Writing: "waiting & hoping"

    My friends, it has been some time since my last post, but it is not yet October, and thus, I have not yet exceeded my own deadline. 

    I've got an medium aged piece of writing today. Scrawled it down back when I read a bunch of military Dee Henderson books and came away with the following piece. 

    Early morning hour and the peace that came with it.
    Warm sunlight creeping in across the tiled kitchen floor.
    Quiet rustle of the pages of her Bible.
    Shadow’s heaved sigh and Troxie’s foot jerking in response to his dream.
    The scent of her coffee drifting to her from the overlarge mug she’d taken to using.
    Mandy pulled her knee up to rest her chin on it, blue gaze drifting from her morning journaling to the backyard and the ocean, visible on the horizon as the hill dropped away.
    It’d slipped her mind to not watch CNN before bed, again, and she’d sat through a lengthy late night report about a series of IED attacks in Afghanistan. She’d woken up at two o’clock after a nightmare.
    Sleep hadn’t returned, even though she knew that wasn’t where Sam was deployed to. Or at least, was fairly certain. The whereabouts of his unit was restricted information.
    A subdued breath left her. Mandy rubbed the back of her neck, sitting back and reaching for her coffee. The black mug with the Marine Core insignia on it she’d stolen from Sam’s cupboards last month was too large for her hands, but she found an odd safety in that fact. It made her feel like he was closer than a world and an ocean away.
    Shifting around, the woman checked the time on the stove. Almost 0600. Shadow and Troxie would be stirring from their slumber on the kitchen floor soon—protective instincts kept them near her, especially after an irregular night—and would be expecting the morning jog she’d kept as a habit even after retiring from the Air Force.
    It was Saturday, which meant escaping her thoughts at work was off the table. No overtime pay and while she enjoyed her work, being locked deep in a basement behind multiple dead-bolted doors made her a wee bit claustrophobic.
    There was work to be done today, anyways. Claire’s husband was coming home next week as well, and between a toddler and being seven months pregnant, the spring cleaning she wanted to get done before his homecoming wasn’t happening. The request for help had come up in the weekly Bible study Mandy went to and she’d volunteered, badly needing a chance to burn off her own nervous energy.
    Mandy reached for the letter from her sister that had come in the mail a handful of days prior. It’d been tucked in the pages of her well-worn Bible since, reread a number of times. The news it carried had left a pit in her stomach.
    “It’s the most amazing thing, Dee. Jeff proposed to me tonight. I probably won’t sleep for a week. The ring is gorgeous and he wants to be married no later than next summer!”
    Oh, Meg...
    The pain that squeezed in her chest was familiar. Mandy was well-accustomed to its presence, after two years of feeling it. She dreaded having to tell Sam about this letter. He deserved to know its contents, but she didn’t want to be the one to deliver the news. It’s not fair that this happened to him, Lord.
    The German Shepherd sprawled on the ground behind her roused with a clank of ID tags and a sneeze. Shadow heaved himself up and plodded to her, resting his head on her thigh and staring up at her, pleading.
    With a watery laugh, blinking away the tears that had risen to the surface unbidden, Mandy leaned down to press a kiss to his furry head, scratching behind his ear. She would miss having the Shepherd around the house when Sam came home and took him back.
    “Maybe your daddy will get his head out of the hole he’s buried it in while he’s dry-docked,” she remarked with one last pat before pushing the dog away so she could get up.
    Shadow moved to give her space and stepped over the top of Troxie, whacking the Retriever on his way and awakening her dog as well.
    She checked the time. 0600. Time to get moving.
    Draining the last of her coffee, Mandy headed to change into her running clothes. There’d been more than enough contemplation of the entire subject for one morning, and although she could feel it still pressuring at the back of her thoughts, she needed to get moving.
    The weight of it did cause her to pen down a memo to call Mrs. McIntyre and see if they could meet for lunch early next week. The older woman was her confidante of recent years, offering the level-headed advice and listening ear that she needed in ever-increasing frequency.
    She had to get it together.
    Sam would be flying home next week and would be needing their tried and true friendship as he got resettled into the pace of stateside life. (Even if she hoped for that picture she’d sent from the 4th of July, her with Shadow and Troxie in red, white, and blue, laughter brimming, to have made changes in his heart.)
   (Come home safe, soldier scrawled across the photo in metallic silver pen.)
    Meg, you’ll never be able to grasp what you’ve given up.
    Shadow and Troxie were waiting by the front door when she emerged, scraping her hair back to restrain it. It was impossible not to smile.
    They were both getting old, but Shadow’s past MWD training showed in the way he sat upright in anticipation of her coming. Troxie, on the other hand, a family dog for most of his existence with the name to show for it, had slumped down to snooze for a while longer.
    “Come on, pretty boys,” Mandy laughed, stepping around them to unlock the front door, slipping her phone into a plastic bag and putting it into the pocket of her running capris. 
    The dogs preceded her outside into the still-cool air. Most of her neighbors’ cars were still in their driveways, the true sign of the weekend having arrived. No one wanted to be at work if they didn’t have to be.
    Relocking her home behind her, Mandy took a moment to stretch while her two companions wandered around the yard, searching out the scents of any new person or critter that might have trespassed into their territory.
    Hoping that the fact that it was Saturday would keep the beach mostly clear, she started at an even jog towards the preset loop that would take her down to the waterfront. The fresh, salty air did wonders for the soul, and she hoped the length of the course would help settle her tumultuous thoughts.


    I wanted to capture the longing, the waiting, wishing, and hoping. Not sure that it quite worked, but I tried. 

   Life is about to descend into a hectic mess here soon. We're watching the Hundred Foot Journey right now and I feel as if we are in the quiet before the storm, the calm before the chaos. We have two weeks, not even, before we are going to drive back down the highway to the East Coast. (Or is it east coast? Do you capitalize that?) Then it'll be the moving in process--again.

     Such fun.

     But I have not forgotten you all, have no fear. I'll continue to update as I can or as I have worthy material. Thank you for staying with me.

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: "bellamy + she's home"

    In keeping with my own tradition to post at least once a month, here I am. Two days before the deadline. True to form.

    Since I don't have much of not for writing, here's installment 2 of my The 100 bullet-point meta fics--explanation in my previous installment post.

    This is one of my favorite installments (and, as it happens, also the most popular one on Tumblr. Just for some trivia.)


bellamy + she’s home

•  Bellamy getting back after two weeks of travelling with Octavia and Lincoln, searching out allies with various Grounder tribes, exhausted and weary to his bones, because it’s been almost a year, and stories of her dog his every step in the Grounder villages, tales of Clarke of the Sky People and the death she’d brought down upon their greatest enemy, the Mountain Men.
•  Bellamy stepping through the gates of Camp Jaha and knowing right away that something’s happened, because there’s a foreign buzz in the air, one that only crops up when something of significance has occurred.
•  Bellamy setting down his pack when a shout goes up–Bellamy’s back!–and bracing for the onslaught of news and hugs that always greet him nowadays from the Delinquents, while Octavia laughs off to the side, she and Lincoln moving off towards their tent together to drop their gear.
•  Bellamy patiently working through the small crowd of kids that turn out to welcome him home, not paying much attention to their words until Miller’s in front of him, hand settling on his shoulder, and saying that she’s home.
•  Bellamy feeling a rush of numbness overtake him as he stares at Miller and just asks Clarke? and Miller nodding, jerking his head back towards the remains of the Ark then leading the way through the kids, who’re still chattering to each other in excitement.
•  Bellamy having questions running through his mind but being unable to put any of them in the air as he hoists his pack up again and following Miller because this can’t be real, can it? He doesn’t know how many times he’s woken up from a dream of her having come back in the last eleven months and is just tired enough that he’s not sure he isn’t in the midst of another dream.
•  Bellamy catching sight of Clarke exiting the Ark with Abby and Kane in tow, blonde hair turning to shimmering gold in the dying sunlight, and realizing she’s searching the people–for him–because then she’s looking right at him and is starting to smile.
•  Bellamy dropping his pack and crossing the space between them in fifteen long strides–he’s not waiting for Clarke to come to him, not this time–and she waits for him, arms outstretched, and Bellamy wraps his around her, lifting her off her feet and burying his face in her shoulder.
•  Bellamy shuddering when Clarke’s fingers curl into his hair and feeling the warm moisture of her tears against his neck and just holding her tighter, unconcerned with how he can feel the toes of her boots bumping against his shins.
•  Bellamy breathing in her scent–sunshine and salt and Clarke–and letting the rest of the world fall to the background.
•  Bellamy letting out a choked laugh when she whispers “I missed you” against his skin, voice unsteady with her emotions and rasping out “I know. I missed you too” in reply, and he won’t say how hard it’d been, how rough those first months had been, because she doesn’t need that weight.
•  Bellamy finally setting her back on her feet, but not releasing her all together, his hands lingering on her back to keep her close and hers resting on his arms. Clarke having tears in her eyes and smeared on her cheeks–tanned, like she’s been in the sun, where she belongs-as she looks up at him.
•  Bellamy leaning down to rest his forehead against hers, smiling at the laugh that sounds like a sob that escapes from Clarke, because he missed her, he missed her, she’s not allowed to leave like that again.
•  Bellamy straightening and telling her as much–you’re not allowed to leave like that again, not without me–because it’s been a long year and he knows the value of communication now, the importance of saying what you mean, after having to shepherd the Delinquents on his own for so long, and savoring the warmth that steals into her blue eyes at that.
•  Bellamy wanting to kiss her, because in the long eleven month since she left him standing there, the memory of her in his arms and her lips against his jaw burned into his memory, he’s realized that she’s it for him, there’s never going to be anyone who compares to Clarke, but he doesn’t. Because he won’t risk scaring her off, not when he just got her back.
•  Bellamy realizing that Kane and Abby have been joined by David Miller, that all three are rather amused, and that Raven (Wick bearing down on her, because he has trouble losing sight of her for long) is standing with Monty and Harper nearby, watching the proceedings.
•  Bellamy looking back down at Clarke and contemplating spiriting her away, because she’s obviously been here for a day or two, but instead shifting to slide one arm across her shoulders, keeping her close to his side (it’s going to be hard to let her go more than a few feet away for a while) as he turns to face the Arkers’ leaders.
•  Bellamy giving his report to Abby and Kane about the outcome of the two-week trek into the mountains with his sister and Lincoln, aware of Clarke slipping her arm around his waist, leaning against him in quiet contentment.
•  Bellamy feeling Clarke tense beside him when Octavia and Lincoln join the little powwow, and tightening his arm around her as he eyes his sister, knowing where the stress was coming from, but also knowing what Clarke doesn’t, that he and Octavia have had several loud arguments about her opinion on Clarke’s leadership skills.
•  Bellamy waiting as Octavia stares at Clarke with a blank face, impatient for her to make up her mind, because if she keeps this up, Clarke is going to try and step away from him and he isn’t ready to have her even a couple of steps away at this point.
•  Bellamy letting out a quiet sigh of relief when Octavia finally shrugs with an offhand glad you’re back, Clarke, things aren’t the same without you bossing us around and not missing the way the woman at his side slumps in relief even as she responds with a thank you, octavia.
•  Bellamy steering the conversation back to business with one-minded purpose–the sooner they’re done here, the sooner he can find a quiet corner to talk to Clarke in–and letting Lincoln and O put in their opinions and observations on their expedition’s results.
•  Bellamy tangling his fingers Clarke’s loose curls without even realizing he’s doing it.
•  Bellamy sharing a significant glance with Abby when they’re done, before glancing down at Clarke, finding her already watching him, and murmuring come on.
•  Bellamy clasping one of Clarke’s hands in his, taking them away towards the fence surrounding Camp Jaha, ducking behind the shrapnel that shields Raven’s Gate for some privacy–heavens knows there isn’t a lot of that here.
•  Bellamy and Clarke settling down cross-legged, her close enough that her legs overlap his and her blue eyes filled with relief and hope and contentment as she looks up at him.
•  Bellamy letting his hands settle on her legs, needing to touch her, because he’s still not sure this is real, it’s been so long.
•  Bellamy asking after a long space of quiet where they just watch each other if she found what she was looking for, and feeling the lingering knot in his chest ease further when Clarke nods with a low I did, Bellamy, thank you for letting me go. (He wants her to say his name forever.)
•  Bellamy trying to shrug it off, as if it hadn’t been as hard as she made it out to be, but failing because it had been, it’d been harder to watch her walk away than pulling that lever with her hand trembling beneath his.
•  Bellamy stilling when Clarke reaches for him, her fingertips–her hands are cold–brushing his cheeks, slim fingers combing back his unruly hair with care as she soothes eleven months of pain away with a few simple touches.
•  Bellamy closing his eyes and letting his head droop into her touch, wishing she didn’t affect him so profoundly but not wanting to have it any other way.
•  (clarke whispering i’m sorry for leaving you, bell, i’m so sorry. i had to go.)
•  (bellamy shaking his head ever so slightly, as long as you’re okay now.)
•   (i am. i am. i needed to find myself again and i’m going to be okay now. quiet but sure.)
•  (just… don’t leave me like that again, okay? i can’t lose you, clarke.)
•  (okay. i won’t. pause, breath, then her lips against his forehead, lingering. he feels her smile. i have so much to tell you.)
•  (the feeling’s mutual. the kids have done a lot of growing up.)
•  (thank you for looking out for them, bellamy.)
•  (anything for you, clarke.)

•  it’s going to be okay.


    Of course, this will be a few light years away from what actually happens in the show when it comes back next spring but, this is my happily ever after for Bellamy and Clarke. 

    As always, apologies for the lack of existence, but, you know how it goes. Life. School. Work. I'M STILL ALIVE. Just not, you know, actively writing a lot. Just blips and blurbs. As usual.

    Thanks for hanging in there, folks. Keep on.

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: "clarke + healing"

    Alright. This is going to be a little bit off on a side road, because while I did write this piece of work, that I like to call a "bullet-point fic" for reasons you will soon discover, the entire idea, characters, and world are not mine.

    Over the beginning of this year, I watched a CW tv show called The 100 and while I cannot, in any good conscience, recommend it for a variety of reasons, I really enjoyed it. Then the finale of season two rolled around, I was reeling, and I wrote some of my first fanfiction. Though not in the normal format. 

    Despite the fact that the catalysts for these bullet-point fics (I wrote several different ones) are unknown to you, I felt that the writing itself was strong and packed a pretty good punch at times. There's six-some installments at this point in time and I plan to post them in chronological order of when they happen in my mind.

    Disclaimer: none of this is mine beyond the actual structuring of the words into sentences and paragraphs. This is not canon for The 100, as it is set after the events of the finale of season 2. 

    Shall we?


clarke + healing

•  Clarke wandering for weeks and months, staying with various Grounder tribes that welcome Clarke of the Sky People, who slayed the Mountain Men.
•  Clarke never being able to stay in one place for too long because she can’t bear to hear the tales of the death she’s wrought.
•  Clarke staying tucked away in the mountains for a time, drawing the trees and the peaks on paper she’d traded for (Grounders always welcome the skills of a healer), breathing the mountain air and slowly trying to repair her heart.
•  Clarke wandering to the coast through the forest, smiling for the first time in so long when she sees the endless ocean, watching the waves ripple across the expanse of water.
•  Clarke being absorbed into a tribe of Grounders who are removed from the circles of rumors going around about her great victory.
•  Clarke becoming their healer and having children come running to accompany her when she needs to go looking for herbs.
•  Clarke spending hours on the beach, drawing in the sand, soaking in the sun, watching the sea and the effect of the wind on it, lost in thought.
•  Clarke refusing for the longest time to join in any celebrations, preferring to spend them in her little hut, grinding herbs and keeping to herself. (She doesn’t deserve to be happy like that.) 
•  Clarke starting to cry when a little girl with dark hair and blue eyes, with chubby cheeks and a shy smile, gives her a necklace of seashells strung together. The little girl hugging her, seeming to get, somehow, that Clarke’s tears are not because of her.
•  Clarke being drawn out, little by little, by the people of the village. Being brought along on berry-picking expeditions by the women, being trusted implicitly by the men to tend to their wounds. Being asked by their village’s leader to weigh in on decisions as their healer.
•  Clarke starting to laugh again.
•  Clarke adapting to the Grounders’ way of life, but always retaining a small piece of her being a Sky Person, because she will always be different, always kom skai kru. (Of the Sky People.)
•  Clarke learning to speak Trigadeslang and making children giggle as she mispronounces. (Sometimes she does it on purpose, just to get that reaction.)
•  Clarke training with a warrior of the village–Rael–(a solemn, wise woman who fights hard but also loves deeply and sees no weakness in it) and getting stronger.
•  Clarke joining the Grounders when they’re all gathering, late one night, for some momentous event that she hasn’t quite grasped, just to realize they’re watching a meteor shower. The pain is palpable on her face.
•  Clarke sitting on the beach at dawn with Rael and telling her in muted whispers of the people she left behind, of the death she caused, of a promise to return someday. (Of being afraid to go back to them.)
•  Clarke crying as Rael tells her that some wounds take longer to heal than others. That the courage will return in time. That she has been brave for her people. That they can now be brave for her and wait until she’s ready to go back to them. That she is not weak for needing this time to repair her heart. That she would be weak if she weren’t affected by everything she’s done. And then resting her hand on Clarke’s head as she settles back in silence and Clarke breaks down, sobbing.
•  Clarke being noticeably lighter after that, smiling more and laughing harder, and allowing herself to cry when she needs to. Welcoming anyone who comes to her with open arms, having sweets for children, and a kind word for adults.
•  Clarke decorating her little home with seashells and sea glass.
•  Clarke telling tales of her adventures with Bellamy, the rebel leader, and Raven, who shouldn’t have survived, and Octavia, who loved one of the tri kru, and Jasper and his goggles, Monty and his pure heart, and all the people she loves. (She smiles when she speaks of them and realizes it doesn’t hurt like it did once.)
•  Clarke joining in the dances and the ceremonies and going on gathering and hunting trips as she’s invited and spending six months among them before Rael looks at her one day and says that it’s time.
•  Clarke trying to deny it, wanting to stay longer, to continue healing, but Rael shaking her head and saying that she has done her healing, it is time to regain her courage and rejoin her people and continue her journey there.
•  Clarke preparing to leave with no lack of emotion, packing her shells and her paintings and her clothes into a pack as children drift by, giving her more small gifts, of rocks and shells and dried food, that she packs away.
•  Clarke standing at the village entrance, tears in her eyes and with a tremulous smile, as the whole village turns out to see her off, with called farewells and last minute hugs and Clarke promises that she’ll come back to see them some day–and bring her people with her–and gives final instructions for the injured that are still healing.
•  Clarke walking forward into the forest, only to hear someone call after her, and turning to find Rael, the warrior who trained her (and helped heal her) stalking towards her with a grudging smile that she’s trying to smother. “We cannot afford to have our healer be eaten or lost on her journey. I will accompany you to your destination.”
•  Clarke welcoming her friend with a grateful smile and the two falling into step together to begin the long journey. Only for the warrior to ask what exactly is their destination again? and Clarke just starts laughing.
•  Clarke and Rael travelling for weeks, talking and sharing, and Rael helping to settle Clarke’s fear that she isn’t ready for this step, sometimes insisting they stop so that they can “train” but really it’s just a tussle to help Clarke blow off her nerves.
•  Clarke whispering to Rael about Bellamy late at night, about how much it had hurt to have to walk away, about how much she trusted him, about how much she’d realized she needed him to be able to lead. About how he’d helped her pull the lever, about how he’d tried to take some of the blame for the deaths at Mount Weather. 
•  Clarke telling Rael several nights later how much she’s missed him. All of them. Her people. Even if they hate her when she comes back, she still has missed them.
•  Clarke and Rael being road-weary when they finally come across that last hill, exit the tree-line to see the loom of the Ark and the fence around Camp Jaha. Rael clasping Clarke’s forearm and then pulling her into hug her. This is as far as she will go. The rest is up to Clarke.
•  Clarke thanking her for everything in Trigadeslang, promising again to come see them, before turning towards Camp Jaha and her people, fingers tight around the strap of her pack as she walks towards it, already seeing Arkers gathering at the gate.
•  she’s home.


(end clarke + healing)


    And that's the first installment. I'm sorry that you're probably quite lost now, but I really, really liked these installments I did, so they're going to be shared.

    Thoughts? Confused questions? 

    (Thanks for sticking with me. Sorry it's been so touch and go, but that's life, you know?)

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: This Isn't Anarchy

    So I'm kind of developing a new story. I have no idea how far it's going to last, but it's doing a lot better than the majority of other little spurts of inspiration I get on occasion. Which I am taking to be a good sign.

    The title is a work-in-progress. They say writing a book is the hardest part of being an author, but titling has to be right up there too. It's hard.


There’s always the brave, reckless few who fight the order, and refuse to take their fate lying down. Who hope instead of accepting defeat.

The Essche family is among the Elect, the elites of the Sagittarian Cluster, owning one of many transcontinental mining enterprises that turn whole planets into forms of endless capital. The process displaces millions, whose only choice to survive is to accept the positions offered them by the same companies that took everything—low wages, poor conditions, crowded communities.

It’s been happening for generations, with no sign of the cycle ceasing.

Adaline Essche, the second daughter and heir, born with the genetic coding her sister lacked, grew up with her every whim fulfilled—while being trained to take on her father’s business. Natalia Essche, first of Hannady Essche’s two daughters, left. She vanished three years prior and the feeble attempt to find her was unsuccessful.

There’s a star-map leading to the unknown and an insurrection publicized as chaos.

This isn’t anarchy. It’s revolution.


    It's still rough around the edges (mostly rough around the edges), but my cast of characters have some good footing, I'm actually contemplating in coherent thought what the theme will be, and the MC is a challenging sort of different from the average personality of the rest of my main characters. Though her sister is a bit more what I'm used to and will probably flow a lot more easily. 

    Leave a thought, yeah? My Tumblr audience was a typical Tumblr audience and left me hanging on feedback. 

    And sorry I haven't been very active. Let's just chalk it up to a busy, busy, busy month. Busy. Really busy. You get the gist.

    Thanks for sticking around!

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Sarris + "bringing her home"

    It is not June yet, okay? I'm still ahead of the deadline. This is going to be a lame post, but it's a post and it counts, okay? I also might have to go to work in forty minutes and have to eat, do my hair, brush my teeth, and finish getting my snack together. Short post.

    Long story short, I'm in Alaska (again), I'm working 1-8pm, five days a week, our internet is not in our house yet, and I've been reading a lot of books.

    Yeah. That's about it. It's been a busy few months of travel. Once again.

    My writing scribbles have meandered all over story ideas, but I liked this scrawl best that I did over this last week. Hopefully you guys do too.

    Original storyline, just by the way. Since it's so confusing with the four some different storylines and I get turned around every once in a while as well.


    Sarris found herself wide awake despite not having slept in almost two days. The starliner thrummed around her, as soothing and constant as the sleepy warmth pressed to her front.
    It felt like events had not stopped slipping past faster than she could almost comprehend. Two days ago she had been returning home to an empty apartment and an aching pain in the wake of visiting Tara—again.
     Now she glanced down and wondered that the past forty-eight hours weren’t anything more than a dream. That she would wake up in an empty bed, reaching for the only constant in her life, only to find him gone.
    Downy blond curls were stark against the gray of Sarris’ uniform jacket, softening the military edge in a way no smile could. Quiet breaths left the child in her arms as she slumbered.
    At six months old, Ruusan was just beginning to take an interest in the world, and was sleeping through the night on a somewhat regular basis. Not that it would’ve made a difference.
    The Warrior had been struck by the vivid blue of her eyes from that first moment on the side of the road after dragging the crying child from the burning wreck of her parents’ streamer.
    Letting her head settle back, Sarris stared at the illume casting faint light over the rows of seats, the low setting telling that their destination, Sinjaro Kahn, was in the late hours of night. Sleeping now would be in the passengers’ best interest.
    She hadn’t commed Novarr any details beyond asking him to meet her at home tomorrow, or the earliest he could get away from his current job.
    This wasn’t something she would be able to talk about, could make a decision about, without being able to see him, to grip his hands with hers and see the truth of his own choice in his eyes.
     Ruusan could and would change everything. Already had. Even if they didn’t keep her, even if they committed her as a ward of the bureau on Norsha’ac, Sarris knew there would be no going back now. Not after memorizing the weight of the child in her arms, the pitch of her cry, the gentle scent that clung to her hair and skin after a bath.
    It was burned into her mind as deep as Gogam, as her time with the Force, as the people who meant everything to her.
    No, there was no return from here. And Sarris didn’t care, as she laced her fingers together over Ruusan’s back, her eyes closing. She knew that she wouldn’t get much rest, but it was worth it to at least try. There was no telling when Ruusan would awaken. Or what the next few days would hold, for that matter. She would need every moment of respite she could manage.

    //

    Sarris knew that the only thing Novarr would read on her face and in her eyes would be strain, so she grabbed his hands, hoping the contact would help him understand.
    “You’re really starting to freak me out here, Sar,” his voice was strained, brows at an odd angle as he attempted to keep at least a hint of a smile on his features. His fingers were tight around hers with rising tension.
    The words stuck in her throat, as easy as they should’ve been, but she didn’t know what to say anymore.
    Staring into the concern in his gaze, the Warrior struggled. She didn’t do well conversing even within normal parameters, let alone when it came to an issue of this magnitude.
    “Her name is Ruusan,” Sarris murmured at last. Her name almost got stuck, came out as a whisper. “She’s six months old, Norsha’acite, and her parents are both dead. Killed in a streamer accident.”
    Novarr was uncomprehending, a frown crowding out his failing attempt at a smile, and he rubbed agitated circles around her knuckles with his thumbs. “What about her, Sar? I need details here, babe.”
    “Next of kin waived their claim, she was going straight to a bureau-operated home, Novarr.” Sarris was unfamiliar with the desperation crawling beneath her skin. It was wishful, devastating, craving, unthinkable, nothing like she’d ever known.
    Her hunter, her Novarr, waited, knowing to give her time, to allow her to work past her barriers and speak, perhaps already thinking he knew where this was going.
    “I—“ Sarris paused, closed her eyes. “She’s here. I brought her home with me. She’s asleep in our bed right now.”
   It might have been amusing in any other situation, with any other circumstances. Novarr stopped functioning, frozen, staring at Sarris.
    She let him process, her attention on their conversation, but every sense tuned to the small noises of their apartment. Waiting for that familiar cry to come.
    It would be weeks before her usual sleeping schedule returned. Before her senses dulled again from razor sharp awareness, at a level she hadn’t seen in years.
    Since her first years off Gogam, struggling with the blood that had soaked her.
    “We… have a baby?” Novarr’s dawning comprehension made warmth spread through Sarris’ fingertips.
    Drawing in a breath, she explained in low tones, “If that’s what we want. I have temporary custody because of my dual status as a Warrior that’s acknowledged by both Kahn and Uhric. It allows some space to maneuver legally.” Away from the emotion of the situation, her tongue loosened, thoughts flowing with more ease.
    Not that it made a difference what she said now. Novarr wasn’t attending again, just smiling, a goofy expression she didn’t see on him often. His good humor was usually more focused, not an uncontrolled reaction like now.
    “Her name is Ruusan?” He checked, squeezing her hands at odd intervals.
    Sarris blinked at him. Nodded once. “Yes. Ruusan Armstrong.”
    “And her family doesn’t want her?”
    “No.” That was the part of this she couldn’t understand. How Ruusan’s grandparents had walked into that security station where Sarris had waited with their granddaughter, and had turned their backs on her. Had signed all the forms to give up their rights without looking at her twice.
    It had made her burn with anger. That they were so willing, so eager, to be rid of Ruusan. Of her blue eyes and golden curls, her sweet giggles and priceless babbling.


    Short but sweet, I hope. Unfinished, as with all my projects. But it hit me during church last week and I ran with it. This is a phase of their lives I never really got around to writing out, just put a mental marker in with an idea of events and moved on to bigger fish.

    Baby Ruu is so. adorable. Just so you know. One of those babies that makes you think, "I wouldn't mind having kids after all" because she's just precious and a sweetheart and. Yeah.

    I've gotta run now.

    Thoughts?

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulties.