#like how everything had to fall in line for Mel to be born and yet!!

[blood-starved-beast]

Thinking about what Melinoe's birth must've meant for Zagreus and how upsetting for it to have been for Chronos to show up and muck it all up. All throughout Hades 1, Zagreus had subjected himself to both verbal and physical abuse so that he can bring back his birth mother. Having to own up to his own mistakes and put the affairs of others in order and resolving family drama and conflict. Putting in a lot of work so that in the end, that he and his family are in a better place than before, with that intent from the start or not that was the result. So that in the end, his parents decide that they're willing to try again with another kid, in an environment that is much better than what he had, no doubt due to Zagreus's own efforts. Mel may not be his kid, but that sense of accomplishment must be there you know? For her birth.

Only for all of that to be ripped away the moment Chronos of all people, the one factor no one (other than like, Hera lmao. And the Fates too I guess) could have foresaw. Then when he undoubtedly wakes up he's gonna find that his kid sister grew up a child soldier with her own problems and her own relationships and he and the rest of the family have no part of. Man, for the God of Relationship counseling Blood himself that's gonna be brutal to swallow. Like bad medicine or something. I no doubt believe he's gonna try to play it off ok to not give the impression it's Mel's fault or something but if I were in his place I'd be very very mad at Chronos. Like the House decorations are secondary all that emotional labor lost for that. I hope that's touched upon in H2.

[naturaldisasterfanfiction]

26. Part 3

Looking around my daughter’ room, I just need to know I have everything ready for her. Like I am just being random, but I just woke up because I needed to pee but then it came to mind, have I got everything I needed. I know I did, I got everything, but I need to make sure I got plenty of diapers, but I am just wondering. I am more than happy with this room, she is getting everything I never got, and she is a queen, will be treated like one. Chris has yet to do the crib in our room, you never know we may keep her in our room for a while, but this room is perfection, it looks like a queen is giving birth to a future princess, but she is. She is super lucky; her room is direct opposite of our room. Because the way the stairs come up, it breaks the rooms up in a way, but her room is opposite ours which I like but I know this whole house would need babyproofing badly, everything here is not childproof at all, it’s scary. But I should go back to bed, but I will just go down, I did sleep better then I usually do so that is ok and that is thanks to Chris for snuggling me, putting the cream on me and also giving up his side of the bed. I am lucky to have him with me, I sighed out turning back on myself. I feel myself waddling, it’s actually not cute but I am waddling now. I did think I would have an easier pregnancy, like the model type but in real life I am a mess. I have not got ready for much, just Chris coming back, I don’t feel sexy like Chris says but Chris has no filter, he would say it to me in a joke, but he hasn’t so maybe it is just me feeling it.

The blinds rose up automatically as I got down the steps, one of many fancy things this place has which I like. It senses its morning and the sun is rising so the first person that comes down triggers to put the blinds up, let me open the door for the dog. He is probably waiting on someone to open the door so he can come up. It’s a little cold downstairs, looking out of the window, oh it’s snowed a little so no wonder. Opening the door for the downstairs “Zeus, come up boy” I said, he will come up when he pleases, I been contemplating on if I should get my chef back in my life, I think I may do it until I am back to normal functioning life but maybe I can just do it myself, why can’t I just be a normal pregnant woman. Hearing the scurrying behind me, either Chris cuts his hair, or he gets some professional. The dog’ hair is long as fuck “morning” Zeus always sniffs my bump, I don’t know why “yes, it’s a baby in there. Shall we cook breakfast, you don’t want to go out today. It’s cold out there” Zeus walked with me side by side to the kitchen, I am getting used to this big thing now, he’s not all that bad, he is better then Chris anyways because he keeps me company for longer then he does when sleeping, Chris moves off after a while.

Bopping my head along to the radio playing in the background as I made breakfast for all “hey Google, can you wake up the house” I said aloud, we going to wake up the house without walking up no stairs. I can’t wait for this home to be filled, after the baby born then I can start having my people back, holiday will be over. I can get family here to see me, it’s just going to be good vibes “waking everyone up now” I like the Google shit I have in this home, looking down on the floor, Zeus is laying there and doesn’t move unless I leave the room. It’s hard to get him to go downstairs, he doesn’t move at all because he wants to come with me but it’s very protective of him, I like that “oh, not heard this in a while” as No Guidance started to play on the radio, going to my phone. Mel has been texting me, she misses me for once. We are usually in each other’s pockets but since being married and pregnant this is the main priority in my life, but things will be back to normal, she will be back soon. Unlocking my phone, tapping on Instagram. Tapping on the plus sign and adding to my story, aiming my camera at Zeus and panning to the cooker and stopped it, tapping in a caption ‘who needs a man when you got this big ball of fluff’ pressing send, let them have a meltdown over that, which barely shows much.

“Robbie, I don’t like this loud noise that be waking up. It’s not nice” my mom is the first to come down “but you’re here, I made breakfast for us. I hope the boys come down next” my mom is not impressed, she is not impressed because the way she has come down with her wig lopsided and a robe on “come here mommy” walking around the counter “you look very happy today Robyn” fixing her wig “I am” pressing a kiss to her forehead “I am in less pain, and I just saw a different side to Chris. Like you know he is an idiot, every time he is stupid about things” moving back from my mom “I had a warm bath like the nurse said, he helped me out of the bathtub, so I don’t fall. He watched me that I didn’t fall in the bathroom on the marble flooring then, I didn’t want him to do it. Like I was nervous about it and I wanted the pads, but I did it, he put cream there where it’s hurting. I was scared because what if he did it wrong, but he didn’t, he was so gentle with me mom, and it was then I knew how much he loves me, like that love is deep to be doing that. For anyone” my mom’ eyes widened “he did that?” my mom said “he did, like he did it. I wouldn’t even get my own mother to do that, just the nurse because they are trained in that and generally, partners don’t do it?” my mom looks impressed “and you feel better too?” nodding my head “he has impressed me, not even your own father would do that” I chuckled.

They eventually came down; I mean I did need to call Dennis twice, but he finally came down “the pancake is cold” raising an eyebrow looking at Chris “you came down late? The hell you want me to do. Warm it up for you when I am eating myself?” Chris nodded his head “your thighs are warm enough” rolling my eyes at him “I heard what you did for my daughter, it just brings me so much peace that you will be there for her. No matter what people say about you, they don’t know you and I am so happy with you. That is something many men will not do for their partners, even be here for them like this. You are someone many don’t know, the real you” I died a little inside, my mom is mentioning it at the table “did Chris make your butt better?” Dennis snorted laughing “be quiet you!” Chris looked shocked, he was not expecting that “uh thank you Monica, it wasn’t a choir for me. I did it because it’s what is right for her, with Robyn I would do anything for her. I know she felt a little weird about it but like I seen it. she is the only one I would do that for. Like I joke about it, but I would. I know like how it will be for her; she will take lots of rest. She seems happy so I am happy” the buzzer went off for the gate “I will check” Chris said, nodding my head “things are quiet, don’t you think?” I said to Dennis “to you! You’re in your bubble” Dennis said laughing “things are still a mess, oh girl. Nothing is quiet, Roc Nation seemed to have tried to handle it weird enough. I think they are scared of you; they are scared on what is next” they should be “it’s a parcel, I will get it” Chris got up “cool, probably for the baby. I be ordering a lot of shit” which I have been, some things I don’t think I needed to get.

Furrowing my eyebrows “where that nigga go?” it’s so quiet and he never came back “so I was thinking, we could sell this to Netflix. Remember how Amazon outbid Netflix but I think with this we should aim for Netflix” pulling a face “but Amazon, I like them. As a team, they are very much involved. See what happens, I am warming to the idea anyways. I am just literally counting down the days until this lady is here, I feel it so much Dennis, the tightening. The heaviness. I feel my pussy is coming out” Dennis laughed out “he is so sweet Robyn; I have to say it again. I am in shock, to hear he did that for you. I am happy to go back once this is over” my mom is so impressed with Chris, Dennis looked behind me and then I felt a hand on my shoulder “there is so much mail Robyn, like there is boxes of things. Also the team are fixing the tree up for us” looking up at Chris “I didn’t do that, really? Where is the stuff?” I mean I have been ordering but not that much “in the hallway, just filled. I see some Fenty boxes too, and also Adidas. Maybe they are gifts” my eyes lit up “I love gifts, I want to see” getting up from the chair “come and help me” looking up at Chris “and I need you to shave this stubble” I grinned at him.

I gasped “oh my god, what is all this!?” I half shouted, “can you like move it all to the second living room, because the people are doing the tree aren’t they?” Chris sighed out “man, do I have too. Is Dennis going to help me?” turning around “I will help you there brother Chris” I laughed at this bromance, they have bonded “I think this is gifts from Bey, she has some new line from Adidas and I remember seeing the box so that is it. I won’t be able to fit in that yet. That is Dior” I know these boxes “also that is Fendi, why did these all come at the same time. Roc Nation too? Chile, what they sent us” I am scared about that box now, it’s probably some dead rat in here, they hate my ass “how does that dickhead know we live here?” Chris said, seeing the box “OVO, ok then. Erm, possibly Mel may have, I am not sure but Jay Brown knows where I live, I did tell him” Chris is not impressed, Chris is picking at the tape to open it “he has a fucking nerve to do that, he wrote a whole diss track about you” Chris managed to rip it open, I wonder what he gave and the nerve of him anyways. Taking the packet from him “a baby grow” I held up and then looking into the box “he’s given baby clothes” looking up at Chris “he disrespected you so badly, that shit has pissed me. He fucking made a diss song about you” Chris is so angry “there is a note” taking it out before Chris did, opening up the note “It’s handwritten too” oh this is Drake’ handwriting “wait there!” I pointed at Chris, he is ready to come and get it at me “Rihanna, I spent days thinking about you. I spent moments where I cried, I was hurt, and I made a bad decision to make such a song. I am sorry and I hope you are happy even if it’s not with me, I want the best for you because in my eyes you are queen. Accept the gifts from October’s Very Own, and I can’t help but think Adonis will have a play friend now and we can meet and just have kid day. Love Aubrey” looking up at Chris “not even a mention of Chris?” Dennis said, oh Chris is mad “no” I pointed at him.

This is wrong but we don’t need trouble “Chris listen to me” he went to get his phone “Chris, do not and I mean do not post anything! We don’t with that, we have moved on. We are not going to write any Instagram post, because I will” Chris furrowed his eyebrows confused at what I meant “I will post some shady shit, not you. What he did was wrong. I am shocked he had the nerve to send that, he knows you are here with me. He also knows you are the father, just don’t’ get involved. I will do it. Please move the things in there” Chris will do it and then it will be something bigger, I will do it because I know what he did and I know he fucking tried to make a song about me “just calm down, help him Dennis” taking the note with me walking off, I don’t think it’s the best idea to ever get Chris to do that, not when I am trying to help rebuild his profile so people can like him again, I don’t want them to say look at the man she is with “what is it?” my mom asked “Drake” holding the note up “he didn’t mention Chris in this, he made a diss song about me. He shamed me in that studio, he didn’t know that Chris was the father, but he does now” placing the note on the kitchen counter, taking a picture of the note “so what are you going to do baby?” my mom asked “I am going to write a nice little thank you” typing out the caption ‘Octobers very own bitch sending me gifts when you wrote a diss track about me, this fatherless child doesn’t need owl for clothes! She is ok and she kindly declined the dinner date, she doesn’t like blondes boo. Imagine being such a pussy all your life that you then bully a pregnant woman….. Trash!’ pressing send, I want to say more but then I am causing havoc.

Dennis took the picture of me with all the gifts that are for my daughter, I am super happy about this, I didn’t expect it “Roc Nation doing baby grows and shit, or was that just to be cute” Chris is never happy “it works, Chris standing there complaining looks good” Dennis crouched down to me, I am like drowning in kids clothes “mhmm, it does actually. Chris, you better post a thank you, I mean it. Send it to my phone, Chris help me up” this what happens I try to be cute on the floor, now I can’t get up. Chris yanked the hood off my head “hiding in the jacket” I smiled at him “let me pick you up, don’t get up. You might hurt yourself” before I could disagree he picked me up “don’t drop me, am I heavy” the face he pulled, I am heavy for him “no” he placed me on the couch “thank you baby, I am super shocked at the gift that have been sent” Dennis held my phone to me “write the caption, and Chris, I sent the picture to you also” I hide my face with he hood on the jacket and hid my bump, I look a mess but they still know it’s me ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you! For all of the gifts sent by everyone. So many to name, this could be a long post but thank you to my Barbados family for the gifts, all of the toys, auntie the outfits are the cutest. To @kimkardashian and Kanye, her first Yeezy’s and all of the Yeezy clothing, thank you. @Beyonce @Adidas the baby grows are the cutest, Also to @Fendi @Dior @Burberry @blackpyramidofficial and my record label @rocnation my family. And such surprise from @Fenty, these unique baby clothing that my team have made, you know I would love that. I am so blessed with love and support. We are thankful!’ that is long “you done?” I asked Chris “I put thank you everyone now my back hurts from moving the boxes” shaking my head at him, he is stupid.

Poking my lips out, I feel like a baby with diaper rash because I mean it was bad enough Chris had to do it last time but it’s another night and we have to do it again “are you ready? I am going back down after, Dennis and I are playing pool” nodding my head “sure, I love the tree by the way. It makes me all gooey inside because it’s Christmas and I love Christmas. I didn’t feel it but now I do, and I get to spend it with my husband” I am super happy about the tree “it’s ok, well I wanted you to feel it. Oh and I saw the picture you posted; I was shocked. Why?” he posted a very personal picture of me, like I wasn’t even looking for him but we was sat in the living room, I was talking to my mom but I look so well, like I feel I don’t but I am just concentrating on the conversation, I don’t hate the picture but I am glad he didn’t get me looking fat “you like it? I was just playing around with my phone and I realised it was a dope picture. I was like that fucking dickhead deserves a beating for that shit. He disrespected me” he got me choked up “it was very loving from you Chris, I loved the picture and the caption, thank you” I am so loved by him “it was nothing, come on. Get on the bed” smiling at Chris “no wait, let me read the caption again” unlocking my phone, it’s the cutest “go on then, than I can put it on” such a softie he is, letting me waste his time “You said she is for everybody but she is for me, you know Rihanna but I know Robyn. That really warmed my heart thank you” Chris kissed my forehead, I love him so much.

[kalxdesai]

Confessions of a Broken Mind||Therapy Session

TW: Addiction, Substance Abuse, Death, Suicide, Lack of self-worth, Family Disownment, Medication, Language, Some smart-ass comments (it’s basically everything and the kitchen sink) 

Ah therapy the one place where Danny felt like he could just BE and not be judged. His therapist, one Matthew Davis, had been in Danny's life for over a decade, the two had such a familiar relationship the older man could take simple cues from Danny and know what to discuss, what to drop and what to push. Today, like most days, he was dressed casual: a pair of relaxed black jeans, an Atlanta Falcon t-shirt, sneakers, glasses and as always a pen and notebook in his lap. While this clothing choice may have seemed unorthodox for other patient and doctor relationships, Danny and Matt had established by then clothing was not the high point of their meetings. Usually. "Did you wear that shirt just to piss me off?" Danny asked after a few minutes worth of silence.

A smile played on the other man's lips before a quiet chuckle left his mouth. "No, if I wanted to do that I would have worn an Eagles shirt. Or the Phillies. Or the Heat. Or the Penguins." He flashed Danny a charismatic smile, leaning back in the chair that faced the couch where Danny sat. Matthew had a Mel Gibson look-deep set piercing blue eyes, a mound of brown hair that tended to have a mind all it's own, a slim but firm upper-body, a clean shaven face that was pretty close to perfectly symmetrical. Danny rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his own smile as he looked at the man. There's roughly a minute or two of relaxation before the notebook is opened. "So, how are you?"

While this sentence alone may seem broad, Danny has the shorthand down. "Uh...life hasn't changed much since the last time I saw you. Sleep is still for shit, but it's been that way for so long I can't remember what REM sleep is. Everyone is doing as well as can be..." He let out a breath of air and shrugged. "Sorry, Martin Riggs I am not" he said and gave a tentative chuckle before he looked down at the carpet. "Was there something specific you wanted to ask me? Or something specific you wanted to know?" It had been one thing back when Danny had first fallen down the rabbit hole of addiction but now with the help and support system he was determined to stay clean. He had too much to lose.

Matt's eyes were scanning the notebook, the pen twirling in his fingers. This suited Danny just fine, it was one of many reasons he preferred being the last patient of the day and Matt was more than willing to accommodate, he was either the one patient for the day or the last one. Anything else put him on edge. But now they could be relaxed with most of the day behind them they could take their time and be as at ease as they could. "It's been nearly two months since you lost your father. How has that been?" Danny raised an eyebrow but waited a minute as he reached in his pockets, feeling the chips in his fingers, his own touchstone to the real world as the one he was in could often distort and contort the realities of life.

"My parents...Being raised by them was kind of like being raised by terminators, their actions were dictated by a gain and loss margin, everything they did was calculated and for a specific reason. If they had a checklist it went like this: meet, check, courtship, check, marriage, check, offspring, check, take over the world" he finished and laughed again, brushing some hair out of his eyes. "I can't recall the word love being used, not by my parents, or my grandparents, or anyone else really, it was always fall in line, follow the rules, etc etc." He held the chips still firmly in his pocket, looking down for a minute before he finally looked up again. "She didn't even look at me, not at the funeral, not at the will reading, not a glance, not a single acknowledgment, I mean, I'm not surprised given our history but it's unfathomable to me that someone could be so cold. And for that matter if you aren't raised to love, knowing what it is, how do you learn to love? How do you love, period?"

A silence passed for a few minutes before Matt looked up from the notebook. "You had love-your brothers, all your friendships. May have not seemed like a lot at the time but it was love in it's own form. In a perfect world, all kids would be born to parents that loved them unconditionally and they would come at a time when life was just right for their appearance. But as we know life is far from perfect so stories like you and worse are fairly, sadly common. As for how someone can love if they are not raised with it, well, you may have not been raised by caring parents but it didn't stop you from growing up into a person that cares, the circumstances that you are born into do not have to dictate your own life." He stopped again, his head tilted as he thought for a minute. "You managed at least four relationships, unless the internet lied to me so despite what you weren't raised with you manage to love, no thanks to your parents and that is all you. Tell me about it."

Danny blew out a sigh and nodded. "Well, aside from some juvenile crushes when I was a kid, nothing really serious back home. I came to Cali and was too busy to considered dating, not that that was a real possibility or anything. In this business if you don't look like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, good luck, you have to take whatever is given and fight tooth and nail for a role you really want. Girls too man, I wasn't like those other idiots running around with hundred dollar bills in my back pockets, throwing them at anything and everything, no, like the song says mo money, mo problems. Anyways, Odessa was my first serious everything, well, first everything really...Pathetic...Here I am all these years later still gone. It was your typical teen love at first and well...Then it wasn't. Parenthood is hard enough for adults but for teens that are far from ready? A whole other beast. It didn't matter what our relationship status was though we had the same goal and that was raising our son the best way we could. Uh...my first relationship after that came when Wyatt was about two or so, I was completely upfront about my past, never hid it but in the end she was uncomfortable that I was always going to be in my son and his mom's life so that ended after about five, six months." Danny stopped for a minute to catch his breath. "One-night stands were few and far between with me, between work, Wyatt, staying clean, I was busy, well, that and I didn't like the way I felt in the morning. My next relationship was about a year and a half, um, she didn't care that I had a kid and an ex, not the way my first ex did, um, it was a nice relationship overall but at some point we realized we were better as friends. Weird when that happens after sex but hey" he said and shrugged. "And then came the most serious one, it lasted for three and a half years. It wasn't perfect, of course, nothing is, but it was really special. I mean clearly it was, it's not like I propose to just anyone. But she ended it and that was that. And then Odessa and I fell back into our old ways, had Heather, Brock and well...stay tuned is all I can say for now."

Another lapse of silence, Matt wrote in the notebook, Danny stood and stretched, the drive alone had been long enough and then to resort back to sitting was a bit of a pain. Sitting back down, Danny faced the other man. The dance was nearly over, it was a similar one each time he came, it may have varied on and off depending on circumstances but mostly it followed a simple pattern. Once more Matt was carefully turning the words in his head before he spoke. "Hollywood is a hard business, for some, impossible, and yet, you keep on logging your hours and taking whatever jobs you can. Why?" Now it was Danny's turn to sit and think, turning his words before he answered.

"Like I already said and this shouldn't surprise you or anyone for that matter: Whorewood, excuse me, Hollywood, is for the beautiful ones, or the wealthy ones that can buy their way into their business or worse the ones who are only famous because mommy and daddy are famous." He scoffed and shook his head. "My whole life I have felt like an outsider, like I didn't belong anywhere. But when I discovered acting, it was like a door to a new world had opened and I wasn't the shy, awkward, and just plain stupid Danny. I was anybody I wanted to be other than me. And that was incredible. I love it, I live for acting so while it might not be the easiest career opportunity, because if it was, let's face it, everyone would do it. I'm an underdog and that's okay, it just means I have to try harder, work harder. It's also why I root for the underdog teams" he said and shrugged once.

Matt nodded once before speaking. "You are far from a loser, Danny. Addiction is a monster that has ravaged countless people, it's destroyed lives, families, claimed lives, the numbers are staggering. And yet for every person lost, there is always someone who survives and thrives. You are one of those people, Danny, everyday that you are clean and sober and staying on the right path proves just how wrong you are when you say such disparaging remarks about yourself. Everyone in the world is a little broken, not everyone shows it and not everyone admits it but no one is truly happy or sane or normal. And that's fine, it's called being human and the one thing that we as humans can do is be the best version of ourself we can be. If you can look at yourself in the mirror at night and be content with the face staring back, then keep up whatever you are doing, and if you don't like the face staring back, sit and think and change what you don't like. Your life, whether you know it or not, means a lot to people, it may not be a lot of people, but there are people in your life that love you, care about you and want the best for you. Keep fighting and staying alive for them."

Danny whistled. "Woah Nelly I'm not sure what I said that made you think you had to like talk me off a ledge but I'm fine, at least in that respect. I take my meds, see you, my sponsor is on speed dial, if I get myself into a bad situation, I get myself out of it. Believe me I know that people are dependent on me, it's one of many reasons I keep going. One day at a time, that's all I can do, just take life one day at a time. I'm not trying for much here, I just...Want to be happy, that's all. But I guess if happiness came easily you would be out of a job" he added which made them both chuckle. Standing, Danny once more stretched and dug his keys out. "Same time, same place?"

Matt nodded and finished writing out the script, handing it to Danny as he too stood. "I upped your dosage-you may be okay with not sleeping but I have an issue so let's try and fix that." Danny shrugged and put the paper in his pocket, facing him again. "And yes I an a Falcon's fan-and a Brave's fan, and a Hawk's fan but my personal favorite team, if I had to pick one-Atlantix oh yes my personal favorite team." His face is impossible to read before he breaks into a grin and laugh, Danny flipping him the bird but chuckling with him as he heads out into the afternoon.

[moonlitgleek]

Isn't Rhaegar absolved from his actions due to the fact that the prophecy is true and his son with Lyanna is the savior of the human race? Isn't Jaehaerys II absolved from his since the prophecy was true and TPTWP, in fact, is born of Aerys and Rhaella's line? I know we can mull over how Rhaegar could have done things differently to get his third child, but it seems that it was destiny. With Jaehaerys II, there wasn't even another option but to force the marriage to fulfill the prophecy.

Neither is absolved, no. Because the ends do not justify the means, and destiny is only what we make of it.

So many characters in this series act on the rationale that the greater good merits any number of sacrifices made in its name, which is also often used to justify and minimize blatant atrocities. Varys plays with people’s lives and maims children on the thought that King Aegon will right all the wrongs in Westeros. Mel argues that burning children alive is a necessary price for the survival of everyone else. Rhaegar treats the thousands of lives lost over the course of the rebellion as an acceptable collateral damage for a prophetic enterprise. Stannis is on the path to fall to that same viewpoint of a necessary sacrifice (”we do not choose our destinies” You do, Stannis. You do. You’re the only one who can choose). Robert’s council tries to frame Dany’s assassination attempt in the context of how ending two lives would spare thousands. Tywin tries to spin the Red Wedding as something that spares countless lives that would have fallen if the war continued. Mirri Maz Duur kills an unborn child on a crime he has not committed. Bloodraven may have honed Euron’s magical abilities on the notion that it would be worth it in the end, and he has a history of working on the basis of “the ends justify the means” during his tenure as Hand (e.g, killing Aenys Blackfyre in a breach of safe conduct, letting the Greyjoys pillage and reave as they please because he was too focused on the Blackfyres, etc). Though there is an obvious variance in the overall morality and sincerity between these character, all of them give the same rationale of a necessary evil done in the name of a greater good. If you have to sacrifice a few to save everyone else, if you have to sacrifice one person to save everyone else, it’s a no brainer, right? What is one life opposite everyone else?

The answer is “everything”

Human lives are worth so much more than being means to an end. Putting people on the chopping block for “the greater good” dehumanizes them by reducing them to sacrificial lambs in the name of a higher purpose. But ASOIAF has always advocated for the recognition of the value of life and respect for the sanctity of human life. Though the methods may vary, the text remains loud and clear in its refusal of dehumanizing ideologies, whether the source is human characters like Tywin Lannister, Robert Baratheon or Randyll Tarly, or supernatural creatures like the Others who are the literal embodiment of dehumanization. ASOIAF is about the fight for our common humanity, for recognizing that humanity regardless of things like class or race or which side of a magical wall you were born on. But you can not fight for our common humanity by devaluing people’s lives. You can not use the argument of “doing it for humanity” to disregard the humanity of those being sacrificed. That cold ruthless pragmatism is not the point of this series; the fight against it is. That’s been the point from the first prologue when Wymar Royce stared the abyss in the face and charged at it.

That’s why the support of the narrative lies with characters like Ned Stark and Davos Seaworth who refuse to give into the idea that the cruelty and dehumanization is necessary for the greater good. Through them, GRRM delivers the point that every single human life matters. That saving one person can mean everything. That it’s not naive to think that one life is worth everything. Protecting the one is not inherently inferior to protecting the many. The greater good can just as well lie in saving one person. Which it did in the case of Ned and Jon.

I think it’s pretty significant that Ned had no idea about the prophecy or what role Jon would play when he protected Jon, while Rhaegar who did know made everything exponentially harder. There’s a rather underappreciated irony in the fact that Rhaegar (and Jaehaerys) had little to do with fulfilling the prophecy; in fact, they jeopardized it. They may have orchestrated the circumstances under which Jon and Dany could be conceived, but a closer look shows that Jon and Dany were born mostly in spite of them and their actions. I mean, Jaehaerys married Rhaella off so young it impacted her health and her ability to bear living children. She almost died at Summerhall along with Rhaegar in an ill-fated attempt to hatch dragons, and while that’s mostly on Aegon V, I expect that Jaehaerys was fully on board as well considering the measures he took for the prophecy. Rhaegar impregnated a teenager and left her to give birth in less than ideal circumstances, and spurred a civil war thing that weakened the realm and put his entire family at risk and got a few of them killed. I can only describe their efforts as counterproductive.

But I find it extremely fitting that they ended up doing little and less for the War for the Dawn, because Rhaegar and Jaehaerys embraced the metaphorical cold in their quest to fight it. Jaehaerys reduced Rhaella to an incubator for a savior as if her humanity and her worth are narrowed down to her womb. Rhaegar was willing to see thousands of people die for his vision of what the prophecy required. They allowed themselves to decide people’s worth. Rhaella, Elia and Lyanna mattered only as much as the children they could bear, and those children mattered only as much as their prophetic roles. Rickard, Brandon, their entourage and the rest of the casualties of the rebellion mattered not at all. But that’s not how it works. Rhaegar and Jaehaerys don’t get to decide people’s worth. They don’t get to decide which lives matter more. They do not get to devalue other people’s lives because these lives are not theirs to decide what to do with. Individual lives matter, not because of a prophetic destiny but because of their humanity.

That’s why I don’t see the prophecy as Rhaegar and Jaehaerys’ absolution, but rather their hubris.I get the sense that they acted on the assumption that the prophecy would make everything alright in the end, especially Rhaegar, and so ended up missing the entire point. They got so entangled in their interpretations of the prophecy that they did everything wrong. Got a lot wrong too since Rhaegar wasn’t even trying to get the Prince that Was Promised from Lyanna; I doubt her was even aiming for a boy. Hatching dragons in Summerhall ended on a tragedy. And of course, no one ever accounted for Tyrion. But the prophecy, true as it may be, doesn’t make things go a certain way; people do.

Which brings me to what you say about how it was destiny that Rhaegar acted like he did instead of other alternatives available to him. This argument fundamentally misunderstands a rather significant theme of this series - that it’s our choices that define who we are. Through the political and magical plots alike, individual choice is held up as immensely important to the point where many characters’ existential victory lies in that choice, the clearest case of all is how the three heads of the dragon have to contend with some version of this dilemma.

It all goes back and back, Tyrion thought, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance on in our steads.

Does Dany have “the taint” of madness? Is Jon’s decision to fight his or is it an inevitability orchestrated by prophecy and Rhaegar Targrayen? Can Tyrion break free of the toxic legacy left behind by Tywin? Do they get to define who they are on their own terms or are they beholden to their lineage and their ancestor’s legacy? That’s for them to decide.

“Yet soon or late in every man’s life comes a day when it is not easy, a day when he must choose.”

Maester Aemon lays down the bare bones of this recurring theme in Jon’s arc. Across multiple books, Jon faces the choice of keeping to his watch or leaving several times which only frames the significance of how his destiny as one of the saviors of Westeros lies in him making that choice. Jon’s “chosen one” status has always been linked to him taking control of his future and deciding for himself. It’s him choosing to stay in Castle Black despite his appalled discovery of the reality of the Watch and to take his vows despite his frustration with the appointment to the stewards. It’s him going with Qhorin Halfhand of his own accord. It’s him picking the Wall over deserting for Robb or Ygritte. It’s him making a conscious decision to be the leader of the fight at the Wall over Stannis’ offer of Winterfell. It’s him taking responsibility of the free folk and recognizing that the commonality of being human is what matters. Jon is on the forefront of the text’s central conflict by virtue of his choices.

Dany is also fighting for our common humanity over in Slaver’s Bay. Her arc is basically a hard fought battle for autonomy, whether hers or the slaves’. Dany fights for freedom, for people’s right to choose, for them to be recognized as people not things to be gifted and sold. “Have you asked them?”, she challenges when Xaro Xohan Daxos argues that slaves have no use for freedom because they were made to be used. But Xaro Xohan Daxos doesn’t get to decide others’ fates, neither do the slavers of Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen. They don’t get to deprive them of their right to choose. People’s lives do not belong to them to decide what to do with. They don’t get to strip them of their free will or dehumanize them by treating them as things to be used to their satisfaction.

Because that’s what the Others are doing. They are supernatural slavers coming with their ice cold chains and stealing every single choice from humanity, right to the choice of dying. You can’t even die. They will resurrect you and force you to be their undead puppet.Mankind can’t even choose death because they will rip death from your grasp and drag your corpse up to join their army. The real threat in this text is a supernatural embodiment of dehumanization and taking away people’s choice. The War for the Dawn is nothing if not a fight for freedom, for the right to choose and to be human.

So the idea of “destiny” controlling how things go? It goes against the very heart of the series. Destiny is nothing but a series of choices deliberately made by individuals to shape the future. There is no fixed inescapable narrative that they can’t deviate from, or some all powerful cosmic power dictating how they should act. Even in the presence of magical visions, it remains the characters’ choices that decide their future. They get the prophecies but what they do with it is on them because the prophecies do not decide who they are. For all the magical elements and prophetic visions in this narrative, it remains that one of the things that the story emphasizes again and again is that our choices matter. They have meaning and they have consequences. Nothing is inevitable unless we make it so.

And that needs to hold true for the story to have any kind of meaning. Acting as if there is some kind of predetermined destiny that compels people to act in a particular way means that literally no one is responsible for their actions. People were just always meant to do what they did. Everyone is bound with chains of magic, lineage and a mystical force that has free reign to manipulate them. Free will is only an illusion fed to pawns that have no control. And if that’s the case, you can no longer hold anyone accountable. How can you call a person good or evil if no one has the capacity to choose their path? How can you hold anyone responsible either for their heroics or their atrocities? And if there is no good and evil, if honor and corruption get tarred by the same brush, if you have no basis to distinguish between the true knights and the false ones, then the only choice is truly “you win or you die”. Which is bullshit. These are false binaries and are far, far from being the measure of triumph.

ASOIAF has never been a story about the futility of ideals but rather about the fight to hold onto those ideals. About how“the battle between good and evil is fought largely within the individual human heart, by the decisions that we make”.  It all comes down to a choice and to the accountability for that choice. This series is rife with people trying to sidestep responsibility for their decisions, from Tywin maintaining plausible deniability to Robert willfully closing his eyes to corruption and transferring blame onto the next convenient target to Roose cultivating “a peaceful land, a quiet people” to Littlefinger keeping “clean hands” to Barristan Selmy and Arys Oakheart hiding behind their vows to justify their inaction in the face of tyranny. But they don’t get to outrun their responsibility for their own decisions. No one gets off scot-free, not because of vows of obedience, not because of corrupt systems, and not because of some notion of an inescapable destiny. The narrative won’t let them.

You must make that choice yourself, and live with it all the rest of your days.

[mercurysnitch]

Mother Mercury, Part 2: If I Could Only Reach You…

Summary: Questions about Mel’s true identity swirl amongst the main cast, but her mother’s visit to the set may bring some of the answers they’re seeking.

Author’s note: It’s back, bitches! 😂 I know this part’s taken a while, but I’ve had my massive final semester group project due, and exams, and a life, so I’ve had a bit going on lately. I’m on holidays right now, but I’m starting a work placement next week so I’m not sure when Part 3 will be done. I am home alone at the moment, so hopefully it’ll be soon, but I’m not making any promises. At this point it’s looking like it’ll be 4 parts plus an epilogue, but that might change depending on how the story develops. During this part you may notice I’m not big on slow-burn romance (or tension, frankly), but that doesn’t mean there’s not lots more plot still to come.

As I said in the previous part, this story is built around the idea that Freddie Mercury accidentally fathered a lovechild during a drug-fuelled party in the late 70s. If you’re not comfortable with that notion that’s absolutely fine, but I suggest you stop reading now. I know I said the whole lovechild situation would be explained in this part, but I’ve rearranged the plot slightly since then, so that section will be in the next part. In any case, Freddie is still very much gay in this story, it’s just that things also happened while he was under the influence which resulted in a lovechild.  Remember this is fiction, and that particular element basically just needs to happen for the rest of the plot to work. 

This was supposed to be written from Mel’s perspective, but it ended up going in a different direction as this part unfolded. I’m still trying to write it mostly from Mel’s point of view, but the pov character will shift when required. Hopefully it’s not too confusing - there are a lot of pov changes in this part, but there should be less from hereon in (I hope 🤣)

PS: Thanks for all the lovely messages about part 1. Feel free to send me an ask or DM any time, and don’t hesitate to ask if you want to be tagged.

Warnings: Writing about real people, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of labour, multiple perspective switches, I’ve probably missed a few typos so please forgive that 

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Rami's head was full of  questions the next morning. Could Freddie really have had a secret lovechild? Could that lovechild really have grown up to be Mel's parent? It seemed almost too good to be true for Freddie's grandchild to end up working on his biopic, Rami thought uneasily. Then again, that would only be possible if he had indeed fathered a lovechild in the first place. That was the key question that needed answering, Rami realised. But how to answer it? Mel might be the best source, but he could hardly go and ask her about her family history out of the blue. And she might not know herself, depending on the circumstances. Hell, Freddie’s child might not even know the truth about their origins. No, asking Mel was definitely not an option. But if not her, then who? Who else might have answers?

Rami supposed Brian and Roger might know something, or quite possibly everything. But he didn’t think it would be appropriate for him to ask them about it. More to the point, they might not want to tell him even if they did know the full story. Perhaps direct questions wasn’t the best approach here, Rami mused. Maybe it would be better to start with Mel and work backwards. But who other than Mel would know about her family? Ben was quite clearly the closest to her, Rami realised. Might as well start with him then.

Ben was suspicious as soon as he saw Rami in makeup that morning. There was a look in his friend's eye that Ben was quite sure meant he was up to something. Exactly what that was became clear when they found themselves alone together between takes. "Uhh, Ben?" Rami began, not wanting to rush in to what could be a delicate subject. Here it comes, Ben thought. Outwardly, he smiled reassuringly. "Yeah?" "You and Mel, you're… close, right?" Rami's question mostly confused Ben. "Um, not… not really" Ben replied hesitantly. "We hang out a bit on set, but it's not really any more than that." Rami seemed surprised at Ben's response. "Really?" he questioned. "Why would I lie about that?" Ben said crossly. "I didn't say that!" Rami backtracked. "I just meant, you and Mel seemed so cosy together yesterday, I thought you must be hanging out without us" he explained. Ben glared at him suspiciously. "You've seen us together all of once, Rami." "I know" Rami replied evenly. "But Lucy agrees with me, and she's seen Mel a lot more than I have." Ben sighed. "Look, I do like her, but- wait, why are you even asking that?"

Rami smiled nervously. "I was wondering if she'd told you anything about her family, but I guess not." Ben raised an eyebrow. "I think she still lives with her mum, but that's about it. Why?" he asked suspiciously. "I did some digging in my research last night. About Freddie" Rami explained. "And?" Ben asked, not sure where his friend was going with this. "I found out something… intriguing." "Yes?" Ben urged, suddenly intrigued himself. "Turns out there used to be rumours that Freddie had a lovechild back in the day" Rami said casually. Ben was shocked. "What?" "Keep your voice down!" Rami hissed.  

"Wait, what does this have to do with Mel?" Ben questioned. "I think that could be how she's related to Freddie" Rami admitted. Ben was confused. "But she wasn't even born until years after he died." Rami shook his head. "I don't mean that she's his child" he clarified. "But the rumours seemed to agree that the alleged Mercury lovechild was born in about the late 70s or very early 80s, and Mel was born in… when was she born, Ben?" Ben looked thoughtful as he racked his brains. "Well, she's 21, so she would have been born in-" Ben went quiet while he did the maths. "-1996" he finally declared. Rami smiled. "So if the lovechild was born by, say, 1981," he explained, "in 1996 that child would have been old enough to have a child themselves." Ben wasn't convinced. "They would have only been a teenager though." "Teenagers do have kids sometimes, Ben" Rami reminded him. "I guess" Ben conceded. Suddenly he realised Rami's overarching point. "So are you saying you think Mel is Freddie Mercury's granddaughter?" he gasped. Rami nodded. "But don't tell anyone. Right now there's no way of being sure he even had a lovechild, let alone a grandchild." Ben smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I won't say anything." He paused, shaking his head. "Christ, that's massive though. If it’s true I mean." "It's huge" Rami agreed. "I only hope it's not too big to be true."

Ben found himself gripped with excitement after hearing Rami's theory about Mel's background. If Rami was right, he could have stumbled on one of the biggest secrets in Queen history, hiding in plain sight on the set of Freddie's movie. Of course he could very well be completely wrong, but even so Ben couldn't shake the feeling Mel's resemblance to Freddie was more than just a weird coincidence. Ben was itching to ask Mel about it, but at the same time he didn't want to put her off by trying to be too close too soon. No, he thought, a bit of patience would be needed here. Perhaps if he took her on a date they could get talking and… no, stop it, Ben thought to himself, she might not even like you in that way. But what if she does? suggested a small voice in his head. Ben had to admit the thought was rather intoxicating, but some more skeptical part of him refused to be convinced it was a real possibility.

Ben found himself horribly distracted by the various conflicting thoughts whirring through his head. So much so that he nearly walked into the very girl he’d been brooding over on his way to lunch. “Oh, shit, sorry Mel, didn’t see you there.” Luckily she wasn’t angry at him. “I was wondering how long you’d take to notice me waving” she laughed. “Clearly there’s something on your mind today.” Yeah, Ben thought,  you. But he didn’t say it. He couldn’t. All he said was, “Yeah,  been busy with lines today.” Mel seemed unconvinced, but said nothing. “Anyway,” Ben hurried on, “you headed for lunch?” “Actually, I came to tell you Brian May’s coming to set this afternoon” Mel commented. Suddenly she broke into a cheeky grin. “But I might grab some lunch too, while I’m here.” Ben smiled, internally relieved he hadn’t completely blown his chance with Mel just yet.  “Might as well eat together then” he said coolly.

Lunch was spent with the rest of the band, as they’d taken to calling themselves. Even Allen and Lucy were there for a change. Joe was bouncy as ever, and all in all they were a merry bunch. But Ben felt a small knot of guilt in his stomach when he realised the others hadn’t yet heard about Rami’s new theory on Mel’s origins. Gwilym would never hold it against either of them, Ben knew, but he thought Joe was unlikely to appreciate being left out. Fortunately, Joe was soon distracted by Mel's recounting of her near-collision with Ben that morning. "Jesus, Ben, are you as blind as Roger too?" Joe quipped, when he'd finished falling about laughing. "I didn't know you were that method-"“Oh, come off it” Ben grumbled, not appreciating the joke.

Fortunately Ben was saved from further teasing by the approach of a very familiar grey-haired figure. Brian smiled as he reached the table. “Hello boys! Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to check in while you weren’t busy” he explained. "It's quite alright" Gwilym reassured him, setting off a chorus of agreeing noises from the rest of the table. Brian looked relieved. "Oh good. I must say, it's a bit odd seeing you all in costume together, it's almost like looking into some kind of time warp" he commented, looking around the table at them all. His face suddenly grew puzzled when he reached Ben. Ben was momentarily confused until he realised Mel was sitting next to him. "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot you haven't been introduced" he gabbled apologetically. "Brian, this is Mel, one of the wardrobe assistants. Mel, th-" "I know who he is" Mel cut him off, smiling shyly. "Lovely to meet you" Brian responded, shaking Mel's hand across the table. She smiled up at him as she returned the handshake, and Brian had to suppress a gasp when he finally got a good look at her face.

Somehow Brian continued with the conversation he'd been planning while internally, he was absolutely reeling. The girl in front of him bore an absolutely stunning resemblance to Freddie. Far too much for it to be a coincidence, Brian thought. But what was the connection? How could she be related to him? Unless she was… But she had to be too young, surely. Freddie's child would be nearly forty by now, but Mel looked like she was barely more than a teenager, fresh out of uni, perhaps. 

Brian was shaken from his reverie by a sudden commotion at the table. Rami and Lucy were needed on set, apparently, and Mel wanted to get back to work before she ran over her allotted break time. The others had finished their lunch and decided they might as well decamp to Gwilym's trailer until they were needed for filming again later. A sudden idea popped into Brian's head as Mel left the table. "I, erm, need to go and talk to someone for a minute" he said hurriedly, standing up from the table. "I'll come and find you in the trailer later, if that's alright?" Gwilym smiled. "Of course, Brian." Brian flashed him a relieved smile before heading off after Mel.

"Mel, wait!" Brian called, hoping desperately he wouldn't attract too much attention. Mel turned around looking curious. "You want to talk to me?" she asked, surprised. Brian nodded as he caught up to her. "Yes. Has anyone ever told you you could be Freddie's spitting image?" Mel smiled. "On this set, many people" she told Brian. "But it means a lot to hear it from you" she added softly. "Ah, Mel…” Brian began, suddenly uncertain. “I don’t want to seem intrusive, but how old are you?” “21” Mel replied  casually. Definitely too young to be Fred's girl, then.

Brian was suddenly desperate to find out more, to get to the bottom of the mystery, but another part of him was rather nervous. Should he even be asking someone he’d just met something like this? “Is my age important or something?” Mel asked, cutting off his hemming and hawing. That gave Brian the push he needed to forge ahead. “Mel, if you don’t my me asking, is there any chance you could be related to Freddie, do you know?" He sounded almost apologetic as he posed the question. "The similarities… it seems too much to be a coincidence” he explained. 

Melina was taken aback by Brian’s forwardness, but she recovered quickly. “Uh, very probably, we're not absolutely sure." Brian wasn't quite following. "Who's not sure?" "My mum. And my grandmother, I suppose" she explained. Brian was still confused. "What's your grandmother got to do with it?" "Look, I think you'd be better off talking to my mum" Mel sighed. "Would she want to talk to me though?" Brian asked, mildly concerned. He wanted answers, but he wouldn't blame Mel's mum for not wanting to talk to a virtual stranger about something so personal. Mel herself simply shrugged. "She might. It's worth a shot. I think she should, anyway, it's… it's been long enough." Brian found the last comment rather mysterious, but he thought it best not to ask about it just then. Instead, he smiled kindly. “Alright then, when might she be available for a meet’n’greet?” Melina grinned. “She’s coming to visit me here tomorrow.”

*** The band stared after Brian in stunned silence, before bursting into excitable chatter that continued all the way to Gwilym's trailer. "What was that about?" Joe started, utterly confused. "I… don't know" Gwilym mused. Ben felt rather guilty; he had a hunch he knew what Brian was up to, but he wasn't sure if he should share Rami's theory with the others. "I, um, might have an idea" he said sheepishly. "I think he might have wanted to talk to Mel." Strangely, this seemed to make perfect sense to both Gwilym and Joe. "You think he might have thought the same thing as Rami, then?" Gwilym asked. "You know about Rami's theory?" Ben asked, only mildly surprised. "I don't" Allen piped up. There was a pause as Joe explained it to him. Suddenly Allen smirked at Ben. "So Ben fancies Freddie Mercury's granddaughter?" "Quiet!" Gwilym hissed. "We don't want the whole bloody set hearing." Meanwhile, Ben's jaw dropped. "Shit" he muttered. He'd never thought of it like that. What had he gotten himself into?   

*** The next morning Mel was hard at work on some urgent mending when she heard a soft knock on the door of the wardrobe truck . “Come in” she called. “Mel, you’ve got a visitor” Joe told her softly, trying to open the door quietly. She looked around. “Mum! You’re here!” Her mother rushed over to embrace her. “Hello darling!” “I see you’ve met Joe already” Mel commented as they broke apart. “Is he the one playing Deacy?" her mother asked. Mel nearly snorted. "Who else d'you think he'd be playing?" Joe was both surprised and rather flattered. "Do I really look that much like him out of costume?" he asked uncertainly. Mel and her mum both looked at him with bemusement, but surprisingly it was the older woman who answered. "Yes” she said bluntly. “If you looked any more like him I'd be asking serious questions about your parentage." Joe laughed, and Mel's mother looked at him quizzically. "What?" "I thought the same thing the first time I saw a photo of him" Joe explained. "I like him" Mel's mother whispered to her conspiratorially. Mel just shook her head. "Alright, Mum. Now come on, I’ve got so much to show you.”

*** Brian made extra sure he and Roger were both on set that day. He had many questions, and he imagined Mel’s mother might too. They finally got an opportunity to talk over lunch. Mel came bounding over to join them in the queue for food. “Brian, Roger, this is my mum Eve” she introduced. Both men looked at Eve curiously. Her hair was chestnut brown rather than jet black, and her eyes were lighter, almost hazel, but the shape and the warmth they exuded were all Freddie. She wasn’t the precise image of their friend, her jawline was less angular for a start, but the resemblance was clear nonetheless.

Roger suddenly realised hers was a face he’d seen before. It was a long time ago, when she was much younger, but the eyes were unmistakable. “Evangeline?” he gasped. She nodded. “I can't believe you recognise me, it’s been a very long time.” Roger smiled. “Maybe too long. You were just a kid then, now here you are with a grown up daughter of your own.” “So Mel is yours” Brian said wonderingly. “But that would mean…” Eve suddenly smiled nervously. “Yeah, I was a teenager.” Roger was shocked. “You were-? That must have been hard.” Eve’s smile vanished alarmingly quickly in the wake of his statement. “I don't need your 'sympathy' ” she growled. “It wasn’t easy, but I chose to do it. I wasn’t a victim.” Roger and Brian broke into identical bemused smiles at that. “Doesn’t she sound just like Fred?” Roger murmured. “Practically identical” Brian agreed.

“Incidentally, you’ve raised a good kid” Brian commented to Eve. Mel, who'd been watching on in quiet amusement, beamed at the compliment. Eve smiled too, her anger quickly forgotten. "Thanks, Brian." "She looks like her grandad too" Roger commented. "Even more than you do, strangely." "Does she really?" Eve questioned, rather surprised. Roger smiled. “Love, your daughter looks so much like Fred she could practically be his twin. Have you really never noticed the resemblance?” "Mum always said I look a lot like my dad" Mel chimed in. “He’s Greek” Eve explained. “Olive-skinned, black hair. I always assumed she just took after his family looks-wise. He chose her name too, actually.” Brian raised an eyebrow curiously. “Now you mention it, what is her full name? We only know her as Mel.” "It's short for Melina" Mel piped up. Brian smiled wonderingly, but Roger nearly gasped. "Melina? Freddie's granddaughter's called Melina?" "Coincidence" Eve clarified. "I'd forgotten Papa's connection to that name by the time I had her." She paused, smiling slightly. "But as soon as her dad suggested it I just knew it was her name. It just suited her perfectly." Brian and Roger agreed, it definitely did.

"So what do you do with yourself these days, Eve?" Roger asked casually, hoping to ease the slight awkwardness in the air. "I'm an illustrator" she replied. "Mostly kids books, but I enjoy it." Roger couldn't help looking at Brian then, knowing they were both thinking the same thing without needing to say a word. "So you got to uni then?" Brian asked conversationally. Eve nodded. "I did. Well, to art college. Not Ealing though." "Shame" Roger murmured. "That's a fair achievement you know, getting through school and uni while raising a small child" Brian commented. "Oh, I had lots of help" Eve explained modestly. "There must have been times, though, when you felt scared or alone" Roger suggested. Eve nodded. "There were" she agreed. "But Papa was with me."

1996 Eve was troubled. Not surprising, really, considering she was facing the biggest decision of her young life. The decision itself was not actually troubling her particularly, strangely. She knew what she wanted to do, but what worried her was what people would think. Would keeping her baby really ruin her life? Was doing what she wanted really the right thing for either of them? These questions haunted her as she tried to get to sleep.

Sleep, unsurprisingly, took its time to descend that night. When it finally did, Eve had unsettled dreams, the sort where she thought she was still awake half the time. She woke more than once, jolted by restless visions. It was after one of these wakings, when she wasn't sure if she was still dreaming or wide awake, that she saw him.

He was standing at the end of her bed, all dressed in a shining white material that seemed to glow around him. He had long black hair and dark, friendly eyes. Eve didn't know who he was at first, but she felt like she'd known him forever somehow. He smiled gently as he walked around to sit on the end of her bed, and suddenly she recognised him. "Papa?" Eve gasped. "But… how? Why?" Freddie smiled mysteriously. "I heard your call, darling, so I came." Eve was confused. "What call?" she asked suspiciously. "It doesn't matter, I'm here now" Freddie said airily. "Now, tell me your troubles, darling." Eve was uncertain. "Why should I tell you?" "I could help" Freddie said evenly. Eve snorted. "I doubt that." Freddie just smiled wryly. "You won't know if you don't try, dear. Tell me everything." For some reason Eve did. Oh well, she thought, can't hurt to vent to a ghost. Freddie, who now she thought of it looked younger than she'd ever seen him in life, simply smiled and nodded as she explained just what her troubles actually were.

"You want to keep it" Freddie said, almost as soon as Eve stopped speaking. It wasn't even a question; somehow he knew what his daughter was thinking. "I do" she agreed. "But…" She took a breath. "I'm scared. What if it ruins my life like everyone says? What if I'm a terrible mum? What if I never actually get my shit together and they end up hating me for cocking everything up?" The words almost fell out of her mouth in a sort of panicked jumble. Freddie's expression softened at her obvious fear. "They won't hate you, darling, you're their mother" he reassured you. "And it won't ruin your life if you don't let it." Eve stared at him, confused. "So, I should just go ahead and assume everything'll be fine?" He shook his head. "Don't assume. Make the effort to get things to work for you. Get angry if you have to. Make sure you can still live the life you want, even with the bumps in the road." Eve was suddenly crestfallen. "But everyone says…" Freddie grinned. "Fuck what they say. Don't forget, you're not most people. Making the choice you want won't derail everything, the journey will just be… different." Hope bloomed in Eve's chest at his words. Maybe things wouldn't be as awful as everyone said. "It will be alright, darling" Freddie assured her.

It seemed as though Eve only looked away for half a second, but when she looked back he was gone. The next morning Eve woke up feeling peaceful. She was filled with resolve. She knew, now, what her decision would be, and she'd never felt more sure of anything in her life. Talking to her late Papa must have been a dream, a figment of her imagination. But how could a mere dream give her so much reassurance, so much certainty? He must have been, though. He couldn't be anything else. Surely not.

Of course, making the decision was only half the battle. There were still many people to be told. Nikos was surprisingly pleased at the prospect of teen fatherhood, though his parents were a lot less enthusiastic, much as Eve had expected. They'd never particularly liked her, and now they were sure to hate her forever for "ruining" their precious son's life. Eve's own mother wasn't exactly thrilled, but she promised to stick by her daughter regardless. And then there was Uncle Deaky and Aunt Veronica. Strangely, Eve didn't actually have to say anything to them initially. 

It took one look over afternoon tea for Aunt Vee to guess what was going on. "You're not pregnant, are you?" she asked quietly, sounding as though she didn’t want to believe her own theory. Eve's eyes went wide. "How did you know?" she gaped. "I've had six children, dear, I know the signs” Aunt Veronica pointed out. She softened considerably when she realised just how frightened Eve was, despite being absolutely certain about her choice. 

Uncle Deaky was also surprisingly calm when Eve finally told him about her situation, and what she’d decided. He almost immediately pulled her into a hug when he realised she was about to cry. “It’s alright, love, I’m not cross at you” he reassured her. Eve was surprised. “You’re not?” Uncle Deaky smiled. “No. I mean, I’m not jumping for joy, but it’s not the end of the world either.” Eve smiled. “Besides,” he added softly, “I was in your shoes once. Well, we weren’t exactly teenagers, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t scared when we found out Robert was on his way.” “You were scared?” Eve asked, incredulous. “Of course.” Deaky smiled. “Knowing it’s what you want doesn’t mean it's not also terrifying.” Eve found that statement oddly reassuring. And she was very glad when Uncle Deaky reassured her he and Veronica would support her every step of the way. Though when she thought about it, she wasn’t that surprised at this reaction.

Over the following months Eve sometimes felt the oddest sensation while she was alone. It was as if someone was standing near her, someone she couldn't see. She wondered whether it was her papa looking out for her. She found the thought rather comforting, really. But she was never more grateful for it than the day her daughter was born. 

Eve had been home alone when she'd first realised she was going into labour, more than a week early, and she didn't think she'd ever been so scared in her life. She couldn't reach her mum, or Auntie Vee, who'd promised to stay with her at the hospital, and she knew calling Nikos wouldn't help, even if she was having his bloody child. She couldn't even get an answer at the Deacon house. Presumably they were all out enjoying the summer holidays somewhere. Eve was starting to feel very scared and very alone when Jim suddenly turned up at her door.

She wasn't expecting him, but his presence was very much welcome. He'd been visiting her in London as much as he could while she was pregnant. She'd expected him to be angry when she broke the big news, all those months ago, but Jim was only mildly shocked. "You're hardly the first person to be a teenage parent, love" he told her. "You're not the first I've known, either. Doesn't mean I'm happy about this, but you're still my Evie. I'll always be here for you, you know." And he'd proved it that fateful day.

"You have no idea how glad I am you're here" Eve quipped as she let Jim into Garden Lodge. "You know, I wasn't even planning to come today, but I had more spare time than I expected" he mused. Suddenly Eve groaned, and he turned around in alarm. "You alright, love?" "I'm in labour" she griped. "You're just in time to take me to the hospital." Eve relaxed as the pain passed. "Honestly, you couldn't have come at a better time" she said happily. Jim smiled gently. "Well then, Freddie must have sent me for you."

Jim sat with Eve at the hospital for a while, although he absolutely would not countenance staying for the main event. Both Nikos and Veronica had already agreed to be present to support her through that part, but they were taking their sweet time getting to the hospital. Jim agreed to stay for the time being, but eventually he needed a break, so he stepped out for a few minutes, leaving Eve all alone in her stark white room. 

And yet she didn't feel particularly alone. It was as though Freddie was standing in the room with her, somewhere just out of sight. Eve wasn't a paranormal enthusiast by any means, but she almost felt like if she turned her head she would see her beloved Papa next to her, cheering her on. The feeling disappeared as soon as Jim returned, with Veronica arriving soon after. But it returned several hours later, after her daughter had finally been born. Eve was sitting in the bed, cradling her newborn child, and she could have sworn Freddie was peering over her shoulder, admiring the new baby. It thrilled Eve to think her father might have visited her for this momentous occasion, and it brought her comfort to know he hadn't let her go through it alone.  

2017 Brian and Roger weren't the least bit surprised to hear that Eve had felt Freddie with her when she needed him most. But they were a little bit shocked that this was the first they were hearing about her teenage years. "I can't believe Deacy never told us Fred was a grandad" Roger said, still trying to process everything. "I'm sure he had his reasons" Brian said evenly. "I didn't want him to" Eve explained. "I didn't particularly want the world to know I was a teen mum." "We're hardly the world" Roger pointed out, slightly miffed. "I know" Eve conceded. "But he was hardly seeing you by then anyway, it was just easier not to say anything." She paused as something suddenly occurred to her. "Besides, you lot turning up at Garden Lodge again would have caused a sensation, and then all Papa's efforts to keep me secret would have been for nothing." "You're right, of course" Roger sighed. “I just wish we could have been there for you. We could have helped, you know.”

“You did help” Eve said softly. “You kept Queen going.” Roger was confused. “And how did that help you, exactly?” “It meant I kept getting royalties” Eve explained. “Not a vast fortune, of course, but enough to keep me going while I finished school and whatnot.” Roger smiled. "Well I'm glad to know we were able to do something for the two of you." "And I'm sure Deacy was a brilliant support to you" Brian chimed in. "He was" Eve agreed, nodding. "He and Veronica pretty much got me through my teens, really." 

At the mention of his old friend Roger looked thoughtful. “How is John these days?” Eve smiled rather sadly. “He’s… happy enough” she said slowly. “He still misses Freddie bitterly, but he likes the quiet life.” Roger and Brian both smiled in understanding, though they seemed a little wistful. “He was never much into the rockstar lifestyle” Brian commented.

Suddenly the warm atmosphere was shattered by Mel cursing. “Bugger. I’ve gotta get back, the band’s all wondering where I am.” “The band?” Eve questioned. “The young men playing us” Brian explained. “Some of the production staff referred to them that way and it sort of stuck.” Eve grinned. “Makes sense.” “Well, they could hardly call them Queen II could they?” Roger joked. 

“Actually,” he went on more seriously, “you should meet them, Eve. They’re nice lads, and I’m sure they’d enjoy hearing your perspective on a few things…” “Rami and Joe in particular would be very appreciative, I think” Brian added. “Why-” Eve started to ask, but Mel cut her off. “They can’t talk directly to the people they’re playing” she pointed out. “Oh, of course” Eve murmured. “I’m not sure, I wouldn’t want to expose myself to the world” she demurred. “You wouldn’t” Mel countered. “They’d never sell anyone out like that.” Eve hesitated. “Your daughter’s quite right, they’re perfectly trustworthy” Brian assured her. “At least talk to Rami, he’d be absolutely thrilled to speak with you” he urged. Suddenly Eve smiled. “Well alright then.” With a cheeky grin she turned to her daughter. “Take me to the band!” she jokingly ordered. Roger and Brian laughed almost as much as Mel, finally revelling in the joy of the day’s unexpected reunion.

Luckily, the band were still eating lunch together, so locating them all was a simple matter of finding their table in the catering tent. Mel eagerly led her mother towards them, Brian and Roger having quietly wandered off along the way, ostensibly to have a chat with the producers. Eve was almost as eager as her daughter, curious to see what the men Mel spoke so highly of were really like. They were in early 70s garb today, all long hair and flared pants. Eve was rather grateful that Rami wasn’t wearing the moustache; she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted to seeing him dressed as the Freddie she'd known. As it was she thought they all looked equally wonderful in today’s costumes.

Mel couldn’t help smiling when she caught Ben’s eye.  She could have sworn he smiled back, but it was Joe who spoke first. “Mel! Where’ve you been, Ben’s been worried sick all lunch break” he asked dramatically. “Oh, shut up” Ben grumbled, shoving his shoulder crossly. Mel just rolled her eyes affectionately. “I’ve been showing my mum round, you knew I’d be busy today.” “Your mum?” Gwilym questioned. “Yes” Mel replied simply. “Guys, this is my mum Eve.” Polite hellos were duly exchanged across the table, though Eve could feel genuine warmth behind them. Even Lucy, half draped across Rami’s lap, was obviously pleased to meet a relative of Mel. 

The group chattered amiably while they finished their lunch, but before long the band and Lucy were needed back on set. Mel expected them Rami to lead them all back to work, but surprisingly he hung back, telling the others he’d meet them at the set. They apparently accepted this without question, though Mel was quite sure they’d be discussing it at length before they got back to work. When the rest of the band were safely out of earshot, Rami turned to Eve. “Has anyone ever told you that you and your daughter both look like Freddie Mercury?”

Eve smiled. “I know Mel’s been hearing that a lot lately,” she said knowingly. “But it’s been a while since anyone’s said that to me.” Rami peered at her curiously. “Do you… do you have any idea where that resemblance might have come from?” Mel could feel the tension rise at Rami’s blunt question, but to her immense relief her mother seemed untroubled. “Well,” Eve said, grinning mischievously, “I expect it’s the family resemblance.” Rami stared at her, brows furrowed in confusion, until realisation suddenly dawned across his face. “Wait, are you saying-” “I can explain, but I’d rather do it in private” Eve explained, cutting Rami off before he could accidentally reveal her great secret. To her immense relief he quickly flashed her an understanding smile. “I have to go to work now, but come to my trailer later. Mel knows where it is.” He smiled again, and with a quick ‘nice to meet you’ he hurried off back to set.

Mel turned to her mother expectantly. “Well?” “He seems nice” Eve commented. “Actually they all seem like nice lads, I can see why you like them so much.” She paused thoughtfully. “I think I can see why they wanted him to play Freddie, too.” Mel smiled with relief. “So you’ll help him?” “As much as I can” Eve agreed. “Perhaps you could help Joe too” Mel suggested. Eve smiled. “I suppose I could.”

Mel found herself facing a busy afternoon, so she sent her mum to watch the filming while she worked. It soon became clear that none of the band was going to get much downtime until shooting finished for the day, so between takes Rami organised to meet Eve just before he went home for the night. The filming went on for hours, but finally the director called cut and everyone started to pack up. Amongst all the activity Eve managed to slip away unnoticed, to a deserted corner near Rami’s trailer where they were unlikely to be seen.

Rami grinned mischievously when he spotted Eve behind his trailer. “So, about that family resemblance…” Eve took a breath. “I meant that sincerely you know” she said casually. “The truth is, as far as anyone knows Freddie Mercury was my biological father.” Rami raised an eyebrow. “As far as anyone knows?” “He’s not the only, ah, candidate, but I’ve never actually had a DNA test” Eve explained. Rami snorted. “You don’t need one.” He paused, suddenly looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Sorry if this is a bit forward of me, but I’d love to talk to you about Freddie, somewhere a little more private” he said warmly. “So I was thinking we could get dinner at my hotel?” “What, now?” Eve questioned. Rami nodded. “If that’s alright with you.” Eve was hesitant. “Just checking: this isn’t a romantic invitation is it?” Rami shook his head. “God, no!” he burst out, almost too quickly. “Sorry, I just meant I’m kind of not… available in that way.” Eve smiled. “It’s fine” she reassured him. “If it was I would have had to turn it down seeing as I’m a married woman.” Rami grinned with relief. “Well, in that case, shall we?” Eve smiled. “Just let me ring home on the way and I’m all yours.” With that, they trotted off along a less conspicuous route to Rami’s chaffeured car, chatting amiably along the way.

Ben had almost reached his trailer when he spotted Mel lounging against it. He smiled at the sight, but his expression shifted into a frown when he noticed Rami and Eve wandering off together looking very friendly. Possibly too friendly. Mel made to smile at Ben, only to be confused when she noticed him frowning. She turned away just in time to spot Rami walking with her mum. She thought he looked rather excited. Mum must have told him, Mel mused. In which case they must be off for a long conversation about Papa. Mel’s contentment at this development turned to concern when she realised Ben was storming towards her looking less than pleased.  

Ben seemed fairly calm when he hauled Mel into his trailer, but when he turned back to her after carefully locking the door she could see the anger on his face. "What the hell is going on?" he fumed. "With what?" Mel responded calmly, not quite sure where all this was coming from. "I just came across Rami looking very cosy with your mum" Ben growled. “Almost suspiciously cosy.” Mel sighed. "It's not like that, Ben, she’s married for God’s sake." Ben was not particularly soothed. "Well then what is it like?" he snapped. "Cos from where I'm standing it doesn't look good." "Oh my God, Ben, why do you even care so much?" Mel snapped back. "Because he's my friend!" Ben yelled. "And Lucy's my friend, and…" His voice trailed off as he realised something. "What?" Mel questioned, confused by the sudden change of mood. "I like you" Ben admitted. "I like you a lot, and I don't want to think you would allow something like that, but…" "Of course I wouldn't, Ben, I'm not an arsehole" Mel responded, hoping to reassure him. It didn't work. Ben was still cross, and now he was confused as well. "Why didn’t you stop it, then?" "Because she’s helping him!" Mel cried. "Helping him?" Ben questioned, even more confused. "How can she help him?"

Mel sighed. She'd really done it now. There was no way out of this conversation without letting Ben in on the family secret. "Alright Ben" she said eventually, suddenly much quieter and calmer. "I'm going to tell you something, so you'll understand. But you have to promise me, what I'm about to say does not leave this trailer." Ben smiled reassuringly. "I won't tell another soul, I promise." Mel took a calming breath. Here goes nothing. "My mum can help Rami with this role because she's Freddie Mercury's daughter" she confessed.

Ben was stunned. "She's…what?" he spluttered. Mel smiled reassuringly. "It's big, I know." Suddenly Ben stared at Mel wide-eyed. "So it's all true then…" Mel was confused. "What's true?" "The rumours about Freddie. That he had a lovechild." Ben explained. "How did you hear those?" Mel questioned. "Rami" Ben said simply. "He saw you, remembered the rumours, and guessed you must be Freddie's grandchild." Mel was stunned. "Shit. He worked it all out." Ben grinned. "God, he's going to be so pleased with himself tomorrow."

Suddenly Ben reached out and pulled Mel into his chest. She wondered whether he was trying to ground himself after all the big revelations. Not that she minded, of course, it was Ben after all. 

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me the truth" he murmured into her ear. "Of course" Mel murmured back. They stood silently for a moment, thinking over everything that had just been said. "Can't believe you got so worked up about my mum" Mel commented. Ben smiled sheepishly. "Sorry." "Can't believe you thought her and Rami…" Mel trailed off as something else Ben had said suddenly hit her like a truck. "Wait. Did you say you liked me?" she asked, stepping back to look at Ben's face. 

Ben's gentle smile disappeared instantly. "Shit. I thought you didn't notice." "So did you mean you like me as a friend or…?" Mel asked curiously, her heart suddenly hammering at the possibilities. Ben could feel his own heart race as he opened his mouth. "Well I do consider you a friend. But… I'd really like us to be more than that" he confessed. Mel smiled as she moved closer to Ben. "I'd like that too." Ben could have wept with relief. "So, do you want to get dinner tonight?" he asked, beaming.  "I'd love to" Mel beamed back. Ben grinned. “Great! I’ll just grab my shit and then we can go.” True to his word, within five minutes he and Mel were walking towards the studio car park hand in hand.

***

Less than an hour later, Rami was sat at a table in the hotel restaurant, buzzing with excitement. Freddie Mercury's biological child was sitting in front of him! What a day. Eve smiled with amusement as his obvious enthusiasm. "So I suppose you have a few questions you'd like to ask?" Rami grinned. "Oh, hundreds." "Well, go on then" Eve encouraged. "I guess the biggest one is this" Rami said thoughtfully. "How exactly did a man like Freddie Mercury manage to father a lovechild anyway?"

*******************************************************************************************

Taglist: @wandering-at-midnight @fruityfreddie @trumanjo @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark @itsametaphorbriansblog @theedwardscollection @simplyvictoria-93 @kotoamor @j1224  @florenceivy @jennyggggrrr @mercurycrowley @xstrawverrymilktaex 

(I’ve removed a couple of urls from the Though You’re Many Years Away taglist because the tags aren’t working)

[nekokoaa]

Wolves Among Us - Bakugo x Reader (VII)

Wolves Among Us – Bakugo x Reader

Series Warning: Fantasy AU, Fluff, NSFW

(Chapter VII/XX) New Mini Series! (((ALL CHAPTERS ARE IN MY MASTERLIST)))

Midterms held me back so much so this took a bit to get out.

Just clearing this up just in case anyone gets ideas while reading the beginning of the chapter. Katsuki and Reader did not have sex. Just making that clear lol Enjoy!

Taglist:

@freedom-for-bum @reallyfuckingangrylatina @risarisarisaa @ashherssss @mels-heart @xa-dia @shanty-lol @amkxh @chims-kookies @fantasticapple 

Inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter

--------------------------

VII. Trust

You had woken up in an awkward position. You had never slept with anyone before let alone a man, the closest you could recall was falling asleep on Izuku’s shoulders when you were hanging out at his cabin one day. Even then, it wasn’t like you were sleeping in the same bed as him. You noticed that sleeping alone had drove you to some habits and made you not aware of your spacing. When you found your legs sprawl all over Katsuki’s bottom half where it had pushed him until he had the bare minimum of the sheep’s wool cloth under him, you felt embarrassed. Thankfully, Katsuki was still asleep and it looked like he took the pillow unintentionally as he was sleeping, and you were using his arm as a replacement.

Serenity was a look all too foreign on Katsuki’s face. The lines that often painted their way between his eyebrows were absent and his eyebrows were lifted and clear of any tension. His mouth was relaxed and left to dangle his soft breathing that nearly slipped through without sound. The wolf ears sitting on his head were twitching occasionally, you wondered what they were picking up. Could it be the silent struggle of the flames on top of melted wax stumps that were burning the entire night, or the soft sound of your inner thighs rubbing together when you had shifted lightly, or maybe the gatherings of wolves outside of the cave in preparation of their morning duties? You could hear neither one of those as well as Katsuki could and you knew he would probably brag about it if you were to express any amazement by it. If anything, all it did was prove just how different he was from you.

And yet, as he slept soundlessly, vulnerable in any way possible, he seemed more alike than you would have normally thought him as. The difference may be immense by senses and strength, but he talked, walked, and slept, exactly like you—maybe his tongue was a little weird biologically, but ultimately without those things, Katsuki was just a normal man.

A sigh left you as you began to raise your body off the cloth. All this thinking about Katsuki made your brain feel a little tired, not only that but you were in desperate need of a bath. A soothing warm bath should help clear any fatigue you were feeling. With that in mind, you left the cave in search for one.

The cave you were staying in was one of many within the mountain. The wolves had paved a tunnel like pathway that lead to different “rooms” whose entrances were being covered by a light cloth for privacy. The pathways were lit by lanterns because there were no windows where the sunlight could shine through and as you were walking through the amazingly shaped tunnels, you wondered how they could have structure this without bringing the entire mountain down. Day after day, these wolves were surprising you with their knowledge.

When you had reached the beginning of the pathway where Mitsuki had left you yesterday, you were greeted with the bright sunlight that made your eyes squint at the sight of it. Your eyes that were used to the dim orange glow of the candles were no match for the natural lightning, you had to wait for your eyes to adjust before taking a look around in your surroundings. The area was bustling with twice as many wolves than last night. They were all busy doing specific errands like shoveling off the snow from the walkways, stools, and tables that accumulated overnight. They were separated by gender; the women were all huddled around a fire where a large pot was suspended above it and some were tending to their small peppy children. The men, however, was doing all the labor work and some were even gathered in a small circle for some reason you weren’t sure about.

“Mornin’ ____.” Greeted Eijirou, who stepped out of a cave different from the one you emerged from. He was smiling brighter than he was when you met him like he was genuinely happy to see you. You liked Eijirou. The aura he gave soothed you, like if he were to walk into a distressed room, his presence would instantly alleviate all anxiety.

But he wasn’t alone when you spotted him. You followed down his hand and it was being held by a smaller hand of a child. A boy who looked no more than eight was standing by his side, oddly close to him as Eijirou was walking towards you. He was a spitting image of Eijirou with red spiky hair, the only difference was his irises held a golden hue.

“Morning, Eijirou.” Once Eijirou was in front of you, the child hid behind his legs and peeked out slightly where you could only see one of his eyes from behind the cloth of his pants. You smiled regardless.

“Are you adjusting all right?”

You nodded. “I am, but it’ll take me a bit to get used to the change.”

“I understand.” His hand went on his hip. “From cabin to cave, I know that’s rough. I know you didn’t have to do what you did but you must really care about Katsuki if you were willing to give up everything for him. That was pretty cool of you.”

The blush that blossomed on your cheeks was not to be mistaken for desire but was prompted by the happiness that spread within your chest by Eijirou’s words. Warmth rose and therefore, reached your cheeks.

“Oh!” He chuckled, and he slightly leaned forward to place a hand on the child’s back, he pushed him softly to where you could see more of him. The child was still clutching his pants tightly and you could see his tiny fangs showing as he gritted his teeth. “This is my son, Eiji. Eiji, this is ____.”

“Eiji and Eijirou, how cute!” You kneeled down to reach Eiji’s height.

“Yeah, we named him after me.” He said sheepishly. “He’s my first born.”

“Nice to meet you, Eiji! You’re such a handsome little boy, aren’t you?” You held out your hand, expecting Eiji to shake it with his tiny hands but instead you received a view of his tiny fangs and the sound of snarls that wouldn’t even scare rabbits away. You stood right up regardless, afraid you had frightened the boy.

“Eiji! Come on, you know that’s not how you greet people. I’m sorry, he’s a shy one. He’s going on his first hunt today so he’s just a little nervous.”

“Hunt? Oh, is that why all of those men are gathered there?” You pointed to the pack of wolves that started laughing for some particular reason. You assumed they were telling jokes.

“Yeah, it’s the morning hunt. I’m usually on the night hunt but it’s pretty dangerous for children to come along.” You wondered if that was the reason for Eijirou’s appearance last night. To think, if he didn’t go on his hunt last night Katsuki would’ve been dead and you would’ve fell into misery. “Katsuki too is on the night hunt but lately he’s been skipping, think you have anything to do with that?” He winked, his words dancing on his tongue in a playful manner.

Your blush spelled of embarrassment and all you could do was look away shyly, afraid that if you were to speak, your words would come out in pathetic stutters. The sound of Katsuki’s name had snapped Eiji from his dazed thoughts that he often wandered to whenever adults were conversing. Light had returned to his golden eyes and he looked between you and Kirishima.

“Katsuki?” He spoke with his voice slightly raised, trying to understand what was being said.

“Yeah, ____’s friends with Katsuki.” Eijirou grinned.

You saw a twinkle in his eyes and his wolf ears became erect. A baby pink filled his fat cheeks.  “Whoa! Really? That’s so cool!” Eiji began tugging on his father’s top, a large grin that mirrored his father’s bloomed on his face. It was like that cautious boy who growled at you never existed, he looked at you with eyes filled with pure joy all because of Katsuki. “My dad is best friends with Katsuki! Don’t you know he’s the best hunter in our pack? He’s super strong! He’s even stronger than my dad!”

“Alright, alright.” His father’s large hand had silenced Eiji when it landed on his head. He turned him around to face the group of men in the distance. “It’s about time we go, ____. We’ll talk some more when we return!”

“It was nice meeting you, miss ____!” A bright smile shined your way from Eiji and Eijirou and they waved goodbye before leaving you to join the pack of wolves. You overheard bits and pieces of their conversation when Eijirou had nudge his son’s arm while they were walking away.

“See? Told ya. Nothing scary about humans.”

You could see the redness of Eiji’s blush from the tip of his ears. “I know… I wasn’t scared…!”

The small moment between father and son made you smile. You watched as they joined the group of men and shortly departed from the mountain with them. The warm company you felt from them was gone and you had to come to terms with the slight loneliness you felt after. It looked like almost half the pack was gone when the group of men left, some were left behind to do other labor work around the area and the women were scattered among the site with either children or friends. Some were carrying baskets to the pot which you guessed was food and other stuff they used to cook with.

You were still looking for a bathroom, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to find it on your own without some help. It was either wander around for hours in a place you weren’t familiar with or just go and ask someone. You quickly decided on the latter and walked up to the group of women gathered around the pot. They were opening the baskets and pulling meat out from it and putting it into the boiling pot. Once you were just a few feet away from them, they stopped, and all eyes were on you instantly. You gulped.

“Hi… um, I just wanted to know—" Immediately, you were met with snarls and baring teeth from the women. Your words fell from the sound, and your confidence faltered at the sight of their glares. The snarling didn’t stop until you had backed away from the group, a permanent scowl left on their faces when they resumed their work.

“Okay, not that group.” You spoke quietly to yourself. Already walking to a pair near another cave entrance, a mother and her child. They looked friendly enough to ask, especially because the mother was kneeled in front of the child and a smile was on her face as she talked.  “Hello!” You greeted.

And you watched as her smile dropped the second she heard you. She quickly stood up and pushed her child behind her. It was the same treatment you got from the last group, snarls and glares until she yanked her child by the arm and walked away from you.

Something was wrong. You glanced around the area and even though most wolves looked like they were intently working or minding their own business, tension lingered in the air. Like an awkward object was thrusted into the middle of their peace, and you were that object. You were invading them by just being. The barrier between you and the wolves were clearly visible, you didn’t belong here, and they were making sure you understood that.

Realization was hitting you at once. What made you think you could abandon your people and be easily accepted into another group different from your own? Especially when there’s a rift between them, a battle between prey and predator. You were a fool, simple as that. A fool who believed such issues between your people and the wolves would be resolved by simply being with Katsuki. Of course, they would still judge you. They didn’t trust an ounce of your presence.

“Hey.” You were swirling in a ditch of your own thoughts to where you couldn’t catch the sound of a gruff voice calling out to you. It belong to Katsuki who appeared almost out of nowhere in a seemingly different attire. It wasn’t much different from his usual, his baggy pants were now an off-white in comparison to the snow in the vicinity and his boots were the color of soot that stopped at the bottom of his calves where white fur puffed out from the tips. Bakugo’s top was a turtleneck, black, and thin where you could see the shape of the muscles of his arms and chest. And over his shoulders was a heavy cape of fur.

You didn’t have any recollection of when he appeared, and you didn’t notice his presence until you felt a hand on your back. When you came to, you met his hardened eyes with a gasp and jumped from fright. Katsuki couldn’t tell whether that fright was from being caught off guard or simply because of who he was, a wolf. He saw the fear in your irises and they reminded him of the night he met you. It’s been so long since he had seen it, since you looked at him like a stranger, and even if it was just a glimpse before you relaxed when you realized it was just Katsuki, he knew you still held some fear underneath that soft smile that had grown on your face.

However, he didn’t say a word and his eyes surveyed the area on what seems to be a normal day for the pack, but he didn’t need his heightened senses to know that the wind chill wasn’t the only thing making this place feel rigid.

“Come on.” With a small push on your back, Katsuki began to lead you to a path that led down the mountain and away from where the pack settled. The path was hardly ever used because the tracks imprinted in the sheet of snow looked like they belong to one other soul and the tracks added by you and Katsuki destroyed the remainder of the pure icy blanket. Katsuki had remove his hand from your back and held your hand to support you. It was such a small act and he did it without asking you. He probably didn’t think much of it or the significance of his actions. You didn’t know if it was a big deal for wolves but for humans, it was sign of affection from your significant other. If anyone were to see you two in this position, they would assume you were together, which you wondered if that was a positive thing. Clearly, Katsuki’s pack wasn’t fond of you and if they found out you were more than friends with Katsuki, they would be strongly against it.

Still, there was no denying the soft heat of your cheeks from his gesture and whether or not it meant a lot to Katsuki, it surely made your heart jump with joy.

The pathway led behind the mountain where the landscape opened into a wide valley. There were no trees in the area except for the ones in the distance upon the horizon. The valley looked as if someone had laid a large white sheet over it, a bed of snow with hills shaped as a woman’s figure. They looked dive-able to any child with a desire to muddle its pristine surface. Even you wanted to run and fall upon the fluffy hills, only to regret your actions immediately after once the stinging ice slip through the openings of your top and skirt and meet with your concealed heated flesh.

“Do you see them?” asked Katsuki as he pointed slightly to the left. At first, you had no idea what he was talking about as you couldn’t see anything but snow, but the longer you looked you began to notice something moving within it. They almost became one with the scenery, but their glowing irises gave them away. They scurried and ran about within the fields of ice, stoic as statues when they stood still and their noses high in the air. The look in their eyes were steady like Katsuki’s.

“Wolves!” You gasped. They were indeed wolves but not like the one holding your hand or the ones that live within the mountains. These wolves resembled dogs with white fur covering their bodies and standing proud on all four legs.

There was a small smirk on Katsuki’s face and he let go of your hand, “Don’t move,” and left you behind to approach the wolves, earning their attention with the crunch of the snow under his boots. Only one of the wolves broke away from the group and wildly sprinted over to Katsuki with its mouth open and its tongue flying in the wind.

Katsuki started to laugh and in a blink of an eye, the wolf was by his side, jumping excitedly and wagging its tail. It was amusing seeing both the wolf’s and Katsuki’s tail furiously wagging in each other’s presence. Such a boyish expression was upon Katsuki’s face as he kneeled down to stroke the wolf’s body and head. “Who’s a good boy, huh? Who?” He laughed again as the wolf dived on his back with his belly in the air and rolled around the snow like he was begging for Katsuki to rub his stomach. And his wish was soon granted when Katsuki’s hand went on his belly and brushed his fingers through his moist white fur. “Look, boy. There’s someone I want you to meet. Behave yourself, you hear? This person, she’s important to me.”

You couldn’t hear the last few words of Katsuki because he spoke it under his breath before he turned back to look at you with a faint smile. It looked sincerely peaceful and farthest from his usual scowl, he flicked his head to motion you to come and with a smile and your hands clasped together, you slowly walked towards Katsuki and his wolf.

But before you noticed any sudden moments from the wolf, Katsuki was already by your side. He moved behind you until your back was flushed against his body, he placed an arm around your waist and he cupped his hand around yours. The growl you heard was terrifying, even more horrific than the ones you heard all day. No longer was Katsuki’s wolf a sweet animal, rolling upon the ground waiting to get a belly rub, but was still on all fours with his head low, frightening large fangs bared with snarls that made your skin crawl.

You jumped in fear of the wolf pouncing on you when he took a step closer towards you.

“It’s okay.” Katsuki spoke near your ear as he felt you push against his body. You were practically shaking under the glare of the beast, he could feel it from the tips of your fingers to your waist under his palm. “Fenrir won’t hurt you.”

You wanted to believe Katsuki, but you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking. You bit your bottom lip and watched as his wolf, Fenrir, stalked closer to you. Katsuki had held your hand out towards Fenrir with his hand still clasped behind it. You flinched as you felt the wet nose of Fenrir rubbing against your and Katsuki’s fingers, he was sniffing your scent and trying to familiarize himself with you while still snarling. His gray eyes not once broke contact with yours as any sudden movement from you would probably cause him to attack. Definitely, if Katsuki wasn’t here you would’ve already been wolf food.

“This is Fenrir.” Katsuki proceeded in his introductions. “He’s named after our ancestor, if you didn’t know. Found him when he was just a pup and now he’s the leader of his own pack.” You glanced at the pack of wolves not too far away from you and they were all intently staring in your direction. You gulped as you felt the heat of their stare even at your distance. Certainly, they were waiting for you to make the wrong move.

It wasn’t until you felt a nudge against your hand when the pack started to relax. The snarling had stopped, and the fangs disappeared. Fenrir had pushed his head against your palms which made a soft chuckle leave Katsuki.

“See, all anyone needs is a chance.” Katsuki had long separated his hand from yours. You carefully tread your fingers through his fur, it wasn’t soft at all but was frizzy and needle-like because of the moisture from the ice stuck to its strands. You smiled gently when Fenrir licked between your fingers for no particular reason. “And in time... everyone else will grow to love you too.”

You knew Katsuki’s words held a deeper meaning. He knew you must’ve been feeling down about trying to interact with his pack and he took you out to cheer you up. He had an idea how fascinated you were about wild animals and how you would point out the smallest things from a white hare in the snow to the eagles that soar above the trees. He knew you would be excited to see Fenrir even though your initial reaction to him was fear. “Thank you, Katsuki. You know, I... almost regretted coming here. I thought I made a huge mistake.”

“Anyone would think so after abandoning their own people.” You felt the arm around your waist squeeze you softly, you wondered if Katsuki was trying to comfort you.

“I guess I thought I would be easily accepted, and I was ignoring the issues between my people and yours.” You sighed, pulling your hand away from Fenrir and dropping it to your side. “I’m a fool, Katsuki.”

Katsuki instantly clasped his hand over yours. “Don’t fucking say that...”

“No, it’s true. I am. That’s why it was so easy for me to leave... because I thought I had a place here. It was so easy to abandon my people because I believed I still had a home to come to. I may have a place in your heart but right now I’m stuck in limbo... I don’t belong anywhere. My people hate me, your people hate me... I...” You stopped. You felt like if you were to continue, the tears you were holding back would release and you didn’t want to alarm Katsuki with a sudden emotional outburst. Thankfully, Katsuki couldn’t see your face clearly, he could only see it at a certain angle but to him that was more than enough to see your scrunched-up expression.

“My people don’t hate you, if they did, you wouldn’t even be alive right now. They just don’t trust you yet, all you need is a chance for them to see how good you are. And don’t say you don’t have a home, alright! Where do you think you are?”

In your arms, you thought, little did you know you said it out loud as well.

“Exactly. As long as you’re with me, you’re home. I’m all you need.”

You laughed a little too hard at his words that an unexpected snort came out. It surprised even Katsuki. “You’re so arrogant! Did you really think that sounded romantic?”

“Sounded better in my head.” Grumbled Katsuki, looking away shortly in what you assumed was embarrassment.

“Yeah, well.” You smiled, turning your head as far as you can to press your lips to his cheek, it earned another surprise look from Katsuki. “Think harder.” You had to admit, even though Katsuki’s words just pertains to his self-absorbed personality, a warmth had bubbled within your chest once you heard them. Katsuki was just trying to make you feel better, that’s all it was.

“You’re such an ungrateful human, here I am literally offering you a home.” The harshness of his words betrayed the smirk that grew on his face, you could see a glimpse of his large fangs peeking behind his lips. Both of his arms were now around you and then he sunk his head into the crook of your neck to where you felt his chin upon your shoulder.

Your smirk mirrored his without the sharp fangs, of course. “And you’re the poor wolf that’s stuck with having an ungrateful human as a housemate.”

“I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.” He snorted. “Food and a bed warmer.”

You gasped, quite exaggeratingly. “Is that all you think of me as?”

“Hell no, if anything, you’re far from a bed warmer. I woke up on the floor today.”

You blushed when you realized he was talking about this morning. You didn’t expect him to bring it up. “I’m not used to sleeping with anyone yet so…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you get used to it.” You could physically feel the heat of your cheeks after his velvety whisper ringed in your ear. You heard the raw desire just by his voice alone and the rise of the rhythm of your heart singed to the pleasure that swelled deeply within you. You silently thanked the chilled breeze that blew against your body and splashed itself upon your heated face. If only Katsuki knew what he did to you whenever he acted with such carnality. He must’ve been aware at how suggestive he sounded, even though you were quite naïve on the matters of sex, you weren’t exactly clueless on when a man desired a woman.

Despite that, Katsuki’s words didn’t receive an answer and you stared at Fenrir, not necessarily paying attention to him, but just giving yourself something to look at while you wait for your pleasure spell to expire. Fenrir had returned to his pack after you stopped petting him and fell into a banter with Katsuki. He was now resting in the snow and becoming one with it in color. You welcomed the silence between you and Katsuki, it wasn’t an awkward one but one of comfort. You were basking in each other’s presence, you, specifically, were enjoying being in Katsuki’s arms. One thing for sure was, he was right about you feeling at home whenever he was close to you.

“It’s really cold out here.” You soon broke the silence and it made Katsuki pull away from you, but he didn’t go far. His hand soon found yours and held it firmly.

“I forgot humans get cold so fast.”

“Well, it’s amazing how wolves barely feel the cold at all. Such thin layers.” Your eyes scanned the top he was wearing in amazement.

“Perks of being a wolf.” He smirked, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“I already am.” Certainly, Katsuki didn’t expect you to say that and his initial reaction had his mouth agape and eyes slightly wide. That all melted once he saw a warm smile from you that had the power to melt the entire valley free of ice. He treated you to his own smile that looked more smug than warm and he squeezed your hand softly as he signaled to Fenrir he was leaving by a quick flick of his other hand before he started to lead you back to the pathway that led into the mountains.

Author’s comments: The next chapter is going to be exciting cause we get to learn more about the wolves and their culture. It's gonna be fun. At least for me.

To those of you mentally asking what happened to Izuku uhhh don't worry, he'll be coming back soon lol THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR THE LIKE, REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ON THIS SERIES IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY LIKE I REALLY REALLY AM SO HAPPY YOU GUYS LIKE THIS FIC. IT MAKES ME SO PROUD *UGLY CRIES*

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Coup de Grace: Part 2

Imaginary Consequences

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: From the Author:

The fabulously ill-tempered archaeologist Janice Covington and Southern-Belle-in-Exile Melinda Pappas gradually discover the real truth at the heart of the Xena Scrolls, in a story that darkly plays with time and memory, loss and desire, and the nature of what is real and what is not.

1. Regeneration

This is what we bring to the temple, not prayer or chant or slaughtered rams.

Our offering is language.

—Don DeLillo, The Names

Ravenna, Italy

Autumn, 1950

The archaeologist stood in the pit and held a small object, clumped with dirt.

Her lower lip, already mashed and ragged with worry over something far more important, endured more of a workover as her filthy thumbnail carefully shaved away moist dirt.

The boy who discovered the piece, seventeen and on his first dig, watched her expectantly, nervously shifting his weight from leg to leg. He was eager to impress the beautiful blonde American, and was confident he could do so: He was the only person on site she had not yelled at. Even her friend, the tall woman who usually followed her everywhere, received the brunt of Dr. Covington's anger at one point or another; and thus he had come under the impression that she favored his intellect and his instinct more than anyone else on the dig. He did not know that the real reason she had not yelled at him was because she remembered, all too well, what it was like be too young, too ambitious, and too rash.

In fact, Janice thought as a layer of dirt gave way and revealed a very dull razor circa 1923, she still felt that way surprisingly often.

The boy tensed, awaiting the barrage of English obscenities to fall on his head. Tebaldi, the Italian archaeologist acting as foreman and interpreter, also winced.

Janice drew a deep breath and hoped it would calm her. It did succeed in preventing her from taking the kid's head off, and for that she was grateful. She forced a grim smile, and gently grasped his arm. "Better luck next time," she said in her wretched Italian. As she stalked away, Tebaldi's elephantine shadow followed. The large man walked daintily, as if on eggshells. She slowed her pace, both so that he could match it and that she could better snarl at him. "You, on the other hand, should have known better."

Tebaldi shrugged apologetically. "He wouldn't listen to me. He wanted you to see it."

"Don't waste my goddamn time right now," she snapped. She pulled canvas gloves out of a back pocket and slipped them on. Grabbing the pulley rope, she scampered out of the pit, just like the Harvard-trained monkey she is, he thought angrily. Always has to play tough. Just like her father.

He lumbered over to the makeshift steps leading out of the pit, made from wooden slats and packed clay. When he reached the top of the steps and saw how upset she was, his anger dissipated. She flicked away drops of sweat from her face with the brim of the fedora, then ran a dirty hand through her limp hair. "When will the doctor be here?" she murmured. She would not look at him. Her thumb dragged a line of dust across the ribboned headband of her hat.

"In about an hour," Tebaldi said.

Janice said nothing, but put the fedora back on and walked toward the tent.

He followed, not knowing what else to do.

When they arrived, he stood at the periphery, afraid to get too close to the sick woman, for none of them had any idea the origin of the fever that possessed her. Was it contagious? Tebaldi worried for a moment, and thought that perhaps he should not even be in the tent. But if Covington is not afraid, I won't be either.

Normally, he did not approve of diggers who brought along their women to a site.

Would a surgeon invite his wife into the operating room? Does a chef allow his mistress in the kitchen? But Covington's woman was useful, at least until the onset of her illness: She wasn't afraid of physical labor, she bore the workers' flirtations and vulgarities with humor and good grace, and she spoke beautiful Italian. This last quality being, in Tebaldi's eyes, her true saving grace.

And even now—even in her profoundly sick state—she mesmerized him. A long, bare leg, moored to the floor by the blanket tangled around the foot, hung out of the fragile cot. She wore nothing but a camisole and underwear. A dark edge of pubic hair escaped the white boundary of the cotton briefs and he felt momentarily aroused, then ashamed, then alarmed: Covington possessed a preternatural ability to sense—and expose—baser instincts in men. The last thing he needed was her fist in his face. But fortunately, she was too occupied by the care of her friend—she gathered the blanket off the floor and covered her friend's legs, mopped the sweat from the sick woman's brow, and began to take her pulse.

"Do you need anything?" Tebaldi croaked nervously.

It startled Janice. She had forgotten all about him. "No," she replied curtly. Then, in a gentler tone: "Please bring the doctor here as soon as he arrives."

He nodded and left.

As much as she was relieved to see the Italian go, Janice felt nervous—almost afraid—to be alone with Mel. The hopelessness of the situation sank her when she was by herself; under its deadweight, she had no reason for the pretense of strength. Even though Tebaldi saw right through it all.

The rapid onset of the illness had been particularly alarming to Janice when she realized that, since the day they had met, she had never seen Mel sick in any serious way. The woman had survived severe New England winters with barely a cold to show for it, despite her absentminded tendency to run around without hats during snowstorms. On the other hand, Mel had nursed her through flu, seasickness, airsickness, menstrual cramps, hangovers, and gunshot wounds. It hardly seemed fair.

The strangeness of the fever also unsettled her. For a day now Mel, when conscious, spoke in languages that she did not understand, and one that she could vaguely identify as the language in the scrolls. The words chilled her, even though she did not understand them.

The murmuring began anew. Janice leaned in closer. The translator's eyes were closed; a tangle of incomprehensible words was borne upon a shallow strand of breath. Janice touched her lover's cheek. Before she could even utter the name, Mel had her by the throat. The large, powerful hand pressed against her windpipe. Janice felt the world dim for a second before she was flung almost halfway across the tent.

Jesus Christ. Janice lay gasping, afraid to move. What was that? She swallowed, touched her neck, and sat up slowly. Mel was still prone on the cot, the arm that had effortlessly thrown a grown woman several feet hung limp and weak, knuckles grazing the floor.

She could have killed me. The realization came upon her with ferocity. Janice coughed feebly, then forced herself to stand up. Was this a time of reckoning, of an inevitable reenactment? Absurd. Right? Resentment welled up in her at the ever-persistent undertow of the past—this particular past—which seemed insistent on pre-scripting their lives.

Yet—aside from that—the past few years were an idyll that she never knew was possible. Was there a price for that? Wasn't there always, no matter who you were?

Warily she approached the cot, mindful of that long arm's reach. But the painful, labored breathing scared her, and Janice forsook prudence for love.

Mel was staring up at her. Her eyes, so drained of color, showed some recognition of the woman leaning over her. She spoke slowly in her own accented English. "What's happening to me?"

"I don't know," Janice replied. I wish I did.

* * *

Snowflakes caught in her hair, and on her face. They melted. She could not move.

A sledgehammer blocked the sun.

Mel opened her eyes. And saw nothing. She attempted movement. But could not move a muscle. Everything—arms, chest, legs—was immobile. Oh God, it's true. It's really true. She tried again to move. She struggled in silence, but soon her feral whimpers of frustration escalated into a full-throated scream.

Her cries subsided when she felt hands on her face and a distinct sound emerged from the surrounding chaos of her distress. "Mel!" Despite the soothing touch and the commanding, familiar voice, she could not stop her body from struggling.

The sudden light—even though soft and dim—hurt her eyes. But Janice's face, paler and thinner, was before her, and her hands, cool and comforting, on her cheeks. "It's okay, it's okay. Shhhh. Shhh. Look at me. Look at me, darling. It's okay." Through her words and her caresses, Janice managed to coax her back into a lucid, calmer frame of mind, hysteria melted by this siren song of sanity. She was, however, too exhausted and confused to note the look of wild, desperate relief in Janice's eyes.

"What happened?" Mel rasped.

Janice's own emotions were now threatening to mutiny. "You're in a hospital. You've been sick. Do you remember anything?"

Her legs ached. "I—remember too much."

A nun hovered by the bed, holding a cup of cold water, scrutinizing the sick woman. Janice took it and pressed it to Mel's mouth, and she drank greedily. "Easy now.” Mel drank slower, then stopped.

The water tasted good; she could not remember water that ever tasted so good. It gave Mel the courage to ask the next question. "Why can't I move?" she whispered. Am I paralyzed? A violent surge of helplessness shook her body, and the movement would have encouraged her had not fear and illness clouded her mind.

"They put restraints on you." Janice looked to the Sister. "Per favore, rimovere

questi," she requested in her awkward Italian and pointed to the leather straps. The nun agreed with a quick nod, and left the room to fetch the doctor.

"Restraints?" Mel echoed huskily.

"Meningitis. You have—had—meningitis." Janice took the cup away from her lips.

"It was dangerous for you to move." She turned quickly to camouflage her shaking hand—too quickly. The cup fell to the floor, its clatter dominating the room. She bent to retrieve it, and paused, kneeling on the floor, as if in prayer. Tears surged and she closed her eyes tightly, every muscle scrunched and fighting surrender. Not here. Not now.

"Are you all right?" Mel's voice was hoarse from lack of use, almost unrecognizable.

Just turn around and don't be a fucking baby. Cry later.

She stood up and turned around.

"You're not sick too, are you?" But now Janice was comforted with the familiar:

Mel's face was already set in that usual stubborn, serious way when preoccupied with her companion's health.

You come back from the dead and you worry about me.

Janice burst into laughter. It was far better than crying.

* * *

Even after a week, she could smell the hospital on her skin, clinical and clinging.

Mel thought taking baths—many baths—would help. Enveloped by soft steam, she stretched out in the huge tub—an old-fashioned one with claw feet. It was big enough to accommodate her length; in fact, it almost dominated the small bathroom of the pensione where she and Janice stayed.

Idling in a bathtub, however, gave her more time to recount the sickening fascination the doctors had with her quick and full recovery from a disease that either debilitated or killed its victims. E stupefacente, the doctor from Rome had pronounced, expressing his astonishment. Acting as a medical pied piper, he led his more provincial colleagues on many a merry exploration of her body—she was thoroughly poked and prodded, not to mention violated in a manner that—well, she wasn't certain she would even let Janice touch her like that.

She could lie down in the tub if she wanted to, but shuddered at the thought of entombment in water. Instead, she dunked her head for the briefest of seconds; she sat up, gulped for air, and saw Janice shuffling nervously in the doorway, hands tucked into pockets. "I, uh, had some food sent up. Are you hungry?"

"A little," Mel admitted. The unease between them troubled her. During those awkward medical examinations Janice had always been present, her apprehension indicating a resistance to what she witnessed. You weren't expecting this, were you? To see this legacy in action. To see how my body really works. I was never sick a day in school. Bruises would disappear overnight. A broken arm from an auto accident had healed in two and a half weeks. Self-conscious and 18, Mel had worn the splint and bandages for almost another three weeks, merely to avoid the questions and the stares that she had received from the doctors and nurses at the hospital.

Was it presumptuous of her to think her illness had derailed the dig? If I hadn't gotten sick, would this have turned out better? "Could you do me a favor—"

Eager to be useful, Janice nodded and straightened.

"—er, could you wash my hair?" It was one way of getting physical contact. Like a concierge vying for a huge tip, Janice had been painfully attentive and solicitous—yet almost as detached—since her release from the hospital.

The response was soft. "Sure."

As Janice walked by the tub, Mel reached out and clasped a dry wrist in her wet hand. She felt resistance twitching within those tendons, then slackening into surrender.

"What is it?" Janice knelt down. She looked tired from days spent finishing up business with the excavation—the paperwork and dealing with the local authorities a far more wearying task to her than any manual labor. In addition to this, she was trying to locate a nefarious former contact (a man who sold artifacts for Harry in the Italian black market) who might know the whereabouts of the Venetian family that possessed the scroll they saw at Neuschwanstein.

"I—" It had always been extraordinarily difficult for Mel to ask for affection. Initiating contact was another matter, but this she was unused to. Nonetheless, her head tilted forward, as did Janice's, and they kissed with tentative tenderness. Not even the tepid bath water could deter her enjoyment. It's still there, she thought, as if desire were a pocket watch she could somehow misplace or lose.

Sometimes the best part of kissing Janice was after the fact. Mel would pull back, at first reluctantly, and watch her: eyes closed, body swaying, face divinely peaceful, lips parted in silent sensual prayer. She did this now, and noticed something new. The natural light of the room was powerful enough so that Mel saw a waning bruise, butter colored and round, along the neck, near the carotid artery. "What's this?" she murmured.

The green eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Here." Mel reached out to touch the bruise with damp fingers, but the archaeologist jerked away, like a boxer avoiding a punch. You ruined that moment, Melinda, she chastised herself.

"I dunno. Just got knocked around on site, I guess." Janice stood up quickly, then walked around the tub to fetch the small vial of shampoo, on a stand near the toilet.

Mel craned her neck to see her, but couldn't. "You don't know?" she repeated, incredulous.

"Nope." Janice was cheerfully obtuse.

She was crowned with a puddle of shampoo. Then lank wet hair was scooped off her shoulders and merged into the sticky goo on her head. Her body went limp as strong fingers massaged her temples and scalp. The pleasure continued in silence for a few minutes. "You deserve a tip for this."

"I live for your tips, baby. My favorite one was, 'Never wash silk in hot water.' "

Mel smiled at this, then frowned. She had tried to change the conversation, succeeded, but became undone by compulsion: The bruise remained a niggling question. "Were you in a fight?" she asked quietly.

The massage stopped for a second, then continued at an even slower, gentler pace. "Yeah."

"With one of the workers?"

A pause. "Yeah."

"Not that huge Sicilian!"

"No. Not him."

Mel frowned. It must have been someone strong, someone quick, to catch Janice like that. This reminded her of Tebaldi, who, despite his large size and meandering slowness, possessed lightning fast reflexes when the situation called for it. "It was Tebaldi, wasn't it?" That would explain Janice's reluctance to discuss the matter—the embarrassment of a fight with the dig's other leader.

A longer pause. "Yeah." She rubbed Mel's neck. "Rinse."

Mel did so, ducking her head. When she emerged from the water Janice was once again at the side of the tub, drying her hands briskly with a towel.

"Get outta there before that water gets too cold."

"Janice?"

"Hmm?"

"I—I don't want you to stop this excavation, if it's because of me." She wanted to take Janice's hand again, but hesitated. "I'll be fine...I could go home, if you want me to."

"Do you want to go home?" Janice drawled this out slowly, matching time with the motion of her hands, tangled within the towel.

"I want to be where you are."

"I want that too," Janice replied softly. She sighed and knelt down again. A finger flicked at the water's surface, creating lazy eddies in the water. "It was just a hunch, coming here." This is what she chose to call both the vague, relentless dreams and an equally slim lead, an obscure reference in an equally obscure 19th-century history of the Roman Empire:

In the very last day of his life, Julius Caesar finally avenged himself in a long-standing feud with a renowned Greek warrior. The name is lost to posterity; apparently the emperor so despised and loathed the Greek that he forbid recording the name in official court transcripts. Ironically, as his nemesis was crucified, all of Rome finally avenged themselves upon him.

Mel had scoffed at the obscure text and its secondary sources, its typos, its blatant misstatements of well-known facts. Who could trust a book with such a morbidly pedestrian title as Ruin and Death of the Ancient Empire? And who knew anything about its author, a Romanian scholar called Blavdak Vinomori? Yet simultaneously reports surfaced of an excavation of a Roman fort in the Apennines, and fragments of what were believed to be crucifixes. A coincidence?

It felt as if all the pieces were falling into place. Janice had arranged quickly to join the dig, and due to her affiliation with a major American university became one of its leaders.

Don't you feel it like I do? Janice wondered. You resist it so much at times, I know you do.

Why do you fight it? What are you fighting for?

She looked into those eyes, that familiar blue, and for one rare moment truly believed that she did not know this woman she claimed to love. She swallowed, and in the slithering motion of peristalsis, felt that phantom hand around her throat. She wished it would go away. But until it did—and Janice was certain she could eventually will it into oblivion—she would burrow it away, along with those things that she did not really consider secrets but merely unspoken truths. Whatever you were thinking, whoever you were in that one sick moment, it's not you. So I won't tell you.

Instead she watched as Mel stretched forward in the tub, drawing her legs up, arms wrapping about them, thoughtfully propping her chin on a kneecap. The movement—unconsciously feminine and unknowingly graceful, and in that manner quintessentially Mel—gave her back to Janice, restoring her belief and determination.

There will be no consequences.

"Janice." This was murmured sleepily.

"What, honey?" The endearment slipped out.

"Those dreams that you've had...they were about a crucifixion, weren't they? Their crucifixion."

Why can't I protect you? Why do I always seem to fail? "Yeah."

"So that was how it ended."

"They're just dreams. At this location, the Romans crucified their prisoners. It's—an odd kind of influence."

Mel looked up at her. "And you? Why did you have the dreams?"

"Because." Because I saw so many ugly things during the war, it spoiled sleep for me. Just like Catherine Stoller spoiled flying for me, the bitch. Christ, I can't let another thing be ruined. "I don't have pretty dreams. You know that."

Mel shifted in the tub, the slight agitation sending a whorl of water around her body, the water's turmoil an extension of the unease that churned within her. She stretched her wet arm along the tub, a hand held out toward Janice, almost in supplication. "But I want that for you." She said this solemnly, simply, as if speaking the wish could make it so.

Janice hesitated, then took the hand and helped Mel out of the tub. She then summoned the best of her bravado, a family skill she actually took pride in and deemed useful. "Who needs dreams?" She hesitated playfully in handing Mel a towel. "Reality is looking pretty good about now."

* * *

A day later Tebaldi was at the pensione, with official reports that Janice had to sign off on. He stood at the door of their room, scanning anxiously for Janice, then nearly dissolving into a puddle of relief when Mel informed him that Janice was out. She took a manila envelope from him with brusqueness. "I hope the next time you two work together, you will get along better with one another," she chastised him.

The hulking Italian looked appropriately guilty. "I know we have had some disagreements. I should have been more patient with her, for she was very anxious about you."

"Yes. I know she is not easy to get along with, but there was no need for violence."

He looked puzzled. "Signora?"

"Dottore, do not play the innocent with me. You were in a fight with her. I saw the bruises."

"What?" he yelled. Before she could ask him to lower his voice, he continued. "Signora Pappas, what are you accusing me of? I have never, in my entire life, struck a woman! Did she tell you that?"

Mel now realized why she felt at home in Italy: The resultant melodramas were like the backstage dramatics at a cotillion, or a debutante ball.

"I do not care if Janice Covington works for Harvard or the Vatican! I will not be slandered!"

It made perfect sense for him to deny it—the archaeological community was surprisingly small, rumors spread like venereal diseases (and such diseases were, in themselves, another story all together), reputations and egos were fragile, while memories were long and tougher than an elephant's hide.

Nonetheless, Mel believed him. His outrage felt genuine. And he had always acted with patience, kindness, honesty, and integrity—toward everyone involved in the excavation, including the temperamental Covington. I make him sound like an insurance company, she thought. Time to nip this in the bud. She placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Dottore, please forgive me. I am mistaken then. I must have misunderstood my friend. As you know, I have been very ill, and my mind in great confusion. You have my most sincere apologies."

The tension in his arm softened. He relented. "Thank you, Signora," he replied haughtily.

What a Southern belle you would be, Dr. Tebaldi, she thought, and gave him one of her best disarming smiles.

He blushed. "Eh," he muttered gruffly. "It is forgotten. We will never speak of it again."

The Italian archaeologist accepted a glass of wine—of course—to seal the apology, then departed. He left Mel sitting alone, running a finger along a fragile glass stem, watching the gray sky finally release its burden of rain, and wondering why her lover had lied to her.

Janice appeared an hour later, breathless, exuberant, and shaking water from her jacket. "I found him." She grinned and swiped at her wet, cold face with a shirtsleeve.

"Who?" Mel withdrew a handkerchief from her purse and gently dried the archaeologist's face while she squirmed like a puppy. Her hair, however, was still wet. The translator frowned at her futile hankie. Fetching a towel from the bathroom meant relinquishing her hold on Mad Dog, whom she would have to chase around the room and who would, no doubt, leave her muddy boot prints all over the carpet.

"Falconetto. The guy who has our scroll."

Our scroll? Mel thought, amused. How proprietary we are.

"The old man—the family patriarch—is dead. The son has it." Janice gulped for air. "He was out of the country for awhile. I couldn't understand the exact word my contact used—friggin' pain in the ass language, I know you love Italian, but Jesus, they talk so goddamn fast here—I think Giancarlo called him an ‘entertainer’ or an ‘entrepreneur’ or somethin' like that. Which makes me think he's some kind of male prostitute. But he's back in the Veneto, on Murano."

Mel made a game yet useless effort to dry blonde hair with her handkerchief.

"Stop grooming me, will ya?" Janice laughed at her efforts, and vigorously shook out her tangled hair, sending off both raindrops and coppery glints. If Mad Dog really had a tail, Mel mused, it would be wagging about now.

And she couldn't bear to bring such happiness to a premature end.

* * *

Murano, Italy

Autumn 1950

Neno knew the tall woman was trouble.

He did not notice her until he galloped onto the makeshift stage, her appearance at the corner of his sight made him lose the spring in his step; she towered over almost all the men in the crowd. She was not one of the usual crowd—obviously a turista, but she did not look the type to idle away time watching a third-rate carnival act, he judged, taking in her elegant, expensive clothes. Especially a third-rate carnival act performing in an almost deserted field near a cemetery. He eyed the desultory crowd with barely disguised contempt.

He mindlessly went through the card tricks, the sneering disdain he felt thrown askance by the mysterious woman's presence. Didn't his Corsican grandmother have some saying about tall women? He couldn't remember.

He flicked an ace at the crowd. They oohed.

After ten minutes he was done; the crowd was small, and he saw no need to expend energy performing more complicated tricks—those were for the larger groups. He darted behind the stage to his motorcycle, parked near the tent he shared with the geek and the sword swallower. The crowd grew immersed in plate spinners. He was about to make his escape when he saw the tall woman coming toward him. Another woman, much shorter and dressed in men's clothes, accompanied her. A very odd pair, he decided.

"Signore? Posso parlare con voi?" she asked. She spoke Italian with the formal over-precision of a smart foreigner.

"Je ne parle pas italien," he retorted quickly, in French.

"Je parle francais aussi," she parried.

"Aber mein Deutsches ist viel besser," he shot back. Surely she is not German, he thought, despite her unnerving Reich-blue eyes.

His sense of impending victory was short-lived. "Naturlich," she responded

cheerfully. "Sollen wir fortfahren?"

His jaw stiffened. "I suppose you speak English as well."

"Yes, I do," she purred. This, he realized, was her native tongue, given the languid, sweet flow of the language. "But we can try for Greek or Arabic if you like."

The blonde woman tilted her hat back and chuckled.

"What do you want?" he snapped, spitefully reverting to Italian.

She did not miss a beat. "You are Eugenio Falconetto?"

He nodded. "Everyone calls me Neno."

"My name is Melinda Pappas. My friend is Dr. Janice Covington." She gestured to the blonde woman, who nodded. "We are scholars."

He lit a cigarette. "Studying the circus, maybe?"

She smiled graciously, acknowledging the humor in the situation. "No. We are interested in a scroll. It had been in the possession of your father before the war. Do you know what I am speaking of?"

"Signora, my father owned many things. What he did not sell to the Fascists, they took from him. Do you understand? I have nothing. Why do you think I am working here?" He motioned at his paltry tent with cigarette in hand; for some odd reason, he noticed, the little blonde was staring at his cigarette.

"Signore Falconetto..."

"Call me Neno."

"Neno, this scroll was written in ancient Greek. According to international records, your father sold it to the Germans in 1940. During the war it was in a depository at a Bavarian castle, where Dr. Covington and I first saw it. We have been informed that after the war, it was returned to your father, in Venice."

He shrugged.

His interrogator was patient and persistent. "Your father has passed away, has he not?"

"Si. Papa died. He waited until the war was over." Neno watched as Dr. Covington admired his motorcycle; the woman was circling it, looking at it from all angles. "He always had a very bad sense of timing."

"Does this mean that you have the scroll, Neno?"

"Signora Pappas, what are you asking? You want this thing, eh?"

"We would like to buy it, yes."

"And what if I do not sell?" He slid a hand into his right pocket, and felt the reassuring coolness of switchblade there.

"It seems to me a gentleman in your financial position would be willing to sell."

"The war has left no gentlemen in its wake," he said. "I am no gentleman."

His intent in pulling out the switchblade had only been to scare them away; he truly believed they had nothing to offer him but trouble. But no sooner had the blade sprung out of its sheath then he felt the steel of Dr. Covington's handgun imposing itself upon the soft underside of his jaw, the click of the gun's hammer reverberating along his skin.

Mel did not blink an eye, but sighed. "Neno, you are making my friend very unhappy."

"She is unhappy?" He choked out the words. The small woman was now close enough to him that he finally took notice of her eyes, clear and hard as glass. And if he had paid closer attention to those eyes earlier, he would not have trifled with them.

Covington mumbled something to the tall woman—very quickly and in English—which he did not understand.

Mel, of course, provided the translation for him. "She wants you to drop the knife and kick it over to me."

Reluctantly, he did.

The gun remained in his neck as Mel picked up the blade and, with a look of distaste, closed it. "Why do you do this?" she asked gently, like a schoolteacher disappointed with a prized pupil.

He swallowed. Finally, the doctor backed off, pulling the gun away, but keeping the barrel trained on him. "If it's not the Nazis, it's the Americans," he spat. "You are all buzzards, picking us apart like carcasses. You come in here, thinking that if you cannot buy something, you will take it."

"We never would have taken anything from you," she assured him.

Neno's sneer dropped when he looked at the small woman who playfully twirled the handgun and smirked at him. "I suppose I have no choice. If I do not give it to you, your friend shoots me. Eh?"

"Put the gun away," Mel said quickly, in English, to Janice.

The archaeologist hesitated, but trusted the imploring look in her friend's eyes. She tucked the .38 back in her waistband, under her loose shirt. It comforted Neno only in the slightest manner, for her hard gaze remained fixed upon him.

"We are not going to hurt you, nor force you to do anything," Mel assured him calmly. "But we are willing to pay you quite generously for the scroll."

Janice plucked Neno's cigarette from his hand, and took a long, hungry drag off it. The magician stared at her, stunned. She moved like quicksilver. A fellow thief, he thought. If he were not so afraid of her, he might even like her. Or want her. She was grinning at him now, although the broad smile did not warm those cautious eyes. She walked over to her friend and reached into the tall woman's overcoat, pulling out a substantial wad of lire. The casual toss of the packet hit him, lightly, in the shins.

Yes, we understand each other very well, don't we? We don't even need the translator. He knelt slowly to the ground and retrieved the money, ruffling it with a rough thumb. "Dolce madonna." He whistled, sharp and low. This sum would set him up quite nicely.

Neno looked up to see Mel smiling wryly. "Dr. Covington is feeling very generous today."

* * *

"It was a good day's shopping," Janice quipped happily as they emerged from

Neno's makeshift home. She gripped the metal tube tightly, resisted the almost overwhelming urge to suddenly wield it like a staff. And, even further, fought the strangely compelling, sudden desire to playfully whack Mel on the nose with it.

"So it seems." Mel turned up the collar of her dark coat against the brisk autumn air. She waited for Janice to make another sarcastic comment about looking like a Southern secret agent or an extra from The Third Man, but instead, Janice pounced on the seemingly innocuous—yet terribly loaded—comment.

" 'So it seems,' " the little archaeologist mimicked her to near perfection. "What the hell does that mean?"

It means I didn't really want that damned scroll back in my life, it means I don't want to know how it will end, it means I really hope that this is a forgery and a lie. It means I don't want their darkness. I don't want it foreshadowing us. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up," Mel kept her eyes riveted on the ancient cobblestones street as they walked. "This may not be a genuine artifact."

"Believe me, my hopes aren't up. My hopes are in the goddamn gutter."

Normally—and ironically—Janice was always the one walking faster whenever they were together, but now she found herself scrambling to keep up with her long-legged companion. "Wait a minute." She grabbed Mel's arm, but not roughly. "You're the one who encouraged me to keep searching. All through last year, you kept telling me that we will keep coming back and looking for them, no matter how long it takes."

Because you're the searcher. Because you'll never stop looking, and I know that.

It's what you're meant to do. And my role?

Janice took a deep breath in order to contain her ever-expanding anger. "And

now—"

To hold on and never let go.

"—you're pissing on my parade!" Janice brandished the tube with equal parts triumph and anger. "We found it again. Even if it is one of the fakes, it may point us toward the real ones."

"How?"

"Clues, baby. We're looking for clues. Archaeology is nothing if not detective work for suckers with a romantic streak a mile wide. The Sam Spades of the ancient world."

Mel arched an eyebrow. "I'm pleased you're finally willing to admit the truth to yourself."

Janice ignored this; or tried to, at the very least. "If we take the view that a forger did this for kicks, he might have written something that will lead us to the right place."

“Are you so certain it's a man?” Mel parried.

“Stop being a smart ass.”

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle, dear?”

Again Janice raised the tube for emphasis. "If this is the last fake, we can look at them all together, as a whole. We can look for patterns, for sequences—" Janice's tone softened. "—and that's where you come in. You're good at that kind of thing."

"I'm a linguist, not a puzzle solver."

"They're the same thing sometimes," the archaeologist countered.

"I don't quite know how to match wits with a dead thief."

"You match wits with a live one all the time, baby." Janice grinned and did not wait for her, but continued walking down the street.

Mel watched her for a moment as she strode down the old cobblestones, shoulders hunched, head ducked, hands shoved in her pockets. She always walked like that, no matter her mood—in that defensive way, her body a battering ram against the world, primed for the slightest altercation. Mel knew that walk, and felt its rhythm as deeply as she felt her own. Walking away, why is it you always seem to be walking away from me? The thought startled her. Then she remembered Anton's stroke, and Janice walking away from her in the hospital, and how she had wanted to drop everything, slip the bonds of her responsibilities, and chase after that sad swagger. How she had wanted to give up her world to assuage that hurt.

And I still do. With a just a few long strides she caught up to Janice, who peeked at her, almost suspiciously, from over the upturned lapel of her leather jacket.

"You seem pretty certain about this theory," Mel remarked, in an effort at casualness.

"It's the only one I have," Janice retorted grimly. "Otherwise—I don't know what to think. I wouldn't know where to begin to look for the originals again, except to retrace my father's steps. And that seems almost pointless to me right now. There wasn't a stone left unturned in Amphipolis when he was done with it." Her lips tightened for a moment into a fierce frown, as they frequently did whenever Harry arose as a topic of conversation.

Now there's a subject that sorely needs excavating, Mel thought. Albeit one that required the lightest and most precise of touches, and even after everything they had been through, and everything they meant to each other, Mel wasn't certain she could pull it off. She sighed.

Janice fixed her with a glare. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're thinking, and you know I hate it when you do that."

"I'm surprised you haven't concocted some manner in which to keep me barefoot and pregnant!"

"Believe me, I've been trying to knock you up for years." Janice stopped walking, thus forcing pedestrian traffic—a mishmash of tourists and artisans from the work shops returning to work after lunch—to flow around them. "Now tell me what's bugging you."

"I just—I—" Mel shrugged helplessly. Janice's thumb stroked the black cashmere of her coat.

"—you're afraid of what we'll find."

"And I'm afraid we'll find nothing."

"You'll find something in your translation, Mel. I know you will."

"I don't know why you think I'm good at this."

"You've got to be kidding me," Janice snorted. "Need I bring up Bletchley again?"

After the war, Anton Frobisher, Mel's old friend, let slip that "the boys from Bletchley"—the brilliant team of codebreakers who eventually unraveled the Germans' Enigma code—were interested in having Mel on staff. She had refused, of course, and her repeated rejections grew even more strident once she was reunited with Janice in London.

It was a sore spot—the revelation had caused a considerable row between them.

Janice believed that Mel was a sentimental fool passing up a great opportunity, and Mel thought Janice was an unsentimental fool who clearly did not understand the politics and rivalries among wartime government agencies.

"No, you needn't bring that up again," Mel retorted icily.

"They wouldn't have wanted you if you weren't damned good."

"It wasn't about how good I was, it was about stealing Anton's staff. And yes, it was about staying close to you.” Mel finally yanked her sleeve away from Janice's hand. Why did I fall in love with someone who loves to argue in public?

"Okay, fine, but don't you regret it at all?" Janice spread out her arms.

Regret? Yes. If I went to Bletchley, maybe Catherine Stoller never would have found me, and maybe she wouldn't have almost killed you. "I can't believe you're picking a fight about this again!" she growled through her teeth.

The archaeologist seemed to ponder this apparent insanity. "Yeah, but just think of all the fucking we'll have to do to make up." This time Janice did not claim her sleeve, but her hand. "I don't know about you, but that's what keeps me focused in a fight."

The situation thus diffused, Mel allowed herself to be led through the tourists, the shopkeepers, and the open-air stalls. She smiled. Covington did know how to start a fight, but she also knew how to finish them.

* * *

Back on the mainland, in Venice, Mel stared at the small envelope that the Cavaletto's concierge had handed her before they descended up to the hotel room. Thinking it another dinner invitation from the amorous and persistent Vittorio Frascati, she rolled her eyes and resolutely decided to ignore it. However, as Janice rushed into the bathroom, idle curiosity won out and she tore open the note.

You're a difficult woman to keep track of, my dear.

Meet me at the Rialto Bridge tomorrow morning.

Mark Pendleton.

Mel felt most fortunate that she was sitting when she opened the note. Nonetheless, she almost jumped out of her skin when Janice came up behind her.

"Another love note from Vittorio?" Janice asked sarcastically.

Mel quickly tore up the note and threw it in a wastebasket. "Yes." She was surprised at how quickly the lie came to her.

Janice hummed for a moment. "Will I have to kill him?" The playful threat lost even more of its edge as she placed her chin atop Mel's head.

Mel stared at the torn paper in the wastebasket. "I hope not," she whispered.

* * *

She did not recognize him at first. In civilian clothes he looked less prepossessing, the male equivalent of dowdy, the stern crewcut of his wartime service yielding to a softer hairstyle. His eyes, however, retained their bitter sharpness.

And he remained impressed with her beauty. There was an uneasy silence as he smiled, taking her in.

She said nothing; if she were anxious, it was only at this appalling failure of her relentlessly proper Southern manners.

"You probably wonder how I knew you were here," he began.

Mel's lips moved without sound. Then she found her voice. "Yes, Major. I do."

"You can call me Mark. It's no longer wartime." His reply was almost as soft.

She despised the creeping, implied intimacy of it. "How did you know I was here—" He stepped closer to her. "—Mr. Pendleton?"

His laugh was low. "Ah, let's see. When last I saw you, it was Switzerland, at the end of 1945. From there you went on to London. You—and Dr. Covington—were there until the spring of 1946. April, I believe. I think you took about three trips to Cornwall during that time as well. From London, you returned to the United States. You were in New York for two weeks, then you accompanied Dr. Covington to Cambridge. You were in Cambridge for six weeks approximately. Then you returned to your house in Charlotte, North Carolina—with a little side trip to the ancestral home in Columbia, South Carolina—sold it, and moved your belongings to Cambridge." He paused to take a breath. "A lot of moving about in one year. You really threw in your lot with that guttersnipe, didn't you?" He watched, fascinated to see a crack in her reserve—her eyes darkened, the pupils expanded and flooded with anger. "Do you want me to go on?"

Mel's empty hands ached. How easy it would be, how satisfying to feel the soft crunch of your throat. Bones and veins, unraveled in my grasp. Like pulling apart a chicken carcass. The clenching of her hands neither stilled the voice inside nor the compulsion it produced.

"I make it my business to know these things—to keep track of certain people. You must admit, you are hardly low profile in your circle these days. Being the, ah, sponsor of Dr. Covington's work, you are becoming as well known as she. Perhaps that was not your intention."

Stop it, stop it. She looked down at her shaking hands. "It wasn't," she affirmed.

"It does draw attention to the fact that you live with the woman."

"I'm hardly a stranger to gossip." Obviously, you have never lived in a small, Southern town, where there is nothing to do but talk about your neighbors. As a young woman, living alone with her father, Mel had been subject to every strain of lurid rumor imaginable, the tamest of which was being homosexual. "I've lived with it most of my life."

"So you never wonder or worry about what people think?"

She straightened. "I've gone through too much…to really care anymore what people think about me."

"Ah, my dear, but you do care about what people think of your lover, don't you?" Pendleton smiled, knowing he hit his target.

"What do you want of me?"

"I want your services." He chuckled at the look on her face. "Oh, not that. You're a lovely creature, but—" Pendleton shuddered, as if carnal relations with her would sully him in some fashion. "No, it's not that. Your proximity to Dr. Covington is what interests me."

Mel's hand tightened along the bridge. "I don't quite understand."

"The war is technically over. But the work of the OSS continues—we are still retrieving missing and lost art objects all over Europe." He paused for a moment, to retrieve a pipe from his coat. Casually, he tapped its bowl against the railing. "What is your business with Falconetto?"

"Since you seem to know everything about my life, I think there is no reason for me to tell you."

Pendleton suppressed a smile; he found Melinda Pappas an enjoyable and formidable opponent. "You're right, of course. I know. You have come to retrieve a scroll—one of those tales of that warrior woman. You know, Catherine Stoller paid old Falconetto quite generously the first time around. Almost three times its worth. She kept meticulous records of all her purchases for the Ahnenerbe." He clenched the stem of the pipe between his teeth and fumbled for matches. "She was involved with them from the start, despite what she told you. Quite an expert at playing both ends, I say. A damned genius at subterfuge." He yanked a match free from its book, then stopped and fixed her with his flinty glare. "Did she play you for the fool, Melinda? Is that how your relationship came to an end?"

Darling Melinda, surely you knew this would come. I have a fiancé. Even in the seeming anonymity of a typewritten "Dear Jane" note, Catherine's voice—cool, condescending—had bled through every word and every imagined, rackety keystroke that echoed within Mel's mind.

"She typed up a fucking kiss-off letter?" Janice had exclaimed in disbelief when Mel finally told her the Stoller story in its entirety.

The impersonality—and brevity—of the letter had hurt the most; Mel paid little regard to the part about the fiancé. Those, the Southern beauty knew from experience, were discarded easily enough—she had gone through seven in four years at Vanderbilt.

"You had seven fucking fiancés?" Janice had roared when this slight piece of information inadvertently revealed itself.

Thinking of Janice's reaction—and what she had to do to placate her—brought a serene smile to her face, and provided Pendleton with an erroneous, if puzzling, silent answer to his needling, gratuitous question, one that she felt no need to correct.

Dismayed at her lack of response, he lit a match and sucked the flame into the pipe's brown bowl. "No matter," he said between puffs. "The past is done and Stoller is dead, unfortunately."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, I know you don't mourn her. I mourn what was inside her head. The things she knew—about the SS in general, the Ahnenerbe in particular, even the bloody Werwolf movement she took up with at the end of the war—the woman was a walking font of information about the Nazis. She would have made my task easier."

"I—" Mel began shakily. "I regret that things happened the way they did. It was never my intent for Catherine to die. I didn't know, I didn't imagine—that it would end as it did." So now you're finally feeling remorse?

"Of course not," he retorted coldly. " 'But the wise perceive things about to happen.'" He removed his pipe and stared at it. "You're familiar with the quote?" His sharp eyes returned to her face.

She nodded bleakly. "Philostratos." And also used in a Cavafy poem, she recalled.

They stood quietly, watching the canal. Pendleton smoked his pipe in an almost amiable silence, perhaps trying to disarm her with his casualness, so that his assault would be all the more effective. "Would you really lie to protect her? If she is cut from the same cloth as her father—"

"She's not," Mel shot back vehemently.

"All right then, let's assume that. But she must have information about her father's transactions with the Nazis. Something she is not telling us."

"Why would she withhold information?"

"Her father's reputation. Her own. Yours." He sucked on the pipe. "Find out for me. Get me some documentation."

"This could be resolved in a very simple manner. Go to her, and ask her these questions yourself. Janice will not lie to you."

"My dear, your doctor was interrogated by the OSS, before she was sent on assignment to Neuschwanstein. She refused to answer any questions directly pertaining to her father. Needless to say, suspicion was raised a few notches after that."

Interrogated? Mel was too distracted by this new bit of information to resist the hand placed upon her arm. "We are bound together by the secrets we have, whether you like it or not. Work with me, Melinda. I think you would be of great use to the intelligence community." Oh, what a euphemism. Even in her muddled mindset, she couldn't fail to see the humor in that phrase. "In return....Perhaps I could help you."

She stared at him incredulously.

"I may be able to help you locate the scrolls."

"You know where they are?" Her voice was tinged with menace.

Pendleton raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say that." He tapped out the remains of his pipe bowl into the Grand Canal as she winced. He smirked, amused at her disgust, and nodded at the water. "Don't you know how filthy that canal is already?" He buttoned his coat and turned to her; something remained of his military bearing and he looked as if he were standing at attention, even with his hands tucked in the coat's pockets. "I must go now. Do think about what I've said, will you?"

"Go to hell," she said softly. Then she walked away.

2. Recognition

Does the ancient book instill a quiet fear because its language is dead or

because, on the contrary, it communicates a recognizable voice? Which is more

terrible, death or resurrection?

—Geoffrey O'Brien

Cambridge

Spring 1951

The fountain pen drew a line, a savage gallop over the page, a border of black that glistened until the page drank it in. Once drained of liquid life, it stood there, solid and dull, yet indelible.

Mel had awakened before dawn, an act strangely familiar to her. She blamed an odd dream—she was drowning, literally, when a small rowboat came along. Miss Cantrip, her old high school Latin teacher, was in the boat, and instead of throwing out a life preserver, she threw a huge Latin grammar instead. And Mel was clinging to the book and going under when she woke. The blue shadows of pre-dawn and the murky dream sea were almost indistinguishable at first, and she panicked until realizing that she held in her arms an extra pillow and not a Latin grammar, and that it wasn't an undertow but Janice's legs that pinned her down. We sleep so close together that our skin becomes entwined. The illusion broke with the tickling sharpness of an unshaven leg scraping against her smooth skin. Mel sighed; if only the wartime practice of leg-shaving—a very civilized practice indeed, the translator thought—had caught on with Covington. The little savage.

From there she padded down to the study. The transcription of the scroll in its original Greek (the original too fragile to be handled extensively) lay beside her own vellum notebook—a languishing, laughing tabula rasa, and the fountain pen lying in its crook—an antiquated weapon, charming and useless.

She allowed these instruments to torment her only briefly. You just have to not think about it and do it, as Janice would say to her when confronted with an unpleasant task (and Mel so loved to throw these words back at her when Janice dreaded going in to class). And so she picked up the pen and, as if it needed a warm-up, drew the line at the top of the page.

The pen, guided by her hand, idly copied a few Greek characters just above the thick line. The serifed strokes formed a word.

Waters. I have traveled over many rivers and seas. None I regret more than those I crossed to Britannia.

After uncharacteristically dooming Pendleton to the underworld, Mel had walked through the city—her city, she thought of it so protectively—winding through the narrow streets, along the Riva Degli Schiavoni and into the less crowded Castello district. She had sat at a cafe, staring into the water of the San Marco Canal, fluttering under the soft gold of weak autumn light. Had she made the right decision? Should she tell Janice? She didn't know. All she knew was that the serenity, the bliss she consigned to this city was under threat of implosion from an aspect of her past that, she had hoped, was completely,

utterly dead and buried. Don't taint this place for me, she had silently implored the absent Pendleton, as she sat at the cafe. Because she believed that in Venice she could immerse herself in a history of her own construction, one that she devised with Janice. One that she thought she could control.

What made me think I could control it? Any more than I can control this act, or what it will reveal? She watched, almost detached, as the pen skated over paper. The words came, as they always did, cloaked in that strange garb of a dead language, like ghosts. Then, gradually, they were stripped by her ministrations until the meaning was bare. Any erotic component to this intangible craft fled her mind as she awkwardly cradled the huge Liddell & Scott dictionary in both arms, as if it were a burdensome baby.

Morning had tilted its light along the walls and the bookshelves, and suddenly she felt Janice's presence—sleepy, sweet-smelling, showered, a hand depositing a coffee cup on the desk, damp copper tendrils brushing her cheek in a kiss of their own devising.

When she reached for the coffee, she discovered an oily film of age floating on top of the black liquid and the porcelain mug downright cool. She was about to curse her blonde coffeemaker when she noticed the square of sun from the window had climbed even higher on the wall. Close to noon? She stared at another new object on the desk, cold toast, once slice dark with absorbed butter, the other topped with marmalade, just the way she liked it. Shanghaied once again by her overwhelming sense of propriety, Mel left the study in order to wash up and put on real clothes. When she returned, chewing on a hairpin and still ignoring the cold food on the desk, she could hear children playing outside (did I leave that window open?), the clatter of tools in the driveway (what on Earth is she doing to that car?) and tuneless whistling (isn't she sick of "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" yet?).

But once again the words drew her in, and everything was forgotten.

* * *

The wrench slid out of Janice's grasp. "I give up. I fucking give up."

The Packard's death rattle continued to mock her.

"Turn it off," she called to Paul, who sat behind the wheel of the abysmal vehicle.

He turned the key, and the car convulsed, sputtered, and died. At least for the time being.

"Packard 1, Mad Dog 0," Paul decreed the winner. He opened the door of the car but remained sitting there; the seats were terribly comfortable. He put a foot on the dash, and looked toward the open front window of the house, where the study was located. "Did you chain her to the desk?" he asked Covington.

"No, asshole," she grunted as she tossed tools back into their metal chest.

"Keep sweet talkin' me, Janice. Weave your spell over me."

"Asshole, asshole, asshole." She punctuated this mantra by consigning the wrench to the clutter.

"Come on, spill it. What's wrong?"

“Nothing," she muttered—just as he knew she would. But then, surprisingly, she glanced at the window, and reneged on her stoicism. "I just worry when she gets like this." Janice shut the toolbox.

Paul was surprised at this rare revelation. Oh, so you do worry about her, you do love her, he thought sarcastically. Asshole! he berated himself. You know she does. God, it's been too long. I need a woman. His gaze wondered over Janice's body. Not exactly his type, compact and too muscular, but she certainly had curves in all the right places—

"What the hell at you staring at?" she barked.

"I just realized something," he said.

"What?"

"You have great tits." Unfortunately, the excitement regarding this epiphany had negated any common sense.

Janice could not have looked more stunned if he had hit her. And for a moment he thought she would. Silence dragged, she contemplated his observation, and thus spake Covington: "It's no wonder you can't get a woman. Your social skills are even worse than mine."

"We'll see about that, buster." Paul gave a quick warning whistle. "Geezer at 3 o'clock!"

Janice looked up. "Huh?"

"The Dean," he hissed.

Sure enough, the Dean and his walking stick were meandering in their general direction. Pompous old idiot, she thought. Never trust a man who wears a bow tie.

The wiry old man smiled and tipped his hat as he entered the driveway. "Janice." He nodded to Paul. "Mr Rosenberg! I'm pleased you'll be teaching for us this fall."

Paul jumped out of the car, nervously wiping dirty hands on his trousers. "Yes sir, I'm looking forward to it." They shook hands.

The one social amenity out of the way, the Dean turned his attentions to Janice. She folded arms across her chest, leery of further examination and potential commentary on her breasts. "I don't have to see you for another couple weeks, old man. What brings you to my door?"

"Is it wrong of me to check up on you, Janice? To see how your dig went? How Miss Pappas is feeling?"

"You know how the dig went. I filed the report at your office. And Miss Pappas is fine."

"She went to the Medical School as requested?"

"Yeah." Albeit very reluctantly. The team of Roman physicians was curious to see what their American colleagues thought of Mel's rapid recovery. The Americans were just as impressed, and just as unsuccessful in finding anything that would explain the healing powers of one seemingly unremarkable myopic Southern woman. Janice cleared her throat. "There's a report on that too, you'll just have to bug the damn doctors, and not me."

"Is she about?" The Dean made a show of looking around, as if Mel might have set up office under a hydrangea bush.

"She's working."

"Has she given any further thought to my proposal?"

Paul noticed—with some measure of dread—that Covington's eyes glistened with malice.

"She is giving it thought, and we will discuss it." The words slithered out between clenched teeth.

"Ah, she's a good girl!" the Dean grinned again. "And so are you, Janice, even though you pretend otherwise."

"Who's pretending, old man?"

Paul nibbled at his lip, wondered what Mel did in these situations other than discreetly kick her in the shins with pointy shoes. He also wondered if the Dean was not the most masochistic man within the town limits.

Nonetheless, the old man laughed, shook his head, and tipped his hat once again. "Very well. We shall speak again soon. Good day to you both."

As the Dean walked away, he thought he heard a word—"mother"—followed by a strange, muffled cry of pain. He turned around. Janice was bent over, as if examining something on the ground, and Mr. Rosenberg was tucking a pen into his shirt pocket. "Uh, Janice was just reminding me—to send regards to your mother."

The Dean arched an eyebrow, momentarily amused himself with the thought of what kind of regards Covington might actually send to his mother, then continued on his way.

Once he was well down the block, Janice was on the move, clutching her leg and hopping more frantically than an extra performing an Indian war dance in a bad Hollywood western. Wisely, Paul placed the Packard between himself and the homicidal archaeologist by half-climbing, half-leaping over the car's hood.

"You had to stab me with a pen!" she cried.

"I'm sorry! I wanted to shut you up before you did anything stupid."

"Fine, but why did you have to pick the same spot where that goddamn Nazi bitch nailed me?"

"Oh. It just looked like the chunkiest part of the thigh—"

"Shut up!" She rubbed her leg. "Christ, I think you broke the skin."

"Ya big baby." Nonetheless he jumped in genuine fear as she lunged for him across the Packard's hood. Growling in frustration, she resigned herself to sitting down in the driver's seat. He approached her cautiously. "What's this proposal the Dean was yakkin' about?"

The rubbing slowed considerably. "He wants Mel on faculty."

"Huh," he muttered, impressed. "You mean like the whole nine yards—a professor, and not a part-time hack like me?" She nodded. "I thought you needed an advanced degree to teach on that level."

"She has one. From Cambridge."

"You mean Harvard?"

"No, I mean Cambridge University in friggin' England, knucklehead. Well, she almost has one. Didn't finish all the coursework. But she could do that here in a flash." She glared at the ground. "It's all part of his deal."

"You made a deal with him?"

"Sort of. He'll continue to grant me sabbaticals and fund my research if he gets Mel on his staff."

"Does she want to?"

"I dunno," Janice mumbled.

37 Hours Ago

"No," Mel said firmly.

"But—"

"No."

"You might—"

"No."

"—like it—"

"You said that about baseball."

"You're not still sore about that, are you?"

"I'm still sore, period."

"Not everyone gets hit with a DiMaggio foul ball. It's like getting a Purple Heart. Anyway, this is different. I know you hate—"

"—talking in front of groups, especially adolescent boys—"

"Yeah, I know you hate that, and there is all the bullshit—"

"Academic politics."

"They should just shorten it to a four-letter word, shouldn't they?"

"When I agreed to this arrangement—"

"'Arrangement'? And you bitch about me not being romantic."

"—it was with the understanding that I would serve a supportive role. I would type your lesson plans, update your schedule, make your appointments, wash your stockings, make your lunch, bake cookies—"

"I'm still waiting for the cookies."

"Stop joking. You realize that if this happens, I won't be able to come with you on all your digs. In fact, I would probably be lucky to accompany you on any of them."

A pause. "I know."

"Of course you do. And you're glad of it."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"It means that you still have this foolish idea of protecting me, that I will be safer if I'm not out of the country. If I'm not with you."

There was no response to this.

"It's not your fault that I—got sick. It doesn't mean that something bad will happen every time."

Another long pause.

"Well?"

"All right, dammit, I won't deny it. But...it's not just that." A sigh. "Don't you see it, Mel?"

"See what?"

"You told me once that you left your home to find adventure—and to find yourself. You said you didn't want to end up being some sad small town spinster or some rich man's wife. Well, I'm not rich and I'm not a man, but goddamned if I don't wonder sometimes if you're wasting your talents and your skills. It's not that I don't appreciate all the stuff you do for me. I do. But—"

"What?" This rhetorical prompting was uttered gently.

"I want you to be you," Janice said.

* * *

And it had been left at that: Unresolved and with the promise of cookies still lingering in the air.

How much time do we got? Janice wondered. How many times will we be separated, if you take this gig? Maybe it was time to stop “fixing” the car.

"I'm really sorry about the leg," Paul apologized, fearing that the sudden silence might have something to do with him.

"It's okay, buddy boy." She raised her arm and sniffed. Ah, just the right amount of sweat and motor oil. Top it off with a little bourbon, and voila, we have eau de Covington. She'll be helpless! At my mercy! And she might even do that little trick of unbuckling my belt with her teeth. A cunning linguist, indeed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an obsessive to distract."

* * *

Mel desperately wanted to remove her glasses and rub her tired eyes, but one hand was more or less sat on by Janice, the other fending off the archaeologist's persistent advances.

They were both crammed into the leather chair at the desk. Janice was sitting in her lap, and Janice’s Mouth—indeed, the organ was so talented it warranted capital letters—was at her neck, composing a symphony out of kissing, nipping, and licking. Janice's intrepid hand—oh, all of your body deserves capital letters, and in big bold 72 point type, too!—flicked open two buttons of her blouse, and plunged in, cupping her breast.

Mel momentarily regained her senses, however, and snared the hand by its wrist.

No you don't, buster. Although she had to admit fending off Janice was, without question, the best bad date she'd ever had. She maneuvered the hand away from her breast and placed it on her knee.

It was a tactical error that her ancestor would've despised. Janice's hand shot up her skirt and lodged itself happily between two thighs. Like an Olympic swimmer, the hand was going for the gold.

Mel's vision blurred to such a degree that, for one delirious moment, she thought she was reading ancient Greek again and not her own English translation. She heard a gurgling whimper and recognized it as the sound of her own surrender. Oh, all right, I give up. It's not like I'm getting anywhere here. I don't even think I'm doing it justice, some of it sounds so pedestrian, so pedantic: "I intend to show." Why on earth would she begin a section with such a pompous, self-important phrase? It’s not like Gabrielle as a writer. Of course, we are assuming these are not originals, but a good forger would not tamper with an original unless—Janice, please stop biting my neck—unless there…is…some… significance….

Mel sat forward violently, dislodging the bundle of blonde archaeologist in her lap. Janice landed upon the floor with an undignified thunk. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Stretch," she growled as she sat up, rubbing her back. "Ow."

The translator was frantically flipping through her notebook.

"Ow," Covington restated petulantly, emphatically.

Mel uncapped her fountain pen and began scribbling on a fresh piece of paper.

"Goddamnit, OW!"

The roar caught Mel's attention, but failed to produce an apology. Janice knew something was up when those relentless Southern manners did not engage.

"I-I think I figured out something," Mel stammered breathlessly and, in her excitement, stood up.

The spurious injury was forgotten. Janice too jumped to her feet. "Really?"

"This phrase, i-it's repeated several times in the scroll...." She pointed to the words in her notebook. " 'I intend to show.' At least that was the best possible translation I could come up with. It's very prosaic and sometimes even awkward when it's stuck in the middle of all this purple prose. You might even call it inorganic." Janice raised an eyebrow. "You know what I mean. I think it's foreign, that someone other than the writer inserted it. And I think that's why I had such difficulty with it. If we look at the text surrounding it...."

Mel pointed at a sentence: I intend to show here that the sun was far from rising when Xena set out for Chin.

The pages fluttered wildly, like in a Walt Disney cartoon and Janice felt like the hapless hero of The Sorcerer's Apprentice. "And here's another." The translator pointed at another clumsy beacon within the text: I intend to show that the gate near the northern pass could not be broached.

"You're right, it's not like her usual style," Janice conceded.

Mel's finger struck the page with another triumphant thump. "Here's another." It is my intent to show the moon, glistening beyond the woods, was the only thing illuminating my path. Her eyes skipped the remainder of the painful passage: For it was the only thing that shone for me in that dark time. I wondered if the light she had so loved in me was forever dim.

And then the dignified Melinda Pappas did something she had not done since her

12th birthday, when her father bought her a horse: She clapped her hands and jumped up and down. I've got you now, my pretty!

She grabbed Janice's head with both hands and bestowed a sloppy kiss on messy hair. "My lucky charm," she breathed, and took a moment to mesmerize Janice with blue eyes and a secondary smooch, hard and hungry, right on the lips.

Janice was falling into the kiss—and preparing to drop her pants—when contact was broken, and a large hand gave her a substantial shove.

"Now y'all go away." Mel sat down and resumed copying out Greek sentences.

The archaeologist's hands were frozen on her belt buckle. "What?"

"Go fix the car."

"It's fixed."

"You're lying."

"I'm lying, but shit, baby, I need—"

She was silenced by two fingers thrust in her face—index and thumb, barely touching. "I'm this close," Mel said, with quiet urgency.

"Really?" Janice was slack-jawed.

Mel nodded.

She returned the nod. Helpless, anxious, yet happy, Covington felt like an expectant father as she wandered out of the study. And like generations of expectant fathers before her, she paced in front of a closed door for a while, and when the wait proved too much, she sought the comfort of alcohol at the closest bar. There she discovered anew the agony of waiting, the thrill of possibility, and the fact that her shirttail was peeking out of her unbuttoned fly.

Several hours later she returned home to find the lamp still burning in the study. But Mel was not within the penumbra of light at the desk; she was sprawled on the couch, one hand shading her eyes, the other loosely curled around her glasses. Each breath was a low, crouching rumble, ready for the great leap into full-fledged snoring.

Janice gazed at the open notebook on the desk. What she saw reminded her—unpleasantly—of algebraic equations. Lines of Greek were written on the page, one after another. She was helpless in deciphering their meaning even under the best of circumstances, let alone after two beers and three shots of bourbon. Show your work, Janice's mathematics professor had always chastised her. And in this instance, that was precisely what Mel had done. But the translator had found something. Characters had been underlined and a new Greek phrase scribbled out below the block of text. And below that was a phrase in English: Gate of the Sun, Gate of the Moon.

Unlike other useful homilies, the ever-skeptical Covington never quite believed the hyperbole behind the saying my blood runs cold. But, taking in the words of the notebook, something did freeze within her. She recoiled at first, then extended a hesitant finger to the page, as if to smite the meaning out of the words. But there they remained. Indelible.

Alexandria.

A sigh unfurled from the general direction of the couch. Janice blinked, the corners of her eyes now damp and aching. Fuck.

"You're back," Mel was stretching, catlike, on the sofa.

I've never wanted to go back to Alex. Will I? It figures that this search would take me there again. It just fucking figures. Janice swiped at her eyes. "And you found something." Her shaking voice easily tumbled the attempt at casual retort. She tapped the notebook for emphasis, then walked over to the couch and sat down carefully on its edge.

The translator propped herself up on elbows. The effort, however, proved too taxing and she flopped back down on the couch, delicately pressing the pads of her fingers to her throbbing temples. "I've found that staring at ancient Greek all day can make your head explode." Black-framed glasses slid from their temporary perch on her stomach and headed toward the floor.

Janice intercepted them. "You're so goddamn stubborn. I tried to stop you."

"Hush." Mel groaned. "You know, I don't even know what that means—the Gate of the Sun, the Gate of the Moon."

"How did—"

"It was an acrostic. I wrote out all the sentences that included that phrase—'It is my intent.' or 'My intention is' or any variant on it. And there it was: A character from each sentence, in a simple linear pattern, spelling it out." The translator chuckled. "That's the long story short version of it. I would stare and stare at those lines. Then I'd try something else: I would change the order of the lines, or write them all backward…. Then I would go back to the lines I had originally written. The sentences themselves were like foreshadowing, since they all spoke of the sun and the moon. Sometimes, you just have to go back at look at it from a different angle. " She rubbed her eyes. "Do you remember that painting I once showed you at the National Gallery, in London? 'The Ambassadors,' by Hans Holbein?"

Janice shrugged. "Vaguely."

"The one with the anamorphic skull. When it's viewed at a certain angle, you see the skull depicted at the bottom of the painting."

"Oh, yeah. That was nifty."

"A 'nifty' memento mori. Renaissance painters were fond of doing that—inserting a vanitas skull or something similar—to remind even the richest among their patrons and admirers that they too will die. As do we all."

Silence filled the air between them as the archaeologist took in what Mel, in her usual oblique way, was trying to tell her. "So you're saying you did the same thing—with words?" Janice proffered the theory with caution. "Just kept looking at them in all different kinds of ways, until something clicked?" Translation was a downright spooky practice, she decided. Didn't Mel say she had kin down in New Orleans—the American cradle of voodoo? The skull beneath the flesh, the meaning beneath the words.

Mel was smiling, and staring into some imagined distance. "It's a beautiful thing. I felt—" she trailed off, raising her hand as if the continuation of that phrase—perfectly expressing the beauty and wholeness she felt—rested there tangibly, within her grasp. Sometimes I think it's better than making love. So maybe there is an erotic component to it. Which explains how I could do without a lover for such a long period of time. She looked at Janice—or rather, her pants. "Your fly is unbuttoned."

"Yeah. I know. The boys at Mickey's thought it was funny. Delmar bet me ten bucks I couldn't leave it that way all night." Janice flashed the greenback with pride.

I could certainly do without this boorish behavior. Mel's mortification manifested itself in a groan as she covered her face with a hand. "This isn't helping us figure out—"

"—the Gate of the Sun and the Gate of the Moon? It's in Alexandria," Janice replied. "In the ancient city, along the Canopic Way. There was a gate at its east end—the Gate of the Sun—and one at the west end—the Gate of the Moon."

A bleary blue eye peeked at her from between two fingers. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"Aside from fucking and keeping that stupid car of yours running, you mean."

"It's certainly not your eloquence, or lack thereof." Mel now managed to sit up.

"So you think they may be in Alexandria?"

Janice busied herself with massaging a callus on her palm. "I suppose it's possible. It would explain a lot. The duplicates are dated in the early 1500s. Venice was a major port city at that time, a gateway to the east—including Alexandria. Trade flourished then between the Venetians and the Ottoman Empire. It's possible the originals were traded for something, and ended up in Alexandria."

Mel nodded vigorously. "That's a good theory."

"I need more, though. I need more to back it up."

"I understand. But it might not hurt to do a, er, fact-finding mission."

"Yeah." Janice laughed nervously.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." She shrugged. "I get scared about it sometimes. One day I want it more than anything, the next it's like—it's like a whole other world. It's a little overwhelming." I wonder if it will change me. I wonder if it will change us.

Mel fingers tangled with her own. "I know."

"Somehow I figured you would." Janice's response sounded perfunctory to her own ears and she quickly stared down at the floor. But do you know how afraid I really am?

If she did, Mel opted to change the subject instead. "I've never been to Alexandria," she said, wistfully.

"Let alone Egypt?" Janice retorted.

"Not true. Daddy took me to Cairo once. I was 14. He did keep me entombed in the hotel the entire time, however. I did nothing but swim in the pool and read." A certain fact floated dismally to her consciousness. "The Davies live in Alexandria, don't they?"

"Yeah. Along the seafront, like all the rich bastards. I, uh—" She cleared her throat. "I usually stayed there when I was in Alex. Although before we met them, Harry and I had this lousy flat there."

"Hmmm," said Mel.

“Don't give me 'hmmm.' I hate that. I slept with her. I can't change history. But your jealousy is kind of touching, Mel. A small frailty. It makes me feel better about my shortcomings." Janice blew out a weary breath. "I thought we got over this particular hump, so to speak. I ain't interested in Jenny."

"I know, but she is still interested in you."

A shrug. "There's nothing you can do about that."

"True." Mel conceded this with reluctance.

"Then what are you worried about?" An angry, green-eyed glare fixed itself on Mel like a sniper's rifle. "Do you trust me?"

Mel blinked in surprise. "But—yes. Yes. Of course."

Janice scowled at an innocent Persian rug until her expression softened.

"It's her that I don't trust," Mel continued. "So if we do go to Alexandria, I'll need a new outfit." Save me, Madame Schiaparelli! she prayed to her own personal saint.

"You need a new outfit like London needs more rain."

Mel squared her shoulders. "You don't understand. This is a battle for you, on the field on sartorial elegance. If I show up looking like some ragamuffin—"

"In other words, like me," Janice interjected.

"—she will think me utterly unworthy of you."

"That's absolute bullshit. Besides, I don't give a rat's ass what she thinks—it's not a social occasion. And you could wear a goddamn sack cloth and still look like royalty."

"Your faith is very touching, but nonetheless, I will need new clothes."

Janice took a more common road in appealing to help from a higher power: Jesus help me. "I still didn't say we were going anywhere. The Dean may think we're outta our minds."

"Don't underestimate the man. There are two things in our favor. First and foremost, he admires you. Better yet, he trusts you, and he knows you have good instincts."

Doubtful, Janice grunted and folded her arms. "How do you know all this?"

"I have tea with him every week." The archaeologist looked impressed at this. "The lot of a faculty wife is busier than you think."

"You got my wholehearted respect. So what's the second thing here?"

Mel smiled triumphantly. "He simply adores acrostics."

[justanoutlawfic]

Where You Lead: Here Comes The Son Pt. I

Summary: Henry and Jacinda have dinner with their estranged son.

Based on a prompt by @queen-of-the-merry-men, surrounding Henry and Mat having a falling out that lasts a couple of years. This takes place when Mat is 27, Henry is 49.

Also on AO3

Quiet.

 That was still something that Henry was getting used to.

 After 22 years of having the triplets under their roof, with the addition of little Wren coming later on, he wondered if he ever would get a moment’s peace. If there’d ever be a time where the girls weren’t arguing over who’s sweater belonged to whom or reprimanding Mat for sneaking in late. There were no more sounds of Barney or the Magic School Bus, the only toys were for their grandchildren when they came by. Family dinners were held at Belle’s, so the only times things ever got loud were when they had the occasional one there.

 Still, though, he never regretted stopping at three. He loved his kids, but coming home to his sexy wife and having it just be them was pretty damn nice too.

 “Honey, I’m home,” he called out, jokingly.

Jacinda’s laugh boomed from the kitchen, poking around the corner. “Hey babe. How was work?”

“Good. We got everything together on time.”

“Do you ever not?”

“No, but you know me…”

“Wren Gold’s grandson?”

 Henry flashed her a sad smile, looking at the entry way wall. It had the last family picture they would ever take, that would actually be complete. His grandfather stood front and center, his hand firmly on his cane. His hair was grey, there were tons of wrinkles, but he also had his namesake and great-great-grandchild on his hip and was smiling. Neal and Henry stood on either side of him, wearing matching suits, fulfilling the eldest Gold man’s lifelong dream. The triplets were in the front, lined up in a row with Melody beside Lucy. Alba and Gideon were also side by side, Emma and Belle not far behind with Gideon’s husband, Roderick and Alba’s wife, Raven with their respective kids. Neal and Emma’s other kids took up the space on the bottom, showing just how much their family had grown over the years and that DNA truly didn’t mean a damn thing.

 None of them could’ve imagined that just a few short months later, Wren would be gone. To Henry, he was immortal. Some kind of never aging God that could withstand anything. Sure, he had become a grandfather young and a great-grandfather not much older and that might have had something to do with it, but he just seemed to be there for everything. He saw Henry graduate high school, then college. Then, Wren had done the same for his great-grandchildren, supporting whatever they had wanted to do. Henry knew realistically that he wouldn’t live to see Xiomara’s daughter grow up, but he lived in ignorant bliss.

 He made it to 90 years old, before they found out about his heart. There were treatments and no expense was spared, but ultimately, he was gone. Wren’s spirit left the world, leaving his family to mourn the heavy loss.

 Henry shook it off, walking closer to his wife. “What’s for dinner? Anyone stopping through?”

“No, it’s just us. I’m making empanadas,” Jacinda said, kissing him once he reached the kitchen. “Lucy called, she and Mel are going to drop Sebastian off here tomorrow. It’s their anniversary.”

“Sounds good to me, they haven’t been out since he was born.”

“Exactly. Xo texted, Wren’s so excited for her first day of school.”

Henry grinned; he couldn’t believe his granddaughter was old enough for school. “That’s great. She’s going to be so smart. She’s a Tremaine-Cassidy-Gold after all.” He started walking to the fridge, opening it to grab a water.

“Also…Mat called.”

He froze, his hand hovering over the water. “Huh?”

“He um…said he has some news.”

“Oh.” Henry’s hand floated from the water over to the beer, grabbing one. “Wonder what it could be.” He cracked open the beer and took a long swig.

Jacinda sighed. “I don’t know, Henry, but he’s reaching out. That’s good, right?”

“Right, right. I’m glad he knows what a phone is.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Henry. Don’t. You are just as much at fault for what’s going on between you two.”

“Me?!? I’m not the one who…” He trailed off when he saw the look on his wife’s face, sighing. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to take this out on you. I know all of this has been hard on you and Mat’s relationship.”

Jacinda took a few steps forward, putting her hands on his hips. “This could be the start of something,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s an olive branch. Maybe you two can finally talk it out.”

“Maybe,” Henry mumbled. He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss his son. God, he missed him. More than anything he wished Wren was still around so he could talk to his grandfather about what he went through those first 10 years of his life when Neal barely spoke to him. “When are we seeing him?”

“He wants to take us out to eat, Hugo’s.”

Henry gave a weird look. “Of course…willing to drop money…”

“Henry!”

“I’m going to be nice! I promise!”

“Good.” Jacinda turned back to her cooking. “Because this is a good thing.”

“A good thing,” Henry echoed, his eyes traveling to the fridge. Like the walls in their house, it was a shrine to their family. There was a picture of him and Mat, on his son’s prom night. He had helped him get ready, just as Neal had with him. They had so much fun, laughing and talking about his plans for the night. They once had such a great relationship. Things had gone wrong so long before “the incident” and he didn’t understand how.

***

Hugo’s was a place that Wren and Belle probably would’ve dragged them to once upon a time. High prices, tiny portions and a dress code. Men wore jackets, women were encouraged to be in skirts. A man played classical piano, the same tune throughout the night. It was the exact scene that one would expect from a Yale graduate. Yet, Henry had spent most of his time in places like Granny’s, in his jeans no less. Now, he was wearing a suit and tie, while Jacinda wore a nice dress, her hair curled.

 “Mom, Dad!”

 They turned to find Mat headed their way, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach the eyes. Henry had noticed that a lot the older his son got. He wore a suit-probably designer-and had his dark hair slicked down. At one point, he had curls that he inherited from both sides of his family, but he hardly let those show. When he leaned in to kiss Jacinda’s cheek, Henry could smell his overpowering cologne.

 “Hey baby,” Jacinda said, her voice light and happy. “You look great.”

“Me? Look at you! Smoking, Mom, truly.” He chuckled before turning to smack five with his dad. “Dad.”

Henry couldn’t believe Mat was acting as if nothing had happened, and yet, that seemed exactly like him. “Matias. It’s good to see you.”

“You too. Come sit. I’ve got the best seat in the house.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

 Mat and the hostess lead them over to a table by the window, a tad more private than the hustle and bustle of the busy middle. Henry watched as his son smiled and nodded to some people on the way to the table, clearly colleagues and partners.

 Taking after his father and grandfather, Mat had gone to an Ivy League school-though he had opted for Stanford. Getting a scholarship and other aid, he had pulled off a miracle by barely needing to borrow any money from his great-grandfather. While there, he had helped develop an app with some friends. It didn’t go very far, but with that experience, he was able to get a great job at a software development company in Manhattan.

 “So, how’s Tiffany?” Henry asked, settling down to look at the menu. He had to do his best to not bulge his eyes at the prices. Wren Gold was his grandfather, but he had been raised on McDonalds and Kraft mac & cheese.

Mat’s brows furrowed. “Broke up years ago, Dad.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that. She was nice.” The truth was, Henry had met her probably twice before Wren died. She was a skinny red head, who wore a diamond necklace to Granny’s and worried about getting mugged in front of Old Man Twickam’s house.

“Right…”

Jacinda cleared her throat, keeping a smile on her face. “So, Matty, how’s business?”

“It’s going great. We’ve been developing a new software for a medical company these past few months, so it’s taken up most of my time,” Mat explained, that not-smile returning. “And you? Xo told me that you expanded the daycare.”

 Henry listened to the two of them talk about Jacinda’s new business, but only half-heartedly. Eventually the waitress came over, and Mat took over the ordering. Henry barely recognized the son in front of him. Growing up, Mat had been shy, a bit of a recluse. In fact, he reminded Henry a lot of himself. Lucy and Xiomara were very active, taking stands for what they believed in. Mat ended up making a core group of friends in high school, but this charming, charismatic, flirt had emerged from college.

 “Now that we have that out of the way,” Mat said once the waitress walked off. “Let’s get to my news.”

“Yes, your mother said it was quite big.”

Mat nodded. For once, the smile slipped and he looked a bit serious. “I know I haven’t exactly been the world’s best uncle.”

“You were in college when Wren was born,” Jacinda assured him. “And Sebastian just came along. There’s time.”

“Well, I want to do more, be there.”

Henry tilted his head. “Are you moving back to Stars Hollow?”

“Oh no. However, I have been talking to Nana Belle a lot lately. She’s doing well, but with the twins out of the house, married and all, Pop-Pop’s place is just getting to be too big for her.”

 Henry and Jacinda nodded. Belle had mentioned that at one of the last family dinners. She had been looking into purchasing their vacation home on the Cape full time, but wasn’t sure what to do with the house. It had been Wren’s first step away from Malcolm. Emma and Neal didn’t need it much either, even the kids they had adopted were grown and they only took in emergency placements, focusing on the inn now that Granny had passed. The rest of the family either had no use for it or couldn’t afford it.

 “She wants to keep the house in the family, so she’s offered to sell it to me.”

Jacinda’s grin only widened. “Well, I think that’s great.”

Henry frowned. “But what about your job?”

“I can commute to the city. It’s only an hour, by car or train.”

“It’s far too big for you by yourself.”

“Well, hopefully one day I’ll be able to fill it with kids like Pop-Pop and Nana Belle did.”

 Henry didn’t say anything further, he just sipped on his water. He could feel the anger inside of him building. Deep down, he knew that he should be happy that the house was staying in the family, but of all the people for it to go to…

 He didn’t say much else as the night went on. Instead, Henry focused on his tiny portions, disgusting wine and half-listened to Jacinda’s questions about the move, him selling his loft on the Upper East Side and more. As he sat there, he realized that he had so much anger to his son, a boy that once lit up his heart and made him smile like no one else could. Now, he was just so disappointed and no matter how hard he tried…he just couldn’t shake it.

 Eventually, the dinner came to an end. Henry was irritated, tired, buzzed and still hungry. Mat paid the check and kissed his mom’s cheek, before patting his dad on the back. He said he’d be in touch, but in the meantime, he had to get back into the city due to an “early morning”. Jacinda handed Henry the valet tag, asking him to grab the car while she went to the bathroom.

 Henry made his way outside, handing the tag to the employee. As he stood there waiting, he noticed Mat was there as well, fiddling with a cigarette.

 “They always take forever,” he mumbled when he saw his father. “Great food, shit valet.”

“Surprise you grace them with your presence,” Henry muttered.

Mat chuckled, taking a drag. “Ya know, most fathers would be glad that their sons would be moving closer, but you?” He shook his head. “Only you would be upset.”

“I’m not upset, Mat.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.” He turned to his son. “I just don’t get why you’re interested in the house of the man that you couldn’t bother to come to the funeral for.”

Mat’s lips drew a firm line. “I thought we could get past this.”

“How?” Henry felt his body trembling. “Do you know what Grandpa meant to me? He put me through school, both prep and college. Without him, I probably wouldn’t have met your mother, you kids wouldn’t even be here.”

“I’ve heard the stories, Dad.”

Henry continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “I went to him for advice for so much. He was there for me, but most importantly, for all of you kids. He and Belle took you and your sisters on vacations, sleepovers, all of that. He loved you so damn much…and what do you do? You skip his funeral to attend a business trip in Tokyo.”

Mat bit his lip. “Dad…”

“But hey, don’t worry. At least we got fucking flowers, huh?”

 Mat exhaled, letting out some of the smoke he had just let in. He stared forward for a few minutes, the only sounds being the ambient noises of the restaurant behind them and the cicadas chirping in the warm, Connecticut summer air.

 “We’re doing this, huh?” Mat asked, and Henry realized he was talking to himself. “I guess we are.” He dropped the cigarette and fully faced his dad. “I talked to Pop-Pop ever day leading up to his death, ever since he got sick. I called him every single day, if I couldn’t see him in person that was.”

Henry folded his arms over his chest. “Okay?”

“You said he paid for your school, but you know he paid for mine too right? What I couldn’t. He also was the one person I could go to, for anything. He was my outlet, for my entire life.”

Henry felt his face fall and his muscles loosen. “What…what are you talking about?”

“Dad…did you ever stop to consider that I never told you what I wanted to be when I grow up?”

He paused for a moment. “When you were 5…you said you wanted to be a fireman.”

“I mean, seriously. As a teenager, you could tell that Xiomara wanted to be a lawyer, and that Lucy wanted to go into photography. But did you even know that I was interested in tech?”

“You never told me.”

“Did you ever ask?”

Henry fumbled over himself. “Well…I…” He trailed off. “We talked, about a lot of stuff.”

“I’m not denying that we did. You’d ask how my day was, but beyond “Good”, how much did you really hear?”

 Henry’s mouth dropped open. No, this wasn’t true. He knew his kids; he knew all of them. They all had a great relationship with one another, or at least they had before his son became a total snob obsessed with himself.

 “This is ridiculous. We had a good relationship, Mat. Up until you went to college, we were close. Then you got on this high horse and it was hard to get you down.”

Mat scoffed. “Right, of course that’s how you see it.”

 A black Cadillac, resembling his grandfather’s way too much, pulled up and the valet stepped out. Mat handed the guy some cash and walked over to the door, looking up at his dad.

“It was good seeing you, Dad. Say hi to Xiomara and Lucy for me.”

 He got into the car and drove away. Henry stood in the dust, feeling a mix of anger, confusion and mostly hurt.

[laurabelle2930]

Back to the Start ~Olicity AU Fic

Once again @mel-loves-all has allowed me to use her amazing mood boards for a fic. I’ve been suffering from an endless case of writer’s block and Mel has been amazing in encouraging me to continue writing. She for some reason likes it when I write! 

The mood board that has inspired me! 

Premise: Felicity was going home. She was truly going home. Wanderlust had brought her back to where she had begun.  Years spent away from the warmth of her family.  From the beauty of the land and the animals it nurtured.  And, from the childhood friend who once upon a time wanted to be more.  Would the tall, lanky young boy of her youth, who needed nothing more than to love her and the land he was born to, welcome her? 

Side Note: This does have more than one chapter... right now it’s about 3

Read it here or on AO3

Back to the Start

Ten Years Ago…

“You’re really going to leave things between us like this?”

The way his voice quivered as she slowly padded to his bedroom door nearly shattered her soul to pieces. “Oliver, I told you a year ago that I was going to leave. I told you that it was something I had to do for both of us,” Felicity whispered as she slowly ran her fingers along her sweat slicked arms.

Oliver mumbled contritely towards the rug along his aging floors. “But we just….”

“Had sex, and it was wonderful but, that changes nothing,” Felicity breathed as the shadows from the tree’s outside his bedroom window hid the heartbreak upon his face. She continued to search for the dress that she’d shed just hours before.  

Oliver's sharp, “We made love Felicity, we didn't just have some shitty one-night stand,” made her heart thud like a drum as her feet froze along the boards beneath her chilled feet.

“You've never said that before…” she whispered lowly towards the suddenly very interesting floor.

Oliver's guttural, “Then you clearly weren't paying attention.” Felicity’s body froze. She was forced to face him until she could see past the shadows along the lines of his face. Felicity for the first time stood before him naked as his words brushed along her cooling skin. He raised his bloodshot eyes until they were focused along her sorrow filled face. She gulped as he murmured, “I love you...and I have since before I can even remember.”  Felicity's heart fell to the floor as his soulful gaze began to memorize every inch of her bare form. She shivered as the tenor of his voice eased along her skin like a lover’s caress. “I've told you with every single touch of my skin upon yours. I've screamed it with every embrace; hell, Felicity I've been devoted to you since the first day you entwined our fingers together so don't you dare tell me I haven't said it. I've said it every day since we knew what being in love meant.”

Felicity pushed a few strands of her brunette hair away from her face. Oliver wiped his brow before his palms came to rest along his bare knees as a shuttered sounding, “I even gave you that damn promise ring when you were sixteen,” left his swollen lips. Felicity pulled her red dress up along her hips. Oliver in response bent down to pick up his discarded jeans. Felicity's eyes raked over his lanky yet muscular form as he pulled the denim up along his hips. Despite everything Felicity let herself be weak. She memorized how his stomach rippled a bit when his fingers drifted over the button for his jeans. She bit at her lip slightly as she remembered how he felt as he strummed a scared finger down the line of her face. His touch wasn’t skilled it was nervous and, almost shy. Their first kiss was timid, but slow and, languid. They each took turns learning how to please the other as they slowly fell into dance that was both familiar and new. It wasn’t until she heard his feet shuffling along the floor that she realized she still owed him the truth.  

Swallowing the lump that was lodged in her throat Felicity whispered, “You know this was never one sided, don’t you?”

Oliver’s head tilted. The shadows that once hid his face now shifted so she could see the full effect of what she’d done to him. The bloodshot eyes gave way to a pair of parted, slightly swollen lips. The circles beneath his eyes were wet as another lone tear fell from the corner of his left eye. His labored breathing fell quiet as an almost angry sounding, “How could I? I’ve shown you that I want you and, all you’ve ever done is remind me that you’re going to run away.”

Felicity’s forehead crinkled as her chest fell in defeat. Her own tears began to fall when she let out her own painful truth. “Oliver I’m completely in love with you.”

“Then why the hell are you running away?” he blurted out angrily.

Felicity simply stood there with her nervous fingers strumming along her bare, upper arms. “You really don’t see it do you?” she realized as the skies outside began to shift.

She felt the world around her beginning to spin as the wind moved through the building storm clouds with anger and malice. Oliver’s face became pale as the trees along his windows began to scratch along the dust covered glass. “Felicity being in love doesn’t mean you can’t achieve your dreams. It doesn’t mean you can’t grow as person while we…” she saw his hands moving between their very still bodies. “Can’t grow as a couple while you do.”

Felicity wanted to agree. Hell, she nearly did when he came to her door with a single red rose, a picnic basket and, her favorite blanket. Knowing her as he did Oliver didn’t bring his pickup truck; instead he brought two horses named Saddie and Max. Felicity could remember pecking his lips as he took her hands into his own. They rode out into the approaching sunset until they were at the base of the Sapphire mountain range. From there well things had advanced rather quickly. Before she knew it, they were in his bedroom in a mess of tangled limbs and slow kisses. Oliver cleared his throat shattering her memory as the winds began to howl. “Baby just talk to me…” he pleaded with pain striking through every word.

“Tonight, was supposed to be about two people saying goodbye,” she finally breathed as lighting split through the sky.  She felt him nodding in silent agreement as her next words began to float around them like a rain filled cloud. “I was going to tell you that I loved you and that’s why I had to go. I had this big damn speech about how consuming our relationship had become and, then you showed up with Saddie and Max…”

“And you lost your nerve…” he whispered as the moment around them began to reflect the weather outside.

His soft eyes were brimming with tears as he took a timid step forward. Felicity stood there frozen as she shook like a leaf before it falls towards the autumn ground. The smell of lavender and mint danced along her skin. She could feel the heat of his chest along her own. Their breaths mingled as Oliver traced his index finger along the edge of her shoulders. She felt an involuntary shudder rushing through her stomach as his touch began to shift down her upper arms. Her lips quivered when he trailed his fingers along the sides of abdomen. Felicity felt her knees beginning to buckle as he tugged at the fabric of her sundress. “So, what you figured you’d bookend our relationship by sleeping with me?” He asked while keeping his endlessly blue eyes hidden from her view.  

“No, of course not,” she rasped as Oliver slowly began to pull the dress up to her sunken shoulders.

“Then why did you?” he asked sadly.

Felicity not knowing what to say began to strum her fingers along his navel. She felt him twitch at her touch but, he didn’t back away. He instead inched closer as she took a deep breath. “I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen Oliver.” She felt his fingers moving in slow concentric circles along her waist. Felicity kept her touch along his skin light as her words continued to pour from her heart and hopefully into his thick skull. “My life has revolved around my feelings towards you since we met. I’ve gone from having a best friend, to having a crush on said friend, to then being in love with my best friend. I know every part of you because whether I like or not we fit…” She felt another stray tear fall. Oliver’s index finger wiped the tear away before he cupped her cheek. Felicity leaned into the offer of comfort then said, “I know who I am with you and, I love her but, I want to know who I am without you as well. I need to know who I am when I’m faced with a challenge that I’m not sure I can conquer. I need to see what’s beyond Hamilton, Montana and, I know for you that’s not a possibility.”

“Felicity, I can leave, I’m not tied to the land the way my father is,” he lied as his thumb stroked along her cheek.

She smiled in sadness as she took a fleeting glance towards his face. “This land owns you the way that I do,” she admitted. She felt his hand fall away. “The bond between us isn’t healthy for either you or for me and, I know you can see that,” she murmured as her eyes once more fell back to the ground.  

He took a few beats to process what she’d just said. She could almost feel his heart shattering when he said, “I think actually acting on our feelings made it worse; because now I know how it feels to be complete.”

Felicity felt her forehead crashing along his lips. She wrapped her arms around his waist and, he did the same. They held each other for what seemed like forever before she dared to speak. “I love you and, I’ll always love you,” she breathed as she placed her lips along his cheek.

“I can’t say it back Felicity, I can’t say I love you for the hundredth time only to have you once again run away,”

She nodded then pecked his lips. His hold weakened as she began to pull away. “In time you’ll see I did the right thing,” she whispered as the thunder roared outside.

He nodded slowly, “Maybe but, right now you’ve just broken my heart so let me take you home before we both say something we’ll never be able to take back.

She offered her own silent nod as he reached for his discarded shirt. Moments later she was sitting in his pickup truck holding what she thought was the end of their story… She sat there with a red rose and, a promise ring around her neck.

Sara chased after as she ran toward the barn. “You can't do this to him Felicity! You can't do this yourself! How can you leave like this? How can you even breathe without feeling his pain along with your own?”

Felicity groaned at the question but knew it was coming. She’d known it was coming since last night when she came running through the front door with bloodshot eyes and, a single red rose. She kept her clear blue eyes on the rolling grasses before her. As a child she’d always felt that the land was more than just dirt and soil. She believed that the land had a soul and, she often wondered if she shared that same soul. She felt the winds around her change. The storm over the mountains was beginning to grow. Her brown hair whipped around her brow like a twister as it drives through the fields. Felicity shivered while she bit at her bottom lip. Her sad eyes fell to ground, her toes curled within the toes of her boots. Her small hands remained hidden in her jean pockets while her heart remained in her throat. Felicity felt the small skipped beat in her voice when she croaked, “I can’t just give up my opportunity to grow just because some boy loves me.”

Felicity risked a glance over her shoulder. Sara stood behind her with a forlorn look covering the lines of her youthful face.  Felicity’s blue eyes glistened with un-shed tears as Sara took a solemn step forward. Her strawberry, blonde hair flowed around her slender shoulders like a shawl. Her soft eyes lingered over her step-sisters heartbroken face. Her form shook when she breathed, “He’s not just some boy Felicity, and you’re lying if you’re going to claim you don’t love him too.”

Thunder roared as lightning split the sky. The world around her was waging the battle her soul refused to acknowledge since she left Oliver’s embrace. Felicity lifted her eyes toward the mountain filled skyline. Her heart now felt like it was lodged in her throat as she whispered, “Of course I love him and, that’s why I have to go…”

The rain began to pelt her skin as Sara replied, “If you loved him you wouldn’t leave him…”

Felicity let the rain pelt her skin as she breathed, “You’re wrong Sara… You’ve never been more wrong…”  

Present day

“Okay so you’re going to be in Missoula by four, right?”

Felicity looked down at the ticket in her hand.  She adjusted her glasses along the bridge of her nose and scanned over the small print. Her arrival time said 3:30 but, Felicity would rather be early than have her ride be late. “Yeah mom,” she breathed softly, “I’ll be in Missoula by four.”

“Perfect,” Donna breathed a bit too lowly for Felicity’s liking.

Felicity clicked her tongue almost knowingly, “Mom, what are you up to?”

“Nothing,” came her rehearsed tone before a small, “but you have at least told him that you’re moving back to Hamilton, haven’t you?”

Felicity’s scowls could be heard across state lines. “We haven't seen, spoken to, or even exchanged a handwritten letter in ten years Mom. I would love to see Oliver but, I doubt the feeling is mutual.”

The small hint of amusement in Donna’s voice didn't go unnoticed when she replied almost joyfully, “Trust me baby his feelings for you haven’t changed,”

Felicity was about to push for an explanation when she heard a gasp of excitement coming from the background. Felicity’s frustration faded away when she heard a shouted, “She’s finally coming home!” flowing through the phone and into her ear.

Donna’s almost angelic laughter filled Felicity’s heart with contentment as she replied, “Yeah baby our Felicity is finally coming home.”

“Oh, wait when does Laurel come home? I can't wait to meet my nephew!” Felicity asked before she ran out of time.

Sara shouted back as Donna mumbled in annoyance, “She's coming in next week after Tommy’s case with the DA is wrapped up.”

“Oh, I completely forgot! Did the case end well?”

Sara chuckled back before Donna could stop her, “Yeah, with our brother-in law the detective’s testimony the dirt bag is getting 25 years at the very least but, that's also coming from his wife, and our sister the DA.”

“Laurel has to be thrilled,” Felicity chirped out quickly.

“She's elated and, based on your tone you have to go, don't you?”

Felicity whispered, “Yeah the flight attendant is glaring at me,”

“Okay but, before you go remember our actions were out of love,”

Before Felicity could pry for more information both Donna and Sara bid Felicity a quick goodbye as the cabin door closed and the rest of the passengers took their seats. She smiled ruefully knowing that her mother and sister were up to no good. Felicity then swept her now blonde hair up into a ponytail before she leaned back along the never comfortable airplane seats.  She opted to put her purse on the seat beside her since it was empty rather than stowing it on the floor. She smoothed out her faded blue jeans as she surveyed the nearly empty cabin. She didn't see any locals but, she also didn't see any tourists either. She mumbled softly, “I really hope the Smoak-Lance B&B is doing well,” before she let her eyes settle upon the soon to be distant memory of the New York skyline.

As the plane began to taxi down the runway Felicity’s mind began to wander. Sara, she figured was going to try and push her back towards Oliver but, she never guessed that Donna would be in on the ruse. Felicity lifted her right hand off her lap. She then pulled out the buried silver chain that she wore everyday whether she should or not. A sense of peace flowed through her the moment she had her fingers wrapped around the small silver band that was always resting along her heart. As she began to move her fingers along the warm, faded metal her thoughts once again wandered towards a certain boy and, of course a certain town…

Growing up in a small town was equal parts easy and, hard. The easy part was everyone knew everyone else but; that was also the hard part. It’s hard to grow when everyone around you can only remember how you used to walk down main street with two braids and, a somewhat awkwardly tall looking boy. The Felicity that resided in New York was a slender but, toned blonde haired woman who opted for black pumps over cowboy boots. She had a loft in Soho and, a wardrobe that any small-town girl would kill for. The Felicity that lived in Hamilton, Montana was a thin, pale faced girl with long, brown hair and, a pair of rounds, black rimmed glasses. Her favorite outfit was her cowboy boots that she’d gotten for five dollars at some flea market two towns over; her worn out jeans that had more patches then denim and, a faded, red plaid shirt that her best friend had given to her when she was ten. Her hair was also in two braids that fell to her shoulders. Her face was plain but, you could see she was beautiful when she bothered to wash off the dirt. She always had a smile and, her right hand was always entwined with that lanky boy. That lanky boy’s name was Oliver.

Felicity’s heart ached at even the slight thought of his name. Leaving Oliver was the hardest choice she’d ever had to make but; it had to be done. Felicity had to find out what the world had in store for her and, Oliver had to decide what he really wanted instead of just doing what he thought he was obligated to do. Felicity had done what she thought was right and, that choice had left her without her best friend for ten years. A few weeks after their fight Felicity sent him a letter with her new contact information and, an explanation for why she’d run away from him that night. Oliver of course didn’t write back nor; did she honestly expect him to. Felicity had done the unthinkable she’d broken his heart right along with her own. She let out small laugh, “It’s been ten years and I’m still hung up on the same awkward guy.” She was shaking her head in disbelief when her phone suddenly buzzed. She inwardly scolded herself for not putting her phone into airplane mode but, checked the message just in case it was her mother. She pulled up the message and, her heart for the first time in almost ten years skipped a beat…

“I heard a rumor you were going to be in town. Maybe I can convince “mom” to let me drive you home. I’ll see you soon pigtails…

Pigtails… The only person who ever called her pigtails was Oliver. “Those two meddlers are going to get it when I get home,” Felicity mumbled as her heart finally began to slow. She was shocked. Oliver Queen hadn’t said a word to her in almost ten years. He didn’t even say goodbye before she left for New York, hell he barely said good-bye the night she�� Felicity let that last thought drop. She knew why he didn’t say good-bye that night and, she still after all these years couldn’t blame him. Her fingers hovered over the small keyboard before her. She was torn but, before common sense and logic could stop her Felicity tapped out a short reply.

“Good luck with “mom” and, for whatever it’s worth I missed you beanstalk.”

Feeling foolish she swore lowly beneath her breath, “Dammit, if Sara did what I think she did I’ll have no choice but to face him before I’m ready.” Then again Felicity mused if Oliver was a willing participant than maybe she could mend the piece of her heart that had been broken since that stormy night. Before she could ruminate herself into a panic attack she felt her heart skip another beat for the second time in almost ten years…

“I’m counting on it…”

Moments later Felicity was engulfed with memories of the home that along with Oliver still owned her heart. Hamilton, Montana the town that she’d run away from was composed of nearly 5,000 people. The small, yet idyllic town was located between the Bitterroot and Sapphire mountain ranges. This allowed for nature to truly take center stage. During the summer, fall and, even the winter months tourists who knew about the small gem would flow into the town. They came to fish, hunt, ski, hike, bike, and the list went on. There were no hotels nearby so the residents who were smart enough converted their homes into B&B’s. Felicity’s family had done so when she was around 12 years old. They had one main drag ironically called Main Street. The town held about ten different restaurants, a post office, the hardware store that was also the grocery store and, about 20 tourist shops that focused on the art scene. Hamilton unlike most small towns had a top-rated high school and to most tourist’s surprise had not one but, two microbiological research facilities. One lab even had a level four Bio-safety aspect that was used in the study of highly pathogenic organisms. Hamilton was a small town with a lot of potential.

Felicity felt the plane around her beginning to tilt. As the landing gear began to disappear into the undercarriage of the plane Felicity continued her walk down memory lane.

Felicity was born on a small ranch just outside of Hamilton’s city limits. When she was born they had a modest two-story farmhouse with the classic white picket fence. At the time her father Noah, was a rancher and, her mother Donna was an artist who had a small shop in town. Noah had about 50 cattle and a modest farming business on the side. Donna made jewelry of all varieties but her most popular item had to be her unique take on the promise ring. Felicity could still remember watching her mother shape the small silver band into the names of the people who’d purchased the item. It was like watching a ballet as she moved her delicate fingers around the hardening metal. Once she was done each piece was not only unique but, it was also truly one of a kind. Felicity was just three years old when Noah was killed in a car accident just outside of town. Five years after that tragic day she was thrown into a new family and, a new way of life.

When Donna met Quentin, Felicity had just turned five. Her father had left them a bankrupt farm, a mortgage and, no money to get them through the lean months that were common in tourist-based towns. Donna’s business was thriving but, when tourists weren’t around she struggled to make ends meet. Donna first hired Robert Queen, their neighbor and a rancher to handle the day to day operations that owning a cattle ranch entailed. Of course, that meant that his son and Felicity’s best friend since birth Oliver, was around to keep Felicity entertained. With the farm in good hands Donna decided to take a part time job as a receptionist. The only catch was working for the local Sheriff, Quentin Lance.  Looking back Felicity had to admit that the relationship between her “parents” wasn’t exactly love at first sight.  At first, they appeared to hate each other. Donna was a free spirit who believed that every day was an adventure into the unknown. Quentin well he enjoyed rules and, Donna wasn’t always good when it came to following the rules. It took nearly two years but, one day something changed and before Felicity knew it she was the Sheriff’s daughter and, she had two sisters.

Felicity felt herself chuckle when she began to recall the relationships she had with her sisters. The first time she met Laurel she was nervous but, as it turned it out she had no reason to be. Felicity was almost six years old. Oliver of course was with her. They sat side by side with their hands entwined. Donna had insisted she wear a dress. Felicity did as she was told but, she only agreed if Oliver could come with her. So, there she sat in a sunflower dress and her signature pigtails. Oliver kept tugging at her hand. He was bored and, wanted to explore Main Street. Felicity was about to agree when the doors to her mother's shop opened. Laurel was about two years older. She was a slender girl with chestnut colored hair, dark brown eyes, and features that Felicity would envy as she aged. Felicity could still remember how shy she seemed when she let a timid, “Hi…”

Felicity being the bold girl she was slid off her chair with Oliver dragging along behind her. The two girls smiled shyly at first. Laurel tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Felicity in turn held out her free hand. She let her smile grow as she brightly said, “So here's the deal. Oliver and I want to go exploring. Would you like to come?” Two minutes later all three of them strode through the front doors of her mother's shop. Five minutes later the three became fast friends. Laurel became Felicity’s big sister that very afternoon and, still held a very special place in Felicity's heart.

Felicity and Sara didn't need a private meeting. They were already two peas in a pod. Oliver was her best friend but, Sara was the peanut to her butter. They weren't sisters by blood but, they were in their hearts. The two had met at some local fair when they were about four. Laurel was there but, she preferred to be with her friends rather than with her sister. Felicity was flying solo that day since Oliver was home with the flu. The two met when their hands collided over the last hotdog. Felicity suggested they should share and, within seconds they were trading secrets all while sharing an overcooked hot dog.  

Felicity was snapped back to reality when she heard a small ping coming from the overhead speakers. She glanced away from the window and, down the aisle before her. The Pilot’s soft voice crackled like a blazing fire as he said, “Folks we’re about 30 minutes out from Missoula International airport. The temperature right now is 75 degrees with low hanging clouds. If you have a connecting flight, make sure to check for any changes once you’ve entered the terminal. For everyone else welcome home.”

Felicity lowly remarked, “Home is actually a 52-mile drive from here but, hey who's counting…” With that thought freely expressed Felicity pushed away her daydreams and, turned her thoughts to a certain blonde-haired boy nicknamed Beanstalk.

Felicity looked over the landscape as the plane began its final descent. Missoula, Montana was the largest city near Hamilton with a working airport. The city itself wasn’t anything to write home about but, to a ten-year-old who’d never seen a building that was higher than three stories; it was like a fairy-tale. Felicity laughed at the that because suddenly seeing those same buildings didn’t feel as life changing.

Now the buildings were just small, rundown structures that didn’t hold a candle to the steel and glass of New York’s opulent skyline. Once the plane had come to a full and complete stop Felicity undid her seat belt and stood to stretch her very cramped legs. The other passengers were already moving down the aisle before she’d even retrieved her suitcase from the overhead bin. After saying goodbye to the flight attendants and moving down the nearly empty terminal Felicity pulled out her phone. She was greeted with seven texts messages and one missed call.

Felicity checked her watch. Her ride whoever it might be wouldn’t be there until 4. It was now just 3:30. Feeling a bit peckish she strolled down the long airport hallway until she found a small gift shop. She moved past the welcome to Montana gag gifts, and away from the tee-shirts and stuffed animals until she was standing before the candy display. Felicity grabbed two snickers bars, a pack of Twizzlers and, just in case she was right about Sara’s plan she picked up two packs of M&M’s. She then managed to pick up two bottles of water before heading to the cash register to pay.

Once she’d paid the bill she glanced upward at the clock that hung above the entrance of the gift shop. Instead of it being 3:30 it was now 3:35. Felicity’s stomach growled so instead of mulling over how to spend the next 25 minutes she opted to open one of her Snickers bars while she read through her missed text messages. The first one was from Laurel. Felicity pressed her thumb over the tab and, smiled brightly. She could almost hear her sister’s sage words of wisdom as she read through her words.

“Hey Lissy! So, by now you’ve learned about the plot to get you and a certain boy back to at least speaking terms.” Felicity grinned as she continued to read.

“Remember Sara, Mom and, even our poor father love you more than what should be considered legal. They also know what I’ve known since the day we first met. You belong with Oliver. So please just do us all a favor and tell him that you’re in love with him before those two come up with a plan to get you two drunk and married in Vegas. I love you Lissy and, I can’t wait to see you!”  

Knowing Laurel would be in court until at least 5 Felicity decided to reply when she’d be around to talk before she moved onto the second which was from Tommy. Tommy himself was once upon a time Oliver’s other best friend and, not exactly Felicity’s biggest fan. He blamed her for “destroying” his best friend and, frankly she for a while agreed. When she left home Tommy and, Laurel had just begun to date which made the holidays awkward. Laurel was at UCLA and so was Tommy. His course of study was criminology and, Laurel was working her way towards her lifelong goal of becoming a District Attorney. Once the couple were engaged she decided that enough was enough. She and Tommy buried the hatchet and now had a relationship that most in-laws would envy. When she opened the text, she hoped for words filled with sage wisdom or even words of sound council. Tommy however he’d gone for the more direct approach.

“When you see him just say the words, find a motel and have sex. Also, can’t wait to see you next week!”  

Felicity rolled her eyes but managed to direct some of her frustrations into her very snippy reply, “If I see him I won’t say something that I’ve never admitted was true and, secondly who says we’ve never had sex before? I’ll await your witty reply.” With that she snickered and moved onto the next message which was from her dad. Felicity smiled at his few words.

“Can’t wait to see my youngest lawyer. I missed you kiddo.”

Felicity typed out a quick, “Ha-ha well someone has to offer legal advice to all those people you don’t arrest! Also, I missed you too!”  

Before she looked over the ones from Sara she checked the time. It was about 3:45. Felicity should have headed for the door but, a text from Tommy halted her movements completely. She pressed open the tab and, nearly choked on her Snickers bar. “I’m guessing that means you two slept together the night you came home with that single red rose?”

Felicity swallowed roughly as she typed out an annoyed, “Does Laurel tell you everything?”

Tommy must have been near his phone because seconds later her phone buzzed along the table. Felicity opened the tab and growled inwardly. “She does but, are you forgetting that I was Oliver’s other best friend?”

Felicity smacked her palm along her forehead as she texted back, “You helped Sara, didn’t you?”

Seconds later she was reading a very cocky, “Who do you think convinced your beanstalk to text you?”

Feeling no need to endure anymore public embarrassment Felicity moved onto the next three which, were from a very guilty Sara.

“Okay ummm I love you, I adore you and, I’m really doing what’s best for you!”

Felicity chuckled at the first one as she rubbed her fingers over her forehead. Tommy had sent her an emoji with a smile and wink. He knew she was ignoring him and, she knew on some level he was enjoying that very fact. Sara’s second text just like the first made her beam with inner laughter.

“Alright so the plane must be in the air because you’re not responding. So uhm I love you and, I just want you to be happy. Also, please don’t send any blood sniffing dogs to our front door!”

Felicity was about to send her very uneasy sister a relax I’m not mad text but, that all ended when she read the last one…

“So ummmm… Oliver’s going to be there by 3:45…”

Felicity glanced at the top of her cellphone. Her heart thudded almost angrily as she shoved her phone back in her purse as she mumbled, “Sara those dogs will be at the front door before I am…”

Before she could even stand up from her seat her motions were once again stopped by the a few simple words…

“I see things between you and Sara haven’t changed, have they?”

Felicity’s stomach dropped. “This is so not my day,” she muttered as her blue eyes flew up to the sound of a voice she hadn’t heard in almost ten years.

He cocked his very handsome head and smirked, “I was just about to say the opposite.”

“Hi Oliverrrrrrr,” she groaned before she gulped in complete and utter shock. She squinted through her glasses at the Adonis that stood before her. “When? How?” she took a breath before she squeaked, “So uhm I guess calling you beanstalk is out of the question now?”

His soft eyes turned almost turquoise as he said, “And I can see that pigtails might need to be reworked.”

Felicity’s baffled, “This should be an interesting ride home,” led to Oliver’s smug sounding,

“Interesting indeed…”

Tagging: @michealajulius @blondeeoneexox @relativelyobsessedfangirl @thebookjumper @emmaamelia95 @hope-for-olicity @coal000 @missyriver @supersillyanddorky06 @mel-loves-all @love2luvyyou @memcjo @smoakingarrow19 @independent-fics @green-arrows-of-karamel @blondiegrl00 @it-was-a-red-heeler @diggo26 @charlinert @oliverfel4 @swordandarrow @scu11y22 @vaelisamaza @ireland1733 @redpensandgreenarrows @emmilynestill @rivaroma @rivaroma23 @miriam1779 @jaspertown @marytagus @onceuponarrow @lalawo1 @pleasantfanandstudent @alemap74 @kathrynelizabeth89 @sweetzcupcake @jedichick04 @nalla-madness @quiveringbunny @mrsbubblelee @olicitylovemaking @almondblossomme @befitandchase @pimsiepim @andjustforthismoment @anonymiss118 @thelockpickingvictorian @yet-i-remain-quiet @lexi9515 @marniforolicity @myhauntedblacksoul @myuntetheredsoul @felicity-said-just-in-case @i-m-a-fan-world @emilyp05 @missafairy @cainc3 @captainolicitysbedroom @yespleasehawkeyee @tdgal1 @wherethereissmoak @fangirlfromthenorthcountry @sabahuniverse 

[edenfalling]

[Fic] Random fragments that I will never finish

[xhellnhighheelsx]

Huh, well if we're still open for song lyrics as fic titles allow me to submit "you just couldn't fight for this (but it's not your fault)" from Gabbie Hanna's 'Out Loud'. It also features the line "but you're just a ghost now" which is what made me realize it was so fitting for Doctor/River in angsty mcangstville. ^_^

Okay, I know this took me forever to answer, but I’m so glad I waited for the right inspiration, because boy did I find it.

Originally, I was taking this in a River/Doctor way because, like you said, the song is just begging for some angsty opt fic. But I already wrote a ghost River one. So then I thought about the Big Finish quote where River compares the Doctor to a ghost. And I thought about doing a series of snipits throughout River’s life where she always saw the Doctor as this untouchable specter. THEN I listened to rest of the latest River Song Diaries and it was all my darkest Kovarian headcanons come to life and it gave me this idea:

“you just couldn’t fight for this (but it’s not your fault)”

A fic dedicated to River and her relationship with the Ponds. Neither River nor her parents ever stood a chance at changing what happened, and what’s more is, they never really try to fight to get back what they lost. The Diary ep even says they never talk about it, and honestly, of course they didn’t. How would they even begin?

How can they even breathe when the air between them is clouded with guilt? Amy and Rory can’t see past their failure to save their only daughter, and River is constantly feeling that she betrayed them somehow because, even given the chance, she wouldn’t change a thing. There must be so many questions that never dare get answered. After all, what would be the point when nothing spoken could ever change what happened and any questions they might ask would only lead to nightmares. The Ponds don’t want to hear about how River played with knives rather than dolls. They don’t want to imagine their little girl locked in a dingy cage. Amy and Rory have to keep their distance, otherwise their trauma becomes too real.

River knows. She sees the pain in their eyes when they look at her, and it hurts worse than any punishment Kovarian ever doled out. So River doesn’t force their love or look to Amy as a child should their mother. River keeps it casual. She pops in from time to time and they share a bottle of wine like old friends, like a person you know but don’t really miss when they’re gone. They talk about things that are safe, like what the Doctor is up to and how he ruined River’s dress or brought Rory back to life again. But River never asks about Amy’s local friends or their weekend plans because Amy always gets that look in her eyes when she talks of baby showers and birthday parties for her friend’s children. And River never asks Rory about the hospital he works at because she knows they love him down in the children’s ward and he volunteers there every other Sunday. And it hurts, how good they are with kids. It hurts, acknowledging the normalcy that she never got to have. No dance recitals or blowing out birthday candles. They’ll never know River’s first words or sneak a lost tooth out from under her pillow. They’ll never hear her giggle or know where she was ticklish. Truth be told, River couldn’t tell them if they asked, because the only touch she received was a pat on the head for a well placed bullet and the sounds she remembers most vividly are screams.

Just looking at her, their little girl all grown up, is a reminder of what they lost. River is basically a ghost to the Ponds. She’s a walking, talking echo of the daughter they never got to raise. Likewise, Amy and Rory aren’t any more tangible to River now than the faces in the picture frames she hoarded in her orphanage bedroom. She grew up before they ever knew she was born and they’ll always be too out of sync to ever really be her parents.

And maybe one night when Rory has gone to bed, Amy and River get a bit drunk and one story leads to another and River makes a joke about one of the Doctor’s other faces, and the next thing they know, Amy swallows hard and asks how it feels to regenerate. And River doesn’t want to tell her that one has to die to do it. That for her it felt like a persistent cough in a cold alleyway and a bullet in her abdomen. “It’s different for everyone,” is all River says, throat a little dry and voice strained, head light from the forth or fifth glass of red. And the liquor has made Amy’s tongue loose, too, because she’s slurring out, “Mels deserved better than what she got. She hated Hitler, well, I suppose everyone hates Hitler, don’t they?”

Amy snorts and River forces a small laugh, eyes on her wine glass because she doesn’t miss how Amy says her name in third person, as if the woman who wore the skin of her childhood friend isn’t sitting right beside her. Because they don’t see her as the people she’s been. She is still just River to them, even after they know who she is.

“River, just tell him (about the solar flares)”

“River, what did he tell you?”

“What’s River doing in a book?”

Amy knows that River and Mels and Melody are all the same, but only in the way that people who’ve never been to space know the Earth is round. It’s a fact you’ve been told. Something you can tell at the right time of day or when you stare or into the horizon for long enough. But it isn’t something they think about on a regular basis. It doesn’t effect their daily lives. River is woven into their timeline like a tapestry and yet her connection to them is nothing more than a detached fact that exists in their subconscious. She’s no more the woman who went to school with them than she is the child in a suit or the infant Amy held in her arms. All those people are ghosts and their relationship is nothing more than a sweater, littered with loose threads, that neither of them dare touch.

And maybe they only ever speak of Kovarian once, when River’s fresh from the Byzantium and Amy is crumbling under the weight of a moral crisis. River listens as Amy speculates on what it makes her now, if she can take a life. River carefully holds her tongue and wonders if Amy even realizes who she’s talking to sometimes, if she fully grasps how much of a killer River is capable of being. River literally made the entire universe scream in pain and yet Amy is the one with remorse in her eyes and blood on her hands. She talks of murder in an aborted time line and River sits as stoic as she can, as much distance between herself and the name Kovarian as physically possible as she consoles her mother that it doesn’t count. It’s just a bad dream. It never happened. But inside River has just a flicker of pride and jealousy. What she’d give to see the light drain from that woman’s eyes. It’s a revenge that’s far too cold to serve a purpose and too time rattled to count, but Amy had the strength to do something River never did. They talk of murder and it’s a bit too twisted to dwell on the fact that River’s never felt closer to her mother than she does at this moment.

And only sometimes, on very rare occasions, does Amy see past River’s disguises and harder outer shell. Sometimes, when Amy’s at her most vulnerable, she sees River for what she is, a little girl who lost her family. Only then does she call her Melody, and it makes River want to bristle and weep at the same time. It’s evidence of her mother’s love but it’s also a reminder of the nightmares of her youth and of everything she never got to have. They call her by the name she left behind and River fights the urge to flinch because of what it means.

Think about how much River must have hated that name- Melody. Amy gave it to her but it was Kovarian that used it, that spat it like a curse. Melody was a shell, a creature that never had a choice, but River is the name she chose, possibly the first choice she ever made for herself. It’s what the Doctor calls her even after he discovers who she is, because he knows all about the importance of a name. But River never tells Amy and Rory that her birth name fills her with rage. She doesn’t take that away from them, the thin thread that binds her to her parents.

Maybe River almost prefers it on the days they don’t know who she is yet, when she can let the pretenses fall and see faces that aren’t darkened by shadows. Maybe she prefers when things are easier, when she can confess things to her father, when she can speak to Amy candidly, when she can look after her and make jokes in a Maze of the Dead, when she can tell her that she’s brave to stare down an Angel without blinking. In these days at least one of them can play mother, at least she can say all the things Amy would have said to her if the universe was fair.

And then one day, they’re gone, stolen again, and she misses them.. but not like she should, like a real daughter would. Maybe it’s because Amy willfully left her this time. Maybe River encouraged Amy to chase Rory into the darkness because she knows they’ve always fought harder for their husbands than they have for each other. Maybe she knew it would be an easy decision for Amy to make, because she wasn’t choosing between her husband and her child at all. Deep down, River knows she’s more of a ghost to them than the tombstone with Rory’s name on it.

River never had parents, but she isn’t a fool. She knows that as much as one loves their spouse, they’d never choose them over their child. And yet, Amy does. Because her almost daughter is grown and never really needed her in the first place, so of course Amy chooses Rory. Of course Amy doesn’t look at River before she disappears forever. She reaches back and tells her to be brave because that’s all she’s ever really been able to give. The last River sees of her mother is a flash of red hair as she spins to face the Doctor, and funnily enough it’s what she remembers from when she was born as well. Her mother’s hair a crimson stain in an all white room. It’s what she remembers when her child self was strapped in a suit, the way her mother’s hair cut through the air like a knife as she turned and pointed a weapon at little Melody’s face.

And they’re gone now, shattered like a picture frame and scattered like dust, taking with them any semblance of family River had left. She doesn’t blame them, but she almost wishes she could because she’s just so angry. At everything she never had, at what could have been, at herself for squandering away the little time she had because she was too scared to have the hard conversations. She’s angry she never fought harder and she’s haunted by all the things they almost said or almost did. Like when she was brand new and they were standing over the Doctor’s body and Amy reached for her but never took her hand. Her whole life feels like that, like shes so close to something she’ll never get to have. 

Beside her, the ageless, untouchable God she calls husband mourns his Ponds because, quite possibly, he knew them in a way this face never did. And that’s what mattered most, the face she wore, the one that wasn’t quite their little girl. And the Doctor sighs, apologies on his lips because, “River, they were your parents. I didn’t think.”

And River just shakes her head like the psychopath she was trained to be, because of course he didn’t think of her that way. And that’s okay. “It doesn’t matter.” His Ponds never thought of her that way either.

[iamthewanderingbard]

Writing Reflections: From Finner

Greetings, everyone!

Today, I would like to look back on what has become one of my favorite stories that I’ve written, From Finner. It’s been almost a year since I completed it and posted it on FIMFiction, and the responses I’ve gotten to it and to Finner himself have made me smile and touched my heart. It’s a long one this time, but I have a lot to say about this story. So, without further ado, let’s jump in to this writing reflection!

The Inspiration

As noted in the story description, From Finner was greatly inspired by Of Monsters and Men’s song From Finner. While I loved many songs on the album My Head Is An Animal, From Finner was not originally one of them. That is not to say that I disliked it. It merely did not strike me in the same way that songs like King and Lionheart, Mountain Sound, or Little Talks had. But as time went on, this changed.

For those who are unfamiliar, a lot of Of Monsters and Men’s songs on this album are story-like. The song From Finner especially mentions an unidentified number of people on a journey and a man named Finner. They describe furrows on his skin, how the “waves that hit his face marked the past”, the rocking of his house, and how the singer of the song feels safe in his house. Well, the more I listened to the song, the more I started to think of Lyric as the one on a journey, and I started to develop the character of Finner.

Because the song mentioned waves, I decided to make Finner a pony of the sea. Because of the phrase “marked the past” and a misheard line in the song, I decided that Finner would have a lot of years behind him. “The rocking of his house” translated to a houseboat (even though I personally imagined a house on a cliff rocked by the wind listening to the song before I thought of the story). The line “That’s when Finner would say, ‘Keep your heads held high’” led to a creed that he would have held onto in life. And the title of the song made me think that he would leave a letter for Lyric in the end.

I also concluded that Finner would die in the final chapter pretty early on. I cannot say why I thought of this, why he could not simply live as Lyric goes on her way. But looking back now, I think that would have cheapened the experience as a whole. It would not have had the same impact on Lyric, or on the story itself.

Development

With all of these things in mind, I began to develop the story and the characters further. I came up with the overall arc of the story, and what kind of pony Finner was. I decided that he would tell the story of the ocean and the moon, although I feel that it may originally have been a standalone tale. I do know that the tale originally would have been about why the ocean is salty with the waters of the moon being only a component of that. More on that later. I also came up with the idea of the song and its dual meaning and purpose in the story, although I had no words for it yet. Those would come later.

As I got close to writing the story, I started to think more on Finner as a character. Who was he really? What brought him to this point in life? As I did, I thought of who he may have been in loved with, if he was ever married or had children. Thus, Lady Slipper came to be. Although she was a late addition to the story, I am so glad she was born at all. She helped to round out Finner as a character and put a lot of things about him into perspective.

Writing

The writing process was interesting for this one. When I first started writing, I got about halfway through the first chapter, right to where Lyric first enters Finner’s houseboat and he’s warming up the stove. And then I stopped.

For whatever reason, the story sat for about a year. I worked on other things in the meantime, and accomplished quite a few of them. But then, just as suddenly, I had the drive to work on it again. I got to work, and although I would love to say that I produced the story you see today, that is not the case.

The first chapter is more or less the same as how it was originally written. The second and third chapters needed extensive rewrites. In the original version of the second chapter, Lyric crumbled as Finner critiqued her performance in the tavern, and it weighed things down. The dialogue didn’t flow, and the interaction felt forced. This is when Finner was originally going to tell Lyric to keep her head held high as well, but that, too, felt forced. As I rewrote this part, the version you see now came to me, and it fit the story much better. Instead of a Lyric who was still wounded by her past, it showed one who still had some lessons to learn but was working to overcome it. Some things stayed the same, though, such as the tale that Finner told to the colts.

Although the third chapter was still the tale of Chandra and Blue, it did not flow as nicely the first time around. I had to take a close look at it and rework it. I am much happier with the end result. And even though I had originally intended to make the story about why the ocean is salty, the more I thought on it, the more I decided that the waters following the moon was a better theme and a better metaphor for Chandra and Blue as well as Finner and Lady.

I had not intended for Finner to have such duality to him when I originally thought of him, but the sadness hidden underneath his jovial surface is what the story wanted. It also led to me adding his line about keeping Lyric’s head held high after telling the tale because it fit his character arc and the story so much better. I also had not intended for the tale to be a reflection of Finner’s love for Lady as well, but I am so happy that it did.

The Song

Writing the song was an interesting process. I am not a poet, and so I originally enlisted the help of my good friend MelancholyIguana. The original approach was to try and create a song set to a piece of existing music, but we sat and looked at the story, I wrote the four stanzas that are in the final piece. Mel helped to alter the second stanza, and it flowed quite nicely. I originally also had “Sleep now, my love” written, but seeing as Lyric would sing the song to Finner at the end, I changed the words to “Sleep now, dear one” to better reflect their relationship. I had planned on having the song be longer, somewhere around six to eight stanzas, but the four stanzas felt right. They were short, sweet, and they captured exactly what I was going for.

The Letter

One thing I was concerned about at the end was the contents of the letter. I still am a bit. Although I feel that it fits the story and that it is something Lyric needed to hear at this point in her life, I was afraid that, from an outsider’s perspective, it would not be enough of a payoff. I had also wanted it to be longer, but what I came up with seemed to fit. It said everything it needed to say, and to drag it out would have cheapened its words.

Lady Slipper

Figuring out just what to say and how much to say about Lady Slipper was a challenge. I love her so much, and there is a lot of her story, and her life with Finner that I really wanted to show. However, that would have taken away from the points the story was trying to make, and so I took the “less is more” approach with her. I still love her, and I still have her story in my head, and I have seriously considered writing more about her and Finner together.

The Epilogue

As I was writing, I debated about making the epilogue a true epilogue, or if it should be attached to the last chapter. I could have seen it working either way. Making it a true epilogue won out, though, as I decided it was its own contained scene, as well as the fact that it shows a new Lyric, one not seen in the story thus far. It warranted its own space in the story.

The Revising

As I always do when completing the first draft of a new story, I went through it with a fine-toothed comb, weeding out anything and everything I could find that looked off or needed to change. After I had, I sent the story to a few good friends of mine to get their feedback and input. Among these friends are Will-Owl-the-Wisp and Haycart, who once again worked their magic and made wonderful changes and suggestions to make this story the best that it could possibly be.

That concludes this writing reflection! I hope that you had as much fun reading this as I had remembering and writing all this. From Finner really did surprise me in a lot of ways. I never expected to become as attached to Finner and Lady Slipper that I did. I never expected that the story would have quite the impact on people that it did, or that some people would fall in love with Finner just as much as I had.

To everyone who has read it, commented on it, favorited it, and to all those who gave their time to help turn this story into what it is today, I thank you all.

Cheers!

[norhymenoreasonff-blog]

Chapter 41

This is the life I’ve prayed for... surrounded by laughter and love and happily drowning in every minute of it. As Baby Junior slowly grows bigger and stronger each day my love for my wife and the life we are living grows and strengthens as well. Mel and Lee are still here with us and the reality of three Bajan women and all of their words, attitudes, and ways surrounding me is enough to drown even the strongest man but I literally crave and want for more. That’s not to say I’m not tired though.

It seems my wife is in her crazy strange food stage and while that’s daunting it seems as if Melissa and Leandra are suffering through a sympathy pregnancy with her so every ache, pain, mood swing, and crazy want she experiences so too do they. There have been so many moments in the middle of the night that I’m out in the Detroit streets searching for food mixtures none of them should be eating. The one time I attempted to tell them this they called the mamas on me and that was the last time I thought to tell any of them no. They literally have me running from pillar to post and as tired and crazy as they make me I wouldn’t have it any other way.

They’ve been here helping us in our house hunt and to say it’s been challenging would be an absolute understatement. Robyn is Robyn… so whatever she wants I will do whatever I have to do to give it to her but throw in Mel and Lee and Gabby’s wants and words finding that perfect place seems damn near impossible. I mentioned Gabby because the second she gets with Robyn and the Bajan twosome it’s a mess and a half. Much like Taryn Mel and Lee took to Gabby and they have been fast friends since. Add my wife and the craziness can’t be controlled so I don’t even try.

House hunting with the four of them has been something else though. Everything Melissa and Leandra even remotely showed some type of interest in got an automatic no from Robyn. So of course that meant the minute Robyn showed even an inkling of something Leandra put on her petty pants and it’s a mess with pregnancy hormones flying back and forth between them. Looking to Melissa for any kind of help is useless because she and Gabby absolutely refuse to come in between their mess. I almost wish Taryn was tagging along too to be the voice of some kind of reason but she’s back to her disappearing acts and her being here would probably only make things even worse.

My only reprieve is when they pull Robyn away to go shopping and I can escape to work. The only thing they seem to agree on is spending my money on all things baby. Surprisingly they still don’t know what we’re having but that fact hasn’t stopped them from filling up Robyn’s basket for what they think Baby Junior will need. I’m not sure we even need a baby shower at the rate and money there are spending at every baby store they stumble across. I made the mistake of actually voicing the thought of scrapping the shower and the look I got had me contemplating calling the mamas on myself. Thankfully I was called into work and hopefully by the time I get home they will have forgotten my ‘suggestion’. Truth be told I probably could have left work minutes after I got here but this time apart is probably needed but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t missing the craziness.

 “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Got called in for some bullshit that Harris could have handled himself but now I’m just killing time…”

“She in the crazy weird food phase yet?”

“Yes… her and her two friends…”

“They pregnant too?”

Slowly shaking my head, “Sympathy pregnancy…”

“So you going through it three times…”

“You already know…”

“Well at least you getting practice…”

Slowly turning to look in Bryce’s intern Terrence’s direction, “Practice for what?”

Softly laughing, “In case you ever get two chicks pregnant at the same time…”

“That shit will never happen…”

“How you know?”

“Trust me on this one. Robyn is the only woman who will ever have my children so until she can clone herself that fine Bajan woman of mine is the only one I’m filling up with babies…”

“Man she got you whipped…”

Softly smiling, “Happily…”

“Terrence leave Brown alone… him doing anything with any other woman but his wife ain't about to happen…”

“Wife?” quickly looking in my direction, “I didn’t know y’all was married…”

Quickly speaking before I could respond Bryce explained what he thought of me and Robyn’s relationship, “They might as well be. The second he started talking about her it was obvious as hell that that’s what they were going to be to each other and then I saw her…”

“What that mean?”

Slowly shaking his head as he looked at me, “Dude ain't no way in hell you was letting her fine ass leave your side. If anyone of us even attempted to look at her cock eyed or longer than needed you was coming for our ass…”

“Whatever…”

“We all knew how you was feeling for her before we even met her so the thought of you and any other woman… especially you having a baby with one… ain't even possible…”

“Glad somebody knows…”

“How’s house hunting going?”

Softly sighing, “Remember when I said Robyn is in the weird food craving phase…”

“Yeah…”

“She’s also in the cry over everything even if it hasn’t happened yet phase…”

“Huh?”

“I thought we found it… it was perfect… everything she said she wanted… new construction… gated community… enough rooms for both our mothers and extra family that will come through after Baby Junior is born… finished basement… huge backyard… amazing kitchen… when I tell you it had everything she wanted it literally had everything…”

“Then why didn’t she like it?”

“She loved it but then she suddenly started crying about oil spots in the driveway…”

“I thought you said it was new construction…”

Slowly nodding my head as I softly sighed again, “It is… there were no oil spots… she was crying about oil spots that might come years down the line when my car goes out or…”

Softly laughing as he interrupted my explanation, “That’s why yo ass is here… you here hiding out cause you can’t deal no more and you needed a break…”

“You goddamn right…” softly laughing with him as I continued, “I’m just glad her and Gabby hit if off cause if we were with any other realtor we might have gotten a cuss out by now… my baby be wearing her out with all the shit she be wanting in a house and Gabby somehow comes through each and every time…”

“I was going to offer to hook you up with another realtor but Gabby seems like a perfect fit…”

“She is… she’s good people and it’s like we are working with an old friend who has our best interest in mind…”

“How she look?”

“I said she’s good people… that means she’s off limits for you…”

Softly laughing, “I’m a changed man… my hoe ways are behind me…”

“Punk you was just in the club with three different chicks…”

“Nobody asked you Terrence…”

 Laughing as they went back and forth I don’t know if Bryce was the best mentor for Terrence to intern with. Bryce is good at his job but having him hang and mimic and learn from his every antic outside of work is an absolute mess and disaster waiting to happen. I had an opportunity to take him but with Baby Junior coming and everything else going on in my life I knew I didn’t have the time to dedicate and teach him everything he needed to know. I try to toss him a couple of things from time to time and if he were to ever need me I’m there but he’s under Bryce’s tutelage and I wish him well.

My phone calling to me I answered smiling almost instantly as my baby whispered softly about how much me missed me and wanted me home. No matter the crazy food crave or overly dramatic mood swing I missed her too and being by her side is where I wanted to be. Bidding my goodbyes to Terrence and Bryce I headed home to my baby stopping only to grab a junk food overload for her and her osmosed pregnant friends as well. And yet as I returned home I was shocked to see she had something set up for just me, her, and Baby Junior.

 “What’s this?”

“I was thinking about you…”

“I thought about you too baby…”

“And I realized just how much I missed our just us time so…”

“What’d you do?” quickly looking around as I continued to question her, “where are the terrible twosome?”

Slowly shrugging “I put them out… they’re probably terrorizing Gabby right now…”

“Poor her…”

“She’ll be alright…” gently taking my hand, “come on…”

 Leading me to the waiting table we sat and actually had dinner with just the two of us. Mel and Lee being here has been amazing but sometimes it’s damn near impossible remembering bow it felt with it being just Robyn and me. Laughingly she explained that the meal has started off as all of my favorites but by the time she was done every dish was everything she loved. Truthfully it wouldn’t have mattered what she cooked... the fact that it was just us made everything perfect. Smiling back in her direction I slowly fed Robyn the meal she spent all day making for me and with each smile and happy shimmy as the food filled her mouth I was filled up with everything that I needed.

After my nightly conversation with Baby Junior Robyn again took my hand leading me to a waiting bath she also set up for us. I know tonight was supposed to be about me and while I appreciate it there was no way in hell I’m not going to pamper and take care of her. Pulling her to me I gently kissed my favorite spot on her neck before I slowly began to undress her. Quieting her protest we let a temporary silence surround us as I placed my hands against her rounded stomach allowing my heart to swell at the truth of this moment.

Our baby… my son… if I allowed myself to think and dream and imagine I would literally fall to tears with every thought of him. When Robyn first mentioned wanting a baby I was ready to run from any real thought or possibility of one. In my mind we weren’t ready and I nearly let my fear of not being ready or enough to overtake me but something clicked instead and a baby between us became my greatest want and need. That night she agreed to have my babies I acted a plum fool and I would probably still be yelling and telling anyone who would listen just how happy and lucky I am because of her. But we had plans and positions to get that night so I dragged her as I allowed her to drag me from the top of the Empire State Building so we could start our baby making business.

Those first few months of trying… I’m shocked that we could still walk because some of the things we were doing should truly and honestly be prohibited by law but we tried them and if given half the chance we’d try them again just because. But we were so sure that becoming pregnant would be so damn simple and yet with every failed test my heart broke just a little and I was ready to end our quest seeing how each negative test broke Robyn’s heart even more. That last pregnancy test… I just knew… my heart was beating a million beats per second as I stood in the store buying every test I could see and I knew… and when she whispered Baby Junior was real and growing inside of her I knew our every attempt… the let downs and triumphs… were worth it. With a gentle caress of my cheek I leaned forward whispering my love to my son before tenderly kissing her stomach.

Her had in mine I led her to the bathtub helping her into the warmed water before I quickly undressed to join her. It’s moments like these that I want to go on forever. I’m forever grateful for the life we’re living and all that is coming to us but moments like this… when it’s just her and me and every distraction is gone and forgotten and the only thing that matters is the now. Her back to my chest I intertwined our hands as I rested them on her stomach. We’ve had a flutter or two where we were convinced that Baby Junior was kicking and making his presence known but everyone told us that it was too soon for that but they don’t know our son or how happy he is that we are his parents.

My hands slowly moving over her body it’s more than obvious where this night was going to go and despite how badly I will forever want her I was exactly ready to leave this moment. This moment felt soft and serene and I want to bask in that a little bit longer. Listening as she laughingly told of Leandra’s actions during their last shopping excursion I could only shake my head easily visualizing how over the top she acted. Hearing how Melissa joined in as they both attempted to find out the sex of our child I can’t help but wonder how much longer Robyn can hold out on the truth. Sensing my thoughts my love smiled back at me making a bet that she could hold out on the truth longer than me. We had a similar bet about admitting to us being married and I’m not sure who won or lost that one but I think we both enjoyed the payout. Betting something equally raunchy I whispered out need to exit the water as both our skin began to wrinkle and prune.

Wrapping her in a thick warm robe I again took her hand leading her out of the bathroom into our room. Wanting to pamper her still I directed her to sit as I gathered her favorite lotions and crèmes for her skin. And with her foot in my lap I slowly rubbed the scented lotions on her marveling in the softness of her skin.

 Softly whispering, “I want to have a baby girl…”

“Well with the way Baby Junior is set up…”

Slowly shaking her head, “After Baby Junior…”

“Whatever you want…”

“When he turns six months we try again…”

Slowly nodding as I continued to rub lotion into her skin, “Where is all of this coming from baby?”

“You’re going to have Baby Junior…”

Softly whispering, “We both are…”

“Yeah but he’s going to instantly fall in love with all things daddy and will want to only be with you and I won’t have anybody to love up on and cover with kisses…”

“I’m here…”

“I give you different kind of kisses…”

Slowly wiggling his eyebrows, “The best kind…”

“You’re silly…”

“You really want another baby that soon?”

“I thought you wanted me to pop them out one after the other…”

Slowly shaking my head, “I want you to have our children whenever you’re ready to have them…”

“I’ll be ready to try again when Baby Junior turns six months…”

“And if we have another boy?”

Slowly shrugging, “We wait six months and then try again and we keep trying until we have our daughter…”

“Aww hell… we betta hurry up and pick a big ass house for all these damn kids cause I think I got at least six or seven boys lined up before I send out a girl…”

Softly laughing, “Whatever… you just make sure you send her…”

“I will…”

“It’s obvious we can’t try for her now but we can practice on what to do when it’s time to make her…”

Softly whispering as I looked up at her, “Practice?”

“We have the condo to ourselves and…”

“Them being here don’t really stop us…”

Softly smiling, “True…”

“So what we exactly are we ‘practicing’?”

 Slowly standing Robyn allowed her robe to fall and puddle at her feet. My gaze locked on her every moved I watched as she moved to our bedroom door before she turned and whispered back to me.

 Softly whispering, “Come on…”

 That’s all that was needed to be said before I quickly stood and followed her to wherever she wanted our practice session to take place. We used to laugh and joke about folks watching us as we made love so I’m not too surprised to find her standing before our ceiling to floor windows waiting for me. I can’t help but stare at her because she epitomizes everything that is beautiful to me. Pregnancy has her body right… the curves and softness of her… I’m ready to fall at her feet vowing my eternal devotion over and over again. With her hand extended to mine I take a deep breath before I completely go to her.

Her back pressed against the window glass I leaned into her covering her face, mouth, neck, and shoulders with tiny delicate kisses. I wanted her to feel my every emotion with each caress of my kiss against her skin. As she softly whispered words of love back to me I fell to my knees as I moved kiss and taste down her body. My heart exploded as my kiss moved across the roundness of her stomach. She and Baby Junior are my everything and I will love and bless and cherish them both with every beat of my heart.

Her leg draped over my shoulder I leaned into her breathing, drowning, and relishing in the smell of her. I’m drunk on the smell of her arousal and I fall further under her influence as I moved the tip of my nose against her sensitized clit. With every move she called out to me which in turn only made me want to fall deeper still. She’s intoxicating and addictive and mine and I can’t stop my own moans as I slowly extended my tongue tasting her nectar and my life sustenance. I can and will never get enough of her and as she softly called out to me I silently vowed to please and pleasure and love her until she whispered for me to stop.

I slowly moved the tip of my nose down her slick folds kissing the skin offered to me. Extending my tongue feasted on the taste of her. Our moans filled the room creating a melody and rhythm that she moved her hips to as she slowly rode my tongue. I tasted her bliss as it filled my mouth and my want, desire, and need for her continued to grow. As I slowly stood I took her hand in mine leading her to our couch so beyond ready to be joined as one with her. Sitting back on the couch I helped her to straddle my lap softly moaning once again as she slowly eased down on my shaft. She felt so damn good and as her warmth surrounded me it took every damn thing in my not to grab hold of her waist and feverishly pound and pump up into her. While I wanted that feeling so damn bad I also wanted this to be soft and gentle and loving because that’s what she deserved. I let her dictate the speed and tempo of our loving making and with each move and turn and twist of her hips I fell just a little deeper still if that’s even possible.

Love is her. As we slowly moved together my everything stared back at me and I felt to hold myself together. She has changed my life in every way imaginable and without her I would be rendered useless, worthless, or of no value for anyone. But what’s more amazing than the love I have for her is the love she readily shows me in return.  Locked in our stare I saw, felt, and knew love. I pressed my cheek into the palm of her hand as she caressed my cheek as she whispered her words of love to me. As much as I thought, dreamed, and hoped I never knew this type of love… this type of connection was possible. These moments… when every movement, every action, every touch is tender and gentle and loving are moments I want to last forever.

My arms now tenderly locked around her waist and hers around my neck Robyn kissed each freckle that coated my cheek and I leaned in closer to her as I helped her to keep count. It’s crazy… her love for them has me loving and appreciating and beyond grateful for every browned spec and mark that dotted my face and cheeks. I hated my freckles for as long as I could remember until the moment she whispered her love for them and with each brush of her kiss I long for our son to have them too so he can experience her love for them as well.

The feel of her kiss on my skin all thoughts of freckles and everything else flew from me and I closed my eyes giving in to the feelings forever given and brought to me through her. Her whispered wants are the driving force as I moved my touch down her back pulling her deeper still into me wanting and needing to as close to her as bliss came to us both. My name softly rolling off of her tongue I pushed up into her one last time wanting to stay lost in utopia with her forever.

 “I love you Chris…”

Softly whispering, “I love you too baby…”

“All this freaky deaky shit in the front room…”

“Yeah…”

Softly sighing, “We should have just stayed in the room…”

“Why you say that?”

“Because when we do it again all we would have had to do was turn over in another spot and get going…”

“We can do it again in here…”

“I guess but we gotta clean up all the evidence before them two heffas come back…”

“I’ll clean everything up…”

Softly pouting, “But I’ll miss you…”

“You can sit your naked ass out here while I’m doing it…”

“Well that’ll defeat the purpose cause I’ll want to do it again…”

Softly smiling as I slowly nodded my head, “We can do that too…”

 Quickly grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch Robyn fashioned the throw around her body as she slowly eased off of mine. Sitting beside me on the couch Robyn tightly closed her eyes covering them with her hands ensuring that any possibility of seeing was next to impossible before she laughingly spoke to me.

 Softly laughing, “Get your naked booty up and clean up what we been doing so we can go and do it again in our room…”

“Babe…”

“Come on bwoy… I got plans for you in that room…”

“Why are you covering up your eyes for?”

“Cause if I watch you butt ass naked cleaning…”

“Well if I’m cleaning up I gotta put some shorts on first and then…”

Quickly interrupting me, “No…”

“Robyn…”

“I might change my mind and want to watch…”

“Babe…”

“Come on sexy man… clean up so we can go dirty up our room…”

 And just like that she had me up naked free balling while I cleaned away any and all evidence of what we just did in the living room. If it were only Robyn and I here I don’t think it would matter if I had her bent over seven times on Sunday doing what we do best dropping juices, eruptions, and everything in between all over the place. We’d still clean it up but with Mel and Lee here we have to do it immediately and our dining table and countertops can only be used for eating and preparing food and everything else is strictly prohibited. If by chance we get even remotely close to leaving evidence behind I’m left damn near choking on bleach as it is wiped away. So here I am… bleach bottle and rag in hand while my penis swung in the wind because my love nicely asked me to do it and anything she asks I will do.

I hope like hell no one is watching or got binoculars trained on our window because we’ve given them a show and then some. And this full frontal display left little to the imagination as to what has Robyn’s belly swollen. As her arms wrapped around my body from behind Robyn took hold of me with her small hand slowly moving up and down my length hardening me with every stroke.

 Softly whispering as I repeated my favorite line to her, “What is this?”

“I peaked and you looked so good I couldn’t keep my hands to myself…”

“I don’t think you want to keep doing that…”

Softly whispering as she softly caressed the tip of me with her thumb, “Why?”

 I placed my head against the window momentarily losing myself in the feeling of my love giving me a slow hand job in plain view for all of Detroit to see. She’s alternating between slow soft strokes and hard quick jerks and it’s messing my head and breathing up. She literally had me in the palm of her hand and even if I wanted to stop her there was no way in hell I could. Muttering and mumbling words I didn’t even know I fumbled out answers to every whispered question she sent my way.

 Softly whispering, “Do that feel good baby?”

“I…we… please…”

Gently kissing the skin behind my ear as she increased her speed, “I just want to make you feel good…”

“Baby please…”

 I can’t take it anymore and the feel of her hand movements and tender kisses across my back I gave into her and lost it calling out her name over and over again as streams of our future babies went flying against the our just cleaned window. As my head rested against the window as I attempted to come down from my high my love softly whispered to me causing me to to fumble and bumble until I put away my cleaning products before I ran after her.

Despite the raunchiness of her words when we came together in the room we were soft and tender and us. I love her and I will allow nothing or no one to ever come between the love and life we’ve created together. This was might to be… we were meant to be and every second, every minute, every moment I love her more than the second, minute, moment before. Tenderly kissing her forehead as it rested against my chest I pulled in closer to me as we softly whispered back and forth to one another.

 “I love you Chris…”

Softly whispering, “I love you too Robyn…”

“You’re my everything…”

“I must have done a good job cleaning huh…”

Softly laughing, “Shut up…”

“You’re my everything too…”

“The next house we look at…”

“Yeah…”

“I want that one…”

“Gabby send you some pictures or something?”

Slowly shaking her head, “No… I’m just tired of looking…”

“Babe…”

“I’m ready for a house for you, me, and Baby Junior… Gabby has been doing an amazing job but I’m just tired…”

“We can wait if…”

“No… I want to move… I’m ready to move… it’s just…”

“I want you to have everything you ever dreamed about in a house… I want our house to be perfect…”

Gently touching my cheek as she stared up at me, “It will be as long as you and Baby Junior is there with me…”

“You really ready to stop looking?”

“Yes…”

“Gabby betta pick a damn good house…”

“She will…” softly sighing as she tightly wrapped her arms around me, “I can wait to decorate the nursery…”

“I had a dream about it…”

“What did you dream?”

“I was sitting in a big comfortable chair that I was holding you in while you were holding Baby Junior…”

“Aww…”

“And there was a big mat in the middle of the floor that every baby toy you could think of on it… I didt see it in my dream but I know my big ass was down there playing on the mat with him…”

“What color was his room?”

“I don’t didn’t dream that part… in my dream we were fussing and disagreeing in the paint store before we ending up picking and paying for the color you wanted…”

Softly laughing, “Damn right…”

“We did the same thing with the baby furniture… and the cuss words you threw my way for trying to put the furniture together…”

“You probably deserved them…”

Laughing as I nodded my head, “I did… that furniture was a mess by the time I finished putting it together…”

“Real life you not do it… not about to have my baby falling through the bed cause he daddy don’t know what he’s doing…”

Softly laughing, “Like you can do better…”

“We have a bet… when it’s time to decorate the nursery you pick something and I pick something… whoever puts it together the best win…”

Slowly smirking, “Win what exactly?”

“Whatever you want Mr. Nasty…”

Quickly kissing her cheek, “Right back at you Mrs. Nasty…”

 Laughing at our corniness Robyn slowly shook her head as she turned into me before whispering about all the things we wanted to experience in our new house. The thought that the next house Gabby showed up being the house we move into is a scary thought but if that’s what Robyn wants that’s what Robyn will get. Gabby has been fantastic in the houses she has been finding us so my only hope is our wait to finally claim it as ours isn’t long. Little Mrs. Nasty has turned the subject matter into things I will need that damn bleach bottle for again and with each whispered word and tug on certain body parts it just might be worth going to retrieve it. But then again we are in our room so her will and want I’m more than ready to give to her. My whispers joined hers and sheets fell away and smiles covered faces as she positioned herself on top of me like I requested. We have plenty of time to talk about the house and nurseries and every other room in our coming house but right here right now her moving against me and I moved against her is all that matters.

[lovelyparanormalbooks]

Book Blitz: Grand Finale: The Renegade's Redemption by Stacy Henrie (Giveaway)

On Tour with Prism Book Tours.

Book Tour Grand Finale for

The Renegade's Redemption

By Stacy Henrie

We hope you enjoyed the tour! If you missed any of the stops you can see snippets, as well as the link to each full post, below:

Launch - Note from the Author

Ever since sharing some of Tex’s story in my last Love Inspired Historical book about his twin brother Tate, I’ve eagerly anticipated the chance for readers to get to know Tex better—through his own story this time. A legendary, charismatic outlaw, Tex was a fun and complex character to write. So, too, was his reunion with the girl he left behind eight years ago Ravena Reid.

Hearts & Scribbles - Character Descriptions 

An identical twin, Tex looks just like his brother Tate with their matching blue eyes and brown hair, but their similarities end there. Tex is charming, fun-loving, and never in one place for long. But when he realizes Ravena needs help with her farm, he offers to stay and help, if only to atone for leaving her behind years ago. In the process, he comes to face-to-face with his past, his mistakes, and his long buried faith. Before long he’ll have to make the toughest decision of his life—to stop running or not from everyone, including himself. 

Christian Suspense Author Mary Alford - Review

"This story was such an amazing journey for me. Filled with rich characters, precious children, a wounded past, and best of all…forgiveness and a second chance at love.

THE RENEGADE’S REDEMPTION was impossible to put down. I read the entire book in one sitting, it’s that good. "

Heidi Reads... - Review

"I loved the various personalities of the orphans that Ravena cares for and how it shows her compassionate nature. She struggles with her long-held feelings for Tex and forgiveness of others and self is a big theme in the story. There is some action as Tex's outlaw background catches up with him but I appreciated that he came to terms with it of his own volition before he was forced to by circumstances. Lovely romance between a stalwart young woman and a charming rogue!"

I Am A Reader - Excerpt

“Ravena,” Tex called as she reached the door.

She blew out a sigh and turned to face him. “Yes?”

“Thank you for this. But you said one night and I won’t stay longer than that.”

Gripping the edges of the tray until they dug into her palms, she willed the words she wanted to say to reach her lips. Yes, Tex, you have to leave. I have enough concerns right now, without worrying about you and the fragileness of my heart.

Sylv.net - An Old Flame

Can past hurts be overcome and forgiven in order to have a second chance at love? In my newest Love Inspired Historical book, that’s what Tex Beckett and Ravena Reid must decide.

Tex and Ravena grew up together on neighboring farms in Idaho. They were inseparable friends, though Tex’s twin brother Tate often tagged along with them. As they grew older, Tex and Ravena realized their friendship had developed into something more. Though different in temperament—Ravena is far more serious, and Tex is fun-loving and eager for adventure—they complemented each other and shared a deep love.

Rockin' Book Reviews - Review

"This Historical fiction is full of action, suspense, drama and romance. The reader will be unsure of the ending until the last pages. The characters are defined well and the reader feels very endeared to them. The background scenes are portrayed well. The story steadily flows smoothly until the very end. The reader’s interest is held throughout the tale."

Reading Is My SuperPower - Review

"Vivid characters with lots of personality join forces with swoony romance, adorable children, and a heartfelt message of redemption and restoration. Stacy Henrie is skilled at knowing the right combination of each of those elements to achieve a ‘just right’ balance and a smooth story. If you’re a fan of stories set in the late 1800s West then you need to definitely make time to read Stacy Henrie’s books as well!'"

Singing Librarian Books - Review

"Stacy Henrie has done it again! Her novel Renegade’s Redemption is simply splendid!! This western romance is filled with plenty of adventure and romance that readers will not want to miss. In addition there are themes of inspiration, forgiveness, and redemption that will tug at the heartstrings of readers. . . . This sweet historical romance novel is a fantastic sequel to The Outlaw’s Secret that readers will adore."

Katie's Clean Book Collection - Review

"I enjoyed the gentle chemistry between these two and the way they each worked through trust issues. I love the descriptions of their every day lives and the way the past and present fit together. There are many things to be resolved and through journeys of self-discovery and responsibility, a satisfying conclusion resulted."

Mel's Shelves - Review

" I devoured it quickly and love the way it all came together! I love Stacy Henrie's writing style and she is quickly becoming a favorite author! If you enjoy clean historical romance, you will want to read both of these books!"

Getting Your Read On - Review

"Tex and Ravena were great characters. The book flowed gently and easily, weaving in daily life events with the rekindling of friendship and love. The children in this book were a fantastic addition and really gave the story a feeling of family and love."

Wishful Endings - Excerpt

For one moment, Tex knew the familiar thrill of a clean escape. Then the sheriff shot at him again. This time the bullet found purchase. It struck Tex in his right side, and his body jerked hard to the left in reflexive response. He clung to the horse with trembling arms to keep from falling as searing fire registered through his shock.

Paulette's Papers - Five Fun Facts about The Renegade’s Redemption

1. The final scenes of this book take place on Independence Day. And while I knew the release date for the book was in July 2017, I didn’t pay much attention to which day. So it was serendipitous and lots of fun when I realized it was releasing on Independence Day.

The Power of Words - Review

"The road for this unlikely pair seemed impossible, and I loved how everything was resolved. . . . I enjoyed The Renegade’s Redemption very much and look forward to much more from Stacy Henrie."

Tell Tale Book Reviews - Review

"The Renegade's Redemption is a sweet historical romance with strong themes of forgiveness and trusting in God. The story begins and pretty much ends with a bang, and the pages in between are sure to keep readers anxiously turning them to find out what happens with Tex, Ravena, and the orphans."

Cafinated Reads - Review

"This is a truly wonderful story of seeking one’s faith, relying on God, forgiveness and redemption. Ms. Hernie will steal you away with this book and leave you wanting more instantly! This 5 star book is the second in a series, and while I wasn’t confused and it could be easily read as a stand alone, I do plan to go back and read book 1 and see where it all began with Tex. Hats off to this talented author who is now on my favorites list!!"

Brooke Blogs - Review

"I really enjoyed this sweet story. I quickly found myself attached to the characters and immersed in the setting. I loved this story so much. The setting and time period was just perfect. The Renegade’s Redemption is well-written and a quick read. If you are looking for a sweet, clean romance, give this one a try. You won’t regret it."

And don't forget to enter the giveaway below, if you haven't already...

The Renegade's Redemption

by Stacy Henrie

Inspirational Historical Romance

Paperback & ebook, 288 pages

July 1st 2017 by Love Inspired Historical

Refuge for the Outlaw

When Tex Beckett arrives at Ravena Reid's farm, he's eight years too late for the elopement they'd once planned—and it's far too early to win her forgiveness. He's seriously wounded, though, and she can't turn him away, though she knows better than to trust him. Yes, it's wonderful having help with the farm, and with the orphans she fosters, but if she opens her heart, she'll get hurt again when he leaves. And Tex always leaves.

As a notorious bank robber, Tex is used to danger. Yet reuniting with the only woman he's ever loved is the riskiest thing he's ever done. All he wants is to stay with Ravena and the children. But can he build a new start before his past catches up with him?

Goodreads│Amazon│Barnes & Noble│Book Depository Harlequin│Kobo│iBooks│GooglePlay│BAM│IndieBound

Other Books in the Series

The Outlaw's Secret

by Stacy Henrie

Christian Historical RomancePaperback & ebook, 288 pages

February 7th 2017 by Love Inspired Historical

Lawman in Disguise 

Getting taken hostage by a gang of train robbers wasn't in dime novelist Essie Vanderfair's plans, but interviewing these men could make her career soar. Especially since the gang includes legendary outlaw Tex Beckett, better known as the Texas Titan. Tex is famed for his protection of women and children, so she'll be fine…right? 

Keeping the gang in line was hard enough before a stubborn, beautiful writer interfered. Now Tex is scrambling to keep Essie safe, to gather evidence against the gang and most of all to hide his dangerous secrets. First, that he's a detective working undercover. And second, that he's not the Texas Titan at all, but Tex's twin brother, Tate Beckett.

Goodreads│Amazon│Barnes & Noble│Book Depository

Harlequin│Kobo│iBooks│GooglePlay│BAM│IndieBound

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Stacy Henrie is the author of western romances and the Of Love and War series, which includes Hope at Dawn, a 2015 RITA Award finalist for excellence in romance. She was born and raised in the West, where she currently resides with her family. She enjoys reading, road trips, interior decorating, chocolate, and most of all, laughing with her husband and kids.

Website│Goodreads│Facebook│Twitter│Pinterest

Tour Giveaway

- 1 winner will receive  copies of The Express Rider's Lady and The Outlaw's Secret, and a $10 Amazon e-gift card (US only)

- 1 winner will receive a $25 Amazon e-gift card (open internationally)

- Ends July 22nd

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Over A Dozen New Netflix Trailers In One Spot

Netflix has been busy the past year! The streaming giant it’s set to embark on it’s most ambitious year yet with a ton of original series, movies, and comedy specials. As of last year, Netflix had 30 original series and they had announced their intent to double that in 2017. This past week  they’ve released over a dozen trailers back-to-back of different series and movies set to release later this year. Some of these star Hollywood A-listers such as Brad Pitt, Will Smith and Henry Cavill.  This doesn’t include previously announced fan favorites like Marvel’s Iron Fist and the second season of Stranger Things.

If you haven’t kept up with their constant bombardment of teasers and trailers, we’ve grouped them all for you here. Check them all below.

Burning Sands – March 10

Burning Sands takes you on a raw, voyeuristic journey of fraternity pledging through the eyes of one favored pledgee, who is torn between honoring a code of silence or standing up against the intensifying violence of underground hazing. Led by a breakthrough performance by Trevor Jackson, director Gerard McMurray’s feature directorial debut brings an emotional honesty to the classic tale of “rites of passage” and the complicated bonds of brotherhood.

Burning Sands, which also stars Alfre Woodard, Steve Harris, Tosin Cole, DeRon Horton and Moonlight’s Trevante Rhodes, was written by Christine Berg and Gerard McMurray and produced by Stephanie Allain, Jason Michael Berman, Reginald Hudlin and Mel Jones. Executive produced by Caroline Connor and Common.

  Dave Chappelle: Two Specials, One Event – March 21

He’s back. And with plenty on his mind. Dave Chappelle returns with two stand-up specials from his personal comedy vault on March 21, only on Netflix.

  Amy Schumer: The Leather Special – March 7

It’s a rule: Every comedian’s got to do a leather special. Emmy® and Peabody Award-winner Amy Schumer continues the tradition with jokes about having good vagina days, seeing your nude photo go viral, and more.

  Ingobernable – March 24

Diego Nava and Emilia Urquiza Mexico’s presidential couple had many plans, but social and political pressure makes Diego compromise his ideals. Emilia a strong woman with convictions losses faith in her husband and leaves him, not knowing how much the future of Mexico will change after. Season 1 comes to Netflix March 24rd.

  13 Reasons Why – March 31

Why would a dead girl lie? 13 Reasons Why premieres March 31 only on Netflix.

  The Discovery – March 31

One year after the existence of the afterlife is scientifically verified, millions around the world have ended their own lives in order to “get there”. A man and woman fall in love while coming to terms with their own tragic pasts and the true nature of the afterlife.

  Five Came Back – March 31

Five directors went to World War II to tell the truth, and changed film-making forever. Five Came Back.

Sand Castle – April 21

Set during the occupation of Iraq, a squad of U.S. soldiers try to protect a small village.

War Machine –  May 26

An absurdist war story for our times, writer-director David Michôd (Animal Kingdom) recreates a U.S. General’s roller-coaster rise and fall as part reality, part savage parody – raising the specter of just where the line between them lies today. His is an exploration of a born leader’s ultra-confident march right into the dark heart of folly. At the story’s core is Brad Pitt’s sly take on a successful, charismatic four-star general who leapt in like a rock star to command NATO forces in Afghanistan, only to be taken down by a journalist’s no-holds-barred exposé.

The Netflix original film is inspired by the book The Operators: The Wild & Terrifying Inside Story of America’s War in Afghanistan by the late journalist Michael Hastings. Joining Pitt in War Machine is a highly decorated cast including Tilda Swinton, Sir Ben Kingsley, Anthony Michael Hall, Topher Grace, Will Poulter, Lakeith Stanfield, Emory Cohen, John Magaro, RJ Cyler, Alan Ruck, Scoot McNairy and Meg Tilly. Ian Bryce and Plan B’s Dede Gardner, Jeremy Kleiner and Brad Pitt serve as producers. James Skotchdopole serves as executive producer.

  OKJA – June 28

From visionary Director Bong Joon Ho, this grand global adventure follows a friendship too big to ignore. Meet Mija, a young girl who risks everything to prevent a powerful, multi-national company from kidnapping her best friend – a massive animal named Okja. Following her across continents, the coming-of-age comedy drama sees Mija’s horizons expand in a way one never would want for one’s children, coming up against the harsh realities of genetically modified food experimentation, globalization, eco-terrorism, and humanity’s obsession with image, brand and self-promotion.

  Mindhunter – October

Mindhunter is an American television drama series based on the book Mind Hunter: Inside FBI’s Elite Serial Crime Unit written by Mark Olshaker and John E. Douglas.

The series will be set in 1979 and will revolve around two FBI agents, played by Jonathan Groff and Holt McCallany, who interview imprisoned serial killers to try to solve ongoing cases.

  Bright – December

Set in an alternate present-day where humans, orcs, elves, and fairies have been co-existing since the beginning of time. Bright is genre-bending action movie that follows two cops from very different backgrounds. Ward (Will Smith) and Jakoby (Joel Edgerton), embark on a routine patrol night and encounter a darkness that will ultimately alter the future and their world as they know it.

Bright is available only on Netflix this December. Bright is directed by David Ayer (Training Day, End of Watch, Suicide Squad) stars Will Smith (Men in Black), Joel Edgerton (The Great Gatsby), Noomi Rapace (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), Lucy Fry (11.22.63), Edgar Ramirez (Hands of Stone, Zero Dark Thirty), Margaret Cho (Drop Dead Diva), and Ike Barinholtz (Suicide Squad). The movie is written by Max Landis (Chronicle) and produced by Ayer, Eric Newman (Narcos) and Bryan Unkeless (The Hunger Games).

  Dark – Winter 2017

A missing child sets four families on a frantic hunt for answers. Their search for a culprit unearths a small town’s sins and secrets.

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At Last ~An Olicity fic inspired by @mel-loves-all

Okay... So I had some truly kind people ask for more! Since I do love to make people happy I have told the story from Felicity’s POV! This time around we learn more about Felicity and we get to see how Oliver responds when he learns the truth of her actions! (Warning... He responds very well...)

Mel’s amazing idea:  Oliver Queen, owner of the Jazz club, Verdant, fills in one night for one of his sick bartenders. One evening shift turns into several when his interest is piqued by a woman, sexy and confident, who enjoys all things pink including her hair. She sits alone at his bar, gently swaying to the live music, and turns down every come on line and advance made, male and female. She doesn’t say anything to him other than her drink order but he can feel her eyes on him. Her gaze lingers just long enough for it to feel like a caress. A caress Oliver has become addicted to. Does he have a chance with her or will he crash and burn? There was only one way to find out.

As always thank you to @mel-loves-all for her moodboard which you can view by clicking the link above. She’s an inspiration and truly a wonderful friend. 

If you’d like to catch up on Chapter one you can do so here...

Without further ado...Here’s chapter two. 

Read it here or on AO3

At Last ~ Felicity’s POV

Two Months…

 That's how long it had taken for Felicity Smoak to fall completely and, utterly in love with Oliver Queen. It felt both rushed and, too long all at the same time. Felicity wasn't sure how the night was going to end but, she was certain that she regretted nothing that had happened in the last two months.

 The rain from the previous storm stuck to her skin like a badge of honor as Oliver walked her home. Felicity could feel the webbing of his fingers along her own as they strolled through the damp streets hand in hand. Her leather pants rubbed uncomfortably along her chilled skin. Her feet ached but, the only emotion that held any weight was the feeling of complete happiness.

 The wind began to blow through the trees as they neared her white painted front door. Oliver's thumb grazed her knuckles as their shoulders brushed. “I don't want to let you go…” Oliver lamented quietly as Felicity's steps began to slow.

 “You wouldn't have to if I invited you in,” Felicity offered as her front steps came into view.

 Oliver stopped. Felicity leaned her forehead along his sturdy shoulder. She could feel the gears within his beguiled mind turning with endless questions. Felicity squeezed at their still joined hands. She then kissed his shoulder as she whispered, “I want you to come in…”

 “But you barely know me,” he breathed as his cheek fell to the crown of her head.

 Felicity's body shook with laughter as her own tale of discovery began to unfold before her very eyes…

 Two Months Ago…

Felicity Meghan Smoak was born in Las Vegas, Nevada. Her father was a school teacher who died in a car accident when she was still young. Her mother Donna was kind, caring and loved her daughter more than her own life. However, love didn't pay the bills so to make ends meet her mother worked morning, noon and night. She held various jobs throughout the Las Vegas strip that ranged from blackjack dealer all the way to being a very strict pit boss.

 As Donna worked to make a better life for her daughter, Felicity began to read. She would study the works of Plato, Aristotle and, Socrates. She would memorize mathematical equations and quiz herself in the dead languages. Felicity wanted a life full of possibilities; she also wanted out of Nevada. On her eighteenth birthday Donna gave her the surprise of her lifetime. Donna through her endless jobs had managed to put away almost $100,000 so her brilliant daughter might be able to afford college.  

Felicity with her mother's birthday present and her various scholarship offers decided to become a doctor. She was accepted to Harvard and then after she graduated with honors she was accepted into Harvard medical school by the time she was 21.

 What brought her to Starling City was the new pediatric wing at Starling General. They had the newest equipment, the brightest minds, and it offered Felicity the chance to grow within her chosen field. The move had been difficult. She couldn't decide if she wanted to rent or buy. She knew no one and the position of first year resident meant she had no time for a social life. However, after one particularly hard shift Felicity decided to blow off some steam and check out the club that had the entire hospital buzzing. The name of that club was Verdant.

 The first time she walked through those heavy, dark oak doors she was struck with the sense of home. Whether it was the stained glass in the front doors or the dark hues of the paint she didn't know but, she felt instantly at ease until she saw his beautiful face as he smiled at another beautiful face. Felicity could still remember how she ducked behind a velvet like dark, green curtain. She was still in her dark blue scrubs. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She had no makeup on and, frankly looked exhausted after being on her feet for twelve hours. From there she watched him… He had on a standard black tee shirt with Verdant spelled out on the right corner in dark green lettering. His blue eyes seemed to glitter like the ocean after a heavy rain. From where she was standing Felicity could see how his sharp jaw was made softer by a scruffy beard made of three-day old stubble. He appeared to be in his late twenties or maybe his early thirties. What made Felicity’s stomach flip flop like a butterfly was his very toned physique. Even underneath the club’s dim lighting Felicity could still see the thick corded muscles of his sculpted arms as he waved to someone off to the other side of the club. His shirt highlighted even more of his physique when it clung to the perfectly toned muscles of his stomach. Felicity wasn’t a woman who swooned over a handsome man but, in that moment, she had to admit the beautiful man before her left her feeling just a bit weak in the knees.

 Felicity was about to dart towards the stairs to put an end to her awkward staring when she felt a small hand fall gently upon her shoulder. Felicity gasped as she pivoted around. The face before her was kind. Her features were delicate, and her name tag read Sara. Felicity gulped out a weak sounding, “I was just looking for the stairs.”

 The woman before her chuckled as she rubbed Felicity's shoulder gently. “You aren't the first woman I've found staring at Oliver nor will you be the last I dare say.”

 Felicity blushed, “So tall, chiseled and God like has a name, does he?”

 Sara's head fell forward in amusement, “You're funny. I like funny. So, the question is do you have a name?”

 Felicity extended her hand quickly mumbling out a quick, “Felicity and, you're Sara?” she asked as her eyes darted to Sara's name tag.

 The dark blonde smiled broadly, “Come with me Felicity. I think we actually might become very good friends.”

 Felicity still laughed at the memory because they did. After that night she not only had a fast friend in Sara, but she also had a place to unwind. It was her friendship with Sara that created the opportunity for yet another life altering change.

 The hospital was busier than usual. They had patients coming at them from all directions. Some were part of the new clinical trial that Felicity had been handpicked to run. Felicity had been rushing to see her next patient when she saw Sara standing at the end of the reception desk on the floor she was currently working on. Felicity ducked into her patient’s room to find them visiting with family members. They asked for a few more minutes so Felicity proceeded toward her black loving best friend. Sara's jaw nearly fell to the floor when she saw Felicity's new hair.

 “Oh my God your hair is pink!”

 Felicity blushed, “Yes it was a dare from a rather cheeky ten-year-old in my clinical trial.”

 Sara's laughter was beginning to attract attention, so Felicity pulled her into an empty room. Once the door was shut Felicity let out an exhausted, “Okay let’s have it…”

 Sara just shrugged innocently while her laughter filled the room, “What I’m not judging. I just think it’s an interesting look for a doctor that’s all.”

 Felicity scowled as she crossed her arms across her chest, “Yeah my attending wasn’t thrilled as you can imagine.”

 “Yet you’re still sporting the new do?” Sara asked cautiously

 Felicity’s forehead crinkled at the memory of that rather colorful conversation. “Let’s just say the ten-year-old has parent’s in high places.”

 “Well honestly how it happened is hilarious but, it kind of works,” Sara admitted once her laughter became small giggles of hidden amusement.

 Felicity nodded absently, “Yeah and you're here why?”

 Sara cleared her throat and, grinned madly with unsuppressed excitement. “Your hair just gave me the best idea!” She squealed again about fine octaves too loud.

 “Sara no…” Felicity immediately groaned. “I'm not going through with another one of your plans, so I can get a certain God to notice I'm alive.”

 “Yeah you are,” Sara laughed.

 “And why are you so confident all the sudden?”

 “Because,” Sara mused. “If you colored your hair on a dare, imagine what you'll do if I dare you to follow your damn heart and at least say hello to Oliver!”

 Felicity groaned when she realized she never could back down from a challenge. “I take it you have a plan?”

 Sara nodded eagerly, “Oh do I ever.”

 Felicity realized as she was strolling down the street in her favorite black, stiletto heels that she never did get the real reason for Sara's visit. Frankly after Sara caught a glimpse of Felicity's pink hair everything became centered on getting her a date with Oliver Queen.

 The plan was simple. Tonight, was one of Verdant’s busier nights. “The Lyla Michaels Experience” was playing so that meant the downstairs bar would be packed. Sara told Clive she'd get him a date with her old college roommate if he agreed to call in sick. He jumped at the opportunity and called in ten minutes later. Sara knew Oliver would call Tommy to cover. Sara threatened Tommy with having to watch “The Notebook” if he didn't go along with her plan.

 Tommy thankfully thought Sara's idea was inspired since he too felt that Oliver and Felicity would be perfect together. Once Sara had the two men in play she proceeded to explain her plan to Felicity. Sara’s idea was too in short tease Oliver by having Felicity walk in with her new “attitude” and do nothing more than ask for a drink before she walked away. Sara felt that with the pink hair, the right clothes and the right attitude that the “new” Felicity would leave Oliver reeling. Felicity was a bit unsure but, played along. She dug out her black leather pants and even managed to find her pink, leather halter top that Donna bought her as a gag gift on her 21st birthday.

 Sara helped style her hair, Felicity picked out her favorite lipstick and they both had fun with all the various necklaces that she never had the opportunity to wear. Felicity had to admit when she looked at herself in the mirror she couldn't quite believe it was her. She looked strong, confident and, even radiant.

 Bringing herself back into the moment Felicity glanced at her watch. Sara said he'd be loaded down with tickets around 6:15. It was now 6:10. “Okay…” Felicity muttered, “Remember be confident, be cool and, don't engage him let him engage you.”

 The club was slammed as usual. She saw Lyla was already crooning away with John supporting her amazing voice with his equally amazing piano skills. Oliver's chiseled jaw was clenched as Felicity approached the bar. He looked stressed and, even a bit out of his natural element. Something about the way his eyes kept shifting down made her feel a twinge of remorse. She was the reason he looked unhappy and, for some reason that left her feeling uneasy about Sara's plan.

 She checked her phone. Sara had already sent her about five supportive messages and one threat since she'd be working upstairs in the lounge. “Oh, you better be worth it,” Felicity breathed as she pushed herself between a pair of men who were just standing near the bar. She counted to three and much to her surprise she managed to say….

 “So, what's better a vodka cranberry or a Cosmo?”

 Her heart thumped along like shark as it moves swiftly through the water. His blue eyes looked stunned as he very deliberately drank in her appearance. Felicity felt wanted, desired, lusted after and, even appreciated as they stood there in a comfortable silence. Felicity took the chance to memorize how his eyes sparkled with flecks of green embedded within the endless blue of his irises. His fingers flexed along the edge of the bar as his full lips remained frozen in unspoken words.

 Remembering that she had a part to play Felicity pushed her head back in the game. “Well since you've gone silent I'll take the Cosmo,” Felicity breathed as she reached into her purse for the payment.

 She'd hoped that her voice might jar him back to reality, but nothing worked. She calmly slid the money forward before she walked away. As Felicity moved to the end of the bar her skin began to prickle until she swore her skin was covered in flames. She took a vacated seat that allowed her to keep her back towards his location within the bar. The seat also made it easy to sneak a peek when Oliver was otherwise occupied.

 As the night wore on something interesting began to occur. While Felicity agreed she looked amazing she wasn’t quite prepared for the people who seemed to agree. The first man who approached her was in his early thirties. His mustache was thick, his build was slender, and his hair hid the beginning of a bald spot near the crown of his head. Felicity smiled politely when he said hello, and before he could even utter another word she simply used her head to gesture towards Oliver’s position behind the bar. “You’re with him?” he remarked almost shyly. Felicity just nodded sweetly and sent him on his way. She continued to use that approach with each person male or female who walked by. Felicity had to admit that the attention was flattering but the pickup lines were awful.

 It had been nearly two hours. The band was playing their final song, the crowd was beginning to disperse and the only progress that had been made were a few stolen glances that seemed to set Felicity’s skin ablaze. She threw another glance over her shoulder. Usually whenever she dared to openly stare in his general direction he was busy make a drink or he was averting his own longing gaze. However, this time he was doing neither. Felicity shifted along the stool as the scene before her began to unfold. The gentleman had to be over seventy. He wore a pale gray suit, with a bold red tie. Oliver was leaning along the bar with a pad of paper and, a pen. The conversation between them seemed hushed, almost intimate so Felicity kept watching as the man put down a five and began to shuffle towards the doors. Felicity spotted Laurel, so she waved her down. Laurel came towards her with a genuine smile and, a bright, “So has my sister’s plan worked yet?”

 Felicity just rolled her eyes, “I’ll tell you later but, first can you tell me what Oliver and the older gentleman were talking about?”

 Laurel scanned the room before she came back with a quick, “Oh yeah that’s Louis. He’s a regular who lost his wife about six months ago.”

 Felicity silently pushed for more, so Laurel continued. “He comes in every Saturday and, has a drink in her honor. Recently he’s had a hard time getting around, so Oliver helps him out by running errands for him.”

 “That's what the list was for?” Felicity coughed as her heart began to ache with a feeling that wasn't within the crush zone.

 “That it is,” Laurel replied.

 Felicity now couldn't help herself she had to know. “And the five-dollar bill?”

 “Oliver takes the money and donates it to the pediatric wing of Starling General. Louis has a ten-year-old grandson there whose apart of some clinical trial. He waits until he has about a hundred bucks and writes out an anonymous check,” Laurel explained as Felicity continued to stare.

 Something like an epiphany rushed through her heart. “He would have noticed me if I'd been myself, wouldn't he?” Felicity asked more to herself than to Laurel.

 Laurel just gave her a knowing nod as she gave her one last bit of advice, “Oliver's got a good heart so let him see yours.”

 Felicity gulped out a small, “Yup,” before she let her blue eyes settle on someone that now captivated her in every way possible. She'd agreed to this plan because she had a crush and, now she had her own plan. Now she wanted more than just a single date. Now Felicity wanted a relationship.

 Current day….

 Felicity was nervous. As she'd agreed when they were still outside if he came in she'd explain why he wasn't a stranger to her. Oliver had been skeptical but, knowing Oliver as she did gave Felicity an unexpected edge. After a few more kisses to his shoulder Oliver relented and followed Felicity inside.

 Felicity lived in a two-story townhouse that was about a five-minute walk from Verdant. The outside was brick with white trim. The inside was simple and sparse since she was hardly ever home. Her kitchen looked brand new with unused appliances. Her sofa was where they'd landed. She brought him a glass of wine before he instead opted for water. Felicity however she had opted for the Pino Grigio. After drinking her glass and then Oliver's she continued to weave her tale.

 Now as her story ended she wondered if he still wanted the water. “Oliver?” Felicity nudged with a sense of verbal energy.

 “Yeah?” came Oliver's rather calm reply.

 Felicity had her legs flung over his thighs. She had her head against a white pillow and her arms were protectively positioned across her chest. “You're not saying anything…” she whispered as he slowly began to strum his fingers along fabric of her leather pants.

 His forehead crinkled as he absorbed her words. Felicity felt a rush of panic flooding through her shaking core as Oliver's lips began to curve.

 “You were the blonde…” he mumbled as the air around them began to shift.

 Felicity leaned forward, “Ummm whatcha getting at?” came her bemused reply.

 Oliver's sparking blue eyes fell to his fingers as they stilled along her legs. “Two years ago, you were the girl who was hiding behind the curtain”. Felicity wanted to die. “You were the girl that made me smile,” he chuckled as Felicity's heart began to race.

 Felicity leaned forward as Oliver reached out to grab her waist. She let him pull her forward until she was seated on his lap. Oliver than nuzzled his nose along the column of her throat. “I thought you were smiling at the girl that was seated in front of you,” she admitted as she brought her hands together around the nape of his neck.

 Oliver's soft, “No I was smiling because some beautiful woman was hiding behind a curtain,” made Felicity's heart soar.

 “So, you're not mad about how met?” Felicity breathed as Oliver placed a kiss along her collarbone.

 He then sighed as he moved his lips up to her cheek. Felicity shifted in his arms until their foreheads could touch. His lips lingered over her own as he whispered, “I'm mad that you didn't think I'd notice the girl in the scrubs but…” Felicity's heart melted with that but. “No, I'm not mad that Sara's plan worked.”

 Felicity rubbed her fingers along the small hairs at the back of his neck. She felt his skin dissolve into goosebumps beneath her touch. “I'm sorry that I didn't think you would think I was beautiful,” she offered as she gently kissed his bottom lip. “However, I'm not sorry for your two months of torture…”

 Oliver bit at her lower lip with his teeth while he said, “Secretly neither am I…”

 Felicity slipped her tongue along his upper lip as she replied, “And why's that?”

 Oliver's palms were beginning to rub along the leather of her top. Felicity's skin ached to be rid of the garment but, she wasn't ready for that level of intimacy tonight. Instead she rubbed her nose along the bridge of his. Oliver's fingers lingered over the laces of the top. His lips curved into a smile as he whispered against her mouth, “Because it made you see just how damn beautiful you really are.”

 Felicity felt her body molding into his chest as his once teasing kiss turned into something out of a romance novel. Felicity's fingers raked along his scalp as he used his tongue to further part her lips. Felicity savored how he felt as his lips began to move like waves upon the shore again her mouth. She felt a soft moan of elation spreading through her chest and towards her throat the moment their tongues touched. Her blood raced through her body as his touch sent small embers of desire toward first her mind, then her heart, and then finally her soul.

 Felicity cried out along their joined lips. Oliver's touch grew rougher as he began to move their bodies down toward the cushions of her sofa. Felicity wrapped her legs around his waist. Oliver moved his palms up along her shoulders until he had them against her cheeks. “We're not having sex,” Felicity warned as Oliver's knees came to rest along her hips.

 Oliver let out a small, “Agreed but, you can't blame me for trying…” as their lips once again joined.

 “Ask me out,” Felicity almost begged as she tugged his hips down against hers with her calves.

 Oliver choked out a feeble, “Would tomorrow work for you?”

 Felicity let out a breathy, “Yes,” as she dragged her fingers down his shoulders and, towards his hips.

 Once Felicity felt Oliver's waistband she knew they had to stop. She dragged her hands towards his face as his tongue once again began to massage her own. Felicity pulled the tips of her fingers along the lines of his jaw, while Oliver's thumbs moved along her cheeks. “Oliver we really have to stop,” she moaned as their feverish kisses began to slow.

 “I know,” he acknowledged as their foreheads began to touch.

 Felicity smiled as her blue eyes settled on his own. “Did you really think I was beautiful when you first saw me two years ago?”

 Oliver smiled at her question then pecked her lips once more. Felicity grinned against his touch when he said, “You'll have ask me that again when we have our first date.”

 With another chaste kiss Felicity said, “Oh don't worry I will.”

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