Anyways shout out to Brady for being my new poor little meow meow she is simply my silly lil guy with Issues™

how did alec get his start adventuring?? whered he get his sweet clothes? i love him

Hi!! I'm so fucking flattered and excited that you'd want to know more about my little guy. I've been playing him for only two sessions so far and I'm already so obsessed with him so I'm gonna try to... well, no, I'm probably not gonna manage to keep this short, why lie to myself hehehe.

He was raised by his grandma, a brilliant, forest-dwelling woman named Yvonne who also studied medicine in the big city - she became nomadic shortly after Alec was born (his human dad died from illness while his mother, a wood elf, wasn't confident in her ability to raise a child). She raised him on the road, so technically he began adventuring right away! Yvonne felt that it was her duty to spread out her knowledge, acquired through her time spent in druid camps and in the city's academies; they acted as a traveling doctors and educators, especially in smaller towns and communities. Alec really internalized this, as well, becoming deeply fixated on how the body operates and developing a really special connection with wild nature and people's place in it. When his grandma passed away, he continued her work for a few years, until the plot misfortune struck him and he was kidnapped and sold to a family from a town which used forced labor to maintain their gated community. He survived there for a few years, and in the midst of the abuse he made friends with a cleric of Silvanus; over time he picked up the faith as a means to maintain his dwindling hope for escape and a connection to his life's work, using his knowledge and his developing magic to act as a hidden healer for the other prisoners.

The story of the short campaign actually picks up over a decade after their revolt and escape, and we see a very isolated Alec that's become so riddled with mental-health issues that he essentially threw himself into a self imposed exile in a little cabin in the woods; he fears he's lost himself in his struggle with trauma, his own mind becoming his captor, and hating himself for not being able to cope easily. He feels weak, pathetic, with no right to the magic he was taught or the love of his god. In an effort to not lose himself entirely, Alec began to write: he wrote books and books on medicine, taking refuge in the meticulous transmission of all his knowledge, all that his loved ones taught him, and all that he learned on the roads.

He forces himself to venture into the forest more and more, to lose himself for hours in the work of drawing leaves, plants, fungi, natural phenomena, etc, as faithfully and beautifully as possible. He hopes that, despite his own perceived brokenness and helplessness, the project may one day be useful. Gradually this work becomes the closest thing Alec has to therapy, and his meticulous books of medicine and natural guides evolve into hybrids of intimate, autobiographical, philosophical writing, intertwined with transmission of knowledge. We start with an Alec who connects with life from an observer's point of view, at a safe distance, deep self-loathing and doubt making him feel utterly unable to actually help people anymore, but still stubbornly trying to find a way to worship and help.

What finally gets him out of this exile is getting a letter from a small community of ex-imprisoned comrades, asking for help to both build more stable living conditions for themselves and find one of the revolt's ex-leaders, who has gone mysteriously missing. He only takes a single book with him.

Understandably, Alec doesn't have a lot of money and most of the money he has he spends on supplies (though he makes his own paper and paints, he still buys ink. and oh yeah, food too, when he remembers, sure) so actually his cute fancy clothes are mostly all hand-made by Nayab, my partner's character, who is a tailor and his best friend:-)

He's usually adorned with various trinkets he got and made from the woods. His clothes often appear well-kept at first glance - a clear effort on his part to show himself with dignity and care, because self-image comforts him and reminds him of his freedom and autonomy. On closer inspection, however, it is impossible not to notice the dirt that still clings to his trousers; the tint of moss and ink on his fingers and under his nails; the leaves in his wind-blown up-do. All those things that give him away as an agent of inescapable nature.

Fun facts! - He has a fantasy french accent that comes out when he's nervous. He's a lesbian. He was so socially incompetent when they met that the party suspected him a traitor. He tried to ease a companion's suspicions by showing him how maps work, and it worked; the companion kept poking him about his past and Alec kept trying to keep talking about maps. He's covered in scars, which he revealed to the same companion in a symbolic gesture of vulnerability, and then almost threw up afterwards from anxiety. He has gotten more hugs in three days of adventuring than he has in years. He sleeps in tree branches. He did surgery on someone in session 2 and secretly cried for 3 hours afterwards. He got treated with so much gentleness and compassion and love that he's speedrunning his character arc. He's starting to realize that maybe community and direct action are the answer, and his self-loathing is keeping him from a world that loves him and needs him there. His journal is starting to fill up, for the first time in a decade, with the faces of friends.

Also, he has a pinterest board!

Here's a little sketch of him last session:-)

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x  Reader (Pt. 4)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~1.7 words)

Warnings: questionable fidelity, angst, but otherwise tame

A/N: There isn’t a lot of action in this chapter but a whole lot of feelings.

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

-

You awoke to the sound of Iwaizumi’s careful shuffles around your bedroom as he got dressed for the day. Rising slowly to a sitting position with a stretch and a yawn, you noticed he was a little more dressed up than usual, his usual polo shirt and khakis replaced with a pair of sharp trousers, a nicely pressed shirt and a tie.

“Good morning, baby,” you murmured, voice still heavy with slumber.

Iwaizumi’s eyes shifted from their focus adjusting the sleeves of his shirt and smiled as he watched you rub the sleep out of your eyes, walking around to your side of the bed to kiss you on the forehead - a soft brush of the lips.

“Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?”

The smell of a gentle cologne drove you forward, intending to lean your face against his chest, but he was already back to his side of the bed to gather his things before setting out for the morning.

“I did… I can make breakfast if you’re not in a hurry!” You offered, eyes following the young man as he quickly exited the room.

“I’m alright!” He called, voice distant now. You could tell he was already rummaging around in the kitchen, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in your nostrils in sharp contrast to the toothpaste you were using to rid yourself of morning breath once you trailed behind him.

You glanced at the time on the wall clock, leaning against a wall opposite the inlet to the kitchen. He wasn’t exactly late for work, but he was rushing out faster than usual. 

“Is everything okay?” Your voice was muffled between spittle and mild concern.

He glanced at you, hesitating for a split second before smiling. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” he replied without answering your question, and then the door closed behind him.

There was a subtle sense of your blood cooling very slightly, a tinge of worry settling in your chest. Venturing back into the bathroom, you finished brushing your teeth, paying exquisite attention to your tired eyes in the mirror as though your reflection was the issue. 

Maybe you were overreacting. Things had been a little tense since your argument, but it was nothing that couldn’t be smoothed over. 

It was only after you’d settled back onto your side of the bed with your open laptop and your screen flickered on to display your ex’s Instagram page that your heart started to race.

You closed it shut again, wincing.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have. He would have said something. The argument would have started right up again. It wouldn’t have ended until one of you was sleeping on the couch or you were sleeping in each other’s arms.

You let out a deep breath, taking a few moments to let your self-defensive thoughts sink into your skin. It was nothing serious after all.

Overreaction after overreaction. The only thing that mattered right now was that you opened your laptop and spent your Friday off of work on getting ahead.

---

As luck would have it, Iwaizumi was stuck in traffic.  Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that he’d wanted to escape your apartment as soon as possible and make it out early. He’d actually intended to leave before you woke up. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was still angry. 

Not at you. Never at you. At himself.

He remembered the words he had said to you at the start of your relationship, what felt both like just yesterday and ages ago.

Use me if you need to.

He gripped the steering wheel and grit his teeth, trying to maintain composure despite the fact that he’d been in the same spot on the road for the past ten minutes and people were laying into their horns around him.

What kind of stupid shit was that?

It had sounded good to say it at the time, like most things a guy says to woo a pretty girl. Use him. You’d fall in love with him later, in due time. He believed it was true then.

He hated that he was starting to lose faith in that now.

He hated the idea that someone else, who really wasn’t doing anything but simply existing in proximity to you was doing such a number on him. He couldn’t fault him either. Ushijima had loved you first. 

Did it matter if Iwa loved you more?

---

You’d given yourself that you weren’t allowed to leave your apartment until you got your work done, lest you come up with another excuse not to finish, which meant by the time the clock neared six p.m., you had laid sprawled in nearly every corner of your apartment typing and by now were cross-legged on the kitchen counter, your laptop balanced on your knees.

But you were finally done.

You sighed with excitement. Now to put that behind you. 

Saving your work, you slipped off of the countertop and back into your pair of slippers, moving back to your bedroom to change into a just as comfortable but more presentable pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

You were running out of snacks, as evidenced by the frequent trips to the kitchen over the past eight hours. What better way to treat yourself for a job well done but with a walk down to the convenience store to stock up?

Maybe you’d grab Iwa a bag of his favorite chips as a peace offering on the way too. 

---

“We’re already out, young lady!” the cashier teased the moment you crossed the store entrance, setting off the bell. 

You pout but still glance over to the row of baked goods, where your precious melon bread is normally stacked neatly in clear packaging, waiting for you. It’s a little bit embarrassing that he knew you would never pass up on it, but you’d lived here long enough that it wasn’t inconceivable that it’d become your defining trait.

“I’m absolutely devastated, sir!” You called back dramatically, making your way to the back for ice cream instead. They had what your favorite in stock, plus a limited edition flavor so you had more than enough consolation.

Satisfied, you closed the freezer door after picking your selection only to meet eyes with Ushijima, whose hand closed tightly around the handle of a fridge door. He stood a good distance away, but his eyes had been on you and remained so; the very slight part of his lips betrayed the fact that he had been trying to come up with something to say for the past couple of minutes.

He did say your name, something like a greeting, out loud, and you reflexively looked away, heart pounding. Granted you didn’t own this corner of town, but what were the chances he’d only chosen to go here?

Quickly realizing you still weren’t interested in talking, Ushijima pulled out a large bottle of water and closed the fridge, deciding not to bother you further.

It was suddenly a good thing that a text message to you on his phone was in drafts only, him not having the heart to send it. It wasn’t for a lack of courage… it was more so due to shame. Even if he felt like he had to apologize, there wasn’t much he felt he could say that would make it better, not worse.

His shame and your discomfort only intensified as he ended up queueing up behind you. Timing was never on his or your side it seemed.

Ushijima watched you tense up ever so slightly, your shoulders hunched as your arms overflowed with snacks, including the freezing tub of ice cream. Normally he’d offer to help with your load, given that he wasn’t carrying much more than the water but again, boundaries.

He’d set that distance himself.

In reality, he probably should have chosen another running path to discharge energy after practice had ended early today. However, it had been long enough that alternative courses didn’t come immediately to memory and he’d been willing to take that chance.

And here you both were.

He hated this, the obvious residual feelings bubbling to the surface after having been repressed for so long, the fact that he couldn’t justify any of his actions, the fact that he hated older him.

The fact that you won’t even look at him. 

Just say something. Anything. 

Is closure every really needed, or is it just an excuse to refuse to move on?

He opened his mouth to speak, yet again, but you beat him to it.

You turned towards him, smiling, albeit a weak imitation of what you’d always offered him, back when you loved him recklessly, with your whole heart.

“I… um, don’t want it to be awkward,” you said in a small voice. The sound of your voice, directed finally to him, unprompted made his own beat speed up.

Was this an olive branch you were extending that he didn’t deserve? He pondered this, steeling himself for the worst.

You kept your friendly expression as steady as possible. You weren’t sure what you were trying to prove, to yourself and to Iwa.

You didn’t love him. And for that reason, you had no right to be bitter or cold. Right?

“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” you continued.

Ushijima was at a loss for words now, watching you carefully with his normally sharp, hawk-like eyes but now more like the hawk’s prey, assessing the threat before it. Could he get his hopes up? “We can be friends,” you decided.

It’ll only hurt for a short bit of time, you told yourself. And soon things will be back to normal. As they should be.

A part of Ushijima wanted to reply, I don’t want to be friends. He’d finally realized this, no matter how selfish of a thought it was. However, he was content to nod only and swallow that thought. 

“I’d appreciate it.”

He watched you pay for your items and leave, unsure of what friendship would entail.

---

As you dug into your tub of ice cream a couple hours later, you realized you weren’t so sure what that entailed either.

If only to make it worse, then came the buzz of your phone with a single message, I miss you.

Paige's character transformations as currently mapped in my own head:

[WHOOPS THIS POST GOT REALLY LONG, readmore to prevent dash clogging. This is not an entirely comprehensive list of everything that Paige has gone through, just the ones that are pretty well codified in my own head at current... and each of which could easily be a future fic in a series XD]

EMPATHY AND SURVIVAL

Starting point: Leaves the vault, traumatized, sad, in denial, angry, basically a cascade reaction of survival mechanisms on a fast track to self destruction. If not for Codsworth, bitch woulda drank herself to death with booze she scavenged from her dead neighbors homes on the first fuckin day, or at least gotten drunk enough with what she could find in Sanctuary to trip into the irradiated river.

Transformative moment: staying alive long enough to realize what exactly Codsworth did. Specifically, hang out in a bombed out town for two centuries on the off chance he might greet his masters descendants whenever the vault opened. While also keeping stray raiders from turning the place into a camp. Encounter with other Mr. Handy bots that have adapted to function outside their programming make her realize Codsworth made an active choice to stick by, assigning him personhood and greater empathy than before and taking his attempts to comfort her more seriously, and opening up the floor for both of them to have a real conversation about what kind of hell its been.

Endpoint: Paige gets her shit together and starts thinking longer term, building a home base in Sanctuary out of one of the ruined houses (not hers) as a home base from which to start making a real go at the business of survival. The possible search for Shaun becomes a problem that could be solved, not just another weight around her neck.

CONFLICT AND MORALITY

Starting point: Paige still has old world morality and had never even aimed a gun at a person in her life, much less with the intent to kill. She can handle shooting animals for food, but has thus far avoided conflict by hiding.

Transformative moment: Helping Preston and Co to escape from the Freedom Museum, attempting all other avenues of resolution before facing up to the fact that the the situation cannot be resolved without violent action. She did not create the situation, but she has the power to decide how it will resolve. Embracing that means accepting responsibility for the violent action, but also saving the lives that would have been lost if she had not. Thinking of things in strict terms of right and wrong and refusing to take ‘wrong, violent action’ would have gotten everyone killed-- the old world is dead, and so are its rules.

Endpoint: Paige still has strong beliefs in punishments needing to fit the crime, but in absence of a civil body to arbitrate right and wrong? She's accepted that individuals need to take action and enforce their own code. Her blocks of violence are a lot thinner, and will accept lethal action as an option if it'll stop greater harm. Develops a short fuse when it comes to 'her people' being threatened, but still grapples with her personal morality about what's been done after the fact-- privately when possible. Alcohol is still main coping mechanism.

SELF CARE AND RESPONSIBILITY

Starting point: Paige is tipping towards personal apathy as a coping mechanism, beginning to disengage and growing more self destructive. Deeper alcohol abuse, personal negligence of self care, and refusing to travel with anyone who can reproach her for it (see: everyone but Dogmeat). Codsworth steps in by mentioning to Preston that Paige really hasn't had any human companionship since the vault, and insists he should go with her the next time she leaves Sanctuary.

Transformative moment: Traveling with Preston as part of Minutemen work, building up a rapport, him bearing his soul about his belief in there still being 'good guys' in the world and saying it was Paige who been restoring his faith in that. When Paige expresses doubt about how much good one person can actually do in a world this fucked, Preston reminds her that without her? He and his group would be extremely dead, and all the settlements she's secured sure as hell wouldn't exist. Sometimes, all it takes is one person trying to give others something to rally around.

Endpoint: Paige takes on her personal responsibility to the Minutemen as her main reason for keeping herself up. Not just in a self sacrificing manner, but as someone others are going to look to for an example on how to be... though if asked she'll still insist that she's not special, she just gets shit done. 

JUSTICE AND CHANGE

Starting point: Getting to Diamond City for the first time, Paige falls back into the idea that government powers, not individuals, should have the authority on crime and punishment. 

Transformative moment[s]: Rescuing Nick, where it appeared the authorities of Diamond City were pretty much ready to leave the guy for dead [government body failing to protect its own people]. Finding out what Diamond City did to the ghouls after asking Piper about the signs and graffiti on the outside of the walls [Hello racism my old friend...]. Tracking down Kellogg, trying to talk him down from lethal confrontation, and being informed by both Kellogg and Nick that if she doesn’t kill him, Diamond City will probably play at serving justice only to let someone else do it, and taking his life herself after Kellogg actively goads her to do so. [Exacting capital punishment in place of a body that would have differed it to a vigilante to maintain the air of being ‘civilized’]

Endpoint: Accepting that there’s no going back to the ‘old way’ of doing things where she followed someone else’s rules and called it ‘the best she could do’. Diamond City’s justice system is just as fucked as 2070′s USA was, and with her rising influence in the Commonwealth she’s already been actively defining and enforcing her own code of justice/morality for too long to fall back on someone else’s rules. She can’t go back to the person she used to be who operated within someone else’s fucked up rules and called it good enough. She is the authority now.

Monsters

Prompt for the 28th was: “Are you afraid yet?”

Note: This AU contains allusions to societal homophobia.

“Are you afraid yet?” The councilman, white rose pin shining bright on his chest, looks down at Duck as a guard finishes chaining him to the post. 

“Nope. And I ain’t gonna be, so fuck off.”

“Is that how you speak to your elders?” Another councilmen chimes in.

“When they’re feedin me to a fuckin monster? YES!”

Both men sniff, tartly, and retire to their viewing spot. The guard rings a chime three times. All attention turns to the cave entrance a mere few yards from where Duck is tied. 

The monster doesn’t appear right away. This makes it worse, gives him time to think of what’s coming. 

To remember how he got here.

It began at the spring festival, two weeks ago. The young man with the silver hair, who smiled at Duck so sweetly and so strangely when he’d bought food from their stand. Who’d leaned against the side of it, talking animatedly to Duck once Duck indicated that he wouldn’t mind the company.

At the end of that day, he’d told him his name was Indrid.

He was back the next day, and asked if Duck would go with him to the evening portion, because he was only passing through town and was unsure of the customs for the dance. Which is how they ended up dancing together.

(Not for every dance, no matter how much Duck longed to do so, as dancing only with another man would have drawn unwanted attention).

On the third day, as the sun set, Duck kissed him beneath an apple tree. Or, perhaps, he kissed Duck. It was so mutual an action it was hard to say who began it. Indrid tasted like honey, and the eyes he kept hidden behind red glasses were a deep, reddish brown when Duck slid the spectacles up his forehead.

The fifth day, it all went wrong. He’d been so careful, chosen a seldom used barn and hurried Indrid up into the loft, away from prying eyes. But they’d barely begun, he’d barely gotten to touch the cool skin beneath Indrid’s shirt when there were voices outside. 

They weren’t fast enough. There was no way the trio of villagers who stood, gazing up at them with grim satisfaction, could mistake their half-clothed states for having any purpose other than what it did.

“Go.” He’d stepped between Indrid and the men coming up the ladder. 

“But you shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

“I ain’t lettin them hurt you too. Now for fucks sake, run.”

Indrid disappeared out the window. Duck made damn sure he wasn’t followed. 

In retrospect, it may have been that last action that was the nail in his coffin. When sacrifices are identified, they aren’t always given up right away. Indeed, certain children of the towns richer members have been identified but never offered up.

Breaking the nose of one White Rose member and biting another on the arm ensured Duck jumped to the head of the line. The verdict was swift: he’d been caught in an act of deviance, therefore he would be food for the monster, insuring the purer, more moral citizens of Kepler would not have to be offered in his place. 

Running was no option. If he escaped, it was understood a family member would take his place. Besides, where would he go? His friend Juno was still in Kepler, but would be punished if she helped him. One of his few friends in another village was sacrificed a month ago (for each town in this region must reckon with the monsters in the mountains). Another, from Kepler, ran away two months prior with her girlfriend, a woman with golden hair and eyes, before they could be caught in a compromising position. 

A strange, trilling noise echos out of the cave, snapping him back into the present. Soon, two red, glowing eyes appear. Then the creature steps into the sunlight.

His resolve to show no fear wavers.

It must be seven feet tall, with dark, speckled wings and feathers coating its body. Antennae sprout from its head, and each of it’s four arms end in clawed hands. 

It makes its way to him, odd high noises still skittering out of it. He forces his face to stay neutral, forces his eyes to stay open even when the creature kneels before him. It cocks its head, opens a mouth with far too many teeth and draws its tongue in the air by Ducks cheek. Then it growls, tears the chains as if they were nothing, and picks him up, holding him to its chest. Slowly it stands, and as it does its wings envelope him, blocking out the rest of the world. 

At a leisurely pace, it walks back towards the cave. Behind them, he hears one elder say to another, “I wonder if we shall hear it happen? The last sacrifice in Victorville, there was screaming before the spectators finished loading their carriages.”

Duck sucks in a shaky breath; the man they’re talking about was his friend. Was it so painful for him? Will it be that bad for Duck?

He allows himself a some tears, then. For his friend, for himself.

At the sound of his sniffles the creature pauses. A screech fills the air, though it seems directed at the viewers, not at him and he smiles bitterly as he hears them all scrambling away in fear. 

The creatures quickens it’s movements and the air becomes damp, cool. Once they’re in the cave, the growl changes to a softer sound, and if Duck didn’t know better he’d swear the two hands stroking his back and hair were trying to comfort him. 

After far to short a time, there’s a deep scraping of stone and the creature takes a few more steps before lowering him to the ground. The scraping returns and the wings leave his view just in time for him to see a stone door sliding shut, plunging the room into darkness. 

The creature moves about, tapping two crystals which proceed to glow as brightly as any fire. Duck looks around, finds himself in a huge nest of pillows and soft, warm fabrics. There’s no sign of blood or bones or other remnants of the humans who came before him. 

The creature kneels in front of him again, leaning forward. It doesn’t look bloodthirsty or angry. It mostly looks sorry for him.

“Wait.”

The creature waits.

“I, uh, you don’t need to eat me. Or, uh, maybe you do cause you don’t got other food but, uh, but I’m sure we could work somethin out.”

It smiles, cocks it head.

“Please.” He whispers, “I ain’t done anythin wrong. Except punchin that White Rose.”

“Given that he’s had a hand in goodness knows how many people's unhappiness, I do wish I’d been able to see that.” The monster speaks and the surprise of it sends him crawling backwards. 

“Oh, oh dear, I’m sorry. I’m afraid in my excitement at having you here I didn’t keep an eye on your possible reactions.”

“Excitement? You’re fuckin excited to kill me?”

“That isn’t what I said.” The creature stands, pads over to large desk, “is it?” He picks up an object, holding it out so Duck can see.

Red glasses. 

“N-no, how did you get him? I though he got away.” Ducks voice cracks and tears threaten the corners of his eyes.

“Never fear, I did not get him” it puts the glasses on and reality bends, “I am him.”

Duck stares at the man before him. Then he stares some more. 

“How in the everlovin fuck?”

Indrid grins, “I will explain everything shortly, but first, may I approach you?”

Duck nods and Indrid crawls into the nest with him. As soon as he’s within reach, Duck is in his arms. Indrid chirps, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and guides it gently along Ducks cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry that I frightened you. Unfortunately, I had to play up being a monster to maintain the ruse. If we seem too gentle, they get suspicious. Though, half those sounds I made were actually happy ones, not that they would know that.”

“Where did you bring me?”

“My home, in several senses of the word. This room and the adjoining chambers are my literal house. They are part of the kingdom of Sylvain, which thrives here in these mountains, and which is my home.”

“But, other villages, their monsters-”

“Look different? That us because we children of Sylvain come in many forms, some of which are more alarming to humans than others. But no matter how frightening we look, we don’t mean you any harm.”

“Now” Indrid holds his hands, nuzzles his forehead, “I have some things to retrieve for you, as I foresee you getting hungry very soon. I can see the future, since you’re about to ask how I knew that. You’re welcome to come with me, but you can also stay here if you wish to-ah, never mind, all the futures where you wanted to stay here just vanished”

“Sorry, thought about it and I don’t wanna be alone right now.” He doesn’t want Indrid out of his sight, doesn’t want it to turn out to be some trick of the cave, some fevered dream.

Indrid stands, pulling Duck up with him, “As you wish. Now, since you’re about to ask again: no, never in the history of Sylvain has one of the humans sacrificed to us actually been eaten.”

“Then how come we keep givin them?” He takes Indrid’s hand as they step back into the tunnels. Stones in the wall light up as they walk, and various halls are lit with torches for added brightness.

“Long ago, the first humans who settled the land outside our mountains got along fairly well with us. Or at the very least understood that we were neighbors, not a threat, and we moved between each others towns easily. But then, those humans were forced out by the humans who founded towns like Kepler. When a Sylph ambassador went to the nearest village, there was a great uproar and no small amount of miscommunication. The ambassador was inviting the humans to a meal, in a gesture of good faith. The humans thought-”

“You wanted to eat ‘em.”

“Precisely. You can imagine, then, the confusion of the Sylph who stepped out of their door to find a panicked, tearful human waiting for them. Now, tell me, what would you do if you opened your door and found someone who was in distress there?”

“Bring ‘em into the house and see if I could help ‘em.”

“And that’s just what that Sylph did. After a great deal of tears on the humans part, she was able to communicate that she had been chosen as sacrifice because she was with child outside the bonds of marriage. Unsurprisingly, when her host asked if she wanted to go home and explain the error, she said ‘not even if you did want to eat me would I go back to that fuckin place.’”

“Were you there?”

“No, but the records are quite clear on her phrasing. The Sylphs met the next day to discuss what to do, but before their meeting adjourned, three more people had been ‘sacrificed.’ It didn’t take us long to notice a pattern: towns sent those who they deemed deviant, those they deemed inconvenient. And so we kept gathering those poor offerings up, bringing them into Sylvain so they might find a new home. Over time, we started scouting, looking for those who were likely targets, as we’d learned from previous humans that their lives were often unpleasant well before the sacrifice if they were deemed outsiders. When I came of age, I used my foresight to help identify them. And, well, in the last few years, as Sylphs were scouting, more and more came to fall in love with the humans they knew would be sacrificed. And so, many took the chance to woo those humans before hand, or strike up friendships. That way, they’d have a familiar face when they arrived. In some cases, the courtship accidentally lead to those humans being sacrificed sooner.”

Up ahead, Duck can see daylight.

“What if they didn’t want to stay here?”

“Then we helped them find a new place to live, in other towns farther away, ones where they wouldn’t have to fear because of who they loved or how they were. Plenty chose that, plenty chose to remain here.”

As they step out of the mouth of the cave, Duck blinks in the warm sunshine. They’re in a massive meadow, dotted with a spring, several ponds, and a handful of stores.

“Sylvain is only mountains on her outer edges.” Indrid smiles at the awe on Ducks face, then turns them towards one stall, painted in a checkered pattern. As they get closer, Duck can see it’s a restaurant, with wooden picnic tables out front.

A figure steps out the door carrying trays, sets them down before a mixture of Sylphs and humans. He waves.

“Hey Indrid, runnin a little behind since we’ve been busy, but don’t worry, I’ll have things ready soon.” In spite of being two feet taller than Duck and looking like a cross between a man and some other form of ape, gentleness radiates from him. He extends a large, furry hand Ducks way, “I’m Barclay. Nice to meet you, Indrid hasn’t shut up about you for the last week.”

“That so?” Duck smirks at the other man, who turns bright pink. 

The door to the shop creaks open once more as Barclay continues, “how are you holding up? Know that sacrifice shit is real scary on your end. I felt so bad about how upset my human was, I set a new record for how many times I apologized during the trip from the sacrificial spot to my home. Isn’t that right, Joe?”

“I maintain you could have warned me ahead of time. But I forgive you all the same.” Says a calm, friendly voice. 

Duck knows that voice. He peers around Barclay, finds a familiar face smiling at him as Joe Stern wipes his hands on his apron. 

“Hello, Duck.”

Duck clears the few feet between them easily, gathers his friend into a hug.

“You got any idea how fuckin happy I am to see you?”

“Likewise.” Stern lets go of him ,looks him up and down, “I heard you broke a White Roses nose. Good for you.” 

“Thanks. Uh, there’s just one thing that’s confusin me. Well, there’s a lotta things confusin me right now but this is the one that applies to you. I heard the elders talkin about how when you got carried off, they heard screamin even before the folks watchin headed home.”

Now it’s Sterns turn to go red, “Yes, ah, well, you see, Barclay didn’t make it very far before telling me what was going on. And, as you can imagine, the relief of knowing I wasn’t going to die coupled with the joy of seeing him again lead me to ask for a certain form of celebration. Right then and there.”

Duck blinks for a moment, then bursts out laughing, “figures a fuckin White Rose couldn’t tell the difference between someone bein killed and someone gettin their brains fucked out.”

Stern is laughing now too, “It wasn’t even my screaming.”

A high, chirping laugh joins them and Duck turns to see Indrid with his hands over his face, laughing at a mortified Barclay.

“What, he knows how to get me going?”

Stern giggles one last time, then nods over Ducks shoulder as a new group enters the tables, “I need to help with the dinner rush, but I promise we can catch up tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.” He waves as his friend disappears inside. 

“Duck you may wish you brace yourself.”

“For wha-ahhhck!” 

He’s knocked to the ground by a figure yelling, “you’re heeeeere!”

“Aubrey?”

The young woman smiles down at him, freckled nose crinkling from the force of her grin.

“Yep” She lets him sit up before crushing him in another hug.

“Hi, Duck.” Dani leans against a nearby table, waving. Her golden hair is up, and she looks comfortably grass-stained. 

“I almost told Indrid he had to tell you what was coming, because I was so worried that you’d be scared.” Aubrey says, still not letting go, “but he pointed out that you can’t lie to save your life, and that you might give him and us away.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Dani told me about the whole set-up way ahead of time. And I was like, ‘fuck that, I’m not gonna let those jerks get any kind of satisfaction out of sacrificing me, even if it is just sending me back to my super hot girlfriend. So I was like, ‘let’s elope’ and she said yes.”

Dani shrugs, “She’s very persuasive.” 

“And! Something about being in Sylvain makes Dr Harris Bonkers able to walk on two legs and talk to me. Kind of.”

“That’s...good? I mean, you seem real happy about it.”

“IT’S SO COOL!”

He listens happily  as Aubrey tells him all about their home, their gardens, moving from the ground to one of the tables as they chat. Eventually, she has to leave to prepare for some magic lessons, but not before making Duck promise to come by tomorrow so she can show him more of the kingdom. 

He watches her and Dani walk off towards one set of tunnels, turns back to find Indrid now sitting across from him. 

“I ordered dinner, since Barclay won’t be finished with the basket just yet, and it’s turning into a lovely evening.” He gazes up at the stars with a sigh.

“Sorry, I been talkin to my friends this whole time and-”

“Duck, are you trying to apologize for spending time with loved ones you thought you’d never see again?”

“...Well, when you put it like that it sounds silly. Sorry, don’t know why I’m apologizin so much.”

“It’s alright.” Indrid rests his hand lightly on Ducks own, “You’ve just been through what was, as far as your mind and body are concerned, a near death situation. It’s not strange to be rattled. “

“Thanks. Uh, Indrid, can I ask you somethin?”

The Sylph nods.

“Barclay called Stern ‘his’ human. If, if a Sylph rescues a human does that mean they-”

“Belong to them? Oh goodness, no. It’s a language issue. In Sylph, the phrasing conveys that they were that humans’ first contact with Sylvain. But it comes out odd in English. Oh, thank you.” He smiles as Stern sets two plates down; soup for Duck, and a pile of fruit for Indrid.

“Do you mind if I take off my glasses to eat?”

Duck, mouth already full, shakes his head. They eat in contented silence for a bit before Duck asks, “have any humans ever tried to come rescue their friends?”

“Two instances, both recent.” Indrid pops a strawberry into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, “I suppose more don’t because so often those offered at outcasts. And, many people are rather cowardly. The first one to try it was Mama.” He points off to his left, to a human woman who is leaning against a tree, carving something Duck can’t quite make out from wood.

“Her friend Thacker was offered. He was brought in and she came shortly after, well armed and quite willing to fight whatever she had to in order to help him. She had to meet several other humans before she was convinced it wasn’t a trick. Then she decided to stay herself, and handle security in case of other humans with less-kind motives.”

“And the other exception?’

“Hollis.” He points to a young person in a yellow and black shirt, “They were taken by Jake, but he only got halfway to here before he was followed by their entire band of riders, the Hornets.. I’m not sure who was more confused; Jake by the sudden swarm of angry Hornets, or Hollis at the fact that their monster was...less than monstrous.” He points to a pool where Hollis is dangling their feet. A seal flops up beside them, then turns into a young man with a seal-pelt around his neck. Duck has several questions about how that particular sacrifice looked, but saves them for later.

“The hornets, Hollis included, now come and go, helping with security. They also help us if I identify a town that plans on...mistreating a sacrifice prior to the ceremony. They go and insure no such thing occurs.”

Duck finishes his meal as Indrid licks his plate.  When the Sylph reaches for his glasses, Duck stops him.

“You, uh, you don’t gotta put those on if you don’t want.”

Indrid cocks his head, a gesture Duck is rapidly growing fond of, “You’re sure?”

Duck clears his throat, “kinda enjoyin getting to look at you like this too. Not that your human face ain’t charmin.”

Indrid chirrs shyly.

“All set.” Barclay places a large basket down in front of them. They say their goodnights, and head back to the entrance from whence they came.

“Oh, wait.” Indrid pauses, “Let me show you how to navigate, since the cavern networks can be confusing to new arrivals.  All you do is touch the wall and name where you’d like to go. Here, you try.” He guides Ducks hand up in his lower right one, resting it on the stone. 

“Indrids room.”

The outline of his hand glows deep green, and as he steps back it slides up, forming a circle. As they step into the cave, the light stays just ahead of them, guiding them through the twists and turns. When they arrive at a specific door, it vanishes. 

Indrid touches the wall, and it slides open to reveal his room.

“What’d Barclay give you?”

“I’ll show you in a moment. Make yourself comfortable, I just need to grab a few things from my bedroom.”

Duck nestles back into the same mound of pillows, examines the contents of a shelf. Various terrariums hold plants, glowing green in faint shimmers and bursts. 

“Here we are.” Indrid settles across from him, presenting him with the basket. 

Opening it, surprise wells up inside him. There are several packages of sweets he knows only come from Kepler, along with his favorite pastries, still warm from Barclays oven. There are books as well, the ones he’s read time and again and could read a hundred times more. Surrounding all the smaller items are a few pieces of clothing, and just by looking at them he knows they’ll fit.

When he looks, wide-eyed, at Indrid. The Sylph has both sets of hands clasped together in excitement. 

“Indrid this, this is amazin.”

“Is it? Oh I’m so glad you liked it.” Indrid chirps, claps his hands, “It’s a tradition. When I foresee a new human being sacrificed, the scouts and I piece together what things that person might want in their first days here. As I said, thinking one is going to die, even if one survives, can create a great deal of stress and emotion. We found humans had a better time if we had familiar things here to comfort them.”

“Hold up, this is my jacket. As in, the jacket they took from me when they threw me in jail.”

Indrids antennae relax a little, and he clicks his top set of claws together, “ah, yes. You liked it so much, and you looked so handsome in it that I had one of the hornets procure it for you.”

Duck beams at him, continues sorting through the box, munching on a cheese roll as he does. Indrid gives him space, putters about his cave, occasionally pausing to draw at his desk. 

The exhaustion comes in one great wave, pushing Duck down. He yawns, shakes his head to clear the drowsiness from it.

“The bedroom is through there, if you need to sleep.”

Duck stands, with no small amount of effort, and waits for Indrid to do the same.

“Is everything alright?”

“I was, uh, assumin you’d be joinin me. Since you rescued me and all.”

Indrid stands, crosses to him. One set of hands cups his face, the other takes his own, “Duck, my actions today, the opening of my house to you, the gifts, those were all done because they are the right thing to do. They do not bind you to me in any way. You owe me nothing.”

“But you were pretty clearly courtin me before.”

“I was. And I would like to continue doing so. But if you wish to only be friends, we shall do that. If you wish to find somewhere else to stay, I will gladly help.”

“You’d let me go just like that?” Duck raises an eyebrow.

Indrid hesitates, then says softly, “I cannot say it would be easy for me. I am very fond of you, I love talking with you, and you are a very good kisser. But I only want you to stay, and to let me woo you, if that’s what you truly, freely desire as well.”

He wants to say yes, but a part of him nags that it’s too soon to know. That he ought to give it more thought.

“Lemme sleep on it?”

“Of course. The main bed is yours, I shall be quite comfortable out here.”

The main bed is a slightly neater looking version of the nest out front. He readies himself for bed, finds Indrid also got him pajamas, deep green and very warm.

He tries to sleep, but it’s fitful. He gets flashes of nightmares, spikes of panic in his chest. He tries to think only of pleasant things: Indrid, laughing the day they met. The feel of his lips. How he listened to Duck as though he was the most fascinating man in the world. The way he chirps when he’s excited. The feel of his feathers.

Oh, who is he kidding,

“Indrid?”

The Sylph is at the door in an instant.

“Something you need?”

Duck opens his arms, “Made my decision.”

Indrid trills happily, clambers into the nest with him.

“May I hold you?”

“Much as you want, darlin.” Strong, spindly arms envelope him, shifting him so one wing rests beneath him.

“I dreamed of this so often, and it’s a thousand times better than I ever thought it could be.”

Duck cuddles up against him, one hand stroking his side, “Damn, you’re real comfy.”

“You may use me as a pillow whenever your heart desires.”

“Gonna hold you to-” he yawns so wide his jaw hurts, “that, darlin.”

They talk quietly for awhile, and by the time his eyes shut Duck has a dozen questions, a hundred places he wants Indrid to show him, a thousand things he wants to do,

All that can wait for tomorrow. Right now, he is here, safe and warm in Indrids embrace, and that is enough. 

Unveiled - Chapter 10

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12  || Chapter 13 || Epilogue

by MadLori Word Count: 3200 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

No sex in this one.

CW: Minor character death, car accident.

Read it on AO3

Life became both calmer and more hectic as they drew ever closer to the unveiling day, now a mere month away. 

Since that horrible morning when they feared the consort was miscarrying, he hadn’t had any cramping or bleeding. That day, Zhenya had wheeled him back to their room in a chair, over his gestures of protest, and half-carried him to bed. The consort had been silently laughing at him by the time they reached it, making I’m fine! gestures. He had, however, accepted being pampered for the rest of the day. Zhenya had even called in the masseuse to give him a full body rub-down and had the chefs prepare his favorite foods and bring them to their room so he could eat in bed, improvising a drape between them on the bed so the consort could unveil to eat. They’d lazed around together and watched TV before drowsing off in a loose embrace, a half-eaten bag of salt and vinegar chips, the consort’s favorite, still lying on the bedspread.

It had taken about a week before the consort had initiated sex again. Zhenya had slid gratefully into his body, hearing him sigh and breathe deeply in arousal -- just the fact that he wanted to was a relief. Knowing that his consort still desired him, even though he was already pregnant, filled Zhenya with warm, gentle passion that he tried to communicate, not with words but with his hands and lips, applied reverently to his consort’s body. The fear they’d both felt that morning, and how they’d turned so immediately to each other, had deepened their bond. Zhenya felt it, and he knew the consort did too.

And yet, even while he enjoyed this new closeness with his husband, Zhenya found his mind straying to Sidney. He hadn’t seen him at all, despite keeping a casual-but-not-casual eye out for him around the palace and grounds. Guilt was his constant companion; guilt that he should be thinking of another man when he and his husband were growing so much closer. Guilt that he couldn’t stop wanting him, despite having more than he could ever have reasonably asked for in his consort. And, ironically, guilt over what he knew he had to do when next he saw Sidney, guilt that he would actually choose his consort. He couldn’t win for losing. He felt guilty no matter which of the two men in his life his heart was favoring.  

A few days after That Morning, Zhenya came upon Sidney sitting on a bench in the gardens, reading a book, coincidentally near the coral-and-lavender roses that both he and the consort had admired.  Sometimes he wondered when Sidney did his actual guarding; he so rarely saw him on duty. He looked up and smiled as Zhenya approached. “Hey,” he said casually, as if everything was normal. Zhenya just loomed over him until he looked up again. “What’s wrong?”

Guilt and dread were too raw for him to say what he needed to, so all that came out was stale anger, left over from the miscarriage scare. “Too busy to be with your close, personal friend when he thought he was losing our baby?”

Sidney sighed, like he’d been expecting this. “I was sent into town to pick up some uniforms that got shipped over from New Scotland. I didn’t even know what happened until I got back. He was already back in your room by then.”

Zhenya deflated a little. That was, he had to admit, a legitimate excuse. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m so glad he and the baby are okay.” He squinted up at him. “Why were you even thinking about where I was while your husband was supposedly miscarrying?”

Zhenya could hear Sasha yelling Yeah, good question! in his head. “I was distracted and upset. I suppose I was...displacing, would you call it?”

Sidney scooted over on the bench. “Stop standing over me like you’re going to send me to bed without supper.”

Zhenya thought about resisting, but then just sat down, defeated. “I find myself thinking of you in all sorts of inappropriate moments.”

Sidney was quiet for a moment. “I know what you mean.” They glanced at each other, then quickly away.

“If I were a stronger man, I’d ask you to request a transfer back to your home country.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I didn’t say I was asking.”

“Glad to hear it. Because that’s not a good look, asking a man to uproot his whole life because your feelings are making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re right. You’re just a man trying to do his job here and live your life. I’m the one who keeps seeking you out. I could walk away and decide never to see you again if I wanted to.”

“That would make me sad,” Sidney said, almost too quiet to hear.

Zhenya snorted. “Being married seems to be revealing all my shortcomings. I don’t seem to be very good at maintaining boundaries.”

“Well, you’ve never had to, have you? Your whole life you’ve had your boundaries externally enforced, strictly enforced, by royal protocol and the sheer isolation of your existence. All of this is forcing you to set your own boundaries and keep to them. It’s not surprising you’d be out of practice.”

“I didn’t come out here looking for you but here you are. I could have walked on by and you probably wouldn’t have seen me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, because you act on me like a magnet, Sidney. I am drawn to you, and I’ve never been sure why, but it has to stop. I have to stop. The unveiling is barely a month away, and once my husband’s name is known to me, all of you will return to New Scotland, and I’ll never see you again.”

Sidney fiddled with the corner of his book. “I’ve been trying not to think about that.”

“I’ve thought of little else since we met.”

“You make it sound so easy. To just -- stop.”

“Easy or not, it must be done.” He got up and forced himself not to look at Sidney again. He couldn’t bear the sight of those eyes or those cheekbones if it was the last time he’d be seeing them. “Take care of yourself, Sidney.” He strode away, and didn’t look back.

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

Zhenya galloped hard, urging his horse faster than he usually would, just wanting the speed, the rush, the sensation of flying. 

To get away. Away from the palace, from his weeping mother, from his gray-faced father, from the endless whispers and quiet preparations and the sad, pitying looks from visitors and staff alike. 

From that cruel, strange world where his brother was dead.

They’d gotten the news just after dinner the night before. Victor had left to return to his mountainside home. The drive was precarious, with many tight hairpin turns, and a truck driver coming the other way had briefly lost control, drifted into the other lane, and hit his brother’s car head-on. The car careened off the edge, flipped over and over down the hillside. Victor and his driver had both been killed.

There was nobody to blame. The other driver hadn’t been sleepy or impaired or even going too fast; it was a difficult road and his hands had slipped at the exact wrong moment. The same thing had happened to Zhenya on that road, but he had been fortunate that no cars had been coming toward him when it had.

“I’ll see you at the unveiling,” Victor had said, as they’d said good-bye. “Just two weeks to go! Can’t wait to actually meet this amazing consort of yours. I bet he’s gorgeous.”

Zhenya had laughed, although as the days went by, he was less and less concerned with what his consort’s face looked like. Nothing about his appearance could be a disappointment -- his face would be dear to Zhenya because it was his.

But now Victor was gone. Victor would never see his brother-in-law’s face nor meet his niece or nephew, nor see Zhenya crowned King when that time came, and Zhenya was angry about it. He was angry about a lot of things. So tonight at dinner, when his mother had tentatively suggested that the unveiling might be postponed, he’d stewed and bitten his tongue until he could stand it no longer, leapt up from the table and fled to the stables without even changing out of his dinner clothes.

He’d saddled Admiral in a rush, the horse probably confused to be going out at this hour. As he’d left the stables, going much too fast this close to the outbuildings, he’d spied Sidney, of all people, running after him. “Zhenya!” he’d called. Probably sent by the consort to check up on him -- would that he’d sent Fleury or Letang, and not the one person who’d only serve to aggravate him further. He’d left Sidney and the palace in the dust, craving escape.

He pulled up at the lake at the far end of the grounds, where he and his brother used to come to fish when the lake near the palace was still too close to their parents’ watchful eyes. It was a remote spot, with a hunter’s cabin and a dock but no boats. They’d fish from the dock, and sometimes just sit there and talk. Victor (although that hadn’t been his name then) had often spoken of his faith, of what he learned from the clerics and the thoughts that kept him studying day in and day out. Zhenya had sometimes spoken of being King one day, because even as children they’d somehow known that it would be him on the throne, not his elder brother. He’d spoken of finding a consort, of what his unveiling day would be like. It was during these talks that he’d come to realize where his preference lay -- when he’d talk of unveiling a consort, he always saw in his mind’s eye a handsome man’s face being revealed to him, instead of a beautiful woman’s.

He and his brother had been close, then. Very close. It wasn’t until they grew into men that the distance came. It couldn’t be helped. Victor’s life had become about his studies, his orders, his calling, while Zhenya’s had become about affairs of state, governing, the business of ruling. Their affection was unchanged, but Victor hadn’t been a real part of his life for almost a decade. And now all Zhenya could see was the time they hadn’t spent together, all the time they assumed they’d have in the future.

He slid off Admiral and flopped down into a heap on the grassy shore, staring at the surface of the water, smooth as a mirror in the still night air. The stars blazed overhead in this unpopulated corner of the royal estate and his mind searched for peace.

He was still searching for it when he heard distant hoofbeats approaching. He sighed. It could only be one person.

He stayed where he was, not turning to look as his interloper stopped his horse and slid off, then came around to sit by his side.

“What are you doing here, Sidney?” he asked.

“You rode out like you were being chased by demons,” Sidney said. “I was worried.”

“I wanted to be alone. Could you not respect my wishes in that, at least?”

“You’re not a be-alone man, Zhenya. You may think you want to be alone, but you don’t. You thrive only with companionship.”

“That isn’t your task to provide.”

“Maybe not. And I shouldn’t be here, probably. You made your feelings known the last time we talked.”

“Not clearly enough.”

“I’m sorry. I just...I couldn’t stand the thought of you out here by yourself. What if your horse tripped? What if you hurt yourself? You weren’t riding very carefully, and it’s dark.”

“I’m fine, as you can see.” His resolve was weakening. How had Sidney come to take such an accurate measure of him in such a short acquaintance? He wasn’t a be-alone man, that was true. Solitude sounded good, but wore thin after a short time.

Sidney was silent for a few moments. “I’m so sorry about your brother. I’d have told you before, but I haven’t seen you.”

“Thank you. It’s...difficult. He was so excited to become an uncle. My child will never know him now.” His voice caught. Sidney rested a hand on the middle of his back; even that casual touch, through two layers of Zhenya’s clothing, felt electric. 

“I have a sister. I can’t imagine anything happening to her.”

“Are you close?”

“Yes. She’s here, actually. She’s another one of the consort’s guards.”

Zhenya turned to look at him, surprised, although he instantly knew who he referred to. “The woman with the blonde ponytail?”

“Yes. Taylor.”

“She resembles you.”

“A bit, maybe.”

Zhenya’s throat closed, and he swallowed hard. He let his head sag, his chin trembling. Sidney’s hand moved to his shoulder and squeezed it. “I’m so angry,” Zhenya said. 

“Of course you are. A senseless accident; it’s horrible.”

“No, I’m angry at myself. Because I’m so sad about my brother, but that’s not why I’m out here. I had to get away before I said something unforgivable because I’m so bitter...I must be a terrible person.”

“You’re not, of course you’re not!”

“I am! My brother, who never hurt anyone in his life, is dead, and all I can think about is why did it happen now; the unveiling is only two weeks away, the happiest day of my life, and now it’ll be overshadowed by this, and then I think, what a terrible thought to have, how can I possibly be thinking about the unveiling when my brother is gone, and I despise myself for it.”

Sidney scooted a little closer. “You listen to me, Zhenya. You are the kindest, most loving, best man I’ve ever known. You are not a terrible person. If you were, you wouldn't despise yourself for those thoughts. You’d throw tantrums and make a big fuss about it and cause your parents more pain, but you aren’t doing that. It’s absolutely normal to have feelings about how this affects you. It doesn’t make you terrible; it makes you human.”

Zhenya wanted to believe him. He looked in Sidney’s eyes and saw only sincerity there. Sidney really did think he was good, and kind, and loving. He might reconsider if he knew how desperately Zhenya wanted him, even though his faithful consort was waiting for him back in their rooms with their child growing under his heart, and that if Sidney said the word, he’d give up his throne, his life, and his child to run away with him. That was why he’d told Sidney they couldn’t be friends, because Zhenya was weak and disloyal. And if he didn’t despise himself for his bitterness over the timing of his brother’s death, he could damn well despise himself for that.

His mother used to say that emotions ran in packs, and big feelings of one kind could lead to other feelings escaping their cages and running wild. His grief bubbled up like dry ice in a bucket of water, and he felt his face pinch in on itself and his chin shake. Sidney knelt up at his side and folded Zhenya into his arms as he broke into sobs. He clutched Sidney’s waist and cried into his broad chest, Sidney’s hand stroking the back of his head as he whispered “Shhhh, I’ve got you,” over and over, rocking him slightly. Zhenya’s belly heaved with unlovely sobs that weren’t only for Victor. He felt Sidney press his lips to the top of Zhenya’s head and keep them there.

It went on and on, until his chest ached and his head pounded, until his sinuses were clogged and Sidney’s shirt was wet with his tears. He cried until he felt hollow but Sidney never moved; he couldn’t have been comfortable in the awkwardly hunched half-kneel he was in, cradling Zhenya in his arms, but he stayed there like a rock for Zhenya to crash upon, and it was only there that he found peace.

They rode back to the stables in silence, handing their horses off to the yawning grooms and walking back towards the palace.

Sidney stopped just shy of the main gardens. “I’ve asked to be removed from the consort’s guard detail,” he said.

“You have?” Zhenya asked. He couldn’t work up as much of a reaction as this revelation really merited; he felt like his insides had been scooped out, echoing inside with the vacuum left by his grief.

“You won’t be seeing me around the grounds or the palace anymore.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Not exactly. The detail guards will be heading back to New Scotland after the unveiling. I’ll keep to my rooms in the meantime.” 

Zhenya looked at his profile. Silvered by moonlight, he was so beautiful it made Zhenya’s skin hurt. He stepped closer, reached out and cupped his face, allowing himself one stroke of his thumb over Sidney’s elegant cheekbone. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Sidney heaved a deep sigh. “Don’t thank me. Just…” He tipped his eyes up to meet Zhenya’s. “Whatever happens, remember me fondly?”

“Always.” Zhenya stood stock still. He desperately wanted to kiss him. All he had to do was lean in slightly, and he could tell that Sidney would allow it, would even reach up to meet him, if only he could just…

“Goodbye, Zhenya,” Sidney said, then pulled away and walked toward the palace.

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

His consort wasn’t in their room when he returned, but that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes he was there when Zhenya arrived; sometimes he came in later. Zhenya filled the large bathtub with the hottest water he could stand and climbed in, soaking until he was red all over like a lobster, letting the heat clear the sorrow from his head.

The door opened after he’d been in there for awhile; the consort entered and leaned over him, stroking one hand across his wet shoulders. He ran his fingers through Zhenya’s damp hair and urged him to sit forward. He did, letting his heavy head hang down while his husband picked up the sponge and squeezed hot water over him, scrubbing the skin gently with smooth, massaging motions. Zhenya leaned back after a little while and looked up at him -- he’d never asked him to unveil before and wasn’t quite sure how. He pointed to the veils, then to his own eyes, which he closed. The consort understood; Zhenya felt the veils being lifted, then his husband’s soft lips on his in a gentle kiss. Lying here with his eyes closed felt so lovely; he was tempted to just sleep here.

The consort urged him up and out, toweled him off and led him to their bed. Zhenya slipped naked into the cool sheets; the consort climbed in on his side and quickly shifted over to draw Zhenya into his arms. He went, gratefully, the lassitude of his bath and the exhaustion of the night’s emotional upheaval barely allowing him the time to get comfortable before he was asleep.

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Working Wednesday

Here is the state of my current WIPs with July’s Camp Nano picking up steam. As before, my main camp fic will be The Library Beneath the Clock Tower, I also have a project I need to get finished for July, and those two are taking priority.

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower: AU Cursed Storybrooke. (Inspried by/based on The Bookshop on the Corner: A Novel, by Jenny Colgan)

Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community. -  Chapter 33/53 posted and 6 more are written ready for editing, and I’m 2,023 words into chapter 41 - an important chapter.

All Our Past Mistakes: AU Non-Cursed Storybrooke

Doctor Gold, professor of history at the local campus of Maine University, is stuck in a loveless, and one might say abusive relationship with a wife who is less than attentive to their family, and whom he suspects cares little for her marital vows. His resolve to maintain his own faithfulness is sorely tested by the presence of one of his new students - a junior by the name of Belle French - whom it seems fate is determined to put in his way. The two become embroiled in a passionate, and redemptive relationship, but not before suffering numerous setbacks and separations. This is no instantaneous happy ever after, but a tale of two hurt souls finding their way together through darkness and despair. - nothing written since last week

Disparate Pathways: AU and Remix of Witness Protection, which was written for the 2019 RSS.

Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go. Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into ‘protective custody,’ but is he all that he seems? As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth. - Nothing written since last week.

Scattered: AU OUAT, where the curse didn’t quite happen the way it did on the show. (It went ‘wrong’)

Casting a spell, any spell - at least the ones that involve more than just the wave of a hand, or worse, the wave of an irritating fairy’s wand - takes time, and patience, and the right ingredients, and… just like any recipe, if you get it wrong, it doesn’t mean the cake won’t cook, rather then will, just with unexpected or unintended outcomes. All of Rumplestiltskin’s careful planning and manipulation, all of his hopes and dreams turn to dust; ashes in his bitter heart in the blink of an eye… in the fall of an equine heart. Belle exchanges one terrible prison for another, and it’s one she is desperate to escape, and though Rumple’s fate as The Savior was severed from him centuries ago, sometimes fate itself has a way of finding an alternate route home. - nothing written since last week

What the Actual Fuck! : Sutherelle fic

Prime Minister Robert Sutherland is feeling pressured, and isn’t prepared to acquiesce to the repeated challenges from within his cabinet nor the wider circle of those around him. He resorts to drastic measures to ascertain who can be trusted, turning to an ‘old friend’ to help him separate the wheat from the chaff. Said friend promises to send in his best operative to assist the PM, the trouble is the operative finds out more than Robert necessarily wants to know, and all this just as all hell is breaking loose around him; people hurt, Britain in chaos and multiple deaths push him into making some hard hitting decisions in order to safeguard himself, the country, and the people he cares about - Nothing written since last week.

Breathe: Rushbelle.

As the Lucian Alliance attack Icarus Base, Doctor Rush makes the decision that dialing back to Earth is too dangerous, though that may not at all be his reason for attempting to dial the ninth chevron, persuaded by Eli, and by something Belle had said to him previously, he substitues Earth for Icarus, and the connection is made. In spite of hurrying to urge Belle to the ‘Gate room and through the ‘Gate, neither he, nor anyone else believes that Belle actually made it on board Destiny…  - Part one of the We Three series. -  Nothing written since last week.

Storybrooke’s Best Kept Secret: Rumbelle, Cursed Storybrook AU

This story was created accidentally when what I had written didn’t fit for something else. in which Belle is not kept in the assylum, but in a little cottage on the very edge of Storbrook town, and few know she’s there.  Then, one day, someone else finds out. -  Nothing written since last week.

Darkness In Hyperion Heights: Woven Beauty, Mystery/Paranormal AU

One stormy morning, Detective Weaver shows up to work and finds someone waiting for him in his office.  His visitor is a scholar and a curator for the British Museum, and has recently discovered that an artefact from the vaults is missing. She has followed the trail left in the wake of its disappearence and it led her to Hyperion Heights, and now, she needs Weaver’s help - 355 words written

Modern Wonders: Well now, how to classify /this/ one?  Lets start by saying it is a crossover with OUAT and SyFy’s Mini-series, Alice. It’s kind of ‘ensemble’ and kind of ‘Mad Rumbelle/Mad Curious Archer’ sorta kinda.  This is still in the ‘mulling’ stage, and might not get anything posted for a while, because of… well… reasons! (Spoilers), but we’re working on it.

Also, I still have 2 series awaiting their next works: Darker Hearts: an AU Wish!Rumbelle, and Thoughts On A Happy Ending: A Rumblelle focussed Belle introspective of the entire journey from season 1 through season 7. Nothing has been written for either just yet, so no change since theirlast update, but they are included in the writing schedule so maybe that will change.

All published works can be found on AO3 where I write as Eilinelithil.

Please feel free to ask me questions about /anything/ you see here, or any other curiosity that enters your head - anonymous asks accepted, I’ll talk about most things if you ask. If you want to ask the characters anything, you can do that too! You can also prompt me if you wish.

LGBTQIA+ Historical Romances For Fools in Love - “We are are all fools in love.” - *Charlotte Lucas in Pride and Prejudice

HEA novels with MCs going against their "better" judgment for love, second chance romances, and healing hearts.

Invitation to the Dance by Tamara Allen

- After trading his tranquil Staten Island existence for a flat in the city and an editorial position at the New York Herald, William Nesmith anticipates as easy and uneventful a transition from bachelorhood to marriage—as soon as he's prepared to ask the vivacious Violet Chapin for her hand. Though Violet longs to climb the social ladder Will scorns, she seems willing to wait for him—and wait she must, for Will intends to make his way without the assistance of Violet's well-to-do connections. Whether that's a vow he can keep comes into question when he runs afoul of Charlie Kohlbeck, a capricious reporter with a keen eye for a story and the flexible ethics to dig up any secret, whether hidden in Manhattan's darkest corners or the grand marble halls of its social elite. When Will is ordered to work with him so they'll come to better appreciate each other's talents, Charlie takes him along on the hunt for an interview with the elusive Lord Belcourt. It's a meeting every reporter in town is after, but Charlie gains an audience by introducing Will as one of the wealthy California Nesmiths—a lie that sets Will on a path up the social ladder at a speed no respectable gentleman could stomach. Offered his own society column if he prolongs the charade, Will wants nothing more than to escape the bevy of eager debutantes on his trail and make peace with a very vexed Violet. But when he helps a shy heiress menaced by swindlers, he's caught in a tangled web turned dangerous and must put his faith in Charlie Kohlbeck—who may possibly prove the one road to ruin Will is defenseless to resist.

Downtime by Tamara and James Allen

- On assignment in London, FBI Agent Morgan Nash finds himself moments away from a bullet through the heart when the case he's working goes awry. But fate has other plans, he discovers when he wakes in a world far removed from his own. At work cataloguing ancient manuscripts in the British Museum, Ezra Glacenbie inadvertently creates the magic that pulls Morgan out of the twenty-first century and into the nineteenth. It's an impromptu vacation which may become permanent when the spellbook goes missing. Further upsetting Morgan's search for a way home is the irresistible temptation to investigate the most notorious crime of the nineteenth century. But it's the unexpected romance blossoming between Morgan and Ezra that becomes the most dangerous complication of all.

False Colors by Alex Beecroft

- 1762, The Georgian Age of Sail: For his first command, John Cavendish is given a ship—the HMS Meteor—and a crew, both in need of repair and discipline. He’s determined to make a success of their first mission, and hopes the well-liked lieutenant Aelfstan Donwell will stand by his side as he leads his new crew into battle: stopping the slave trade off the coast of Algiers.

Alfie knows their mission is futile, and that their superiors back in England will use the demise of this crew as impetus for war with the Ottoman Empire. But the darker secret he keeps is his growing attraction for his commanding officer—a secret punishable by death.

With the arrival of his former captain—and lover—on the scene of the disastrous mission, Alfie is torn between the security of his past and the uncertain promise of a future with the straight-laced John.

Against a backdrop of war, intrigue, and personal betrayal, the high seas will carry these men through dangerous waters from England to Africa to the West Indies in search of a safe harbor.

Provoked by Joanna Chambers (Enlightened Book One) and Beguiled (Book Two)

- Tormented by his forbidden desires for other men and the painful memories of the childhood friend he once loved, lawyer David Lauriston tries to maintain a celibate existence while he forges his reputation in Edinburgh’s privileged legal world. But then, into his repressed and orderly life, bursts Lord Murdo Balfour. Cynical, hedonistic and utterly unapologetic, Murdo could not be less like David. And as appalled as David is by Murdo’s unrepentant self-interest, he cannot resist the man’s sway. Murdo tempts and provokes David in equal measure, forcing him to acknowledge his physical desires. But Murdo is not the only man distracting David from his work. Euan MacLennan, the brother of a convicted radical David once represented, approaches David to beg him for help. Euan is searching for the government agent who sent his brother to Australia on a convict ship, and other radicals to the gallows. Despite knowing it may damage his career, David cannot turn Euan away. As their search progresses, it begins to look as though the trail may lead to none other than Lord Murdo Balfour, and David has to wonder whether it’s possible Murdo could be more than he seems. Is he really just a bored aristocrat, amusing himself at David’s expense, or could he be the agent provocateur responsible for the fate of Peter MacLennan and the other radicals?

Band Sinister by KJ Charles

- Sir Philip Rookwood is the disgrace of the county. He’s a rake and an atheist, and the rumours about his hellfire club, the Murder, can only be spoken in whispers. (Orgies. It’s orgies.) Guy Frisby and his sister Amanda live in rural seclusion after a family scandal. But when Amanda breaks her leg in a riding accident, she’s forced to recuperate at Rookwood Hall, where Sir Philip is hosting the Murder. Guy rushes to protect her, but the Murder aren’t what he expects. They’re educated, fascinating people, and the notorious Sir Philip turns out to be charming, kind—and dangerously attractive. In this private space where anything goes, the longings Guy has stifled all his life are impossible to resist...and so is Philip. But all too soon the rural rumour mill threatens both Guy and Amanda. The innocent country gentleman has lost his heart to the bastard baronet—but does he dare lose his reputation too?

Jackdaw by KJ Charles

- If you stop running, you fall. Jonah Pastern is a magician, a liar, a windwalker, a professional thief…and for six months, he was the love of police constable Ben Spenser’s life. Until his betrayal left Ben jailed, ruined, alone, and looking for revenge. Ben is determined to make Jonah pay. But he can’t seem to forget what they once shared, and Jonah refuses to let him. Soon Ben is entangled in Jonah’s chaotic existence all over again, and they’re running together—from the police, the justiciary, and some dangerous people with a lethal grudge against them. Threatened on all sides by betrayals, secrets, and the laws of the land, can they find a way to live and love before the past catches up with them? Warning: Contains a policeman who should know better, a thief who may never learn, Victorian morals, heated encounters, and a very annoyed Stephen Day.

Her Hardest Choice by Jesalin Creswell (f/f!)

- Lady Vivian is tired of grieving her husband and tries to move on with her life. It isn’t long before she meets a younger woman, Millie, who knows what she wants and goes after it. But, Lady Vivian is unsure how to proceed, because she knows how much she’ll be giving up if she chooses to love Millie.

The Gentleman’s Keeper by Summer Devon

- Confronting the darkness of his past, Gerard finds the light of his future. When an orphan bearing the unmistakable stamp of his family's features shows up at his country estate, Everett Gerard, who has successfully avoided his ancestral estate for years, must return to the Abbey. But unexpected surprises and delights await him in a place he'd loathed since a terrible incident he'd witnessed years before. Miles Kenway is content in his role as the Abbey’s bailiff, until his even-keeled life is disrupted by the arrival of a bastard child dumped on his doorstep. Miles’s anger at Gerard’s negligence of both estate and child erupts when servant and master meet in person for the first time. Heated arguments about the land and the orphan’s future only mask their intense and growing attraction--but giving into desire threatens to destroy the delicate balance of master and servant. Just as the wild lad has come to trust his new caretakers, his security with them is thrown into peril. Can the two men who’ve come to love the odd boy find a way to protect him and create a home?

Heat Stroke by Taylor V Donovan

- At twenty-one years old, Richard Lewis Bancroft was on the fast track to fame and fortune. An award-winning start on the Broadway stage led him to the silver screens of Hollywood, where his star began to rise, and his heart fell hard for professional baseball sensation, Manuel Guzman. But there was no script for living out loud with the man of his dreams in the world of 1964. Then Richard disappeared without a trace. Forty years later, Michael Spencer discovered a journal in his grandmother's attic that would change his life forever, and quite possibly, solve the mysterious disappearance of Richard Lewis Bancroft.

Unchained by Ainsley Gray (On the darkside...)

- If he takes their life, they can never truly leave. That's the mantra Noah Wilmington has lived by for years. He picks up whores and deviants from the local taverns, enjoys their company for an evening...and then hides their bodies in the woods. Edward Yorke has approached the same man in the same public house time and again, never deterred by the cool dismissal he receives. There's something about Noah that calls to him. A shared pain, a shared sadness... But Noah doesn't trust himself. It's too risky to permit someone too close, and Edward is the one person in the world whose life Noah wants to spare. So, every time Edward has asked to buy him a drink, Noah declines. Then one night, out of sheer loneliness, that "no" becomes a "yes." When Edward's night with him sheds light on some of Noah's dark secrets, Noah cannot simply let him walk out the door. But if he doesn't want Edward dead, and he can't let him leave, only one option really remains... 

The Replacement Husband by Eliot Grayson

- Goddess-blessed Owen Honeyfield is destined to enjoy perfect good fortune, and the arrival of handsome and eligible Tom Drake in his country town appears to be just the latest manifestation. Tom’s proposal is the fulfillment of Owen’s desires, but Owen is left heartbroken and at the mercy of Arthur, Tom’s disapproving elder brother, when his betrothal takes a disastrous turn. His reputation ruined and his bright future shattered, Owen must choose between loneliness and practicality. Arthur Drake has taken responsibility for Tom’s scandalous behavior all their lives. He doesn’t think much of his brother's engagement, knowing that even Owen’s sweetness won’t be enough to influence Tom for the better. When Tom’s impulsive selfishness threatens to ruin the lives of everyone involved, Arthur has only one honorable choice. He'll need to repair the damage Tom has done and fight for his own happiness, knowing all the while he may never be able to take Tom’s place in Owen’s heart. 

A Dangerous Love by Olivia Hampton (f/f!)

- Renee Harding fought hard to get off her family’s red clay dirt farm, and no way is she ever going back. She’s settled into bustling Meeks, Alabama and into her job as a schoolteacher. 

She’s sure that she has everything she could ever want: a job, a pretty little cottage all to herself and enough money to pay her bills with a little left over. Independence. Freedom. Everything a modern young woman could want.

Amelia swore she’d never return to her hometown of Meeks, Alabama. Why would she? The scandal that rocked her world and left her life forever changed also changed her as a person, and the memories of that terrible time in her life still linger. 

But she’s tired of running, and tired of not having a real home. She’s back and she’s just purchased the worst, most run-down house in Meeks. It’s a crazy decision, but it feels right. 

Two women. One forbidden love. 

And a town filled with shattering secrets, secrets that could destroy both Amelia and Renee forever. 

Lover’s Knot by Donald Hardy (Another darkside novel...)

- Jonathan Williams has inherited Trevaglan Farm from a distant relative. With his best friend, Alayne, in tow, Jonathan returns to the estate to take possession, meet the current staff, and generally learn what it’s like to live as the landed gentry now. He’d only been there once before, fourteen years earlier. But that was a different time, he’s a different person now, determined to put that experience out of his mind and his heart….The locals agree that Jonathan is indeed different from the lost young man he was that long ago summer, when he arrived at the farm for a stay after his mother died. Back then the hot summer days were filled with sunshine, the nearby ocean, and a new friend, Nat. Jonathan and the farmhand had quickly grown close, Jonathan needing comfort in the wake of his grief, and Nat basking in the peace and love he didn’t have at home. But that was also a summer of rumors and strange happenings in the surrounding countryside, romantic triangles and wronged lovers. Tempers would flare like a summer lightning storm, and ebb just as quickly. By the summer’s end, one young man was dead, and another haunted for life. Now Jonathan is determined to start anew. Until he starts seeing the ghost of his former friend everywhere he looks. Until mementos of that summer idyll reappear. Until Alayne’s life is in danger. Until the town’s resident witch tells Jonathan that ghosts are real. And this one is tied to Jonathan unto death…

Diplomatic Relations by JL Langley

- Dalton Fairfax, Lord Ashbourne, has always flaunted the rules of Regelence high society. Despite being the heir to the Marquess of Ravensburg, and cousin to the Townsend princes, Dalton found his calling in the military, first in the Intergalactic Navy and now the Regelence Special Regiment. Finally home, and in the same city as the parents he seeks to avoid, Dalton jumps at the chance to help his planet by taking on the role of bodyguard to the heir of the Duke of Eversleigh.

Blaise Thompson, Viscount Redding, strives to prove himself worthy of carrying on the Eversleigh legacy as the next Regelence IN council member. Maintaining his stellar reputation isn’t easy for Blaise, especially while keeping his outrageous younger brother in line and foiling his rival’s personal attacks. Ever conscious of living up to his responsibilities, Blaise has no time for romance, not even with a lusty special forces soldier.

But opposites don’t just attract… they sizzle. And when the only way to stop a scandal that threatens them both is to compromise their principles, Blaise and Dalton are forced to confront the risk of losing everything… even each other.

Snowball in Hell by Josh Lanyon (Doyle and Spain Book One)

- Los Angeles, 1943

Reporter Nathan Doyle had his reasons to want Phil Arlen dead, but when he sees the man's body pulled from the La Brea tar pit, he knows he'll be the prime suspect. He also knows that his life won't stand up to intense police scrutiny, so he sets out to crack the case himself. Lieutenant Matthew Spain's official inquiries soon lead him to believe that Nathan knows more than he's saying. But that's not the only reason Matt takes notice of the handsome journalist. Matt's been drawn to men before, but he must hide his true feelings—or risk his entire career. As Nathan digs deeper, it becomes increasingly difficult to stay one step ahead of Matt Spain—and to deny his intense attraction to him. Nathan's secrets may not include murder, but has his hunt put him right in the path of the real killer?

As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCann (Warning, this is the dark side of the madness...)

- In the seventeenth century, the English Revolution is under way. The nation, seething with religious and political discontent, has erupted into violence and terror. Jacob Cullen and his fellow soldiers dream of rebuilding their lives when the fighting is over. But the shattering events of war will overtake them.

A darkly erotic tale of passion and obsession, As Meat Loves Salt is a gripping portrait of England beset by war. It is also a moving portrait of a man on the brink of madness. Hailed as a masterpiece, this is a novel by a most original new voice in fiction.

The Gentleman and the Lamplighter by Summer Devon (This novella is so sweet, because in their own ways, both MCs are widowers, and heal when they find each other.)

- You Can’t Walk Away from Love. Destroyed by the death of his former schoolmate yet unable to show it publicly, Giles Fullerton has taken to walking the streets of London in the middle of the night, the only time he can safely mourn the only person he’s ever loved–until one chance meeting with a lamplighter changes everything….

But You Can Walk Toward It… Widower John Banks knows a thing or two about grief, and immediately recognizes a kindred spirit when he finally meets the handsome, haunted gentleman he’s admired from afar. And in fact, the two men discover shared passions and the possibility of a forever love–if they can overcome social taboos, and their own fears….

The Two Lords of Wealdhant Manor by Katherine Marlowe

- Algernon Clarke risked everything investing in new technologies, but the collapse of his investments has brought him to the brink of ruin. Just when he thinks debtor’s prison is inevitable, he receives a visit from Mr. Sutton, railway solicitor, with paperwork to indicate that Algernon is the long-lost heir of Wealdhant Manor. The railway needs a portion of Wealdhant lands in order to lay their locomotive tracks, and Algernon is in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth. He accepts the inheritance at once, heading off to settle the railway’s affairs. 

The situation he finds in distant Lincolnshire is far more complex than he was led to believe, and Algernon is soon at odds with the gruffly handsome groundskeeper whom the village folk refer to as “Lord Jasper.” As the railway’s deadline approaches, Algernon struggles to forge an alliance with Jasper Waltham, to protect the people of the village, and to make peace with the restless ghosts of Wealdhant Manor. Clean romance, no cheating, standalone novel.

A Scot’s Surrender by Lily Maxton (The Townsends Book Three)

- When his brother leaves him in charge of Llynmore Castle, Robert Townsend is determined to make everything go smoothly. What does it matter if he's inexplicably drawn to Ian Cameron, the estate’s stoic steward? Robert is sure he can ignore the way the Highlander's apparent dislike of him gets under his skin. They'll muddle along just fine so long as they avoid one another. An excellent plan…until a fire forces Ian into the castle—and Robert's personal space.

Ian Cameron has worked for everything he owns, unlike spoiled Robert Townsend. And he may not have friends, but he has the Highlands and the stars, and what more could he really need? But when a guest's stolen possession appears in his room, he doesn't have much choice but to admit to the handsome and aggravatingly charming Townsend brother that he needs help. To solve this mystery, they'll have to put aside their differences. And as Ian learns more about Robert, he'll have to guard his heart…or it may be the next thing stolen.

The Heat of the Moment by Ruby Moone

- Milo Callan is convinced the disease that ravaged his legs and left him in a wheelchair as a child has damaged something inside him because, as he grows to adulthood, he only becomes aroused by men. His secluded life means he’s convinced he is alone in this until the day Robert Grange, his temporary valet, rescues him from his life inside and takes him into the summer heat, changing his life forever beneath the shade of an ancient tree.

Overwhelmed, confused, and helplessly in love, Milo struggles to deal with his feelings and pushes Robert away time after time.

When Robert can bear it no longer, he decides to leave. Beside himself with grief, can Milo find the strength to believe in himself and accept their love? Will he be able to convince Robert to stay, or has he pushed Robert away for the last time?

Mask of the Highwaywoman by Niamh Murphy (f/f!)

- Evelyn Thackeray, the spirited daughter of a wealthy aristocrat, is en route to meet her future husband, when a gang of vicious outlaws attacks her stagecoach. In spite of Evelyn’s terror, she is intrigued by the leader of the gang, a beautiful Highwaywoman called Bess. Increasingly entranced by Bess and the prospect of adventure, Evelyn puts up little resistance when she is kidnapped. However, she begins to suspect there is a lot more to her captor than she initially thought and what started as a light-hearted escapade rapidly turns into a desperate escape and a frantic struggle for survival.

Hold Fast by Sebastian Nothwell

- Morgan Turner, agent to the Winthrop estate, owes everything to his benefactor. When the late baronet’s will tasks him with finding the lost heir and making a gentleman of him, he is determined to succeed. Thirteen years ago, Evelyn Winthrop ran away to sea. Now that his hated patriarch is dead, the ancestral home he returns to is more shadowed than what he left behind. Ungrateful relations and old friends alike tie a knot of scandal and depravity only a sailor could hope to unravel. And all the while, the siren song of the sea calls him to return at the first opportunity. Neither man anticipated forming more tender attachments. To Evelyn, his unexpectedly handsome agent is the only thing anchoring him to shore. He sees a captain’s soul within Morgan, and his heart is caught upon the hook of command—if only Morgan would return his affections. To Morgan, his new employer’s charms threaten to tear down the thorns that have grown around his heart—thorns he cultivated to restrain his unnatural instincts. When the estate and all who live there are threatened by a maelstrom of bitter secrets and sinister plots, it is down to Morgan to take command, down to Evelyn to hold fast, and down to them both to navigate their own treacherous sea.

Madcap Masquerade by Persephone Roth

- The Randwick family is as noble as any but lives in greatly reduced circumstances. When Loel Woodbine, Duke of Marche and heir to three fortunes, makes an offer for Miss Valeria Randwick's hand, it seems like a godsend, but the young lady has already promised her heart to another-and a commoner, at that. Desperate to avoid the marriage, Valeria concocts a wild scheme that depends upon the good graces of her monastery-raised brother, Valentine. When the prospective groom sees through the ruse, he surprises Valentine by agreeing to cooperate. But can Marche and Valentine fool London society while dealing with an accusation of murder and the distracting fascination between them?

It Takes Two to Tumble by Cat Sebastian (Seducing the Sedgwicks Book One)

- Some of Ben Sedgwick’s favorite things:

Helping his poor parishioners

Baby animals

Shamelessly flirting with the handsome Captain Phillip Dacre

After an unconventional upbringing, Ben is perfectly content with the quiet, predictable life of a country vicar, free of strife or turmoil. When he’s asked to look after an absent naval captain’s three wild children, he reluctantly agrees, but instantly falls for the hellions. And when their stern but gloriously handsome father arrives, Ben is tempted in ways that make him doubt everything.

Some of Phillip Dacre’s favorite things:

His ship

People doing precisely as they're told

Touching the irresistible vicar at every opportunity

Phillip can’t wait to leave England’s shores and be back on his ship, away from the grief that haunts him. But his children have driven off a succession of governesses and tutors and he must set things right. The unexpected presence of the cheerful, adorable vicar sets his world on its head and now he can’t seem to live without Ben’s winning smiles or devastating kisses.In the midst of runaway children, a plot to blackmail Ben’s family, and torturous nights of pleasure, Ben and Phillip must decide if a safe life is worth losing the one thing that makes them come alive.  

False Engagement by Hollis Shiloh (Marrying Men Book One)

- Vander and Michael loved one another once. Now, Vander is back from a long time at sea, getting his estate in order, and Michael is on the hunt for a rich husband so he can avoid debtor's prison.  But when a severe social faux pas leads to a false engagement between the two, there is a great deal at stake.  Desperate and sarcastic Michael and severe, far from wealthy Vander find their options closing in and their time running out.  Certainly, falling in love again would be a mistake beyond the pale.

Smoke & Mirrors by Vesper St. Clair (Gilded LilysBook One)

- 1920s New York: A mobster and a medium, thrown together by tragedy, struggle to escape violence and their own troubled pasts – but they can’t escape what’s growing between them.   After his brother was killed on his watch, mob enforcer Frank Valdea knows exactly what it’s like to be haunted. But that doesn’t mean he actually believes in ghosts, no matter how much some blue-eyed, silver-tongued – and incredibly sexy – con artist calling himself the Illusive Kasimir seems to know about his past. Frank is less than thrilled when his boss, the head of the Brunetti crime family, insists on wasting his money and time with a so-called medium. But after a brutal attack during a séance leaves his boss dead, he finds himself stuck with the disturbingly attractive Kasimir as they’re forced together on the run from unknown assailants. The last thing Frank needs is another doomed love affair with a man he can’t trust. Especially since he’s been tasked with hunting down whoever ordered the hit on his boss. But now, to salvage the Brunetti family – and his own broken heart – he’ll have to take a chance on Kasimir, and hope the man can exorcise more than just his ghosts.

Broken Blades by Aleksandr Voinov and LA Witt

- They only had one night together—a stolen interlude at the 1936 Olympics. After Mark Driscoll challenged Armin Truchsess von Kardenberg to a good-natured fencing match, there was no resisting each other. Though from different worlds—an Iowa farm boy and a German aristocrat—they were immediately drawn together, and it was an encounter neither has ever forgotten. Now it’s 1944, and a plane crash in hostile territory throws them back together, but on opposite sides of a seemingly endless war. Facing each other as opponents is one thing. As enemies, another thing entirely. And to make matters worse, Mark is a POW, held in a cold, remote castle in Germany … in a camp run by Armin. They aren’t the young athletes they were back then. The war has taken much from them, leaving both gray beyond their years, shell-shocked, and battered. The connection they had back then is still alive and well, though, and from the moment Mark arrives, they’re fencing again—advancing, retreating, testing defenses. Have they been given a second chance? Or have time and a brutal war broken both of them beyond repair?

* To this day, I still think Charlotte was in love with Lizzie...

Strange Girl

Simon Pulse, 2015 413 pages, 19 chapters + epilogue ISBN 978-1-4814-5058-4 LOC: PZ7.P626St 2015 OCLC: 936552329 Released November 17, 2015 (per B&N)

There’s a new girl in school, and something about her is unbelievably interesting to Fred Allen. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself. Maybe it’s the way she refers to herself as merely a vessel for conveying the knowledge she seems to have about our greater nature. Maybe it’s the remarkable power she commands, the way that happiness and healing ride in her wake everywhere she goes. Or maybe it’s her sweet ass. Whatever it is, she seems to connect with Fred just as quickly, elevating him to a greater happiness than he’s ever known. Of course, as with any powerful girl that people don’t understand, this happiness is fated to flee just as quickly when she pushes herself beyond what her body can handle.

Or, shorter: It’s Sati. It’s Sati set in high school with teenagers. It’s Sateen.

Part of the reason I took on this project is that I felt like my own writing was stagnating. Time was I couldn’t sit down without pumping out a thousand words of my own universe, my own characters and plots and desires and ideas. But at a certain point, I started to try to focus on bettering and refining one of my main tales, one I’d revisited off and on since sixth grade ... and I just burned out. I realized that I simply could not rework this story again, that it wasn’t ever going to be what I wanted or do what I wanted, or at least not in this fifth attempt in ten years. I couldn’t keep talking about the same thing again.

This might be indicative of why I’ve had a hard time pushing through as A Year (And A Half Now, Almost) Of Pike has approached its end point. There’s no denying that the man is a killer storyteller, and that some of his ideas and worlds were stunning and even revolutionary within the genre. But thirty years is a long time to stay in the game, especially when you’re pumping out more than three books a year for the main part of your popularity. It’s admirable that he was able to keep that up for so long without resorting to the James Patterson model of hiring someone else to write the books that have his name in large type across the top. But then, when you’ve only got one brain working on all these extensive ideas and under these onerous deadlines, you’re invariably going to start to repeat yourself. 

Almost everything Pike wrote after the start of Spooksville (I can’t even be charitable and say after his car accident) has repeated or revisited some major theme from an earlier work (mostly his own; I see you, Black Knight). And as I’ve pushed through and read every single one of his published works, I’ve started to feel that same fatigue that I had when trying to rewrite and repair something I’d spent so much time on of my own. See, this is why I can never actually be an academic despite being a composition teacher: so much of studying English is finding your niche and continuing to write about the same topic for your entire career, and I don’t think I could ever devote that much of my professional life to writing about the same thing. I just got tired of my ill-researched writing about the complete works of my favorite childhood author, for fuck’s sake. 

Still, if any book was due a revamp, Sati fits that mold. It was his first adult novel, it kinda got buried to all except his most devoted fans, and maybe it would be timely to publish a book about kindness and introspection and acceptance just as the muckrakingest American election in recent history was getting underway. But most of all, it’s still a relevant look at how we act and what we think about when we consider faith and religion and God. Considering how audiences and the book market have so drastically changed in the last thirty years, it totally makes sense that Pike might want to revisit the concept for a new generation. And honestly, I’m a victim of my own age and literacy here — nobody else who might be interested in this YA book in 2015 is reading its spiritual predecessor from 1988.

I’m mostly going to blast through the summary, because it’s been more than three weeks since I finished the book and I don’t actually want to reread it to remember specifics. Fred is a high-school musician living in Elder, South Dakota, and just like any other teenager in a small town is dreaming of escape. His parents own a hardware store and just barely maintain a rocky marriage, though all we know about that is what Fred specifically tells us. His best friend Janet, the presumptive valedictorian, has her own messy home life, but they always have each other’s backs, which is why Janet pushes Fred toward the new girl.

This is Aja, a beautiful Brazilian who relocated to South Dakota for some reason three months ago but didn’t start school until today. The teacher in the class they share is unreasonably mean to her for apparently no reason, but it doesn’t put Fred off buying her lunch and trying to learn more about her. He’s unsuccessful, largely, but she does learn about him and his band and their work before she takes off. They’re doing a gig at a nearby Air Force bar on the weekend, and everyone knows Fred is the real talent and pressures him to perform a little more of his original and quieter work at the show. This here is Fred’s difficulty: he wants it, he has the talent and the drive, but he second-guesses how much people actually want to hear his voice.

Aja gets kicked out of the class they share when she’s accused of cheating on her entrance exam (what?), so Fred doesn’t see her again until after their gig. The crowd is getting raucous and angry, and the drummer doesn’t take well to that, so the evening is just starting to devolve into a brawl when Aja stands on a table and tells everyone to calm the fuck down. She also helps out one of the servicemen, who has taken a whiskey bottle to the head but now isn’t even bleeding. Weird, right? 

A local reporter sure thinks so. She posts a video of the event, with a suggestion that maybe Aja is more than she appears to be. Can she heal people? The folks at their next gig have the same question, surrounding her and generally pestering until Fred manages to pull her away. They drop her off at home, the biggest house in town, and Fred finally asks her out, sort of, by responding to her question about his unhappiness by saying she should stop accepting dates with other dudes. Like, possessive much already? But on his way to work the next day, he sees the teacher in the cemetery, near her son’s grave, and decides to talk to her about Aja. This opens a floodgate: the teacher blames herself for her son running outside and getting hit by a car, and apparently Aja knew more than she should have, which was why the teacher was so salty with her before. So what else does this girl know?

Fred goes to pick Aja up for their first official date, and ends up talking to her guardian, where he finally learns more about her past. It seems that Aja was a feral child living near a village in the Amazon, and she had a reputation as a magical healer and talent. The guardian was compelled to the village for some reason, and appointed herself the caretaker of the girl, and only uprooted them to South Dakota because Aja said they needed to go there. The guardian only has a vague idea why, but she’s pretty sure it’s related to Fred.

They go back to his house, because his parents are out, and he plays her a song almost off the top of his head that she’s inspired. Before they can start gettin’ freaky, Fred’s phone rings, and apparently his hot-headed drummer has gotten into it with some drug dealers and cops in a nearby town and is in critical condition in the hospital. So Fred and Aja go there, but when he calls the guardian’s valet (or whatever this dude is; it’s kinda muddy) to tell her what’s up, he gets pissed and freaked out and orders Fred to make Aja leave the hospital. Only he can’t find her. And when he does, she’s all dizzy, and passes out on the ride home, and when he drops her off the valet screams at him and slams the door in his face.

But the drummer wakes up, and when Fred goes to see him, he hears a story of two beings visiting him, and his realization that this was the end, only he wasn’t ready to go because it would cause too much pain. This is the only real mention of the subplot that the band’s bass player is gay and in love with the drummer, and even though the drummer is straight (I mean, I guess he could be bi, Pike doesn’t really go into details, but the point is they don’t end up together) he cares too much about his friend to just kick the bucket. So the smaller of the beings picked up on that and touched him, and then he woke up. 

There’s also a reporter there trying to talk to Fred and his best friend about the miracle that Aja performed, and they do their best to brush her off only she isn’t giving up. In fact, she’s using a YouTube channel to promote the idea that Aja is a goddess or something, with a video of the way she ended the bar brawl and testimony from a nurse in the hospital that she touched the drummer not long before he arose from life-threatening injuries. Fred agrees to meet with the reporter and actually gets more information than he gives up: namely, Aja has been curing and healing people since her days in Brazil and that she spoke with all of the villagers about her decision to leave for the US, saying there was an important reason to do so.

Before he can confront Aja and her handlers about it, her guardian dies. The valet says she’s written a letter to Fred, but he can’t seem to find it. So while we wait, let’s go on a date! Only someone in the restaurant recognizes Aja and insists she heal her daughter. And this is where we find Aja’s limitations: she can’t help this girl; her fate is to live for a short time. 

In blasting through the summary I might be glossing over Aja’s description of her connection to the cosmos and how her powers and abilities work. A lot of it ties back to the same things Pike loves to revisit when thinking about metaphysics: the oneness of Buddhist nirvana, letting go of desires and selfishness to connect to the unity of humanity, and being able to tap into superhuman powers once you’re linked. Aja calls the overarching all the “Big Person,” and her abilities come from what the Big Person tells her is necessary. She can act out of her own human desires, respond to the Little Person, but when she does it takes a toll on her health, which is what happened with the drummer. But how does someone so young get tapped into a consciousness so vast and lose her childish selfishness? We’ll get there.

Anyway, Fred goes to a band rehearsal the next day and is stopped on the way by a family who has another sick kid in the hospital, desperate for him to put them in touch with Aja. He doesn’t want to do it, knowing what he knows, but his friends accuse him of being overprotective. The best friend compares a lot of what Aja has said she does with practices she’s learned through yoga and meditation, to draw an explicit line for those in the audience who haven’t just read 94 other Pike books and didn’t look more deeply into Eastern religion because of it. And then Fred’s phone rings, and it’s the family, and they already talked to Aja and their daughter is feeling better so he doesn’t have to put himself out. What? The kid was in the hospital in another state. Aja explains that she’s not actually the vessel: the Big Person does the work, and all she’s doing is making it aware and asking the question of “can we?” 

The will reading for Aja’s guardian comes up, and in addition to splitting her (holy crap immense) wealth between Aja and the valet, she has also left instructions with her lawyer that Fred should get an audition with a record label in LA. The laywer also has the letter, which basically says that Fred can’t protect Aja from the infirm and ill, and he shouldn’t try. I guess this lady would know, right, having taken care of the girl for something like ten years. But word is getting out, more and more people are asking Aja for help, national reporters are starting to show up, Fred has a weird encounter with a spooky fortune teller in a graveyard, and he can’t help but be concerned. So he helps the valet hire a private security firm to keep these people away from Aja, which (when they follow her to school on Monday) prompts an emergency community meeting about the disruption of education by these horrible rumors.

As it turns out, this is actually a racist move by the principal, who has a reputation as an evangelical Christian and has unfairly targeted minorities (especially our drummer, who is Mexican) for years. He’s trying to get a lynch mob together without exactly saying as much. Only too bad for him a lot of people in the community (the more open-minded ones, the ones who have actually spoken to her) already support Aja, because of their own first-hand experience with her help. But enough people are screaming about Jesus that they’re just about ready to light up torches and drive Aja out of town. Until she reveals the racist principal’s big secret: he had a child with a black woman, and could never reconcile his love for them with his love for pointy white hoods or whatever, and then the kid died and he has always regretted it. And Aja holds his hands, and talks to him, and suddenly here comes the creepy fortune teller who it turns out was the mother of Racist Principal’s child, and they embrace and apologize and forgive, and the meeting is suddenly over.

Somewhere in all the Aja hullaballoo, the best friend took off to New York to live with her mother. She won’t answer Fred’s calls, she won’t respond to texts, and Aja (the last one to see her before she left) insists that she can’t be the one to reveal her confidences. So Fred goes to see her dad and try to get more info. Now this isn’t the first time Best Friend has left with the mom: the first was right after they got divorced, only she moved back a year later without any explanation. And the divorce was just as sudden and explanation-free, only the dad just accepted it. And Fred realizes, while he’s standing there in the living room and picking up hints from the dad and looking at old pictures where both women look uncomfortable: he’s a sexual predator. He touched his daughter inappropriately, because his wife and her mother was somehow loveless (leading to the girl coming back the first time) and so he partook of some fucked-up urges. Only the girl has never been able to accept that it wasn’t her fault, and in talking to Aja and exploring herself is she just getting there. So of course she needs to not LIVE with the motherfucker while she’s coming to grips.

Fortunately for Fred so he doesn’t stab a bitch, the trip to LA is nigh. Aja goes with him, and he plays his demos live, finishing with the new song he’s still writing for her. Of course that’s the song they want, and they hustle him into a recording session with an engineer to lay down a single. On the way back, Best Friend calls and asks if she can stay with him and his parents long enough to graduate high school with her friends, and as their flights land within a couple hours of each other in Sioux Falls, they plan to drive home together. Fred and Aja get there first, and he has to intimidate the dad away from the airport before his friend gets there. Only that can’t work for the whole state: he’s waiting for them to drive out of the parking lot, and attempts to run them off the road to take back his little girl.

Did I mention that it’s winter in South Dakota? The interstate is a sheet of ice, and these assholes are playing chicken at 100 mph. Of course they wreck the cars, and the kids get off with minor bumps and bruises. The dad isn’t so lucky:  his car has overturned and trapped him inside. Now the best friend is upset with him, but she’s not a sociopath and he’s still her dad, so they work to pry him out of the car before it explodes. But the way he’s bleeding and choking, he’s probably going to die anyway, so she wants Aja to heal him. And this is Fred’s great test of faith: do I argue against this and risk losing my best friend, or do I go along and risk losing my girlfriend? He finally agrees to let her listen to the Big Person.

Of course Aja collapses immediately upon laying hands on the molester. But by the time emergency response gets to the accident, he’s feeling better and Aja is fading fast. She can now finally tell Fred about her childhood, her past, which she has long avoided. It turns out that her dad was a drug dealer who stole from his bosses, and as punishment they sent three strongarms to kill the whole family. Only when they murdered Aja’s mother, her soul fled her body, leaving a gap for connection to the Big Person. The female enforcer sensed this and took the kid and ran ... and this female enforcer ended up being Racist Principal’s baby momma. No, I don’t know how it works, get your own globe. 

But now she’s given her all to Molester Dad and is on her way out. Still, her reason for coming to South Dakota was a good one: love. She knew that Fred needed her, and she knew that he would benefit from the connection she might provide to the Big Person. And even though her time was fated to be short, she feels happy that she completed her mission of love, and trusts that Fred will continue to spread the message. One last kiss, and she’s gone.

They end up at a hospital, and of course they want to do an autopsy on Aja to see why she died so suddenly and unexpectedly. The valet is firmly against it, and manages to get custody of the body and take it home, where he and Fred say one last goodbye before he lights the shit on fire. It’s a good thing she already filled out a will, that gave all her money to Fred, and that the lawyer has a copy of it!

There’s a long-ass epilogue that talks about what happened to everyone. The best friend has kids of her own and almost never talks to her dad, the two other band members founded a holistic medicine company in San Francisco and got married but to other people, and Fred himself was never able to leverage his meeting and audition into his own performing career but now writes hit songs for other people. But I guess none of them are about Aja, because now he had to write a book about it? And it’s done! The end!

See what I mean? This shit has been done before, almost beat for beat, and by the SAME AUTHOR. Now I’m not averse to reading a book again (cf. this whole goddamn project), but at least I’m going into the book knowing it is what it is. I’m not expecting to see something that is labeled a new work that actually retells a previous story that I literally just read. Maybe James Patterson can get away with that, but I don’t read his books either. 

At any rate, this post is finally done. I have this monkey off my back, and maybe now I can reflect and give some closure on the whole project. But I’ll save that for another post.

The Lord Rejoices: Chapter 17

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Ao3 link if you’re into that kind of thing

~Updates every Sunday~

During Temple Gate’s founding years, Marta nears womanhood and wonders of God’s plan for her.

*This chapter goes out to my friend, @billy-hoepe! She knows exactly why.*

Chapter 17:

For the first time in weeks, Marta didn’t hear her name amidst whispers when she journeyed into town. Instead they spoke of Otis as they made their way to the chapel.

All dressed head to toe in black. Women dabbed tears from the corners of their eyes while the men shook their heads and muttered “what a shame” as they walked through the entranceway. They whispered curses towards Otis and blessings to each other.

Knoth matched their melancholy in his darkest and plainest robes. He stood beside a tiny coffin, not much larger than a newborn’s cradle. The fetus lay nestled in the cushions lining the wooden box.

On the other side, Otis sat on his knees, chained and gagged with a cloth. His head hung low to avoid the testament’s unwavering glares and muttered curses. Only occasionally he glanced up at Paige and Seth sitting in the front pew. If he stared too long, Knoth would shoot a glare that made him look back down.

Marta sat in one of the pews furthest back, near Otis’s parents. They whispered accusations at each other until Knoth asked that the congregation rise for the opening hymnal.

The people sang more quietly than usual, struggling through their tears. They muttered their amens as Knoth recited the opening rites until reaching the invocation.

“Our Loving, Eternal, Heavenly Father, as we meet this morning to grieve this fallen child, we ask You to be to us the God of all comfort, and the God of all grace. Give us perspective as we face the reality of death, to grow in our knowing of the truths of life. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

“Amen.”

“Children…” Knoth’s voice lacked its usual booming quality. “There is no greater tragedy than one taken before their time. Especially when that life is one of our own. Today, we are gathered here so that we may see this child off to Paradise everlasting, where it may enter God’s embrace.”

One of the women in the crowd cried. Knoth stepped down to meet her. Though her husband sat beside her, Knoth took her hands. “But weep not for this child. For there is no grief in guaranteed entrance to Heaven. Our tears are shed out of our own loss and self-pity, but take comfort in knowing that this child shall know no pain. Let us exalt our Lord and His awesome mercy. May we all aspire to be welcomed into His kingdom as this little child, whose faith is most perfect.” He released the woman then and returned to the pulpit.

“I now ask that the mother come forward with a eulogy she has prepared.” He stepped aside for Paige to take her place before the congregation.

She cleared her throat before speaking. “I come before you today with a heavy heart.” A sob escaped her, though a black veil hid her face. “For I have been robbed a woman’s greatest honor. I entered marriage in the hopes of bearing my husband many fine children. That is what makes this all the harder to endure.” She seemed to fight back tears. “I weep for the child I should have born and seen grow among my people. Some nights I plead with God for understanding of why I must go through this trial, but I know I must trust in Him that all is according to His grand design. Now is the time that I must hold to my faith and carry on, as we all must, no matter how hard. I only ask that you keep me and my husband in your prayers during this difficult time.”

Murmurs erupted in the crowd as Paige took her seat.

Knoth, however, smiled as he spoke above them. “Now, children, she’s right. For none is so in need of prayer as the lamb led astray.” He placed a hand on Otis’s head, gripping a handful of hair when he tried to wriggle from his hold. “For the demon of envy has planted itself inside him and blackened his heart. Such is what drove him to commit the greatest sin of all in the night. That which is punishable by the pit!” He paused as the testament muttered in agreement. “But I believe he can be saved yet! For Satan has infected his soul, but if the demon can be purged...perhaps God’s light can reach him. For God turned none away who sought him, neither whore nor murderer nor rapist, and we must strive to be like Him! So pray for this wayward soul! May we prove through him that there is no opposition that cannot be overcome in the Lord’s good graces!”

As the crowd cheered, Knoth knelt down to speak on Otis’s level. “Your redemption begins now, my child. Lead us in prayer for this life you have stolen,” he said before he removed the cloth.

Rather than speak, Otis spat in Knoth’s face. He glared, even when Knoth went red.

When Knoth raised his hand to smack him, Seth cried out. He escaped Paige’s hold to run between them. He punched and kicked at Knoth, face red with fury. “Stop it! Otis din’t do nothin’!”

Knoth snatched one of Seth’s wrists to stop an incoming punch.

“Let go! That hurts!” Seth attempted to wring free, but Knoth tightened his hold.

When he didn’t let go, Seth bit down, Knoth threw him aside with enough force to send him reeling. He crashed into the pulpit with a loud thump as Knoth observed the beads of blood on his hand.

“Seth, that’s enough!” Otis snapped. “Sit back down!”

But Seth shot back up and ran towards Knoth. He ran as fast as he could with balled fists, but before he could strike again, strong arms scooped him up.

Upon looking up, Otis saw his own father glaring him down. Seth thrashed uselessly in his hold and his cries went unanswered.

“Dad, please…” Otis’s eyes watered.

But he shook his head as he walked off with Seth in tow.

Tears streamed down Otis’s cheeks as he watched his father’s back. Seth never stopped kicking and flailing.

“Now, now, there’s no need to cry.” Knoth came down to Otis’s level and wiped his tears with the ends of his sleeves. When Otis tried to look away, Knoth roughly grabbed his chin, though he maintained his kind tone. “Salvation is nothing to fear. I’m here to help if you would just let me. For there are times when God must chastise His children in order to correct them on the path of righteousness. The road may be trying, but the rewards shall be great. I only need you to accept my guiding hand and you shall know salvation.”

“Whatever you say,” Otis barely spoke above a whisper.

“Can you speak a little louder? I couldn’t hear you.”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Otis replied, “Yes, Papa…”

“Good. Now, I ask again that you lead us in prayer for this life you’ve slain.”

Otis bowed his head. “Our Father who art in Heaven, I ask that you welcome this life into Your Kingdom. For it is returned to You pure and without sin. I only ask that You forgive me of my own. Amen.”

“Amen.”

When the service ended, most people departed, but Marta remained.

At first Marta pretended not to notice Paige, but she eventually came too close to avoid a greeting. “Good day, Paige.”

“Good day, Marta.” She had removed her veil, showing dry eyes. “May I have a word with you?”

“Certainly,” Marta replied, though her heart skipped a beat.

They went to an empty side yard. Paige spoke first. “You know this is wrong.”

“So is lying.”

“That doesn’t give Knoth the right to treat him like that!” Paige’s hands clenched into little fists.

“Then you should come forward with the truth. Nothing is stopping you and it shall set your conscience at ease.”

“But at what cost?” Paige challenged. “You and I both know I would suffer doubly at Knoth’s hands.”

Marta sighed heavily. “Nonetheless, Otis made his choice and must face the consequences.”

“Not like this.” Paige continued after a pause, “I don’t want to ask anything that would get you in trouble too. I only go to you because I know that you can help him better than I could.”

Marta shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it is out of my hands now.”

“No, it isn’t.” Paige’s jaw clenched. “How can you say that before you’ve even tried?”

“Because this is not my sin to answer for.”

“But you’re the reason he’s in there! The moment you told, you made yourself as much a part of this as us. Whether you like it or not, you’re responsible and you should do something about it. If you could just talk to Knoth, even if only to treat Otis a little kinder…”

“You speak as if I control the prophet’s thoughts.”

“Then forget the prophet!”

Marta gasped, covering her mouth. “Paige, that…”

“Think not on the prophet, but what God would ask of you, without Knoth’s words in your mind.”

“But the prophet’s word is His word.”

Paige was quiet for a long time before speaking. “Then why are you acting the role of Joseph’s brothers who sold him to slavery and deprivation for their human pettiness?”

Marta tensed, her shoulders hunched. “You forget that it was in deprivation that Joseph’s faith was most pure.” She stormed off before Paige could respond.

Mischief, Magic, and Mates

Derek/Stiles, 7k, G, AO3

Summary:  Stiles has always been curious about everything he encountered, always on the search for answers about how things worked and why they worked the way they did. The mating runs which take place in Beacon Hills every spring are no exception, but it took some time before he figured out that there's magic involved.

He doesn't want to find a mate for himself, not after he saw what the loss of one does to a person. He just wants to know how it all works.

Sometimes, when you take things apart and put them back together, some pieces are left behind.

A/N: This is. my story for the @sterekreversebang 2018, inspired by the awesome art from the lovely @classy2shoes :D (check it out HERE)  

-=-=-=-=-

The mating runs take place every year, on the eve of spring. Each time, volunteers old enough for starting a settled relationship sign up for the run in the hopes of finding their perfect partner.

Most of the pairs — and sometimes triads — which were matched during a run have proven to be stable and compatible, not only due to the effort that they put into finding each other in the woods but also due to scent markers that led them together.

Not everyone believed in the power of the mating runs. And some of those who did believe did think that there was something unnatural about the matches, something that defied free will. So a lot of eligible single people simply did not volunteer and some regarded those who did sign up with sneers of superiority.

Then there were those who just found it amusing.

Mieczyslaw ‘Stiles’ Stilinski is one of those people. He’s been watching the mating runs ever since he was aware of them happening. At first, finding his perfect mate was the dream, the ideal. But with time and because of circumstances beyond his control, he lost faith in the forces that helped make the matches.

As he grew older, he found that there was no science behind it, that it wasn’t chance. He knows the matches are really special because there is magic making them so. He knows because he is magic.

The spark didn’t manifest until he was sixteen, five years after he lost his Mom to a tragic illness — one that he attributed to magic once he found out he got it from her — and a few years after his father had been elected Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Stiles’s parents were a Match made during a mating run, something Stiles’s father likes to point out whenever Stiles goes on a rant about free will and forced happiness.

“Yeah, and look how that ended up,” Stiles always mutters to himself these days.

He used to say it out loud, but he learned that upsetting his father wasn’t in anyone’s best interest. Not if Stiles wants to keep him out of the whiskey barrels and living a long and healthy life.

That is part of why Stiles is not a fan of the mating runs. Why he doesn’t want to run. Why he doesn’t want to find his mate.

Because what is the point of finding them if they’re just going to die anyway? Or if he dies young? He wouldn’t want to make anyone suffer the way his father did, not if he can prevent it.

For years he kept his distance from the runs and never bothered signing up at all. He watched his best friend find his mates, saw his crush walk out of the forest after a mating run, hand in hand with his worst enemy at the time.

That one was the breaking point for Stiles. Because if someone can find a new mate after they've lost their first one, then is the magic around it as strong as everyone says at all? Does it matter whether one finds their partner during the run or at a completely different time?

For Stiles, the answer was a strong "no". He wasn't going to volunteer for the run, wasn't going to take it seriously. He would stay as far away as possible and ignore everyone who would try and convince him otherwise. He also decided to learn as much as he possibly could about the magic that was involved in the runs and in helping the connections along.

"Ah, so you've finally chosen to get your proper training after all," Deaton, the local druid stated when Stiles walked into his office — at a veterinary hospital, of all places — and asked about the mating runs' magic.

"Not really," Stiles said, shrugging a shoulder. "I just want to know about the mating magic."

"Ah, I see."

Deaton turned to a stack of papers on his desk and remained silent.

"So, can you help me?" Stiles asked after a while when the silence lingered longer than he could handle.

"I could," Deaton said, not looking up. "But it's quite advanced, and without you understanding the core of your own Spark, I don't believe you could grasp the intricacies of anything more complicated."

"I could look it up on the internet," Stiles told him.

"And you'd find misinformation, rumors, and potentially answers that might lead you down a dangerous path," Deaton said. "Though I think the latter would be intriguing rather than a deterrent to you."

"Glad we understand each other," Stiles told him.

"We very much don't," Deaton said, finally pausing what he was working on. "I can help you learn about the mating run magic. I will do so on the condition that you go through the full training to develop your Spark to what I believe can be a full strength of a Mage."

Stiles thought about it. As much as he didn't want to dive into the world of magic, especially with Deaton — he had a habit of not answering questions clearly — it was a better option than trying to find the information alone. The internet was a good place to start, but having someone to parse through what he found and tell him what's true and what's fiction would be nice.

"Fine," Stiles said eventually, to Deaton's obvious satisfaction.

-=-=-=-=-

He's three years into his training when he wanders into the woods where the mating runs take place for the first time. It's on the eve of Christmas and it's really only to escape everyone else. Scott's family is starting to grow, Allison expecting her first child and both Scott and Isaac are in protective fathers-to-be mode that Stiles can't deal with.

His usual hiding place — his own home — is not available because his dad and Melissa are preparing for their wedding. Not that Stiles minds, it's something he's been looking forward to. But it does cut into his alone time which he has gotten used to over the years when his father was raising him alone on a schedule that was far from steady and predictable.

So he ends up in the woods. The Beacon Hills Preserve. The piece of forest that is empty of all civilization and of any houses or even well-maintained trails. The space that only ever gets used one time each year, for the mating run that tends to take over the town every April.

Thinking about the timing of the run as he walks through the growth beneath the tall and slightly menacing-looking trees, Stiles wonders if the month of the run contributed to his dislike of the whole ceremony and event. Because that's his birthday month, and while he didn't see any difference while his mom was still alive, he certainly did after. As a law enforcement officer — even before he was elected Sheriff — Stiles's father was almost always involved in the organization, leaving Stiles to celebrate his birthday weeks after the actual day.

It's that first walk through the Preserve that gives him the idea.

Unlike any of the other years, Stiles keeps track of the preparations for the mating run, notes the deadlines for volunteering and continues his Mage training.

"Seriously?" Scott asks him when Stiles mentions that he might run in the upcoming one.

"I didn't say I was going to put in an effort," Stiles says. "But hey, I might try."

Scott looks at him with suspicion, but then gets pulled away by an Allison-related emergency, much to Stiles's relief. That doesn't last long though, and Scott eventually does get around to asking whether Stiles is planning on interfering with the run and ruining the potential of people who will participate to find their mates.

"I wouldn't," Stiles protests weakly.

Because the moment Scott mentioned it, Stiles's mind immediately jumped to ways that the magic involved could be bent in and out of the shape that it's meant to be. But while Stiles is mischievous, he's not actively interested in ruining anyone's life. Unless they deserve it.

He’s not going to go in and destroy someone else’s dream. But he’s already considering how he can mess with anyone who would be looking for a mate and consider chasing after him. There are things in the books that Deaton has deemed suitable for Stiles to read that discuss the various ways that Mages were able to, in the past, modify their own scent markers and bend the mating magic to do what they wanted. Of course, most of them were doing it to make sure that the person they've chosen without the adjustments and influence on the magic would be the one they ended up with after the run. Stiles's aim is different.

More and more, he finds himself walking into the forest and exploring its nooks and crannies, snooping around all the areas that the run normally covers. It's not a small area, so it takes him several months of visits there before he's almost certain that he's got it all figured out. Then he sets off on a mission to develop a spell that will do what he needs it to.

"Mr. Stilinski, this is not the work I've asked you to do," Deaton says when he finds Stiles at a table filled with jewelry-making tools one day, several months before the next run.

"The potion is over there," Stiles says, waving his hand at a table nearby, never looking up from what he's working on.

"You're making an amulet, I see," Deaton comments when he walks closer to look at what Stiles is doing. "That's quite a smart move. It should enhance your spells."

Stiles nods because that was his aim and reason for choosing to fiddle with silver and gems, trying to mold the silver into the shape he needs.

"I'd suggest adding a dash of this," Deaton says and hands Stiles a vial of clear liquid. "It's a variant of mountain ash and has proven to have various magic-enhancing qualities."

"It's not going to like, make me into a magical lightning rod, is it?" Stiles asks, looking at the vial with suspicion.

"Not quite. That would require a Nemeton."

"I thought you said there was one of those in the Preserve," Stiles tells him, attention now completely off the jewelry piece he's been working on.

"There is. It is, however, dormant."

"Is that... good?"

"At the moment, yes," Deaton says, turning to the potion Stiles has made earlier. "This is rather good," he tells Stiles when he smells the potion.

"But it could do with some improvement?"

"Of course," Deaton says.

Then he walks out and leaves Stiles to his ministrations with the silver that's not behaving the way Stiles would want it to.

Several weeks later, Stiles has managed to finish the earring, molded it the way it needed to be, the topaz surrounded by a silver circle fitting nicely, resting right on his earlobe when he puts it on. He can't see it unless he's looking in the mirror, which he figures is just as well because the way it reflects light would be distracting otherwise.

He wanders into the woods again after that, this time with the earring helping his focus. The first few spells he casts are testing ones — simple things to make the greenery grow, one or two to heal some trees that have been attacked by rot or insects. It's not until he tries to cast one that he needs to practice for the mating run that something starts feeling off. He's not sure whether it's because of the spell or if something has changed in the forest, but the woods feel different.

"Are you sure?" Scott asks when Stiles tells him about the weird feeling of being watched that he had on one of his trips into the Preserve. "Maybe Deaton knows what he's up to and he's following you to make sure you don't hurt someone. Or something. Or yourself."

"I feel the love, Scotty," Stiles grumbles. "But no, it doesn't feel like when he's watching me."

"It's a little unsettling that you know how that feels," Scott says.

"For all that I wouldn't trust him with my life, he returns the sentiment right back," Stiles says, a smirk playing on his lips. "I've come to know how it feels when he's trying to be particularly sneaky about it."

"To be fair, you do go behind his back a lot with the things you do," Scott points out.

"Yeah yeah, whatever."

"But hey, if there's something in the forest and you're sure that it's not Deaton, maybe you should mention it to him?" Scott looks at Stiles, who's already shaking his head. "Just a thought."

"Then I'd have to tell him just how many times I've been there without telling anyone."

Scott gives him a look that's so pointed that Stiles almost considers going to Deaton with his minor concern. But in the end, he decides that it's not a big deal and that it's probably his imagination running a little wilder than usual.

For a few weeks after that, his attention is taken up by winter holidays and everything that surrounded the chaos that usually came with not only Christmas but also New Year celebrations. He doesn't have any chances to sneak out into the forest, but there's an unease that follows him around. Like he should be in the Preserve, should look for something. Or maybe someone. The feeling hits him extra hard on Christmas Day, but he's so tied up with his family and with studies for Deaton that he doesn't get out of the house at all.

The next thing he knows, it's January and the mating run is only two months away. Stiles isn't sure if he knows everything he needs to, debates whether he should put off volunteering for the run for another year. But then Scott mentions off-handedly that no one they know or are close with is running this year. And that's what convinces Stiles that it's the best time to test his theories and the magic he's managed to learn.

Not that he tells anyone that he's going to run until the night before he absolutely has to.

"You're doing what?"

The way that Scott,  John, and Melissa all ask at the exact same time is almost eerie. Allison and Isaac are watching from across the room, Allison with a curious frown, Isaac with an amused smile like he knows that Stiles is up to something he shouldn't be up to. Which, to be fair, is Stiles's usual mode anyway, so it's a good guess on Isaac's part.

They're all gathered for dinner the night before the mating run as every year since John will leave before everyone else in the morning to set up at the Preserve, assuming his duties as Sheriff for at least some portion of the run's duration. Because those duties always keep him away from home for at least a few days, depending on how long the run carries on — the record is a full month — Melissa came up with the idea of a family dinner the night before.

Stiles probably could have timed his decision to announce that he's running this year just a little bit better.

"I've decided to give it a try," he says, shrugging like it's not a big deal.

John narrows his eyes at Stiles with suspicion, like he's in half a mind to tell Stiles he can't. Which would be pointless, because Stiles is an adult and he submitted his volunteer paperwork on time.

Fortunately for Stiles, that’s the moment when the oven announces that dinner is ready to be served. He rushes out of the dining room and into the kitchen under the guise of helping out Melissa with the food. It’s avoidance, but he’s not up for questioning and interrogation from his dad, not when John has years of training at it professionally and knows Stiles’s weak spots like the back of his hand.

What he’s not counting on is Melissa.

“Stiles, kiddo,” she starts right as he has his hands full with a tray of steaming chicken casserole and can’t just drop it and run. “Are you sure about this?”

She’s gentle, concerned, and for a second Stiles wonders if this is how his mom would’ve been before his first mating run. To Melissa, he just nods.

“You were so against it,” she continues while they putter around the kitchen and gather all the dishes on the counter. “What made you change your mind?”

It’s not a question that feels as intrusive or accusatory as his dad’s would’ve been, so it catches Stiles off-guard and he blurts the first answer that comes to his mind.

“The magic, actually. I always knew it was involved, obviously, but then I studied so much about it that it made me curious.”

“Ah.”

Melissa doesn’t say anything else. She finishes the salad she’s been making and then grabs the bowl and heads for the dining room. Before she walks through the door, still out of earshot of Scott and John, she turns around and looks at Stiles. Her face is filled with a mix of fondness and worry that Stiles tends to refer to as The Parent Face. It tends to come with a hint of exasperation from both Melissa and John.

“Be careful out there, kid, okay?”

Stiles nods and she walks into the dining room. There are immediate sounds of protest about the salad that Melissa is carrying, which makes Stiles chuckle. He grabs the casserole dish and follows her, laughing at the sigh of relief from both John and Scott when they see that they’ll get more to eat than veggies.

Luckily for him, no one at the table returns to the conversation of the run again. At least not until after, when Scott, Ally, and Isaac have left the house and Melissa heads out to her shift at the hospital. That's when John pulls Stiles into the kitchen under the guise of doing the dishes. At first, that's what they do, but Stiles knows that the peace and quiet won't last for too long. So it's not a surprise when John looks at him with curiosity and concern as they are finishing up putting everything away.  

"Are you sure, son?" John's frown doesn't disappear as he faces Stiles, the question quiet and there's worry in his voice.

"I am," Stiles says, realizing that it's the truth.

His reasons may be suspect, but he does want to do this. He spent so much time studying all the magic behind the mate bonds, so much time trying to figure out what it was that pulled those who were more compatible towards each other. And yet he doesn't know why or how it is happening, what specific type of magic is at play. Going into the forest during the mating run seems like the best way to figure it all out, to get the answers he craves.

He's not — not that he's going to tell that to his father, whose eyes are bright with hope — expecting to find someone for himself during the run. If anything, he's planning on actively avoiding anyone who'd show genuine signs of interest in him. Despite having learned some of how the magic works, he's still not willing to risk hurting anyone the way he'd seen people hurt in the past. The same way, he's not willing to throw himself into something that might end up hurting him in the end.

"Just please don't do something stupid in there, okay?" John asks gently, putting his hand on Stiles's shoulder. "I don't know if it's a mate you're looking for, or if it's just knowledge, but please be careful."

"I will, Dad," Stiles says with all the sincerity he can muster.

John sighs, but he doesn't pry anymore. Stiles realizes that his dad has more than just an inkling that Stiles's motives aren't the same as every other volunteer's. Why he doesn't question those motives further and why he lets it go like he doesn't suspect Stiles of having plans that are going to disrupt the run, Stiles doesn't know and he doesn't ask.

After all, he doesn't plan to ruin anyone's chances of finding a mate other than his own. And that doesn't matter since he hasn't wanted that chance in a long time.

John leaves him alone after a short while and Stiles heads out into the garage apartment he's living in while he finishes his training with Deaton. There, he goes through the spells and mini-rituals he'll need to perform in the morning and he looks through the notes he took in preparation for the run one last time.

He doesn't sleep well, the anticipation of the run — even when he's not taking its traditional reasons seriously — makes him wake up way too early after several false starts at falling asleep in the first place. Stiles is glad though because he gets to perform his rituals at dawn, with the sun rising as he chants the words to enhance his focus, to dampen his natural scent, to boost his agility. The last one, in particular, he only added as an afterthought, but he's now — as he trips on the corner of his bed — glad he did.

When he finally gets to the kitchen in the main house, Melissa and John are long gone. Stiles makes himself a sandwich and sips his coffee in peace, but his mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and questions as he muses over his plans for the day. Being in his mind this way always brings up thoughts he's not expecting and today is no different. While he's thinking about the forest and recalling the paths he discovered when he was out there to explore, he's struck with the memory of the one time when it felt like he wasn't alone in the woods. The time when his senses were on alert as if he was being followed.

Stiles wonders for a moment if he should've asked Deaton about it, but then his reminder for the run's start goes off. He scrambles to get out of the house and doesn't think about it anymore.

"Mr. Stilinski," Deaton says when Stiles tumbles out of his Jeep at the edge of the Preserve. "You're unexpectedly early."

"It happens," Stiles quips, but he knows it doesn't happen a lot.

Deaton looks at him with a mix of suspicion and amusement. "I was surprised to see your name on the list."

"Well, I figured that since I'm studying the magic of the run," Stiles explains, trying to sound nonchalant, "I might as well experience it in its full glory."

He only gets a hum in response. One that — even after the years working with Deaton — he can't translate into a regular language to determine if it's approval, suspicion, or disappointment. But Stiles isn't relying on anyone's approval of his plan, he knows that he's doing this, that he's walking into that forest and finding out how it all works.

"Perhaps," Deaton says after a while, as the cars with other participants of the run begin pulling up into the clearing they're in, "it will stop scaring you as much as it does once you understand it."

Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it quickly again because they're not alone anymore and he's not up for debating this with an audience present. Instead, he watches as the others gather around Deaton. He spots his dad's cruiser as more cars pull up, but he only nods in John's direction subtly, not wanting to disclose his relationship with him. Some of the people who are here to run do know Stiles, but there are a few outsiders, people who obviously came from other towns in the county, unfamiliar faces whom Stiles never saw before.

The ones who are local seem to be already paired up. Stiles observes everyone and notices the subtle gestures that give it away — the looks, the aborted movements as they try to not overtly touch each other. For them, the run is a confirmation of what they already know. For the others, it's a search. Stiles, knowing that he's about to make this run different than any of the others, is glad that no one from Beacon Hills is on a genuine mission to find their mate. Especially that no one close to him, no one he knows well, is here.

Then Deaton speaks up, recites the guidelines — no violence, no interfering with others, no traps, no magic — and then they're all off, some walking, others jogging past the arch bearing the sign of The Beacon Hills Preserve.

Stiles doesn't rush. He lets everyone else head in while he strolls leisurely up the main path. Only a few dozen steps into the woods, he turns off into what looks like bushes but has a small path behind it. He's at an advantage a little, knowing the woods the way he does. The spells he cast and the rituals he performed aren't there to confuse the scents or to enhance them, but they allow him to move around the forest quieter and to hear and sense the others better.

It doesn't mean he's completely quiet though. No magic has yet been discovered that would entirely counteract his natural clumsiness, especially when confronted with the uneven surface of the forest ground. But he's not as noisy as he tends to be on any other day.

Still feels weird, he thinks as he advances through the trees, heading for what he knows is a thicker part of the woods, one that will give him more cover and a better view once he climbs up.

The thought comes to him when the feeling of being watched returns, like that one time that he mentioned to Scott. He knows that it's none of the other people participating in the run — they've all gone in a different direction — nor is it Deaton of John supervising the run. All those are louder, Stiles knows he would hear their steps and possibly even their breathing the further up the hill he goes. This is different.

He tries to shake that feeling off as he nears the trees he scouted out before, the one he chose as his vantage point. After all, his main aim for this run is to observe. His earring seems to be buzzing with the combination of its own magic, the spells Stiles cast that morning, and the forest's innate power. Once he's up in the tree, settled in on a thick branch, Stiles mutters the final incantation under his breath, the one that allows his mind to reach out through the trees and the growth to the people around the woods.

It's strange to feel the bonds forming. it's like they were already there, but the forest's power flows into them and makes them stronger. Like it's adding strands to a rope that was always there, twisting it and pulling it tighter until it's strong. He feels a jolt every time a pair — and one triad that makes Stiles think of Scott, Isaac, and Allison — touch hands and the bond between them locks into place.

He can feel the pull of strings that the people at each end didn't know about. Then the jolt again when the people meet in the forest for the first time. He can sense the joy, the curiosity, the content in the matches who walked into the forest with their mates, the satisfaction of those who didn't but found someone in there.

Then something happens that he didn't anticipate. The remaining participant of the run — the ones with bonds extending outside of the forest and thus not likely to meet someone today — veer towards where Stiles is sitting like a magnet is pulling them there. But it sends them on a wild chase around the woods, up and down hills, through a stream and into a cave. Al the while, Stiles senses something else in the woods, something that seems like it’s trying to intimidate the runners. Something that gives him the same sense of being watched that he felt before.

The topaz in his earring feels warm, hot to the touch when Stiles reaches up to touch it. Then, just as he's about to climb back down and get out of the forest before something goes wrong, the figures start appearing in the clearing underneath him. One by one, they dash in and then fall at the feet of the tree Stiles is sitting in, all of them seemingly exhausted. Stiles stays quiet in the tree and they don't seem to be paying him any attention. It's like they've run to a finish line and dropped down to rest after crossing it. It makes no sense, it doesn't fit with anything that Stiles knows about the run. Normally, when it's become clear that someone won't find their mate — which is usually hours, sometimes days after the start of the run, though the latter is rare — they simply return to the entrance to the Preserve and leave.

He's still wondering about the magic that made this happen — the people on the ground below his feet now all seem to have fallen asleep — when he hears a crack from the woods, like someone deliberately stepped on a branch to announce their presence. Stiles glances in the direction of the sound and narrows his eyes.

it should be unnerving. It should shock him, maybe enough for him to lose his balance and fall down from the branch he's on.

But when the black wolf strolls into the clearing beneath Stiles, there's only curiosity at first. Then, when he's made sure that he's not imagining things, Stiles feels something else.

He was so focused on the others' connections, so used to ignoring his own, that it feels foreign now. It feels almost unsettling to feel it twist and turn, tighten as new strings make it thicker and stronger. And then he can see it. It's only for a fraction of a moment, but he sees the strings come together and twist into one rope, a red string and a bright blue one both glowing as they twine between the plain ones. He can see it from about an inch away from his wrist and sees it extend towards the wolf on the ground below.

The wolf that's now looking up at Stiles with eyes that seem entirely too knowing to be anything other than human. Then the wolf glances around the clearing at the people sleeping on the ground. When he looks up at Stiles again, he begins to change. It's the eyes first, human ones looking odd against the black fur around them, then the face and ears. As the wolf shifts from four legs to two, Stiles is torn between surprise, curiosity, and wonder.

He doesn't get a chance to move or speak, because just as the wolf's transformation completes, the bushes at the other end of the clearing part and Deaton walks in.

"Mr. Hale," he says quietly, with a surprised but pleased expression. "Welcome back."

The man — naked, Stiles thinks — nods at Deaton, but his eyes turn back to Stiles almost immediately. They're green now, Stiles can see that even from a distance, and they're looking at him with the same curiosity that Stiles feels. There's also expectation, the man's face shadowed with what looks like fear. Why he would be afraid, Stiles doesn't know.

He doesn't jump down from the tree yet, feeling a little unsteady as his mind processes the information that it's observing.

"You didn't tell me there were werewolves in Beacon Hills," he finally blurts in Deaton's direction.

"It wasn't necessary information," Deaton tells him. "Now would you please get down off that tree, Mr. Stilinski?"

Stiles jumps down — almost falls over as he realizes that he misjudged the distance and almost landed on top of someone — and then looks at Deaton with disbelief.

"Okay, how is 'werewolves in Beacon Hills' not necessary information?"

Deaton shrugs his shoulders.

"There were none, at least as far as I was aware," he says, looking at the werewolf.

Hale, Stiles thinks. Still naked, his brain adds, unhelpfully. He knows the name, he remembers the family who used to live in Beacon Hills and whose house burned down in the fire a few years—

Stiles's mind screeches to a halt as the pieces fall together.

"Wait, Derek?"

He stares at the man's — Derek's — face, his mouth open as he tries to process the information. Because now that he figured it out, he can see the resemblance to the guy whose sister used to be in Stiles's year before the fire. The one who played basketball and always seemed too cool for anyone else.

"Stiles."

"Ah, I see you two know each other," Deaton says. "That should make things easier."

"Well, not really," Stiles immediately replies, because while he's familiar with Derek's face and name, that's about all he knows of him.

They were never close, never talked, Stiles wasn't even close with Derek's sister Cora, who was on the list of those who didn't make it out of the Hale house when it burned down. That memory stings even though he didn't know the family, but it was a big deal in town. And afterward, the only survivors of the fire left town. Derek and his older sister Laura, plus their uncle who was badly hurt by the flames.

"What's going to be easier?" Stiles asks when the rest of Deaton's words register in his mind.

Deaton looks pointedly at Derek and then back at Stiles, but doesn't say a word. Stiles stares and then remembers. The bond.

"Oh. Oh no," he says quietly.

Derek, on the other hand, is looking at Stiles like he's trying to figure him out. Which can only be explained by the fact that he was out of town for years, because anyone who has been around knows better than to try. Including Stiles himself.

"I wasn't here to... I mean, I wasn't planning to... I didn't...." Stiles groans as the words aren't coming out right, no matter how much he tries to convey that finding someone wasn't his plan, wasn't something he wanted, wasn't something he was interested in.

"You two can get to know each other first," Deaton says. "I suggest you do it in a place where Mr. Hale can acquire some clothing. Congratulations on mastering the full shift, by the way."

Derek grunts in response and then he turns and starts walking towards the bushes he walked out of. Stiles doesn't wait for an invitation, figuring that he's not going to get one anyway, and he sets off after him.

"Wait," he shouts as he tries to keep up. "What does Deaton mean full shift? Are there other shifts you can do? Have you been a werewolf all your life? Because that explains so much, really, from all those years ago. Is your sister back too? Are you back for good or only for now? Why were you in the forest during the mating run? How long have you been back? And was that you watching me today?"

Derek doesn't stop until he reaches a dirt road and a sleek black Camaro that's parked there. Stiles, now almost completely out of breath, stops and leans against a nearby tree, trying to catch his breath. He does not watch Derek move as he pulls on a Henley and some jeans. He very much does not think about how Derek's not bothering with underwear.

"Yes. We have a Beta shift which is only partial. Born this way. Laura is not here. I don't know. I don't know. A few months. And yes. How did you know I was watching you?" Derek rattles off and it takes Stiles a moment to connect the answers to the questions.

"I could feel it. It's probably the ritual that made my senses more focused," Stiles says, his hand moving up to his talisman earring.

"You're a Mage," Derek says flatly, leaning against the hood of his car.

"Spark. In training."

"I didn't think you were allowed to use magic in there," Derek nods towards the forest. "Not during the run."

Stiles feels the heat rise in his cheeks and he's pretty sure his blush is visible from space.

"Well, not really," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wasn't in there for the traditional reason. It was... an experiment."

"An experiment. During a mating run."

"I wanted to know how the magic works," Stiles says, shrugging.

"Did you find out?"

"Nope. You showed up. I have a feeling that's something that I couldn't have planned for."

Derek looks at him with a blank expression. It unnerves Stiles because he's used to being able to read people. With the obvious exception of Deaton, but even he has times when Stiles can read into the minute changes in his face.

"I wasn't going to...." Derek starts. "I'm not here to find someone," he says, after a beat.

"Funny that, me either," Stiles tells him. "It's not like the bond is a shackle," he adds with a shrug. "You can walk away. I would, but I actually live in town, so I wouldn't go far. I mean, I'm guessing you moved somewhere a lot further away. And regardless of you being here now, I guess you're not staying? I can't blame you, I wouldn't either. If I could leave, I would too."

Derek's face changes from its blankness to what looks like amusement to Stiles. Of course, it could also be anything else, it's not like he has a Derek dictionary.

"I see you still talk as much as you used to," he says, completely throwing Stiles for a loop. "I would've expected you to grow out of it."

"Yeah, Dad hoped I would too," Stiles says, then pauses and narrows his eyes at Derek. "Wait, you remember me?"

"Hard not to. You were always the most noticeable whenever I was picking up Cora after school."

There's a hint of sadness in Derek's voice. Just enough that Stiles wants to kick himself for bringing up the past. For being a reminder of it, though there's not much he can do about that.

"Loud and obnoxious," he says instead. "I've heard that one before."

Derek shrugs.

"So, what now?" Stiles asks him.

"Get in," Derek says after a beat, nodding towards his car. "I'll drive you out."

"You're not going to like, drop me off deeper in the forest or anything?" Stiles asks, but he's already walking around to get in the Camaro. "Because I know this part of the Preserve, but I'd kind of like to get home at some point."

"I know."

"Wait, so how long exactly have you been back in Beacon Hills? And how many times have you followed me in the woods?"

"Enough. You shouldn't walk around here alone."

"Why? Will I be eaten by the big bad wolf?" Stiles asks, grinning.

"Maybe," Derek says.

And there's a definite spark in his eyes and a smile tugging on his lips. And holy shit, Stiles thinks, that's flirting. That's something that Stiles wasn't on the receiving end of a lot. Just enough to recognize it.

I can work with that, he thinks.

Then he startles when Derek chuckles like he heard Stiles's thought.

"Wait, did I say that out loud?" Stiles asks.

He only gets another chuckle in response. At a loss for what else to say — and he's entirely aware of how unusual that is — Stiles sits back and watches Derek as he's driving. He doesn't look the same as he did when Stiles last saw him, which makes sense since that was years ago. Now, Stiles can't help but let his eyes wander over Derek's features, over the sharp angles of his jaw and the long line of his neck. He looks at the way Derek seems relaxed when he's driving — Stiles isn't surprised, the Camaro is a dream machine and absolutely beyond anything Stiles ever got to drive. He does have a soft spot for his own Jeep — it used to be his mom's — but he'd love to get his hands on the Camaro.

"Not happening," Derek says. "And you're talking out loud again."

Stiles cringes and wonders when he started saying things out loud.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"It's fine," Derek tells him, pulling up at the clearing where Stiles parked his car at the start of the run.

"So, this is me," Stiles says, nodding towards his Jeep. "Thanks for the ride."

Derek doesn't respond at first, so Stiles reaches for the handle and starts opening the door.

"Wait," Derek speaks up when Stiles puts his legs out and starts leaning out.

"What?"

Derek takes a breath and suddenly seems unusually hesitant, almost shy in a way that confuses Stiles, since what he's seen of Derek so far gave him no indication that shyness is even in the vicinity of possible emotions for Derek.

"I... since the run... I...."

"Yeah?"

Stiles suddenly feels hopeful, like maybe there's something brewing that he hasn't hoped for. Something he actively avoided but with the mating run and the bond...

"Would you like to grab a coffee?”

"Yes, yeah," Stiles replies almost immediately, maybe even a little too fast, but he doesn't care.

Derek's responding smile is blinding.

-=-=-=-=-

When Stiles finally admits to his dad how he ended up going on the first date with Derek, they had several of them under the belt. In fact, Stiles doesn't tell his dad that he's dating anyone, let alone that it's someone he met during the mating run or that it just so happens to be a werewolf until months into the relationship.

Despite his worries about the reaction to his confession, all he gets is laughter, a pat on the shoulder, and several pointed "I told you so"s not only from his dad but also from Scott.

Stiles doesn't care. He still doesn't have all the answers about the mating run magic, but he has Derek now, and the answers will come one day.

                                       a  l  l  i  s  o  n     c  l  o  v  e  r                                   S  A  N  D  R  A     C  A  R  R  O  L  L .                    unenrolled.                                                                     dorm couch surfer.                        psychedlics dealer.      tramp.      freelance sugar baby.      dropped angel.

grew up in the underbelly of chicago, raised by a well-meaning but fatally over-protective single mother, who tried to shield her daughter from the grit and grime that covered every square inch of their community.

as a child, allison clover was kept busy at all costs, distracted by a wallpapering of catholicism from the influence of her peers and the sordid history of her mother. she was brought up in the church; socializing primarily within the church’s community, playing on the church’s softball team, participating in the church’s charity events and helping to organize the church’s fundraisers.

she and her mother ran an online business selling homemade incense, candles, and teabags from herbs and spices grown right in their apartment. it was just enough to help keep the lights on when her mother’s job at the plant nursery couldn’t cut it. this is to say: a young, naive allison wouldn’t have much in realm of inheritance when she would need it.

shortly after ally’s 18th birthday, her mother was killed in an assault. 

gang initiation. body mutilated. her teenage daughter had to identify the corpse. 

the tragedy shattered allison’s eden--- woke her up to the nihilistic nature of the world, in which good people can die for no rhyme or reason. and it showed her the true nature of contemporary christians and their shortcomings in practicing what they preach. in the wake of ms. clover, the church community offered ally their prayers and platitudes, but no one in their lower class community had a dime to spare or room on their couches when allison needed a place to stay, every conservative bystander assuming someone else would step up to take care of her. 

emotionally distraught and disappointed in her paper thin support system, allison stopped sticking around after mass and isolated herself from the community, eventually opting not to attend altogether. 

the scraps of inheritance she had left after paying for a catholic funeral would not help her afford the rent. her underwhelming resume would not be enough to get her a job to support herself. too overcome with grief to manage working two jobs; with her mother deeply estranged from the rest of their family; with her long history of being isolated from her neighbors; she had nowhere to turn when she was evicted.

her naivete and lack of alternative options paved allison’s way to falling in with a bad crowd. her first night at a local shelter, she was recognized outside by a raggedy boy from her graduating class. immediately trusting, she opened up to him about her situation and vulnerability, and he was all too quick to offer her a place to stay until she got back on her feet. she never stopped to question his character or intentions. 

she was fast to fall in with the boy and his band of delinquents, which she would later realize to be a gang deeply involved in several webs of drug trafficking in the city. her sheltered upbringing left her unprepared to notice red flags, and her gullibility made it easy for the kids to take advantage of her on the grounds of offering her bedrooms to stay in and spotting her meals in her hard time. when offerings of basic human necessities turned into talking her into smoking with them and bringing her along to parties, it wasn’t hard for them to pressure her into using her inexperienced body to pay her respect to their hospitality.

catholic guilt went head-to-head with disillusioned catholic angst, both raging inside her head with feelings of physical violation she didn’t have the understanding to place. in the midst of the chaos, (and as a fuel to it,) she developed a taste for the escapism. preferred to live in the haze of inebriation and work out her conflicts of spirituality with mushrooms than face her situation or her grief. but she didn’t realize she was running up a tab with her friends.

from a peer’s perspective, she picked up on their culture fast. learned the slang and the technique. gave off the impression of someone who knew what she was getting into when they started sending her to drop off and pick up, and when she was smoking herself into debts she’d never be able to repay. 

after ignoring the scarier and grittier aspects of the new friends she’d made for a year, and then upsetting them when she started avoiding sex--- depriving her friends of their payment--- things came to a head after a traumatically bad trip on DMT, sending her into a serious crisis of faith and fear that her sins were becoming unforgivable, which prompted her to decide to branch out to people other than the dealers she was wasting her youth with.

when the ghouls started getting insulted by her pulling away, one of them let her know that she still owed them for all of the drugs and safety they’d given her, and when she stood her ground and put a lock on what they wanted from her, he told her she owed them at least $3,000 for their troubles before they would let her “broke, needy ass” scurry away.

in a panic for finding that kind of money in the near future and feeling a serious threat for her physical safety at the mercy of a gang of intimidating men, she opted instead to commit one last sin in the form of stealing a suitcase and backpack of drugs from the trap house and taking a bus as far out of town as she could go.

she started going by the new name SANDRA CARROLL and planned to keep moving and sell the stash of psychedelics to keep her afloat until she could start using her legal name again and get a law-abiding job, but by the time she started running out of cash for motels, she still wasn’t emotionally prepared to start dealing. she tried to go to bars to find slightly less dangerous people who would pick her up as a sugar baby and give her shelter until she was far enough and emotionally stable enough to take care of herself. the panic attacks and paranoia made it hard for her to nail a trustworthy hookup.

in a final wave of desperation, she contacted her childhood friend nate to find any kind of guidance or assistance in her situation, and he arranged for her to make a break for rainier, knowing that genie would give her a place to lay low. 

genie has effective guardianship over her now, which is to say: she insists that sandy spends nights in her dorm rather than bouncing around campus, splits meals with her, loans her clothes and generally looks out for her while she’s trying to get back on her feet. but it’s genie, so she’s not exactly the most attentive mom friend, and has a tendency to enable sandy’s worst vices because she’s no hypocrite. can and will, however, absolutely wreck anyone who tries to manipulate sandy, if genie can just focus enough to notice it happening.

the generally low threat level and high libido of clients on a college campus makes it significantly easier to sandra to deal and hustle free food and beds to sleep in, which is good, because her general fear of being a burden and newfound fear of becoming indebted to people makes her try to spread herself out over the campus, rather than rely solely on genie. but the decadent nature of the students and assurances of safety on campus lead to her feeling too undistracted, too alone in her thoughts when she has time to breathe. and it’s hard for her to stay sober when everyone else is partying. at the rate she’s going, she may not have enough stock to sell to keep food in her stomach before the coast is clear and she feels she’s safe enough to be allison clover again.

(( TL;DR: sheltered church girl is ill-prepared and too naive to survive on her own when her mother dies unexpectedly; falls in with a bad crowd and loses control of her expenses and herself; steals an enormous stash of psychedelic drugs and flees chicago, going by a false name and dealing to stay just barely afloat. currently dorm surfing through mt. rainier university. ))

PERSONALITY: 

pleasant. demure. distracted. passive. calm. trustworthy, but unreliable.

very somber, but doesn’t have an easily detectable sadness. very dreamy, but not too in-your-face with her eccentricity; more introverted about it or even a little insecure. the kind of person who you might see sway-dancing like a twin peaks character, or sticking her hand out of a moving car’s window and surfing it in the breeze, or praying only when she thinks no one’s looking, and if you look close you might catch a tear streaming down her face. zones in and out in the middle of conversation and feels really guilty about it. still has a trace of purity to her that most people don’t pick up on until they outright find out about her upbringing. comes off as the chill wallflower of a druggie clique; not unfriendly but not the person to start the conversation; doesn’t instigate the orgy but she’s definitely down and certainly keeps up. might seem aloof or quiet because she’s never sure if she belongs there and doesn’t want to show it and get rejected. innocent but not inexperienced. very good at maintaining lucidity just long enough to escape any witnesses when she's having a bad trip. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS: 

hookups and clients (she deals assorted psychedelics; 90% dmt, acid, ecstasy, mushrooms). a very disinterested person for her to have a crush on even though they wouldn’t notice if she died. a kinder person with a crush on her that she’ll never pick up on. friends who smoke with her without expecting her to throw in. friends who invite her to hang out overnight without expecting anything. someone who will sleep with her for opportunistic reasons (consensual but still taking advantage of her credulity or rumors that she’ll sleep with anyone after they let her dorm with them for a little bit) or who sleeps with her without knowing that she’s effectively prostituting herself for shelter. someone who friends her twee or annoying. someone who’s suspicious of her and where she came from.

big plot: someone, either from or hired by the gang of dealers, who’s been sent to track her down and collect her debt  👀 :grim_reaper_emoji:

Day 101/365 - Waitress

By Sara Bareilles

Waitress Jenna is an expert pie baker at Joe’s Diner in the Deep South, who often breaks down her problems by seeing them like pie ingredients (What’s Inside). When breaking a situation down to its ingredients she is interrupted by Cal, her boss, and she begins another day at the diner along with Becky, a sassy and tough waitress, and Dawn, an anxious yet lovable waitress (Opening Up). On this particular day, Jenna is distracted by her potential unwanted pregnancy; she ducks into the bathroom to take a test, revealing that she has an unloving relationship with her husband, Earl, and that this potential pregnancy was the result of a drunken night. She is displeased to find that the test is positive (The Negative). As her shift continues, Earl visits the diner, and slates Jenna’s low-paying job, suggesting that he may make her resign soon and give up her passion for baking. Jenna decides not to tell him about the pregnancy, and finds comfort in baking her crazy experimental pies. She remembers her late mother, who, like Jenna, was trapped in an unhappy marriage and escaped through baking with her daughter (What Baking Can Do).

Jenna goes for a physical examination, where in the waiting room she is greeted and taunted by fellow pregnant women (Club Knocked Up). She meets her new OB/GYN, the young and handsome Dr. Jim Pomatter, filling in for the woman who had been Jenna’s doctor since birth. Jenna is uncomfortable with this change, and bluntly tells Dr. Pomatter that she does not want her baby. She gives him the pie she had made specially for her old doctor, and while he initially refuses the gift, having cut sugar, he indulges himself in the pie when she leaves, clearly falling in love with the confection (Pomatter Pie).

Back at the diner, word has spread of Jenna’s pregnancy to Joe, the ill-tempered owner of the diner and a difficult regular customer, and he suggests that she enter a local pie contest with a high reward. Becky and Dawn also present Jenna with a gift of a baby book, complete with a spot for a letter to the baby, but Jenna is less than enthusiastic toward the book as she is still not looking forward to motherhood. Attention turns to Dawn, who has never had a boyfriend before and has recently begun filling out an online dating profile. Dawn’s profile soon yields a response, and she sets a five-minute date for the following night, clearly nervous but excited for the encounter (When He Sees Me).

After the working day has ended, Jenna runs into Dr. Pomatter at the bus stop. She tells him about her unhappy marriage, happy to be coming home on a night when Earl is out drinking with friends, and Dr. Pomatter heavily compliments her pie, telling her that he is intrigued by her compassion and resilience (It Only Takes a Taste). Jenna arrives home to find Earl, who tells her that he was fired. Already in a sour mood, his temper rises as he tells Jenna to make more money, and his anger almost turns physical until Jenna stops him by telling him that she is pregnant. Earl immediately calms down, though remains angry that she kept this from him, and makes her promise to never love the baby more than him (You Will Still Be Mine). At the diner the next day, Jenna reveals to Dawn and Becky that she plans on entering the pie contest and using the winnings to leave Earl and start a new life with the baby. She also helps a nervous Dawn prepare for her date by making her a special pie to give to her date and Becky does Dawn's makeup. The three waitresses discuss their attainable dreams of better lives (A Soft Place to Land).

The next day, an odd man named Ogie arrives at the diner looking for Dawn, who reveals that he was the blind date, both of whom having very different ideas of how the date went. Dawn begs Ogie to leave her alone, but he refuses, insistent on getting to know her better (Never Ever Getting Rid Of Me). Dawn continues trying to get him to leave until Ogie reveals that he has taken part in American Revolution reenactments, which Dawn has done as well, and the two start to realise just how much they have in common. Meanwhile, Jenna has noticed she has started bleeding, and she calls Dr. Pomatter, who tells her to come in at 7 AM the next morning. She does so, but is irritated when he writes it off as a common symptom of pregnancy, confronting him for calling her over before both of their typical work days over such a small detail. The encounter ultimately results in her impulsively kissing him, and they both frantically think over the situation. Ultimately, they both conclude that they could use a break from their frustrating lives, and they have sex in Dr. Pomatter's office (Bad Idea).

After her visit with Dr. Pomatter, Jenna arrives at the diner for work to discover Becky and Cal having sex behind the counter. Jenna confronts Becky on the immorality of their affair, but Becky, aware of Jenna’s affair, defends herself, claiming that Jenna’s actions are no more moral simply because of her worse home situation (I Didn’t Plan It). Jenna and Dr. Pomatter continue their affair over the next few weeks, as do Becky and Cal, and Dawn and Ogie’s relationship progresses as well (Bad Idea Reprise). Jenna’s relationship with Dr. Pomatter, which has become known to many people, including Dr. Pomatter’s nurse and Joe, comes to a brief halt when Dr. Pomatter is out of town and does not show up to one of their appointments. When he shows up to the next one, Jenna confronts him over their failure to communicate and considers if the whole affair is a mistake, but they both reassure one another of their importance in a world where neither of them is truly valued (You Matter To Me). Jenna begins writing a mental note to her baby, inspired by the happiness that Dr. Pomatter has instilled in her.

Several months have passed and Jenna’s pregnancy has progressed. Dawn and Ogie are married, in a ceremony complete with catering from Jenna and an impromptu poem from Ogie (I Love You Like a Table). At the reception, Jenna asks Cal if, in spite of his affair, he is truly happy, and he responds that he is “happy enough.” Joe also shares a dance with Jenna and, in a rare tender moment for him, expresses his sincere hope and faith in her (Take it From an Old Man). Jenna’s happiness is interrupted by Earl’s sudden arrival, and he drags her away from the reception and back to their home, where he reveals that he has found the money that she has been stashing away to save up for the pie contest. When he asks what she has been saving the money for, Jenna meekly tells him that the money is for the baby, and that she was saving up to buy the baby a new crib. Earl leaves and takes the money (Dear Baby) When he leaves, Jenna breaks down, lamenting her long-lost control over her own life (She Used To Be Mine).

Soon afterward, Jenna goes into labour. She is visited briefly in the hospital by Joe, who is about to have surgery in the same hospital, and who, knowing he is dying, gives her an envelope which he tells her to open once she has had the baby. The presence of Earl, Becky and Dawn, and even Dr. Pomatter’s wife, makes the delivery room incredibly crowded, and Jenna eventually grows so stressed that she cries out. The stage goes silent and dark, until suddenly the cries of the newborn baby are heard. Jenna names the baby girl “Lulu,” and falls in love with her immediately. Earl, disappointed that the baby is a girl, tells her to make good on her promise not to love Lulu more than him, but Jenna bluntly tells him that she hasn’t loved him in years and wants a divorce. When he reacts poorly, Becky escorts him out of the hospital, and she and Dawn give Jenna space so she can have a moment with Dr. Pomatter. While he would like to continue their relationship forever, Jenna tells him it would complicate things too much and, refusing anymore to be simply "happy enough," she ends the affair. Still, she thanks him for the positive impact he had on her life during her pregnancy, and in lieu of a homemade pie, gives him a moon pie as a final gift. Jenna reflects on how her outlook has changed with the presence of Lulu in her life (Everything Changes).

As she leaves the hospital, Jenna remembers the note from Joe, and she opens it to read that he has left her the diner, asking her to name a pie after him. Some two years later, it is business as usual at the diner, now called “Lulu’s Pies,” and Jenna, now the owner and head chef, is content, her life finally turned around (Opening Up Finale).

I think this is a story that is relatable and realistic. I like that it contrasts the roles of Earl and Dr. Pomatter to show that Jenna is worthy of kind love, despite her situation. I also like how Jenna continues to focus on her baking ambitions even when she has Lulu, and that Joe was generous enough to help Jenna fulfil her dream and provide for Lulu. I also like how she ends things with Dr. Pomatter sensibly but thanks him for how he has helped her. A lovely little story!

Favourite Songs: The Negative, When He Sees Me, It Only Takes A Taste, A Soft Place To Land, I Love You Like A Table, Take It From An Old Man, Everything Changes and Lulu’s Pie Song

Favourite Character: Jenna

She navigates her way through, stands up for herself and follows her heart. She maintains her independence and is polite, kind and ambitious. She really does make the best out of a bad situation and appreciates the memories she has made.

Top 10 CRAZIEST inventions of the Roman Army!!

COMMENTARY:

Let's say you were a senior centurion, roughly the equivalent of a Sergeant Major/Chief Warrant Officer, in Caesarea when Tiberius was Emperor and Pontius Pilate was your boss. You were a hereditary member of the Praetorian Guard, aka "The Italian Cohort", because you were a natural born Italian. You were at the climax phase of your career, but you could stay on the payroll the rest of your life without doing much more but keep busy in a centurion kind of way.

You had come to Palestine with Pilate, who. like Julius Caesar, was on an executive track in the Praetorian Guard. You had enlisted in the Italian Cohort, like Fergal O'Hanlon, you wandered away to take your own part in the Patriot's Game, though you joined the occupying force of the world and spent a great deal of time spying on the rebels in town. And crucifying them when you knew what you needed to know and you caught.

One of the things that kept you busy was running Pilate's intelligence services. Your actual boss, in many ways, was the spy master of the Praetorian Guard, Theophilus, back in Rome. Theophilus reported to the Praetorian Perfect, Sejanus, and was part of the functions Sejanus installed in the Praetorian Guard as part of his plot to become Emperor at Tiberius's expense. but, at the time you were in Palestine, you were busy implementing those same reforms at the various regional headquarters all over the world. You were the leading edge of what would become the Army General Staff in the American Pentagon and what ever ambition Sejanus may have had was above your pay grade and, as it turns out, above Pilate's pay grade.

About five years into Pilate's tenure (you will retire in Caesarea and maintain a little summer villa in Sopphoris, which combined the delights of the Galilee without all the Jewish stuff cluttering up the market place and la dolce vita of the region), a couple of things happen at the same time: you begin to surveille a Jewish holy man associated with another agitator called by the soldiers and spies "The Dunker" for doing some Jewish mumbo-jumbo down by the river and half-drowning his recruits to get in to his gang and Sejanus dragged out of the Senate and executed by decimation as an enemy of Tiberius.

This Jew, who your spies identified as Jesus of Nazarus, a little hamlet just down the road from Sopphuris, was the real thing. You didn't know what that real thing was, but He was about His Duty in the same way you are and, the longer you watched Him, the less dangerous He appeared (he could put a legion of fit young men the field, organize them and feed them in the blink of an eye, but the only thing He seemed to want to do was to entertain them and give them a good meal.

And, oh yes, heal people. Your own houseboy had become sick with some wretched local contagion and, on the advice of one of your Jewish intelligence assets, the leader of a Jewish community center you were financing as a listening post, suggested you ask this guy to do his magic and get your boy back on his feet. You owned him, the boy, but you loved him as your own son and would free him at his majority. So you did and, lo and behold, this Jesus told you your love for the boy healed him and that you were first among equals among the saints of the Jews. You don't know what THAT means, but is has something to do with being a faithful servant to Tiberius and a leader of your own servants. This Jesus was not afraid of you, nor angry, but pleased to meet you. It's like He had found something in a Roman soldier He couldn't find among his own people.

That was two years ago and you kept Him in the corner of your eye while you busied your self with stringing out your intelligence network out along the trade routes running across the land bridge into Africa from Europe and Asia.  Your encounter with this Jewish faith healer has quckened your interest in the Jewish religion and your listening post allowed you to indulge this fascination with their legends and traditions and apparently God-given need to argue over stories out of the great scrolls they trotted out on their idle day.  You knew their God, this Yaweh: you had heard Her ululations over the frenzy of battle, urging you forward "Follow ME! Follow ME!" and, onward, Roman soldier, you went. There was a great deal of their lives you couldn't share or witness because, well, you had to hack off part of your dick for full membership and you were perfectly content to keep it at the level of a hobby. You like building things and you hear gossip that helps you connect the dots with the material coming in from your spies. All in all, this Jesus was something of a Will O' the Wisp, not because He was concerned about Rome but from getting stabbed in the back by religious rivals. These Jews argue about everything.

And the fallout from the Sejanus purge added the personal interest of Tiberius in everything Sejanus touched, especially the executive side of the Praetorian Guard. Tiberius wasn't concerned by the reforms, in fact , endorsed them, but there were issues of loyalty that needed to be sorted out and Pilate had received a number of directives on dealing with the Jewish authorities that somewhat blunted your own effectiveness. Sometimes, it was useful to hack up a couple hundred locals just to make sure they are paying attention. Especially in Jerusalem, where arguing was the stock in trade of their fabulus temple, something Agustus would have erected in Rome. They were touchy about everything to do with Rome all the crosses in the world couldn't discourage and Tiberius ordered Pilate to accept it.

So, when this Jesus shows up on the doorsteps of the Pratorium in Jerusalem with a Jewish lynch mob demanding a lynching from Pilate, Pilate had his marching orders to kiss the Jews' ass and do what they wanted. You had never really briefed Pilate on Jesus because he wasn't a problem and Pilate had nothing but contempt for their religion. I mean, what god expects you to remain idle one day out of 7 ?  It was enough that they had a special legal arrangement to pray for the Emperor without sacrificing to him. Having to do their wet work for them with this harmless religious entertainer was the final insult. Pilate had the last laugh when he crowned this hapless man "King of the Jews"! Those Jews did back flips and chewed their scraggly beards in rage, but complaining to the Emperor that Pilate had fulfilled their request wasn't possible.

So, you hung this guy out to dry and Pilate was able to get another little jab at the Jews by letting friends of Jesus bury Him properly instead of leaving Him for the dogs or to rot on the tree. The Jews wouldn't leave it alone, though, and demanded Pilate post soldiers to keep the friends of Jesus from stealing His body and making trouble. So, you did and figured that would be the end of it,

But the next morning, when the soldiers came back from guarding the tomb, they had an incredible story about this Jesus coming back alive and escaping with the help of angels. Sixteen soldiers and the centurion in charge all had exactly same story about this Jesus getting away. Everything they said was incredible, but a lot of strange stuff happened around this Jesus and your first thought was to cover everybodies' ass if the question of someone walking away from a crucifixion and falling asleep while on duty came up.

You sent them to the Jews in charge of the lynch mob and explain what had happened. This was their mess and they needed to protect your men by protecting their own political interests, That worked out better than you expected, when the Jews gave them a healthy chunk of change to support the official Temple version that Jesus' followers had stolen the body.

The next thing you did was to take the story to Pilate and to prepare a report to Rome explaining what had happened and what background you had and let Tiberius know this was going on, which you sent up the chain of command to Theophilus. Another difference after Sejanus' execution was that Tiberius got the report, which he took to the Senate.

The way you know that Tiberius got the report is because everyone in Rome began to call the people who were followers of this Jesus "Christians", who had already begun to show up in Rome by the time Tiberius addressed the Senate. Your report gave Tiberius the word and Tiberius gave it to Rome.

As an invention of Roman soldiers, "Christian" would come to define the empire. Now, that's some CRAZY!

Tradewinds 21 CH 01

“UNREAL ESTATE” “Good morning!” Moira Stilton, the innkeeper, hailed. Middle aged, world weary, and seemingly always wiping something down at her counter. “What’s so good about it?” Roger Wilco, pilot of one currently grounded Albatross, muttered as he stumbled down the stairs and into the lobby of Pines Lodge, which also doubled as bar and dining lounge. Along with a mild hangover, his injured leg was still giving him grief, even a week after their crash landing at Camp Stilton. Though a tad stout and barrel-chested, his companions noted that he looked to have lost a little weight of late, and figured that days of staring out at those creepy Woods (and the Woods glaring back) would be enough to kill anyone’s appetite. His khaki shirt fitting loose and rumpled, his pilot cap stuffed down over his bed hair, and he still hadn’t gotten around to shaving. “Well, you could start with the fact that you’re still alive to enjoy it,” Max pointed out from a nearby table, where the young adventurer and his friend, Justin Black, were finishing their breakfast. “And Shelby did tow your plane all the way back here.” Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark blond hair, the pilot considered him a classic duo contrast to Justin, who as short and wiry, with a mop of black hair. “And I’m grateful for that,” Roger sighed, “don’t get me wrong. It’s just that now we have to get ’er up the coast to find anyone who can possibly fix my poor bird…” “Who’s this we?” Justin intoned. “You landed us safe and sound, and we came back for you. I’m pretty sure that makes us even.” “I’m sorely tempted to say you just came back for your damn cat…” he retorted. “I think you just did,” the put-upon publican chided him as she scrubbed the bar counter. The big cat was still sleeping up in Max’s room, from both his crash injuries, and six restless nights at Camp Stilton, with the Woods looming over them. “And I think that little nightcap has got you up on the wrong side of the bed.” Even making it back to Pickford by nightfall left Roger’s nerves jangled, after those harrowing days and nights out there. A couple on the house, out of sympathy for anyone having to stare down the Woods for nearly a week, but even he had to admit he may have overdone it. “Shelby’s willing to tow you upshore for only the cost of fuel. You’re lucky he’s willing to do that, after springing that tow job on him out there, of all places…” In the meantime, Sheriff Duhan assured him that his plane would be left alone for the time being. Though that still didn’t stop random townsfolk from passing through the docks just to gawk at the poor bird. Apparently even shooed some kids away earlier this morning, telling them to go play somewhere else for now. “Still no sign of Roxy or Erix?” the pilot groaned as he took a seat at the table. “Nothin’,” Justin told him. “Roxy would probably present herself, if she saw no harm in it,” Max extrapolated the bounty hunter’s most likely choices, based on their short, but rather eventful, acquaintance. “She’d probably ask around about us, too. Erix…” Would most likely be a thief in the night, leaving as little trace as possible, especially if Roxy still hunted him. All the same, they had warned Sheriff Duhan to keep an eye out for any missing stuff. As well as any breaks in the palisade walls around the edge of town, given the infamous outlaw’s energy blades, and general aversion to knocking, unless it happened to suit him. Much as Max was inclined to regard either of them as too stubborn to die, they did both chase each other in the direction of the doomed town of Rannigan’s Wharf, from which no one ever returned. Though they did find evidence of someone using energy blades around that abandoned logging mill up the river on their way… “I hope the damn trees ate him!” Roger grumbled. Then, recalling what they told him about a certain missing girl whose remains they recovered, whose grieving father still came to their aid, he mumbled, “Would serve him right, unlike that poor little girl… So, uh, where’s Shades at this hour of the day?” “Went for a walk,” Justin replied. What the third member of their crew had called a vigorous constitutional. What to him, at least, sounded like a euphemism for taking a really big crap. “We trudge for days through those goddamn Woods, and the first thing he wants to do after making it back to civilization? Go take a walk…” “It’s safe enough, here in town,” Moira reminded them. “Sister Clarice still maintains the old wardings around the outskirts.” “So, who is this Clarice?” Max asked her. He had heard the name dropped a few times since they first arrived in Pickford, but nothing much by way of explanation. She had yet to make an appearance, though they were told she wasn’t feeling well at this time. “Oh, I forget, you wouldn’t know…” Moira looked around, noting their conversation wasn’t being too closely scrutinized by any of the few patrons taking breakfast at the Pines this morning, though she doubted anyone would make any real objections by this point. “It’s a little awkward to explain to those who didn’t go through all the things we did, but things kept getting worse that first year after the Woods went bad. Until the Wall was finished, people kept goin’ missing. People, animals, things… The outskirts of town were already abandoned by that point, folks what hadn’t vanished movin’ up the coast, as many as could get away with it…” After all they’d seen in the past week, Max could picture it more easily than he cared to. A looming, lurking menace, and a frustrating limit to any search party’s range before having to cut their losses and write folks off. The more he pondered it, the more amazed he was there was even still a town left to speak of anymore. “It was about then that the Sisters first arrived,” Moira continued. “The Order of St Lucy, come down the coast from where they were staying when they heard about what happened here.” Max perked up at the mention of that name, and Justin raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of them?” “Sort of,” Max replied. “Just the name, though. Of an island, actually.” “Odd. I may have to ask her about that some time… Oh, where was I? Ah yes, the Order. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised you’ve heard of them, they rarely put down roots, though they tried to here. Pity it ended the way it did. “At first, they were a glimmer of hope in troubled times. Their wardings helped hold back the Evil, even before the Wall was fully completed. Things were going better than they had in a long time, but then they had to go and challenge the Castle.” “The Castle?” Roger piped up. “Shelby mentioned something like that.” “Vineholdt.” Moira nodded. “The Rigby mansion. No one knows what went on that awful night. Anyone who was in there at the time was never heard from again. Even when the police searched the place, they found nothing. Even lost the sheriff in there, never seen again. Old Willard Duhan’s done the best he can ever since.” “And I’m guessing there was no search for him, either?” Justin intoned. “No, and I can’t say I blame them. Not even Tully, who lost his wife. The ones who came back from that house all had the same haunted looks on their faces, as if they’d each seen things they’d rather not talk about. And they don’t, even to this day. The neighborhood around there started emptying out almost as fast the outskirts. Talk of bad dreams, queer lights, and nobody wanting their children anywhere near that place.” “Can’t say I blame them, either,” Roger commented. “That’s for sure,” Moira remarked. “That was also about when the Sisters decided to push back against it, seeing the place, and whatever happened in there, as the root of the problem. After all, they already made a name for themselves holding back the Woods.” “I’m guessing that didn’t end well?” Justin leaned back in his seat. “Elder Sister Leta believed, as many of us still do, that the spirit of Veronica Rigby still haunts that place. Even Clarice believes that the house wants something, and after what happened to them, she thinks it’s safer not to give it anything more. They tried to banish the evil power from the Castle, but it was too much for them. For all their spells and prayers, it still killed Sister Leta.” And so Pickford’s faith in the Mother Goddess would indeed be short-lived, as Moira related: “The others buried her in a local graveyard, took the next train up the coast. We never heard from any of them again. Only Sister Clarice stayed behind, and she does what she can. Wardings and talismans and such, but one lone Sister, against the Woods, I fear she overworks herself, even with Jarvis helping out. No wonder she took ill lately…” “And no one’s been in there since?” Max asked. “Not many,” Moira warned them. “Because of that, the place was never cleared out. Even though the Commonwealth at large was having a bad time— lumber was down, the shipyards in Hawthorne were out of clients, even the project to expand the railroad between Mountain and Mesa Districts fell apart. Talk of some stupid border dispute out in the desert, been years since the last time we had any word from the other side of the mountains… “Anywise, what was I saying? Oh, right, the economy was in a rut, but even so, while some of the other Founders were losin’ money left an’ right, ol’ Rigby seemed to hold on. No shortage of luxury in that house, at least according to Ethan…” She sighed, then resumed: “Oh sure, a few people tried, ramblin’ about treasures still hidden away inside that most won’t dare go after, just drunken bets and would-be treasure hunters. Occasionally, some bold soul might try— mostly outlanders, or rubes from upshore— but most are never seen again. The few what escape hightailed it up the coast, saying no treasure was worth the horrors they faced in there. After what happened to the Sisters, the whole estate was condemned, no one in their right mind will go anywhere near it.” “So I guess you do have an idea just how maddening it is,” Roger sighed. “To have the solution to your problems dangling just out of reach…” “We barely survived the Woods,” Max cautioned him. “I know you want your plane to fly again, but please don’t try anything crazy. There has to be a better way to get the money…” “Hold up lads, your friend’s got the right of it.” Even Moira jumped in spite of herself as Jarvis Tully materialized behind their table. “Whatever’s in that house keeps to itself,” the grim groundskeeper continued, “but woe be to anyone who goes muckin’ about in there.” “Even you’ve never cased the joint?” Roger gave him a wry smile. “As the caretaker, you must know your way around. Maybe you’d have a better chance than the others.” “And where would you get a damn fool idea like that?” “Well,” Justin piped up, “we heard they were rich, and nobody claimed any of their stuff…” “Now don’t be gettin’ any bright ideas.” From the look in his eye, one would almost think Justin spoke of looting his own home. “You’d have to be totally daft to risk it.” “I’m with him,” Max added. “Let’s go hit the marketplace, see what we can find. Shades said he’d catch up with us there.” With that, they thanked Moira for a hearty breakfast as Roger ordered his, and headed out.

Working Wednesday

Here is the state of my current WIPs. Let’s see if I can get it in under the wire, shall we.  It has been 2 weeks since I last did one of these so... here we go!

This last fortnight I have posted the second through the fifth storie in a series called Lover’s Leap which are being written for the AU-gust prompt series. If I get them all done in August it will be a miracle.  Their titles are:

The Dark One and the Beast A Lifetime of HIstory “We Never Stopped Being Enemies.” Fallen Rest Easy, Love.

I have also written but not edited the next two in the series. Their titles are:

Just Breathe Methedhênlû

And I have two that I am working on at the same time called:

The Hatter Bats In The Belfrey

Once all this madness is done, I’ll be spending two weeks focusing on one fic at a time. Starting with Disparate Pathways.

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower: AU Cursed Storybrooke. (Inspried by/based on The Bookshop on the Corner: A Novel, by Jenny Colgan)

Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community. -  Chapter 35 been posted.

All Our Past Mistakes: AU Non-Cursed Storybrooke

Doctor Gold, professor of history at the local campus of Maine University, is stuck in a loveless, and one might say abusive relationship with a wife who is less than attentive to their family, and whom he suspects cares little for her marital vows. His resolve to maintain his own faithfulness is sorely tested by the presence of one of his new students - a junior by the name of Belle French - whom it seems fate is determined to put in his way. The two become embroiled in a passionate, and redemptive relationship, but not before suffering numerous setbacks and separations. This is no instantaneous happy ever after, but a tale of two hurt souls finding their way together through darkness and despair. - nothing written since last week

Disparate Pathways: AU and Remix of Witness Protection, which was written for the 2019 RSS.

Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go. Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into ‘protective custody,’ but is he all that he seems? As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth. - the next seven chapters are now planned and ready for writing and I have written 945 words of chapter 8, which is the next chapter.

Scattered: AU OUAT, where the curse didn’t quite happen the way it did on the show. (It went ‘wrong’)

Casting a spell, any spell - at least the ones that involve more than just the wave of a hand, or worse, the wave of an irritating fairy’s wand - takes time, and patience, and the right ingredients, and… just like any recipe, if you get it wrong, it doesn’t mean the cake won’t cook, rather then will, just with unexpected or unintended outcomes. All of Rumplestiltskin’s careful planning and manipulation, all of his hopes and dreams turn to dust; ashes in his bitter heart in the blink of an eye… in the fall of an equine heart. Belle exchanges one terrible prison for another, and it’s one she is desperate to escape, and though Rumple’s fate as The Savior was severed from him centuries ago, sometimes fate itself has a way of finding an alternate route home. - nothing written since last week

What the Actual Fuck! : Sutherelle fic

Prime Minister Robert Sutherland is feeling pressured, and isn’t prepared to acquiesce to the repeated challenges from within his cabinet nor the wider circle of those around him. He resorts to drastic measures to ascertain who can be trusted, turning to an ‘old friend’ to help him separate the wheat from the chaff. Said friend promises to send in his best operative to assist the PM, the trouble is the operative finds out more than Robert necessarily wants to know, and all this just as all hell is breaking loose around him; people hurt, Britain in chaos and multiple deaths push him into making some hard hitting decisions in order to safeguard himself, the country, and the people he cares about - Nothing written since last week.

Breathe: Rushbelle.

As the Lucian Alliance attack Icarus Base, Doctor Rush makes the decision that dialing back to Earth is too dangerous, though that may not at all be his reason for attempting to dial the ninth chevron, persuaded by Eli, and by something Belle had said to him previously, he substitues Earth for Icarus, and the connection is made. In spite of hurrying to urge Belle to the ‘Gate room and through the ‘Gate, neither he, nor anyone else believes that Belle actually made it on board Destiny…  - Part one of the We Three series. -  Nothing written since last week.

Storybrooke’s Best Kept Secret: Rumbelle, Cursed Storybrook AU

This story was created accidentally when what I had written didn’t fit for something else. in which Belle is not kept in the assylum, but in a little cottage on the very edge of Storbrook town, and few know she’s there.  Then, one day, someone else finds out. -  Nothing written since last week.

Darkness In Hyperion Heights: Woven Beauty, Mystery/Paranormal AU

One stormy morning, Detective Weaver shows up to work and finds someone waiting for him in his office.  His visitor is a scholar and a curator for the British Museum, and has recently discovered that an artefact from the vaults is missing. She has followed the trail left in the wake of its disappearence and it led her to Hyperion Heights, and now, she needs Weaver’s help - nothing written since last week

Modern Wonders: Well now, how to classify /this/ one?  Lets start by saying it is a crossover with OUAT and SyFy’s Mini-series, Alice. It’s kind of ‘ensemble’ and kind of ‘Mad Rumbelle/Mad Curious Archer’ sorta kinda.  This is still in the ‘mulling’ stage, and might not get anything posted for a while, because of… well… reasons! (Spoilers), but we’re working on it.

Also, I still have 2 series awaiting their next works: Darker Hearts: an AU Wish!Rumbelle, and Thoughts On A Happy Ending: A Rumblelle focussed Belle introspective of the entire journey from season 1 through season 7. Nothing has been written for either just yet, so no change since theirlast update, but they are included in the writing schedule so maybe that will change.

All published works can be found on AO3 where I write as Eilinelithil.

Please feel free to ask me questions about /anything/ you see here, or any other curiosity that enters your head - anonymous asks accepted, I’ll talk about most things if you ask. If you want to ask the characters anything, you can do that too! You can also prompt me if you wish.