussing. Not full-blown crying, but raspy whimpers that threatened oncoming wails.

“Everyone all right?” Rose asked dropping James’s hand to speed ahead of him into the living room.

Ainsley was sitting on the floor with her elbow on the couch cushion, peering down at Maddie.

“I dunno what she wants,” Ainsley said, stroking her index finger down the baby’s cheek any time she let out a noise.

“Come here, my sweetheart,” Rose cooed, lifting Maddie to her shoulder.

“Mummy, you said we’d color,” Sianin whined, coming over to tug Rose’s hand.

“In a minute, love,” she replied. 

Sianin stomped her foot and tossed her head back in an exasperated growl. “Give her to Daddy. You promised you’d color with me!”

“Sianin Noelle, do not tell me what to do. That’s disrespectful,” Rose said. “You need to be patient.”

“I’ve been patient,” Sianin groaned, flinging herself onto the couch rather dramatically and folding her arms in front of her chest.

It would have been a funny picture if not for the attitude.

“I think someone needs to go sit quietly in the laundry room for five minutes to calm down,” Rose countered. 

Sianin huffed out a breath and crossed her arms tighter around her chest. “No, I don’t.”

“I think you do. Now, Sianin,” Rose said firmly. “Go sit quietly and calm down. I’ll be in in five minutes.”

Sianin’s eyes filled with tears. Her face crumpled as she launched herself off the sofa and ran down the hall.

Rose watched her go with a low exhale.

“Shit,” she whispered to herself. She nuzzled her nose across Maddie’s scalp, but not even the scent of her baby was enough to soothe her.

“Should I talk to her?” Ainsley asked, looking down the hall after her sister.

“No,” Rose said. “Let her cool down by herself for a bit.”

James came up beside Rose and wrapped her in his arms, being careful not to smoosh Maddie between them.

“It’ll be all right. I promise,” he whispered into her ear. He softly kissed the top of her head. “Here. I’ll take her. You go take a breather, too.”

Rose sniffed against the tears in her throat and nodded, giving the still-fussing baby to James. She walked into the kitchen and got herself a drink, listening to the sounds of James cooing to Maddie.

She kept her eyes on the clock as she sipped her water. The instant five minutes had passed, she walked down the hall. Sianin had closed the door to the laundry room, so Rose eased it open and peered inside.

Sianin was sitting in the corner rather than the designated time-out bench. She’d hugged her knees to her chest and looked up with red-rimmed eyes when she heard Rose enter. The moment she saw her mother, Sianin’s face twisted and more tears leaked down her cheeks.

Rose crouched down in front of her daughter and opened her arms for a hug, if Sianin wanted. She did. Uncoiling from the floor, Sianin careened into Rose’s chest, sending Rose off balance and tumbling onto her bum.

“Breathe, Sianin,” she murmured, hugging her tightly with one arm as her other hand stroked Sianin’s hair. Her daughter trembled as she clung to her. “Breathe.”

Sianin sobbed into Rose’s neck, sending Rose’s heart splintering into a million pieces. She continued stroking Sianin’s back until the worst had passed. It took a couple minutes, but Sianin finally stopped shaking and wasn’t breathing as erratically.

“Your quiet time is over, but do you want to stay in here for a few more minutes?” Rose asked, pulling back to look at her daughter.

Sianin’s face was bright red and streaked with tears and snot. Rose pulled a crumpled tissue out of her pocket and dried Sianin’s eyes, cheeks, and nose.

“Will you stay with me?” Sianin asked, her voice warbling.

“Of course,” Rose answered. “Let’s move to the bench though. The floor isn’t comfy for Mummy.”

Rose was quite proud of herself that she managed to leverage herself to her knees then to her feet all while keeping Sianin in her arms. When Rose was seated on the cushioned bench, Sianin straddled her thighs and tucked her face into the side of her mother’s neck. Rose rocked them slowly from side to side and hummed a jingle from a radio advertisement that had been stuck in her head all morning.

“I love you very, very much, Sianin.”

Sianin sniffled.

“You understand why I sent you for quiet time, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I told you what to do and was dispectful.”

“Disrespectful,” Rose corrected gently. “I need you to learn to be more patient, okay? I’d said I would color with you, and I will. But you need to wait until I’m not busy.”

“Why couldn’t Daddy take Maddie?” Sianin asked miserably.

“Because I had her,” Rose said simply. “Sometimes passing a baby off to multiple people makes their fussing worse.”

Sianin heaved a heavy sigh, but said no more. She instead kept her face buried into Rose’s neck.

“I know you’re used to it being just you and Ainsley,” Rose said, “but now you have to share me with Hannah and Maddie, too.”

“I know.”

“Your daddy and I are trying really hard to make as much time for you and Ainsley as we can, but sometimes the babies need our attention first. Can you promise me that you’ll try really hard to be patient with me and Daddy? ‘Cos we’re still learning too.”

“Yeah.”

“Good girl,” Rose said, kissing Sianin’s hair. “Do you want to go back out to the living room and color?”

“I don’t want to color anymore,” Sianin said.

“Oh. Then what would you like to do this afternoon?”

“Can we make a cake?”

“We sure can.” Rose nudged Sianin. “Up we get.”

Sianin clambered off of Rose’s lap and rubbed her arm across her nose. Rose reached down and combed her fingers through Sianin’s hair. “We need to schedule a haircut for you, little missy.”

Rose pulled the back of Sianin’s hair up and over her head until it fell in front of her eyes. Sianin laughed and ducked out from under Rose’s hands, smoothing her hair out of her face.

“I’ll try and make an appointment for next weekend,” Rose promised. “For you, me, and Ainsley. The three of us can get out of the house for a bit and do something together. Would you like that?”

Sianin nodded vigorously, then led the way to the kitchen where James was showing a pacified Maddie the artwork taped to the fridge.

“And here we’ve got a blossoming tree that your big sister Ainsley painted a few weeks ago,” he said. “Look at all the colors. We’ve got pinks and whites and green and brown. Isn’t it so lovely? And lookie here’s one that your clever, talented, beautiful Mummy drew.”

He winked at Rose, who rolled her eyes at him. She then approached Sianin and said, “Right, let’s…”

They were interrupted by a very loud and sudden wail from the living room. James strode towards the noise and Rose made to follow. When she turned around to Sianin, she saw the five-year-old’s shoulders were hunched.

“Hey, Sian…”

Sianin spun around and flinched, her eyes widening. “I’m sorry!”

Rose frowned and ignored her wailing baby for another minute to crouch in front of her other upset child. “Hey, hey. I’m not angry. I was just going to suggest you work on getting the bowls and ingredients together while I help your daddy calm your sisters. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Sianin let out a breath and the tension left her shoulders. “Okay.”

“I’m not angry or upset with you,” Rose said, grasping Sianin’s hands in hers. “Okay?”

Sianin nodded, then moved about the kitchen.

“Er, Rose, a little help?”

“Coming,” she called out.

When she arrived in the living room, she saw Ainsley had her jumper tugged up over her nose. Rose understood why a moment later when the stench of a dirty nappy assaulted her.

“We’ve got a blow-out,” James said grimly as he picked Hannah up out of her bassinet. He gingerly held her out in front of him, keeping his arms and hands free from her bum.

“Ick,” Rose said, wincing. “Your turn to deal with that.”

“I don’t suppose I could offer a trade?” he said.

“There’s absolutely nothing in this world that would entice me to trade with you,” Rose said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the back.

James groaned in defeat, then carried a red-faced, screaming Hannah down the hall to the nursery.

“That was disgusting,” Ainsley commented from the sofa. 

“Just a bit,” Rose admitted. She then turned to Maddie, who had begun whimpering again upon being set down. “Come to Mummy, my love. Your daddy got pulled away to clean up your sister. But you can come with me and we can make a cake with your big sister, Sianin.”

“Cake?” Ainsley asked, perking up.

“Yep, Sian and I are going to make one. Want to help?”

“Yeah!” Ainsley jumped off the couch and headed toward the kitchen

“I’ll be in in a minute,” Rose said. “I’m going to grab the baby sling.”

Rose ventured down the hall and into the nursery. James had Hannah stripped naked on the changing table and was working on wiping her down.

“I chucked that onesie,” he said without looking at her. “That was never going to get white again—not enough bleach in the world.”

Rose chuckled at him, not bothering to reply as she grabbed the baby sling they’d picked up in Bora Bora a few years ago. She set Maddie down for a few seconds to start the process of wrapping it around herself, then she securely strapped the baby in, too.

“How do you make baby-wearing look sexy?”

James was facing her, holding a naked and placated Hannah, with a somewhat glazed look in his eyes. He absently ran a wipe down Hannah’s now-clean bum.

“I could make anything sexy,” Rose boasted, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Yes, you could,” he murmured.

He stepped up to her and hauled her in for a long, hard kiss that sent delicious tingles through her body. Both of her hands were free, thanks to the sling, and she used them to first cup his cheeks, then scrape her nails against his scalp. She smirked against his mouth when she felt more than heard him moan. She dragged her teeth against his full bottom lip as she broke the kiss.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he gasped, looking dazed. His dark eyes made something clench deep in her belly.

“And what a marvelous death it would be,” she said, winking. “Go on. Get her back in a nappy before she decides to poo all over you as well.”

He grimaced and muttered something that sounded like, “You sure know how to ruin a mood,” before he turned away from her and complied.

Maddie, meanwhile, was resting contentedly at Rose’s breast. Her fat cheek was cushioned to Rose’s chest and she was blinking slowly as she sucked on the side of her fist.

“Time to bake your first cake,” Rose whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of Maddie’s head.

When she returned to the kitchen, Ainsley and Sianin were already getting to work on the cake. All of the ingredients were sitting on the counter, and Sianin was carefully scooping a teaspoon of baking powder into a large bowl. There was no recipe book in sight.

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Rose said, moving to the cabinet to retrieve the cookbook that contained the chocolate cake recipe.

“What?” Sianin asked, frowning. 

“We need to make sure we add the correct amount of all the ingredients if we want it to taste good,” Rose said.

“But I did,” she insisted.

“What have you added so far?”

“Flour, sugar, and now the baking powder,” she answered.

“How much did you add?” Rose asked.

“One and three-quarters cups of flour. Two cups of sugar. And a teaspoon and a half of baking powder.” She pointed to all of the measuring cups and spoons as she spoke. “I was gonna put the dry stuff into the bowl ‘til you came back. Was I s’posta wait?”

Rose flipped through the pages of the recipe book until she made it to the marked page of the chocolate cake recipe. With amazement, Rose saw that Sianin did in fact measure out the appropriate amounts of the ingredients.

“How did you know how much of everything to add?” Rose asked

Sianin shrugged her shoulders and began fiddling with the tab on the salt canister. “Daddy lets me measure the ingredients when we bake together. But only the dry stuff. I accidentally dropped all the eggs on the floor once and he said I needed to get a little bit bigger before I could do it all myself.”

“How much salt are you gonna add?” Rose asked, cocking her head at her child.

“A teaspoon,” she answered. “Can I?”

Rose nodded, and Sianin turned back to the bowl. The tip of her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she focused intently on pouring the salt.

“Oops,” she said when a rush of salt came out and overflowed the teaspoon. “What do I do now?”

Rose stepped up to Sianin and took the heaping teaspoon from her daughter. She poured about three-quarters of the teaspoon into the bowl, then dumped the rest into the sink. “There. That’s probably about one teaspoon. Hey, Sian?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s very impressive that you remembered exactly how much of everything to add to make the cake,” Rose said. “I’m very impressed.”

A proud smile crossed her daughter’s face. “Thanks, Mummy!”

Rose supervised Sianin scooping out the remaining ingredients, double checking the recipe book but amazed that Sianin’s memory was spot-on.

“Oops, try and level that out a little bit,” Rose said when Sianin was about to dump a heaping quarter cup of cocoa into the bowl. 

“Nuh uh,” Sianin countered. “When Daddy and I make it, we do a normal half and a big quarter. It makes it extra chocolatey. Daddy says he adds a little less flour and a little extra oil to…” Sianin’s brows furrowed in concentration before she said, “To copmensate.”

“Compensate?”

“Yeah, copmensate,” Sianin repeated.

Rose didn’t try to correct her again. Instead, she said, “Let me double-check with Daddy really quick though, baby. Wait just a minute.”

Rose went into the living room, where James was curled up on the sofa and cradling a sleeping Hannah to his chest. He was reading a book aloud to her, only it was a book James had been reading for himself over the past few days instead of a children’s book.

“Our daughter is a genius,” Rose murmured into his ear. She ducked down, being careful not to crush Maddie against the back of the couch, and planted a long, smacking kiss to his cheek, then reached down and stoked the tip of her index finger against Hannah’s hand, which was clenched into a fist in James’s shirt.

“Oh? Which one?”

“Sianin. She remembered exactly how much of every ingredient to add to make a chocolate cake.”

“My clever chef,” he said proudly.

“Your clever chef is also insisting that it’s a heaping three-quarters of a cup of cocoa powder, then a bit less flour and extra oil to ‘copmensate’,” Rose said.

James’s face softened at the botched pronunciation. “She’s my clever, clever chef.”

 “All right. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t trying to make this an overly-chocolatey cake.”

“Well, she is, but no worries, it’s an authorized recipe modification.”

Rose pecked another kiss to his cheek.

“Aye aye, captain,” she said. Then she glanced down at the book in his hands. “Agatha Christie? Really? That’s not exactly child-appropriate.”

“It’s not like she can understand anything,” James said. “She’s been sleeping through this riveting tale anyway. I guess people being murdered one by one on a remote island is a bit too boring for her tastes.”

“Or maybe it’s you who’s boring.”

“Rose Tyler-McCrimmon, you take that back!” he exclaimed, pouting.

She gave him a wink, then went back to the kitchen to finish the cake.

Rose was relieved that Sianin’s mood improved over the course of the afternoon, and by the time they were icing the cake, it was as though their earlier fiasco hadn’t even happened.

If you’ve made it to the end, consider leaving a comment or reblogging? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

[megwritesfanfiction]

Let Go, Chapter 4/?? (Raven/??)

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans. This is a work of fiction that I am not making a profit off of.

A/N: Yay regular updates! Here is the next installment…

Do you need to catch up? I got you! ->

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

WARNING: THE FLASHBACK CONTAINS MENTIONS OF SELF MUTILATION AND SUICIDE. THERE ARE ALSO SMALLER MENTIONS OF SELF HARM IN THE CHAPTER PORTION AS WELL! 

Flashback

“Raven?” Robin murmured, sleepily looking at the empath standing in front of him. “It’s,” He paused, turning to look at the clock on his nightstand behind him. His naked hazel eyes squinted, adjusting to the bright digital lights. “It’s four thirty in the morning. What is going on?”

Raven’s smile was hazy as she stumbled against the doorway, damp hair curling around her face. “I-“ She started, chuckling a little bit. With her shoulder pressed against the frame for support, she raised her bloodied wrists to him. “I’m gonna pass out. I need-“

“Oh god!” Robin panicked, grabbing her arms as he tried to stop the bleeding. “What happened?”

That question really didn’t require an explanation.

He could see the long slices wrists to elbow, clearly self inflicted. “Why would you do this?” He whispered pulling a shirt from the floor, circling it around her arms. “We need to get you do a hospital.”

“No.” Raven protested, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. I just need you to help me bandage m-”

“You don’t get to kill yourself because you’re afraid.” He snarled. Eyes stinging with tears, Robin pulled her into his room. “Eyes open, Raven!” How was he supposed to get help? If he released her wrists, she was going to be bleed out.

Raven slid down to the floor, eyes fluttering shut as her head fell between her shoulders. “I took,” Her breathing was heavy as she laughed lightly. “Took a bottle of morphine from the Med Lab. Calm down.  It doesn’t hurt.”

Christ. “How many pills did you take?”

“Couple hand fulls.” She murmured, head dropping.

“I need you to hold your arms up.”

She laughed. “No point.” Her eyes were glazed and dull.

“I need to get help.” He was trying to stay calm. “You need to keep your arms up, so we can make sure blood is going to your heart. I’m going to get Cyborg, he-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Raven looked at him sadly. Her head slumped back as tears slid down her cheeks. “He won’t let me go. I tried.” She lowered her arms, looking at her handy work.

She hadn’t expected death to come quickly.

Raven understood the mechanics of the method of suicide she’d chosen. There was nothing romantic about bleeding out in her bathtub alone, but she figured it would be the most practical thing for her to do. The bathtub would make it easier for her friends to clean up her mess and give her enough privacy for the act.

Jumping off the tower meant confronting her fear of falling.

Hanging left too many things to chance, and she wasn’t thrilled about choking to death if her neck didn’t snap.

She didn’t like guns, so she wasn’t even gonna bother with this.

And to ensure her success and ease her nerves, Raven had taken a fist of pills before sinking into the warm water to cut.

The second cut had come easier than the first, and it only took seconds for her to be surrounded by crimson.

Raven closed her eyes, her forehead resting against the tile as she waited for death. Her heart and breathing slowed, and the world seemed to swirl around her.

Darkness never came though.

She sat in the tub watching her blood drip from her gashes under her fingers were wrinkled and soft. Soft evil laughter from her father bubbled in her head when she realized death wasn’t coming.

Frustrated and scared, she stumbled out of the tub to Robin.

“Trigon?” Robin asked slowly.

Raven nodded, her teeth clenched as felt her face bloom with embarrassment and bitterness. “I thought if I wasn’t here, I couldn’t complete the prophecy. What was I supposed to do?” The tears were flowing freely now.

“Not this! This isn’t the answer.” He never thought he’d be thankful for Trigon, but Robin couldn’t deny that Trigon’s will was keeping Raven alive.

The stab of failure burned in her chest as she cried drowsily. “I think I left blood in the hallway.”

Robin placed a hand on top of her head affectionately as he sighed. There were so many things he wanted to talk to her about. “I’ll take care of it.” They could talk when the bleeding stopped. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Her laugh was bitter as she started sobbing, “It’s not like I’m going to die.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Flash Forward

They drove until candy wrappers covered the dashboard, empty soda bottles littered the footwell of the passenger seat, and their bodies and eyes ached.

When Roy’s jaw stretched with a yawn fierce enough to crinkle his eyes and slow his acceleration, Raven decided it was time for them to find a place to rest. About twelve hours into their trip, they’d made through Nevada and were somewhere in central Utah.

“Ya know,” Roy started, rubbing his hands together deviously as he paced around their room. They’d checked into a modest inn that neighbored a restaurant. The area around them was quiet enough to hear the soft spring chirp of awakening insects, but close enough to see the lights and energy from a city near by.

Raven sat on her bed, pulling her knees to her chest. Her head tilted against her thighs with interest.

“I think I’m going to see if the restaurant has grilled cheese,” He grinned. His eyebrows wiggling playfully as he sleepy stretched his arms above over his head.

“How are you hungry?” She murmured looking at him with disbelief.

“I am a growing boy.”

“You ate a grilled cheese sandwich that had to have five pounds of cheese on it,” Raven yawned, shaking her head at him.

He rolled his eyes, waving a playfully dismissive hand. “Exaggeration.”

“You also ate the other half of my sandwich, and your fries.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, leaning against their door unimpressed.

“You have a tapeworm.”

Roy howled with laughter. “Driving makes me hungry.”

“I’m afraid to see what you eat after a good workout,” she commented seriously.

“Hey, it’s vacation,” he told her opening the door. “I’ll worry about the calories and consequences when we get to Steel. You want anything?”

Raven wrinkled her nose, moving to her backpack. “I don’t think I’m hungry enough to eat-”

“Said no one ever.”

“I think I’m just gonna take a shower,” she commented. Taking out a pair of pajamas, Raven reached for her bag of toiletries as she yawned. “If they have unsweetened iced tea, could you get me some?”

“Unsweetened?” Roy questioned his eyes narrowing to judge her jokingly.

“Yes.” She stuck her tongue out at him impishly. “Could you please get me a small order of fries, too?”

“Unsweetened tea and small fries?” He slowly backed out of the room, shaking his head in disappointment. “Who are you, woman?” Roy shut the door with a wink before Raven had the chance to roll her eyes at him.

She released a heavy sigh, allowing her shoulders to curl over toes as she stepped into the small bathroom. Quickly pulling her clothes off and kicking them to the corner, Raven didn’t give herself time to analyze the sea foam tile and pale bubble gum pink porcelain. She turned the shower to the highest temperature the dial allowed, clenching her fists as the water burned her skin.

Her day had been as close to perfect as it had ever been.

She and Roy drove in comfortable silence, stopped for peanut butter cups, chips, and soda, listened to bad pop music, ate a gut busting amount of grilled cheese, and had pleasantly silly serious conversations.

Raven learned about his ability to easily memorize song lyrics and his love of for the cooking channel. She was able to share her unapologetic secret love for ‘Pretty Pretty Pegasus’ without him making a comment or grimace of surprise.

She’d had a good day.

With a good friend.

Her transition to Steel City was feeling like the right decision.

So, why did she feel so upset?

The sleeping arrangement had made her uneasy at first. Granted, they were sleeping separate beds, but they were feet apart. Raven made it a habit not to share her a bed with any men in the past.

Extracurricular activities were fine, but sleeping was a solitary act.

This was business. She’d shared a sleeping space with male teammates in the past. Raven recalled sharing a tent with Cyborg, Nightwing…

Changeling.

Roy wasn’t any different.

Raven placed her hands against the tile as her fingers twitched with pain. Her eyes fluttered dizzily as her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, steam clouding the bathroom as she whimpered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Leave it alone.”

Changeling growled, pulling his phone away from his ear to look at the screen. “Leave it alone? She walked out on us without saying goodbye!” He sighed, placing his hand against the counter as he patiently waited for her answering machine. “And now she’s ignoring us!” He screamed into the phone.

Starfire lowered her head as she carefully stirred the simmering tomato sauce. Her eyes shifted to the irritated changeling and back to her cookbook as she listened to the scene behind her.

“Or she’s being a responsible driver by ignoring her phone when she’s at the wheel,” Nightwing told him, carefully molding meatballs at the island counter. His transition from Robin to Nightwing wasn’t just a professional transformation. Nightwing was a reminder that he hadn’t turned into his reclusive mentor, and he intended to see that didn’t happen.

“Yea, or-“ Changeling stopped, ears twitching at the sound of Raven’s voicemail. “Raven! You don’t get to blow us off like this! We’re supposed to be your friends, you don’t sneak out on your friends in the middle of the night like a fucking thief!” He knew he sounded mean. After ten unreturned calls and an unmentionable amount of text messages, he didn’t really care.

Starfire‘s eyebrows raised as she listened to the rant.

Nightwing shook his head, “Yelling at her isn’t going to help.” He couldn’t deny his pleasure in his friend’s distress.

Anger was certainly more favorable than apathy.

Changeling sighed deeply. “Call me back please,” he added softly, throwing his phone to the table. “How are you so calm about this?”

Nightwing shrugged, happy his mask hid his eyes. “It makes sense. Titans East is down two members since Mas y Menos left. We have six people on the team, and Raven expressed interest in the East Coast.” And escaping the harsh truth and pile of bad memories that lived with her on the West Coast.

“When the hell did she express in the East Coast?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Nightwing could have probably made up a random occasion Raven mentioned it and the changeling would have been none the wiser.

“She emptied her room-“

Starfire stopped stirring her sauce, placing the lid slowly on the pot. “Why did you enter Raven’s room?”

“It’s not her room anymore!” Changeling shouted, slamming his palms to the counter. “Her stuff is gone! No posters, no creepy statues, furniture covered in sheets- I don’t understand why no one else thinks this is suspicious. Raven just ups and decides to move across country, and we’re just sitting here like nothing’s happened?”

“Well,” Nightwing sighed. “I think we need to respect Raven’s decision.”

“Yea, well,” Changeling grumbled cruelly, picking up his phone. “I think Raven needs to answer her damn phone.” He angrily dialed her once more, holding the phone to his ear.

She owed him, them, an explanation.

Changeling didn’t have a word to describe his relationship with Raven. In the beginning, he didn’t consider them to be friends; but somewhere between the Beast and the end of the world, they evolved into something beyond teammates and friends.

He didn’t have a for name it, but his emotions were clearer as he listened to the droning ring of the phone for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

Anger.

Frustration.

And, some uneasy feeling that twisted his stomach and made his chest tighten.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Her skin was still pink after she dried and dressed herself in a pair shorts and an oversized sleep shirt. The scalding shower helped to empty her mind and reset her senses.

Raven turned off the bathroom light, shaking out her wet hair as she walked back to her bed. She reached for her backpack. Digging in the front pouch, she pulled out a plastic bag filled with small plastic orange bottles and gave it a small jiggle.

An SSRI or two.

Something for panic attacks.

A sedative to be used as needed for insomnia.

A collective array of random vitamins and supplements.

With a heavy sigh, she plopped to her bed. She skipped her dose yesterday. Raven pulled out one of the SSRIs, reading the label carefully.

May cause drowsiness. Be careful when driving or operating heavy machinery.

Can cause blurry vision.

Take with food.

Read the medication guide that comes with this medicine.

Or not. The intermittent shame and unpleasant side effects on the bottle were enough. The long list of warnings and scary side effects were enough.

“So…” Roy’s voice echoed through the room as he entered with a big brown bag of food and large styrofoam cup. His eyes went right to pill bottle in her hand and the long scar on her wrist. “I,” He cleared his throat, casting his eyes to the side wall. “I, uh-“

Raven tucked her medication into the well of her lap. Her cheeks burned as she buried her hands in her lap turning her arms inward to hide her scars.

“I got you some chicken tenders to go with your fries.” He commented, setting the bag on the small table. Roy slowly walked over to her.

“Thanks.” She nodded, stiffly accepting the unsweetened tea. Her fingers curled around the styrofoam cup uncomfortably as she avoided his gaze.

Roy nodded. “No problem.” Shuffling out of jacket, he walked over to the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Okay.” Her body hunched over the pills in her lap.

He stood in the doorway, hands pressed to either side of the doorframe as he waited for her to move.

Why wouldn’t he go away?

“Raven?” Roy called hesitantly.

She sighed slowly, still avoiding his eyes. “Yea.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She slowly, turned to face his soft jasper eyes. Her body relaxed, back moving to rest against the headboard of her bed. Raven picked up the bottle in her lap, eyes falling to the long light pink scar trailing down her forearm. “I-“

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

Her chest clenched, feeling helpless. “I’m fine,” she told him with a sure nod.

“I know,” he assured. “No judgement.”

“I-“ She started, words failing her. Nightwing was the only person who knew about her suicide attempt. She never had to say the words to anyone outside of the monochromatic walls of Iris’s office.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, and you don’t have to ashamed,” Roy told her softly. “We all have a cross to bear.”

She smirked, “I didn’t know you’re religious.” It was easier to joke with him.

“I’m not.” His smirk was light and comforting as he disappeared into the bathroom. “I just have scars too.”

Raven’s teeth sunk into her bottom lip, swallowing the urge to talk to him.

[whilereadingandwalking]

“Not only are there no happy endings...There aren’t even any endings.”

Every time I read American Gods by Neil Gaiman, I find more things to adore about this novel. I read it this time while traveling across the United States, and I have to say, something about reading this book in transit just makes sense. It makes even more sense reading it while soaring over America itself, gazing down on fields and hills, a New Jersey import who lives in Chicago, went to LA a week or so ago, and just left Florida. There is something so intensely American about this novel, and it wows me every time. From the smaller mythic chapters telling folk tales and stories of the people who brought their gods to America, to the gods themselves and their characters, this novel always gets me. This was my third time reading this novel, and I’m going to dig deep to highlight new things that I had forgotten, so solid warning: Spoilers ahead.

I will never get over the way that Neil Gaiman melds together the idea of the gods and the land, and gives them both their own power and will. Something that wows me that I often forget about the standalone is now astoundingly diverse it is without being appropriative, and how Gaiman incorporates so many cultures, a diverse range of characters, as well as a huge amount of humor without it becoming problematic. I think this novel could be a guidebook for authors who want to know how to write diverse stories and mythos respectfully. I forgot about so many fantastic characters that Gaiman pours himself into, from Samantha Black Crow to side characters that brim with energy and character themselves, like Whiskey Jack’s son or Bilquis. I also never noticed before the two mentions of Mr. Nancy’s son that point to Anansi Boys. Not to mention the wealth of research and knowledge that goes into the bottomless well of background characters and visions leading up to the battle. 

One thing I gained a new appreciation for in this novel was the character of Shadow. He is big, and not dumb, and I remembered all that, but what I forgot is how nice he is. Shadow’s such a cinnamon roll of a character, and I forget that. He stands up for a waitress and believes in the good of people. At the Lakeside library book sale, he tries to find the book that’s least likely to be purchased, so that he can help the library out by buying it. He performs coin tricks for children. He is obligated to hold Odin’s vigil, but he never questions whether he should also hold Mad Sweeney’s. As Laura speaks with the cutting, too-open words of the already-dead, Shadow still refuses to tell her about her appearance or to not hold her hand, because he doesn’t want to hurt her still. When Shadow picks up bodies with the coroners, he carries them always in his arms. 

The scene between Shadow and Odin before his death is one of my absolute favorites (other favorite scenes include Samantha Black Crow’s protest kiss, the scene in which Shadow thinks snow into being, and Shadow’s long death scene). Odin recites to Shadow what he knows—the charms, in a long list. And it ends with that long scene where Shadow wonders what would have happened if he touched Odin’s hand, and wishes he had. And Odin’s twisting grift of the fiddle is so complicated and well done that even on the third re-read, I find myself forgetting about it until the moment Odin dies, and doubting myself on it until the moment Shadow says it out loud.

@neil-gaiman’s American Gods just gets better every time I read it, and I am cautiously thrilled and excited for the show coming out later this spring. 

“It doesn’t matter that you didn’t believe in us. We believed in you.”

[izzy-b-hands]

After the Afterlife Chapter 5

Things are...not going so hot, putting it mildly (ha, for the sort of play on words, but not really, because Eggsy is once again Going Through it. I owe him as a character for the shit I keep putting this boy through lol.) 

But as I said before he’s got this. One way or another. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“You did this!” his voice was hoarse as he screamed, then screeched, his throat raw. “After everything we talked about, still! Why?!” 

No answer, just the hand still tugging him by the arm through the shadows.

“At least answer me. You owe me that much.” 

His father’s face was at his in a burst of light. 

Do I now? What am I even to you? Like you said, I wasn’t there to take care of you growing up-

“That was before I knew, before you told me-” 

NO! How can I be anything to you? I’m not your father, and you were still young when I died. Young enough for me to be a stranger.

“Then why keep me here? If you’re supposed to be a stranger to me, then that’s what I must be to you, right? So why would you want a stranger here with you? You could find any other miserable spirit stuck nearby, and go talk to them. You let me go, and I’ll toss this pendant in the nearest river, in the ocean even! Then you can go wherever you want, find whoever you want.” 

His father stopped, and they stood, face-to-face. 

“I know what you’ve told me, and I don’t know how many times I can say it, because I feel like a broken record,” Eggsy said, as he realized tears were again streaming down his face, and he thought it was a hell of a thing that one could cry after death, or in the space just before it. “Yes, Harry might be my biological father. And he’s been a father figure to me since I joined Kingsman, and I’m thrilled with that. I love him, and I know he loves me, and we’re family in that way. But growing up, it was you I thought of. When I was scared, when I was lonely, when I could hear Mum crying because she was feeling the same and she couldn’t bear to even be in the same room with me. You were the one I called out to, that I asked to tell me what to do. Or that I wished would somehow come through the front door and be there for us. You can’t tell me that doesn’t mean something.” 

He tried to wipe away the tears with his free hand. “You can hate it all you like, but we aren’t strangers. If we were, you’d wouldn’t have tried to communicate, wouldn’t have trapped me here. Even after I go back, you will still be important to me, and a piece of my life, and a father to me. Why can’t you accept that?” 

I can accept that.

Eggsy threw up his free arm in frustration. “Then what is this?” 

What I can’t accept is going back to being alone. To being in this pain, alone. I’m sorry.

“You aren’t sorry,” Eggsy wept. “You’re just saying that because you know you should. Sorry is what a dad would say, dragging his child into a difficult but necessary situation, like a doctor’s visit. But I’m not a toddler going in for their shots, I’m an adult, and if you do this, you’ll end my life before I even get a chance to fully live it.” 

Now you know how I felt.

His father let go of his hand, and again faded into the shadows. 

“No, we aren’t doing this,” Eggsy said, half to his father, and half to himself as he stumbled through the shadows as quickly as he dared, searching for another bit of glass, some sign that he’d found another mirror. He didn’t know what else he could possibly escape out of, what else could possibly serve as an appropriate portal. “I’m not dying today.” 

The shadows shifted faster around him, whirring into a maelstrom of painful blanket sounds, including weeping and screaming in pain. He didn’t know all who it was, but he didn’t have time to find out. 

Finally, the thunk of a pane of glass as he ran nearly face-first into it. 

“Ainsley! Roxy! I’m here!” 

The image from before flickered into life by him, and he knelt in front of it. 

“Ains! Roxy! Can either of you hear me?” 

“I can hear you! We’re on the way, we’ve just got to find you again. The mirror, it was wild, like it tossed itself off of the wall-” 

“My dad,” Eggsy interrupted. “He doesn’t want me to go.” 

“Well, that’s too damn bad!” Ainsley scoffed. “We’re getting you back, no matter what. We’ve got back up plans A-Z, there’s no giving up today.” 

His heart swelled. “You have no idea how good it is to hear that.” 

He watched as the new mirror suddenly appeared in the image. “There! Now what do you two need me to do?” 

“We have a few ideas,” Roxy’s voice came in, crackling as if on an old radio. “First, we just have you. Well, it’s weird.” 

“We had to turn to various sources for ideas,” Ainsley said. “Some of them...we don’t know how well they work. So we’re trying everything.” 

“You think of your body, back in the hospital, and supposedly you can transport yourself there,” Roxy said. “That’s what one medium told us. I figure you already sort of tried that with Ainsley, like he told me, but you could see your body through him then. Maybe now, if you just think of it, without your father there to pull you away...” 

“I don’t even know where he is,” Eggsy admitted. “But I can try.” 

He let his hands rest on the coolness of the image, and tried to summon it up. How broken and pale his body had looked in the bed, how it would have felt if he’d been in it and able to feel when Ainsley had kissed it the night before. 

But he felt nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I can’t...maybe I’m not doing it right.” 

“No worries, that’s just one option,” Roxy said. “The other, is we try and get you into a smaller mirror, that we can take to the hospital, and then have you try to get back via that.” 

“And what if something happens to the mirror in transit?” 

Ainsley and Roxy winced.

“We’re worried about that as well,” Ainsley said with a sigh. “Maybe we can shelf that one for now.” 

Roxy nodded. “You want to try the other of the Big Three?” 

Ainsley nodded back. 

“What does that mean?” Eggsy asked. 

“It means, you try and...the medium that mentioned it essentially described it as possession. Just, safe possession, because you aren’t trying to actually take over my body, but share it for a brief period of time until we would get home and to the hospital,” Ainsley replied.

“You want me to do that? Are you sure? I mean, what happens to you during it?” 

Ainsley shrugged. “We’ll find out together. I just want you back with me, with us. Safe and healthy and happy. And I’ll do whatever I have to, to make that happen.” 

The engagement ring on Ainsley’s hand glinted in the faint light in the hall, what little Eggsy could see in the image. 

“Okay.” 

“Good,” Roxy interjected. “Now, for this, you just...do what you did in the hospital before, but try for Ainsley instead. Whenever you’re ready...” 

He took a deep breath, and looked around him, for any shapes or sign of of his father. Nothing.

“Ready, Ains?” 

Ainsley nodded. 

The cold was just as painful, just as intense, but he tried to ignore it as he reached through the image for Ainsley. 

It was like reaching out to him for a hug, to hold his hand, to cling to him at night whenever he got cold. He tried to think of it as just normal, as if he was already in his body, just desperately in need of Ainsley’s touch. 

Then, warmth, and dizziness. 

“Eggsy?” 

He couldn’t see Ainsley anymore, but he could hear him perfectly, as if they were standing side by side. 

“Sweetheart! I think it worked. Are you okay?” 

“Bit dizzy, but otherwise fine. Head feels...odd. Not bad, just different,” Ainsley replied. “Is it as empty up there as we’d both feared?” 

Eggsy laughed. “Shut up. No, I’ve hardly got room with your brain taking up all the space.” 

Ainsley giggled, and it was an experience. Like warm rain and light sun on his skin, comforting and soft. He wanted to wrap himself in it. 

“You have a beautiful laugh. In here, I mean, via...this. It’s absolutely gorgeous.” 

“Thank you,” Ainsley chuckled, and again, the burst of feeling came over him. “But we’ve got to get out now. Your father...well. If he was alive, he’d be getting a bill for these damages, that’s for sure. Tossing anything he can find at us, but we’re on the way out now.” 

“Oh thank fuck,” Eggsy sighed. “This nightmare is almost over.” 

“Almost,” Ainsley agreed. “Just to get you home, back to your body, then to get the palace repaired and cleansed. He wasn’t willing to stay attached to the pendant, I take it?” 

“I don’t know if he is for sure or not,” Eggsy admitted. “That would be easiest. I think I’m going to throw it in the ocean the first chance I get. I gave him a chance, I...it’s really hard to explain right now. But I promise I will, once I’m back where I should be.”

He could feel Ainsley nod, then sat back and waited. There wasn’t much else to do, after all, and he could, oddly enough, feel a headache creeping into Ainsley’s head. Likely a result of his being there, and he didn’t want to make it any worse for him. The poor thing already got migraines, he certainly didn’t this one turning into one of those. 

It was odd, hearing the world via Ainsley. He could hear them packing up outside the palace, talking jovially over their victory, then the travel to the airport. All the usual sounds were present, yet deadened just enough, as if he was hearing them through a long tunnel. Even the sounds of the flight home weren’t quite the same, though hearing Ainsley’s ears pop was interesting. 

He could even smell at some points, the scent of the hospital in particular. “You hate that smell too!” 

“Reminds me of death, but I don’t like telling anyone,” Ainsley replied. “After all, most people who come to hospital are hoping not to die, seems bad manners to bring it up.”

“True,” Eggsy said, then fought back his discomfort at seeing himself in the hospital bed. “God, that’s weird. Weirder than I thought it would be. It isn’t you, just...” 

“It’s the situation,” Ainsley said sympathetically. “Ready to go back?” 

“I am,” Eggsy replied. “And we’ll have the nurse get you some medicine for that headache.” 

Ainsley gave him one last sweet giggle, and he focused on that feeling before reaching back out for his body. 

It didn’t have the coldness of the shadows, but instead a heat, almost unbearable. He pushed past it, and felt skin, his skin. 

He was back, and immediately pain slammed his body. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasped, or tried to, but couldn’t with the tube down his throat. He tried not to choke on it as nurses and a few doctors came flooding into the room, pushing aside Ainsley and Roxy to unhook him from some of the tubes and wires. 

When he was resituated to their liking, they drifted away again, leaving the room as quickly as they’d come, but with smiles on their faces. 

“How do you feel?” Roxy asked. 

“Honestly? Like shit,” Eggsy croaked, and reached up to massage his throat, careful not to hit the IV in his hand. “Can I get water, or something?”

“Of course, we should have thought of that,” Ainsley was suddenly a nervous chicken racing around with its head cut off, nearly out the door before Roxy grabbed him by the shirt sleeve. 

“There’s some right here. You sit, and rest. Both of you need it now,” she directed as she poured a cup of water from the tray attached to his bed. “I’ve told Tilde to ensure the palace stays closed yet, until we can get it cleansed somehow.” 

“Maybe my dad came with,” Eggsy remarked, and lifted the pendant on his chest. “We could ask him, before we fuss with the palace. He was attached to this mainly before, after all.” 

“We should have you take that off, I think,” Roxy said with a nervous twitch of her hand as she handed over the cup. “I don’t trust it being on you, if that’s the case.” 

“Fair enough, but that might upset him more,” Eggsy said. “We could try taking it off though. I think I’m going to toss it away somewhere anyway. Make him someone else’s problem.” 

Roxy and Ainsley frowned. 

“I thought you had a good relationship with him. Before...” Ainsley said. “You know. What happened?” 

Eggsy sighed, and both hated and relished how exhausted he felt, and that he could feel it physically at all. “How long have you got?” 

“All night,” Roxy said, and reached around his neck carefully to remove the pendant, setting it down on the bedside tray. The pendulum was already gone, apparently taken off of him at some point earlier. “As long as you need to tell us.” 

“Make sure that water is topped up, and the nurses won’t kick you two out after visiting hours are over,” Eggsy replied. “I don’t want to be alone here, silly as it sounds. I was essentially alone in that place for what felt like ages; I know it wasn’t, but...” 

“I’m sure they can make an exception. If we mention secret service type business...” Ainsley said, and raised an eyebrow.

Roxy nodded. “Let me go see what I can do. You two just stay put and relax.” 

Once Roxy was out of the room, Eggsy scooted over and patted the side of the bed, just barely big enough for another person. 

“That might get you in trouble,” Ainsley said. “I don’t want to unhook anything accidentally.” 

“Just the IV over here, and I’ll watch it,” Eggsy said. “Come on. Life is for the living, right? So let’s live it up as much as we can, here. Which isn’t much, I admit.” 

Ainsley giggled, and he remembered how warm a feeling it had been when he’d been almost literally one with him. 

“Your laugh is like warm rain, did you know that?” 

Ainsley snuggled close to him, and looked up at him with a curious smile. “You mean like the feeling of it?” 

Eggsy nodded. “Like warm rain on your skin, on a summer day. Refreshing, but not enough to make you cold or uncomfortable.” 

Ainsley’s lips, gentle on his, brought him to tears. 

“I was so afraid I wouldn’t get to feel that ever again,” he whispered, and hugged Ainsley close, taking in the feeling of his clothing, spots where he could feel skin, the texture of his hair as he ran his fingers through it. “I’m so glad I can. I’m so lucky, and I knew it before, but now...it means even more. I need you to know that. I love you.” 

He could feel Ainsley’s tears dripping onto his skin, an ‘I love you’ in sensation. He wanted to hang onto every bit of that feeling, to never forget it. Because he knew now that someday, hopefully far off in the future, there would come a time when he wouldn’t be able to feel it anymore, and it would be hell. 

Roxy quietly slipped back into the room. “I can come back-” 

“No,” Eggsy interrupted. “It’s okay. I want you both here.” 

Ainsley raised his head from Eggsy’s shoulder, and wiped at his tears. “Intel update time then? I mean, that’s essentially what this is, even if it isn’t intel of the usual kind.” 

Eggsy nodded. “Settle in. There’s a lot.” 

[susanlerner]

It seems only fitting to put together the two grand finales that have recently marked my literary and personal life: Richard Russo's visit to Butler last April, and my youngest child's bar mitzvah, last weekend. Each finale was comprised of several smaller events.

Like any Jewish mother I started planning my son's bar mitzvah from the moment of his bris. Also, this was the last of my children to come of age. We were lucky enough to have family and friends come in for our celebration from all over the country. All these notions lent the bar mitzvah the feel of a grand finale. Richard Russo was the last and biggest name on this year's Butler's Visiting Writers' Series's roster. Along with the prerequisite reading, Russo agreed to be the judge for a "First Chapter" writing competition staged by the editors at Booth, the literary journal at Butler (a genius idea, may I add). The afternoon before his reading, Russo gathered with us to go over the five finalists.

A little OCD about being late, I was the first one in the room. When the door opened, it was Russo! He entered, extended his hand, and with eyes smiling said, "Hi, call me Rick." I was floating. I think it's true that it can be a mistake to judge by first impressions, but sometimes first impressions say it all.

Three of the editors of Booth, me, my classmate Maggie, and Russo, all sitting around a boardroom table. I have to admit I was pretty nervous; I had no idea how this meeting would play out. I figured Russo would announce the winning chapter, and then give us a brief rundown of the faults of the other four finalists. What actually happened was nothing like that. Russo introduced each of the final entries, one by one, and, while addressing us by name, asked each of us for our opinions. What ensued was a discussion on the merits and pitfalls of each piece. When we had all weighed in -- and how intimidating is that? -- he added his own final thoughts. The meeting turned out to be a master class in novel writing, as he pointed us towards the hallmarks of what makes a winning first chapter.

One chapter, although by far the most polished and professional, lacked a sense of building drama; each of its scenes had the same weight, which led Russo to believe that not all of its aspects were fully imagined. He questioned whether the chapter's crystalline sentences were enough to sustain the novel, saying that they should serve the momentum of the story.

When evaluating another chapter he noted the lack of character development, saying that by the end of the first chapter the reader needed to know more about the protagonist.

The chapter written in epistolary style was a favorite among us, but Russo pointed out that although this unique style make a splash, he was doubtful it could sustain a novel. Russo's point was that although this style lends itself to rapid pacing, it doesn't allow the author to slow scenes down, or to immerse in the physical world of its characters.

Analyzing another chapter, he remarked that the author broke from scene before the action of the scene ended, and went into narration. It's important for an author to know, Russo said, what s(he) wants a scene to accomplish. Scene and narration ground a story over time, and the author of this chapter showed he wasn't comfortable writing either.

Russo then revealed the winning chapter, noting that although it was not the most polished entry, it wowed him with its strong characters, humor and wild imagination. During our discussion of this work he left us with these literary words of wisdom: an easy editing fix consists of marking stuff out with a pencil; what's more worrisome are gaps.

Part Two of Russo's visit was the reading he gave to the packed crowd at Atherton Union. The reading was as multi-faceted as the picture of Charles's ancestors. Russo began by telling us that he had never understood why readers want to know about the personal lives of authors. Recently, though, he said he has come to understand that people bring a curiosity to the relationship between the author and his work. It was this notion, Russo said, that informed the pieces he chose to read that night. Trying something new, he picked a few nonfiction pieces, so he could share a bit about his life, and then followed those up with some fiction, so we could see the relationship between Russo and the stories he writes.

It was a well thought out plan that made for a fascinating reading. Russo's nonfiction was every bit as compelling as his fiction, and it was astounding to see the myriad points of connection between the two.

When Russo finished reading he made some general comments that addressed this connection. He noted that every author uses similar imagery and phraseology within his/her work. For the author these repetitions exist at the molecular level, and are about as close to the author's soul as one can get. Just as Dickens writes about orphans, Russo said, his own work speaks to the despair of small towns past their prime, and the price paid by the men and women who work to sustain them.

Here are a few comments from the Q&A that followed the reading: When asked about a passage from "Bridge of Sighs" that inferred that men are needier than women, Russo replied that in order to go beyond a surface, intellectual understanding, and reach a bone-level understanding, men may need to experience the same thing multiple times. And in addressing the differences between the sexes from another angle, Russo said that literature doesn't exist as men's writing or women's writing, and that writers must be able to transcend the deep boundaries so as to not be trapped in their own experiences. In Russo's most quotable quote of the evening, said that what he believes in first and foremost is imagination.

When speaking about his short story collection, "The Whore's Child," Russo remarked that his protagonist needed to overcome seemingly insurmountable conflict, and that this is required for all great writing. Dramatic urgency. Russo reinforced that the necessary ingredient for a successful story is a conflict he can't figure out how to solve. Writers investigate territory where there are no answers, he said.

Russo spoke about his writing process, saying he begins by reading, to get words in his head. Then he writes for 2-3 hours, longhand, which produces about 2-3 pages. Then he revises. And then he repeats the sequence over and over.

Russo's reading was fabulous, but it couldn't hold a candle to part two of Sam's bar mitzvah. Russo spoke about creating insurmountable problems in his work. One of the practically insurmountable problems in bar mitzvah planning is that Indianapolis has no hotels within walking distance of the synagogues. Try figuring out how and where to house the good-hearted and generous uber-observant cousins who can't drive on the Sabbath seemed like a hopeless task.

Family and conflict; they go hand in hand, don't they? Looking back, everyone -- including myself -- behaved reasonably well, but that doesn't mean the event passed without a few great stories. 

Devora Mack, my great-grandmother, was one of the many faces from the past featured on a large poster board I displayed in the front of the synagogue the morning of my son's bar mitzvah. Devora, who passed in 1939, was known to my father as Babalompola (his child version of baba from Yompola). Thanks to my dad's stories, Babalompola has reigned supreme throughout the years when I dream of my ancestors, so imagine my thrill at getting my hands on her photograph! This pic came courtesy of one of Babalompola's granddaughters, Lorraine Raskin. Lorraine told me how scared she was as a child when she did her granddaughterly duty and bent over the ever supine Babalompola, to kiss her. Dad, on the other hand, tells of a kind, gentle, and not-at-all-scary Baba, one unable to get up off the couch as the result of the watermelon-sized tumor in her gut, of the "female variety."

Life and stories are like this: there's never one answer, one point of view, or one way of telling the tale. For instance, those uber-observant cousins who came to celebrate my son's bar mitzvah. It was crazy complicated it was to arrange walking-distance accommodations for them because, well, I'm a glass half-empty kind of girl. Sure, it was discombobulating to figure out how to make their visit possible, but if I was a glass half-full kind of girl, my story would have told how happy I was that my cousins made this trip to celebrate with me. After decades of estrangement we've reconciled, and this was a show of their love and support. So what's my point? I guess my point is this: when you peel back a story, there are always more layers.

Russo's multi-layered visit at Butler ended with a Q&A especially for Butler's English students. Here Russo shared more thoughts on writing. He explained that in the beginning of his writing career he envisioned his readers as average, working people -- just like the characters in his books. It wasn't until much later that he realized the average, working person doesn't want to be reminded of the sadness and limits in his world; he or she reads -- if he or she even has time to read -- to escape. Russo said he now knows that he is writing for an educated and urban reader, one that may have a small town in his/her background.

Russo spoke about writing about women. He said that because women are in the forefront of his life, he finds himself writing about women more and more. This was scary at first, though, because he was afraid of being told he doesn't understand women.

In speaking about his nonfiction work Russo said he initially shaped his pieces as fiction even though they were factual. The thought of calling the work nonfiction was unnerving. In discussing the tangled boundaries between fiction and fact, Russo said that the question isn't Did you invent this? but How is this shaped? He mentioned Jenny Boyle, a memoirist he admires, a transsexual who transitioned from man to woman. In speaking about Jenny, Russo mentioned this quote: Just because it didn't happen doesn't mean it's not true. Now that's a line to remember! Russo said his recent writing has made him realize that the distinctions between fact and fiction are blurred.

Russo said that a writer can't create fictional characters without first learning empathy, and that fiction in general is a complicated business, and many attempting it fail. Every artistic decision the author makes takes other options off the table, and further limits every other choice the author makes down the line. He noted that in the journey to becoming an accomplished writer, the last things to come are voice, and a sense of the author's identity and style.

Russo ended his Q&A by discussing the genesis of his novels, saying that each new novel is born out of the dissatisfaction of the novel that came before. Russo's visit was richer than I could ever imagine, as was my son's bar mitzvah. My uber-observant cousins came, as did my brother, who I've only seen a few times in the past decade. After so many years of living in the land of family-hunger, everyone who has ever staked a claim to my heart found a way to come to Indy and join in my family's celebration. We shared Shabbos dinner the night before the ceremony, listened while my son read from the Torah during his bar mitzvah, and danced to raucous music way later that night, staying up way past our bedtimes. We laughed and reminisced. We bickered and disagreed. We are family -- the best device ever for introducing drama and conflict into a story. The weekend passed like a dream. Even though it's true that, as Russo said, something doesn't have to actually happen for it to be true, I think a version of the flip side also holds: When what you want most in life finally comes true, it may take awhile for it to feel true.