Merry Christmas! + Writing

    Two posts in one month! Quick, look out your window, is the world coming to an end?

    Business first: I hope you are all having an absolutely amazing Christmas season. Whether it be with your family and the traditions you grew up with or with a new family or even just important friends, let this be a holiday of bonding, gratitude, and laughter.

    Life races ahead of us without scarce allowing us to breathe and it's easy to forget that the years that race by are also years of living and breathing that are slipping away. You get older, your parents get older, your grandparents get older. Appreciate the people important to you this Christmas. Take that time to sit and talk, to fill your grandparents in on your goals, hug your mom and remind her that you'll always be her kid, stay up late laughing with that friend who means everything. 

    Jesus is the reason for the season. The season is about sacrifice that's more recognized as giving now. Give the gifts, but give the emotional commitment as well this year. 

    I'm leaving home and flying the nest in three months. It's a freeing and yet drowning weight, one that flutters in my chest during the day and churns in my stomach at night. Every occasion that we pass--Thanksgiving, my twentieth birthday, Christmas--I am reminded that I don't know where I'll be next year. 

    So I'm giving these holidays as much as I have to offer. Sitting and working through my plans with my extended family. Listening to my mom when she wants me to take someone with me to do errands, even if I'll on my own soon anyways. Sometimes, the greatest gift you can offer is a willing spirit and opens arms.

    Merry Christmas, guys. Truly. Hopefully you have snow on the ground outside, or some favorite Christmas music blasting right now. (And have a joyous New Year's!)

    Now, onto the writing portion of this post.

    I've got two things to post--the Jade drabble will be first. We were in the car for three+ hours this afternoon and inspiration struck like lightening for a musing deviant!Jade scrawl. It came out of nowhere, so there's your reasoning for how irregular it is.

    The second I decided to try and do a couple of days ago, and we'll see if I can push through and finish before too long. Basically, I watched a romcom Christmas movie called A Princess for Christmas (it is as bad as it sounds, despite some familiar acting faces) and decided there needed to be a Jandy and Dechlan AU for it. Hopefully, my take on the sad plot is a bit better. 

    I found twenty-five, Christmas themed prompts and have written four of them, plus an intro. Also, the writing ability is a tad rusty and they might suck. Just as a warning.

    In a clinical, intimate way, Jaydn is aware that she could burn down the galaxy with her bare hands, if she put her mind to it. It would be easy—start at the top and topple everything on her way down.

    Wars are easy to start—far easier than ending them, to say the least. (She knows, she’s done both before.)

    Sometimes, she thinks about it, when it late and dark and there’s blood dripping from her fingertips onto her soul. It’s impossible to not know what her parents have tamed, have harnessed and set loose upon those who truly deserve the battering storm within her.

    They do not know that it takes willpower to walk away from every ground level informant, to not kill them and leave their torn corpse on the ground behind her as she rips apart the organization they comply with one confederate at a time. 

    Yes, Jade wants very much, sometimes. To let the black tide swell and break in her breast and set the incendiary that ends everything. There is the ability in her hands to shoot governments between the eyes and make syndicates fall on their own swords and the knowledge causes her being tremble—with fear, with excitement, it’s hard to say.

    But the turbulent ocean within is dammed, held back with an iron hand by what she has been raised and taught by. The sure fingers and calloused palms that could rain down terror and destruction at will have been pressed against the cheeks of her mother, held by the rough hands of her father. Jaydn looks down at the supernova contained by flesh and bone and sees the tears they have wiped away from the cheeks of their merriment incarnate, the anger they have staid and the recklessness they have quelled. Her makers have built a guardian, protector, defender, instead of stirring the roiling chaos. 

    Jade knows to be grateful. That is the response, when disaster is averted.

    But oh, how she longs to be destruction. To break through the stays and blaze a path through the stars that will be spoken of for a millennia. The thought alone is heady, seductive, the most powerful philter she’s ever experienced. The desire to cut her ties, to sever her links to sentiment and attachment and weakness, is overpowering. The universe is at her fingertips, she just has to take it.

    Jaydn wants, very much. But she quells with the same might that would bring down the heavens and force them to their knees before her. She channels the impulse into their cause, into a glance that makes men falter with foreboding, into the slow breaths she takes before the trigger depresses beneath her touch. Her facade of overprotective becomes her cover and yet is not a show in the least.

    If there would ever be a reason to become the arsonist history would never know and never forget, it would be for the humans who have shaped her world and give her a purpose. Jade knows, subconsciously and on every waking level, that her making will be her breaking. The provocation to coax the phoenix to eruption would be rooted in the five mortals that have caged her demons. 

    Again, don't ask me. The inspiration bowled me over like a speeding train and then sped away before I could tag along to get some work done on the Jandy/Dech prompts. Yay.

    Onto the fun stuff!

    Mild Warning for brief crass wording. For lack of a better explanation. Jandy wanted to cuss everybody out, but we kept it PG. 

(prompts from tumblr blog, the-girlwhowouldbeking, and the plot might be from a Christmas-themed romance called A Princess for Christmas.)

    So, this is how the story goes. On her twenty-fifth birthday—well, our twenty-fifth birthday—Jane Miriam Sparks married one (disowned) Charles Yates Scott of Manchester, England, and they were as happy as two beings could be together. I would know; I lived nearby for the first six months of their marriage before Jane told me to live the life I’d never had because of her.

    It was little over a year later that I came back when their daughter, Adeline Ella was born, with breathtaking brown eyes and the softest wisps of hair. Jane cried, Charles cried, and I laughed a lot. Life has held a lot of things for me, but being an aunt was one I never imagined. 

    I’d been traveling for my job when I got a call that ended everything.

    As if one near-fatal incident with a car wasn’t enough for my baby sister, she and Charles were both killed in a head-on collision three days before Christmas.

    It took social services another month to track me down and when they did—there’s no thinking at that point, you know?

    She’s my niece and she had nobody else but me. I dropped everything and went to find her.

    You want to know what really steams me? Charles’ family got called before me, because apparently if you’ve got a family of somebodies who disowned their son offhand, they’re the ones to contact first before the nobody sister. 

    Here’s the real kicker: they did nothing. I talked to the hospital staff, social services, the foster family who had Adeline and the most contact any of them received from across the pond was one fax and a phone call. 

    The call said the fax was coming and the fax was paperwork relinquishing any rights to their parentless granddaughter.

    Pissed off doesn’t quite cover it. 

    Though I admit relief to not have to fight any custody battles. Jandy Sparks off the streets of NYC doesn’t quite hold the same shine as English monarchy. 

   Adeline has been mine for almost a year of all-nighters, fevers, and soiled diapers and last week this suit who introduced himself as Thomas—just Thomas, mind you; first name, last name, help me out here—told me that the Scott family wants Adeline and I to come out for Christmas.

    Out to England. Me. With an infant who’s still sensitive to loud noises and unfamiliar places.

    That’s rich.

    But I’m a sleep-deprived, pseudo-mom that’s also an idiot and I said yes after a day of stewing. 

    When it comes down to it, how many chances are going to roll around to find out about Adeline’s father and his roots? I want to be able to tell her about the man who loved her mother enough that he left a fairytale behind for her.

    My main stipulation, of course, was room, board, and airfare. Look up the costs of traveling halfway around the world to England. At peak holiday season, no less.

    Thomas arranged everything for us and then left a few days in advance to “prepare for our arrival”. I packed two suitcases, an umbrella stroller, and the fullest military-grade backpack known to mankind, and got on a plane to the United Kingdom with a baby in a carrier.

1—Mistletoe

    Gritty eyes, an aching head, and a bent-out-of-shape neck were doing nothing for Jandy’s mood. Adeline had done very little but fuss for the majority of their four connecting flights spanning almost an entire day of travel. 

    Jandy stood on the airport sidewalk in somewhere called Manchester, breathing in the crisp air, her niece bundled up well in her carseat—finally out for the count. The indoors had gotten too stifling so she’d undergone the exhausting process of moving them outside, hoping help would arrive soon.

    Christmas decor had been liberally applied to the towering structure, with red bows and evergreen garlands, and high, high above the hub of activity inside, little pieces of mistletoe tacked onto the streamlined arches.

    Jandy had had more than enough time to study each and every one of them while waiting for anyone to show up and rescue them. It had also given her ample opportunity to question, once again, why she was even here.

    The answer was inescapable—for Adeline.

    For Adeline, and for what might very well be her only chance to know the world of the father she’d never know.

    Everything Jandy did was for her niece now, much like once her every waking moment had been committed to Jane.

    Letting out a long breath, Jandy crouched down to peek beneath the blanket pulled over the baby’s face. Aside from a pink nose from the warmth of her little cocoon, the baby slumbered on, lost to the world.

    There must’ve been a miscommunication about their arrival—hadn’t that Thomas fellow said someone would be waiting to drive them the two remaining hours to the manor where Charles had been raised?

    Jandy stifled a groan but didn’t want to let it out, considering the bustle of people also on the sidewalk and a lack of desire to be seen as the whacked out Yank. More than she already was, in her bold blue Short But Dangerous t-shirt and the undercut style to her hair that she was loathe to grow out, even with her new identity as mother first, kickboxing trainer second. 

    Kneading at the crick in her neck, Jandy resigned herself to her fate and looked up when a man said, “You have my most sincere apologies, Miss Sparks, for the delay.”

2—Hot Chocolate

    “Would you like any particular beverages, Miss Sparks? I can have Anne bring it up to your room. Tea? Mulled wine? Perhaps some hot chocolate?” Thomas asked as he escorted Jandy up the icy front steps of the frosted manor, one hand at her elbow.

    Misbalanced as she was while toting Adeline about, the trainer was thankful for the support. Two plus hours in a car was doing nothing for her right now. “Just a couple bottles of water and if you have some milk on hand we can warm up, I’d like to get some of that into Adeline before we crash out.”

    Anything further she might’ve had to say was wiped away when they moved through the mud room into the entryway—if it could be called that. The ceiling was high, the wooden floorboards gleaming, and the columns along the walls of unblemished marble. She’d never watched Downton Abbey but this felt like walking right onto the set. 

    Decorations—garlands, bows, wreaths, poinsettias—were placed at regular, unerring intervals, adding a Christmas mood on a whole new level. Jandy's thoughts went back to her two-room apartment and the sparing, homemade evidence of the season there.

    Trust the Scott family to make her feel inadequate from the get go, she mused, too drained to get worked up about it. 

    Jandy eased Adeline’s carrier to the floor, dark gaze flickering from paintings to doors and then to Thomas, who stood by with a patient smile. His suit was still perfectly crisp despite the long return trip to Dunham Manor. 

    “The manor and grounds have belonged to the Scott family for many generations. It may look aged on the surface, but it receives regular refurbishments and upgrades, have no fear. You will find everything is quite modern.” The butler explained, gesturing to the long hall ahead of them in invitation.

    With her suitcases already being toted to unknown regions of the house, Jandy picked up the carseat again and offered a brief smile. “Good to know. Do I need to worry about looking like a slob for a welcoming committee?”

    “No, ma’am. Mr. and Mrs. Scott have retired already and the rest of the family will not arrive for two days yet.” 

    Thomas led the way across the waxed floors and Jandy finally decided to just explore tomorrow, focusing on the black suit coat ahead of her with a single-minded focus. She still had duties to attend tonight and then both she and Adeline needed a full night of sleep.

    Their path wound through hallways straight out of Pride & Prejudice—one of Jane’s favorite movies—and up narrow staircases that made her thankful for the long years of training that had honed her body. Adeline was no longer six months old and the weight difference was noteworthy.

    Stopping beside a set of deep mahogany doors, the butler pushed them open to reveal a tasteful, well-furnished room, complete with a pack-and-play in the corner, as per Jandy’s own wishes. The color scheme was a soothing mesh of beige and cream, heavy tan curtains pulled across two tall windows, no light peeking around the edges. 

    Her two stuffed suitcases were already settled on luggage stands, the backpack between them. 

    Jandy was relieved on several levels. No matter how bad this holiday might get, this would be a good place to retreat and sequester when needed.

    Thomas turned to her and Jandy gave him her attention. “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you here and go find Anne. She’ll bring up your refreshments and help you with any needs you might have. The bathroom is attached and we’ve stocked the room with a variety of supplies we thought might be necessary for Miss Adeline.”

    “That sounds perfect, thank you, Thomas. I’m sure I’ll appreciate it all a lot more with a few hours of sleep under my belt.” Mild humor lightened her exhaustion and the retainer responded to it, amusement appearing on his serene features.

    “It’s our pleasure, Miss Sparks. We’re grateful that you chose to come so far at a considerable personal cost and will strive to make your stay here at Dunham Manor a pleasant one.” The lilt of his accent lent the words a certain warmth that might’ve been lacking otherwise. 

    There was no point fighting the fondness already manifesting so Jandy let a laugh escape her chest. “You’re awesome, Thomas. I’ll see you in the morning?”

    The colloquialism stymied him for a moment but the man recovered in an admirable amount of time. “Yes, Miss. Sleep well. Anne will be up to attend you shortly.”

3—Snow

    The beeping had been sounding for several minutes now. Jandy had been ignoring it in favor of that heaven known as sleep but now Adeline was beginning to make grumbling noises.

    Time to rise and conquer, then.

    Flopping onto her back, the woman reached to stab at her phone—now just a glorified mp3 player, with international call rates being what they were—and then stare at the ceiling.

    We’re in England. In Charles’ family home. To spend Christmas with his family. 

    The impossibility of the whole situation was still surreal. Jandy sat up and raked her fingers through her loose hair, tugging on the ends. Jet lag was going to be a real problem; schedule changes never went over well, especially in the last year.

    Adeline cooed from her pack-and-play, tucked into the closet. Well, someone was a happy camper.

    Rolling out of bed, the trainer padded across the thick rug to the window and pushed open the curtains to reveal paned-windows, frosty at the corners. The temperature must’ve dropped even further after they arrived last night, which wasn’t much of a surprise, with the way the wind had howled.

    Jandy pressed her forehead to the glass, wondering if they had any decent trails around to run on. She’d packed all her exercise gear, knowing the need to get out and burn off energy would be needed every couple of days.

    Snow blanketed the country side in a heavy blanket, untouched except for the shoveled road they’d arrived on. The trees were sparse past the immediate house grounds, but there were a couple other houses—estates?—on the horizon.

    “Maaaaa-maaaaa,” Adeline drew out and then squealed, sounding quite alert and in a good humor—which would change when she decided she was hungry, but Jandy took what she could get.

    A grin pulled at the corner of her mouth as she left the window and crossed to the closet, peeking in the crack before easing it open. “Good morning, my sunshine,” she greeted, delight spilling over at the picture that the baby made.

    Adeline stood at the edge of her crib, her wide smile revealing the baby teeth they’d both suffered over. She waved her arms, a plea to be rescued, while she giggled with elation. “Up!”

    “What do we say, Adeline?”

    “Pease!” 

    “Good girl,” Jandy praised, swinging her up and out of the bed, nuzzling into her soft cheek. “Hello, my love.”

    The baby babbled and cooed, chubby arms flailing before wrapping around Jandy’s neck. Adeline buried her face in her guardian’s shoulder with another bubbly laugh.

    Swaying with every step, an unbreakable habit from long nights with a fussy infant, Jandy carried them both back out into the bedroom, where Adeline looked around, eyes bright with interest. A quick visual search confirmed there wasn’t anything at hand level to the eighteen-month-old to worry about so she set the baby down on her feet.

    “Shall we get dressed and find breakfast, Dell?”

4—Candy Canes

    Walter Scott, patriarch of the Scott family, eyed the small wreath hanging on the wall with distaste. It was an imitation—Marianne’s allergies included evergreen—but the colors were unavoidable. Bright imitation berries were mingled with miniature candy canes and warm lights, the entire piece finished off with a vivid red bow.

    “Sir?” 

    Roland’s voice broke him from his thoughts and Walter turned to the retainer, pushing aside his irritation with the season. “Yes?”

    “Mrs. Scott is awaiting your presence in the breakfast room and Thomas would like to know if Miss Sparks will be joining you for the meal.” The manservant reported without missing a beat, any feelings he might have on the situation hidden with care behind a serene front.

    Walter weighed his options for a brief moment. He had a certain ambiguity to the presence of his only grandchild, unable to decide his feeling until he actually saw her, but he knew Mari would want to see the child. “Inform Thomas to send Anne up for Miss Sparks and—my granddaughter. I’ll join my wife in the meantime.”

    “Very well, sir.” Roland offered a brief bow and departed, disappearing into the depths of the substantial manor.

//

    Jandy hadn’t expected the small, cherubic maid to tell them the morning meal would be served in the breakfast room. She sat, frozen, in the middle of brushing a squirming Adeline’s hair into two ponytails, while Anne smiled, the expression genuine.

    “Shall I inform them you’ll be done with Miss Adeline shortly, ma’am?”

    The inquiry kicked her brain back into gear and Jandy finished putting a rubber band into her niece’s fine hair. Adeline got to her feet with a couple of grunts and hurried off to where her pile of toys was waiting. Snorting her initial amusement, the trainer stood and faced Anne.

    “Yes, please. Should I change into something more—formal?” Jandy hesitated, beginning to gesture to her jeans and her navy sweater that was nice but not formal, per say.

    The maid shook her head almost before the question was out. “No, ma’am. You’ll be perfectly fitting in whatever you have. Miss Elinor tends to wear what she pleases when at Dunham Manor and you’re welcome to do the same.”

    Not an amazing comfort, but Jandy would take it. Offering a smile in return, she replied, “Sounds good. We just need to put on some shoes and then would be grateful for a guide.”

    “It would be my pleasure, Miss!” Anne was almost as bubbly as a happy Adeline.

    

//

    “Miss Sparks and Miss Adeline, sir,” Thomas announced when Anne stepped to the side of the door, allowing Jandy a view of a rather formal, in her opinion, breakfast table, and its two occupants.

    Charles’ father had a severe face, no doubt from his time in the Royal Navy and current role in England’s political fields. His steady gaze was assessing but gave nothing else away. Jandy got the feeling that she wouldn’t know what he thought of them unless Walter wanted her to.

    It was easier to see her sister’s husband in his mother—there was warmth buried deep in the creases around her mouth and eyes. But she was similarly ambiguous to their arrival.

    Adeline struggled to get out of her grasp and Jandy’s attention was diverted. A glance down at the baby revealed a creased brow and a pout at her failing escape attempts. Meltdown imminent, then. 

    “Sorry for our tardiness. Adeline’s not a fan of shoes,” Jandy greeted, tone light but careful. The progression of this conversation would set the tone of the next two weeks and she was hyperaware of that fact.

    “That’s quite alright,” Marianne Scott lilted, rising a beat and leaving the table to approach the duo with an air of politeness that didn’t set well with Jandy. “This is her, then?”

    The situation was surreal—introducing a grandmother to her first grandchild as if it were no more than a business negotiation. A certain amount of regret that the relationship was at this level weighed in her chest, but it was mingled with smoldering anger. They were the ones who’d cut ties because they didn’t agree with Charles marrying an American with nothing to her name but an associate’s degree.

    Missing the first year and a half of Adeline’s life was on them, not on her.

    Tightening her jaw, Jandy fixed a smile on her mouth. “Yes. This is Adeline. Adeline, can you say hello to Mrs. Scott?”

    Marianne’s blue eyes flickered from her granddaughter, who clung to Jandelyn’s leg and hid in her pant, to the child’s guardian. Jandy stared back, unmoved. Your play, Grandma.

    The older woman relented after a beat, sorrow ghosting through her eyes as she eased down to Adeline’s level. “It would be—my honor if she would know me as grandmother, Miss Sparks.”

    Triumph flared for a brief moment, unavoidable. Jandy might’ve spent too much time in fights—both of the aggressive and professional variety—but they’d taught her valuable lessons. Put up a strong front and your opponent will think twice about attacking you head on.

    Crouching down as well, Jandy patted Adeline’s back when she tried to press close, ducking her face away. “Come on, Dell, your grandma wants to say hi. Can you wave?” Her powers of persuasion weren’t usually up to snuff but Adeline was feeling obedient.

    She didn’t quite make eye contact, but she peeked out from Jandy’s shoulder to the stranger smiling at her, one chubby hand uncurling in a flapping motion before she hid again. 

    As the only witness to the quiet moment, Jandy was surprised at the tears that filled Marianne’s eyes before she hurried to blink them away. Taking pity, she scooped up Adeline and stood, finding where Thomas had pulled a chair out.

     Walter hadn’t moved from his position. Casting him a brief look, Jandy took her seat and deposited Adeline on her lap, almost immediately having to grab chubby hands that lunged for the chinaware on the table.

    And that's all for now! I'm hoping to do some plinking tonight while watching Persuasion, so there could be a second post yet tonight.

    You guys are awesome. Keep it up.

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: take me back to the start (J&D AU)

    Yes, again with the AU. I'm sorry. I watched a movie, got inspired, and wrote 2,000+ words for Jandy and Dech.

    So the movie was called In Your Eyes and it was an independent film written by Joss Whedon that wasn't actually all that great, because language and inappropriate stuffs, but the premise was too good to pass up. Telepathic connection between two ordinary folks in America. From when they were kids. 

    I know, right?! 

    The circumstances were too similar to Jandy and Dech's for me to pass it up. Watched it, mulled on it, sat down to write "inspired by" scribbles. 

    It should be mostly self-explanatory. I'm guessing it's in America, but I fudged with cities a bit, so maybe an alternate USA? Dunno. Settings aren't my thing. Just go with it.

    Um. Yeah. It's not done. (Surprise, surprise.) But it's a good start. So. Enjoy?

    Oh, and content warning for near assault. Dech comes to save the day, of course, but just as a head's up. 

    Eight years old and—

    --bracing for the impact, ready to take the blow for her sister, willing to add another bruise to her colorful collection if only so Jane would be safe. She wasn’t surprised, but felt that way anyways.

    --freezing mid-step; foreign, uninitiated pain lancing through him, sheer shock overwhelming him, while Gage turned to question why he’d stopped walking.

    Shared triumph, blood singing—

    --he was gone. Gone, gone, gone. Mom cried but Jandy hugged Jane tight and buried her face in her sister’s shoulder to hide her smile. He’d skipped town and now Jane was safe from him. The pride shouldn’t have been there, but she was too glad to care.

    --Father’s friend, telling him that he had a place in the academy waiting for him, when he was old enough. The pride on his remaining parent’s face made him want to grin and never stop. It was easy to brush off the mind-numbing relief that flooded him in the wake of Father’s approval.

    Running, heart pounding, lungs burning—

    --because Mom was dead, Mom was dead, she was so cold, so, so cold and now they were alone, alone, alone and crap, she was just fifteen, not even close to being through school, how was she supposed to protect Jane like this? 

    --pushing himself to the limit, desperate to go faster, farther, beat the clock every time. You want to be the best, you have to work for it, and then faltering, pace stuttering, feet stumbling over air. He went to his hands and knees, panting with a wave of panic that didn’t make sense.

    Seventeen, worked to the bone, and realizing—

    --she wasn’t scared of the lighting that ripped the sky in half, nor the thunder that shook the walls, because Jane was out cold behind her, tucked between her back and the wall and there was no reason to fear and yet. Her hands trembled. Her eyes smarted. She shouldn’t have been afraid and yet she was, so she pushed back.

    --lying in bed in his cold room, listening to the rain pound against the glass, trying not to imagine that night from his childhood years, so blurred in his memories but still having such a hold over him, when foreign warmth crept through him, gentle fingertips against his fear. Safety. Contentment. A good sort of tired. He grasped at it and didn’t let go.

    A legal adult in their own right—

    --Emancipated, freed, done with the system, done with being a ward of the state. Getting to take custody of her sister and walk away. Getting that job they lined up for her. Putting down the money she’d earned before leaving to get them that shoebox-sized closet. And laying on the floor that night, listening to Jane breathe, while she closed her eyes and searched for that taut nerve within her that had been drawing tighter all day.

    --Receiving his orders and having to come to terms with leaving his home and his father. His lifelines in his darkness and confusion. Packing his things to leave at dawn then crawling between the sheets for the last time, and finding that feeling already waiting to ease the tension from his shoulders. He didn’t understand it, where it was coming from, why it was there, but it made it easier to sleep and he wasn’t going to protest.

    Tired, angry, frustrated—

    --Slamming the fridge door, shoving her backpack across the rickety wooden table to the floor. Jane, Jane, Jane. Her sister, hiding in the bathroom where she thought her tears wouldn’t be overheard. Too long a day at work, too bad of news waiting. And then, a breath of air.

    --Winding up, wanting to hit something, almost letting the hatred glaze over him before stopping. Thinking. Not his own. Like that pain from when he was eight, coming out of nowhere. Except, somewhere. Because it changed, it felt different from day-to-day, and it was always strongest at night. He closed his eyes and reached.

    Neither of them accepted the reality of their situation until Jandy turned twenty and something happened that they couldn’t ignore the meaning behind.

    She’d been recruited to work as a waitress at a halfway decent club downtown, and the pay was twice as good as her diner gig—she’d been through four jobs in the last two and a half years, always seeking something that paid more. Because Jane talked about college with a dreamy look in her eyes, talked about making the system better, and she knew what she wanted to do with her future.

    Jandy’s future was giving Jane a chance, so she did what she had to to keep the rent paid, the fridge full, clothes on their back, and a steady stream of income to their savings account. They’d agreed that Jane would work too, for a few years, so that they could put enough money aside to get her through a few years of college.

    (That doesn’t mean Jandy doesn’t pull a few extra shifts one year, to get her sister into a class at a community college, just a few weeks of Introductory Psychology, as a Christmas present.)

    The club is full of pounding lights and booming music and appreciative eyes, everything that she had never had a chance to explore but is now learning too much about. But her salary is good, because the owner likes her because his patrons like her—something about being told no—so she stays.

    Jane has a job in a much better part of town, in Upper New Sanno, working as a nanny after Jandy had pulled some major strings through some of her old acquaintances in the social services office. She brings even more money home, but all of that goes into savings. Jandy refuses to let her field even a dime of their daily expenses.

    This is my job. This is why I’m here. So stop arguing with me, Jane.

    It’s going well. She becomes a creature of the night, sleeping during the day and staying awake through the night because of work, and this means she barely sees her sister, but she pushes through the exhaustion every Sunday so she can spend at least the afternoon with Jane.

    There’s no explanation to how it happens. She never accepts drinks, food, or favors from the club’s patrons, but it is halfway through the night and she gets dizzy, then nauseous, then her limbs are like lead. Jandy gets one of the other girls to cover for her while she stumbles out the back door to the rancid alley behind the club.

    Night air only does so much, but it helps clear the cigarette smoke from her sinuses and eases the pounding in her head.

    Then there is a low chuckle and her body will not listen to her and panic closes her throat—

    --he has to excuse himself in the middle of their study group because his stomach threatens to upheave his dinner and something isn’t right—

    Jandy wants to kick him hard, slash at his face with her tended nails, but it is all she can do to stay upright as he pins her against the brick of the building, her skin crawling as cold seeps through her shirt. He smells like cigarette smoke and hard liquor and dreadful promises.

    --he gets his first image, transferred through sheer panic, as his fingers curl around the edges of the counter in the library bathroom, and sees dark eyes and a malicious, shadowed smile, and knows he has to do something—

    And for a moment, she doesn’t see her attacker but another man altogether, illuminated in warm light that is not here, with short hair and a clean-shaven jaw and desperation in green eyes, and then--

    There is no warning, no explanation, but anger and clarity tear through her and Jandy wants to sob with relief but her body starts responding despite the drugs in her system, because the control is coming from somewhere else and she is able to wrench herself loose. Her arm jars badly, but the crunch of his nose as she rams the heel of her hand into it is so, so satisfying and she follows it up with a brutal knee to the groin.

    Jandy staggers away, back to the relative safety of the club, and there is no reason for the riled protectiveness trembling in her limbs, because she was the one in danger, not Jane—Jane is safe at home—, and she sinks to the ground once she’s inside, shaking. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

    --the danger is gone, he is gone, and Dechlan feels shuddering relief because they’re safe, they’re safe—

    They’re safe—she cradles her head between her arms, accepting the embrace of warmth that surrounds her, and she should be freaking out because there is someone in her head and has been almost her whole life, but she can’t.

    She gets the week off of work while the club owner investigates the situation and gets the authorities involved, because he can’t have people thinking it’s okay to go after his girls. The police show up on her doorstep, while she is buried in a pile of blankets, sleeping off the drugs and luxuriating in not having to go anywhere. 

    Their questions make her glad that Jane is not home.

    

    The thing, their thing, whatever it is, gets stronger after that. Emotion doesn’t have to peak so strongly anymore, but it does help. It makes her feel safe, especially when she’s at work, because whoever it is, whoever he is—because she knows now that face superimposed over her attacker’s was his—is always there. 

    

    Jane notices something is off.

    Because she is Jane, and she is Jandy’s twin sister, and they are very different, but still very, very similar in some ways.

    Which means Jandy falls into their apartment—a different one from three years ago, a better one—at seven am, after a long night at work, and finds her sister sitting there, arms crossed with a mug of coffee waiting. 

    The look in her eyes means business and so the elder of the two just sighs, slings her backpack towards the couch, and slouching into one of the kitchen chairs. She is so past the help of coffee, but accepts it anyways, working to keep her tired mind from rabbiting after her mental buddy.

    (This terminology amuses her because it can be taken two ways, and the fact that she has even begun to accept that this is the way things are means that she is totally off her rocker.)

    “You’ve been acting weird.” Jane gets right to the point. They share that trait—a disdain for beating around the bush.

    “Well, I am weird, so there is that.” Jandy muses, taking a long draught of the warm beverage in her hand before working on perfecting her dead cat sprawl across her creaky dining room chair.

    Even though the angle of her head means she’s staring at the ceiling, the huff from her sister is impossible to miss. “You know what I mean. It started with that—that time, last year, at the club. I heard what the doctor said on the phone, Jandy. You shouldn’t have been able to fight back like you did. And ever since then, you’ve just been really weird. Like, you just get in these moods sometimes that have nothing to do with what’s going on.”

    This surprises Jandy until she realizes that Jane is right. Of course, Jane is almost always right, but the point still stands. “Ah.”

    A warm hand covers her, soft against her dry, almost rough skin due to too many washings and when she moves her gaze from the water stain in the corner to her sister’s eyes, Jandy is confronted with That Look. 

    That Look has been her weakness since they were little. In that moment, the elder of the duo knows she isn’t getting out of this conversation with her secret intact.

    “I’m worried, Jandy. Please, tell me what’s going on.” 

    And just like that, she’s a goner.

    Letting out a long breath, Jandy leaned forward to settle her elbows on the tabletop, clasping her twin’s fingers in her own. A weary smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she murmured, “Okay, okay. Stop with the puppy eyes.”

    Relief is clear in the shaky laugh that leaves Jane and she intertwines their fingers, holding on tight as she waits in expectant silence.

    Jandy makes good on her word and leaves very little out. She starts at the beginning, from the first time she remembered that alien tendril of emotion when she was just eight years old, through the years since then, all the way to six months ago, when his presence had been the defining factor in her escape. 

    And there we go. Scribbles. It's actually really nice for Jane to still be around. She's an adorable character, even though fated to die. Pretty sure I still had plans to kill her in this AU. Though with less, ah, dramatic circumstances?

    Which in turn would be the driving force that brings Jandy and Dechlan to meet in person. It was going to be very angsty. Mayhap I'll get inspired to finish at some point. We'll have to see.

    Thoughts, comments, and critiques are always welcome! I promise I don't bite and am fairly timely in my responses. 

    Thanks for reading!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

Merry Christmas! + Writing: J&D - Who Does What (Christmas Edition)

    First off, Merry Christmas! I sincerely hope that you all have had (or, are having) a fantastic morning with your families and that the rest of your day is just as memorable. 

   As happens every year, Christmas helps signify the closing of one year and the opening of the next chapter of our lives, and while that's as poetic as I'm going to get today, I'm planning on making it a good one. 

    Write your story. Finish that class. Record that song. Go on that trip. Make good with that friend. Forge new ties. Work harder. Go further. Be more.

    We've all got it in us, it's just a matter of finding it and hanging onto it. Keep that in mind, yeah?

    And, on that note, a short Merry Christmas from Jandy and Dechlan. 

    who wears the ugly Christmas sweaters

    Well, after they went wandering through a department store at the beginning of the holiday season and passed the quite horrifically large displays of Christmas sweaters—for both men and women—featuring large Rudolph heads or prolific scatterings of snowmen, Dechlan had to go and mention how much he doesn’t like those articles of clothing, mostly because he had a great aunt who visited every Christmas, wore the garish sweaters, and had the gall to pinch his cheeks while she was at it.

    He comes home from work two days later and Jandy is prancing around in a wash of bright blue that has a rather overpowering nutcracker stitched across the front, and has the most mischievous gleam in her eyes.

    who picks out the holiday movies and who makes the hot cocoa

    With the very tight budget that Jandy and Jane grew up with, extravagances like bringing movies home, at any time of year, was basically unheard of. They did hot cocoa, but it was the instant type that tastes like cardboard half the time.

    So Dechlan will pick up old classics for them to watch together and Jandy will experiment with fancy (that is, not instant) hot cocoa, following a recipe to the T to create the perfect brew, and even though Dech isn’t a huge fan of overly sweet beverages, he concedes to a mugful in front of their movie of the night.

    who starts the snowball fight

    It goes back and forth, actually. But it is Dechlan who tends to initiate more often, just because he is able to keep his intentions to himself for a smidge longer than Jandy, which means he is able to have the element of surprise. 

    Jandy’s mind is always wide open and the moment she even considers stuffing a handful of snow down the back of Dechlan’s coat, he knows about it. So after the first several spoiled attempts at an ambush, she let the idea go and moved onto other antics.

    who drags the other under the mistletoe

    Oh so Jandelyn. Dechlan likes his privacy—and, by extension, their privacy—and so usually keeps the PDA at a minimum when in public, but that doesn’t mean that Jandy always agrees with this sentiment.

    Meaning, when they get invited to a Christmas party for the habitants of their apartment building and she spots that green sprig above a doorway, and with her veins are buzzing (because you can’t have a decent Christmas party without spiked eggnog), no amount of withering looks from Dech are going to stop her. 

    Of course, he doesn’t really put up much of a fuss when she grabs him by the collar and pulls him across the room to stand under the mistletoe. He never has been able to keep up his resolve when she gets that spark in her eye and that honest, open smile. 

    (They don’t realize almost the entirety of the party guests are watching until after, because they all burst out in applause and good-natured laughter. It’s a well-kept secret from them, but Jandy and Dechlan are something of their building’s OTP, and it’s hard to catch them in the middle of such displays.)

    who decorates the house

    They both do that, but Dechlan is the one to drag the boxes out of the closet on December 1st and by the time Jandy rolls out of bed, there are decorations strewn across the living room. He does inventory every year, to check their lights and decide if they need any replacements. 

    And Jandy is the one to decide where everything is going that year, because she likes to change it up annually just for it to be fresh and new. Dech doesn’t mind, because it makes her happy, which makes him happy, and it always looks nice in the end.

    who hangs up the ornaments on the tree

    Dechlan performs this duty, because by the time they get to the tree at the end of the day, Jandy has worn herself out and is usually cocooned on the couch in a blanket with a mug of coffee. She’s content to let him arrange and just sit and watch. 

    He’s good at it, anyways, that somewhat-analytical mind working to keep any one area from being too heavily populated with the ornaments.

    who cooks christmas dinner

    Neither of them are master chefs—far from it, actually, but Jandy has at least a bit more practice with cooking something that’s palatable, so she’s the first to pioneer the effort and Dechlan will pitch in and help where he can.

    When he’s not “checking for poison”, that is.

    And there's your weekly dose of cavity-worthy adorableness from Jandy and Dech.

    One of these days my sadistic side is going to kick back in and then there's going to be drama and trauma and angst. Just sayin'.

    Thanks for another year of hanging in there with me, guys! It really means a lot to me to know that my "shout into the void", as it were, is being heard by someone. 

    Again, Merry Christmas!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Who Does What, pt. 2: Jandy & Dechlan

    So I found some more of those "who does what" type prompts while scrolling around the internet the past few days and decided that they'd be a good thing to fill out as a tide-over until I get something of actual weight written.

    Which could be a while, or it could be tomorrow. You never know, with me. 

    This series is pretty similar to the last set, in terms of topic. Day-to-day life type thing. But I do have a couple of Christmas-themed sets that I'm planning on working through in the next few days to post as well. After all, t'is the season.

    And these are for original storyline Jandy and Dech, which might be hard to remember, because I have posted both Trinity's Prompt storyline and Fringe!AU storyline most recently. If you have trouble remembering the original storyline, let me know and I'll dig up the posts for you. 

    Shall we, then?

    who holds the umbrella when it rains

    Jandy is the one who bought the bright blue umbrella with the white polka-dots, on a whim, merely because she could, and while she remembers to bring it with her when she leaves the apartment, but tends to forget about its presence in her backpack when it actually does begin to rain. She’s not accustomed to little niceties such as an umbrella, not after spending the years before Dech, growing up in Akita with Jane, without them.

    So he’s the one to tug her to a stop when it does start to drizzle, to retrieve the (ridiculously, in his opinion) bright umbrella from her bag and then hold it over them. Jandy is pleasantly surprised each time but has no qualms with using it as an excuse to stick to him like a burr.

    They get a lot of smiles from elderly folks during these occurrences. 

    who is the grumpiest in the morning

    On a normal day, neither of them are too bad. Jandy is a slow-riser, but it doesn’t make her too grouchy. Bad days, however, are a different story altogether and picking the worse of the two is nigh impossible. 

    For Jandy, it’s when she’s had a cruddy several nights of sleep, filled with dreams about subjects she’d much rather avoid—Warren, his Dyad program, Jane—that she gets into a snit right when her eyes open. She slams doors and drawers, contemplates kicking her dresser, and seriously considers just breaking something, because she would rather take her heartbroken anger out on inanimate objects than on Dech.

    And Dech… Dech gets surly in the mornings when he’s stressed and isn’t sleeping because of it. He’s off beat and going up the wall with the strain of trying to figure out the problem. He isn’t as demonstrative in his mood as Jandy is, but heavens help anyone who crosses him on those mornings.

    They’re adjusted to living in each other’s heads, but that doesn’t mean it’s always easy. They’ve learned when to intervene on each other’s bad moods and when to slip out of the apartment for a few hours so they both can breathe.

    who worries more when the other is sick/hurt

    Seeing as Dechlan is the one who didn’t practically raise a younger sibling all on his own, this one falls on him. Jandy’s is well-versed in what counts as a serious illness and what doesn’t, and, as such, knows when it’s time to worry and start considering a trip to the hospital.

    His lack of experience means that Dech tends to hover when Jandy comes down sick, or during one of the admittedly multiple times she is injured in some way. Like she’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful.

    Jandy is much more relaxed about it. Sure, she’s concerned when Dechlan’s under the weather or laid up in some other fashion, but she’s been through this gamut before. She knows what to expect. And knows that, even if his forehead is burning hot beneath her hand or he’s moving like an old man after getting shot, as long as those things are happening, he’s not gone from her life.

    who plays pranks on the other

    Does this even need answering? Jandelyn Elsie Sparks, folks. Not a grand prankster, on any account, but every now and again, she’ll catch Dechlan off-guard with a simple trick that tends to make him stand there, blinking in surprise, while she cracks up following his train of thought. 

    And though you wouldn’t think it, Dech does, in fact, get his revenge for his mischief in quiet ways. Such as the quite unfortunate occurrences that all her shirts have to go in the laundry at the same time, or those times that he forgets that she doesn’t like a particular food product…. for three weeks in a row.

    who is always the first to suggest cuddling on the sofa

    It takes them both time to acclimate to each other physically, even after their minds are connected. Dech isn’t inclined towards touch and it’s been so long for Jandy, since before she lost Jane, and even then, she was working so much that there wasn’t a lot of extra time to spend curled up with her sis. 

    But after they do figure it out, get closer, adjust to each other, then things like napping on the couch together start happening. While Jandy is given to impulse hugging (and poking, and tickling, and hair “fixing”), it is Dechlan who enjoys coaxing her into the living room with him on a lazy Saturday afternoon when the sunlight is warm and they have nothing to do. She might put up a good show of considering his offer, but it never lasts, and she’s always the first to drop off, humming in contentment to have Dech near with his heartbeat under her ear.

    who insists on creating nicknames for the other

    Jandy, Jandy, Jandy. As you’d expect. She was the one who started off their unorthodox relationship by calling him “Soldier Boy” when she was annoyed or just felt like getting on his nerves. But he broke her of that habit pretty quick, along with a handful of other inclinations that he didn’t agree with. 

    So she’s settled into just “Dech” if she doesn’t feel like saying all the syllables of his name and he calls her Jandy, because she both doesn’t like her full name, and who on earth wants to say Jandelyn on a daily basis, and it works for both of them. 

    who drools on the other when they’re asleep

    This one’s on Jandy again. It doesn’t really bother her, once she’s comfortable with Dech, because, hey, she raised her sis and do you know how much kids tend to drool? But it still kind of weirds out Dechlan and he tends to lay there, nonplussed, as she wipes it off his shirt, sort of apologizing, but not really. Because what’s the problem? And then she starts laughing when his reaction sinks in and she realizes how unused he is to this. Then she calls him a big baby, and goes to get ready for the day.

    who says ‘I love you’ first

    Because this is Jandy Sparks and Dechlan Scott, and because they don’t tend to do things in an orthodox fashion, there is never an outstanding moment where one grabs the other and blurts out those three, life-changing words. There’s just never a need to. 

    They live in each other’s heads, are privy to each other’s most private thoughts and emotions, and thus they both know when their attachment to each other shifts from affection, to caring, to love. And they don’t need to say it because they are it.

    Even if they hadn’t been linked in the Dyad program, they know they wouldn’t have ever found someone else who complements and completes them like the other. The “I love you” just begins getting tacked on at the end of farewells in the morning, or at the end of a wandering thought that ends with a “I can’t believe how much I love him” or just in a quiet stare across the kitchen in the evening. Nothing momentous or memorable, particularly, just… them. 

    And that’s how it’ll always be.

    Sappy/cute/humorous enough? Yeah, I had fun. Goofing off and having to actually think about what they'd do under these circumstances. It's a lot of fun and fairly helpful in character development, if you're looking for easy ways to add some quirks to characters of yours who happen to be a relationship.

    And.... yeah! 

    Thanks for reading!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties. 

Writing: Trinity's Prompt // motionless

    Alright, now the apocalypse can begin, because not only two posts in one month, but two posts in one day.

    It does help that I have some built up writing, but still. Keep an eye on what occurs outside your window today, just in case.

    As the title might suggest, this is more for Trinity's prompt from forever and a day ago, where Jandy and Dechlan are bodyguards for Lindsey and Sean, who are being hunted by Jade and Jase. It is, predictably, a bit of a skip from my last (and only other) post for this prompt.

    The idea for the events preceding this scrawl occurred to me, and then the actual motivation to write came when I considered the aftermath. As usual.

    It's going to be a bit confusing, but Dech helps clear things up near the end, so bear with me.


    He was there, Jandy could feel him, feel every fiery hot emotion burning in him, through him, through them, but she couldn’t reach back. Couldn’t find him. Didn’t know where he was.
    Wrong. This was wrong. Something was wrong.
    There was fog everywhere, filling her mind, causing her thoughts to mire, helplessness rising when she was unable to touch Dechlan and calm his chaotic thoughts.
    Even her body was unresponsive to her wishes. Her fingers wouldn’t twitch and her eyes wouldn’t open. If there hadn’t been a tube down her throat helping her to breathe, Jandy thought her heart may have just stopped beating.
    It felt like she was suffocating and she couldn’t lift a hand to do anything about it. Pleasepleasepleaseplease—she felt like panicking in a way that she hadn’t in years. Not since Jane.
    “Hey, it’s alright,” Dechlan’s voice reached her, but it was as if through a window. Muffled, fuzzy, muted.
    Jandy didn’t know when he’d approached. Had he been there the whole time? Why wouldn’t her eyes open?
    There was a gentle caress across her forehead, fingers sifting through her hair. She felt the brush of blunt fingernails on her scalp. “Calm down. It’s alright. You’re okay.” Unchanging, soothing, quiet.
    She didn’t want to listen but she did, drawing her consciousness together to focus on Dechlan, his touch, the contrast of his racing thoughts to his calm presence, the safety just knowing he was close brought.
    “I’m right here, Jandy. You’re not alone.” There as a slight pressure against her brow, momentary and mystifying. “The doctors gave you a paralytic. You can’t move until you’re on the mend.”
    Mend from what? Panic rushed back in almost as quickly as it had fled. Choking, consuming, asphyxiating. There was nothing. Nothing in her memories. Nothing, nothing, nothing—
    “Jandy.” Dechlan didn’t shout—he never did, not at her—but the force behind her name was impossible to ignore.
    She struggled to breathe with the ventilator, her racing heart wanting faster lungful’s of air that she couldn’t draw in on her own.
    “Don’t fight it. Just breathe. Okay? Breathe. You’re alright. I’m right here.” Dechlan’s voice was low and even, and Jandy could feel the tips of his fingers sifting through her hair in a repeating but calming path.
    It was hard to dismiss the way his thoughts seemed to batter against the bubble, unruly and anarchic. There was too much fog to make out what was upsetting him. Too much fog. She couldn’t reach him. 
    “It’s the painkillers, Jandy. It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong. You’re going to be fine.”
    Jandy would’ve gotten mad at him if she’d had more presence of mind. Nothing was wrong, her drugged and immobile backside. She felt adrift on a choppy ocean, with no sail and no paddle, knowing where she needed to go but having no way to get there. It was maddening and exhausting and she just wanted to move. 
    “You can’t, Jandy. Okay? You can’t. The doctor said if you move too much at this point there’s—there’s nothing he’ll be able to do to save you a second time.” Emotion crushed his words, causing jaggedness like she’d never felt from him before.
    Helplessness choked her. He need her, her partner needed her, her Dechlan needed her. 
    Compared to some of the feats—a few of bravery, most of stupidity—that she’d accomplished in her time, breaking through the hold of the painkillers on her mind wasn’t difficult once she gathered herself and shoved. 
    Her senses were still dulled, sounds distant and movement impossible and her vision dark, but the clarity that washed through Jandelyn’s mind helped compensate. Dechlan was suddenly very there, and the return of the usual precision and transparency of their bond flooded her with relief.
    The reason for his wayward emotions, usually so under control, became painful in its clearness.
    Jandy’s blood was still on his shirt. In his hair. Under his nails. 
    The memories that had eluded her in her drugged state came back… from Dechlan’s eyes. The impenetrable glass that wouldn’t cave under a heavy blow from his booted foot. The chaos of the fleeing hotel guests. That alarm, every wail sending fresh waves of hysteria. 
    Her, slumped against a wall, blood seeping from an innocuously small wound to her chest. Too close to her heart. Staining her white button-up red.
    A dark head of hair bent over her, a hand grasping her chin, forcing her head towards him, but not stemming the flow of her life-force. Culprit. 
    Desperation. Uselessness. Rage. He was on the outside, but he was the one who was trapped.
    Finally getting back inside. The offender having disappeared. Easing her into his arms, one hand clamping down over the bullet hole. Lack of any response from her. Shouting for an ambulance to be called now.
    Stay, stay, stay.
    Don’t go anywhere.
    Blast it all, Jandy.
    Jandy didn’t realize she was crying until Dechlan’s touch against her cheek brought her out of his memories. He smoothed away the moisture, lingering. She could feel his exhaustion now. The staggering relief. A lingering desire to hunt down whoever had done this.
    Wishing she could do more, she soothed her partner’s mind with her own, seeking relief for him through the reassurance that she was alive. 
    I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got too much to live for.

    Mwuahaha. Ha. Ha. 

    I am so sorry.

    Yeah, so, Jandelyn got shot with some futuristic, high-tech sniper round that tore her up pretty good. We can thank Jade for that, and then, if it wasn't clear, Jase was the one who approached her. I think he was questioning her, but I'm waiting for Jandy to get her and her partner's sensibilities back and remember what happened.

    There's your dose of daily drama, hope you enjoyed it!

    Off to either work on math or sort through other recent-ish writing projects. We'll see.

    Thank you for reading!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.