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oldguardhc · 4 years

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Old Guard hc #56

Prompt number: 17 - “Give me a minute or an hour”

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: PG-13

Warnings/Tags: joe x nicky, fluff

AN: @flamingbluepanda encouraged me to write a Psych AU for this prompt

Joe cranes his neck to get a better look at the body. The puncture wounds are interesting, each one spaced at least four inches apart, all at differing angles, both in entrance and position meaning whatever killed this man wasn’t just a random attack. If they were closer, Joe would have thought they were bite marks and maybe they are, but the last time he checked, there were no animals in the ocean or on land with a bite-radius that large and teeth spaced that far apart. At least, there’s nothing alive today that has a 34-inch bite-radius.

“You getting something, Mr. Kaysani?” Chief Freeman asks.

Can it be? The bite marks are looking to be more of a match the longer he stares at them. “I’m…getting something,” Joe says, snatching the yellow pad and a pen from Andy and ignoring the small huff of irritation she lets out.

He starts with a brief outline, it’s been a while since he’s drawn one of these and he has to use small strokes to get the head right.

“Wait, I think this is a boating accident,” Andy says, and Joe briefly looks up to see her point at the body. “Head trauma from…from falling off the boat. Hit a motor maybe?”

The eyes are tricky. Should they be looking straight or at the viewer? Joe decides the viewer for a more startling effect.

“The wounds on his back, they were caused by a…by an industrial crab trap. Yes, a crab trap. Or a whale. A lonely whale that got lost from its pod and traveled East, West. Saw our floating guy from below, thought it was a seal and…you know, had a little chomp.”

The teeth are definitely not his best work. The teeth to mouth ratio are way off and they’re definitely not as uniform in real life like he drew them. It’ll have to do for now. He adds a little shading to the drawing, giving it a more realistic appearance.

“A whale?” Booker slowly asks, when it seems like Andy is finally done with her explanation.

“What’s your guy got?” Nicky immediately shoots back, coming to his partner’s defense.

Joe can practically hear Booker’s smug look, “Watch and learn, Genova. Watch and learn.”

“Alright Kaysani, show me what you got,” Chief Freeman says.

Joe blows on paper and holds the pad to his chest, hiding his drawing from a peaking Andy. “First of all, I would like to say that this is not my best work. It’s a very rough sketch, the shading isn’t finished, the torso is a little plump and the teeth are…they’re not completely accurate. If I had more time, I would’ve definitely given them more shape, more individual characteristics. If I had my druthers, I'd have done this in charcoal.” Booker gives him an understanding nod and Joe would high-five him if he was standing right next to him, “You know what I’m talking about! Almost nothing beats a good charcoal drawing-“

“Mr. Kaysani!” Chief Freeman interrupts, crossing her arms and tapping her feet. “The verdict?”

Joe dips his head in apology, “Yes! Look, the key was in the puncture wounds,” Joe says, using his pen to point at said wounds. “They’re very unique puncture wounds. So unique in fact, that I was able to draw a semi-accurate profile of our attacker.” Chief Freeman gives him the look that says ‘Well? Get on with it’ and Joe turns the pad around and smirks at Andy.

Both Andy and Chief Freeman do a double-take and lean forward to get a better look. He resists the urge to flinch. It’s really not his best work and it shows. After a second of intense scrutiny, Chief Freeman shakes her head with a slight scoff and stalks off.

“Chief? Where are you going?” Joe calls out, still holding his drawing up. The culprit is right here! Well, not here here but here on paper. She’s halfway up the beach already and doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge he spoke. Great.

“Nice work, Kaysani,” Andy says, snatching her pen and pad back, a pleased look on her face, and runs to catch up to the Chief.

“A dinosaur?” Booker asks, mouth downturned, fingers working the buttons in his sleeves to roll them back down to a more professional length. No, we were supposed to get fish tacos after this. “Jesus, Joe. You couldn’t have shot for something in the last million years?”

Joe places his hands on his friend’s chest and steps in his way, “Give me a minute, or an hour to prove it was a Tyrannosaurus rex.” Booker shakes his head, the disappointed look doing funny things to Joe’s stomach, pats Joe on the shoulder, and steps around him to leave.

Great, just great. Even his best friend didn’t believe him. Joe rubs his temples, he can feel a faint throb and he hopes that it’s just a regular throb and not a foreshadow for a migraine.

“I thought the drawing was pretty good.”

Joe drops his hand and turns around. Nicky has that faint smile on his lips that Joe’s still trying to figure out if it means he likes Joe or likes likes Joe. He’s already made it obvious on multiple occasions how he feels about Nicky.

With Nicky’s looking at him like that, it’s so easy to smile. “Thanks!” And because no one else is here to witness his humiliation, he makes his smile a little more flirty. “You know, I can always use a live model.”

Nicky cocks an eyebrow at him, the faint smile still there, maybe even a little wider if Joe’s not delusional. “I’m going to go calm Andy.”

“Don’t die, I’d hate to miss your pretty face.” A light blush creeps up Nicky’s neck as he nods and jogs back up the beach.

Joe doesn’t stare at Nicky’s ass. He doesn’t, because that would be rude and Nicky is more than a beautiful body.

It’s a good thing the only witness is a dead body.

Joe turns back to the dead body. “Definitely not a boating accident.”

—

Joe slumps against the growing mound of dirt. He’s exhausted. He feels like he completed an Iron Man and climbed Mount Everest twenty times. Who knew being shot at could be so draining? To make matters worse, the throb from this morning was a foreshadow. His eyeballs are going to explode any second now with how strong his head is pounding. He digs his knuckle into the valley between his eyes until it hurts, it’s a different hurt than the one going on behind his eyes though, that it feels strangely good.

Joe sighs, at least one good thing happened today; he was right about the body. It’s a real shame he doesn’t have ‘Use a 20-year-old Tyrannosaurus rex model built by a 9-year-old Booker to solve a murder case’ on his bingo card. He would’ve been the only one to mark it down.

A bottle of water is placed on his lap and Joe opens his eyes, a ‘thanks, Booker’ on his tongue. Except, it’s not Booker standing above him, it’s Nicky.

Joe musters up the best smile he can despite feeling like death has crawled its way inside him through his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Your head’s been hurting all day,” Nicky says, crouching down, a small frown on his face. He pulls two packets out of his pocket and holds them out to Joe. One’s red and the other’s green. “I didn’t know if it was a regular headache or a migraine, so, I got both.”

Joe stares at the two packets. Nicky bought him medicine. Nicky saw that he was hurting and brought him something to feel better. Joe swallows the lump in his throat, reaches out for the red packet. “Thank you,” Joe says, brushing his fingers with Nicky’s.

The corners of Nicky’s lips tick upwards, “No problem.”

Joe tears the packet open and dumps both pills in his hands before tossing them into his mouth. Nicky has the bottle of water open and held out for him and Joe takes it with a grateful nod. Even though he swallows the pills on the first gulp, he finishes the whole bottle. Only when he’s done, does he remember that Booker might want some too.

“I gave him a bottle too,” Nicky says and that’s a sign, right? That has to be a sign of how amazing they would be together. “The pharmacist said those pills should work in 15 minutes.” Joe nods, he’s intimately familiar with the wonders of Excedrin. He would’ve taken one around lunch if they hadn’t been following another lead at the time.

“Thank you,” Joe repeats, closing his eyes again even though he wants nothing more than to stare into Nicky’s gorgeous blue eyes. He hears and then feels Nicky settle beside him, no doubt getting his suit all dirty, and he’s doing that for Joe.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

Joe shakes his head, “You’ve helped a lot already. We just have to wait now.” Joe resumes his earlier ministrations, digging into that spot that hurt but was a better hurt than the one inside.

Cold fingers slide over his own, “Don’t press too hard, you’ll hurt yourself,” Nicky chides.

Joe grabs Nicky’s wrist and guides those cold fingers until they’re covering his eyes. Relief instantly hits and Joe presses those cold fingers harder against his eyes.

“Should’ve gotten an ice pack,” Nicky mutters to himself.

“S’fine, your hands are working.”

They sit in silence as they wait for the pills to kick in. Every few minutes, Nicky switches hands and Joe doesn’t even have to hold his wrist anymore. He knows how hard to press and it’s nice. It’s really nice. He can almost ignore Booker digging in the background and the occasional splash of dirt that rains down on both of them.

“Never thought my poor circulation would come in handy,” Nicky jokes when the migraine finally subsides.

Joe grins and reaches out to press a kiss to both palms. “They were lovely.”

“Please tell me I’m not going to have to listen to you two flirt the entire night,” Booker calls out from the hole. “I don’t want you two ruining my discovery.”

Excuse me?

“Your discovery?” Joe asks, crawling over the mound to look down at Booker. He’s made an impressive amount of progress. Probably only six more feet before they hit the skull.

Booker stabs the shovel into the dirt, both of his hands coming up to rest on his waist. “I’m digging, so yes, my discovery.”

Joe makes an outraged sound, “I found the right hole!”

“It wasn’t a hole! I’m making it a hole!” To prove his point, Booker picks up the shovel and tosses the next scoop at Joe.

Joe should’ve seen that one coming.

“Alright, I’m going to go home. Have fun digging, boys,” Nicky says and when Joe turns around, he’s brushing dirt off himself. “I’ll see you later?”

Joe nods his head probably a little too enthusiastically, “Definitely. Thank you again for the pills. I’d still be dying if you hadn’t have come back.”

Nicky smiles, the small one, and one day Joe’s going to see if he can get him to grin ear-to-ear, lips stretched so wide his cheeks will hurt. But not today. Today, he’s going to make history by being the first Psychic Paleontologist.

Nicky dips his head again and yeah, Joe hates to see him go but he sure as hell loves to watch him leave.

That ass is definitely better than a charcoal drawing.

A new spray of dirt rains down on him and that’s it.

It’s a shame no one is there to hear Booker’s loud yelp as Joe tackles him to the floor. Oh well, it’ll live rent-free in Joe’s mind forever.

#joe x nicky #the old guard #booker #nile freeman #fictober20 #andromache the scythian #hc

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mithranqueersmusings · 3 years

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The Night Before XV

Chapter: 15/15

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Smut, Slow Burn

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo was quickly getting accustomed to the routine of waking up beside George, it was definitely a pleasant sight to open his eyes to first thing in the morning. Although it was rather strange being in someone else's bed, he couldn't deny that George's flat had a real warmth and cosiness to it. He thought back on the previous night fondly, scolding himself for ever being so concerned that it would've been anything less than perfect. Unfortunately it wasn't long before George was waking up too, meaning it was only a matter of time before they would have to break out of this peaceful serenity, the thought of returning to his flat alone again was already upsetting Ringo.

"Morning." George grumbled, evidently feeling very groggy.

"Morning." Ringo repeated, an instinctive smile forming on his lips.

George let out a groan as he stretched his body out, it didn't take Ringo long to learn that every morning was a struggle for George to get out of bed at a decent time. As George twisted and turned, Ringo noticed the marks on his wrists that had been left from the restraints, without much thought he caught one of George's arms and rubbed his thumb against the aggravated skin.

"It doesn't hurt does it?" Ringo asked, concerned.

George didn't realise what he was referencing at first, once he caught on he let out a casual laugh "Not at all. Even if it did, it'd be worth it."

Ringo held onto George for longer than necessary, eventually giving into his instincts completely and pulling him closer for a gentle kiss. The longer Ringo could drag out their time in bed together, the better. George was more than happy to oblige, lifting his leg to overlap with Ringo's hip so that they were pressed together even closer. Ringo slipped his hand under George's shirt, just to feel the warmth of his skin against his fingertips. George pulled away first, though didn't move too far as their noses were almost touching.

"I didn't take it too far did I? I was worried I'd be kinda throwing you in at the deep end." George rested his hand against his face.

"Not at all." Ringo chuckled softly "Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting it at all, so I was definitely shocked. But I was surprised how into the whole thing I was."

George hummed satisfied "You surprised me too. At least I know I can maybe turn it up a notch or two next time."

"There's more?" Ringo scoffed "Jesus, George... I'm really starting to think someone's paying you to torture me."

George paused, a knowing look on his face "I'm not gonna make the obvious joke here, as much as I want to."

"You don't have any plans today, do you?" Ringo asked cautiously, unable to look George in the eye so instead focused on his collarbones, trailing his finger along them.

"None at all, why?" George responded in kind.

"Well, not to run the risk of overstaying my welcome, it'd be nice to just chill together." Ringo spoke quietly "If you want to, of course."

"Of course I want to." George smiled, washing away any fear Ringo had "No sex, though... I need at least a day to recover from all that."

"You and me both." Ringo chuckled.

George reluctantly rolled out of bed, making his way over to the wardrobe to find something decent to wear. Ringo enjoyed the view, George peeling off his shirt so that he was stood there only in his boxers. Colours and patterns popped out from inside the wardrobe, Ringo couldn't help feeling rather bland in comparison as he watched George pull out a variety of options, each item of clothing more impressive than the last. Looking around George's room, it was clear that his unique perspective extended far beyond merely what he wore: the furniture was covered in imagery, whether it was from a multitude of stickers, crude drawings or more artful painting. Everything just screamed George, no corner of the room seemed to have been neglected. Ringo supposed he could get used to being in an environment like this.

"Planning on getting out of bed today?" George asked with an eyebrow raised, having thrown on some patterned trousers.

"If you give me a reason to, sure." Ringo responded playfully.

"Well I'm not about to serve you breakfast in bed, I'm not your maid." George took a few steps closer to the bed, hands on his slim hips.

"Shame, you'd make such a pretty one." Ringo pouted.

Despite his jokes, Ringo did manage to pull himself out of the comfort and warmth. He fished for his clothes in the living room, finding them dotted around the floor, before returning to dress himself. George already looked ready for the day, his hair brushed out and a black crop top thrown on to cover his chest but leave his stomach exposed.

"Have you always dressed like that?" Ringo asked, slipping back into his trousers.

"Like what?" George knitted his eyebrows together quizzically, clearly wanting to hear Ringo's description of his dress sense.

"Just very- Expressive." Ringo treaded carefully, George laughed at his caution.

"Not always." George finally answered "I just think fashion should be fun, you know? Everyone's so serious about everything..."

"Couldn't agree more." Ringo smiled.

George led the way into the kitchen, which was filled with even more houseplants than the living room. There were a few music posters taped to the wall: Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Roy Orbison to name a few, it reminded Ringo of his teenage bedroom.

"Your place is incredible." Ringo said, a little taken aback, as he slid to sit at the small table.

"Thanks." George replied with his head in the fridge "I want to move soon, though."

"Really? I can't image why." Ringo continued noticing small details in the room: the novelty salt and pepper shakers, the aged recipe books piled on the counter.

George began starting work on breakfast "Well, I do love it here but I really want a place with a garden. I'm starting to run out of space for these guys." He gestured broadly to the plants.

"Yeah... I've never met anyone with so many before." Ringo chuckled.

"Safe to say I'm a little obsessed." George focused on the food, but the warmth never left his voice "I work at the garden centre, actually. If you were curious."

"Oh, that must be nice." Ringo admired George from where he was sat "I don't think I've ever been, actually."

"What?" George almost shouted "We have to go!"

Ringo laughed, a little caught off guard "Is it really that good? I thought it was just a bunch of old people."

"Well, that's not untrue." George began cracking eggs into a pan "It's not really that special, I just like it there. I get a discount too so if you wanna get any plants, which you should want to, I can sort it for you."

"Why do I feel like you're threatening me?" Ringo chuckled.

"Maybe I am, just a little." George snickered.

They continued talking and joking over their breakfast, luckily for Ringo no under-the-table action occurred this time. Not soon after they were relaxing on the sofa, flicking through the variety of terrible daytime television on offer. They settled on a show about home renovation, always commenting on whether the end result was even an improvement at all, as though they were both experts in the field.

After George got up to put the kettle on, he decided to invade Ringo's space on the sofa by cuddling up into his front. Ringo couldn't deny that there wasn't really enough space for this kind of intimacy, but he allowed it all the same, running his hand over to George's stomach to keep him in place.

The hours soon passed by, neither of them wanting to acknowledge how late it was becoming. Ringo wished he could've stayed here forever, but he knew that was taking things a little too far. As the daylight began to fade, he had to face the fact that he had work in the morning and couldn't really afford to spend another night with George. He decided he should at least have a shower, just to prolong the amount of time he could spend here. When he re-emerged, George was spread out on the bed with a book in his hand.

"So... I should probably get going." Ringo announced, drying off his hair roughly with a towel.

George set his book down and frowned "Suppose you can't stay here forever."

"No, unfortunately not." Ringo sighed, both of them looking at one another but saying nothing further.

The moment dragged on for a little while longer, neither saying anything but it was fairly clear what they were both thinking.

"Before I go, though, I wanted to ask you..." Ringo began, doubting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"What?" George asked expectantly, sitting upright on the bed.

"I don't want to rush into anything, but- I just wondered what you thought about maybe, only if you want to, maybe making things a little more... exclusive?" Ringo cursed his ineloquence.

George laughed and for a second Ringo worried he'd misread everything entirely, until George spoke "Ringo, if you're gonna ask me out you're gonna have to do it properly."

Ringo paused then tried once more "George, do you wanna be my-"

"Yes." George cut him off with a grin.

"Great." Ringo exhaled with a nervous laugh.

George slid off the bed, approaching Ringo with a familiar look in his eyes "You're not about to leave your boyfriend without a kiss goodbye, are you?"

"Of course not." Ringo whispered as George moved in closer, locking their lips together.

Ringo had to use every ounce of restraint in his body to pull away from George, or else they'd no doubt be repeating the scenes of last night before long. It nearly broke his heart to leave George like this, knowing that both of them would do just about anything to spend more time together, but he could leave satisfied with the knowledge that this was only the beginning of what was hopefully a long relationship.

Things had already been fairly eventful, and it hadn't even been a month that the two of them had known each other. Whatever else was in store, Ringo unabashedly looked forward to it, for the knowledge that George was now his own, made him feel like everything was going to be perfect from here on out.

#the beatles #Beatles #beatles fanfiction #beatles fanfic #George Harrison/Ringo Starr #george harrisonxringo starr #george harrisonxreader #ringo starr/george harrison #starrison

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rosella1356 · 5 years

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Two 11/11/11 Tags

Thank you to @bookenders and @dreamingofstarslight for tagging me.

1. What’s the last book you read? What did you think of it?

The last book I read was Strange the Dreamer by Laini Taylor. I loved that book. It was such an interesting story. Is it right to kill children for their parent’s sins? Should children try to kill you if you’re trying to kill them first? These are the moral challenges that most of the main characters face, and yet there is no good answer. Neither side is wrong in their justification, but that means the bloodshed will continue for even longer.

2. What’s the one word you always misspell even though you totally know how to spell it?

The word sword. Don’t ask me how, but somehow it always ends up as sworb.

3. What do your OCs smell like? If you could publish your WIP with scented pages, what would you want it to smell like?

I’ll choose my top three OCs because otherwise this post would be too large for anyone to understand what was happening. Daisy smells like the middle of a thunderstorm, soaked and yet full of potential. Adrian smells like peppermint and pine in sharp contrast with each other. Lulu smells like nothing, if you get close enough to her to actually be able to try and smell a scent, you won’t be able to smell anything. For my WIP, Lost would be the actual old book that’s just opened smell; Hidden Realms would be something sweet maybe cherry pie; Destined for War should smell like smoke, just that would be perfect; and Silence would be something woody, maybe pine like Adrian.

4. Your OC is given a pair of boots that mute the sound of their footsteps. What kind of shenanigans do they get into with these sweet new kicks?

Oh god. None of my current OCs are good enough people not to abuse this power. Adrian, Daisy, and the entire cast of Lost would use those to conquer the government and kill the queen, no question. Vivian would probably start running in whatever direction the fae weren’t in. Kairavi would start like 18 wars in under 24 hours, please don’t give her more power. She’s already started one war; I don’t need her to get ideas about more. Lulu might be the most controlled of all of them. She’d just prank her brother, granted that might lead to her brother murdering like an entire city.

5. How did you decide on the setting for your WIP?

What setting? All of my books have large amounts of scene changes. Lost is them trying to save the entire planet, which means they have to travel the whole world. Hidden Realms initially had a setting in what was once the outskirts of the Roman Empire, now Hungary, but then they ticked off the Church, so they fled to the Americas, but then they found out about an entirely new realm with dragons and went off to that realm. Silence is going to be in some woods somewhere, but I haven’t gotten far enough to figure that out. It starts in NYC. Destined for War starts in Pakistan, but ends in the realm of Gods that doesn’t currently have a name.

6. Your OCs are given a vast array of finger paints. What do they create?

I’ll do my top three again because this is already a super large post. Adrian would likely draw the winter palace and the family he left behind there. There would probably be tear marks on the page, he’ll deny them, but they’re there. Daisy would probably throw the paint on the page and create some abstract mess to call art. Lulu would spend hours making sure she got every detail of Octavian mapped out on canvas, again. She’s done this before. Like every time she has free time. Don’t worry about why she draws him on repeat. (author moves out of view)

7. How many times do you rewrite a draft? Or, how many drafts of a story do you go through before arriving at the final draft? Which story has/had the most drafts?

Gosh I don’t know. Lost is the only one I’ve finished the first draft for because I just started writing last year, so I’m planning on 7 drafts. I don’t know if I’ll keep that plan.

8. What’s your favorite line from your least favorite book? Or, what is your least favorite line from your favorite book?

Least favorite line from my favorite book is actually in Harry Potter from Albus Dumbledore when he says “We must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy?”. I don’t disagree with the principle of the quote. In fact I agree that it is a choice most people will have to make. But I can not stress this enough. This burden falls on adults, not children. If you make a child make this choice, I will come find you and beat the absolute shit out of you. Children should not have to fight wars that their parents started before they even reach adulthood. Mini rant over.

9. What questions do you ask yourself when drafting a WIP?

So I don’t generally start a draft until I know what all the major events are and what order they are occurring in. That means I tend to ask myself: what is the plot? Why do my characters give a shit? What am I doing to these poor characters? Generally, the answer is just pain. I like putting my characters through a whole lot of shit.

10. A fellow writer once said that “we’ve all trapped Sims in the swimming pool.” What are the “trapping Sims in the pool” moments in your stories?

Oh my god. In Hidden Realms, I killed a character in order to force the issue of the Holy Roman Empire to attack our main characters. Only I realized after I wrote that, that it meant one point of view wasn’t going to cut it when half the plot takes place after death. I had to go change the entire story to have 6 point of views. I’m still screaming at myself.

11. What’s your favorite bad metaphor?

She had brown eyes like mud. (yes I know this is a simile, but still.)

12. Do you have any pets in you WIP(s)??

Daisy has a pet raven, and a pet mountain lion. I mean they’re not really pets, so much as companions, but it counts. I think Vivian has a fish in her office, but like it doesn’t have a name and her brother is the one who feeds it, so does it count?

13. How many story names have you gone through so far?

Lost was always Lost. Hidden Realms didn’t have a title for about a year, then suddenly one of my friends started referring to it as the book series in which all the realms are found, and then Hidden Realms became the title. It’s the title of the series though. The first book is called the “The merging of Realms.” (The readers won’t understand its meaning until the second book, but that’s called foreshadowing.) The Destined series came about because of a moodboard made for the main character where someone summarized her as Destined for War and I went “oh that’s perfect for the whole series.” Silence is a shitty placement title, so I can refer to the book. It definitely won’t be marketed as that. If you have suggestions for it, please tell me.

14. Are there any important bodies of water in your story??

We cross the ocean in like all of them, so yes. All the oceans. Just all of them. A couple important rivers too.

15. Describe an oc with ten or less words,,,

Daisy: A wild fae with anger management issues.

Adrian: A prince who really wants family but never succeeds.

Lulu: A vampire with a human fiancé and twin witch children.

16. What was the inspo behind your story’s name?

Haha. I kind of answered those in question 13 except for Lost. Lost is a book about children choosing a revolution that will almost certainly kill them in order to save a world that was lost centuries if not millenniums before they were born. So they are Lost ones. The title should be Lost.

17. What’s the most you’ve written in one day?

If you mean new words, I once hand-wrote five chapters in an 8 hour car ride to avoid dealing with grief. If you mean most written period, I typed 31,756 words in three hours from a journal I had hand-written it in.

18. Are there any couples in your story that you find really cute??

Lulu and Octavian are goals. Daisy and Leahsidhe are my baby lesbians, who definitely don’t get a happy ending. Please don’t ship them. It does not end well. I’m a terrible person.

19. Do any of your pc’s have allergies? If so, what??

Do any of them have allergies? I have a gut feeling Balthazar has some allergies, but he is not fully developed yet, so I can’t easily tell you what they are. Its some kind of plant. We’re going to find out when they move to the woods.

20. Is there any lgbt+ rep in your story?

There is a shit ton. I am lgbt+, so are the vast majority of my characters. Adrian is asexual. Daisy is pansexual. Leahsidhe is bisexual. Ruby is lesbian. Suno and Balthazar are gay. Those are the ones who have names. I have ideas for other works that have so many sexualities, its going to be an adventure.

21. Do any of your oc’s have tattoos?

Rose has an entire sleeve on both arms. They’re for all the 28 of the members of the revolution. When Daisy’s baby is born, she adds one for her too. Its one of the only happy scenes in Lost. (author runs away)

22. What’s your favourite friend pairing trope?

Friend pairing trope. Being able to communicate without talking. I love that shit.

My questions for people:

1. Who is your favorite OC?

2. How many WIPs do you have?

3. How often do you write?

4. Why did you get into writing?

5. Have you created any moodboards for your work and if so what are they?

6. Where do you write most?

7. What’s your favorite part of writing?

8. What is your favorite quote?

9. Are there any authors who inspired you to start writing?

10. If you had to publish one of your WIPs right now with no more editing, what would you choose?

11. What is your favorite genre?

Tagging people: @marewriteblr @quartzses @elizabethsyson @rainy-rose @awritinglen @scottishhellhound @cometworks @cheshireinunderland @writing-is-a-bitch @writebruh @comfypitbull

#Tag game #Writing #Writeblr #I can't believe I forgot the tags the first time.

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llantano · 4 years

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Turning Leaves, 15. Invaluable

As Amelia ended her call, Dorian took a few quiet steps backwards so that she could put on her smile, hide how volatile she felt, and enter the room as if just arriving from the kitchen.

"Oh, Amelia," she uttered upon entering the room, feigning surprise, "you're still here…."

Amelia lifted her eyebrow at Dorian's drink. "What is that?"

Dorian blinked at her with attitude and took a couple of swallows before answering. "Bourbon and coke - do you want some?" She smiled with sarcasm.

"No, thank you." Amelia tucked her cell phone into her pocket, turning her mind back to what they had been discussing before. "I ordered the photographs." She stood and slid her laptop into its case. "You know, if you have a headache, you should probably take something." As she put her computer away, she remembered her previous agenda. She still felt uneasy about Dorian's reluctance to discuss Ray Montez and wanted to get to the bottom of it.

"I did take something," Dorian nodded. She sipped her drink again as she plopped down on the couch and slipped her feet out of her shoes. She watched Amelia out of the corner of her eye and tried to appear casual and comfortable.

Amelia sighed at Dorian, gesturing at the drink. "Don't you read warning labels?"

Dorian scoffed. "Might I remind you … I'm the doctor here?"

"Is something bothering you, Dorian?" Amelia paused in genuine concern. "I thought you were going to find some chocolates?"

Dorian frowned. "I thought this would be more helpful. Are you sure you don't want to join me?" She stood and crossed the floor in her stockinged feet to put her drink down on the tray next to the decanter she often kept in the room. She held a glass up in Amelia's direction and lifted her eyebrows in encouragement. "It might help you relax."

"No, really, I'm fine," Amelia declined. She wondered if Dorian was implying that she was uptight.

Dorian read the dissatisfaction in Amelia's voice and wondered if Amelia disapproved. She also wondered again who had been on the phone. She surmised that Amelia was preparing to leave and eyed Amelia's pocket as she picked her drink back up and took it to one of the chairs facing the sofa. "Were you talking to someone earlier? I thought I heard voices from the other room but I…?" She shrugged and intentionally didn't finish her sentence.

"Oh," Amelia smiled. "Nick just wanted to make sure the meeting tonight went well." She tried to read Dorian's response. Something told her Dorian knew better.

"Ah." Dorian took a drink. She knew Amelia was lying, but couldn't show it. There was heavy pause in the room before she spoke again. "I had a little chat with Blair in the kitchen." Her eyes met her campaign manager's as Amelia waited for Dorian to elaborate. "She's … very supportive of what we're doing," Dorian assured, keeping her own secrets.

Amelia nodded with warmth. "I expected no less. She's been putting in a lot of hours for us. You should probably promote her to deputy campaign manager. She works hard and knows where she stands." Amelia didn't trust David as far as she could throw him and was deliberate in implying that he was inadequate.

Dorian's eyebrows furrowed. She knew Amelia was trying to get rid of David, but Dorian needed David on her side. Not only would it keep him away from Viki, but he also seemed to be the one person left in her campaign that remembered she was still interested in being heterosexual. "Actually," Dorian clarified to Amelia's dismay, "Blair is going to be focusing on Craze for the time being. I need David on my side. How would it look if he jumped ship and joined Viki's campaign?"

"You don't have much faith in his loyalty, do you?" Amelia smirked as she turned her back to set her bag on the floor next to the sofa.

Dorian sighed in frustration. Amelia had hit the nail on the head, and maybe she didn't want to admit it to herself. "Amelia, we need to get a few things straight."

Amelia sat back down across from Dorian, leaning forward. "Should I be concerned?"

Dorian swirled her drink in the glass and her eyes drifted upward. "I have to tell you I'm a bit … apprehensive … about how this is all going to unfold." She felt the need to clarify. "Not the campaign. The campaign is strong. I mean … our relationship – the timing." She glanced at Amelia's pocket again and wondered about the call log. Maybe she could think of an excuse to use Amelia's phone.

Amelia raised an eyebrow and cut to the chase. "You're wondering how we're going to end it."

Dorian blinked at Amelia, the abruptness of the observation drawing her back to the conversation at hand. "Well, yes. Yes, exactly."

Amelia inched around the coffee table and sat on it so that she would be close enough to grasp Dorian's forearms. "Dorian, listen. You said we needed to get a few things straight? Well, I think there's only one thing we need to keep straight, and that is that my relationship with you is not on the up-and-up."

"I agree," Dorian emphasized with a nod. Something about Amelia's admission of the fact rattled her.

"I never asked for that," Amelia clarified. "I asked you to support same-sex marriage. But when you said that we were in a relationship together, I saw an opportunity – to make a big difference – an opportunity that we could use to our advantage throughout this campaign." Her eyes sparkled with encouragement for a moment. "But here's the thing." She looked down and moved her hands to one of Dorian's, allowing her to hold her drink with the other. "I'm willing to walk across those smoldering coals with you, but I need to know you aren't going to jump off halfway to the finish line because your feet are too hot." She looked up as Dorian stared at her. "If there is any doubt in your mind – any chance that you're going to change your mind about this – we need to end this … now."

Dorian pulled her hand away and moved to stand behind the chair, looking down at Amelia. "So you're worried about your political reputation? Your career?"

Amelia paused to consider Dorian for a moment. "I'm concerned about that, yes. But I'm also concerned about how it would affect the cause. And frankly, you're not giving me a lot of confidence right now."

Dorian lowered her chin at Amelia. She felt defensive, but kept her voice as matter-of-fact as possible. "I have a lot more at stake here than you do – my business dealings, my position in this town, my family … shall I continue?"

"So you're saying you're willing to see this through?" Amelia asked, almost told, Dorian.

"Am I?" Dorian was being sarcastic. "Are you seriously asking me that?" she scoffed. She would not admit to Amelia that she had almost barged into the room minutes ago to call the whole thing off. "It sounds to me like you're the one having second thoughts."

Amelia could tell there was something Dorian wasn't saying. "Do I have reason to?" she asked, trying not to sound accusing.

"Do you?" Dorian repeated as she crossed her arms with care. "If we want out of this, we're going to have to come up with a pretty damned good excuse. And in the meantime, we both need to cover our butts."

Amelia agreed. "And on that note, I'm going to do an interview with The Intruder, so I'll need to know a few more things about you."

Dorian's mind seemed to run three different ways. "Such as?"

"Things a fiancée would know about her partner under normal circumstances. You know, things like … favorite color, where we met, who your last relationship was with…." She said it in the most casual tone possible, once again fishing for more information.

Dorian kept her arms folded, as she was unimpressed by the triviality of Amelia's list. "People will check these facts, you know."

"Exactly," Amelia grinned, trying to convince Dorian. "It's foolproof - especially if we can get your family and friends on board. Langston's article should get the ball rolling."

Dorian carried her drink to the desk and sat it down with a clank, spilling some of it. "No. We leave my family out of this." She faced Amelia.

Amelia eyed Dorian. She seemed a little too emphatic and she hadn't even had that much to drink. "Well, we can at least count on Blair … and David." She paused to assess Dorian's reaction. "Right?"

Dorian moved Langston's article to the far side of the desk and dabbed at the splash before she slid her hand over her forehead again, still bothered by Amelia's phone call, and still thoughtful over her conversation with Blair. "Listen, I'm done strategizing for the night." She stepped around Amelia to pick up a picture of Starr and swipe at the frame with her thumb. "But I want you to keep this in mind…." She lowered her voice with an expression of warning. "Because of our … parlous… situation…." She emphasized the word "situation." "…I'm entrusting you with my family, and I don't want the children involved in this any more than they have to be. Langston and Starr are old enough to decide on their own, but let's keep Jack, Sam, and – most importantly - precious Hope behind the scenes, okay? Don't bring up the children."

Amelia didn't agree. "It would be to your advantage to promote your family's solidarity and values."

Dorian shook her head with emphasis as she turned back to Amelia. "No," she demanded. "I refuse to put the children in danger, and … really … this is a very high-profile campaign." She spoke with her hands. "There are anti-gay … religious fanatics and … past enemies … Viki supporters … paparazzi…."

"Danger" was a strong word and Dorian was passionate. Amelia raised both hands in the air in surrender. "Fine. Okay."

Dorian could tell Amelia still didn't agree with her call. She looked at the doors leading into the foyer and lowered her voice as she pointed upstairs. "That baby has been through enough." She neglected to mention that she'd taken Starr and Hope's picture for Mayor Lowell's campaign right before they were kidnapped.

Amelia remembered hearing about Starr and Hope's recent kidnapping and knew that Dorian was leaving the reasons for her decision unspoken. "Okay," she shrugged. "You're the boss."

The statement reassured Dorian. "Yes, I am. Thank you."

"Can I at least get to know them a little bit better?" Amelia questioned with sincere and concerned undertones. "They live under the same roof as my future bride, so people are going to assume – at least I hope they assume – that I know a little bit about them."

Dorian tried to wrap her mind around Amelia's precarious situation. "Of course, of course," she half-whispered, more to herself than Amelia as she turned back around and put Starr's picture back in its place. "Wait a minute." She spun and shot Amelia a wide-eyed gaze.

"What?" Amelia asked, concerned.

"Well," Dorian offered, incredulous. "My family and I don't know all that much about you, either, Amelia."

"I guess if we're going to continue to pass ourselves off as a couple, we have some more work to do," Amelia observed with a wry smile before cocking her head sideways. "But you said no more strategizing tonight."

"It isn't strategizing," Dorian considered. "It's getting to know one another." She smiled and sat down with Amelia. She was far from done strategizing, and had every intention of finding out who had really called Amelia. She decided to play the maternal card and see if it worked. "What do you do for fun? Play a musical instrument? Sports? What are you secretly good at? What defines you besides … your active involvement in the LGLA?" Dorian's eyes flashed as if she were entertained by the possibilities.

Amelia smiled – more to herself than Dorian. No one ever asked her that, and she never offered the information. "Old movies."

"Old movies?" Dorian repeated, intrigued. "How old?" She meant to imply their age difference.

Amelia clarified. "State of the Union, To Kill a Mockingbird, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner…. Classics that made people think."

Dorian grinned with approval.

"What about you?" Amelia asked.

Dorian wasn't sure what information to offer. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me more about your daughters – the other two."

"Alright," she relented with a faint smile. She leaned over and pulled her discarded shoes closer.

"Cassie's father is Herb Callison?"

Dorian nodded in thought. Of course, it only made sense that Amelia knew who Herb was. "Yes – well, yes. David Renaldi is her biological father. He was an exceptional musician."

Amelia smiled, having just learned something unexpected about Dorian. "Your mother was a musician, too, right?"

Dorian's eyes flashed a distant and cold look in response to Amelia's observation as she made the sudden realization. "How did you know that?" She gaped a bit. "Did you read Mel's article?"

Amelia heard the tension in Dorian's voice and kept her own voice calm and casual. "You can learn a lot with a simple Llannet search," she shrugged.

"You know more than you're letting on." Dorian's tone was accusing as she pointed at Amelia.

"Only because it is my job to know these things," Amelia insisted.

"You knew all along who Mel was!" Dorian protested. When she got no reaction from Amelia, she calmed down a bit. "What else have you been learning about me?"

"Not much," Amelia shrugged. She didn't have to fake her concerned interest. "What about Adriana?" Amelia queried.

Dorian took a long, deep breath and let it out, eyeing Amelia. She offered the information with reluctance, trying to be cooperative and careful. "I'm very fortunate to have Adriana in my life. Not all mothers in my position are so lucky."

This time Amelia was sincere in her ignorance. "Why is that?"

Dorian hesitated to answer but knew it was in her best interest to be open and honest. "I gave her up … for totally unselfish reasons, believe it or not … but we found our way back into each other's lives." Her smile was sentimental, but she was not offering more information and was expecting Amelia to take what she had said for what it was worth.

Amelia remained silent for a moment as she appreciated the depth of what Dorian was sharing with her. "I bet there's a beautiful story there."

"Not really," Dorian half-groaned. "It's actually quite an ugly story … but it had a beautiful ending." She continued to smile, focusing on the good.

Amelia considered the significance. "Did the situation with Adriana influence your decision to adopt Langston?"

Dorian shook her head. "That was a different situation. Although … there is something to be said for a mother's instinct to protect children other than her own." She shrugged at Amelia with a faint smile. She wanted to change the subject while still seeming maternal and caring. "What about your family?"

"I have a sister."

Dorian took in the information. It was easy to identify with having a female sibling, but now she was very curious. "A sister? Is she all you have?"

"We have family in West Virginia." She noted that Dorian cocked her head to one side and answered the question before Dorian could ask it. "Our parents died in a train wreck several years ago."

Dorian was quiet and empathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that." So Amelia and Langston had something in common. Dorian again identified on a deep level, having believed for years that she, too, had lost both of her parents in a terrible accident. "You must be very close to your sister."

Amelia scoffed. "Not exactly." She met Dorian's vivid gaze. "Let's just say we have different philosophies about life and how to deal with it."

"I see." Dorian squinted at Amelia in thought for a moment and wanted to ask if Amelia and her sister resembled each other, but did not want to be insensitive while she held Amelia's trust, so she decided to change the subject again. "Can I ask you something a little more personal?"

The corner of Amelia's mouth curled up in a crooked grin, flattered at Dorian's curiosity. "Sure."

Now she could test just how far Amelia was willing to open up. Dorian was blunt. "What … did you always know you were a lesbian, or … did something happen?"

Amelia smirked, knowing the answer without thinking because she had answered it for herself so many times. "Actually, I never thought about it when I was younger, but I never could change the fact that I was just more drawn to women, and more comfortable being affectionate with them."

Dorian nodded, listening. "And intimate?"

Amelia blinked. "Doesn't that go without saying? But it wasn't just that. I've just always bonded with women easier – mentally, emotionally."

Dorian could appreciate that, and she wondered if the same were true for all women. She understood and identified better with females as well – at least on a platonic level. "So what made you...?" Dorian shrugged as she asked. "…Come out?"

Amelia wondered at the timing of the conversation for only a moment before offering her open answer. "When I was in college, one of our assignments was to research political events and propose a hypothetical bill based on a situation in a news story. I found an article about Arizona's controversy over recognizing Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and I took an interest in it. My professor put me in touch with an acquaintance in the state – a justice in the Arizona Supreme Court.

"Carla became a good friend and a great mentor to me, and I looked up to her. I actually held great affection for her … and one day she said to me, 'Martin Luther King Jr.'s intent was not to draw attention to our differences, but to ensure equal rights for all. He wanted everyone to see that it was okay to be a person of color, or a Jew, or an immigrant – that our differences are not what matters. But in order for others to see us as being equal to them, for them to accept us as people like them, we have to accept ourselves for who we are.' … She knew what she was saying to me, and what it would mean to me. And that … pretty much changed my life." She clarified. "For the better."

"Carla," Dorian wondered. Her mind turned to past events as it made the connection. "Carla … Hall?" Carla had lived in Llanview years ago before moving to Arizona.

"Oh," Amelia flinched, feeling a bit exposed. "You know her?" She knew Carla had lived in Llanview, and that Carla knew all about Dorian, but had not thought about how well Dorian might know Carla.

Dorian shifted in her seat. "Her husband, Ed, was on the ticket with Herb when he ran for governor. … Carla encouraged you to come out?"

"She taught me that it was okay to feel what I felt." Amelia examined Dorian as they shared a thoughtful pause.

Dorian eyed Amelia again. "Small world." She pondered whether Amelia knew other people that connected them by mere degrees of separation. The thought made her feel ill at ease for some reason. "I find it ironic that Carla would encourage you to be yourself considering that there was a point in her life when she wasn't." Carla was African American, but had passed herself off as white for a time.

Amelia was uncomfortable with the conversation. "She learned from her mistakes," she told Dorian, her voice revealing her uncertainty. "She just wanted to prevent my … not being honest … with myself."

Her eyes met Dorian's as she thought back on the phone conversation she'd just had, and they exchanged a silent look of guilt before Dorian defended herself.

"I suppose all great leaders have found themselves in the awkward position in which they had to sacrifice a bit of their personal integrity for the greater good." She tried to think of a good illustration. "Elected officials, for example, must represent the people who voted for them, even if their personal views are different than most."

Amelia acknowledged Dorian's conflict. "Or at least represent the people who supported their campaign, or might support it in the future."

Dorian nodded. Amelia understood.

"What's most important to you in the world, Dorian?" Amelia asked, anticipating the answer.

Dorian didn't even have to consider. "My family."

Amelia dipped her head. "Well – the LGLA – they are my family," Amelia explained. "When I figured out who I was – what was important to me – it was like I had finally found my place in the world – where I belonged." She lowered her chin at Dorian. "You said you were entrusting me with your family. Well … I'm entrusting you with mine." She kept her gaze fixed on the other woman.

Dorian returned the steady gaze, recognizing the severity and depth of what Amelia was telling her. Dorian could identify. There had been a time or two in her life when she had felt as if she had no family, either, whether true or not. She understood the need to feel a sense of place and to feel important. In a way, she felt that now, and had the urge to explain that need to Amelia in return.

Amelia was gentle as she continued. "That's why it is so imperative that you see this through, and we handle this well."

Dorian shifted in her seat and leaned toward Amelia. "Do you know why I decided to run for mayor?" She lifted an eyebrow, as if alluding to a big secret.

"Is it just to keep Viki out of office?" Amelia accused. "Is that why you were so eager to jump on the gay and lesbian bandwagon?"

"Of course not," Dorian defended before she had time to think about her answer.

Amelia wasn't convinced. "You knew the LGLA was shopping for a gay-rights candidate. You barely looked at my resume … and you didn't even interview me. You hired me because I told you I was gay. You knew the LGLA was poised to endorse Viki."

"Amelia…" Dorian protested, "…That is beside the point."

"I just can't help but feel like you're trying to pull back … like maybe you're trying to pick and choose just how far you're willing to go to win this. Like maybe it isn't as important to you as you let on."

Dorian squinted. Amelia was right. An awkward pause lingered between them as Dorian took care with her words. "You're right. Some things are more important to me than others, and … I'm just trying to get my priorities in this campaign in a line." She grabbed Amelia's hand to emphasize her sincerity. "But this isn't about Viki," she insisted. "I had my reasons for running for mayor."

"What were they?" Amelia asked, concerned. "Before the whole equal rights agenda came up? What was your motivation?"

Dorian released Amelia as she sighed and stood, retrieving her drink from the desk. "Honestly…." She turned back to Amelia once she had grasped her glass. She was frustrated with her own admission. "It was for my own personal satisfaction, okay? For … redemption. Power."

"Redemption?" Amelia wondered.

"Because I was Mayor Lowell's campaign manager. Because he would not support my becoming chief of staff at the hospital - which, by the way, I still plan to do at some point." She nodded to herself. "Especially now that Mayor Lowell is decommissioned and I no longer need his backing." She carried her drink back to her seat. "Because I threw my support and influence behind that … jackass … and people, including my own nieces, were nearly killed because of it."

Amelia pondered. "Okay. The redemption part I understand. What about the power? You seem to have plenty of power, money … influence." She gestured at the room around her.

Dorian considered Amelia for a long moment, her mouth somewhat agape as she held her jaw open. "I think we're a lot alike, Amelia."

Amelia blinked at her. The statement was unexpected. "How so?"

Dorian smiled at her own thoughts. "Because when we feel an injustice, we want to fight it – correct it. We're both ambitious. And we both know how to make ourselves valuable." She paused, then questioned. "Don't we?" She lifted an eyebrow at Amelia. "We want to be valuable. To have a presence in the world?" She chuckled. "How could it go on without us?"

Amelia looked Dorian in the eyes. She'd hit the nail right on the head. Amelia nodded understanding. She had positioned herself in Dorian's campaign with intent and purpose in order to make herself valuable not only to a possible future mayor, but also to the LGLA. In the same way, Dorian was running for mayor to make herself even more valuable to her town and peers. Still, she had to wonder. "How could you ever, possibly feel un-valuable, Dorian?"

Dorian lifted her chin with confidence and grinned, one eyebrow still higher than the other. "I know how valuable I am. Sometimes I just feel the need to … remind others of it. Particularly those who let me down." She squinted, her smile fading.

Amelia was still trying to learn more about Dorian. "Who let you down?" she whispered.

Dorian glanced at Amelia's pocket again. "Who was that on the phone?"

Amelia furrowed her brows, wondering if Dorian had heard more of the conversation than she had revealed. "What?"

"Oh, come on. We both know it wasn't Nick making sure the meeting went well."

Amelia didn't want to be another person to let Dorian down, and had to be honest. "It was Carla."

Dorian lifted her brows at Amelia. "Oh." She twisted her lips up for a moment before asking. "She doesn't support us?"

"She is pretty confident that you're not gay. She has a problem with that."

Dorian appreciated the irony. Amelia wanted support for their deception and wasn't getting it from Carla. Dorian wasn't even expecting support and was being encouraged by Blair. She had to crack a smile. "So do I."

Amelia grinned back for a moment before turning serious again. Despite not wanting to disappoint Dorian, she had suddenly remembered removing the record of a phone call from Dorian's phone earlier. Amelia wanted to assume that Ray Montez had been the one Dorian was referring to when she said that someone had let her down. She wanted to confirm that whatever Dorian wasn't saying wasn't a threat to their faux relationship. "I won't let you down, Dorian. Just please, don't let me down, either."

Dorian nodded back with a sad smile. "I think I'm going to turn in early. My headache isn't getting any better. But … feel free to stick around and take care of whatever you need to do."

"Of course," Amelia answered, concerned. "Just let me know if you need anything. See you in the morning?"

Dorian nodded at her. "Bright and early."

"I hope you feel better."

"Oh, I will," Dorian promised, exiting and disappearing up the stairs. As reassuring as their conversation had been – as much insight as it had given her – she still somehow felt nauseous.

The room fell silent and Amelia looked around when she heard a rustling sound coming from the terrace. It began to rain, the wind blowing leaves and drops against the panes in the doors.

It had turned out to be an intense night, full of intense thoughts, and the rain seemed like a comforting release. Reading Langston's article had confirmed to Amelia that she was in the right place, but until now, Dorian had not confirmed that herself. Now, between the phone call from her past mentor and Dorian's comparison of the two of them, Amelia longed to make herself invaluable to Dorian.

She didn't want to have to plan to go anywhere when the campaign ended, even if she provided Dorian with a way out. In fact, providing that out just might garner her Dorian's trust.

Dorian had left her shoes behind in the now-quiet room. For some reason Amelia felt compelled to pick one up and inspect it. It was beautiful, stylish, feminine, and made a statement about its owner's personality. She put the shoe back down where Dorian had left it.

So what if Dorian wasn't gay? Amelia had no doubt that she could win Dorian over – in a respectful way – and once she had sealed her position in Dorian's life and Dorian's office, she would be in an even better position to fight for equal rights than she was now. It all seemed so perfect. With newfound confidence, she gathered her things and headed out into the rain.

Upstairs, Dorian hung her clothes up in their neat and proper place, changed into her nightgown, and slipped into bed. With the light off, and the soft glow of her nightlight nearby, she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling with one hand on her forehead. She could hear the gentle weather playing on the roof and walls, like a song with only a few notes.

Who let you down?

She thought about Mel. She could still feel his presence so close to her – sometimes more than others – and when she couldn't see him or hear him it made their separation feel that much worse. She wondered if he was sitting at the edge of her bed. If so, he was being quiet and unseen tonight.

She found her mind straying, wondering about Ray - wondering if she had let him down even more than he had her - but she pushed him out of her mind and pondered David.

Why was David's timing always so … off? Somehow she couldn't help but think that Amelia was right about him, but she also felt she needed him close by. He was a contingent part of her life, and though she half expected him to disappear again at any moment, she did not want to lose him entirely. Plus, his friendship with Viki and his connection with the Buchanans could still be used to her own advantage.

She never thought about Clint much - the thought of him and Nora made her queasy. They were a positively incorrect couple, and it was sickening.

She wondered when was the last time Bo had visited Lindsay. For some reason, that reminded her that Carlotta was supporting Viki for mayor. Why did it feel so empty?

Who had let her down, indeed...

She tossed in the bed and clutched one of her pillows to her body. It wasn't her head that hurt as much as her heart.

#One Life to Live #OLTL #fanfic #A/U #Election Storyline #Carla Benari #Carla Gray #Carla Hall #Dorian Lord #Amelia Bennett #David Vickers #David Vickers Buchanan #Clint Buchanan #Ray Montez #Mel Hayes #Carlotta Vega #Lindsay Rappaport

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