#the text was the most her thing too and nothing like those standard baby announcements. bless her at least that hasn’t changed

[hobisexually]

x

[laurawritesandgames]

Title: Objections

Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Beetlejuice/Adam/Barbara, Charles/Delia

Prompt: Wedding

Content Warning: Set during coronavirus pandemic

Summary: It’s Delia and Charles’s wedding day. The Maitland-Deetz household tries to keep their irreverent demon from spoiling the big day. Little do they know it’s not Beetlejuice they need to worry about….

It had taken ten minutes, but Barbara was finally satisfied with Delia’s lashes. “There. I think we’ve got it.” She moved aside to let Delia see herself in the mirror.

Barbara had put her hair and makeup skills to the test and helped Delia out on her wedding day. Why invite over a makeup artist and hair stylist during a pandemic if you didn’t have to?

Delia examined her reflection and beamed. “It’s perfect.”

That was being kind. It wasn’t exactly one of the dramatic looks on Delia’s wedding Pinterest board. More dramatic makeup would’ve suited her dress better. Ordered from Italy, her dress was a gold ballgown with dramatic tiered tulle flounces on the skirt and a deep V neckline. The gold in the dress played off the gold accents in Delia’s bright orange hair, which was in romantic waves down her back. It was daring and sweet all at once.

When the pandemic hit, the household had talked about postponing her and Charles’s wedding. But Charles’s parents were old-fashioned, and since Delia and Charles wanted to try for a baby right away, they decided to have a virtual wedding instead.

“I can’t thank you enough, Barbara.”

“I’m not letting you do your own hair and makeup on your big day!” She gestured to the laptop. “Now go show the girls.” Her bridesmaids were eagerly awaiting drinking mimosas and celebrating Delia’s look. Barbara had met them at Delia’s virtual bachelorette party, though, of course, they hadn’t known Barbara was there. The bachelorette party had also been rather subdued, considering Delia’s usual standards. She, Barbara and the bridesmaids had streamed both Magic Mike movies, ate popcorn and drank champagne. What else could you do in a pandemic? “I’ll go check on the preparations.”

Delia’s phone, face down on the makeup table, buzzed again. Someone had been texting her all morning, and Delia had been ignoring them. Her gaze flicked to the phone, jaw tightening before she looked back into the mirror.

Barbara gestured to the phone. “I can grab that for you, too.”

A hint of a frown worked its way between Delia’s brows. A moment later, her expression relaxed, and she waved the suggestion away. “I’m fine, darling. I’ve been getting so many robotexts lately. You know, you could stay and have a drink. You’re a bridesmaid too, dear!”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I like keeping busy!” And if I bump something or the camera catches me drinking a mimosa, the focus is definitely not going to be on the bride. Barbara excused herself and went downstairs.

The walls of the living/dining room were decorated with curled gold ribbons and champagne-coloured tulle banners beneath the crown molding. The ghosts and Beetlejuice had moved all the furniture—quite easily, with telekinesis—and added two rows of four chairs on either side of an elegant pale gray runner. The rug led the eye to the laptop, set up on a crystal-laden table where the officiant would’ve stood, and the pale-wood wedding arch wrapped in the same champagne tulle. Everything looked perfect.

Adam, Beetlejuice, and Lydia, the family’s impromptu wedding photographer/videographer, were gathered around a photo album. It took Barbara a second to recognize it.

“Aww, our wedding album!” She joined the group, resting her head on Adam’s shoulder. He kissed her temple, pulling her closer with both arms. The book continued floating in mid-air.

“Obsessed with sunflowers much?” grumbled an unimpressed Beetlejuice.

“I guess so,” Adam said. “My family’s farm had a little sunflower patch. That kinda became our thing.”

“Love the mason jars,” Lydia commented.

“Hey, those were the big thing in 2009,” Barbara said. She supposed their wedding had followed a lot of popular trends: an outdoor barn wedding, lots of tea lights in mason jars, and even a photo booth. But they’d managed to be ahead of the curve on a few things. “Remember our party favours, sweetie?” she asked Adam. “They were little terrariums in stemless wineglasses.”

Adam grinned and squeezed the arm around her waist. “They were tied with ribbons that said ‘Thank you very ‘mulch’ for coming to our wedding!’”

Lydia chuckled; Beetlejuice rolled his eyes.

“Don’t encourage that,” the demon said to his friend. He continued scowling at the wedding album, but Lydia seemed happy to keep looking at the photos.

The most pages they turned, the more Barbara’s mood slid closer to Beetlejuice’s. All those photos were full of friends and family she couldn’t see anymore. Most of her friends’ Facebooks or Instagrams were private, so she couldn’t even do any light internet stalking unless she wanted to log into her old accounts and confuse everyone. Was Lisa still going back to school to get her Masters, or had the pandemic put that on hold? Was Alison still having issues with her mother-in-law? Barbara had no idea. Dead women didn’t have friends. Not to mention her family….

But a wedding was no time to be sad. She pasted a smile on her face and even managed a few cute wedding stories.

“Remember when your uncle Eddy tried to drink his wedding favour?” she asked Adam, who chuckled. “He almost choked on a succulent!”

“But he kept trying to drink from it! Three times!” Adam chuckled. A moment later, his smile faltered. “Probably because he’s a massive alcoholic.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” That story wasn’t quite as cute as she remembered. “So, um, why don’t we do a last-minute check? Make sure we’ve got everything.”

“All right,” Lydia said. She took the photo album from midair and put it away, frowning slightly. “This is probably going to be the nicest moment I have today, so thanks for that.”

Barbara and Adam shared a worried look. Lydia was deeply ambivalent about her father marrying another woman only six months after her mother died. Lydia had used that fact to extract a lot of concessions about the wedding: Delia had let her wear a black dress and take photographs on her analogue camera instead of a digital camera.

“C’mon, kid!” Beetlejuice said. “Just wait ‘til I get the party started!” He blew a party favour, and sparkly beetles flew behind him.

While Lydia rolled her eyes fondly at her friend, Barbara and Adam shared another worried look. The young woman went upstairs to get changed.  

Barbara turned to Beetlejuice. “I just wanted to remind you about your promise, Beetlejuice. I know it’d probably be very funny to interrupt the ceremony. Maybe Lydia would even appreciate it. But this day means a lot to Delia and Charles. They’ve found each other through a lot of pain and hardship, and they deserve a fun, special memory.”

Beetlejuice waved her words away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You don’t know this about me yet, but I love a good party. And people can finally see me! Well, only people here, but whatever. Why would I mess that up and have everybody pissed at me? I’m here for the fun and the food, baby.”

As much as Barbara wanted to believe him, she suspected that the only reason he didn’t have a disruption planned was because of Lydia’s innate goodness, not his own.

“I noticed you didn’t love us going through the wedding album, buddy,” Adam said. “Is everything okay?”

He shrugged. “It just…it looked nice. Your wedding.” He glanced between Barbara and Adam, loudly announcing, “None of that boring-ass shit at our wedding, okay?”

Barbara tried not to look too surprised—Beetlejuice loved shocking them. “Noted. But it’s also not going to be jump scares every minute, or a projector that reveals everyone’s darkest fears, or some kind of Saw situation.”

Beetlejuice’s eyebrows rose. “I was just thinking there’d be singing cockroaches and banners made of bats, but those are way better! You wanna plan it, baby?”

“I said ‘not.’ It’s not going to be any of those things. Did you even hear that part?”

He darted in close and kissed her lips. “Eh, we’ll find a compromise that works for all of us. We’re all about that life, right?” His neck stretched cartoonishly to kiss Adam on the lips as well. Then he poofed away in a cloud of smoke.

After a few moments, Adam said, “Did he just ask us to marry him?”

“I think it was a joke proposal. You know him. If he really wanted to propose, there’d be a lot more pizzazz. And possibly dead bodies.”

“Right, of course.”

“Would you have said yes if he’d been serious?” Barbara asked, curious.

“Things between the three of us have been going pretty well, but I don’t think I’m ready to jump into another marriage quite yet. And you?”

It was exactly what she’d expected from Adam. They’d changed since their deaths—six months later, their afterlives involved parenthood, isolation from friends and family, a lot more free time, and a polyamorous relationship. But it was nice when she could guess what he was thinking. Not everything had changed. “The same. Maybe in a few years or so.”

*

Before the ceremony, Charles and Lydia stayed in the living room, helping older relatives log on to Zoom and greeting people as they logged in. Charles was wearing a pale grey tuxedo with a metallic grey tie and pocket square. Lydia looked like an elegant classic Hollywood starlet with a goth twist: her black lace gown had a subtle skull pattern to it, barely visible unless the light hit it just right. Her onyx choker and bracelets looked like thorny vines going up her pale arms and encircling her neck. On her head was a raven fascinator with golden bead eyes, her one concession to the wedding colours.

The laptop screen filled up with squares of happy, smiling faces. Everyone had dressed up for the occasion, wearing suits and dresses.

“Betcha most of them are wearing sweat pants,” Beetlejuice said.

“Well, hopefully we’ll never find out,” Barbara replied. The three of them were sitting on the white chairs on either side of the aisle. Most people watching this meeting online probably assumed these chairs were only there for symmetry. As far as they knew, Lydia was the only other person physically at this wedding.

Despite her earlier claim, Lydia was smiling and chatting with Charles’s parents and, to Barbara’s surprise, Emily’s mother. Coming to your son-in-law’s wedding six months after your daughter’s death must have been hard, but if there were any issues, Barbara didn’t see them, and she wasn’t about to eavesdrop on a family moment.

Emily was sick for years. I suppose her family had a lot of time to mourn her. She thought about her parents and her sister at her own funeral. What had that been like?

Lydia took video of Delia coming down the stairs to the bridal chorus, played on speakers set up throughout the room, then put the video camera on a tripod so she could participate in the ceremony.

“I want to thank everyone for joining us today,” the officiant said. “In lieu of wedding gifts, the bride and groom have asked that you donate to the Rural Connecticut Preservation Society. I’m pleased to share that we’ve raised $10,000, which will be donated after the wedding.”

If Charles had had any reservations about donating to a charity dedicated to stopping housing development in rural Connecticut, which directly impacted his career, he hadn’t brought it up during the wedding’s planning stages. Lydia had suggested the charity, after all.

Everyone applauded.

“We will now bless the rings,” the officiant said.

Lydia took out the rings, held them both tightly in her hands, and whispered her blessing into her clenched fists. She smiled mischievously at Charles.

“I suppose if they burst into flame, we’ll know Mom disapproves.”

There were a few awkward chuckles from the assembled, none louder than Delia’s. “That’s my darling, unique stepdaughter for you! Oh, Lydia, you’re so funny!”

In a mocking, little-girl voice, Lydia replied, “I appreciate the compliment, my dearest stepmother.”

Barbara and Adam made sure that they were holding Beetlejuice’s hands so he couldn’t raise them.

The demon scoffed. “You know, I don’t need my hands to do ghost magic? I could just set the rings on fire with my mind.”

“Do not—”

“I wasn’t gonna! Jeez.”

With a theatrical flourish, Lydia showed off the rings to the laptop camera. Barbara half-expected them to be Netherworld green, but they were normal. “My blessing has been spoken. Please speak your blessings now.” Ideally, everyone would’ve been able to touch the rings and speak their blessings in private.

After a pause, Delia’s father spoke first, and others followed. The wedding program had provided a few sample blessings, but people were free to write their own. Delia’s mother began crying halfway through hers.

“Save something for the wedding speech, Amanda,” her father joked. He reminded Barbara of her own dad.

Barbara and Adam gave their own blessings. “Delia and Charles, we wish you health, happiness and love as you start your new life together,” they said, touching the rings, making sure not to brush Lydia’s hands.

Beetlejuice had declined to take part in “New Age bullshittery,” so he remained hovering over his seat.

The rest of the wedding was more traditional, probably to appease Charles’s parents. Barbara’s mind wandered. She and Adam had come so far, hadn’t they? She held Adam’s hand lightly, running her thumb up and down his palm—rather, she did until Beetlejuice forced his way between the two of them and sat on both of their laps.

“Poor baby, no one was paying attention to you,” she cooed into his ear.

“It’s the worst,” he agreed. She ran her fingers through his spikey green hair. Adam gave him some attention by resting his head on Beetlejuice’s shoulder. That seemed to do the trick—he sighed and relaxed.

Readings were read, vows were said, and rings were exchanged. Charles’s vows were simple and straightforward—too curt for Barbara’s tastes—but Delia’s were long enough for them both. Barbara fought the urge to check the time. She felt like Delia had been going for 10 minutes.

Delia actually appeared to be wrapping up when “I object!” sounded over the laptop’s speakers.

A square popped up on Zoom, revealing that the speaker was a tanned older man with more salt than pepper in his hair and bright white teeth. He had a faint accent that Barbara couldn’t place. She’d never seen him on any of Delia’s photos or social media.

Delia made a few choking noises in the back of her throat, the colour draining from her face.

Charles glared at the screen. “You,” he spat out.

Clutching Charles like a lifeline, Delia drew herself up as tall as she could. “Jeremy, log off immediately! I don’t know how you got my number or how you got this link, but get out, you narcissistic psychopath! You don’t get to be a part of my life, not after what you did!”

“Delia, my love, I know you still feel something for me—“

‘My love��? This can’t be the ex-husband, can it? Years ago, Delia’s ex had sailed away to Rome with the secretary he’d been cheating on her with.

“Hey,” Beetlejuice whispered, “I never possessed someone over the internet before. Maybe if we all work together, we can do it?”

Jeremy had opened his mouth to speak again. If ghostly powers could stop this disaster, they had to try. Barbara grabbed Beetlejuice’s and Adam’s hands and held them out to the laptop screen.

“—and I—” Jeremy continued. His gaze abruptly unfocused. Barbara tried to force words into his mouth.

“I’m so sorry!” he said, just as she’d scripted. “I’m going to log off and…and…and throw myself into a dumpster like the piece of trash I am.”

She hadn’t told him to say that. Barbara glanced at Beetlejuice, who grinned back at her.

“And then,” Jeremy continued, “I’m gonna take my toenail clippings, and my belly button lint, put them in a blender, take a shit in that blender, start the blender, and pour myself a shit-shake. It’s my regular Saturday morning routine, baby!”

Lydia rushed forward and tapped a few keys. His square vanished from the screen.

“I blocked him,” she said.

“Thank you, stepdaughter.” Delia sniffled, and Charles handed her a Kleenex from his suit pocket.

As Delia struggled to compose herself, Barbara whispered, “A poop-shake? Really, Beetlejuice?”

“It was Adam!” He couldn’t even keep a straight face, and chortled. “Okay, you caught me. Hey, I had to make sure he’d never be able to look these people in the eye again.”

Delia glared at the laptop screen. “Lydia, darling, explain to me how you set this event up again.”

“I set it as a private Zoom event. Everyone involved in the ceremony had to have a link and a password.”

“So,” Delia said, “who gave my ex-husband—who, I’d just like to remind everyone, is a cheating bastard—the link and the password?”

Slowly, one of Delia’s aunts raised her hand, her face bright pink behind her makeup.

“Millie!” Delia’s mom exclaimed.

“Mom!” shrieked one of Delia’s cousins.

Most people on the Zoom call started shouting at once. It took a few minutes to hear Aunt Millie’s explanation.

“I had no idea he was going to object,” she squeaked. “But he was such a big part of our lives for such a long time, and I thought he deserved to at least see the ceremony….”

“Aunt Millie,” Delia said, “you are no longer welcome!”

“Of—of course. I’m so sorry, Delia.” Aunt Millie took out her glasses and peered at the screen. “Er, which button do I…?”

Lydia took care of it, and banned her.

“And everyone thought I’d use my ghost powers for evil,” Beetlejuice boasted. “Look at me, doing good deeds! Being a goddamn hero!”

Barbara would’ve responded, but poor Delia sagged against Charles, tears running down her face. She tried to speak, but only managed a quiet sob.

“We’re going to take a break,” Lydia said quickly, turning back to the laptop. “See you in 10 minutes, everyone.” She muted them and closed the laptop.

Beetlejuice waved his hand to grab Delia’s attention, grinning broadly. “Thought I’d mention that if you know where he lives I could teleport to his location and, well, cause a little havoc.”

“Do we need to go over the house rules?” Barbara asked. ‘No Murdering’ was the first one.

“No murdering, this time! Just a little non-fatal revenge.”

Delia hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Non-fatal?” Lydia asked Beetlejuice. “Are you sure? Our wedding did set a precedent for murder….”

Beetlejuice chuckled, and the two fistbumped.

After a moment, the demon frowned. “Wait, should I fistbump you for murdering me?”

“You already completed the ‘bump—you can’t take it back now,” Lydia said.

“Shit, you’re right.”

Delia stared at the living room, lips quivering. “Maybe…maybe this is a sign. The universe must not want me to get married again!”

Beetlejuice floated over. “Delia! Signs don’t exist. Trust me, I’d know! There is no heaven, no hell, no meaning to anything! The universe is cold, distant, and uncaring. It’s basically my mom,” he joked. “But the point is—it doesn’t care what you want, and nothing you say or do can affect it.

“Besides, girl!” Beetlejuice leaned in. “Chuck is rich as fuck. Lock him down!”

Charles glared at him before turning back to Delia. “I still want to get married to you, Delia.”

“Are you sure?” She blew into her Kleenex before continuing. “There are women who…who don’t have ex-husbands that ruin their weddings and—and make a scene in front of all their friends and family….”

“Delia,” Barbara said quietly, “you’re not the first person to date an asshole. I mean, look at me and Adam.”

Beetlejuice appreciated the burn, even if it was at his own expense—he cackled over Delia’s tepid chuckle.

“Don’t blame yourself for what just happened,” Barbara continued.

Delia whimpered into her Kleenex. Charles stroked her hair lightly.

“Delia,” he said, “I stood in front of our friends and family and told them how you were the brightest light in my darkest time. I meant every word of it. Nothing will change that. I love you.” He kissed her so deeply that Barbara looked away to give them some privacy.

When they were done, Lydia cleared her throat. “I’ll go get the digital camera so we can adjust the photos faster. That way you won’t have to worry about your makeup looking perfect.” She began to set her analog camera down.

Delia shook her head. “No—you said this was your artistic vision, and I won’t see it compromised.”

Lydia looked surprised. “Oh.” Her smile was small but sincere. “Thanks, Delia.”

Delia took this as an invitation to hug her stepdaughter. Lydia rolled her eyes, but patted her shoulder and didn’t pull away.

“Besides,” Delia added, “this camera was your mother’s gift to you, and I don’t want her coming back from the Netherworld to tell me off.”

Beetlejuice facepalmed. “That is not how the Netherworld works! That’s not how any of it works.”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt to make sure, could it?” Delia stepped back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just fix my face.”

“I can help,” Barbara said, and Delia nodded.

Once they were upstairs, Delia collapsed in her makeup chair, sighing heavily.

“I actually thought it was going to go well,” she commented. “That I’d have one beautiful day even in the midst of the world’s ugliness. I was so stupid. Nothing ever goes right for me.”

Barbara reached out to pat Delia’s shoulder before stopping herself. When Delia looked confused, she explained, “Lydia said touching me or Adam is like touching an ice cube tray straight from the freezer.”

“I don’t mind.”

Hesitantly, Barbara touched Delia’s shoulder. It was the first time she’d touched a living person other than Lydia in months, and hugs from a 16-year-old girl she didn’t know that well were rare. The older woman shivered but didn’t pull away.

“Lydia’s not wrong,” Delia admitted. She put her hand over Barbara’s, squeezing slightly. “But a hand offered in friendship should never be refused. You know, it’s been almost four months since I last touched someone who wasn’t Charles.”

“Hopefully this coronavirus pandemic will end soon.”

“I’ve been saying healing prayers twice a day.”

Barbara wasn’t sure they’d be effective, but healing prayers were more than most of America’s leaders were doing. At least Delia was listening to the science and wearing a mask when she went outside. She’d grown so much in the short time Barbara had known her.

Barbara missed her friends from when she was alive. That was natural. But she couldn’t let her loss keep her from recognizing that she’d made a friend after death, too.

“Thanks, Delia,” Barbara said. “Not just for the healing prayers, but for everything. Having two ghostly housemates and a demon would be a lot for some people, but you’ve taken it in stride.”

Delia chuckled. “I once lived in a commune of 200 people. Living off the land, growing our own food…and digging our own toilets.” She wrinkled her nose, then chuckled. “You three are a walk in the park compared to that!”

“If there’s anything you need from me or Adam, please let us know. We don’t want to trouble you or Charles.”

Delia opened and closed her mouth. After a moment, she said, “Well….I suppose I do have a rather personal question….”

“Shoot.”

“Beetlejuice—is he actually good in the bedroom?”

Barbara giggled. “He is. He’s had millennia to think about what he’d do if he ever had sexual partners again. He’s very…inventive.”

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem the type to be concerned with another’s pleasure.”

“Oh, there’s definitely times he forgets. But then we get to teach him. Ahem. Now,” she nodded to the mirror, “let’s get your makeup touched up.”

*

Barbara wouldn’t ever be hungry or thirsty again, but the stuffed butternut squash was delicious. Delia and Charles had deferred to Barbara and Adam’s local expertise when they planned the menu at their wedding dinner. Adam knew most of the farms the vegetables had come from.

The Deetzes had said goodbye to all their guests, and the family was eating their wedding dinner in the dining room.

Delia had been going to give out the crystals on either side of the laptop as wedding favours—the stones were mostly rose quartz, moonstone and a pale white stone called selenite. But after Jeremy’s arrival, she said she needed to cleanse the crystals. “I’m going to give them a few lunar cycles, just to be safe.”

Barbara nodded, pretending she understood what that meant. “Adam, Beetlejuice and I are dead. We’ve got nothing but time!”

“I just want to thank everyone again for your hard work,” Delia said, smiling at them. “Lydia, for your photographic eye and leading the blessing. Barbara, for the hair, makeup, decorating and emotional support. Adam, for sending out all the emails and doing the tech support. All the ghosts, for intervening when a certain someone decided to crash the party.”

“It was mostly me,” Beetlejuice said. Barbara rolled her eyes at Adam, who chuckled.

“He is the ghost with the most,” Adam said, making Beetlejuice grin.

“My mistake—thank you, Beetlejuice. Thank you all for being part of one of the most important days of our lives. Thank you for being our family.”

Barbara sniffled a bit as she and Adam applauded the speech.

“I got the happy couple some extra gifts,” Beetlejuice said. “For the wedding night.”

“I’m going into another room,” Lydia announced abruptly, setting her plate down. “Another house. Another life.”

As she left, Beetlejuice grinned. “We’re rated PG-13, guys! It’s just rose petals on the bed and some boozy chocolates. Figured you two have your own toys—”

Lydia started singing loudly as she covered her ears, taking the stairs three at a time to get away.

Barbara tried to figure out what he had in mind. “These rose petals won’t become spiders, will they?”

“They’re totally normally and boring, if you must know. I ordered them off Amazon.”

“How?” Adam asked. “You have no money.”

“I typed in Chuck’s credit card, duh.”

“What?” Charles snapped.

Barbara and Adam sighed. Beetlejuice’s morality was a never-ending project that was not without its consequences.

Not for the first time, Barbara reflected that it was a good thing the Maitlands loved working on projects together.

*

After the wedding dinner, as Barbara, Adam and Beetlejuice were cleaning up, Lydia came downstairs. She was carrying another photo album and wearing a glum expression. She’d changed out of her party dress, and was wearing a comfy hoodie and sweat pants—all black, of course.

“Got a sec?” she asked quietly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Barbara said.

Lydia showed them a photo—a younger Emily Deetz on a younger Charles’s lap, grinning at the camera in a fancy restaurant.

“My mom and dad’s wedding wasn’t like today’s. There wasn’t any structure. It was just a big party at one of the best restaurants in New York, followed by wandering the city with all their friends and family. They stopped in at dingy bars to listen to live music, they caught a comedy show, they walked through Times Square at two in the morning. They almost got mugged! Mom was hard core like that. Daddy attracts dramatic weddings, doesn’t he?” she joked.

Her smile dropped a second later. “And Daddy looks just as happy here as he did today. I was photographing him and Delia the whole time. I’d know.”

“So,” Beetlejuice said, “the big takeaway here is that Chuck is in love with the women he gets married to?”

Lydia chuckled sadly. “Something like that. I mean, one of them was a woman he met in college, while the other was his employee…. But who cares about things like abuses of power when it’s true love? Daddy and Delia keep trying to make me comfortable with their love story, but how can I be? If it were any other situation, I’d be blasting Daddy online as he stars in the latest MeToo scandal, right?”

Barbara nodded. “You’re right. It’s pretty rare for a story like Delia and Charles’s to end this way. You sound like you’re carrying a lot, Lydia. Do you want to sit and—”

“No, thanks. I just wanted to whine for a bit. Delia’s family seem nice, at least. Except for Aunt Millie, obviously.” She closed the photo album in a short, frustrated gesture. “Well, goodnight, guys.”

“Do you mind if we check in with you tomorrow?” Barbara said. “See how you’re feeling?” Sixteen was such a tough age—particularly when your father was remarrying.

“If you want.” She shrugged, as if she really didn’t care, but her small smile made Barbara hopeful that she’d made the right decision. The only thing more difficult than being a teenager was parenting a teenager she’d just met a few months ago.

Beetlejuice was frowning as Lydia left. “Guys, we gotta help Lyds!” He was nothing if not loyal. “We should break Chuck and Delia up, right?” He leaned in to Adam. “I got the perfect way to do it. You know how Delia thinks Emily can come back from the Netherworld?” Beetlejuice became Emily Deetz for a moment, still with a few mossy patches and green hair. “Well, what if she can? And then we tell Delia to GTFO!”

That he was asking them instead of just doing it was a pretty good sign.

“Well, Bug,” Adam said, “think about it—if Lydia didn’t want this wedding to happen, she could’ve objected herself. Or asked her father not to get married to Delia.”

Beetlejuice became his usual self again, looking disappointed. “Oh. Right. Didn’t think of that.”

“She’s an intelligent, sensitive young woman with complicated feelings about a complicated issue,” Barbara said. “I think the best way to help her is to listen to her without judgement.”

“Why is the right way always the most boring way?” Beetlejuice said, sighing.

Barbara knew how to get him happy again. “Now,” she said, running her hand along his shoulder, “why don’t we finish up and go upstairs? After all this work for everyone else, we deserve some…ah, quality time together.”

Beetlejuice fistpumped and chortled. “Yes! Unfortunately, because of this fic’s rating, we gotta cut it off here. I just wanna let everyone know, it’s gonna be freakin’ awesome—'cuz I’m awesome, baby.”

Barbara had no idea what he was talking about, as usual. Adam kissed her cheek, and they went back to the dishes.

[whydoyouwantmyname]

Dating Dean would include….

- when Dean first met you, you were both teenagers. You were Bobby’s bastard child, and your momma was tired of “dealing with the Singer genes” and sent you home permanently with your father. You were no dummy to what it was your father did, and went on several secert hunts with him. But when John came to his door needing his help and a sitter for his two boys, you were volunteered.

-Dean thought you were breathtaking, and he spent the whole weekend following you around like a lost puppy, but you made it very clear you had no romantic interests for him. Him being a gentleman respected your lie, and agreed to become best friends.

- you talked on the phone often (when you weren’t together of course, which wasn’t very often), which always raised questions among your fathers and his younger brother, but you both would laugh and tell them it was nothing.

- When you first met Jo, you told her in private to back the hell off your man, and made it very clear that she was not to mess with you.

- While you were eating burgers one day, you got some ketchup on the corner of your mouth, Within seconds Dean’s thumb was wiping it away, his hand lingering by your face for too long, as you both stared at each other with smiles. Sam cleared his throat, and quickly the moment ended.

-The first time Dean threw himself in front of you to save you from something supernatural you yelled at him, “Don’t you ever do that again I am a big girl and can take care of myself.”

-Dean never stopped….

- He always told Sam to sit in the back when you all were riding in the car. He liked having you were he could actually see you, and not just a reflection.

- Since most standard motels offer only two beds a room, you and Dean always shared a bed, and would wake up tangled into each other. Sam would send Bobby pictures of you both daily and caption them as, “yeah, but they totally have no feeling for one another.”

-You cried when Dean told you about the Deal. You both didn’t talk for almost a month, you were the first to break, “I just don’t want to go through this life without you.”

-That was the first and last (for a while) night you slept together. It happened in the Impala

- Both agreed it was a mistake, even though for both of you it felt so right.

-One night at the bar Dean announced, “I am going to flirt with the prettiest girl here, and buy her a drink.” You swallowed the ping of sadness you felt and encouraged him. Five minutes later he returned with one of your favorite fruity drinks and said, “Hey baby, I am looking for some treasure, is it okay if I look around your chest?” You both laughed, while Sam texted Jo, “I love being the third wheel.”

- later that night when Dean and you were super drunk, you announced you were going to kiss a frog and pray he turned into your Prince Charming. You looked around and then kissed Dean, for longer then you intended, pulled away and sighed, “allas my prince didn’t turn into a frog.”

-when Dean “died” And was in hell you went on a drinking binge at your father’s. For four months you were never seen without a bottle of whiskey in your hand.

- When he showed up dirty and confused to the house you were the one who answered the door, you screamed and fainted.

-When you came too, what you assumed was Holy water was dripping from his face and hair, he was knelt beside you, causing the droplets to hit your face. You slapped him, and when he smiled and muttered, “I deserved that.” You engulfed him in a hug.

- When Dean finally asked you out to a date you were both sitting in a diner, eating the greasiest things you could order. “Hey, do you maybe want to go to dinner sometime?”

“Dean we are at dinner?”

“Yeah, but I mean as…. like a date?”

“Well who says this isn’t a date?”

“Is this a date?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Oh…… well yeah.”

“Okay, then it is a date, and yes, you can kiss me when you take me home.”

- When you got back you referred to Dean as Babe, and you were sweetie. You kissed, and fucked, and held hands, and made love, and had a separate hotel room as Sam. There was never any formal, “do you want to be my girlfriend?” Cause to everyone else it just seemed like you were dating….

- the first time he threw himself in front of you while hunting after that night at the diner you looked him dead in the eye and hissed, “You big stupid idiot, don’t you ever do that again.”

“Excuse me, I just got flung into a wall for you, maybe a thank you is in order.”

“Yeah, well thank you! For almost getting yourself killed! Honestly what do you think I would do in this world without you?”

“Don’t you think I was asking myself the same question before I got between you both.” He sincerely sighed as you both shared a chick flick moment.

- The first fight you got in was when Dean told you for your own safety to stay back in the hotel/ Bunker and research. You were so angry you left the trio alone for several days, when you returned Sam was the first one to greet you, thankful you came back to set his emotional wreck of a brother straight.

- After Cas shows up you start making jokes about his and Dean’s profound bond.

- Once while babysitting Cas he looked at you with his peircing blue eyes and calmly asked if you were aware that he also was bonded to you as well, since you were Dean’s soulmate. You spit your drink out at the word soulmate.

-When Sam went into the cage with Lucifer, Dean was a mess. His promise to his brother still echoed in his head, and after a few nights in a hotel nearby, you both purchased a home in the suburbs.

-At the first block party you were ever forced to go to, Dean never let go of your hand, which was different since in the hunting life before, he never held your hand, or showed any PDA really… and you liked it

- The Apple pie life was nice, but something always felt like it was missing… so when Sam came back soulless you sold the house, and worked on fixing him.

-However after your time in the apple pie life, Dean was more willing to hold your hand, or kiss your check, or hug you from behind. Soulless Sam would always just roll his eyes, but once his soul was returned he was happy for you both.

- When you first introduced them to Garth, Dean pulled him aside. Garth thought it was so cool, until Dean let out a low warning, “I suggest you stop making those eyes at my girl, unless you want me to beat your ass with my car.”

- You both were just happy to be in each other’s lives, you were the light Dean needed in his dark world, and he always appreciated it, and was thankful that the angels put you in his life.

[alltheangstmygifttoyou]

Keep Them Around

A/N: I just realized that I haven’t been putting a summery on these and that’s probably part of the reason that no one is looking at them, so uh, sorry about that! This is the fourth part of the Learn To Be prequel series I’m posting. It is from Jason’s perspective this time around (boo’s all around) and goes back even further in time than the last one. There is one thing about this that could seem problematic and I’ve debated whether to keep it but I’ve decided that in the grand story it isn’t really that bad. A heads up though in case you want to avoid it is one of the antagonists of the story has a mental illness. In Learn to Be most of the main characters also suffer from one mental illness or another so when I write it I don’t see it as vilifying mental illness and it is not my intent but I can see how someone after reading this can jump to that conclusion since only two of the main characters are actually shown in the prequel. If anyone has any tips to I’d love to hear them!

Summery: Jason reminisces on he and Heather got together.

Word Count: 2265

TW: domestic violence, unhealthy relationship, domestic abuse, child abuse, child neglect, sexism

Jason sat at the dining table eating dinner with his wife and two kids. His wife had made grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn for them all. She sat to his right, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, leaning forward as she took a bite of potatoes off of her fork. To his left his nine year old son Jesse sat with wavy black hair, whose color matched his own, and a button up shirt. He was still cutting up his chicken into small squares. Across from Jason his daughter Jester sat chewing what must have been a piece of chicken and staring at her plate. Unlike anyone else at the table she had dyed her hair making it two colors, purple at the top which then faded to green on the bottom. No one had spoken a word this meal, all the others too wary after his bad mood this morning. Silence didn’t bother Jason though, so he didn’t speak either. Instead the moment was a perfect opportunity to reflect.

He had married his wife fourteen years ago. Back then she was just another college student he saw around campus. She was pretty though, with golden locks that went just past her shoulders and blue eyes that were oceans of their own. Jason knew he wanted to be married when he ran for a council position, since having a loving wife speak on your behalf helped gain people's trust. Yet, no one had caught his attention. Many women found him intimidating (another thing that having a wife would certainly help with) so he wasn’t often approached, except by the occasional prostitute. He didn’t take them up on their offers despite his body’s yearning, since no matter how much he paid them off there was still the chance they’d rat him out to get their five minutes of fame. But, this blond stayed in his sights for awhile. He started to notice that he was seeing her more often, until finally she approached him in a career math class.

“Would you like to be my partner for this assignment?” She stood next to where he sat, close enough that he’d barely have to move and his shoulder would hit her knee. She wore a plaid black and red knitted skirt that went to her mid-thigh. Her legs had been freshly shaved making them shine in the classroom lights. He took his time looking up to her face. She wore a plain white thin long sleeved sweater that fit snugly around her body showing off her flat stomach and heavy chest. Her face held a bright smile and red cheeks

“Alright,” he answered, she had managed to pique his curiosity. Her smile grew and she plopped down in the seat next to him causing her chest to bounce. He wondered if she was wearing a bra.

“It’s Jason right? I’m Heather.” She introduced herself and then they worked on the assignment. They exchanged phone numbers and emails and even after they finished and presented the assignment they stayed in contact. She sat next to him in class and started trying to catch lunch with him whenever possible. He learned a lot about her during those meetups. She studied medicine and business in the goal of being chief of medicine someday. Not only were her looks above average but her intelligence as well. Often he was annoyed when people texted him constantly but he didn’t mind as much with Heather. He took those feelings into account and decided that she would be his wife. Of course he didn’t say that right away, he did research on the best way to begin a relationship with someone and asked her out to dinner. He had many ideas on how to convince her to, as the internet put it “give him a chance”, but as it turned out she was more than eager to agree. Apparently it had been quite obvious to some of his other college mates he spoke to that she had been waiting for him to ask her out. It had made things go considerably smoother.

Heather had the special talent to make Jason feel good about actions he normally considered a bother. He liked buying her gifts, imagining her smile when she saw them. Remembering important dates for her didn’t feel like a chore. When they had their first time together it made the pleasure his hand provided feel like nothing. Never before had he imagined he’d do things just to please another but it just felt natural with her. Her happiness gave him immense satisfaction.

They were married before she finished her schooling, and she was ecstatic about helping him get onto the council. When they promised themselves to each other it wasn’t standard vows. There was no leaving this relationship except for death. No outside force would separate them, their relationship was above laws and morals. The only important lives were their own. Heather had not only agreed to these vows, but helped create them as well. She was just what he had dreamed of for a woman. There were plenty of times she got on his nerves, pushed him past his limit causing him to lash out, but she didn’t leave. Likewise she had broken too, gone as far to pull a gun on him during an argument. Their vows were unbreakable though, and they worked past that.

Eventually, after Heather was out of college and working at a major hospital, Jason noticed her mood swings were getting worse. It didn’t take much to set her off, be it her screaming at him for not rinsing his plate off thoroughly enough or sobbing because he told her dogs weren’t his favorite animal. Something was wrong. With her emotions completely off the handle Jason’s own were becoming more difficult to keep controlled, it felt like there were rats trapped inside him clawing at their cage instead of simply living inside. Yet, the more he lost control the worse she became, arguments devolved into physical violence on both sides for once. If he didn’t stop this it would ruin everything. Someone might call the police, or worse, Heather would break down in public. So, he sat her down and listed all of her symptoms at her without mentioning that the subject showing these symptoms were in fact herself. Heather wasn’t an expert on psychology but she knew more than him. She said the subject should see a professional and get tested for bipolar disorder. He brought a professional over the next day and made her talk to him. After a few months of experimentation Heather’s mood seemed stabilized, as long as she actually took her pills.

Jason’s eyes landed on his son Jesse, his nostalgia about his wife reminding him how this boy came to be. After the successful campaign and Jason was on the council life calmed as he waited and plotted on how to gain control of the council. While Jason was content with this lull Heather wanted more. Jason had longer work days and more trips keeping him from home. Heather moaned about how lonely she was. When they went shopping together she lingered by the toy sections. At restaurants Jason had to remind her not to stare at the families at other tables. She wasn’t subtle about what she wanted. Jason liked the idea of children, but only the idea. Good children would help him reach his goals, with more voices on his side and another plus to his character to the public. However good children weren’t a guarantee. A single child could ruin everything. Genes were unpredictable sometimes, mutations happened. If they had a child that turned out to be terrible they couldn’t just get rid of it the standard way.

Jason told all of this to Heather, but she remained fixated on the idea. The sighing wouldn’t stop, meals were being ordered instead of cooked, cartoons played on the television, and she never wanted to have any kind of sex. However the worst was the times he woke up to hear little sniffles next to him. He could feel her body’s suppressed shakes against him. When he tried to talk to her she’d tell him in a croaked voice that she was okay and tell him to go back to sleep. He wanted to help but she wouldn’t let him. They were both miserable, and it was his fault. He weighed the pros and cons again, and began researching ways to somehow make the child more likely to be good. As well as the most common accidental child deaths, for two opposite reasons. After a month of research, internal debate, and unrestful nights he made his decision.

“We can have three children at the most,” he announced while they ate Chinese. Heather had cried tears of joy and didn’t let him finish his sweet and sour chicken before dragging him up to the bedroom. He didn’t complain. Every night he was home Heather had a large diner prepared that she had clearly cooked herself, which they ate together before she dragged him away again. Until one day he came home only to be tackled in the doorway.

‘We’re having a baby!” Heather squealed, and while he wasn’t particularly excited about a baby, he loved her smile. He watched her design the nursery, took time off to go to the hospital with her, and was there for the birth. Everything had been fine until the birth. There was only supposed to be a baby girl born. Instead the first infant to come out clearly had a penis. Heather liked his blonde hair though so that wasn’t a complete disaster. No, the true disaster was when another baby came, this time a baby girl with black hair. Despite Heather’s initial excitement at the idea of a baby girl this baby had thin black hair and was heavier than the other. It made Heather instantly connect more to the little boy. Jason had let Heather choose the name for the baby originally, but since Jesse was a unisex name she gave it to the little boy. When it came to the little girl she looked to Jason. He hadn't been prepared so he said  the first name that came to mind. He named her Jester, and at that moment he realized that this was his child, not just Heather’s.

Jesse was given the original nursery, although, Heather completely redecorated it. She claimed she was so busy with redesigning Jesse’s room and watching both babies to do Jester’s room, leaving it to Jason. Jason put her crib in the middle of the room, a room with white carpet and white walls and a single window. There was no point in fully decorating it like his wife insisted with Jesse, when Jester grew up he’d let her choose what the room looked like. It had a mobile with the planets since they were just colorful circles, and eventually he added a nightlight so checks would go smoother.

Especially when Jesse was too young to walk or talk Jason was given very little influence on the little boy’s life. Heather rarely even let him hold the child. His wife’s focus on her son left Jester alone in her crib. Since his wife’s focus was always stuck on the baby Jason was left in their room, hearing the little girl cry through the monitor. Sometimes he’d go and cradle her until she quieted down, other times he’d tell Heather to feed her. He could not have a malnourished child.

When the two twins became toddlers things changed further. Jason had always believed in physical punishment. When little Jesse broke his vase he gave him a spank. And then Heather grabbed Jason by the hair and threw him to the floor.

“Never touch my son like that again!” She roared before swooping Jesse up and skittering off to the playroom. Jason counted backwards from ten to keep his anger in check. She didn’t care when he spanked Jester! But that was just it, somehow they had split the children in two. Jason took that realization in stride, he focused his attention mainly on Jester, mostly only giving Jesse compliments and praise when the boy wanted it. However with Jester he disciplined her, he pushed her, he made sure her time was always being spent well. When her powers first appeared he made sure that she could push the limits with them. That she had as much control as possible. He made sure that she was at the top of her class in every way.

Looking at his daughter from across the table he felt as if his hard work was paying off. She was beautiful, she didn’t need help to take care of herself, she was mature, she did everything he said. Out in public there wasn’t a better child for a leader to have. Jester was able to speak to just about anyone and charm them completely. People often forget how young she was. Jesse wasn’t bad but he was still awkward around strange adults, it was clear he was only nine. Jason made sure Jesse was always with either Heather or himself at these events. Jester roamed free though, making connections that Jason couldn’t reach. When she became an actual adult he wanted her to take over the business. Of course Jesse would be the face, as who could resist a strong man? His wife was teaching the boy how to look his best. Yes, everything was going to plan. Jason was happy here.

[gxccistyless]

Kiwi || Part Three.

I FULLY intended on posting this last night, but i fell asleep. OOPssss... Enjoy, Part Four soon? Maybe?  Xx

It’s been two weeks since that day at Anne’s house, and whilst Gemma and Anne have remained very much a part of your life, the only thing happening between you and Harry right now was silence. Radio silence. No calls, no texts, no emails, no lawyers sending legal documents. And although it had been nothing but silence on his end, it didn’t mean you hadn’t been doing a little research on his whereabouts on your end. Over your time together, when thousands of miles and numerous timezones would seperate you both learnt to turn to social media to keep a track of which city he would currently be in. Times had not changed all that much; he was spotted at the international airport the morning after he left his mother’s house, and photographed later that night arriving at JFK. He was in New York, most likely to meet with his lawyer, but it had been two weeks and no contact had been made. No news at this point was good news. You on the other had, had been all over the news. Gemma had somehow convinced you to go shopping with her, and you had both been recognised by a fan who got way too happy with her iPhone camera, and well now you, Gemma and your growing bump were all over the internet. Speculation started straight away but with no contact from his end, you were left in the lurch not really knowing what to do. 

 Anne and Gemma were receiving the silent treatment too. Although admittedly he had messaged his mother to let her know he would be out of the country, the silent treatment apart from that absolutely broke her. She hadn’t even received a reply when she told him she loved him.  It broke Anne’s heart the most as she was accustomed to the daily calls and daily i love you’s. It didn’t bother Gemma so much, she was buried so deep in he work it didn’t make a difference whether he texted her or not, whether he was home or quite frankly in Antarctica. But you, well you didn’t have anywhere to be, or anything to do really... Fear of the paparazzi or being seen meant you mostly stayed indoors. “Best to avoid public attention until he confirms it, love” Anne had told you.   You mostly worked from home as a blogger, the four walls of your bedroom had become and the local pizza delivery man the only things you had become accustomed to over the last two weeks. Anne offered to come to London to spend time with you and help you out as your growing bump made it harder and harder to do things, but considering Harry’s last words to you, you didn’t want to continue to build on a family connection that you weren’t positive you’d be allowed to maintain post-harry’s return.  

So many scenarios ran through your head, would he want me to keep the baby? would i be allowed to visit his mum? would he want to stay in contact? would he want to be involved? so many unanswered questions, so many what if’s. You wish that he would stop being so stubborn and come home and hand down the verdict. Had two weeks not been enough torture. To be fair you thought of the many months you have had to process this whole pregnancy and when you think about how small two weeks was compared to that, it seemed fair that he would need some time. 

Scotch had become his best friend. So had the thick block out curtains he had handily installed into his apartment just before the last time he left. When he thinks back to the last time he was in here, his heart sinks a little. The last time he left here things in his life were very different.  Although he had business here in the US regularly, he hadn’t dared step foot onto the east coast for the fear of reliving in his head the last time he was here all over again. He dreaded reliving the look on your face when he raised his voice at you, he feared watching himself break your heart over and over again whilst he drunkenly listed all your flaws, and he feared watching you shatter when he told you he didn’t love you anymore. Looking at his state now, dishevelled, red eyed, smelling like scotch, his eyes unable to tolerate the light, he had been right to stay away from New York, look at what it had done to him, look at what he had become time and time again... a monster. If only they hadn’t of taken that trip here all those months ago, of course she would still be pregnant, but maybe they would have been happily pregnant instead of this. New York had ruined them once before, and now once again it was ruining him. 

Coming to New York, he was looking for guidance, looking for answers. The last seven years of his life had been so planned, so precise and so scheduled that learning to do things on his own time and by his own choice had been an internal struggle. Being in a teenage boyband, he had certain expectations to meet, certain standards to upkeep. Of course he had come across as the bad boy, but he couldn’t ever be too bad. He had an image to maintain, after all. A pregnancy four years ago would have been a scandal to say the least, there would have been lawyers involved and paternity tests, and protocols, and contract breaches and maybe he would have had to step down from being in the band. But now, well now he didn’t have any of those things. His lawyers had simply congratulated him and asked him if he wanted them to make a statement announcing the impending arrival of Baby Styles. That first word still had him shook. Baby. He knew what his decision was going to be. Truth be told, he had known what he was going to do before he even got on the plane two weeks ago. He knew what his decision would be regardless of what his lawyers would say. But his choices came with burdens, and those burdens came with urges to drink. His burdens always took him to dark places. Truth be told he was head over heels in love with you when you came with him to New York. Truth be told it fucking killed him to raise his voice at you, it fucking killed him to watch you cry. His burdens had been the reason for a lot of things he had done... drinking. New York never seemed to bring out the best in him. He finally put the bottle down and crawled back into his bed, sleeping away the rest of the day, letting his thoughts go for a short while.

Two weeks and two days of radio silence and you were sitting on Anne’s couch scrolling through your twitter feed whilst she prepared some tea. You had caved to her persistent begging. “Please love, with Harry gone and Gemma so busy i only have Robin and I to cook for... i really would love some company.” And so here you were resting on her couch whilst she cooked. You were scrolling through your feed when you saw the article, it practically jumped at you. At first you thought you were seeing things, but then you read it again.  Harry Styles Confirms: I’m going to be a dad. After all these years you knew better than to believe an article at face value without reading it, so curiously you opened it. You’re not sure at this point whether it was probing on the media’s behalf or actually confirmed. As you read the article a mixture of emotions filled you. ‘Harry Styles confirms to TMZ on his way into the International terminal that he is in fact going to be a father this summer. The 23 year old who had previously been linked to y/n for an extended amount of time expressed he was “Delighted” at the prospect of becoming a father. The two separated in the early winter with Harry being spotted with a string of other high profile women since. It is unknown exactly how far along y/n is with her pregnancy or whether the two are officially back together, but TMZ wishes them all the best on their venture of parenthood’ How could he have been so selfish. That’s the first thing that crosses your mind. And then there a tears, and they flow out of your control. Two weeks of you being shacked up in your house, two weeks of silence. He hadn’t of even spoken to you and yet he had the nerve to confirm it and act happy considering the rage he walked away from you with. Maybe New York had done him some good. Maybe you should you have been happy that he was happy? Was this a sign of good things to come? Only time would tell really. Considering he was spotted at the international terminal you knew you wouldn’t have to wait long to get all the answers you wanted. Two weeks and two days and only a little bit more waiting and then you could start moving on with your life, whichever way he had decided. 

[justira]

STORY STARTERS MEME

Rules: List the first lines of your last 15 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

@petite-neko tagged me, and I have never been tagged for anything before in my life. But, uh, sure, let’s do this!

I definitely do not know 10 writers on tumblr because I am very terrible at doing The Tumblrs and also I mostly talk to artists on here? But why not, let’s tag my partner in crime @sevdrag; @wordsdear, who I know writes; and @kaizokunohime, who doesn’t write prose but does write story ideas/prompts, and I’d like to see how those do with this meme.

I have no idea what is meant by “first lines” here? The first sentence? The first block of text until whitespace? idek, I tried to keep it reasonable. This is in reverse chrono order, so first story is most recent.

1. Acclimating

[One Piece — Law/Luffy, Law & Strawhats — E, 31.3K ]

Law probably should have seen this coming. It wasn't his splintered self-worth that made him avoid things like this (and what business of anyone's was it, anyway, if he lived for Cora-san's memory? He'd been living on borrowed time for over a decade, and every step he'd taken since then had drawn him closer to a confrontation he expected (hoped) he wouldn't survive). But his utter lack of interest in making himself likable because there was nothing much to like certainly helped cut down on complications. Or, it usually did. The standard rules did not seem to apply to Strawhat. Black Leg had warned him, although, all things considered, that shouldn't have been necessary. 

2. A Slow and Vicious Hemorrhage

[BBC Sherlock / Hannibal Movies — Holmes/Watson — M, 5.5K, WIP]

The air gets heavier, down here, cooler and tinged with inescapable subterranean damp. John breathes it in, steadily; it doesn't particularly unnerve him. It reeks of institution and he's had practice enough with those. It's not calming, precisely, but it's familiar. It's all familiar. It's all fine.

It is.

His hand tightens on the two case files. It doesn't stop the tremor, but he rubs his thumb across the labels, the rough reality of them, already thoroughly ragged from the flicks and scrapes and polishing and various pointless attritions of dozens of fingers, despite the very recent dates stamped on both of them. Two dates, two names. Neither name belongs to Sherlock Holmes.

3. Swimming Lessons

[Final Fantasy X — Auron/Braska/Jecht — T, 1K ]

Auron sputtered as Jecht dunked him under the water again. He came up for air, gasping, to hear Braska rebuke Jecht. "Jecht, he can't swim." Braska's tone was just this side of sharp, showing that Jecht was testing his patience; good, as he had surely tested Auron's. Auron clawed his hair out of his face where it had escaped his tail. Jecht was already too far away to shove. Braska floated over to him, touched his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

4. This Stolen Interstice

[Dragon Age: Origins — Duncan/Teagan — M, 8K]

The Grey Warden came during the harvest. The field Teagan was working was cradled in one of Rainesfere's rolling valleys; trees rose high on all sides, crowning the surrounding hills and wind-murmuring to each other as the harvesters worked. The air was thick with dust and chaff and the smell of fallen leaves, just edging into cold. That hint of crispness settled pleasantly on Teagan's skin as he worked amidst the slice and whisper of sickles and threshing, the barking of dogs weaving through the rhythmic sounds — no laughing children, not during the harvest, as all but babes were put to work at some task or another. He found one such child suddenly in his path — Rogher's youngest. Deliah? That must be it.

"What is it, Deliah?" Teagan wiped his brow as he stood, stretched his back.

"There's a man to see you," the girl mumbled, shy before her bann. "Mama says he's a Grey Warden."

The words spilled a chill down his back, much harsher than the gentle bite in the air. Darkspawn, here?

5. The Storm That Sweeps So Quiet

[Final Fantasy Tactics — Alma/Tietra — T, 1.2K]

Alma's spine aches. She has been bowed over this tome for entirely too long. Study is normally a pleasure, particularly the histories or the great tales of the Church, but this day she set aside to get through an endless dissertation on courtly graces. Studious as Alma may normally be, her heart is not in this. Today, the floor is distractingly hard beneath her folded skirts, even with the spare cushion. Her bodice itches unreasonably. Behind her, Tietra's quiet breathing and quieter warmth brush down Alma's back; she had persuaded her friend to take the window seat and regrets it not one bit, discomfort or no. It's not Tietra's fault that Lord Haverell's text drones so. Outside, the sunshine drips between tumultuous clouds; the air is heavy and moist, and the clouds tower high. It is not a day for study, not at all.

She runs her finger down the rich vellum of the page and listens to its smooth whisper. Behind her, she hears Tietra shift, the soft sigh of fabric and the rougher-edged rasp of pages rubbing together. Well, if Tietra feels it too...

6. So let it out and let it in

[Supernatural — Castiel & Mary, Castiel & Dean, Castiel & Sam — G, 5.1K]

"Jay Bird Family Special," the waitress announces, clear and cheery above the lunchtime clinks and conversation buzzing through the diner. She tips Mary a wink. Mary grins back as Heather sets the giant platter in front of her, gently intercepting baby Dean's hand going straight for the steak. "Your man running late?"

"Course not!" John pops up behind Heather. He's breathless under a thin sheen of sweat, his face all smiles and engine grease, and Mary could not want to touch that handsome curve of jaw more.

Instead, she puts a mild growl of threat in her voice, not even trying to cover the laughter crowding up alongside it. "If you think you're getting those paws anywhere near my food or my son—"

7.  And Under Sky, the Shelter

[Final Fantasy Tactics — Ramza & Rapha, Marach, Mustadio, Agrias  — G, 1.4K]

The hill cups gently around a lee; pebbles gather in the shadow where the wind abandoned them, making for a stony bed, but it will serve well enough for their purposes. Ramza, at least, is tired enough to collapse where he stands. He watches Agrias survey the site and thinks dully about what to do if it does not meet her standards of defensibility. It is well that she nods in approval, as he had not managed to think of any alternatives. The weariness runs too deep in his bones, leeching at thought, at care. It frightens him, distantly. So many have ceased to care, it seems. He rouses himself with a shake that feels like trying to shift mountains.

Tired to numbness or no, camp must be made, the birds cared for. The birds and — his teeth tug at his lip as his glance lands on Rapha and Marach, hovering at the edges of the group — the people. The tasks have been long apportioned, but in their ever growing and shrinking company, they reassign the routine often enough. It is just that he is too tired tonight to think on it.

8. There the Bones of Us May Lie

[Final Fantasy XII — Ashe/Balthier — T, 2.5K]

The hollow starlight sinks into ashen softness before her as she boards the Strahl; the hungry roar of the Cataract is hushed, made muted and metallic. It is like sinking into water, reversed. The quiet is the same, the sense of distance, but as she ascends there is no persistent buoyancy, no insistent upward press. Weight seems to sink down on her instead, settling deeper about her shoulders like a mantle.

It's familiar.

The silence of the ship eats her sigh, giving back nothing. And that, too is familiar — comforting, even, to have no wraiths answering those unmeant nighttime summons. The Occuria's illusion of Rasler is shattered, and Vaan isn't here to haunt her either, sleeping below with the others; Ashe is alone if not exactly unfettered. It is beyond her, just now, to judge whether that is better, and that is, in any case, irrelevant. There is little point in dwelling on it, now.

9. Best Hand

[Ace Attorney — Apollo & Trucy, Phoenix — G, 0.5K]

Apollo eyed the backs of Mr. Wright's cards. Wright kept them low, hands resting easy and relaxed on the table — Trucy was just the opposite, her fan of cards held up in front of her face, casting conspiratorial glances over the top. Hiding her smile. Trucy had something; Apollo'd figured that much out. Not as good as his own hand, though, he was sure of it.

(Now if only...)

He looked back at Wright. Nothing to see. Nothing to sense; bracelet quiet and loose on his wrist. (Damn! It's not just that he used Trucy for the games, he's impossible to read anyway!) Apollo resisted gritting his teeth.

10. Eclipse

[Final Fantasy IV — Kain/Cecil, Kain/Rosa, Cecil/Rosa, Kain/Cecil/Rosa — G, 1.5K]

In the old forgotten passageways beneath Baron Castle the walls exhale ghosts like vaporous winter breath: a fine spice on a hunt for treasure, harmless old haunts that feather around them as they creep down the halls with their stolen torch, their voices a nervous-laughing titter of echoes.

When the revenant comes Kain's blood freezes and he sees the panicked bloom of Rosa's untutored magic, shielding them; Kain's lips parting in awe and breathlessness as they flee.

But as they tumble back down the halls, to light and safety and a likely spanking, it is Cecil who clutches his hand.

11. Where Memory Rests

[Thief: Deadly Shadows — Garrett, The Shalebridge Cradle — G, 2.3K]

Thick exhales of steam crowd the night air, damp on your skin, as you make your way through the noise and shadows of the City. Grit has gathered close to the walls where you walk, giving the soft sound of your steps a rougher edge. Your fingers trail where a gas arrow once crystallized: a pipe carrying hot air hisses quietly at the leak. Magic lies thick in the air since the Final Glyph, dispersed and unformed. You can feel it in your hand. It washes across the red new scar like warm breath, like the air trickling from the pipe. The elemental crystals form faster, now, and someone harvested this one before you.

It doesn't matter. You have other things on your mind tonight.

And besides, you can always get it back.

12. the silent fulcrum in the interstice

[Kingdom Hearts — Kairi & Riku & Sora, Kairi & Naminé — G, 1.2K]

It begins with her hands: she plunges them into the place where earth meets sea meets sky. The light falls fragile across the grains, soft contrast to their coarse texture against her palms, her bare knees. The damp sand is heavy in her palms and something stirs in her as she pauses, hands suspended, full of infinite possibilities: This is how worlds are created, she thinks. Memories, falling like sand, like stars, like snow (where does she remember snow from?); she pauses, hands suspended, full of infinite worlds.

She can't remember the last time she did this, or maybe she never stopped: this is where she sat and stitched together a star, a promise; this is where she stood and watched the horizon and waited, or tried to remember what she was waiting for. The sand is heavy in her hands, and she wonders if this is any different, or if it is all reconstruction and remembering.

This is how worlds are created, and she sinks her fingers into the sand.

13. Same As It Never Was (cowritten with @sevdrag)

[Final Fantasy VIII — Rinoa/Squall, Laguna/Squall, Quistis/Rinoa, Kiros/Laguna, Quistis/Rinoa/Squall — E, 72K, WIP]

“I’m sorry, Commander, sir,” the waiter said over Squall's shoulder, “but we don’t have that particular vintage — our sincere apologies. Can I recommend another bottle — on the house, of course?”

Squall tried not to grit his teeth— too hard, anyway, because they were already grinding a little at the waiter’s placating, admiring, sorry-to-your-famous-personage-please-be-kind tone. He glanced up. Rinoa was smiling at him, that smile of hers that carried beaming wattage like a Thundaga to the chest, and even though it still made his heart skip a beat he could read in it what neither of them was saying: her hesitation playing across her face, the tense strain of her smile even as his own lips quirked back in response.

“Not a problem,” he said, aware that his voice was gruff and sounded irritated; maybe everyone would assume he was aggravated about the wine.

14. Coward Heart

[Final Fantasy X — Auron & Braska & JechtI — G, 3.6K]

The caves cast light back at them, fractured reflections and the rock's own native glow: the water was still and star-littered, pinpricks of light beneath a surface so motionless that Auron could barely tell where water ended and the pressing dark of the caverns began. All the light should have illumed the air, but the icy breath of the place seemed nearly solid, swallowing the light before it could reveal more than it hid. Auron had drawn his sword long ago, its rasp loud and echo-inhaled. Even the fiends glowed, here, great gelid flans with galaxies glittering inside them, dissolving into pyreflies like gentle novas.

Auron's gaze slid to Braska. In the gloaming, Braska's eyes seemed wide and white, his robes silver-edged black, all the careful distinctions of colour — red, for mourning; purple, for hope; blue, for seas and skies — lost in the half-light. Jecht was a suffocated flame beside him, the leaping fish on his sarong like the empty spaces between licks of fire as he shrugged off the wool-lined jacket Braska had finally convinced him to wear.

15. Disconnect

[Final Fantasy VIII / Kingdom Hearts — Maleficent & Squall — G, 3.7K]

He opens his eyes to the sight of water falling up. The spray coats his face, his clothes— he tries to sit up and make sure Lionheart is dry in its sheath and realizes that everything, everywhere, hurts.

(Rinoa.)

He makes it to his feet, checks on Lionheart. The gunblade survived the trip, maybe in better shape than Squall had. He flexes his hands, staring at them. They still feel numb. (Did it hurt you like this? Your magic?) His spells are gone, eaten up by the trip from Traverse Town. He hadn't counted on this exhaustion. (Yeah, and Cid had said it was impossible and called me an idiot. Whatever.)

It doesn't matter. He heaves himself away from the rocks he'd been leaning on, and starts climbing.

Analysis, I guess?

Okay well the immediate thing I notice is that I used the word "interstice" twice in this set of titles and that's just mortifying.

Decent mix of fandoms! 14 fandoms counting crossovers, although 8 were Final Fantasy of some kind.

I counted 6 past tense intros (though one of those fics switches to present tense halfway through, which is 15K words past the opening lines), and 9 present tense ones. That's a 2:3 ratio of past to present, and I actually had never realized I wrote in present tense this much. In the grand scheme of fiction writing, past tense is heavily more common so I guess this sample puts me in the... minority? I find present tense more immediate. I rarely actively CONSIDER which tense to use, I just start writing in whatever FEELS right for the idea. The first story where I actively considered tense was "Acclimating", the most recent story on here. Whoops >.>

Also I don't tend to open with dialogue. For short fics (less than 10K) I tend to write mostly in order, and I find writing dialogue difficult, so I tend to kind of "settle in" with a story by writing description first, and only after I'm properly settled try some dialogue. There were only 4 stories with dialogue in the opening lines here, and only 2 that actually had dialogue as the first thing in the story.

Fewer em dashes than I expected, as I know I overuse those. But not, apparently, in the opening lines. I wait until the reader is settled in/committed before pulling that shit on them.

I seem to vary between starting in the middle of things vs. doing a bit of setup. I couldn't really pin numbers to this one, as it's a bit more nebulous. For example the very first sentence of "This Stolen Interstice" (that word again, shoot me now) is in medias res, but then I back up to a bit of scene-setting. So who even knows!

Anyway, this was a fun exercise!

[feynites]

How do you think thigs would change between Pride/Lavellan in the A/B/O au? Like, in the sharkbait baby au?

Lavellan is eighteen the first time she wakes up andrealizes that her scent has started to change.

Ancient elves, she knows, seem to go through the process ofsexual maturation more slowly than the elves in her time. And this developmentseems to be in keeping with that. The first time, her scent had started tochange when she was around eleven. It was only the initial stage of things, ofcourse, her first heat hadn’t come until she was further along her teen years,and from what she’s gathered, most elves here experience such things at anypoint between the ages of twenty-five to sixty.

She’s not entirely surprised to find that she smells prettymuch how she remembers. But there is a note of… not quite disappointment, really, but more anxiousness about it, maybe.Omegas are not treated well in this world. Mythal tends to be kinder to themthan most, but Uthvir was planning on taking her to Arlathan this week, and itsuddenly strikes her that even if they change plans, she’s not going to be ableto escape this. To escape living as an omega, in this world, with all thatentails.

She’s not the only person to have that revelation, it seems.

When she climbs out of bed, a little achier than usual butotherwise fine, she slips into the bathing chamber and does her best to washaway the majority of her new scent. Nevertheless, when she finally emerges tohead down for breakfast, both Thenvunin and Uthvir pause in the front sittingroom. Nostrils twitching.

Thenvunin, for once, is the first to recover.

“Your scent!” he exclaims. “It changed!”

Lavellan blinks as she finds herself abruptly pulled intohis arms. He buries his nose against the top of her head for a moment, andinhales, rubbing soothingly at the backs of her shoulders.

“Oh,” he says, after a few seconds. “You smell like me.”

Thenvunin is an omega, after all. One of Mythal’s favouredattendants, as highly ranked as an omega can be, trained in decorativegardening and music and all sorts of other arts ‘suitable’ to his type.Lavellan has found he also has a keen interest in fighting and self-defence,taught to him by his mother. She thinks he would have made a fine warrior, ifit weren’t for Elvhenan’s baffling prohibitions on such things.

There is a slight wobble in his voice, as he pulls back tolook at her. But then he smiles, projecting nothing but pride and happiness,before reeling her in again for another hug.

“We shall have to have a sit and talk, I suppose,” hereasons.

Lavellan closes her eyes, and leans against his shoulder fora minute.

Uthvir is rigid.

But when she looks at them, they offer her a reassuringsmile. They know, though. She supposes that they both do. This spells troublefor her.

She’s not at all surprised when Uthvir suddenly declaresthat they are going to go and get breakfast and bring it to their rooms, ratherthan having everyone eat in the dining hall. And that their trip into the cityhas been cancelled – coincidentally; they were going to tell Lavellan about itthis morning, of course, but they got a letter yesterday and some ‘things’ havecome up.

What those ‘things’ might be is never specified.

She doesn’t call their bluff, though. Despite the generalbubble of protection which Elvhenan tries to put around children, she’s beenable to glean plenty about how omegas are treated; and the prospect of whatmight come around once her heats actually dostart in has her wanting to flee into the woods, or find a nice, secludedfortress in the mountains and just… barricade herself in there, for a while.Staying inside the family chambers, reading a few books and wondering how sheis going to survive this entire situation, is the next best thing.

Thenvunin tries to talk to her about it. He does anadmirable job of getting through a basic explanation of heats, although his useof metaphor is pretty liberal. But then he mostly derails into telling her thatif anyone tries to touch her without her permission, she is to run to him orUthvir straight away. Straight away.And she can tell that he is anxious about future prospects, himself, she overhearshim talking about Andruil’s ‘standards’ with Uthvir, and in the afternoon hegoes to speak with Mythal.

Uthvir takes over the explanations, then. They pull outtexts on the subject, and go into more detail; explaining even a few thingswhich Lavellan hadn’t known before, in fact. And they do a much better job of illuminating the social perils of thematter, too.

“Alphas will take your heat as an invitation,” they say.“Your own protestations will matter very little, unless they care to listen,and I would not rest upon the assumption that they do. You are going to have tostay close to me, when it is finally time for such things. Or stay close toyour grandmother, if she is available. We both have the rank and authority tochallenge other alphas, and declare them unsuitable. Which we will do.”

She appreciates their reassurance – she really does. Butit’s still kind of terrifying, and it rankles, too, to think that after acertain point she’s going to need escortsto places. That defending herself might get her or her family into trouble,that the basic rights which should be afforded to omegas don’t exist here. Itmakes her think, not for the first time, about what Solas must have gonethrough, too.

No wonder he had been wary.

The fluctuations in her body and the overwhelming sense ofdread conspire to send her mood spiralling downwards in a way it hasn’t for along time. It makes Thenvunin fret when he gets back, while Uthvir radiatestheir own uncharacteristic degree of concern, and dark clouds of dread settlein around her.

“What did you sayto her?” Thenvunin asks, hissing a little, around noon; after he comes backwith lunch.

“It is fine, Papa,” Lavellan assures him.

Not her most convincing attempt.

By evening she’s still trying to figure out what she can –or should – do about it all. Uthvirgoes off at one point, telling them both to stay in and ‘rest’, and by eveningshe’s more or less given up on being anything but horrified by the future, asshe sits in Thenvunin’s little garden, and he puts his arm around her andpromises her that it’s not a bad thing.

And it isn’t, sheknows. She has no shame in being what she is, however many irritations andinconveniences it might have foisted upon her in her life. But the worlddoesn’t just care for her own opinion. It is full of other people, and theirexpectations, and their willingness to enforce those expectations. She couldmask her scent, could gather up the ingredients to help deal with her heats,could do just as she had done in her own time. But there will still be records.Still be people like the evanuris, or community managers, who will want her‘designation’, and who will expect her to submit to their social requirementsfor such things. She can say goodbye to any thought of taking up a scouting orhunting position, or anything involving a good deal of travel. How is shesupposed to figure things out if she is always being tucked away inside? But ifshe flees this society altogether, what will become of Uthvir and Thenvunin?

Some of it spills out of her, as Thenvunin sits with her.Fear and secrecy keeping some of it a little bit incoherent, but he listenswith a furrowed brow, and does his best to comfort her. Smoothing a hand overher cheek, and promising her that she will still be able to do things, that shedoesn’t need to worry and that everything will be alright. It’s very simplisticreassurance, of course, but it does help a little. She leans against hisshoulder, and sniffs at him a little. His scent, and Uthvir’s, have both buriedthemselves into the back of her mind, as surely as any clanmate’s had done inher last life.

“It will be alright,” he promises her, again.

The next day, Uthvir and Thenvunin both up the frequency ofher combat training with them, and she spends a few more essentiallysequestered, as her scent settles and the world carries on. Uthvir brings her asalve for her scent – not something she had thought that ancient elves wereaware of, but apparently, it just isn’t widely spoken of. They don’t try totalk her out of continuing any of her other lessons or training, either, ormake any mention of the kinds of announcements that she knows tend to happenwhen young elves ‘present’. Trips into Andruil’s holdings become even morebrief, and Uthvir never seems to actually leave her alone outside of theirsecured chambers, but otherwise life continues apace.

When she’s about twenty, her scent gets a little stronger. Shestarts making her own salve, starts being more careful and conscious of thefact that she’s… disguising things. Most people assume she’s a beta, or a latebloomer, and she’s fine with that. Mythal knows, but eventually Thenvuninadmits that it’s because he’s been petitioning to have her come into Mythal’sservice rather than Andruil’s when she’s old enough for her vallaslin.

“Mythal is best, for omegas,” he says.

Lavellan… honestly can’t refute that, based on her ownobservations.

And then, of course, things come to light with Uthvir andAndruil. And whatever Elvhenan might thinkof omegas, and the great power of their alpha evanuris, Lavellan does notherself believe in it. Andruil dies, and the territories are thrown into acertain degree of chaos, and she and Uthvir come into Mythal’s service. Uthvirmay be an alpha, but that did not stop Andruil from hurting them. She may be anomega, but it will not stop her from being who she is – it never has before,she reminds herself. Whatever world she is in, whatever shape, she is still herself.

And the person she is has always been somewhat adept atkilling dragons.

Where necessary, anyway.

Her petitions to pursue more active career paths are allturned down, however. When she is twenty-eight, finally she concedes to anapprenticeship with her grandmother. Designing clothing and gear is not a badway to pass the time, come to it, and Mirena travels with surprising frequency,venturing between various cities in Mythal’s territories, often visitingfriends or stopping in Arlathan, or taking trips out to more remote areas whenshe has conceded to fill a commission for some manager or figurehead livingnearer to the borders.

When she is thirty-two, her first heat comes. It has been solong that she had almost forgotten what it felt like. But she still recognizesthe signs, and so Mirena takes her back home to Uthvir and Thenvunin. She takesher treatments, and sequesters herself; the emotional turmoil which comes withsuch states is a lot more obvious in this time period, and so even though herremedies see to it that it is a fairly manageable incident, she still doesn’twant to risk being caught out with her emotions and scent both fluctuatingbeyond her control.

No one outside of her family knows that it’s happened,though.

Thenvunin expresses an interest in her treatments, too, inthe teas and potions she makes. He’s never heard of such things, that couldreduce the unpleasantness of the experience. It makes her wonder how many timeshe’s been taken advantage of, given the… nature of Elvhenan’s approach. Whenshe was younger, Uthvir would take her back to Andruil’s holdings whenever hisscent started to change; and they would leave her with him when their own rutwould follow, going who-knows-where (she has her suspicions, now – she dislikesthem). But as she started getting older, proximity and their obvious affectionsaw their cycles syncing up, and so sometimes she would end up staying withMirena for a few days, or even Mythal, once or twice. The chambers would belocked down like a fortress; she knows, because Uthvir showed her how she couldget into them anyway, if there was a serious emergency.

Thankfully, that need never arose.

For her own first heat, the rooms are just as securelybattened down. But she spends most of it reading books and working on herleathercraft, and playing board games with Uthvir, and explaining how to makeremedies to Thenvunin.

“You could make a craft out of doing this,” Thenvunin tellsher, excited by it all. “Omegas are kept out of the military because of our vulnerabilities. And because we distractthe alphas. But with something like this, there would be no need for suchmeasures at all. We would be just as good as betas for that kind of thing.”

“I am surprised no one has come up with these thingsbefore,” she admits. “Nanae brought me those salves to hide my scent, afterall. People must have looked intoit.”

Uthvir chimes in then, looking up from where they had beencleaning their knives on the other side of the room.

“It is illegal,” they declare.

Thenvunin’s enthusiasm falters, somewhat.

“It is?” he asks them.

They nod.

“I am afraid so. Andruil spoke to me on the subject, once.Anything which ‘alters’ the body’s cycles is considered an impediment to thebalance and harmony of their innate nature, and other, similar lines of inanitythat essentially amount to it being banned. However, the preference of thepowers that be veers more towards preventing people from discovering theexistence of the option, first and foremost. So, with discretion, I imagine youcan still make use of it.”

“…Is it dangerous,though?” Thenvunin wonders, looking dubiously over her supplies.

“No,” she assures him.

He nods, but is obviously still waiting for Uthvir’s answer.

“As far as I have been able to glean, it has never actuallypresented any dangers more significant that occasional dizziness – which isalready a symptom of heats,” they supply.

“Perhaps I should speak to Mythal on the matter…” Thenvuninmuses.

“I would not, darling,” Mirena pipes up, then, striding intothe chamber with a few sketches to show Lavellan. “Melarue attempted to bringup the subject, back when they still served her. It proved costly to Mythal’sesteem for them.”

The room silent, the implications striking all of them.Uthvir has not achieved the same rank under Mythal that they held with Andruil.And Thenvunin, though highly ranked, is still an omega; and his rank is oftennot respected as it is by elves outside of Mythal’s territories. Or even within them, from time to time. WithLavellan being an omega herself, their status is tenuous enough as it is; ifThenvunin loses Mythal’s regard…

Well.

They would at least have Mirena, a high-ranking alpha, totry and look out for them. But it would definitely prove costly to theirfreedoms.

And yet, Lavellan thinks, how much more freedom could peoplehave, if they had less worry over heats and ruts and other biologicaldistractions?

Enough to contest more of the empire’s restrictions,probably.

She gives the matter more consideration, as Thenvuninimmediately backtracks and says that it probably wouldn’t be all that popular anyway, and sets aboutfinding good hiding places for the superior remedies she’s cobbled togetherfrom memory and the ingredients she could find in this time period. There are subversive movements, she thinks.There have to be. And there must be a means of getting in contact with them, somehow.Spreading information.

Based on what she has gathered, Mirena’s friend Melarueseems like a good place to start. So the next time Mirena is in Arlathan, afterher heat, Lavellan makes a side trip to the Pleasure District.

It is a part of the city which she typically avoids. She hasno interest in soliciting the services there, after all, and she knows herselfwell enough to know it would be difficult for her to witness some of theactivities which likely occur there, and not doing something that would,probably, just get everyone in hot water. Not that it’s been difficult to stayaway; she’s still considered quite young, after all.

She sends Melarue a letter first, and makes her way throughthe streets. Without any festivals or celebrations going on, things arerelatively calm and quiet, and not all the discernable from most of the otherdistricts. The most noteworthy thing about the Pleasure District, in thatregard, is how it stretches between the levels of the city; she starts her trekin the upper district market squares, not far from Sylaise’s tower, but theroad through the Pleasure District veers down and down, reaching into the lowerdistricts; the buildings growing more plain and unobtrusive, until it curlsbeyond sight.

Melarue meets her at a bath house near the marketplace,though, so she does not have to trek far. The building in question is focusedmore on physical therapy than sexual services, with rich aromatics waftingthrough the air, and beautiful fountain baths arranged on massive stone steps,a different treatment in each pool, and all of them overlooking windows thatare charmed to show calming sunrises, and distant skies.

At the top level, there are little seating areas, whereelves receive hand and foot treatments. And there is Melarue, dressed in softwhites and pale greens, with their hair down around their shoulders, and redpaint on their lips.

They smile when they see her.

“You are so grown, now!” they exclaim. “I forget how swiftlyit goes by. The last time I saw you, you were hiding behind Thenvunin’s knees.”

Ah.

Yes.

That had been at the party with the magical floor tiles, asshe recalls.

She… hadn’t liked those. They made her teeth itch. AndMelarue’s hair had been snakes, whichhad been a little much for the moment.

“I believe I saw you at my parents wedding, too. And I am alittle less shy now,” she hedges, glancing over to where an elf is getting a‘light bath’ that makes them look like a sparkling, naked rainbow. “…A little.”

Melarue chuckles.

“Would you like to try it?” they wonder, nodding towards thelight bath. Judging by the quirk of their lips, however, they know her answer.Lavellan just politely declines, and submits to a hand soak instead; the two ofthem settling at one of the more private little tables, chatting about variousmatters to do with Mirena and Thenvunin, and Melarue and Lavellan’s own lives.Melarue manages to say quite a bit without actually saying much at all.Lavellan is a little more sparse with her words, but she sees their gazeturning them over, the gears in their mind whirring.

“So what brought on this visit?” Melarue finally asks, aftera spa worker comes and replaces their hand soaks with a scrubbing mixture.

“My apprenticeship with my grandmother is going well, but Iam not certain that I will ever achieve the… levels necessary to be popular inhigh fashion circles,” she explains, after a moment. The scrub smells like thebeaches off the Storm Coast, and it puts an odd pang of nostalgia in her. “Ihave been branching out in formulating some cosmetic apothecary items. Givenyour expertise, I was wondering if you would consider examining some of them,and telling me what you think. Ideally, I would like to supply some of myproducts to the district. It is not officially part of my duties, of course, soI would not expect any repayment necessarily. But it may prove a goodfoundation for an alchemical apprenticeship, or something similar.”

There. She is fairly certain that is a sufficient coverstory – possibly too sufficient, in fact, as Melarue does not seem the leastbit suspicious of it.

“My, my. Free amateur cosmetics. That could be of use,particularly to some of the workers in the lower districts. Provided they domeet base quality standards,” they say. “What sort of items would you be offering?”

“I do not have all that broad of a selection, yet,” sheadmits. “I have some samples in my chambers at Mythal’s estate, though. But Ishould probably explain their usage. Do you think you could stop by, sometime?”

“Well… I am very busy, I fear, but I could certainly try.When are you leaving the city?”

“Three days from now,” Lavellan admits. “We are going toIthavalin, in Elgar’nan’s territories. Mythal assigned Grandmother a commissionthere.”

Melarue tsk’s.

“Be careful. Elgar’nan’s alphas can be twice as presumptuousas their lord, and Ithavalin’s city manager is a brute,” they warn. Lavellan’seyes widen, slightly, but they just smile reassuringly, and pat her hand.

“Do not worry. I have a good nose, but discretion is a vitalpart of my duties,” they assure her. And despite herself, she does calm, alittle. “in all truth, though, do be careful. Stay close to Mirena, and ifanyone should become bold, remind them of how young you are.”

“I will look after myself,” she promises.

A worker comes by with the next round for their hand soak,then, and Melarue smoothly shifts the conversation towards the impending WinterSolstice.

In the end, however, they do not manage to stop by beforeLavellan and Mirena set out for Ithavalin. The trip goes smoothly, at least.Mirena’s client is one of Elgar’nan’s favoured comfort workers, a Dreaming-bornelf who is particular without being demanding, and Lavellan spends most of hertime feigning beta-like neutrality and poking around the city, and moreespecially, the surrounding environs. Much of Elgar’nan’s territory is desert,but not the barren, blight-born wastelands that had cropped up across Thedas inher last life. The deserts around Ithavalin are rife with living creatures;armoured digging beasts and quick little lizards, and resilient plants withquills rising from their flesh. There is also a colony of surprisingly docilelarge spiders, nesting in a craggy cave well beyond the roads leading up to thesouth gate.

She considers her new mission, and recalls that Deshanna hadused spider venom in her tea to calm alpha ruts. But she does not recollect theformula well enough to experiment – particularly not with venom, and evenmoreso when she would have to use either Mirena or Uthvir as guinea pigs. Itmakes her wish she had recalled more about what all was in the remedies forother types.

She still notes the location of the cave, though. Giantspider lairs are generally good things to be aware of, for a whole variety ofreasons.

After that commission, Mirena declares that it is time tofocus more on Lavellan’s training, and so they head off for a trade village inMythal’s territory where most of the dyes and fabric-making materials importedfrom Falon’Din’s territories end up making their first stop on their traderoutes. For about six months, Lavellan finds herself learning the ins and outsof acquiring goods for commissions, in between lessons on how to use someuncommon materials, and Mirena’s attempts to improve her stitching, andLavellan’s own efforts to just disappear into the wilderness whenever possible.

Her second heat creeps up on her, then, and with awfully convenient timing, Mirena decides theyshould head back to Mythal’s palace, and Uthvir and Thenvunin, for more ‘familytime’.

“I do not need to be sequestered every time,” Lavellan points out.

“Of course not,” Mirena agrees. “But if that filthy merchantfrom Dirthamen’s territories keeps looking at you the way she has been whileyou are actually somewhat indisposed, I will have to arrange to have herre-educated on polite comportment, and that would require some very tediouspaperwork.

She sighs.

But there is somerelief in going ‘home’, too, in having familiar walls and family around her,reassuring and present. And by the time she and Mirena are in Arlathan again –well after her heat has run its awkward, inconvenient course – she is startingto feel somewhat less daunted by the future.

Somewhat.

A day into their city stay, Melarue sends a letter asking ifa meeting would be at all convenient, and Lavellan confirms that it would be.Mirena is out luncheoning with a jeweller from Ghilan’nain’s district, which isgood because she doesn’t know that Lavellan is trying to make any kind of plansto subversively traffic heat suppressants to the populace of Elvhenan viaArlathan’s Pleasure District.

When Melarue shows up, they are dressed all in variousshades of rich, shimmering blue, and look like they have either just come fromsome kind of all-night party. The make-up over their eyes is just showing signsof fading; an oddly down-to-earth look that makes it somewhat easier whenLavellan ushers them into the parlor of Mirena’s chambers at the estate, andshows them her illegal concoctions.

Melarue peers at the bottles curiously, for a moment.

“There are tablets,” they note, holding up one vial inparticular. “I was not aware cosmetics had become ingestible.”

“They are ingestible when the alteration is internal,” sheexplains. At their somewhat concerned look, she elaborates – no longer beatingaround the bush, trusting in Uthvir’s very well-made privacy wards as sheexplains what each of the items she has been able to perfect are meant to do.One of Melarue’s eyebrows ticks up, at first. And then the other. And by thetime she is finished, they seem actually, genuinelysurprised.

“These actually do what you claim?” they ask her, after amoment.

She nods.

“I have used them on myself. And Thenvunin has found somesuccess with them, too,” she explains.

Melarue regards the bottles with a shrewd eye, theircountenance shifting away from indulgent friend-of-MIrena’s, and into somethingfar more calculating.

“And why bring this to me?” they ask her, next.

Lavellan shrugs.

“Mirena mentioned that you once brought up the topic of suchremedies to Mythal. And I suppose, if such items were to already exist, in some form, then the people in yourdistrict would probably benefit significantly from having discreet access tothem.. and if they do not, then. They shouldhave discreet access to them. Well, most everyone should have open access tothem, but…”

She shrugs, in a gesture that has come to mean ‘but thisplace is a shithole’, in many ways.

Melarue regards her for another long moment, and then plucksup the vial of pills again.

“Ingredients for these sorts of remedies are not cheap, norreadily available,” they say.

Lavellan blinks.

“Um. Actually, they are,” she counters. And then she beginslisting off her ingredients, and after a few minutes, when Melarue asks for herrecipes, she seems to surprise them again by immediately pulling the preparedcopies out of a drawer underneath the little table with the samples are linedup on.

“So far I only have things worked out for omegas,” sheadmits. “And I do not know how long-term some of these will last, it may bethat they wear off after a few decades. They could also take longer to work,for those who have been going through their heats regularly for years, so theymight have to go through a few more cycles of taking the remedies before theyactually see results. The tea is best for those kinds of instances, it is easyto drink something even during a heat, and it usually shortens the duration ifnothing else…”

She explains more, while Melarue reads the recipes, andlooks over her concoctions again. And then stares at her.

“How did you come up with all of this?” they finally ask.

“That, I would prefer to keep to myself,” she tells them.

They purse their lips, but after a moment, accept thatanswer.

“Do you know what you are doing?” they wonder, then. “Do youknow what could happen if this kind of thing were to be discovered? If theseactually work? All other treatments along these lines have been prohibitivelyexpensive, on top of being illegal. Half of these ingredients could be grown ina windowsill. This is the kind of knowledge which gets people killed. Thisrecipe sheet would be a death sentence, if it fell into the hands of any numberof elves who knew what it was for.”

She waits.

Melarue stares at her.

“I know. That is why I brought it to you, and not someonelike Mythal,” she reasons, when it becomes apparent that they have said theirpiece. “My parents do not know about this. Neither does Mirena. Well, they knowabout the recipes, but not that I am trying to spread them. But it is cruel,the way things are done now. It should not be allowed to continue without somekind of resistance.”

Melarue stares a bit more.

Lavellan wonders if she picked the wrong person to approachwith this.

And then they frown, and turn back towards the vials again.

“How much of this can you discreetly make and have deliveredto my district, under the guise of cosmetics?” they wonder.

She lets out a breath.

“It depends on the item, but definitely not enough, I think.I made a list of estimates, here…” she digs out another sheet of parchment, andMelarue tuts and tells her she will have to secure her lists in betterlocations. They go over some options; Melarue seems hesitant to believe thather items will do as well as claimed, but that’s fine, that’s what the samplesare for. Lavellan agrees to send enough to see some discreet volunteers throughseveral heats. It will take years, she knows, for everything to be verified,for any of this to really getsomewhere. But elves are immortal, here; years of striving are better thanyears of nothing, and it is a start.

Melarue leaves with her samples stowed away in a delicatelittle box.

Lavellan goes to the management offices, and registers hernew status as an amateur cosmetic apothecary, in addition to her apprenticeshipwith Mirena. Covering all the bases; the clerk who walks her through theregistry decides to talk with her about skin pigments, though, and Lavellanabruptly realizes that she is going to have to learn more about this subject ifshe wants to adequately bullshit her way through more in-depth conversations.Fortunately, she manages to get around it by explaining that her primaryinterest is in scented lotions, for now.

So it goes.

Melarue’s tests satisfy them, and Lavellan begins shippingher ‘cosmetics’ to Arlathan, in between studying and travelling with Mirena. Shegoes through her heats – a few days, once every year. Mostly there are notincidents. When she is in her forties, an alpha at Mythal’s palace catches windof her a day before her heat starts, but he isn’t highly ranked and when hebecomes persistent, she makes an attempt to do as Uthvir and Thenvunin havealways advised, and goes and finds them.

Uthvir breaks the other alpha’s spine.

It earns them a brief reprimand from Mythal, for theirfailure to go through ‘official channels’, but Uthvir contritely explains thatamong hunters, what they did would have been considered a warning. And Mythalturns whimsically lenient over the whole thing; possibly because Elandaris didnot outrank Uthvir to begin with, either.

“Well, I couldhave broken his spine,” Lavellan mentions, afterwards.

“I know,” Uthvir tells her. “But that would hardly have goneover as easily. Mythal would have felt compelled to provide some explanationfor how a forty-two-year-old omega could snap one of her veteran alphas like atwig.”

And then they hug her, and she realizes they were worriedand possibly not really planning ahead when they acted, and relents. If she sawsome creep nosing around Thenvunin, and he came to her for help, she wouldprobably punt them out of a window, too.

But that is the most dramatic incident to slip past theirprecautions. She knows she is lucky, in a sense. Lucky that Thenvunin andUthvir and Mirena are who they are, that she ended up with them, that shedoesn’t find her apprenticeship or her distractions so tedious or unsuited toher that it drives her mad. And then she thinks that she shouldn’t have to feel like this is ‘lucky’, thatno one should be in conditions so much worse than this that it turns her bloodto ice just to consider it. Window gardens start to become more popular in thelower districts of Arlathan, although Sylaise attempts to institute newaesthetic guidelines that would limit the types of plants which can be grown inthem. Still, many of the ingredients used in her remedies make it onto thatlist; the ones that are pretty enough, she supposes. And several of the lowerdistrict managers feel compelled to get together and petition Mythal for therights to have a small, indoor communal garden, to ‘improve morale’ without‘offending the aesthetic sensibilities’ of the city at large.

No one remarks much upon any particular changes to thefrequency or duration of heats among Arlathan’s omegas. But the mood of thecity does begin to shift, and she hears more alphas talking about ‘dry spells’ and‘bad luck’.

She hopes it’s a good thing.

And then one week, she goes back home for her heat – perusual – and as she is making her way out from the eluvian, she catches twodistinctive scents. Alpha, in rut.

And omega. Terrified, in-heat omega, familiar in a way thatmakes her gut clench and her feet move before she even thinks twice about it.Racing down off of the empty eluvian platform – it is the east gate to Mythal’spalace, not usually trafficked this time of day because people tend to come outwith the sun in their eyes, but that is why she chose it – and down into thelittle gazebo that overlooks the nearby road. The interior is shielded byhanging vines, but she hears voices. She remembers Thenvunin’s last letter,talking about an ‘upstart newly embodied omega’ – one with a penchant for wolf shapes, and pushes her way into theshaded little structure.

It can’t be...

He is on the ground. That is what she sees, as she burstsin. He is on the ground, and the air is thick with the scent of him, and hiseyes are wide. His shirt is torn. The alpha leaning over him is one she knows;one of Mythal’s generals, one of the alphas that Thenvunin had warned her notto ever be alone with. He growls, and then his look turns into a leer, as heseems to catch scent of her. He says something, and she’s sure it would makeher even angrier if she could actually hear it over the roar of blood in herears, but she can’t.

So she draws the knife out of her belt, instead, and jams itinto his throat.

The fight is bloody and visceral. In both lives, of course,she heard it said that alphas in their ruts are prone to dangerous acts ofaggression. But on the cusp of her heat, with his fear in the air and hisscent in her nostrils, with this alpha pressing him down, she’s never felt sovicious before in her life. Or… well, maybe there was one time when she feltthis vicious.

When Andruil died.

He doesn’t go down right away, of course, despite the knifein his neck. His magic flares, and he roars, and she tackles him andretaliates. Putting a barrier around Pride, and resorting to base violence, herarms straining as she strikes the highly-ranked and well-regarded General ofMythal’s armies over, and over, and overagain, until her knuckles are bloodied and his face looks like ground meat, andthe air around him is dead and still.

The omega… him…Pride, is shaking. Looking at her through a haze of heat and fear and relief,confusion and horror.

She sucks in a ragged breath, and then considers. She couldget him past the wards on the exterior garden wall, she thinks. Uthvir told herhow to do that. They would have to go through the woods and down past the laketo get to that part of the palace, but better that than trying to walk throughthe main gate with both of them bloodied and reeking of heat. The alpha is big,but a spell could carry him. If they are seen it will be trouble, but, thatseems like the best option. She leans over towards Pride, and gently gets himto sit up.

“What is happening?” he asks.

“Shh,” she says. “I can explain later. But I will look afteryou. Can you walk?”

He manages a nod, although in the end, she has to sling hisarm over her shoulder to manage it. A quick check reveals that the area isquiet; she wonders if that is just the normal lack of traffic, or if peopleoverheard the commotion and decided to steer clear. Or if the alpha chased themoff, even. Brought Pride here or caught Pride here, and decided to…

She gives his corpse another kick for good measure.

The answer might have an effect on their ability to do somedamage control on this. But either way, the coast is clear, so she hauls thebody and Pride down and away from the gazebo, and onto the little woodlandpath. And then off of it, again, and into the thick of the trees, where walkingis trickier but the odds of being spotted and recognized are significantlylower. Pride staggers and stumbles, and between trying to help him and keep thealpha’s corpse from smacking into too many trees, Lavellan doesn’t have an easytime of it, either. What should be a twenty minute walk ends up taking an hour,and about halfway through Pride starts sniffing her head and looking at her inconsternation.

“You’re not an alpha,” he says. “Not a beta…”

“Nope. I am like you,” she agrees, trying to ignore theeffect hearing him, seeing him, and speaking with him is having on her. Oh, andthis is the worst possible time for it, too, she thinks, as her emotions flareand roll; although at least it gives her something good to blame heralternating elation and grief and outrage, and so many other things on.

She has to stop herself from trying to tuck her nose upunderneath his chin, at one point. From leaning into him too much, or juststopping where they are and pulling him into her arms.

I lost you, I lostyou, I lost you and you ruinedeverything…

She forces herself to focus. To pay attention, to find theright wall. Screecher’s nest has reached up over the top, though, a fewtelltale branches making the garden distinctive. She sets a weak concealmentcharm over the alpha’s body, and leaves it in the leaf litter, and then getsPride over to the wall. Disarms several of the wards, and starts to really feelthe strain catching up with her as she helps him over it, trying to keep as lowas possible, using another small concealment spell in case anyone is watchingfrom the upper windows…

And then they are on the grass, and Screecher is screamingat them. Some other birds flurrying, as she lets out a breath and Pride curlsup against her, and groans piteously.

“It’s alright, it’salright, I have you…” she murmurs in common.

“What?” he asks, blearily. One of his hands moves across herstomach, and down towards her hip. She swallows at the pleasant, reassuringfeeling of it, the tingling in her skin; and then she sits up, and gentlypushes his hand away. Making him stand, too. They need help. She needs to gethim sequestered, needs to get to her remedies here, calm down again so she cando something about the body… and probably also do something about her bloodiedknuckles…

Thenvunin and Uthvir aren’t in the chambers. Which isunusual; normally they would be waiting for her, and she’s even running late,at this point. But the bath chamber is still present and accounted for, atleast, and she can’t go searching for her errant parents as she currently is.So she manages – with a great deal of personal restraint and some odd cajoling– to get Pride settled into a cool pool (in his underthings; honestly nakedwould be a bad idea right now), and to fix her mangled knuckles, and swallow ofa few tablets that help clear her head.

Then Pride starts touching himself, and she leaves, in ahurry, face flaming and heart hammering in her chest.  He’ll be fine in the bath, she thinks. Thecool water will help and the charms from when she was little will keep him fromdrowning, at least until she can take care of some things and make him some teaand… go from there, really.

She means to climb back over the garden wall, when she hearsThenvunin.

“Lav-“

“Shh,” Uthvir’s voice abruptly cuts him off. Distant, andshe realizes they must be on the other side of the wall. “Anyone could hearthat.”

“But where is she?! What did he do to her?!”

“Papa?” she calls, softly.

“I can hear her voice!”

“That is because she is in the garden, Thenvunin,” Uthvirreplies. And then, just a touch more loudly: “Stay where you are, little heart.Papa is going to come to you, while I take care of the mess out here.”

“Do you need help? I am alright,” she says.

“Hush. No, I can handle it,” they tell her.

When Thenvunin gets back to the chambers – in record time,then – he sweeps her up, projecting so much mingled worry and relief that it isalmost dizzying. It’s a testament to her current state that the corners of hereyes start stinging, and she finds herself clutching him back. Struck by thereality that she found him again,that he’s here, that he was almosthurt and in another life he probably washurt, and has he been attacked like this before? While she’s been outtravelling with Mirena? And how many more omegas have met with such fates,subjected to the unwanted attentions of deplorable alphas and betas, how manyis it happening to right now whileshe’s safe in her father’s arms, how many did it happen to in her own time?Before everything was lost.

She cracks, the like the fragile porcelain that omegas arealways compared to in these times. By the time Uthvir joins them, the chambersare awash in a maelstrom of omega scents, as Thenvunin loses his composure,too, and the emotional projections join in with it all to create such anoverwhelming sense of ‘distressed omega’ that Uthvir actually makes a painedsound and comes over to start physically reassuring them both. Brushing a handover her head, and wrapping an arm around Thenvunin, and then going and gettingone of their cloaks and pulling it over both of them.

Under other circumstances, Lavellan thinks she might atleast chuckle at the really blatant effort to cover them both in Uthvir’sscent. Which is just about the biggest ‘stay away’ sign they could put up toany other alphas in the area.

But then she remembers a time when Solas had wrapped his owncloak around her, and thereby remembers that Pride is in their bathroom.

That’s going to require some explaining, she thinks.

So she gets started.

Thenvunin holds her as she explains hearing the sounds andrushing to the source, tense and unhappy, although he sags with some reliefwhen she explains killing the offending alpha right out of the gate. Uthvirremains somewhat tense throughout, listening carefully, and then moving towardsthe bath chamber.

“Wait,” she says. “Nanae. You are an alpha. You mightfrighten him,” she says.

“Just because he is an omega does not mean he is safe,” theytell her.

“Nanae,” sheprotests, as they keep going. Pulling away from Thenvunin enough to followthem, but then Thenvunin isn’t far behind her, either. Both of her parents lookextremely dubious about the Pride situation, until Uthvir actually opens thedoor.

Well.

He’s not touching himself, at least.

Instead he’s lounging back against the rim of the pool,expression glazed and cheeks flushed. Naked, now, with the scent of heat easilyoverpowering the bath salts she first threw in there with him. His hair – and hehas hair, and she barely noticed itbefore – spills out onto the stone tiles at the side of the bath, and she wantsto go and cover him up and chase her parents away, and chase his heat away,too. Leave him alone, she wants totell everything and everyone. Just leavehim alone. Let him be.

Uthvir comes up a little short, though. And Thenvunin’s ownexpression wavers.

Pride blinks at them all.

Uthvir shuts the door again.

They let out a long breath.

“Shit,” they say.

“I was going to make him tea,” she murmurs. “To help.”

“So not only were you going to kill a high-ranking alpha infront of him, you were going to make an illegal remedy and give it to him?”Uthvir asks. “Do you even know him?”

She has no idea how to answer that question.

“I do,” Thenvunin says, straightening up a little. And anyhope for a reprieve is dashed as his expression turns distasteful. “Pride. Heis presumptuous, a sycophant, and far too unskilled to be holding his position.Everyone knows he only has it because Mythal finds him charming. Most of thetime he runs around as a wolf.”

There is a moment of silence, as everyone absorbs this.Lavellan wonders how much of Pride’s supposed reputation is owed to his beingan omega of some favour; and how much of Thenvunin’s dislike is owed to hisconcern that his position might be usurped, in that regard. Even among Mythal’sfollowers, high-ranking omegas are few and far between, and often when onecomes into prominence, others fall into the background. As if there are only alimited number of them which the alphas and betas in the upper ranks willtolerate holding influential positions.

“I am going to make him tea,” she decides. “He already sawme commit murder, I might as well go all-in.”

Her parents offer some further objections, but ultimately donot stop her as she sets the little teapot in her room to brewing. Thenvunininsists on going in with her when she gives it to him, though, hovering, whileUthvir checks the security of the chambers, and paces with a look on their facethat implies that they are making plans of some kind.

Pride is still pretty out of it, but he seems to confused,for the most part, to do much more other than frown at her.

“I made you some tea,” she says.

He swallows, and turns his frown towards the cup in herhands.

“I do not like tea,” he replies, with very clear distaste.

“Well, this one will probably not be an exception,” shesays. “But it will help you feel better.”

Fear curdles around him, and he drops lower beneath thewater. Almost up to his mouth, as he moves further away.

“I do not want to feel better,” he says. Whispering, now. “Pleasedo not…”

Her grip tightens around the teacup, and almost cracks it.

“I will not hurt you,” she promises. “I did not mean it inthat sense. It is just tea. You do not have to drink it if you do not want to.But you are in heat, and it will help relieve some of the symptoms. That isall. You can have it or not, as you please.”

Carefully, she sets it down next to the pool, and then getsup.

“Call when you are ready to leave. You can stay in my room,until this passes. I will try and find you something to wear,” she offers.

Pride seems caught, locked between impulses. She doesn’tblame him. Heat addles the senses and makes people want to seek out sexualinteractions. But unwanted overtures are still traumatic, sometimes even moresowhen one knows that they are not in their right frame of mind, and she can seehim struggling. Interacting overall is probably too stressful right now,especially when he barely knows her. Can hardly trust her. And the only otherperson around he’s had more interactions with is Thenvunin, and those don’tseem to have been positive.

She takes her leave, tugging Thenvunin out with her andshutting the door firmly behind them.

For his own part, Thenvunin has gone quiet.

“I can go and get some things from his rooms,” he finallysays, after a moment. “It will probably be easier on him if they smellfamiliar. You stay here, with Uthvir.”

She nods in acquiescence, and gives him another hug beforehe leaves. Rubbing her arms, afterwards, and trying not to think about nakedPride or murdered alpha rapists, or anything else along either of those twolines. She goes and settles into the sitting room for a little bit, and pullsUthvir’s cloak around her shoulders again. They glance at her, but do not sayanything about it; only, after a few minutes, they come and sit with herinstead of pacing. Pressing their shoulder against hers, until her nerves startto settle again.

“What did you do with the body?” she finally asks.

“Disintegrated,” they tell her.

“…Do you think anyone will figure out what happened?” shewonders.

“Possibly,” they say, shifting a little. “When I can, I willgo find out what people know. If anyone saw anything. At the very least someonemight be able to put together that Pride was with him last, and that might betroublesome when people know that he is here.But we shall see. Whatever happens, we will deal with it.”

“I am sorry,” she manages. “I should have thought it throughbetter…”

Uthvir just shakes their head, though.

“I am just glad you are alright,” they say. “When you werelate in coming, we began to worry. And then when we went to the gate, and foundblood… and tracks that showed someone being hauled away…”

Their jaw clenches.

“Nanae,” she says. “He did not touch me. I am alright.”

They nod, once. And then they put an arm around her, and sheleans into them, and doesn’t say anything about it when they bury their faceagainst her a little, and she feels a few tears not her own run down hercheeks.

They stay like that until Thenvunin returns, and then sheputs herself back together again, and goes and takes Pride his things. The teacup by the pool is empty; though whether he drank it or just dumped it is moreof a mystery. Thenvunin helps get him out of the pool, even going so far as tomake a few comforting gestures when Pride falters, and Lavellan helps him intoa slip and then sees him to her rooms. Feeling a surge of deep and slightlystrange emotions, as he leans into her touch, and shivers, and she wraps him upin her blankets. In the scent of herself, and the best safety she can offer.

She brushes some stray hair away from his face.

“You will be alright,” she promises him.

He catches her hand. Eyes glazed, as he presses it to hischeek.

“Stay,” he asks. “Please stay. Touch me?”

She swallows.

“I will stay,” she says. “But you need to rest. So justclose your eyes, hm? Close your eyes, and try to drift into the Dreaming. Awayfrom all the fire and heat of your body.”

Pride sighs, but he does close his eyes, too. Drawing indeep breathes, and shifting somewhat under her blankets. She tries not tobreathe in too much of his scent. It drags her back, all too easily, to memoriesof when Solas had waited out his heat in her bed back then, too. And it makesher want to do inadvisable things. Not even just the sexual ones; part of herwants nothing more than to burrow under the blankets with him, to hold himclose and feel his heartbeat beneath her palm.

But this isn’t her Solas, and he doesn’t know her. Hasn’tgranted her anything close to those kinds of liberties.

So she makes do with watching over him, once again.

Eventually Thenvunin grants that it isn’t likely Pride willattempt anything she couldn’t prevent, and he leaves to go and have low-voicedconversations with Uthvir. Uthvir doesn’t manage to tear themselves away fromthe chambers until it’s dark outside, but at last they go, as Pride dozes andLavellan contemplates things, and Thenvunin makes more tea.  Eventually Pride achieves enough coherence toturn into a sobbing wreck of confused misery, and she sits with him and holdshis hand until he calms down enough to consent to swallowing down more tea, andsome water. Somewhere around dawn, Uthvir comes back, and calls her out intothe sitting room again.

“Did anyone see anything?” she asks.

“As near as I can glean, people seem to think our missingalpha was headed out to Arlathan, but not much beyond that. I imagine hespotted an opportunity while our wayward omega was on his way back from the city, and decided a quick stopwould fit into his schedule.” Their lip curls, slightly, but then they let outa breath. “It is not comprehensive reassurance, someone still may have seensomething and not mentioned it yet. But at least if they think he is inArlathan, it could be some time before his absence is noted. And it gives morepossibilities for his fate.”

She inclines her head, acknowledging both the optimism andthe lingering room for danger.

“Who is Pride’s mentor?” she wonders. “Who is supposed to belooking out for him?”

“Mythal,” Thenvunin provides, from his own post by thehallway.

“Just… Mythal?” she asks.

“He is her new pet project,” Thenvunin confirms, with aslight sniff. The usual bite to his tone isn’t quite there anymore, and there’sa slight furrow to his brow, that makes her wonder if he’s thinking of Uthvirand Andruil again.

She knows she is.

“Who made his body?” she tries, instead.

“Ghilan’nain,” Thenvunin informs her.

She almost throws her hands up into the air, at that.

“Wonderful,”Uthvir chuckles. “Leaders all around, then, although at least that decreasesthe odds of anyone noticing anything amiss again. Did anyone see you visitinghis chambers, Thenvunin?” they ask.

“A few spirits,” Thenvunin concedes.

“No point in denying it, then,” Uthvir decides. “Alright.For the time being, I think our story should be that Lavellan found Prideindisposed by his heat, wandering the trail near to the gardens. She herselfwas taking a more discreet route home, in light of her own condition. Feelingsympathetic, she brought him here with her, and we have been busy dealing withoverwrought omegas all day. Thenvunin, you should go and tell Mythal where herwolf is, in the role of conscientious fellow-high-ranking-omega. Would you likeme to accompany you?”

Thenvunin shakes his head.

“No, I can manage,” he assures them. “I suppose it would be more conspicuous if we did notsay anything…”

“What if Mythal wants him to have a partner for this heat?”Lavellan wonders, feeling a knot of anxious dread settle into her stomach. Thathappens, sometimes. Mentors or parents deciding that young omegas need partners, to ‘break them in’ orsimilar such notions…

“Then there is little we can do about it,” Uthvir says.

“It is his first,” Thenvunin soothes. “I have rarely seenMythal dictate such things for a first heat; and he is delirious, I will besure and inform her of that. Do not worry, my dear. At least let me go and talkto her, and we can handle things from there. He may have had a partner alreadydecided upon before he got to this stage. Although it seems to have come uponhim rather quickly…”

He frowns, but none of them can really say all that much aboutit. Sometimes that happens; and as Ghilan’nain made him, they can’t reallycritique his physiology much.

In the end, though, Thenvunin comes back with Mythal. Which is not an idealsituation, as Uthvir basically goes board-stiff and is clearly fending off theimpulse to react negatively to another alpha in the space, and Lavellan findsthe scent of her raises her own hackles, and gets her fingers itching for herknife again.

Mythal projects calm and placidity, though, her nostrilstwitching a little as she takes in Pride – sleeping in Lavellan’s bed, inLavellan’s blankets, and for a moment she wonders if Mythal can even discernall of the individual scents and marks beyond the nebulous sphere of ‘omegas inheat’. The evanuris’ pupils dilate a little, but she otherwise gives off nosigns of a dangerous reaction.

“My poor Pride,” she says, at last. “I suppose it isfortunate that you found him, and not one of the more spirited alphas in myservice.”

Lavellan holds her gaze for a moment, before inclining herhead.

“My own time is close by. My nose is better than usual,” shesays, with the expected humility.

Mythal inhales, and then lets out a long,contemplative-sounding breath.

“Thenvunin,” she says, at length. “I hope you will not mindif Pride imposes upon you. But I was not expecting his heat to come upon him soswiftly, and have made no arrangements to accommodate it yet. Given yourexperience, and that you will also be hosting your daughter through her time,perhaps you might help Pride come to terms with this aspect of his nature? Itmay be gentler than most of the alternatives.”

Thenvunin bows.

“Of course, my lady,” he agrees.

Mythal turns towards Uthvir, then.

“I would not have him mated, yet,” she decides.

Uthvir raises an eyebrow, but obediently ducks their head.

“I will not touch him,” they promise. Lavellan knows thepromise only holds any water at all because they are already bonded, andbecause Thenvunin – for all his volatility – is projecting precisely no fear or jealousy, or insecurity athaving a half-naked, unmarked omega going through his heat scant feet away fromhis spouse.

Mythal still seems to give the matter another moment’s worthof consideration, before nodding, and then finally taking her leave.

When she’s gone, everyone except for Pride seems to let outa collective breath of relief.

Uthvir’s nose wrinkles, and they touch Thenvunin andLavellan’s shoulders, in turn, before they start checking the wards again.Thenvunin decides he’s going to write to Mirena, to let her know that they’replaying host to another omega, at least – she was going to follow Lavellan tothe palace in a couple of days, wanting to finish up a project, and franklythey’ve been doing this back-and-forth for long enough that it’s rare forpeople to fuss over Lavellan making a half-hour walk through the crossroads.But she imagines that trend might change for the next little while, all thingsconsidered.

Her heart lurches a little, a jumble of emotions bubbling upand threatening to burst out again. She feels her skin tingling, too, and aftera minute she excuses herself to go and see to her own regimen. Rubbing asoothing salve under her arms and onto the insides of her thighs, and behindher ears, before claiming her own cup of tea.

They’re heats are almost in sync, she realizes.

It’s an odd thing to realize. On the one hand, it’sobviously a coincidence, and doesn’t mean anything. Can’t mean anything. The first time she’d met Solas, their heatshadn’t been aligned. But they had started to close the gap, before… well.

Anyway.

She supposes it’s a testament to her state of mind that somepart of her mind keeps fixating on that point. Turning over the unexpectedimpact of it, as Pride sleeps, and she tries to settle her nerves, and Uthvirand Thenvunin disappear into Uthvir’s rooms with some quiet whispers, and comeback out again smelling a lot more strongly of one another. At which Thenvuninmanages to convince her to go and sleep in his bed, and she drifts off underthe covers, her thoughts awhirl with memories but her nerves settling at thescents of home and safe.

The next day, Pride is somewhat more lucid. Not quite to thesame degree which she is able to keep herself, but enough that he asks where heis, and is able to request some food he feels like eating, and some books fromhis chambers to read. He doesn’t mention the elephant in the room untilThenvunin and Uthvir finally leave him and Lavellan alone with it.

“You… killed that alpha,” he says.

Well.

So much for hoping he’d forget that.

She meets his gaze, and then shrugs.

“He was attacking you,” she says, and wonders how he’ll takethat. She knows how he would havetaken it, in another life. Knows how someone who once had the same featureswould react, but this is… different. She doesn’t even have to remind herself ofthat, really, she just has to look athim. Smell him. There’s something inescapably more youthful about him, layersof minute differences that have added up on one another, and that makes itimpossible to ignore the fact that she doesn’t really know what to expect fromhim.

He leans over and sniffs her.

“You really are like me,” he murmurs. She holds still, andtries not to shiver as his breath drifts across her neck. “How did you do that?”

Gently, she pushes him back. And he seems to remember thatjust randomly leaning over to smell people is rude, then, and clears histhroat.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Forgiven,” she replies. “And, um. Well, I stabbed him inthe neck, and then I punched him until he drowned on his own blood,” sheexplains.

Pride blinks.

“I would appreciate you not mentioning that, by the way,”she feels compelled to ask. “It would probably get me executed. Also, the tea.No mentioning the tea either. That would also get me executed. Um. Surprise, Iam a criminal! I guess?”

Pride blinks again.

“You smell nice,” he tells her.

Right. Heat.

She lets out a breath and offers him a smile.

“So do you,” she assures him.

At least they’re off to some kind of start, she supposes. Astart where he could potentially get her killed, and is also infrequentlytrying to have sex with her or one of her parents, but beggars can’t be choosers,really. And better this than the alternative of her having not found him and murdered the alpha trying to take advantage ofhim.

Pride leans a little closer again.

“Would you like to touch me?” he asks, voice low and gazehooded.

She lets out a puff of breath.

This is going to be a longcouple of days.

[momscookingthebooks]

Release Blitz

Exp1re

Erin Noelle

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35268619-exp1re

#NewRelease #Exp1re #ErinNoelle #TheNumbersNeverLie #OneClickIt

Synopsis:

Numbers.

They haunt me.

I can't look into a person's eyes without seeing the six-digit date of their death.

I’m helpless to change it, no matter how hard I try.

I’ve trained myself to look down. Away. Anywhere but at their eyes.

My camera is my escape. My salvation. Through its lens, I see only beauty and life—not death and despair.

Disconnected from all those around me, I’m content being alone, simply existing.

Until I meet him.

Tavian.

The man beyond the numbers.

How can I stay away, when everything about him draws me in?

But how can I fall in love, knowing exactly when it will expire?

Purchase Links: Amazon: http://amzn.to/2xnRWPf

Excerpt:

PROLOGUE Lyra 10.18.02

The intercom crackles loudly throughout the classroom, interrupting Ms. Sherman’s rather uninspiring Friday afternoon lesson on the life cycle of a star. Even though most of the students around me are furiously jotting down notes about nebulas, red giants, and supernovas, I’m half listening while I doodle caricatures of me and my friends in the margin of my notebook. It’s not that I’m not interested in the material she’s talking about. No, that’s not the case at all. It’s quite the opposite actually; science is my favorite subject, especially anything that deals with astronomy and the unknowns in our universe.

But with a dad who is a super-smart astronomer at Johnson Space Center—or NASA, as most people here in Houston call it—I learned about this stuff she’s teaching before I ever started kindergarten.

Heck, just this past summer before fifth grade, Mama and I went to visit him at a planetarium in Hawaii, where he was part of a team that discovered eleven new moons orbiting Jupiter! If I don’t ace this test next week, I better not even go home. I definitely wouldn’t be able to be an astronaut then.  

“Ms. Sherman, can you please have Lyra Jennings gather her things and come down to the office? She’s leaving for the day,” the office lady who reminds me of Paula Deen—Mama’s favorite chef—announces through the ancient intercom system.

At the sound of my name, my chin jerks upward from my pencil sketches to the standard black-and-white classroom clock mounted above the projection screen. The hands read 12:45 p.m., nearly three hours before the end of the school day, when my parents are supposed to pick me up as we head out to Dallas for the weekend to celebrate my eleventh birthday. Ooh, maybe getting out of school early was my surprise they mentioned!

I’ve been looking forward to this day since we came home from this same trip last year, and I know my parents planned something special for this year. Every birthday, instead of having one of those silly kids’ parties with pointy hats and piñatas, they take me to the Texas State Fair. There, we spend the weekend riding as many rides as possible, stuffing our mouths with sausage-on-a-stick and fried Twinkies, playing games until we win the biggest of the stuffed animals, and laughing until our faces hurt and happy tears stream down our cheeks. Hands down, it’s my favorite three days of the year, even better than Christmas. And I really, really like Christmas.

Excitement jets through me as I stand up from my desk and hurriedly cram my spiral notebook and textbook into my purple paisley backpack. If we make it there early, I’ll be able to go swimming at the fancy hotel’s indoor pool before dinner.

“Sure thing,” my teacher calls out in response. “She’ll be right down.”

Hoisting the strap of the bag up on my shoulder, I turn to leave the room and my gaze meets Ms. Sherman’s. Her warmth shines in her bright amber-colored eyes, highlighting the numbers 051123 that I see imprinted in her pupils. The same six white numbers I see every time we make eye contact. The numbers I’m not allowed to talk about. The ones everyone thinks are all a part of my healthy imagination.

But they’re wrong. They’re all wrong.

The numbers are real, and they never change or go away. I only wish I knew what they meant. Mama and Daddy—who, by the way, are the only two people I know that have the same numbers—call it my special superpower, but I know they just pretend to believe me. I see the looks they share when they think I’m not watching. They don’t want me to think about all those things the doctors say about me. I may only be ten years old, but I’m 100% sure I’m not crazy, nor do I lie for attention. I’m an only child, for Pete’s sake; my parents are overly interested in my life. Though I do appreciate their support, even if they don’t understand.

“Have a nice weekend, Lyra. Don’t forget we have a test over CHAPTERs six through eight on Monday. Make sure you’ve read all the material,” she reminds me.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be ready,” I reply modestly, not sharing with her or the rest of the class I’ve already read through CHAPTER thirteen in the text, including answering the study guide questions at the end of each section. I may be an overachiever, but I’m not a brown-noser.

Luckily, school just comes easy for me, and my parents get over-Jupiter’s-moons proud when I bring home straight A’s on my report card. It reassures them that I’m normal and well adjusted. At least that’s what I heard Mama whispering to Daddy on the phone one night when she thought I wasn’t listening. I mouth a quick goodbye to my best friend, Beth, who I pass by as I scuttle toward the exit. With her last name being Blackmon and mine being Jennings, we rarely get to sit near each other, as most of our teachers put us in alphabetical order. Beth’s numbers are 022754, and like Ms. Sherman’s, they light up vibrantly when she looks up at me and mouths the words Have fun before I slip out the door.

I never want to break the rules or get in trouble, so I somehow fight the urge to sprint down the deserted hallway and force myself to walk as fast as my long, skinny legs will let me. The swishing sound from my denim shorts rubbing together fills my ears, creating a soundtrack for my excitement. My cheeks ache from smiling so big while I drop off my folders and books in my locker then make a beeline to the front of the school, where my parents are waiting for me. This is going to be the best of the best weekends ever, one that none of us will ever forget. I just know it.

Only, when I swing open the glass door to the main office, expecting to see my favorite two people in the world, I’m surprised to find my Aunt Kathy standing there, her face puffy and pink, the corners of her mouth pointing due south. Our eyes meet, and I can barely see her numbers—123148—because of how swollen the lids are around them.

The fluffy white cloud of elation I floated in on disappears instantly as a dark fog of dread takes its place. Engulfing me. Swallowing me whole. She doesn’t have to say a word—I already know. Not how or when or where it happened, but deep in my bones, I know.

I was right. This will definitely be a weekend I’ll never forget, only it will be for reasons I’ll never want to remember.

“I’m so sorry, Lyra baby girl,” she cries. “I’m so sorry. They’re… they’re gone.”

gone.         Gone.                    GONE.

The word bounces around between my ears, getting louder each time it echoes. The first time, it freezes my movements. The second steals all the air from my lungs. By the third time, I’m pretty sure I have no pulse. I want to go, too.

Go.        Going.                      GONE.

With my feet stuck to the floor and my body stiff as a statue, Aunt Kathy rushes over to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. Pulling me up against her chest as uncontainable sobs shake her body, she breaks down in front of the receptionist and attendance clerk, neither of who bother to hide their open staring. Numb, I stand completely still while she wails for several minutes, and I never once make a single sound or try to break free from the death grip she has on me. My thoughts race so fast they’re standing still.

I’m just… here. And my parents just… aren’t. And they won’t ever be again.

They’re… gone.

Climbing into the passenger seat of Aunt Kathy’s fancy sports car—a car I usually beg to ride in because there’s no backseat—I fasten my safety belt and then close my eyes as I lean my head back on the black leather, warm from the hot southern Texas sun. Even though it’s mid-October, I’m still wearing shorts and sandals, and just last weekend I went swimming at Beth’s house. But as I sit here and wait for my aunt to start the car, my teeth chatter loudly and my entire body trembles uncontrollably. My heart is frozen solid, but I’ve yet to shed a tear.

The phone rings and I jump, automatically looking at the caller ID on the screen, thinking… hoping… praying it’s someone calling to let us know this has all been a big mistake, that my parents are really okay.

“Hey, Mom,” Aunt Kathy answers after just one ring. We still haven’t pulled out of the parking space.

“Yeah, I have her now. She’s safe and sound.”

My heart plummets even lower into my stomach than it was before as she pauses to listen to Granny Gina on the other end. Granny Gina is my dad and Kathy’s mom who lives in New Orleans, where she moved about five years ago after my grandpa passed away from lung cancer. Since my mom’s parents both died before I was born, she’s the only living grandparent I have, and luckily for me, she’s a pretty awesome one. But today, nothing is awesome. Not even close.

“I don’t know. She hasn’t said a word. I’m sure she’s in shock.” My aunt talks about me like I’m not sitting right here, as I finally feel the car jerk back in reverse.

Another pause. The car lurches forward into drive then we bounce hard as Aunt Kathy flies over a speed bump. I think I’m going to throw up.

“Okay, I’ll take her home so she can pack a suitcase of whatever she wants to bring, and then we’ll go to my place until you get here. You should be in about 5:00?”

Pack a suitcase of what I want to bring where? Where am I going? Why is this happening to me? I’m a good kid. I make good grades and I’m nice to people, even those people who everyone else makes fun of, and I listen to my parents and my teachers. What did I do to deserve this? Why me?

“Yeah, Mom, I know,” Aunt Kathy hiccups. She’s crying hard again. “I’ll take good care of her, and we’ll see you later. I love you.”

I keep my eyes screwed shut as she disconnects the call, scared she’ll want to talk if I open them. I don’t want to talk to her or Granny Gina or anyone but my parents. I want my mom and dad!

Thankfully, Aunt Kathy doesn’t try to talk to me as we drive, but when I feel the car come to a stop and hear the engine turn off, she gently taps my arm. “Lyra, sweetheart, we’re at your house. We’re going to go inside, and I need you to pack up a suitcase or two of the clothes and things you want to take to New Orleans. Whatever you need.”

“New Orleans?” My lids snap open and I whip my chin in her direction. I don’t even recognize my harsh, scratchy voice. “I’m going to New Orleans?”

“Yeah”—she nods sadly as she swipes at the black mascara streaks on her face with her thumbs—“with Granny Gina. After we take care of, uh, of everything here, you’ll go live with her there.”

Scowling, I cross my arms over my chest and grunt. “I don’t want to leave Houston, or my friends, or my school. Why can’t I stay here with you?”

“You know I travel with my job, Lyra. Sometimes I’m gone a week or two at a time, and there won’t be anybody here to stay with you. Granny Gina’s house has an extra bedroom, and since she doesn’t work, she’ll be able to better give you everything you need.”

What I need and will be better for me is my mom and dad. And my perfect birthday weekend at the fair. She reaches out to attempt to soothe me with her touch, but I wrench away, banging my elbow on the car door in the process. The whack is loud, and the place I hit immediately turns red, but my brain doesn’t register the pain. I feel nothing. I’m broken.

I glance over at my aunt, and the tears spilling down her cheeks make me feel bad for acting the way I just did to her. What happened to my parents isn’t her fault, but I’m angry and this is all moving too fast. How am I supposed to pack up what I need in a couple of bags? I want to stay in my room, in my house, living with my parents.

“I know this is all unfair, baby,” she says through her sniffles, “and I can’t even to begin to understand what you’re thinking or feeling. I mean, I’m freaking the hell out and I’m a grownup who’s supposed to know how to handle these kinds of situations. All we can do is cling to each other as family and try to get through this together. Between me and Granny, we’ll do the best we can for you, and right now, we think the best thing is if you get your things and go stay with her.”

“How did they die?” I blurt out, completely off topic from what she’s talking about. My mind can’t stay focused on any one thing, but this is the question that keeps popping up. “I need to know how it happened.”

Swallowing hard, Aunt Kathy inhales a shaky breath through her nose and blows it out through her mouth, visibly trying to collect herself before she answers me. “It was a car accident,” she whispers after forever, barely loud enough for me to hear. “I don’t know why they were together in your mom’s car this morning or where they were going, but an eighteen-wheeler lost control and hit them. They were already gone by the time the first responders arrived.”

I nod, still unable to cry. I hear the words she’s saying, but they aren’t really registering. They make sense, but I don’t understand. It’s as if I’ve been swallowed up by one of the black holes Daddy taught me about and the darkness is sucking away my ability to think, to feel. All I hear is the word “gone” still replaying over and over and over.

“Okay. I’ll get my stuff,” I say flatly, finally opening the door and stepping out of the car.

My movements are robotic, and I can barely even feel the key in my hand as I unlock the front door to my house. Stepping inside, I’m overwhelmed by a combination of the sweet smell of my mom’s favorite vanilla cookie candle and the sight of my dad’s fuzzy slippers waiting by the coatrack—the slippers he puts on the minute he walks in the door from work every night. When I realize he’ll never wear those slippers again, nor will my mom ever be able to forget if she blew out the candle when we’re about to pull out of the driveway, an acute pain shoots through my chest and I stumble over to the staircase, grabbing the banister to keep my balance.

“I’m right here, Lyra,” Aunt Kathy murmurs from behind me as she slips her arm around my waist. “Let’s just get your things and head over to my place. Later, once we’ve had some time to deal with everything, we can come back to go through the house and all the stuff… if you want.”

Another nod and I let her guide me up the stairs to my room. I want to scream at her that there will never be enough time to deal with losing my parents, that I’ll never be able to go through their things, but I keep my lips pressed together and do as I’m told.

“Where do you guys keep your suitcases?” she asks, glancing around my room as if she’s doing an inventory of what I have. “I’ll go grab a couple while you start pulling out what you want to take. If you forget something, it’s no big deal, because you and Granny are going to be staying at my place for the next few days. I can just bring you back to get it, or I can even ship it to Louisiana if you remember once you’re there.”

“They’re in the storage cabinets in the garage,” I answer while walking over to my desk, my eyes locked in on a framed photo of me and my parents that sits next to my laptop.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

The thud of her heels on the hardwood floor grows quiet as she makes her way back down to the first floor, and just as I grab the picture and plop down on the chair, I hear her open the door to the garage. A few much-needed minutes by myself.

I gaze down at the photograph of the three of us from a day at the beach, me sandwiched between their cheerful, carefree expressions, and the first tear finally escapes. Once the dam breaks, I can’t stop the flow, and as I trace my finger over the outline of each of my parents’ faces, I cry for everything I’ll never have again. A supernova of tears.

Faces I’ll never see smile again.

Voices I’ll never hear say my name again.

Arms I’ll never be hugged by again.

A never-ending galaxy of love that I’ll never feel again.

It’s all just… gone.

After several minutes of vision-blurring bawling, I set the picture frame back upright on my desk. A hot pink heart drawn on my calendar with the words Birthday Weekend Begins written over today’s box catches my attention. I then notice the printed numbers next to my bubbly handwriting that read 10-18-02.

Snatching the picture up again, I stare directly into first my dad’s eyes, and then my mom’s. The numbers I see when I look people directly in the eyes only happens when I’m face-to-face with someone, never in photographs or through a screen or mirror. But even though I can’t actually see the numbers right now in the picture of my parents’ pupils, their numbers are forever etched in my brain from looking at them every day of my life. I used to think the reason they had the same numbers meant they were true soul mates, like God made them to match perfectly together, but now….

My gaze flicks over to today’s date of 10-18-02, then back to my parents’ faces, where I envision their numbers—101802.

My plummeting heart collides with my lurching stomach in an explosion of realization.

It’s my Big Bang Moment.

About the Author:

Erin Noelle is a Texas native, where she lives with her husband and two young daughters. While earning her degree in History, she rediscovered her love for reading that was first instilled by her grandmother when she was a young child. A lover of happily-ever-afters, both historical and current, Erin is an avid reader of all romance novels. Most nights you can find her cuddled up in bed with her husband, her Kindle in hand and a sporting event of some sorts on television.

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