#((This is four word doc pages long and it is all I have done today so I'm really hoping someone reads it.)) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muses-of-ideen · 6 years ago

Text

Guardian’s Fall Excerpt

This is a part of Guardian’s Fall that I’ve been working on on and off. I’ll be adding more to it over time, and I’ll reblog it when I do, but this is the chapter where Tiras nearly loses himself to his Curse and Pyrha has been tasked with bringing him back as punishment for sending him into his downward spiral in the first place.

Please note that this chapter will contain themes of abuse, psychosis, racial discrimination, and general tragedy over the course of being written.

When Pyrha awoke, the sight that met her was a sea of blackness- no sky, no stars, no earth beneath her feet, neither the comfort of warmth nor the frightful cold. And, as she began to become aware of herself in that space, the only thing she felt was in her heart; an overwhelming presence of hatred and despair. Quickly, it brought her to her knees, first shaking and gasping as the feel of a thousand knives dug themselves into her ribs and chest, then sobbing and screaming, her hands tearing at her hair and ears as emotions that weren’t hers overwhelmed her. It was the feeling of being betrayed by the only people who’d ever cared, the feeling of hope crushed by remorse- like everyone she ever loved had died spitting words of venom in her face. It was enough to break a person. She would rather die than to feel this despaired! Hot tears ran down her cheeks and she choked on the air in her throat. Everything hurt. Everything burned. She wanted to die. She’d rather die than suffer endlessly like this! She could feel her sense of self gradually being eroded away by the pain, and she just wanted it to stop-

‘Now do you get it, Priestess? This is the pain you caused him. This is what you are going to fix.,’ came a voice. Despite the voice’s scolding tone, it brought a wave of relief in to muffle the strangling emotions. She found herself able to breathe again, and she swallowed the air of the black void like water. Even the soul needed to breathe, and she felt like hers hadn’t been able to catch its breath for a long time.

“This is… a Curse?”

‘This is what makes a Curse. And it is slowly eating away at Tiras. He has been holding it at bay for many many years, even now he tries to hold it back, but your words drove him over the edge and if nothing is done to fix his broken soul he will turn into a Curse Spirit; suffering endlessly, for eternity, in loneliness and despair, and when he gives in, I too will fall, and all the world’s air will stagnate and sour.’

“What? N-No. There’s no way that what I said did this,” Pyrha retorted. There was no way that just her words would lead to the end of Air! “He’s just weak is all. He’s too sensitive. He didn’t need to take it that seriously!” The wave of relief from before left her and she suddenly found herself once again drowning in a sea of pain and anguish; her Spirit taken from her, her tribesman slain, Spring’s face when she had confronted her, all of it burned and itched at every part of her, a fire that was truly unbearable.

‘You dare to call him weak when he has suffered emotions like these since before he even came to this city! Ignorant child, know your place! He may not always act in the most righteous of ways, but you who refuse to know him cannot presume to act as if you do!’

‘That should be enough of that.’ Another voice, a new calming wave. It wasn’t until Pyrha stopped gasping for breath that she realized that voice belonged to the Phoenix. ‘You are emotional Dragoon because your precious one has been harmed. I would be too; however, she will understand better if she goes in search of his heart rather than continuing to sit here and take your rage. You will lose him.’

“If it’s… that bad… release him from being your Priest. You have others, right?” Pyrha said, her voice still wraspy.

‘The previous Priest, his father, still lives, however that man has strayed from the path. All of his people have. And Tiras is a special existence. He cannot be replaced. There will not be one like him for maybe another thousand years.’

“What-?”

‘A Primae Nocturne, my child. ‘The First Priest.’ Tiras is one of these; a child who will lead his Spirit to prosperity, whose existence revolves entirely around his master even moreso than you or any of the others in that Council. Our love, our children, our honeyed mead: to us Spirits there is none more precious than the First,’ the Phoenix answered.

‘And he has been forsaken by his people, his tribe, his clan. If I abandon him… If I let go of him then his despair may engulf the world. He is… fighting me, trying to make me let go, but I cannot. I… cannot…’ Pyrha had always thought of Spirits as omniscient beings who transcended emotions like sadness and attachment, however the Dragoon’s voice sounded so incredibly sad. The way it spoke of letting go of Tiras was as if it would be killing its own child. It truly, truly loved Tiras. Pyrha gave a sigh, half of reluctance- she still did not believe she should be punished with such a task and that Tiras should just rot off for all she cared, but the Dragoon was insisting otherwise and it would be rude to not only go against the Council Master’s orders, but against a Guardian’s as well.

“Fine. Tell me what I have to do.”

The Council Master sat opposite the two sleeping Priests, hands folded under his chin. He was more than well aware of just how wrong this could all go, and the feathers adorning Tiras’ body had long since begun to jaundice. Several other Priests stood by in case the Tiras finally lost control, but Maeve knew for a fact that they would be powerless in the face of a First Priest. When Tiras lost control- not if, but when- they would all be torn to shreds by the raging winds. The city he had built would not last either; buildings would be picked up and smashed into one another, smaller structures would simply crumble apart. It would be a true calamity. Maeve had heard stories of Curses who had rampaged to such a point that they changed the topography- Curses of Calamity. Tiras would most definitely fall under this category if Pyrha could not bring him out of himself. The Council Master’s grip tightened, finally making the worst case decision just as the air in the room began to turn foul. First is was small wisps and breezes, but then it became clear that the wind was not only picking up, but that it was becoming corrupted. Several Priests moved into position to attack, but Maeve stood and sounded his cane against the ground.

“Cease. Fall back.” With those words, while shooting him wary looks, the Priests fell back behind him. “Darius!” Maeve shouted. “An emergency has occurred!�� A wall of the room began to crack- or more precisely, the space in front of the wall rather than the wall itself. Otherworldly light came pouring out, and a being that was clearly neither human, nor Nocturne, nor Spirit emerged from the opening. The creature had skin the color of old ash and sunken black eyes with red irises. On its head, poking out from under neatly slicked black hair were two ram’s horns that curled around pointed ears. Much of him took the shape of a human, however the bottom half of either of his legs resembled the cloven feet of a deer or a horse, and the tail that emerged from its back was long and hairless like a rat’s. However, despite all this, the most unusual part of its appearance was that it donned glasses and the almost uniform wear one would expect of a record keeper. The being adjusted its glasses and spoke.

“Maeve, I am not some familiar you can summon out of thin air. How many times do I have to explain that-”

“Darius, as much as I would love to catch up, we do really have quite the emergency.” The Council Master motioned to the two sleeping youths, the male of while was clearly starting into the final phases of becoming a Curse.

“Well fuck… Can it not be stopped?”

“An effort is being made by the sleeping Ignatian there, however she may not make it in time, and the Spirit attached to him refuses to sever the connection.”

“So it’s a Priest that’s going to turn? Hell Maeve. Why not just summon the Etherial of Death itself and put us out of our misery?!”

“He’s not just any Priest, Darius. He is the Dragoon’s Primae Nocturne- A First Priest.”

“And just what do you expect me to do against a Cursed First Priest?”

“Contain it.”

Pyrha walked down a single lit path in the darkness, passing by faded, dark doors from which disembodied sounds would occasionally exit. She had to find the memory that Tiras had hidden himself in and draw him out, but that was easier said than done.

‘You need to sift through his memories and find the moment he has chosen to relive forever. When you find him, you must convince him not only to come out, but to calm his curse. Right now he is near to falling over the edge, and once he takes that last step, all of us will be lost. I can provide you with guidance on where I believe he may have hidden himself, but that is all I can do. The closer we get, the more he will reject me, so my assistance will not be substantial.’

The Dragoon’s words stuck with her, however she had no idea how to go about trying to convince him to come back. She didn’t particularly care if he did, to be honest. As far as she was concerned, he was just a child throwing a tantrum- a human who was trying to be something more than he could be.

The path turned and lead into a single lit doorway. The design of it was clearly different from the homes of her people, but looking at it made Pyrha feel like she had arrived at home.

‘Open it,’ the Dragoon advised. Pyrha grabbed the handle and held down on the latch, pushing the door in. Strangely, it opened to a park- or at least what looked like a park; shrubbery and small grasses grew intermittently, but the vast majority of the ground was sand, very little of it solid. Children rolled around and played with one another, though most notably there was a lack of toys. Off in the corner she saw a gathering of adults crowded around one small boy who couldn’t have been any older than five. Feeling drawn to it, Pyrha wiggled her way in to find that the boy was Tiras! He was very small, but that hair and those eyes definitely belonged to Tiras! An older gentleman at his side clapped him on the shoulder, and the young Tiras jumped, seeming to panic for a moment.

“Rejoice!” said the man. “For today my son, Tiras, has been chosen to take over my duties as Priest to the Great Dragoon! He will be the next Chief of our people, so be sure to treat him well and the Dragoon will bless us!”

“What?!” Pyrha gasped. “But he’s hardly more than a toddler!” No one in the crowd seemed to respond to her outburst. Rather, they were cheering for the nervous boy in front of them. “Why does no one find this odd? A child can’t bear the responsibilities of Priest! That is why we all fight and train for the honor from the time that we can walk!”

‘Primae Nocturne are special, or did you not remember what I told you?’ It was the sisterly voice of her own Master, and the scolding tone made Pyrha calm herself.

“I do, however this is far too young.”

‘He showed a proficiency for magic as soon as he was born,’ the Dragoon replied. ‘I needed to make it clear to his people that he was a valued existence to be cherished and protected, however my decision may have only made things worse. You must understand, Phoenix Priestess- Tiras’ people are corrupted. They can think of nothing more than their own self-gain because I have trapped them in a land that has so little. Calamity struck several hundred years earlier and threatened to wipe out their people. Rather than forsake them, I created a space that could remain untouched, however it has trapped us all at the bottom of the sea. Their gills are a curse I offered them so that they could remain self-sufficient, one that is completely harmless but only when underwater.’

“So then Tiras-”

‘Truly risked not only his freedom but his life to save you and your Phoenix. Tell me how that is weak or cowardly.’

The boy at the center of the crowd smiled as his father patted his head in pride, but Pyrha could say for certain that this was the only time she’d ever truly seen Tiras smile.

“You do realize that I am not combat oriented, correct?” Darius hissed as they placed up barrier after barrier to try and contain the coming storm. “I mean really, do I look like some kind of all-powerful being to you? I’m not an Etherial, Maeve!”

“Nope, but you’re the next best thing,” the Council Master replied, clapping the Dae on the back. “Besides, you made an interdimensional library that eats people. Don’t tell me you can’t hold off a Curse.”

“Weren’t you just saying that this is no ordinary curse?! Oh if I ever meet my parents I swear I am going to feed you to them!”

“You wouldn’t. You’d need a new conversation partner.”

“Well you look like you’re about to kick the bucket anyways!”

A tap came on the Council Master’s shoulder.

“Council Master, just what is this creature?”

“Oh, right, my apologies,” Maeve said, turning to the throng of confused Priests. “This is Darius- Dae of Knowledge and Space.”

Several of the Priests scrambled back. A Dae was not only an incredibly rare existence, but a powerful one- they were the children of Gods and Spirits and were considered the most powerful beings in the universe that had a physical body. They were also often moody and had a tendency to smite or play with anything that got in their way or caught their attention.

“No need to worry so much. Darius is one of the more accommodating Dae, unlike that one that went around causing wars and making little girls shoot death beams from their eyes. Darius created the Bibliothecam Mortuo, the Library of Lost Knowledge-”

“Of which I am seriously considering revoking your privileges to!”

Maeve gave a chuckle.

“See, perfectly accommodating, although I will admit to being the only human that has said privileges.”

“Maeve, stop showing off to your underlings and get them to help!”

“That being said, who here has confidence in constructing barriers of the magical variety?”

TBA

#Guardian's Fall 002 || Mistakes Were Made {Tensions Rising}#Guardian's Fall #Tiras Wiater #Pyrha Equia #Maeve #Darius #swearing tw #abuse tw #((This is four word doc pages long and it is all I have done today so I'm really hoping someone reads it.))

1 note · View note

reidandweep · 4 years ago

Text

Stitching

Spencer Reid x Reader (female)

A/N- Much like Adam Driver, I have been a huge fan of Matthew Gray Gubler and criminal minds for years. With quarantine, I decided to re-watch the show from the beginning and I had some inspiration. My writing tends to take a while but if you have any requests or idea for Spencer Reid, please send them my way.

Word Count- 6286 words

Warning- Angst, mentions of violence and torture, fluff, tears, and the usual criminal minds details.

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? -William Shakespeare.

QUANTICO, VIRGINIA

“Good morning my lover and friends. As of 8:45 am, yesterday morning, four bodies have been found across the Washington State area. Locations confirmed to be Pomeroy, Baker City, Salem, and Mill Creek. All victims were very similar in physical appearance; Caucasian, red hair, brown eyes, approximately 5ft 4’.”

Garcia swiped her tablet to display family photographs of the victims on the screen. The team watched, in the debriefing room, as they scanned through their own tablets; reading through the details. Spencer’s eyes flittered over the images as his fingers scanned across the words in his paper file; still adamant on not working with technology like the rest of his team.

“What about the cause of death? How were they found?”

Garcia shivered at Rossi’s question.

“It’s not a pretty image. Each victim was dismembered at the elbows, knees, neck, and stomach. Further cuts were made vertically down the stomach and across the face, arms, and legs. Not deep enough to cut through bone, but deep enough to bleed out. Where the unsub cut our victims, he then sewed them back together.”

Emily looked up at Garcia.

“Are you saying the lacerations were made before the victim’s died?”

“Precisely. Each autopsy report came back the same with the cause of death pointing to the direction of blood loss; specifically, from the throat.”

The team looked at the new images before them. Multiple pictures appeared on the screen, showing the bodies of the victims. The pictures showing the women laid out in the same pose, thick thread holding together the pieces of their corpses. All had their eyes closed, except one.

“Garcia, the last victim, zoom into her face.”

Garcia did as Spencer asked.

“Her eyes are closed.”

Spencer nodded, glancing towards JJ as she spoke.

“Meaning that he felt remorse for this murder.”

Derek scrolled through the pictures on his tablet.

“The other three victim’s eyes are open, indicating that he wanted them to look. To watch what he was doing, whatever it may have been.”

Spencer looked across the table at the questioning faces.

“So, what changed between the third and the fourth victim?”

Hotch stood from his seat, indicating the others to grab their belonging.

“We can discuss further on jet. Wheels up in thirty.”

WASHINGTON STATE

Being greeted by the local police department in Clagstone, Spencer and the team began their investigation into the murders. Spencer did not know what it was, but the stitching on the bodies felt familiar. Like he had seen them before.

Looking up from his files, Spencer watched as Derek walked into the room, ending a call with who he could only presume to be Garcia.

“Garcia has just completed background checks on our latest victim. Lily Trent visited local film screenings at the Southview Centre religiously, to watch horror movies in particular. Seems like the girl loved anything horror and Halloween; according to her roommate and her computer history. It seems that are other victims did also.”

Spencer stood from his seat and walked towards the whiteboard at the back of the room. Writing down the details Derek stated, his brain began to filter through the relevant information needed.

“Halloween is ranked the ninth most celebrated holiday in the world. With different interpretations of the holiday occurring according to country and culture. Wearing costumes at Halloween did not even become an occurrence until 1585, with the first instance recorded in Scotland.”

Derek chuckled at Reid’s excitement. He knew the boy loved Halloween.

“Well it all looks like they were pretty huge fans of the holiday and horror films. Maybe our unsub was too.”

Spencer looked down at the photos in his hand, scanning his memory for any correlation.

“Maybe, it’s not just horror, but a particular film. If all the victims were presented in a certain way, maybe the unsub is trying to replicate what happened to a character in a particular film.”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ll call Garcia to search through all the victims search history to see if any particular horror films come up in each one. Do you know of any films that the unsub could have replicated?”

Spencer shook his head.

“I can collate his actions to hundreds of films but, the method of torture and look of the victims, I can’t think of one horror feature that pinpoints all that the unsub has done.”

A thought unexpectedly popped into Spencer’s mind. Derek cocked his head at the sudden halt from the resident genius.

“But I know someone who might.”

UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON

“The importance of genre in film alters many of the other aspects. The characters and their narrative arcs, the music score, cinematography, the edit, and so much more. Sometimes genre even dictates the director who signs onto the project. Dennis Dugan would not have a directing career if Adam Sandler stopped making comedy movies. Because that is what he directs. He doesn’t direct comedies; he directs Adam Sandler comedies. Which, in my opinion, are a whole genre on their own.”

The class chuckled.

“Genre plays a part in everyday life. Sometimes, your day will be led by romance, or grief, or action. There may be drama, or comedy, or even silence.”

The class looked on in concentration as Y/N walked across the floor. If someone who did not attend the college walked past the classroom, they could’ve presumed that she was a student. She looked young enough.

“It controls the way the characters talk, act, and move. How the plot thickens and pushes forward and…”

The doors at the back of the auditorium opened. Y/N looked up at the sound of the intrusion to see figures that she could not recognise, and one that she did.

Clearing her throat, she continued.

“And how it even ends. We shall leave it at that today. What I want you to do in the meantime is research a genre in particular and come up with examples that counteract the stereotypes that have been enforced upon the genre itself. Hand it in to your professor first thing Monday morning. Thank you.”

Y/N watched as the students collected their things and filtered out of the room. The figures waiting till she was only left before they walked down the steps.

Coming to a stop in front of her desk, Y/N crossed her arms and waited. Spencer stepped forward with a crooked smile on his face.

“Hi Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle.

“Long time no see stranger.”

Spencer’s cheeks burned at Y/N’s words. The team shared looks between them at the unfamiliar display. They had seen Spencer blush at people before, but not for a long time.

Spencer cleared his throat, preparing himself to act professional.

“This is Dr Y/F/N Y/L/N. Y/N travels across the country to guest speak at different universities on her topic at hand. She specialises in film studies, more importantly the focus of characters and genres. If I can’t connect the unsub’s actions to a film, Y/N most definitely can.”

Y/N smiled at Spencer’s praise.

“Nice to meet you all. So, what are you here to talk to me about Doc? Obviously, you’re here on a case and if you are asking for my help, I’m guessing it’s going to be pretty gruesome.”

Spencer blushed at the nickname; caught off guard by the word slipping of her tongue.

Sending a raised look towards Reid, Hotch began to explain why they were there.

“Were looking into a case of connected murders. All victims were found to have been mutilated and tortured in the same way. As well as showing resemblances in their physical appearances. With research, we’ve found that each victim was particularly fond of horror films and Halloween. We would just like for you to take a look and see if you could recognise if the ways in which they were harmed stemmed from a film in particular.”

Y/N nodded her head.

“Of course, anything to help.”

She reached for the files from Spencer’s hands, ignoring the tablet pushed in her direction by JJ.

“Sorry, I prefer to use paper. I only really use technology for my lectures or to watch films if they cannot be purchased in physical form.”

Derek smirked, shooting looks to his team, as his eyes landed on Spencer. He never thought he would meet a technophobe like Reid.

Y/N scanned through the pictures and documents, looking in detail at the lacerations at hand. She identified the similarities between the victims, as her mind swirled through the images and characters from the films, she knew held similarities.

“What were the names of all the victims?”

Emily looked towards the woman.

“That information is classified.”

Y/N did not blink at her abrasiveness.

“Were any of them called Sally?”

The team looked perplexed at her question.

“No. Why that name in particular?”

Y/N continued to scan the pages as Rossi questioned her.

“Because the unsub isn’t replicating anything from a horror movie. The unsub is replicating the physical appearance and staging of a character from an animated movie. A Disney one to be more specific.”

A light bulb flickered in Spencer’s mind as he stared at Y/N in realisation. The hair colours. The stitches. It made sense now.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

LOCAL POLICE DEPARTMENT

“The Nightmare Before Christmas is a 1993 American stop-motion animated musical Halloween-Christmas fantasy film directed by Henry Selick and produced and conceived by Tim Burton. It became a cult classic during the early 2000s with orchestral concerts occurring every year to celebrate the spectacle of the film.”

Spencer indicated for JJ to change the monitor as he and Y/N stood in front of the team to explain the information.

“Originally, the story began as a poem written by Tim Burton. Both narratives follow the protagonist, Jack Skellington, into his journey to Christmastown, and how he tries to make Christmas his own. The character in question that your unsub is replicating is the love interest of our protagonist. Created by Dr Finkelstein, Sally is a ragdoll-esque character whose body is covered with stitches to keep her together. The form in which all the women were found is identical to this scene in the movie.”

The screen changes to show the scene in question; paused at the precise moment to prover her point.

“All red haired, all Caucasian, all eerily the same. The stitches are exactly the same and the pose in which they are in the pictures are also.”

“We now know which film our unsub is mimicking, but how can we produce a distinguished profile of our unsub? All we can say is that between his third and fourth victim, he suddenly began to feel remorseful of his crimes.”

Y/N looked towards Spencer, waiting for him to speak as he knew more details about the case.

“Garcia checked into the victim’s computer histories and found that all four victims attended a horror convention in the Washington state area over the course of the past month. The convention in particular runs every other weekend, focusing on different horror films to highlight. However, they always make an exception for one film; The Nightmare Before Christmas. Whilst reviewing receipts for the tickets, they were all brought through the convention’s website, which is run by its board of organisation every year. Up until recently, the board has held the same members.”

Derek tapped on his tablet to the convention’s website.

“Last month, the website released details stating that a distinguish member was no longer part of the board due to unforeseen circumstances.”

It suddenly dawned on Y/N who Derek was talking about.

“Dean Faulkner.”

Spencer whipped around towards Y/N.

All eyes laid on her as her breath increased.

“You know him?”

Y/N nodded at Hotch.

“I guest spoke at a panel with him a few years back at a separate university. We were both there, amongst others, to talk about the works of a genre that are expertise were in. I was there to basically provide loose ends for what they could not answer. Dean’s specialised area was horror. The whole time he spoke about what he described as the true villains of horror and of the world.”

Y/N gulped, her mouth going dry.

“Women.”

The wheels began to turn in the team’s heads.

Spencer stepped closer towards Y/N in assurance, seeing that her thoughts were becoming overwhelmed. He quickly stepped back after he realised what he had done.

“He went on a raging tangent about the damsel in distress and the final girl. Going on and on and on about how women are weak and would never be the last one standing if faced against the monsters in real life. How they manipulated the men and made the monsters seem worse than they truly were. The only time he spoke positively about women was when we finally calmed him down and, during a Q&A session, a student asked him who the perfect horror movie character was. He said Sally because she was forgiving and would do anything for Jack; even if that meant falling apart and being sewn back together. I tried to justify that the film does not necessarily fall into the genre of horror. But he rebutted saying that it most definitely did, because of the fact that Jack’s dream did not come true.”

The room was silent for a second, taking in the information.

Suddenly, Y/N grasped the pen from Spencer’s hands. Her finger scribbling across the whiteboard.

“I need to know the names of the victims. Get Penelope on the phone and tell me the names.”

The team shocked at her erratic movements, sat in silence.

“Do you want to capture this guy?”

Spencer licked his lips and repeated the victim’s names.

“Susanna Cole, Alice Dawes, Liberty May, and Lily Trent.”

Y/N swiftly wrote the names on the boards. Each name below the other. Underneath the last name she wrote the letter Y.

“Can you ask Penelope to track any females with the first name beginning with Y who have purchased a ticket to the next convention?”

Derek quickly began to type to her. The rest of the team looking on in disbelief.

“There were twenty-three purchases, but with cross referencing with the similarities in the other victims, one matched. Her name is Yasmine Driver.”

Y/N wrote the name on the board. Circling all the first letters of each name, it became clear there was another connection with the victims.

“Their initials spell Sally.”

Y/N nodded at JJ’s disbelief.

“Reid, when is the next convention being held?”

Spencer diverted his attention to Emily.

“Their schedule every two weeks, so that would make it… tomorrow.”

The team swiftly moved into action.

“JJ bring together the police force for a debrief. Derek and Rossi, go to the convention centre and question the board about Dean. Ask them how often he visited and if they have any knowledge of the victims visits to the convention. Spencer and Emily, contact Penelope for Faulkner’s address. Once you have visited the home, if he is there, bring him in. We’re going to try and catch him before he gets close to his goal. I will locate Yasmine and bring her to the station for safety. We don’t know how far he is going to go and what the end goal of his fantasy is. But we are going to stop him.”

The team swiftly did as they were told, leaving the room with only Spencer and Y/N behind. Just before the door shot, Hotch leaned back in.

“Thank you, Dr Y/L/N, for all your help. If possible, could you stay here with JJ and look through the documents? You know this guy more than we do, so any more information that comes to mind, please let us know.”

Y/N and Spencer watched as Hotch left the room, the door shutting behind him.

As the silence engulfed them, Y/N and Spencer were hyper aware that they were now alone and had been for the first time in weeks.

Spencer swiftly walked towards Y/N and embraced her in a tight hold. Wrapping her arms around the slender man, Y/N breathed in his scent.

“I’ve missed you.”

Y/N chuckled at Spencer’s muffled words, as his head rested on top of her own. Pulling back, Y/N slowly released Spencer, letting her hands drop to her sides.

“I’ve missed you too Doc. We can catch up later, I will be waiting right here. Now, go and save the girl.”

Spencer chuckled at her words but did as Y/N said. Throwing her a smile, Spencer quickly walked out the room, leaving Y/N behind.

Y/N sat in the room, looking over the files as the time passed, waiting to see Spencer return with the rest of the team. A knock on the door startled her from her search.

Looking up at the door, Y/N saw JJ walk into the room with two cups of coffee in her hands. JJ outstretched the one hand, placing the cup in front of Y/N, as she took a seat and began to sip at her own.

“I didn’t know how many sugars you took so I estimated.”

Y/N smiled at the woman’s kindness.

“Thank you. Have you heard anything from the others?”

JJ sat up in her seat as she watched Y/N look over the documents. Her fingers moving across the pages ever so quickly. Her hand that wasn’t tapped continuously on the table in a rhythm.

“Spencer and Emily located Faulkner’s home, but it was vacant. They’re looking around the premises for clues for where he may be; as we speak. Hotch and Derek just called saying they are on their way down with Yasmine now.”

Y/N nodded at her words. Glad to hear that the girl was safe, but the main priority now would be to locate Faulkner. She wanted to truly help them, before anyone else could get hurt.

JJ grabbed her tablet and began to search through the files for any missed out information. Silence befell across the pair, until JJ could not help but ask what they had all been dying to know.

“How did you and Spencer meet?”

Y/N had been waiting for the question. She had seen the looks the team had shared throughout the day. The questioning gazes towards the pair.

“Spencer and I were both guests speaking at the University of California a few months ago. He must have finished his lecture early as he was wondering the halls when he came across the class I was teaching. I was stood on the desk, encouraging the students to do the same. Spencer thought I was a student causing trouble whilst the professor had left the room. He ran in sprouting facts about the percentage of people who fall and severely hurt themselves whilst standing on tables. Telling me that I should get down before he reports me to my professor.”

JJ chuckled at Y/N’s story.

“Sounds like Spence alright.”

Y/N giggled in agreement. As she spoke, Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory of their first encounter. JJ noticed the smile on the woman’s face. She knew what that smile meant.

“So, I told him that he better stay there to catch me, just in case I fell, as I was trying to teach my students about the importance of character actions, and how doing something as simple as standing on a desk can amplify the tone of the scene. Like in the film Dead Poet’s Society. Spencer finally realised that I was also a guest speaker and he actually stood there for the next 40 minutes of my lecture. I didn’t need to stand on the desk that long, but I wanted to see if he would stay. Once the lecture had finished, he apologised for jumping to conclusions. I apologised for making him wait for 40 minutes in case I fell. He told me I didn’t make him wait; he chose to. We’ve been in contact ever since.”

Just as Y/N finished her story, the door to the conference room opened once more. Looking towards the door, Y/N watched as Hotch entered, followed by Yasmine. The young woman looked scared, but unharmed.

Y/N stood from her seat, unsure of what to do as Hotch insisted for Yasmine to take a seat.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Hotch nodded his head.

“We shouldn’t be long. The rest of the team are outside in the bullpen. You can go ahead and join them. JJ and I will take it from here.”

Y/N nodded her head, leaving the room. She watched as Hotch and JJ questioned spoke to Yasmine through the glass, before she turned and walked down the corridor to find Spencer and his friends.

Turning the corner, Y/N failed to stop herself before bumping into a tall figure. Looking up to apologise, her eyes suddenly widened at the familiar face. Before a sound could leave her lips, a blunt force knocked her out cold.

Spencer and the team discussed where Faulkner could be when Hotch strode into the bull pen.

“How did it go?”

Hotch walked towards his team, ready to answer Derek’s question.

“It seems that Faulkner had been stalking the victims for some time. Yasmine detailed seeing him turn up at the conventions, even though he was no longer allowed. She had previously complained about his behaviour to the board before his dismissal. Stating that Faulkner had sexually harassed her. Rossi, did anyone at the convention mention anything about Faulkner that we don’t know?”

“It seems that Yasmine wasn’t the only one. The other board members went into detail about why he was fired. It turned out that all of our victims, including Yasmine, had filed lawsuits against Faulkner for sexual harassment. The charges were ultimately dropped and never recorded to keep the convention’s reputation clear. But they fired Faulkner and banned him from being able to attend any further conventions. Taking away the Nightmare Before Christmas dedicated stand was just a coincidence. They felt that the convention needed something new as they had been celebrating the film for over eight years.”

Just as Hotch was about to declare what the next step would be in finding Faulkner, JJ burst through the ball pen.

“Guys, you have to come quick.”

The team, in shock, watched as JJ ran back towards the conference room. All quickly on her heels. Entering the room, she took control of the laptop, streaming the image to the projector.

Spencer could no longer breathe as he looked at the image on the screen.

“Y/N.”

The screen showed Y/N tied to a chair and bent forward; clearly in pain. Her surroundings empty and dark.

Suddenly a voice was heard.

“I sense there's something in the wind. That seems like tragedy's at hand isn’t there Dr Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The team watched in horror as Dean Faulkner yanked Y/N’s head back, her body letting out a strangled cry at the pain caused by his actions.

Spencer felt sick, he felt like he was watching himself when Tobias Hankel had held him captive.

“Emily, call Garcia to track his location. We don’t have much time.”

Emily did as Hotch told her to. Talking as quickly as she could on the phone.

“She can’t track it; he’s re-routing the IP address every thirty seconds.”

“She needs to track it. She needs to find her now!”

They all jumped at Spencer’s outburst, watching as tears filled his vision and his hands began to shake.

“Spencer, you need to calm down, we are going to find her. He can’t have taken her far.”

Spencer took in Derek’s words. Taking a breath, he looked back at the screen as he tried to distinguish any recognisable features of where she may be.

Faulkner moved his face to rest against Y/N’s hair, smelling the tresses. She tried to pull away only for him to yank her back again.

“Why did you kill them Dean?”

Faulkner let go of Y/N’s hair. Walking to her side, he grabbed her face in a vicious grip. Yanking her to look at him.

“Why? They ruined my life, everything I ever worked hard for. You all did.”

Y/N looked at him in confusion.

“I did nothing to you.”

Y/N’s breath increased at the vicious look he sent her way. Her eyes flickered to the camera, knowing that Faulkner was streaming what was happening to Spencer and his team. She had to find a way to tell them where she was.

“You made them question my authority. My position. My integrity as a member of the board. You ruined my reputation by belittling me in California.”.

“That’s because you know nothing about horror Dean. You think you know everything about it, but you don’t.”

Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why was Y/N taunting him?

“Garcia’s looking to see if there’s any abandoned properties around the area that he could have taken her to.”

Spencer didn’t even acknowledge Emily’s words.

Faulkner reeled back at Y/N’s taunt.

“I know everything there is to know about horror. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived it. I’ve created it. Ask me anything about it, I know the right answers.”

“But you don’t. You have an idea of horror, your own idea, that is wrong. You believe that women are the reason you lost your job and became the monster that you are. But they’re not. The reason you’re a monster is because of your sick and twisted fantasies. You made those girls feel small and weak, didn’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The team watched in apprehension.

“Garcia, the location, we need it now.”

Rossi looked between the screen and the phone in Derek’s hand.

“I can get the area he’s holding her, but not the specific building. The whole town is basically abandoned. She could be anywhere from a shop to a house.”

“Keep looking.”

Spencer chewed on his lips. He had to think rationally. If the unsub was upset about the changes and losing his job, what could have been the last straw?

“Derek what was the film they replaced Nightmare Before Christmas with at the convention.”

Derek and Spencer shared a look.

“Cabin in the Woods.”

Spencer ran across the rooms to the files at hand.

“In the location that Garcia has tracked her too, there are three cabins, all within a walking distance of the other.”

The team began to rush out the room, transferring the livestream to a tablet so they could monitor Faulkner and Y/N.

“You’re weak Dean. You’re just like all the horror movie villains. Ghostface, pinhead, jigsaw, all of them. You feed of fear and feeling in control. But the only thing you have in common with them is that you’re not going to win.”

Faulkner scream in rage. Pulling Y/N’s head back, he punched her in the jaw. Striding to the camera, he pushed his face to the lens.

“The party’s over!”

Spencer watched in horror as the feed went off.

“Hotch we have to hurry!”

Hotch sped up the car. Quickly arriving to the location, the team split up into pairs, taking a cabin each to inspect. Hotch and Derek, Rossi and JJ, and Spencer and Emily veered off to their targeted locations. Spencer followed Emily, trying to stay calm, as he slowly walked into the cabin to find it empty, when suddenly a gun shot was heard. Looking in the direction, the pair ran to the cabin that Derek and Hotch had been assigned. The rest of the team already there, looking into the cabin in shock.

“No, no, no, no. Y/N.”

Spencer pushed in front of them, tears pooling in his eyes as he a waited to see the horror before him. He looked in disbelief as Y/N stood from her position on the floor, the gun dropping from her hand as they shook. Faulkner laid a few feet away, in a pool of blood, no longer breathing.

Y/N looked towards the team. Raising her shaking hands towards Spencer.

“I didn’t want to kill him but he was going to shoot whoever walked through the door.”

Spencer rushed forward, grabbing her in a bone crushing hug. His hands stroking her hair as he soother her cries. Leading her out of the cabin, he allowed his team to sort out the rest as he continued to calm Y/N down.

The movement of the team were a blur as ambulances and police cars came. Taking them to the hospital as they sat in the waiting room as Y/N was checked over.

Spencer sat in the waiting room, his leg bouncing up and down with nerves.

Derek excused himself from the groups conversation as he went and sat next to Spencer. Clapping him on the back, Derek squeezed Spencer’s shoulder in re-assurance.

“She’s going to be fine pretty boy.”

“Physically, she has a concussion, bruising along her jawline, and needs stitches on her forehead. Mentally, I don’t know how she is going to handle this. When I suggested asking for her help in the case, I didn’t presume the risk of her being hurt. I should have.”

“Spencer, listen to me. We would have done everything to make sure she lived okay. She not only saved herself but she also helped save Yasmine and this team. Any one of us could have been shot if she had not thought fast and got the gun out of his hands. You know, better than anyone, how to help her deal with this.”

Spencer took in Derek’s words, nodding his head in appreciation, as he leaned against his friend in a comforting hug.

“Probably wasn’t the ideal way to introduce your girlfriend to the team though.”

Spencer stuttered at Derek’s teasing.

“We’re profilers Spencer. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been happier these past few months and seeing how persistent you were for us to consult Y/N, it gave us all an idea why. Seeing you together only confirmed our suspicions. So, how long has pretty boy had his pretty girl?”

Spencer chuckled at Derek’s words. Ringing his hands together as he spoke to Derek.

“Tomorrow is actually our six-month anniversary. She was going to be flying back today so we could celebrate; unless I got called on a case.”

“We can still celebrate.”

Spencer looked up as Y/N walked through the waiting room, fresh stitches on her forehead and an ice pack resting in her hands.

“The nurse said that there was no internal damage. That my body will just be sore for a few weeks. My concussion is light, so I am alright to travel home.”

The team gathered around to check on her. But her eyes could not leave Spencer’s as he rose from his seat. Spencer walked forward slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Carefully he cupped her face in his hands, and to the surprise of Y/N and his team, Spencer bowed his head and placed a careful kiss on Y/N’s lips. Slow, protective, and full of love.

Pulling back, Spencer wrapped his arms around her as he looked at the beaming smiles of his teammates. Y/N couldn’t help the blush across her cheeks or the giggle that followed. Soon, everyone was chuckling at the pair.

“I would like to thank you Y/N. From the entire team. Your actions saved a young woman’s life, and what could have been one of our own.”

Y/N smiled in appreciation at Rossi’s words.

“You’re Spencer’s family. I would do it all again if I had to.”

“Statistically speaking, around 2,000 people a day are reported missing in the US. Approximately, 600 of those would be reported or considered kidnappings. It is highly unlikely for you to be put in a situation like that again.”

Y/N looked up at her boyfriend.

“I never thought I would say this, but your talk about me being kidnapped again is really attractive.”

The team laughed at the girl’s statement, seeing Spencer become physically embarrassed.

“Just to inform everyone, the jet will be ready to depart in forty-five minutes. As I was informed that today you would have been heading home, Y/N we have sent for your belongings to be collected; you can fly back with us.”

Spencer smiled at Hotch in gratitude, the older man knowing he would have only worried if she had flown home alone.

“Thank you, Mr Hotchner.”

Hotch let out a brief smile.

“Call me Hotch. Your part of Spencer’s life, that means your part of this family.”

BAU JET

It had been an exhausting few days for the team, and it showed, as they all were sporadically asleep throughout the jet. Silence encompassed the steel capsule, with only the sound of sleep filled breaths being heard.

Y/N laid fast asleep, with her head on Spencer’s shoulder, as the boy genius sat up wide awake. Looking down at the woman next to him, all Spencer could imagine was what could have happened if they weren’t quick enough. How many days he would have lost with her. All the things he wanted to tell her.

As though she could sense his deep thoughts, Y/N slowly awoke, rubbing her eyes as a yawn escaped her mouth. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she waited till she was fully conscious before she spoke.

“What time is it Doc?”

Spencer jostled out of his thoughts to check the watch on his wrist.

“It’s 2:36 am. You’ve been asleep for approximately 3 hours and 22 minutes.”

Y/N quickly sat up in her seat, wide awake.

Spencer turned towards her in worry, wondering what had made her so alert.

“What wrong? Are you feeling nauseous? Do you need some painkillers, as your due to have…”

Y/N grabbed Spencer’s face and placed her lips flush against his own. Their mouths moved in unison, as Spencer’s own hands moved to circle around her waist, bringing their bodies as close as they could be in the small space they had. They hadn’t kissed since the hospital, and before then it had been weeks. Spencer never realised until then, how much he truly missed her touch, her taste, her as a whole.

Coming to a point where they both lacked breathe, the pair pulled apart. Their eyes fluttering open as Y/N’s hands caressed Spencer’s face. Her one hand travelled to his hair, feeling the tresses that had grown since she had last seen him. She looked at him in a way no one had before. Spencer shared the same expression.

“Happy six-month anniversary Spencer. I love you.”

Spencer looked at Y/N in disbelief.

“Before you start spouting of facts about transference and how I am probably only saying this because you saved my life, you’re wrong. Because then I would be telling Hotch and Morgan the same thing.”

Spencer couldn’t help the watery smile that graced his face. For the second time in the past day, his eyes filled with tears. But this time, they were good.

“I’ve known I have loved you for a long time. For five months actually. I knew I loved you when we made pizza in your apartment and we ended up burning it, so we ordered one instead.”

Spencer laughed at the memory. It was the first time Spencer had initiated their make out. He had watched her cooking, in his apartment, and he had never found her more attractive than he did seeing her in his home.

“I knew that whilst you were spouting of facts about the invention of the pizza that I loved you and that I could listen to you forever. I love you Spencer.”

Spencer pulled Y/N closer to him as he rested his forehead against her own. The pair basked in each other’s presence.

“Past surveys show that men wait just 88 days to say those three little words to their partner for the first time, and 39 percent say them within the first month. Women, on the other hand, take an average 134 days. You knew after 31 days that you loved me. I knew after our first date that the way I felt when I was with you is a feeling that I could not even describe with my vast vocabulary. I knew after 8 days that the way I felt was stronger than liking you and that was a frightening thought. But its scarier to think what could have happened to you yesterday. That I could have lost you without you ever knowing. I made that mistake before. I will never make it again. I love you too.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile and giggle that overtook her. Spencer, feeling high of the serotonin that was coursing through his body, couldn’t help his laugh either. Soon the pair were a giggling mess, unaware of the team who had all begun to awaken whilst the pair were talking.

The team congregated to the back of the jet, allowing the couple to stay in their own bubble.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen him truly happy.”

The group nodded at Emily’s words.

JJ smiled as she watched her best friend rattle of the possible movies that he and his girlfriend could spend their anniversary watching as she recovered. Her smile growing even wider at Y/N’s enthusiasm to watch the film’s in their original language. None of them could miss the look of adoration beaming between the pair.

“Yeah, it really has.”

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. -Lao Tzu

A/N- It isn’t the best but I really enjoyed writing this one.

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagines

5K notes · View notes

scuttle-buttle · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #tw self harm #tw suicude #tw child abuse

136 notes · View notes

dangan-ronpa-cafe · 3 years ago

Note

Hello Mod Himiko. May I order a black tea with cream and sugar stress comfort headcanons for Kiyotaka, Nagito, and Makoto with a female s/o?

Hi there, Starsaver. Of course, you can! Taka might be ooc since I haven’t written for him. Also, for Taka and Makoto, I went with school-related stress, but for Nagito I wrote it as a lot of homework sort of thing. Hope you enjoy it, and your black tea with cream and sugar is served under the cut!

Kiyotaka Ishimaru / Nagito Komaeda / Makoto Naegi x Stressed!Female!Reader

Background: Non-despair school AU, pre-established relationship Warnings: Stressful situations, mental breakdowns, crying, mentions of finals/tests, mentions of lunch/eating

Kiyotaka Ishimaru -

⪼ Of course, he’s encouraging you to study, but I’m sure he can sometimes be a little too much. ⪼ But he only wants to help! Especially when exams are right around the corner, and you aren’t feeling too confident in yourself. ⪼ Your daily routine became studying whenever you could, which was very uptight, even though you two were dating. ⪼ “Congratulations, S/O! You only got two wrong, although, I certainly believe that you can try a little harder!” ⪼ I can see him being a little overbearing, too. As Taka constantly watched over your shoulder, you tried to finish the mock test sheet he made for you. ⪼ Of course, you could only take so much studying before your mental health tanked a few days before your finals. ⪼ So many subjects, so little time. It all got to you, and suddenly in the middle of lunch, you made a last-minute dash to the bathroom, locking yourself in a stall to bawl your eyes out. ⪼ All this pent-up stress was too much, however, you weren’t alone. ⪼ Your friends had contacted your dear boyfriend, who was very concerned as he stood outside the entrance to the girls’ bathroom. ⪼ He called, letting you know that he was there until you eventually came out, which he met you with a warm hug. ⪼ He held you close, pushing aside his louder mannerisms to pay attention to you. ⪼ After that, the two of you went to a quiet location to de-stress and have your lunch together, without any mentions of school.

Nagito Komaeda -

⪼ Every day, you’d at least get several hours of homework. “Research this!” “Give me a four-page essay!” Why did teachers have to be so insistent on taking up students’ free time? ⪼ On top of that, you also had to help out at home, as well as work on your talent. ⪼ Constantly rushing to get all kinds of work done during practically every hour of the day didn’t help, either. ⪼ Oh, and then there was your boyfriend, who understood your situation, though his clinginess didn’t quite help either. ⪼ “Oh, good morning, my shining hope! How is my beautiful girlfriend doing today?” ⪼ He’s always hanging around, and of course, you love him, but sometimes it doesn’t work out for the best. ⪼ Little things like losing a source paper, non-optional extra-credit assignments, and getting roped into usual Hope’s Peak antics, at first wasn’t the worst. It was to be expected with dating Nagito! ⪼ But, it finally got to you when there was a sudden power outage, and you were finishing up a very long Word essay. ⪼ Any hope of retrieving that document was long diminished as you sat alone in the dark computer lap, with your arms over your head. ⪼ So much work, so much effort. Poof. Gone. ⪼ It was a nightmare of a project you didn’t wanna do all over again. ⪼ Though you weren’t by yourself for long, as the door opened, and two familiar arms wrapped around you. ⪼ Here was Nagito, holding and consoling you, knowing what you were up to. He consoled you, encouraging you to not let the hope in your heart be overwhelmed by the despair of the power outage. ⪼ The two of you stayed together like that until you felt better to lift your head, to the sudden flickering of the power being turned back on. ⪼ “Oh, would you look at that! I guess not all of your word doc was deleted! How lucky!” ⪼ Your boyfriend helped with the rest, continuing to give you positive encouragement and feedback.

Makoto Naegi -

⪼ The day you find out that you’ve got a big test right around the corner, you and your boyfriend decide to have study dates every so often. ⪼ Though, the two of you might often slack off a bit, with emphasis on the date part, rather than study. ⪼ You can’t complain though, at first! It helps with the stress. ⪼ But, as the days tick closer and closer, you try to focus more, and of course, Makoto’s there to help you too! ⪼ But as the day tick, tick, ticks closer, you can’t help but count the days. ⪼ At first, you tried to dismiss it as nerves, but it just kept crawling back, lurking in the back of your head. ⪼ Two days before your test, you and Makoto were hanging out on grounds after school, reviewing some subjects, when he noticed you weren’t doing too well. ⪼ Despite you brushing him off, he persisted, giving you one of his pep talks. ⪼ “Hey, it’s okay to be stressed! I know you can ace it, because of all the studying you’ve been doing, even though it took a bit at first to really focus… Anyway! You aren’t alone, since I’m right here with you, and we’ll do it together. Let’s call it here, and go have some fun, okay? You deserve a break.”

76 notes · View notes

thewalkingdead-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

TWD - Negan Imagine ~ “Here’s Negan”

Imagine for the 22nd episode of season 10

Summary: Until they can find their way back to one another, both Negan and the Reader have to deal with the ghosts of their pasts and overcome present threats that try to rob them of their future in Alexandria

Leaves rustled underneath Negan’s feet as he moved through the thick undergrowth of the forest, only stopping as he watched Carol kneel down for a second to pull a dead rabbit out of its trap, the first success of this little hunting trip. “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for getting me the hell out of there for a bit. I mean you may have noticed things with Maggie and I are a little bit tense”, he spoke up, clearing his throat as he thought back to yet another encounter with her earlier today during his reconstruction shift by the woodhouses. She hadn’t said anything, as usual, but if looks could kill, fuck, he’d be as dead as mutton right now. Carol only nodded as she got back on her feet, without looking just once at him as she kept on strolling. ”I don’t mind being lay little Negan for a bit but hell, there’s only so far I can go to get out of her way”, Negan started back up, adjusting the bag on his shoulder as they moved out of the darkness of the forest onto more open woodland that was covered with with a couple scattered bushes. He was trying to lead this conversation into a direction without directly going at it like a bull at the gate, hoping that this would give him better chances but Carol either didn’t want or didn’t get the clues he’d been throwing into their rather one-sided conversations since they’d stepped out of the gates of Alexandria. They still had a deal, and she still hadn’t done her part. A thick sigh left his lips as he looked over at her, before he started back up, for yet another, but more offensive try. “You know I was thinking maybe you put in a word for me”, he said, careful not to trip as he moved over the grassy, overgrow ground,”Let’s move things over at least kinda get the ball rolling. Given our recent history, I kinda figured you owe me that much, right?” Nothing. She didn’t say anything, not even the slightest peep and instead moved straight towards a shabby looking cabin at the end of the clearing, leaving him startled for a moment as he stared in between her and the small house. "You know this place?”, he called out as she kept walking, not turning back to look at him and instead just hummed in agreement. A small but frustrated groan fell from his lips as he sped up his steps to catch up with her, trying to figure out what she was up to and what that cabin had to do with it until she stopped right on its porch and let the door swing open for him to look inside. He should’ve known. Fuck he should’ve known that she hadn’t taken him on this trip here because of the goodness of her heart, she had a plan all along and that plan was to get him out of Alexandria. For good. “I see you went ahead and moved me in”, it left his lips with a scoff as he stepped inside the cabin and looked at the boxes that stood in the middle of the room, filled with his belongings while his leather jacket was thrown over a rocking chair right next to them. This was like a bad dream, a fucking bad dream that he just wanted to wake up from. ”I’m sorry. The council voted to banish you”, Carol’s voice ripped his eyes from the boxes and darted them at her as she shrugged her shoulders slightly She wasn’t sorry. Nor did the council vote to banish him. This was bullshit. He’d been right there when Gabey had told his wife about the council’s inactivity during his trip with Aaron, he’d been right there when he’d assured the both of them that no decisions would be made about him as long as they were gone. She was trying to feed him steaming hot bullshit. “What you want just isn’t gonna happen, it’s not possible”, Carol said, the tone in her voice pretty much the same as the one a nanny would use with a clueless, dumb kid,”I know it’s not what I promised but given our less recent history? It’s better than you deserve.” The corner of her lips quirked up as she looked at him, while a part of him was still not fully getting that this here was happening right now. For nearly two weeks he’d been living and working in Alexandria like anybody else, doing his part to build it back up without any problems. And now this shit was happening out of the blue, trying to tear the life with his wife from him that he’d just reached. Looking at the woman in front of him he furrowed his brows, trying to test the waters first and see what she’d do if he’d start to debunk these lies of hers. “Did the council really banish me or is this more of a Carol seizing the reigns kind of situation?”, he started, but instead of an answer, Carol merely started to smile, a condescending and nearly wicked look in her eyes as she tilted her head a little and looked at him before she strutted past him and pushed the dead animal into his hands. “It’s rabbits for you.” “You really didn’t think this through”, Negan called out as she moved to the door, louder now as he could feel the anger starting to boil slowly but surely up in him. This whole shit wasn’t just about his own ass, Carol was pulling his wife into this bullshit too and this was where he drew the line. She’d been happy during these last two weeks, so damn happy to finally gain a bit of the life she’d always dreamed of having with him and he wasn’t gonna let Carol ruin that happiness of hers merely because she thought it was her place to decide over his fate. “My wife’s part of the council”, he said, a humorless chuckle leaving his lips as he could see her stopping in her tracks,”If any decision like that would’ve been made, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d see her raise hell in that little makeshift church right now.” With that he could see her turning around to him, just enough to look at him, not more. “Oh and-”, he called out, snipping fingers in an overdramatic fashion,”When Gabey left with Aaron, he made sure to tell her the council’s inactive for the time being. There was no fucking vote.” She’d been busted, clearly and he could tell that she didn’t plan for him to pull out arguments like these, but much to his annoyance, it didn’t seem to bother her. The look on her face was the same, nearly indifferent, as if she didn’t care about it. “So if I’m supposed to stay here, what’s gonna happen with her?”, Negan called out as he stepped onto the porch, closing the distance as she shrugged her shoulders. “She’s gonna have to decide.” “She’s one of the only doctors left in Alexandria”, it left his lips with a scoff, the anger now starting to let his body tingle as the indifference in Carol’s voice nearly drove him wild,”She’s gonna choose me. You really wanna risk losing another doc just so you can pull your little solo act here?” “I know what I’m doing”, she just said instead of giving him a true answer, before she turned around to strut towards the edge of the clearing ,”She’s gonna find out. Then we’ll see.” “Carol”, it rumbled through Negan’s trembling chest, up his throat that started to tighten the more anger and desperation boiled up in him as he stepped down the porch. Trying to follow her, he took long steps over the overgrown ground, his heart hammering in his chest before Carol’s hand suddenly fell onto the hunting knife on her belt. “Goodbye Negan”, she called out as her hand wrapped around the knife’s handle to send him a clear warning sign,”Do not try something dumb and do not follow me back.” And with that, she vanished in the thicket of the forest, leaving him to stand there like an abandoned dog while his mind was torn on what to do now.

“How’s the book going?”, you heard Steve’s voice sound through to you as he moved back into the infirmary’s main room, merely some new towels in his hands as he strolled closer. “Pretty good actually”, you said as you nodded down to Negan’s anniversary gift and looked over the dried burdock leaf that he’d glued onto one side and your notes about the medical herb that were already starting to cover the page beside it, “Really starting to look like a handbook.” “Good, I can really use that. Your handwriting is much easier to read than those notes of Siddiq, the info is gold but wow, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a messier handwriting”, Steve said with a soft chuckle, though you could clearly still hear the same sadness sound through it you felt anytime you realized that your friend was gone. A bittersweet look fell between your notebook and Siddiq’s notes that laid right next to it, that had helped you on every step of the way to fill this book up. Slowly you started to nod, about to reply to Steve before a mixture of loud voices made your glance shoot up. “We got an emergency”, you could hear a voice call out, stressed and full of panic before you saw the reason for this turmoil that made your mood switch up from one moment to another. Hanging in between a group of four people that carried him as well as they could hung Carter, barely conscious while a large piece of metal protruded his leg that was covered in dark red blood. “He fell from a ladder on one of the broken pipes”, you could hear one of them say entirely out of breath as they pushed inside and the first thick splatters of blood fell onto the floor in the very moment you rushed towards them. “We need help, now.” Negan’s fingertips were digging into the worn down wood of the windowsill, his eyes staring out at the forest while his mind was running wild. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He didn’t wanna head back, run into Carol and find himself with a knife sticking into his damn back. Fuck knew what she’d actually do but he sure as shit wouldn’t risk it, not after the way she’d betrayed his ass just now. Sighing he started to walk through the shabby cabin, trying to find just anything to do with himself. There was no way his wife would be here anytime soon, even if she’d hear about Carol’s new plan as soon as she’d arrive back at Alexandria, and he highly doubted that. This place was still far out and he was stuck here now. “Fuck this”, he growled, kicking against the rocking chair that was still filled with his belongings even though he felt like a tantrum throwing toddler the moment his foot met the wood. He was fucking stuck here. Gulping thickly he moved in to take his leather jacket into his hands, run his fingers over the smooth leather as he stared down at it, gulping thickly as his eyes found the marks Lucille’s wire had left here years ago. Looking at them still gave him a bitter feeling. To this day he still didn’t know where she was, no idea what had happed to her after Rick had taken her from his patient’s room in the infirmary. He had no clue if she was somewhere locked away in Alexandria as his wife still hypothesized or if she’d really fallen off that wagon during a weapon transport as Michonne had tried to sell him once...he didn’t know. Gulping thickly he ran his fingers over the marks, thinking back to the last time he’d held her on that goddamn hill that had decided over his fate and merely the memory of it kicked off another range of thoughts. Could they have brought her back there? Was that a possibility? He’d made up his theories over the year in lonely moments down in that cell, without taking any of them all to serious to not let them fuck with his head but the more he thought about it now, the more it seemed like an actual possibility. Rick had always been a nostalgic fucker, he could see him going back there and placing his Lucille at the place he’d slashed his throat and ended the war only to tie up loose ends, only to put some kind of symbolic end to it and give himself another piece of peace after Carl’s death. He could give it a try, right? Just to keep his mind occupied and pass the time until he could make any other decisions for his future. If his wife would even arrive here today, she wouldn’t do so soon, so even if it would just keep him busy instead of actually bring his bat back, this was worth a try, right?

Blood, so much blood. For way too long if felt like you only saw red everywhere you looked. Carter’s leg, the bandages, the cot and the floor until you finally saw Steve’s blood covered hands handing you the last bit of tape to secure the edge of the thick bandage that was wrapped around the leg, marking the end of this ordeal. it took yet another while until you were sure that Carter was stable and the next shift started that finally displace you before you could wash the blood off your hands and stumble outside, plummet down onto the bench that leaned against the wall. Sighing thickly propped your elbows onto your knees, trying to get yourself to realize that you were done for today and were allowed to relax now before you saw Steve moving outside, two glasses of water in his hands. “Thought we could use a bit of a refreshment”, he said, a tired tone in his voice as he stretched one of the glasses towards you. “Thank you”, you mumbled with an exhausted smile, taking the glass from his hand before he let himself fall next to you and sighed deeply. “God I’m glad our shift is over now”, he said, relief swinging through his voice as you took a sip of your water and leaned back against the cushion of the bench,”Can’t wait to go home, eat some dinner with Daniel and then take a big nap.” “Mhmm...sounds like a good plan”, you said, taking another gulp of the water before a small chuckle fell from your lips,”Negan and I found have that DVD collection in our house and honestly, I just wanna out whatever in that console, plunge down on the couch and just shut my brain out.” A sigh left your lips, exhausted but content as you already looked forward to the moment you’d be able to cuddle up against him and switch this bench for the comfy couch. ”Just relax and watch some kinda show, even though I’ll probably fall asleep while I’m at it tho”, you mumbled, a soft yawn leaving your lips as you heard Steve humming in agreement. ”I like that plan too”, he said as you glimpsed over at him and saw him throwing you an exhausted but cheerful look,”Think I’m gonna have to lend one or two DVDs of yours some time, we’ve been rewatching the same stuff for way too long now.” ”Well you’re always welcome to stop by and take a peek at ‘em”, you chuckled, moving in to take your last sip while a small laugh fell from Steve’s lips. “You bet!” With his hands tightly wrapped around the handle of the shovel he’d luckily found in the back of that cabin, Negan found himself standing on the side of the hill, digging into the soil over and over again. There were already holes scattered all around him, with none if them leading to Lucille, nor any clue about her. A thick sigh fell from his lips as he turned his head towards the sound of a walker groan in the distance, faint and barely audible but he could see that dirty fucker shuffling at the foot of the hill, awfully slow and thankfully lonely. That asshole wouldn’t be a problem for him for a while. Turning back around he squinted his eyes slightly, keeping them from being dazzled by sinking sun that started to vanish behind the hill’s top, before his eyes fell on the glimmering glass window that was still hung up on the tree, just as it had years ago, still missing the same shard of colorful glass that Rick had used to slash his jugular with. With a thick gulp Negan looked back down, not all too excited about the memories that started to flood his mind all over again, so instead of spending another moment thinking about the events that had happened here, he dug his shovel back into the soil, hoisting a large piece out of it before a disappointed sound fell from his lips. Again, nothing. “Fuck this”, he growled to himself, staring angrily at the ground below him. Why the fuck was he even so upset? Chances were low that she was actually here, he knew that and still he found himself frustrated. Clearing his throat he strolled along the hill’s side, a little further upward as he gave himself three more chances and then he’d head back to the cabin. Chance 1? Nothing, he just split a poor damn rainworm in half. Chance 2? Nothing again, hole was as empty as a dumb fuck’s head. Chance 3?...still, nothing. “Fuck”, Negan spat out, his hand tightening around the handle, a frustrated groan falling from his lips as he angrily slammed the shovel’s edge into the soil. But instead of the usual shuffling sound, a dull one echoed through the air, letting him flinch and shoot his glance down into the grass as his hands went back to work lickety split. This could be anything, fucking anything but this could also be...it was her. It was really her. The barbed wire peaked out of the grass, slightly detached from the wood that was laying there in the ground, just enough dug out for him to clearly see the bat “Holy fuck”, Negan chocked out as he started to carefully rise her out of the soil, his eyes turning wide as he let the shovel fall and leaned down to carefully pick her up. “Ricky you nostalgic fucker”, Negan mumbled, though his throat was already tightening as he glimpsed down at the bat that had once brought him through this world. He couldn’t believe his eyes for another moment while his thumb ran along the worn down wood that had once been smooth and shiny. He could feel his nose tingling slightly as some tears blurred his view, the mere feeling of holding the bat and the view of her in his hands enough to overwhelm him for a moment. “Oh my-”, it left his lips as he gulped the thick lump in his throat down, turning the bat softly in his hands to get a good look of her. Nature had taken its toll on her, but the bat was still the same, it still gave him the very same warm and safe feeling after all this time. It was still her. A small sniffle let his lips as he stared down at it and felt the heaviness of the emotions she carried wash over him, nearly putting him into a bubble of memories before the groaning of the walker that had shuffled at the hill’s foot earlier got louder. Turning around he saw the dead asshole stumbling closer up the hill while a small grin grew on his face as he rocked Lucille in his hands and held her up like he’d done it thousands of times before. “C’mere fucker”, Negan mumbled, adjusting his posture a little before the walker reached him and he swung Lucille up before rushing her down in a smooth but harsh motion, right against the walker’s skull. A groan fell from his lips as he could see the walker starting to sink to his feet, just as he lunged out one more time and bashed Lucille into the rotting skull, but instead of the squelching sound of flesh, a dull one drowned it that made his heart sink from one moment to another. “No...no”, he gasped, staring down at his broken bat....at his broken Lucille. She hadn’t only lost her top part, she was split down her length, only held together by the rusted barbed wire at this point and his hands that started to tremble more the longer he looked at her broken parts. One moment ago he’d been basking in the joy of finally finding her again and now, now he could feel the lump in his throat growing again as he stared down at the broken bat. From joy to grief in one moment, from relief to regret in the other. “Fuck”, it left his lips with a defeated sound, his eyes welling over with tears as he could feel a dull, pressuring pain spreading over his body, tightening its grasp on him as he fell to his knees and felt the first tear rolling down his cheek as he weighed the broken Lucille in his hands. Could this day become any worse?

The sun was already starting to vanish behind the skyline of the trees as you finally found yourself heading towards Negan’s workplace by the walls, ready to pick him up and just get yourselves home. ”Hey”, you called out with a tired smile as you finally reached the woodhouses and could see Barbara and Daniel still working outside, though you couldn’t spot Negan yet. ”Hey, is Carter doing fine?”, Daniel asked as he stepped from the porch of the house, leaning himself against the wall as you gave him a quick nod. ”Yeah, took a bit but we’ve got him wrapped up now. He just needs to rest”, you said as you moved closer over the grassy ground and nodded towards the cabin’s door. ”Negan’s inside?” ”Nah”, Daniel said, shaking his head as you glanced confused at him,”Went out with Carol a couple hours ago to hunt. Saw her back around here earlier though, he’s probably already at your home.” ”Ah okay. Thank you”, you started to nod again before you made your way back to the road, not questioning that hunting trip all too much though it surprised you a bit that Carol had decided to take him along with her, mostly because she’d been avoiding the both of you during the last while. Instead of waisting your thoughts any longer on the trip you hurried down the street, just eager to get home, relax and hear Negan talk a bout his day. Finally, you moved up the porch stairs of your home, already trying to peek inside and see if Negan was standing by the stove and cooking something but as you stepped inside, you found the living room and kitchen empty. ”Negan? I’m home”, you called out, moving towards the hallway as your only remaining guess was that he had simply just showered and didn’t hear you yet up in your bathroom or was so exhausted that he’d laid down for a quick nap. Moving up the stairs who tried to hear if you could hear him moving around, but instead of footsteps or a rustling sounds you heard nothing but complete silence. “Negan?”, you quietly asked as you opened the door of your bedroom, a part of you nearly waiting to see him sprawled out and snoozing on the bed but as you moved inside, your confusion got doubled. The bed was completely empty, the same way you’d left it this morning but your closet stood open, the bunch of shirts and pants that usually laid stocked up next to your clothes gone. ”What the-”, it fell from your lips, cut off by your confusion as you moved towards the closet and looked at his Negan’s nearly empty spot. Not all was gone, a bit of his clothes way left, some boxer shorts, a couple white shits and some sweatpants but that was it. More confusion flooded your head with every second you stared longer at the opened door, trying to piece the parts of this puzzle together even though you didn’t even have merely enough of them to make sense of this. Negan wouldn’t leave, that was an option that you could exclude from the very first moment on but you still didn’t know what to think and what Negan’s absence and his missing clothes meant, before it slowly started to trickle down on you and a bitter suspicion washed over you. If anyone had to know something about this, it had to be the last person he’d been seen with. Feeling your heart starting to hammer in your chest you rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping over your own feet as you moved down the hallway and back into your living room. Your eyes were roaming over the room as you hurried through it, as if they were trying to pick more pieces to this puzzle on your way out and from one moment to another, they did. Next to the vase of flowers on your dinner table laid a folded up piece of paper that you hadn’t even noticed when you’d first stepped back into your home, a piece of paper that looked like a map as soon as you got closer. Still filled with confusion and tension you grabbed it, unfolding it with quick movements only to feel a wave of nausea wash over you as soon as you saw the cross that marked a spot on the paper and the note underneath it that confirmed your suspicion. “Negan has been banished from Alexandria. Marked spot shows the cabin’s he’s residing at from now on.”

Nausea, anger, fear and desperation turned into a toxic cocktail within your body as you found yourself rushing down the street, clasping tightly onto the map while your eyes were fixated at the brownstones in front of you, blending out anything and anyone else on the road. Your breath was heavy, your body trembling and nearly cramped up with suspense while the growing anger made your body heat up to the point that made it feel like it was on fire while you stormed into the first brownstone’s hallway, heading up the flight of stairs with heavy, fast steps towards Carol’s apartment. She’d done it again. A fucking solo act. You just knew it. And this time she’d gone way too far and she’d pay for that. Banging against the door of her apartment you could feel the side of your hand starting to heat up as it met the wood over and over again until you finally heard footsteps inside that finally stopped right in front of you and the squeaking of the opening door echoed through the staircase. “What is this?!”, you snapped the moment you saw her face, holding up the map in your hand as you glared at her,”What the fuck did you do?” “I did what I had to do”, she said, the tone in her voice indifferent but firm, not at all bothered by your reaction as if she’d already known that you’d come to her place earlier or later. “Are you kidding me?!”, you called out, feeling your voice starting to tremble as the anger within you started to become more and more the longer you had to look at her. “This wasn’t a situation that could stay the same any longer”, she merely said, in the very same tone as before ,”i did what was necessary to not let it escalate.” With that, she tried to close the door on you only for your flat hand to push harshly against the wood, letting it flip open again as you could feel it boiling within you. First she pulled this shit, then acted as if what she was in the right and now she tried to fob you off. “No, no you didn’t”, you snapped, moving forward to push into her apartment so she couldn’t even try to close the door again ,”Your job was to hold up to your end of the bargain. You told me you’d do it.” “Things don’t always work out the way we want them to”, she said, a lecturing tone in her voice, almost as if she was talking to a child instead of an adult,”You should know that by now.” Staring at her you could feel your whole body tense up, could feel an anger seeping into your body that you hadn’t felt before, an anger that got you worked up, an anger that was fueled by the frustration of unfairness over the years, an anger that was emotionally loaded with your urge to protect your husband and the life you’d just gained. The life that was threatened by the reckless act of the woman in front of you that looked at you with an indifference that drove you wild. “You fucking bitch”, you spat out, your self control starting to leave your body as you closed the distance between the both of you and could hear your trembling voice starting to become louder. “You’ve had Negan do your goddamn dirty work, risk his damn life and kill that skinfreak and instead of doing the goddamn bare minimum of laying in a good fucking word for him you had the goddamn audacity to go into our home, go through his stuff and lead him outside under a goddamn pretext”, you yelled out, heavy breaths shaking through your chest as you glared down at her,”You took the fucking easy way out! Like always.” “I did him a favor”, she dared to say, so firm and cold that you could feel the suspense in your body starting to skyrocket,”Maggie would have killed him at some point if I wouldn’t have brought him outside.” “Stop with that fucking bullshit!”, you snapped, stepping closer towards her as she still didn’t even flinch once,”You did yourself a favor. Maggie won’t do shit to him, not on my watch, nor if you would’ve done your part of the deal. You just did this shit so you don’t have to show some responsibility for your actions for fucking once.” “I stand with my decision”, she said the moment your voice hushed, a condescending smile starting to spread over her lips as she tilted her head and looked at you,”And I will not change it. We all have to deal with our own shit and so do you.” There’s this certain moment when anger gets so intense it puts a person into a trance, the type of anger that swallows someone up, puts a bubble around them and turns them from a seething volcano into one that is seconds away from erupting. And right now, that was happening to you. You couldn’t see clear anymore, your view a blur, the map fallen from your hands that were balled so tightly your knuckles turned white while your head was clouded with rage that just needed one little more push to kick you off the eruption. And Carol gave that kick to you, with one small sentence. ”And considering what he’s done in the past he got better than he deserved.” A dull but loud sound echoed through the air as your fist meet her jaw, fast and hard enough to make her stumble back for a moment while your hands were already wrapping around her throat, not tight enough to choke her but tight enough to get a hold on her to push her into the nearest wall. “Considering what he’s done?!”, you screamed, your hands still wrapped around her throat as you glared wide eyes down at her,“What he’s fucking done?!” For the first time she didn’t say anything, her eyes were staring into the emptiness, unwilling to meet yours at first before your grasp tightened just enough to finally make her look into your face. “He saved our fucking asses. He did the shit you couldn’t get done!”, you yelled, your voice still trembling, near before breaking and only held up by the anger that had finally found its valve,”All you’ve done lately is get people killed!” For the first time since you’d stepped into this apartment you saw a stirring in her eyes while your own started to fill with tears, blurring your glance as your voice kept screaming at her. “Stop with the fucking solo acts! Fucking stop ruining the lives of everyone around you!” Just then you slowly started to come back as the anger started to become replaced with the fear and sadness that simmered underneath the rage. Your hands fell of her throat as you stepped back, staring at your shaking right hand whose knuckles were flushed in a bright red from the lunge you’d taken at her. Sniffles started to fall from your lips as the first tears rolled down your cheeks, your emotions still so strong that they were keeping your whole body under control. “I’m sick of this”, you felt it rolling quietly from your trembling lips as more tears fell from your eyes and the build up frustration got the best of you. For a moment there, you were almost scared of yourself, of how much that anger had taken hold of you, of how it had pushed through your usual levelheadedness, something that hadn’t happened quite like this before but you’ve just had enough, of the constant fears, of the constant playing with Negan’s life and the hypocrisy that you had to face from the same people over and over again. You weren’t sorry for what you did. You were actually glad you’d finally put her in her place. Sniffing you looked back up, gulping thickly as you saw her leaning against the wall, staring at you at you, an odd mix of coldness and shock in her eyes as you reached for the map on the ground and glared one last time over at her. “I will come back with my husband and you’ll hold up to the end of the deal or I swear to god I’ll raise hell.” Fire was burning in the small fireplace of the cabin, lightening up the room that was becoming darker and darker with every passing moment. The flames ate away at the chops of wood, its warm light illuminating up the glass in his hands that was filled up with some whiskey he’d found tucked away in one of the counters. Shuffling over the small stool by the fire he tried to get as comfortable as he could, huffing to himself as his eyes swayed from Lucille that laid propped up against the wall next to the fireplace over into the flames. How the fuck did he get to this point? Where exactly did he go wrong to end up sitting here on that fucking hard stool that made his ass hurt, staring into the flames while the only thing that was there to keep him company him in these moments was that damn whiskey in his glass?

The sun was already gone and the dusk was starting to flow into the night when you found yourself walking away from Alexandria, a small backpack buckled around your shoulders and a hunting knife in one hand, the map in your other. Going out now was dangerous and you knew it but you couldn’t care less, nor did you have much of a choice. Staying was no option, you had to find Negan, better earlier than later and make sure to reverse whatever Carol had brought about. Fuck knows what else she’d told him that she might have withheld from you. You were still on edge, still completely filled up with tension that kept a tight hold on your body while you did your very best to stay focused and not run into a group of dead fucks. A shivering breath fell from your lips, turning into a cloud of steam the moment you breathed it out as you could feel the cold of the approaching night starting to sneak up on you, slipping underneath your jacket while your cold hands were clasping onto your knife. Moving up you flipped on the small pocket flashlight that was dangling on one of the belts of your backpack and moved the map to make sure that you were still following the right route. Squinting your eyes your glance roamed over the paper, trying to get a grip of it before you folded it back up, switched the flashlight off and slowly moved down the blacktop to follow a narrow, nearly overgrown path into the forest, hoping that the moonlight would be enough to guide you. Step by step you found yourself halting and looking at the map, catching your thoughts and worries feeding away at your concentration that in turn fueled the frustration that was still reigning within you. By now, you should have already reached the stream that ran closeby the marked spot on the map, but neither did you hear flowing water anywhere near you, nor did you know exactly anymore if you were on the right track. “Shit”, you grumbled to yourself as you stared at the map, half mad at the whole situation, half mad at yourself for not getting your shit together before the sudden sound of groans made your glance shoot up. In a knee-jerk reaction you shut the small light back off and reached for a tighter grasp on your knife, looking around yourself before you caught a group of six or seven walkers wandering through the woods. Squeezing your mouth shut you tried to stay quiet, avoid attracting the dead as you slowly stepped back, trying to let the shadow of the trees shield you from being spotted before you heard a loud crack as a dried branch broke beneath your shoe. “Damnit”, you whispered to yourself, gulping thickly as you watched the walkers turn their head towards you, snarling as they spotted your figure and started to stumble into your direction. There was no way you could take them on now without putting yourself too much at risk, in the middle of the night, with your head filled up with emotions that worked against your concentration and an exhausted mind that was trying to press in on you whenever it possibly could. This was not a fight you should take on, not now. Turning around you started to move further into the dark, trying to put distance between yourself and the dead to hide out behind a tree and wait for them to pass. The thick undergrowth made it hard for you to move quick and made you more careful to not trip and get yourself into even bigger problems. With every step it felt like you could hear the groans continuously echoing through the dark while your heart started to speed up again and pumped against your chest, so loud you could nearly hear it pounding in your ears. Glimpsing behind yourself you couldn’t see them anymore, enough for you to figure that they wouldn’t be able to see you either and with a bunch of more steps you moved to your left and rounded the nearest, thickest tree to brace yourself tightly against its stem to be out of view for the dead. Gulping thickly you tried to keep your fastening breath under control as your eyes kept on roaming over the dim lit forest, your position not allowing you to see any of the walkers but instead only hear them as they started to come closer. The groans got louder and louder, mixing with the sound of their shuffling steps as you kept your body tightly pressed against the tree and tried to calm your heavy breathing down, telling yourself that this was all you had to do until you could go back to searching for that damn cabin. For a moment, you could feel yourself tense up again as you heard them starting to pass you, merely a bunch of meters past your spot before their groans slowly started to become quieter, and were only a quiet sound in the distance a small while later. Finally, you allowed yourself to let out a thick sigh and close your eyes for a moment, trying to get your concentration back on and continue your search for the cabin. Pushing yourself away from the stem you moved forwards, trying to figure out how far you’d moved from your original spot as you walked as quietly as you could back into your old direction, still holding tightly onto the map and your knife before a gasp left your lips as you felt a cold hand grabbing your ankle and a low, nearly inaudible groan echoed through the air. The sudden grasp was harsh and strong enough to make you lose your balance and fall to the hard ground, a painfilled groan falling through your lips as the fall made a stinging pain rush up from your rump up your back. Panicking you glanced up, watching as a severely decayed walker tried to peel itself from the spot by the tree it had grown attached to, its nearly entirely destroyed jaw hanging from its skull along with its rotting tongue that kept it from making sounds any louder than a hum. “Shit”, you growled, kicking towards the dead to make it lose its grasp on your ankle while it suddenly lunged towards you as it detached itself with one last push from the moss overgrown tree. Gasping you could feel it landing above you, its dead hands grasping you as it tried to snap forward, its disgusting stench rising up your nose as you could feel your survival instincts kicking in and mixing with the built up frustration, as well as with the anger and the distress Carol had brought over you earlier. Glaring into the dead eyes of the walker you rushed your knife up, aiming for its head as you’d done it with thousands of walkers before, but instead of seeing the blade dig into its skull, the walker’s arm reached up in the very same moment and made the blade sink into its flesh while it kept on snapping at you. From one second to another the frustration filled your whole head again, fueling the rage that had never truly calmed down within you as you let out a frustrated groan and pushed the dead with all your strength off of your body. “Fuck you, you fucking asshole”, you growled out, ripping the blade out of the dead’s arm as you kept it caged beneath you, hearing its snapping sounds in the very moment you let the blade rush down with all of your strength into the rotting skull. But instead of stopping there you could feel the tension and all those pent up emotions taking you over, clasping onto you as as they filled your head and made the knife stab over and over again into the walker’s head while emotion fueled memories rushed through your head. The constant fear to lose Negan while he was gone, the happiness you’d felt to finally get a life with him you’d always wished for and now, having it nearly torn away from you again just because one fucking person would rather go on and try to fuck up your lives all over again instead of doing the bare goddamn minimum she’d promised to do. And now, instead of being cuddled up on the couch with Negan in your home, you were in the middle of the dark fucking woods, trying to smooth out the fucking disaster Carol had kicked off again, with no fucking clue where you actually were, hanging over a fucking walker that had nearly tried to kill your ass. Over and over again your knife rushed down into the skull, your mind anywhere but actually here, as pants erupted your whole body and made you shake while your heart pumped up your throat. And just then as you pulled your knife once more out of the destroyed skull you realized that you were crying again, sobbing actually as you fell back off the dead onto the ground and stared at what you’d just done. ”Fuck”, it left your trembling lips as you could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears while more hot tears streamed down your face and blurred your vision. Sniffling you looked up at the stars to calm yourself down and avoid looking at the defaced corpse beside you, letting your glance move from one star to another as your heart and your breath finally started to slow down again. And just then, just as you couldn’t hear your heartbeat in your ears anymore, you could suddenly hear the soft rushing of flowing water nearby that made you prick up your ears. Scrambling to your feet you moved up and followed the sound, hoping that this wasn’t a sick game your mind was playing with you. Brushing your tears off your face you moved closer, step by step and careful to not get yourself into any other tricky situation until a burden seemed to fall right off your shoulders as you peeked through the trees and finally saw the flowing water glistening in the dim moon light. You’d found it, you’d fucking found it. And now, you just needed to find Negan. Time passed and he still didn’t have an answer to his questions and he knew deep down he’d never truly get them. A shivering breath fell from his lips as he stared into his emptying whiskey glass, closing his eyes for a moment as he pinched the bridge of his nose and gulped thickly. Maybe his wife wouldn’t even show up today here anymore, maybe something happened that made her stay longer at the infirmary and she didn’t even know yet about this whole thing. Regardless of what had truly went down she wasn’t here, and it was starting to eat away at him, just the bare thought of what she must feel as soon as she’d find out. She deserved that life they’d been living lately, that life that could come as close to that apple pie life as a life in the damn apocalypse could. She deserved every single part of it, regardless of it was merely being able to wake up in a warm, cozy bed in the morning or to lay outside in the garden to watch the sunset turn the sky into a ray of pretty colors without a worry in the world. But maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was on his way to pull the woman he loved once more into his misery. Shivering and clasping onto his glass he found himself glimpsing at Lucille, at the barbed wire and the broken wood that broke his heart all over again. He hadn’t been able to give her the life she deserved to live, and now the same thing was about to happen with (Y/N) too, all over again. Maybe he just didn’t deserve to have his happy end. He’d been such a fucking asshole, such a goddamn fucking asshole that never deserved for Lucille to put up with him the way she did after everything that had happened after he lost his job. He could still way too vividly remember the anger he’d felt after that asshole had gotten him fired, that goddamn asshole from that bar that had provoked him, snarled at Lucille and then came at him so he’d simply lost it and beat him into the ground. He could blame that fucker all he wanted for provoking him, for coming at him, for making him lose his job at the school, for suing him and making his Lucille pay for the fucking hospital bills because he couldn’t anymore, but he couldn’t blame him for the decisions he’d made after. Losing his job and being put on prohibition for this bullshit had made him fall into a deep hole, one that he hadn’t been able to crawl out from, one that had turned him into a fucking undeserving bastard. A bastard that hadn’t known how to get back on his feet. A bastard that had gone as far to cheat on his wife with her goddamn friend just to make himself feel appreciated in some sick way. A bastard that hadn’t gone to pick her up from her MRI because he was busy fucking said friend. A bastard that needed to see her throw the chemo brochures right onto the table in front of him and tell him she had cancer to finally turn his life around. He was still ashamed of himself, so fucking ashamed of the things he’d done back then and nothing, nothing that he’d done after had made him feel like he’d been able to make up for the shit he’d done before. Sniffling, Negan found himself shifting over the stool, his eyes filled with tears as he stared at the bat and felt his trembling fingers fumble on the glass in his hands, trying to distract himself from the memories that started to flood his head and torture him. He’d fought like hell to make up for the shit he’d done, he’d fought like hell to keep her going as this hell of a world had broken loose in the midst of her treatment, finding bag after bag for her chemo and teach himself how to administer it. He’d tried to keep her spirits high and brought her this bunch of wigs he’d found on a run in an abandoned shop, he tried his best to keep their generator going and free of the dead so they could watch movies even if killing walkers freaked the shit out of him back then, he’d tried to sing their song to her and hold her in the freezing nights that made her nausea usually worse. He’d tried to be a good husband. He’d tried to be the man she deserved and not give up even when things had taken their turn for the worse and that fucking generator had shut down in the middle of the night and made them lose the last bags of useable chemo supplies. He could still remember their last conversation that day, how she’d told him that she’d known about his affair all along, how she’d known that he’d stopped and never talked to her again after her diagnosis, how she wanted him to know that he’d made up for it and that he could stop pushing himself now. He could remember how she’d asked him to stay, how she asked him to give up searching for new chemo supplies and just be with her when she went. He could remember how she told him that it was time for him to move on without her and instead, do her fighting for her. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her and he couldn’t bear letting her go. So he went out again. It took weeks of searching until he found the medical RV of Laura and her father, and it took yet another run in with a fucking gang of biker pigs until he could finally drive home with the chemo bags and bring them too her only to find out that after everything, he’d been too late. She was already gone. ODed, with a bag over her head, a belt around her neck that tied her to the bed so she couldn’t lunge at him and “Please don’t leave me like this” written over the door. She’d killed herself while he was gone, while he was gone out there searching for supplies when he should’ve just listened to her. She shouldn’t have died there with that fucking plastic bag over her head, she should’ve been able to fall peacefully asleep in his arms and drift off into an eternal sleep. And after everything, he couldn’t even go through with taking her down, he just couldn’t bring himself to dive a knife into her and instead he ended up trying to stun his grief with alcohol until he took the last resort and set his home on fire, hoping it would take her down and fulfill her last wish. He’d always wanted to make things better with (Y/N). From the moment on he found himself falling for her he wanted to make sure that he’d make things right this time and again, he’d failed. He didn’t get to give her the life she deserved, instead, she was stuck with him for years in that cell, giving him more than he could ever give her back and each time he thought about it, it felt like god played a sick game with him. Here you go have a second chance at love, but beware, you won’t be able to do things right now either. This fucking cabin, this fucking situation was the living proof of it and he didn’t know how to cope with it, how to cope with the fucking possibility that he was part of the reason their life would be destroyed again after it seemed like they‘d finally been able to settle down into a more peaceful life. Wincing Negan could feel himself erupting in more tears as he felt the empty glass fall with a dull thud from his hands onto the wooden floor, echoing through his head as a whimper fell from his trembling lips as his mind drifted to something that had whirled through it far more than once during the last weeks. Something (Y/N) had said to him after he’d melted down and asked her how she’d been able to fall in love with him back at the start, something Lucille had said to him when he’d asked her in tears how why she’d put up with him even after everything he’d done. “I already saw the man in you that you are right now”, were (Y/N)’s words, so hauntingly similar to the words Lucille had told him this one night that it made a shudder run down his back any time he thought of it. How in hell did he deserve for two women to fall in love with him and see something in him that he’d never been able to grasp? How did he deserve for those two women to love him so deeply they’d stick with him through anything and never lose their faith in him? How the fuck did he deserve that? Sniffling, Negan looked into the flames, the fire only a blur of red and orange before he reached up to brush the tears off his cheeks and run his hand down his face to keep himself from losing it entirely. Trembling he dried his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, sighing deeply as he glimpsed back at the fireplace only to flinch up in the very same moment as he heard the squeaking wood door open behind him and heard the voice he’d been dying to hear for hours. “Negan?” Your voice was faint and careful as you said his name and stepped into the cabin, watching as Negan turned around from his spot by the fireplace with a relieved but still startled look on his face. “Hey”, you could hear him say, his voice strained and thick with emotion as he stumbled towards you and just then gave you a chance to see his slightly reddened eyes, the exhausted look on his face and the slight wetness that was still daubing his cheeks. But before you could say anything he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tightly into his embrace, cradling you against his chest while his trembling body pressed up against yours. You only hugged him back without saying anything yet, cuddling into him to finally feeling his warmth enclosing you after the turmoil that you’d been through until you’d finally found this place. And then slowly, very slowly Negan started to loosen his grasp on you, before he backed just enough away to look down at you and run his glance over your face, as if he was trying to check if you were fine. “Are you okay?”, it instead fell from your lips as you reached up to softly stroke over his wet cheek, a worried look pressing in over your face as he slowly started to nod. “I’m much better now that you’re here”, he mumbled, leaning in to press a soft, nearly delicate kiss over your lips before a small sniffle left his lips and you glimpsed for the first time away from him and through the room that was only enlightened by the small fire. Carol had truly given her all, putting two full baskets of Negan’s belongings into this cabin, along with his leather jacket that hung over a rocking chair by the windows and something else that suddenly caught your eye, something that leaned against the wall by the fireplace and nearly made you believe your mind was playing tricks on you. “What-”, it left your lips as you stared at the bat, furrowing your brows in utter surprise as your glance stayed stuck on it,”Is that Lucille?” A soft sigh fell from Negan’s lips as grasped your jaw gently, just enough so he’d get you to look at him before he gulped thickly and nodded towards the spot by the fireplace. “Let’s just sit down for a moment, okay?” Mere minutes later you found yourself sitting on a small stool next to Negan by the fire, listening to him as he talked about how this day had played out for him. How Carol had lead him into the woods, how he had gone back to the hill of the war to see if he could find Lucille and how she broke just mere moments after he found her. From moment to moment you could find your eyes hooked on the broken bat, still not quite believing that she’d been there all this time while you’d searched all of Alexandria for her, so confident in the thought that they’d actually hid her somewhere around town. “When did you find out?”, you heard Negan say, ripping your glance from Lucille and back at him. “Around sunset? I was longer than planned at the infirmary”, you said, gulping thickly as you shuffled a little over the stool below you,”Carter fell on a broken pipe and we just...we just took some time until we had him all fixed up and then when I wanted to go pick you up from the woodhouses...Daniel told me that you’d gone out with Carol to hunt earlier but that he’d seen her around again.” A thick sigh fell from your lips as you glanced down for a moment, shrugging your shoulders softly before your eyes met his again. “So I guessed you’d already be back home and when I got there I just found our closet open, with some of your stuff gone and that damn map on the dinner table”, you mumbled, nodding towards the map that laid along with the backpack next to your stool. “I didn’t take off right away”, you added, letting out a huff as the mere thought of it put some new tension right back onto you,”Paid Carol a visit before and I just-...I lost it.” With that, Negan’s brows perked up, half curious, half worried as you sighed quietly and shrugged softly. “I may or may not have punched her and pushed her into a wall...by her throat.” “You did what?”, you heard Negan say, something that could even come close to a chuckle fell from his lips as he still looked with perked brows at you, clearly waiting for you to go on. “Wouldn’t say I’m proud of it... can’t remember the last time I blew a fuse like that-”, you said, stopping yourself as you could feel yourself getting worked up again though you surely didn’t want that to happen now all over again,”But the things she said-...how she said them. She smiled into my damn face while she said it, so fucking demeaning and full of ignorance...I just-” “Yeah, can imagine that”, Negan said as soon as your voice broke off, nodding as he clenched his jaw slightly ,”Pulled the same attitude here.” “And then she said on top of it all that you got better than you deserve with this cabin here and it just clicked”, you said with another sigh, before a thick gulp travelled down your throat as Negan reached out for your hand to take it into his, squeezing it softly as you could feel your emotions starting to well up again. “After everything, you deserve so, so much more”, you said, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand while you could see Negan’s eyes softening,”You deserve the damn world.” With that, his reddened eyes started to fill back up with tears and a thick gulp travelled down his throat as his hand grasped yours tighter and a small sniffle fell from his lips. “You do, Baby...you do”, he choked out, trying to keep his voice up by all means as his glance feel in between the bat and you, his eyes blurred with tears as you shuffled closer towards him,”You do. Lucille did. And I-...I don’t know how I got so lucky to hit the jackpot twice.” It didn’t take more than that for your emotions to get the best of you again and fill your eyes with tears as well and boil all those feelings that had whirled through you back up, while Negan shook his head as the first tears fell from his eyes. “I just-...you put all these years up with me being in that damn cell, you went through so much pain because of me and for all these fucking years I couldn’t give you the life you deserved till those last two weeks happened and now whatever we just got is gone again and I-”, he sniffled, his voice thick with emotion as he shook his head and glanced at the bat, “I couldn’t give Lucille the life she deserved, I couldn’t even keep the world and that fucking cancer from hurting her and then-” Tears kept falling down his face as his eyes were hooked on your intertwined hands, sniffles falling from his lips as his grasp on your hand got a little tighter. “And then when I fell in love with you I just-”, he winced, a shaking breath falling from his lips as he gulped thickly,”I vowed to myself to protect you and take care of you no matter the fucking cost. I just wanted to finally make things right and instead I fucked everything up all over again.” You only shook your head, unable to say something as a thick lump started to grow in your throat again and you could feel yourself hurting just listening to him. You’ve had these type of conversations before but this time, with these circumstances it just hurt so much more to see him beating himself up. “All I want is give you that damn apple pie life. In that house, with movies every damn night, with dinners together, and someday with kids that can run through that house and play in that backyard and drive us crazy...and it fucking destroys me that I can’t..that I’m the fucking reason you can’t have that.” “That’s not true”, you shook your head as you felt the first tears roll down your cheeks, “We can have that and we will, also because you ripped your ass off for it. You’ve always bent over backwards to make me happy.” A shivering breath fell from your lips as you moved in closer, trying to ensure that he was looking at you as you reached out for him and cupped his face softly with your free hand. “Just because things didn’t always work out the way we wanted them to doesn’t mean that you made me any less happy and I don’t ever want you to think again that you failed at that...You’ve been the best husband I could ever wish for. I need you to finally believe me when I say that”, you choked out, sniffling as you gave his hand a soft squeeze,”Just as much as I need you to finally believe the things Lucille said to you. She told you you made up, you made sure to make her last months as peaceful and happy as you could within this hell of a world...so you don’t deserve to keep on beating yourself up about it.” Negan choked up as you referred back to the things he’d once told you, still holding on to you as you looked with tearful eyes at him. “I just need you to realize that as long as I got you I’m happy, no matter where we are, no fucking matter if it’s in a cell or a nice home.” You made sure to keep his glance, trying to make sure that your message reached him before your thumb swiped softly over his skin while you tried to swallow down the bigger lump that was growing in your throat again. “I’m so proud of you...I’m so damn proud of the man you’ve been for me for all these years”, you said, smiling through the tears at him as another sniffle fell from your lips and your eyes glimpsed at the bat for a short moment,”And I know she’d be too.” Tears glistened in Negan’s eyes as a shivering hum rumbled up his chest and he grasped your hand tighter, just as you kept on fighting against that lump in your throat to bring out the last thing you needed him to hear. “So we will take your things first thing in the morning and walk back to Alexandria and settle back down into that home where we two belong”, you said your trembling voice almost breaking off as you leaned in closer to him,”No one is going to take that away from us again. Not Carol, not Maggie, not anybody.” Slowly, Negan started to nod, reaching up to take your hand from his cheek to press a kiss over its back while your eyes fell on the bat that still leaned against the wall. “We can take her with us, y’know? Find a nice place in the house”, you said with a sniffle, only to slowly see Negan starting to shake his head. “I think...I think I need to say goodbye”, he mumbled, gulping thickly as his eyes roamed over the broken bat before they fell back on you,”She wanted me to move on without her and do her fighting for her...so I’m finally gonna do that...I’m gonna burn her and then..fuck then we’ll walk home and I’ll keep on fighting for our future. I think she’d want that too.” Slowly, you started to nod and felt Negan press another kiss over the back of your hand, still holding onto you, still shivering as he stared at the bat while it started to dim on you that this was something he had to do alone. He had to say goodbye on his own. So slowly, you moved up from your spot on the stool, loosened your grasp on his hand and instead leaned down to press a kiss onto his forehead while our hand caressed softly over the side of his face. “Just call for me when you need me back in here”, you mumbled as Negan visibly got tense before he started to nod, but still kept a hold on you for another moment, as if he needed your closeness a little longer to prepare himself. As soon as his grasp loosened and you knew he was ready you quietly moved out of the house and let yourself fall onto the porch’s stairs, where you soon heard Negan’s voice rumble through the air, still filled heavily with emotions but firm enough to not break as he spoke up. “I’m sorry that I left you...I was a coward. I couldn’t face the pain of losing you so I ran away...and then I made myself not feel anything because I didn’t want to feel the shame...I’m sorry that you went out like that, I should have been there. I’m sorry that I named a stupid baseball bat after you...and I’m sorry for the all pain I put you through...I still miss you”, you heard his voice say, so clear that you could hear him forcing himself to keep going even though he could barely hold himself back, so filled with emotion and pain that it broke your heart all over again. “I promise, I’m gonna do your fighting for you”, you heard him say, breaking at the end before the sound of rustling wood could be heard and you knew that he’d laid her into the flames. Only seconds passed until you heard him calling your name, the same shivering tone stuck in it as you hurried back into the cabin and watched him standing by the fireplace, with tears in his eyes while Lucille laid within the flames that slowly ate away at her wood. He was gulping heavily, new tears already falling from his eyes as you moved in to hug him tightly and felt him wrapping his arms back around you within mere milliseconds. “I love you, so much”, he mumbled into your hair, cradling you against his body while sniffles fell from his lips and trembles still shook through him. “I love you too”, you mumbled back, cuddling against him as he held tightly onto you and didn’t dare to loosen his embrace just once before another sniffling sigh fell from his lips. “I hope Lucille’s up there in heaven and has found someone who makes her just as happy as you make me”, Negan mumbled shakily into your hair, cradling you closer as you nodded softly against him, so touched all over again that you felt new tears welling up into your eyes. “I’m sure she has”, you mumbled, only able to bring these few words out before your throat tightened and made you voice break off again while Negan rocked you gently in his arms, keeping you safely locked in his embrace until the world finally started to feel at peace around you. Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow would be the start of a new life as soon as you’d walk through Alexandria’s gates, defying any of Carol’s plans, defying anyone that still doubted you, defying your past to pave your way to the future that you both wanted. You would keep on fighting for it, side by side like it you’d always done, and how it would always be. You and him, an unbeatable team.

170 notes · View notes

clumsyclifford · 3 years ago

Note

hello bella’s ask box it’s been a min damn.

so the vibes are fucking everywhere w the music in the lab today so i’ve mostly been ignoring it but then unforgettable by thomas rhett started playing and my brain was immediately like This Is a Fic Song

more importantly it is a Bella Fic Song

last time you not so subtly wanted me to prompt u w w thomas rhett song you told me to do that here so i am back again w another song from ur boy

okay i def snuck out just to send this so i gotta go now but this felt important laksdjdld

ok ily bye 💛

hi sam :)

so.................... i was stuck on what to write you for your birthday fic. you sent me this ask prompting me with a thomas rhett song that i had literally been meaning to write a fic based on for almost a full year. the puzzle pieces just aligned REALLY nicely on this one.

happy birthday, my love. there's gonna be a LOT more sappy shit in the ao3 notes, but please know that my life is irreversibly changed for the better because i met you. i am dangerous close to sounding like glinda from wicked and i really want you to get to READ this fic so please see ao3 for more schmaltz. i love you so much.

tw for alcohol

read here on ao3

Every life has a moment that imprints on memory like ink on a fresh page. The kind of moment that permanently alters the trajectory of that life, that marks the ending of one chapter and the beginning of another. Some people are lucky enough to have more than one. Some people’s minds are laden with crystallized memories. But there’s always at least one. One completely unforgettable moment.

For Jack, this moment happens twenty-four minutes after he enters the club.

Twenty-three minutes after he enters the club, Zack returns with his and Jack's second beers and says, "There's some guy at the bar who's totally your type."

"Yeah?" Jack cranes his neck, but he can't quite see the bar from where he is. "My type how? Not just 'lonely and drunk,' right? My standards have gotten higher, you know."

Zack hands Jack his beer. "He's cute and he's wearing a One Direction shirt, and I'm pretty sure he's drinking a margarita.”

"Oh shit," Jack says. "That checks all my boxes."

"I know it does," says Zack, winner of the Wingman Of The Decade award. He claps Jack on the shoulder. Jack sidesteps people until he gets eyes on the bar and scans for a cute guy in a One Direction shirt drinking a margarita.

Twenty-four minutes after Jack enters the bar, he sees Alex.

And everything changes forever.

"Woah," Jack says. His gut is feeling weird and it’s probably unrelated to the beer and a half under his belt.

"What?"

"The guy at the bar," Jack says, grabbing Zack's arm. "Zack. You grossly undersold my future husband to me."

"Your future husband?" Zack sounds amused, but Jack isn't kidding.

"Remember this moment," he says seriously, giving Zack a sloppy pat on the bicep before moving away from him, towards the bar, towards the cute guy with the One Direction shirt who's making Jack understand clairvoyance. "Remember this so you can tell the story at our wedding!"

"Your wedding," Zack repeats.

"Our fucking wedding!" Jack insists, more loudly as space and drunk people fill the growing gap between him and Zack. Zack just gives him a good-luck-and-godspeed wave.

Seconds later, Jack is at the bar.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

The cute guy in question looks up, surprised. Jack practically reels. It's a miracle people aren't flocking to this guy; he's not just cute, he's gorgeous. Bleach-blond hair — clearly from a bottle, which somehow Jack finds more attractive — flops over his forehead in a stubborn commitment to the emo fringe that died out a decade ago, and long lashes frame brown eyes that rival the glossy chestnut color of the bar. Add the five o'clock shadow and the sharply angled jaw and Jack's speechless.

Fortunately it's not his turn to speak. "I have a drink," says the guy, who is rapidly progressing from Cute Guy At Bar to Possible Soulmate At Bar. He quirks a smile. Jack's done for. "I'll buy you a drink, though."

Jack sets his partially-drunk beer on the bar top and slides it as far as he can reach. "Okay," he says.

Possible Soulmate laughs. He slides his margarita away from him, too, pushing it into the space of another person sitting down the bar. "Touché. Okay, you can buy me a drink."

"Well, hey, I don't want you to waste yours," Jack says reasonably. He retrieves his beer and then Possible Soulmate's drink. "I'll get the next one."

Possible Soulmate smiles. Jack is going to need his name eventually. "I appreciate your commitment to environmentally-friendly consumption of alcohol."

Jack blinks. "Yeah," he says. "That was a lot of big words, but sure. No problem. I'm Jack, by the way."

"Alex." Alex. Jack can see the wedding invites now.

"Nice to meet you," Jack says. "I like your shirt."

Alex glances down out of instinct as the wide collar of the shirt slips over his shoulder. "Thanks," he says with a chuckle, and looks up at Jack. "I like yours."

With great effort, Jack tears his gaze from Alex's shoulder and the hint of collarbone peeking out, but he would like it on the record that it is tremendously difficult. Fortunately he already knows what shirt he's wearing because he'd agonized over it for several minutes longer than Zack's patience ran, shortly before going out.

"Yeah, Kurt Cobain," he says, nodding with probably too much enthusiasm. "I'm a lead singer guy."

"Really?" Alex tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. "Meaning what?"

"I go for the lead singer types," Jack explains. "Kurt Cobain, Billie Joe Armstrong, you know." He nods at Alex's shirt. "Harry Styles."

"Harry Styles wasn't—" Alex breaks off and snorts. "Eh, whatever. Who cares."

"Wait," Jack says. "Hold the phone. Did you fucking cross out Zayn's face?"

Alex looks down at his shirt again like maybe he'll have forgotten what it looks like. "Oh, my friend did that. But now the shirt is factually accurate."

"If you wanted an accurate shirt you'd have to cross them all out since none of them are in the band anymore," Jack observes.

Alex slowly smiles. "I guess."

"I always liked Zayn," Jack says wistfully. "His solo shit is so good, though."

"It's good," Alex says, kind of in the tone of voice of someone who doesn't really agree but doesn't want to get into it, so Jack leaves it be. They can poll their wedding guests. "I'm really digging Niall's solo shit."

"That's an extremely acceptable answer," Jack says, nodding vigorously. In the moment it slips his mind that he's holding a beer and the liquid begins to slosh out of its container. "Oh shit, fuck, sorry."

"Didn't get me," Alex says, passing Jack a napkin. "Couple too many, I get it."

"What?" Jack is very focused on drying his hands so they don't get sticky and gross. "I'm not drunk."

Alex laughs. "Yeah, right."

"I'm not!"

"Okay," Alex says lightly, but it's clear he doesn't believe Jack. On the bright side, he doesn't seem bothered by it.

"I am acceptably drunk for a guy in his mid-twenties at a club,” Jack amends. "And you owe me a drink anyway."

"Hey, I intend to buy you that drink," Alex says earnestly. "Another beer?"

Jack shakes his head. "Vodka soda," he says. "It's a special occasion."

"Really! You celebrating something?"

"I am now," Jack says. "Celebrating meeting my future husband."

"Your future husband?"

"You," Jack says, in case it wasn't clear. "It's not every day you meet the man you're gonna marry. I think it calls for a celebratory vodka soda."

Alex stares, obviously expecting Jack to say sike! When Jack does no such thing, he gives a small, incredulous laugh.

"Fair enough," he says. He sounds like he's humoring Jack. That's okay. Jack is serious, but Alex will figure that out on his own time. "I guess you're not wrong. That doesn't happen every day."

A large shadow materializes on Alex's other side, blocking light like some very cliché movie villain. It's not Doc Ock, but it is some tall, burly guy, a leer affixed to his face that's probably been there since Alex's haircut went out of style.

"Hey, baby," he says in an unnervingly deep voice. The part of Jack that isn't super skeezed out is a little jealous. But Burly Guy isn't talking to Jack; Jack may as well be invisible. To Alex, Burly Guy says, "Saw you across the bar and I just had to come over."

Didn't have to, Jack thinks grumpily to himself. You could have stayed across the bar. If you walk away now we’ll pretend we never saw you.

"Can I get you a drink?" Burly Guy asks, and honestly, Jack has no idea what Alex is going to say.

Big Burly Guy with a deep voice a la Morgan Freeman vs. resident beanstalk Jack whose voice sounds like a rejected cartoon character design. What a tough choice.

Jack is just preparing to cut his losses when Alex grabs Jack's wrist, turns to him, and says, "Honey? What do you think?"

Jack's tipsy, but Alex is definitely communicating something with his eyes, and between that and the pet name Jack is pretty sure he's on the same page.

"You want to buy my boyfriend a drink?" Jack asks Big Burly Guy, cranking up the Bitchy energy because he doesn't get to do it a lot and it's kinda fun. His voice has definitely gone vaguely southern-auntie, but he's rolling with it. "Sorry, sugar, this seat's taken. Must be this guy" — he points at himself — "to ride."

"This guy?" Burly Guy echoes, furrowing his eyebrows at Jack and then looking at Alex with profound confusion, like he just doesn't get it. "You're with this guy?"

"Happily," Alex says, glancing back at Jack, who offers him what is definitely a convincingly enamored smile because Jack is legitimately enamored. Alex laces their fingers together and Jack's not delusional, can't be, not when they fit this well together. No way. "So I'm gonna pass on that drink. Sorry, man. No hard feelings."

Burly Guy seems to have some hard feelings. Maybe he didn't get the memo. "Whatever," he says gruffly. "Your loss."

Jack can't resist countering, "Actually it's your loss, sweetums," as Burly Guy retreats. If he dies tonight, he knows who’s responsible.

As soon as he's gone, Alex breaks down laughing, and Jack quickly follows suit. Alex's hand slips from Jack's and begins to tug at the ends of his own hair instead.

"Sugar?"

"I don't know what happened," Jack says/wheezes. "I became possessed by Blanche from Golden Girls.”

"You have to be" — Alex prods Jack's chest — "this guy to ride." He dissolves into giggles and Jack is laughing too but mostly because Alex's laugh is incredibly contagious.

"Look, I don't blame him," Jack says, feeling exhilarated. "You are the best-looking guy in this establishment. He just happened to have creepo vibes."

"I am not the best-looking guy in this establishment," Alex says, grinning at Jack. "Nice of you to say, though."

"Hey, I'm serious!"

"I thought you were Jack."

Jack stares at Alex and Alex doesn't even last a second before he's breaking down laughing yet again.

I'm going to marry you, Jack thinks, and it almost scares him how serious he is about that. He opens his mouth and says, "That wasn't even— that's not even one of the good dad jokes! That's the most boring one!"

"There is no such thing as a boring dad joke."

"You should go into stand-up," Jack says dryly. "You'd tear down the house with this set. I can see it now." He waves a grandiose hand in the air as if painting the marquee into existence, but when he goes to introduce the act he realizes he's missing most of the crucial information. "Alex…something…something. Austin, Texas, one night only."

"Gaskarth," Alex says. "That's my last name."

"Alex Something Gaskarth," Jack loyally amends, and gives Alex a look like, well?

Except Alex is giving Jack that same look. "I only know your first name and you expect me to tell you my full one?"

"Jack Bassam Barakat," Jack says, gesturing impatiently. "Come on, I'm trying to introduce your act here."

"Guess," Alex says.

"Guess?"

"It's a pretty basic middle name," Alex says. "I'll buy you your vodka soda when you guess it."

"Alex," Jack says. "I am not going to guess your middle name. I am so bad at these games and I'm fucking drunk."

"Quitter," Alex says. "Do you want your drink?"

Jack scowls, trying to channel Blanche again, but Alex is apparently immune.

"Give me a hint," he finally concedes.

"It's a British name," Alex says. “Pretty standard British.”

"Are you British?”

Alex nods. "Born and raised. Moved here when I was about…eight? But I'm not an American citizen. I have a green card."

Yet another reason they should be married. Jack could extend his citizenship to Alex. Plus he'd gain British citizenship, which would probably be useful for, like, travel or One Direction stalking or whatever.

"That's sick," Jack says. "I was born in Lebanon. We moved when I was a baby."

"That's so cool," Alex says, sounding genuinely interested. He props his chin on his hand and gives Jack a cheeky smile. "Now guess."

Jack sighs. "Uh, Charles."

"No."

"Darcy."

"Darcy?"

"Margaret."

"Jack."

"You said it's a British name!"

"A British man's name," Alex says, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation.

Jack takes a long pull from his beer, swallows, and says, "Harry."

"No."

They're going to be here awhile. Jack pulls out the seat next to Alex and settles in while he racks his brain for British names.

“Alfred.”

“Nope.”

“John.”

“No.”

“Paul.”

“No.”

“George.” Alex shakes his head. “Ringo.”

“Yup, you finally got it,” Alex says. Jack is over the moon for a split second before it sinks in that Alex is fucking with him. “Alex Ringo Gaskarth. Well done.”

“Fuck off, I’m doing my best here,” Jack says.

“You’re missing one incredibly obvious name,” Alex says. “It’s not that hard.”

“For you,” Jack says. “Because you already know it.” Alex is grinning. Jack likes that he’s enjoying himself. It makes this guessing game fun. Under any other circumstances, this guessing game would not be fun, but Alex makes it fun.

Alex has also finished his mango margarita by now, and Jack’s beer is long since empty. He’s itching for another drink, mainly for something to do with his hands.

As if reading his mind, Alex flags down the bartender, who sidles up with a small smile and says, “What can I get you boys?”

Jack blinks at her. Mostly at her accent, which is not American.

“Vodka soda,” Alex says. To Jack, “I think you’ve earned it.” Jack smiles.

“And a mango margarita,” he puts in to the bartender, “and are you British?”

The bartender looks amused. “I am British,” she says.

“Please help me,” Jack says. “Alex says his middle name is a British name and I cannot for the life of me figure out what it fucking is.”

“Jack, the nice bartender lady has other things to do,” Alex says with a laugh. The nice bartender lady probably does have other things to do, but she shifts her weight and gives Alex an appraising look instead.

“Harry?”

“Tried that,” Jack says, realizing at once that this is a pointless endeavor. The nice bartender lady is going to guess everything Jack’s already guessed and he’ll just have wasted her time. “I’ve tried every member of One Direction, every member of the Beatles, every member of Oasis, every Harry Potter character, every member of the Royal Family—”

At this, Alex coughs conspicuously.

Jack rounds on him. “I have.”

“Edward,” the bartender offers. Alex’s lips are pressed together in a smile and he shakes his head. “Meghan. Kate. Richard. Dick. Philip.”

A lightbulb goes off as the bartender is listing Royal Family names. Jack wants to kick himself. “Oh my— William?”

“Yeahhhh, there you go! See, it was easy,” Alex says, grinning widely.

“William,” the bartender repeats with a charming little laugh. Her lipstick is bright with clean lines, an impressive feat considering Jack has seen her bustling around this bar for almost an hour now. “I had an ex called William.”

“Oh no,” Alex says. “I hope he didn’t ruin the name for you.”

“Please,” the bartender says, waving him off. “The only thing he ruined for me was a few meters of drywall.” Jack and Alex must have twin looks of concern, because she explains, “Anger issues. No worries, boys, I sent him packing, and a vodka soda for you, and a mango marg for you.”

She slides their drinks into waiting hands and starts to turn away. “Wait a sec,” Jack says.

The bartender turns back to him with wide Bambi eyes. “Did I fuck up the drink? I’ve made it a million—”

“No no no,” Jack assures her. “I just wanted to know your name. You rescued me from an eternal guessing game, you’re my hero.”

The bartender smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maisie,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Maisie,” Alex says. “Thank you for the alcohol.”

Maisie laughs again as she moves to the other side of the bar.

“William,” Jack says, swirling his drink with the miniature straw. “God damn. I can’t believe I missed William.”

“You got close,” Alex says. “You guessed Liam twice. And thanks for the drink.”

“Same to you,” Jack says. “It’s a good drink. Yours, I mean. You know what offends me, though? Why aren’t mango margaritas orange?”

Alex furrows his brow. “Why the fuck would they be orange?”

“Mangos are orange! Fruity drinks should be the same color as their fruit.”

“Mangos are not fucking orange,” Alex says with an incredulous laugh. “They’re straight-up yellow.”

“They’re orange with yellow tendencies,” Jack says, “but mostly orange.”

“They are entirely yellow,” Alex says. “Coldplay even wrote a song about them. They were all yellow.”

“They’re orange,” Jack insists, but now Alex has moved on completely and is loudly singing Coldplay.

“I came along! I wrote a song foooor youuuuu! And all the things you do!”

“You’re ignoring the truth!”

“And it was called ‘Yellow’!” Alex shouts.

“Okay, I surrender! Sheesh. You win.”

“Thank you,” Alex says placidly, like he hasn’t just been yelling obnoxiously over the (worse, but much louder) club music. “I’m going to enjoy my yellow mango marg very much.”

“And I will enjoy my victory drink,” Jack says, lifting his glass. Alex lifts his. It smells like mango and tequila. They clink the rims together. “To William.”

“To William,” Alex agrees, laughing.

The DJ plays a song Jack loves to hate from hearing it on the radio so many times and Alex is out of his seat before Jack’s managed to put down his drink.

“What are—”

“I love this song, I want to dance,” Alex insists. The implication is clearly that he wants Jack to dance with him, which is like. What is Jack gonna do, say no?

Alex must anticipate some kind of argument, though, because with a glint in his eye he adds lightly, “These are the kinds of things you’ll have to do if we’re married.”

On the one hand, he’s clearly making fun. But on the other hand, the fact that Alex was a stranger an hour ago and is still comfortable teasing Jack about suggesting they’re going to get married speaks volumes. Alex is smiling. They’ve known each other for less than an hour — a drink and a half each — and Alex is smiling at his own joke about marrying Jack. Like he likes that Jack said it first. Like he likes Jack.

“Just wait ‘til you learn all the weird shit you’ll have to do when we’re married,” Jack says, sliding out of his stool.

Any sane person would have run away by now. Even Jack knows when he’s coming on too strong.

But Alex does the opposite; Alex grabs his wrist and pulls him towards the dance floor.

“Fair warning,” Alex says. “I don’t actually know how to dance.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jack says, and then eats his words not two seconds later when Alex demonstrates how very much he doesn’t know how to dance. All of his limbs seem to move as their own entities, zero synchronization. A couple surrounding people take various minor assaults before taking the hint and giving Alex some space, but this does not stop him. “Okay,” Jack says loudly over the music. “You were right. But luckily neither do I.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Alex says.

Jack does the sprinkler. Alex snorts. He does the wave, very poorly, and Alex continues it, also very poorly.

“Mr. Moves,” Alex says. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah? Check this one out.” Jack does the running man with extreme focus. Alex laughs, leaning towards Jack as he does. Jack stops dancing so he doesn’t accidentally hit Alex, who is suddenly much closer and who somehow smells like pine and flannel and fall and winter in one and is the best-looking person in blue jeans and checkered Vans on this dance floor. Far from the only person, but without question the prettiest.

Fuck.

“I don’t think I can do that one,” says Alex, grinning. Jack nods at him like, try it, so Alex does, proving himself right. He almost takes Jack’s eye out.

“Yeesh, okay, you’re— alright, take it easy,” Jack says, swatting Alex’s wayward hand away and laughing. “Well, we all have our strengths.”

Surrendering the running man, Alex starts up with some bizarre hand-wavey foot-kicky thing, singing along to the music.

“Do you seriously like this song?” Jack asks, attempting to imitate Alex’s dance. “Dance,” heavy quote marks implied.

Alex shoots Jack a look. “Hell yeah. What, you don’t?”

“It’s just…always on,” Jack says. “Everywhere. How are you not sick of it?”

“Because it fuckin’ slaps!” Alex looks incensed.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised you’re a pop music person when you’re literally in a One Direction shirt.”

“I’m a lots of music person,” Alex counters. “Including pop music, yeah. You don’t like pop music?”

“I sometimes do,” Jack says. “I like Taylor Swift. Britney Spears.”

“Okay, well, you’d have to be insane not to like them.”

“Yeah, and I’m obviously sane.”

Alex barks a laugh. “Drunk but sane.”

“I am not drunk!” That’s probably a lie by now.

“You’re not convincing me otherwise,” Alex says. “I’m confident you’ve been drunk this whole time.”

“You haven’t exactly been an innocent bystander,” Jack says. “You bought me a drink, and you’re gonna buy us shots in a minute.”

“I did— I what?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and this time he drags Alex off the dance floor, back to the bar. “I can see the future, I forgot to tell you.”

“You—” Alex laughs again and leans on the bar, trapping both his elbows between his stomach and the bartop. “You’re buying the next round.”

“Oh, happily,” Jack says. “I’m actively trying to get you drunk.”

“Why’s that?”

“Studies show I am 75% more attractive to people when they’re drunk,” says Jack.

Alex turns to him. Without missing a beat, he says smoothly, “I don’t think it’s possible for you to get any more attractive.”

Fuck. Actually, fuck. Seriously. Fuck.

“You must be drunk already, then,” Jack says.

Alex smiles serenely. “I feel pretty sober.”

“Exactly what a drunk person would say,” Jack says. “J’accuse, William.”

Alex laughs. “In that case, your studies are right.”

Jack’s probably blushing. He does that in extreme cases only, but this is nothing if not an extreme case. Alex is fucking relentless.

Maisie the bartender is back, and Alex orders them shots of tequila. Somewhere in the recesses of Jack’s mind, this unlocks a memory, and he snaps his fingers. “I should hunt down my friend, he loves tequila.”

“Friend?” Alex looks around while Maisie pours their shots. “You ditched your friend?”

“He told me to,” Jack says. “He’s probably gonna pick up some girl. Actually, he probably already has.”

“Really,” Alex says, sounding amused.

“Zack’s a strong silent type,” Jack explains. “Emphasis on strong. We’re single guys in our mid-twenties, Alex. We’re not going to clubs for the atmosphere.”

“Admit it,” Alex says. “You a little bit are.”

Jack bites his lip. “Fine, I like the atmosphere,” he admits, more affected than he should be that Alex seems to have picked up on this about him. “And the alcohol. And the chances I’ll meet my future husband, which clearly paid off. Zack will never admit it, but I’m pretty sure he likes trying to set me up with random people in clubs.”

Alex laughs. “He set you up with me?”

“Oh yeah,” Jack says. “He wingmanned me hard. You can thank him in your vows.”

This only serves to make Alex laugh harder. “I’ll thank him now,” he says with a grin. Taking his cue, Jack grabs his shot glass. Alex does the same. “To Zack.”

“To Zack!” Jack cheers, and they both down their shots.

“Me?”

Jack whirls around and trips straight into Zack. “Zack!” he says brightly. “We toasted you.”

“I heard,” Zack says. “Why, exactly?”

“I’m Alex,” says Alex, holding out a hand. Zack shakes it. “Apparently you set us up?”

“Oh,” Zack says. “I wouldn’t really say that. I just kind of pointed Jack in this direction. If you can put up with him, that’s all you.”

“I was gonna come find you anyway,” Jack says. “We’re doing tequila shots. Next round on me.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Zack says. “Count me in.”

They can’t come up with a toast for their second round so they just knock it back with an ambiguous cheer; then Zack offers to buy another, and Jack’s not about to refuse. It’s starting to hit just right, so he’s buzzed but not incoherent. All his most brilliant ideas come in this state.

Case in point: as Maisie is pouring them their third round, Jack suddenly says, “Maisie! Do a shot with us!”

Maisie looks up and laughs. “I’m not supposed to drink on the job,” she says.

“It’s not drinking, it’s bonding,” Jack insists.

“Yeah, we’re forming lasting friendships,” Alex jumps in.

Zack looks entertained. “You guys know each other?”

“As of half an hour ago, yes,” Maisie says.

“Maisie here helped me guess Alex’s middle name,” Jack explains. “Which is William. Like the prince.”

“I feel like I missed so much,” Zack says, half to himself. He shrugs and nods at Maisie. “One shot. On me. For Jack. We won’t tell.”

Maybe it’s because Zack is buff and has cool tattoos or just has good vibes or whatever, but Maisie hesitates only a second before inclining her head. “Just one, and no blabbing,” she says, meeting all of their eyes in turn. Everyone nods solemnly, and Maisie discreetly pours herself a fourth shot.

“Hell yes!” Jack whoops as they all take a shot glass. “To Maisie!”

“To Maisie!” Everyone echoes, including Maisie with a wry grin.

The third shot goes down smoother than the first two. Jack swallows his easily, as does Alex. Maisie puckers her face a bit. Zack has zero reaction, because Zack’s just kinda like that.

“While I’m here, I was hoping to get another beer,” Zack says.

“On it,” Maisie says immediately, giggling. “Thanks for the shot, boys. You’ve kept me far more entertained tonight than my usual shift provides.”

“You can give a toast at our wedding,” Jack says to her. Zack’s eyes widen a little, Alex snorts, and Maisie laughs.

“I’d be honored,” she says. “Back to work now. You need anything, let me know.”

“Seriously, Jack?”

“What?” Jack gives Zack an innocent smile. He pats Zack on the cheek. “Don’t worry, sugar, you can give a toast too.”

Alex laughs. Zack stares at him and shakes his head. “You’re insane,” he says, but he says that roughly twice a day so he’s still below his quota. “I’ll leave you two alone. Come find me when you wanna go. If…” He eyes Alex. “...Just…yeah.”

And with these eloquent words, he disappears with his beer into the crowd.

“I like him,” Alex announces.

“Me too,” Jack says. He turns back to Alex. “Back to the dance floor?”

“Get out of my brain,” Alex says. “I’d like to see your drunken running man.”

“It is gonna blow your fucking mind,” Jack promises, and Alex laughs again.

They’re not even being gross like everyone else. Alex has pulled Jack into an exaggerated tango performed mostly with missteps when it happens: someone shoves them aside as they walk past, and Alex loses his balance and falls into Jack, who just barely manages to catch them both. He doesn’t manage to stop his arm from winding around Alex’s waist. To be fair, he doesn’t try very hard.

Jack’s first thought is homophobe, but then he spots the offender, lumbering off with heavy footfalls, and it’s Burly Guy from earlier. The guy who tried and failed to pick Alex up.

All of this registers as Alex slowly regains his footing. “Damn, who pissed in that dude’s Cheerios?”

“It’s the guy from before who tried to buy you a drink,” Jack says, pointing at his back.

Alex whips his head around. “Seriously? Asshole.”

Jack chooses not to observe that from his vantage point, being shoved close together is hardly a dick move. In intent, sure, but not in actuality; Jack’s enjoying the proximity a great deal. Like, a lot.

Like, his hand is still on Alex’s hip, subtly keeping Alex close, and Alex has his arm around Jack’s shoulders from their dance and he’s not moving, either.

“Yeah,” Jack says. They’d already been on the outskirts and now they’re off to the side of everyone, wallflowers.

Alex breathes a laugh and looks back at Jack. He doesn’t step back or even lean away, even though their faces are too close to be friendly now. Jack hadn’t really been expecting friendly, but they’ve been tightrope-walking between sides, and if neither of them breaks this up then they’ll be irreversibly left on one end.

Jack has no intention of moving away. He likes this end of the tightrope. For all he cares, they could cut the tightrope and free-fall together.

“You’re pretty good at bad tango-ing,” Alex says, reaching up to brush away the sweaty fringe that’s clinging to his forehead.

Jack grins. “Well, you know what they say. It takes two.”

Alex kisses him so suddenly that Jack almost loses his balance.

He tastes like tequila. That’s all Jack gets before they’re not kissing anymore. The room feels quiet and then unforgivably loud the next second, and Alex is flushed and smiling nervously, and Jack is smiling too, not nervous at all.

“Did I tell you I’m in a band?” Alex asks in a rush.

Jack’s brain struggles to keep up. He can’t remember Alex mentioning a band, but he’s also distracted by wanting to kiss Alex again. There’s no understating the power of wanting to kiss someone over failing to clock anything they say. “What?”

“I’m in a band,” Alex says. “Not as a job, just like, for fun.”

“Oh,” says Jack.

“I’m the lead singer,” Alex says, with a flickering look down at Jack’s shirt.

“Oh,” says Jack, because, like, oh. “Can I kiss you again?”

“What, here?” Alex meets his eyes. “With all these people around?”

“You kissed me first,” Jack says. “Let me kiss you and then we can call it even.”

“Okay,” Alex says, and Jack’s kissing him before the word’s really out of his mouth.

And he tastes like tequila and mango and sugar and the color yellow and the sweat of the dance floor and God, it’s good. It’s like kissing a memory, except this memory is still here, not frozen in time, not trapped in an ornate frame. He’s creating a memory that he knows he’ll relive for the rest of his life.

Somehow, though he doesn’t know the end of this chapter, he knows the end of the book.

Alex’s warm palm cradling Jack’s cheek to hold him steady, fingers splayed out like a star; Alex’s other hand grazing skin over the collar of Jack’s shirt. Alex singing Coldplay in Jack’s ear. Alex’s blue jeans and his checkered Vans and his ridiculous One Direction tank top. Alex holding Jack’s hand and calling him honey to get Burly Guy to leave him alone. Grinning as he shoots down guess after guess for the elusive middle name. Laughing at Jack’s stupid dance moves. Knocking back a shot like it’s nothing. Smiling when Jack says they’re going to get married, never moving away, only ever closer.

Alex sitting undisturbed at the bar, ankles crossed, and Jack seeing him from across the room like something out of a goddamn Hallmark movie and just knowing.

He tugs Alex closer but Alex is already pulling away with a smile. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. He smoothes a hand over a crease in Alex’s shirt and nods. “Taxi’s on me if we go back to your place.”

“Sucker, I was gonna suggest that anyway,” Alex says with a quiet laugh. “You should tell Zack. Don’t wanna just leave him.”

“Don’t worry,” Jack says. “He knows.”

“He knows?”

“Zack and I are brothers in clairvoyance,” Jack says. “How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“I knew you could see the future,” Alex says. “You never told me Zack could, too.”

“Zack can see everyone’s future,” says Jack. “I can only see mine.”

“Yeah? What’s your future look like now?”

Jack filters out several inappropriate comments. It’s hard when Alex is smirking, clearly baiting him. “I told you,” he says. “You, me, vows, rings, the works.”

“Not that future,” Alex says. “I’m talking about the immediate one.”

It takes everything in Jack not to get down on one knee and say so was I. There’s a tilt in Alex’s head, like a dog listening carefully for a familiar sound.

“Honestly?” Jack says, and Alex nods. “I think it’s more fun if we find out together.”

3 notes · View notes

hookedonapirate · 4 years ago

Text

Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States.

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again.

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?”

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?”

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right?

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase.

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender.

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table.

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league.

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman.

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists.

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?”

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does.

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away.

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him.

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior.

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter.

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell.

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape.

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner.

“Hey, babe, ready to go?”

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips.

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat.

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart.

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups.

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes.

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust.

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning.

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words.

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.”

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem.

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing.

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.”

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.”

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.”

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this.

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments.

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.”

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.”

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum.

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties.

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress.

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile.

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship.

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away.

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other.

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually.

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years.

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke.

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd.

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.”

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her.

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss.

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television.

#cs ff #long shot au #captain swan

54 notes · View notes

fogsrollingin · 4 years ago

Text

Tutorial: making a ficlet booklet a quarter the size of 8.5x11 paper

My first fannish foray into renegade book-binding today! It’s so ugly (no fancy paper, no pictures or imprint, the margins are off, two blank sides have to be glued together & I still gotta bind it) but it’s mine 😎

So here’s how I got it done.

First, get your story together in a word processor. I was using Microsoft Word 2007 for this but I bet you could do this in LibreOffice too. Second, make sure your printer is set to duplex (print on both sides).

When you put your story into your word processor, order it this way: page 1 is the cover of your booklet, page 2 is the inside cover, page 3 is across from page 2 on the same spread, page 4 is on the other side of page 3 when ya turn the page & so on & so forth. You must make sure the total page count is divisible by 4 (add blank pages if you must). Don’t forget that. Mine was 28 pages for a 2.6k word story (you have to blow up the font size because when you squeeze 4 of these pages onto a 8x11.5 sheet, the text naturally reduces; font sizes given below. Because it’s indecipherable, just want to share the title+author was 72 pt font)

When you fiddle with customized margins, don’t make the same mistakes I did. Here’re my mistakes so you know how these numbers correspond to the bad margins you see in my gif 😅👍:

Next go to this amazing website: http://workingonperfection.000webhostapp.com/booklet_printing.php. Plug in your total page count to get the page number sequence you need for all the magic to happen. Ctrl+C that number sequence (under the “Four pages on each side” not “Two pages on each side”)

Go back to your doc, click ‘Print’ and paste the sequence into “Pages” under “Page range.” And don’t do anything with “Zoom.” Keep it to 1 page, No Scaling. It should look like this when you’re done:

Next click “Properties” next to the name of your printer at the top. You should get ‘Document Properties.’ Here, you keep things in Portrait orientation, Flip on Long Edge, page order doesn’t matter I don’t think, and then under Page Format, click ‘Pages per Sheet’ as 4. It should look like this:

Moreover, make certain that in these previews you see above, Side 1 has that exact 1-2-3-4 order (it has to match up with the workingonperfection website’s 1-2-3-4 order). This order is also called “Right then Down” if you wanna click “Advanced” & make sure everything’s lookin good there:

Done? Great! Now print!

Big thank you to Tank0923 for his Youtube video on this x

and all my love to @renegadepublishing & its discord for getting me motivated to do this all day (both the attempt to create a booklet & write this tutorial 😅📚💛

#fandom resources #fanfiction #renegade publishing #book-binding #book-binding fanfiction #fanfic #fic #fandom #book binding #multifandom #my tutorials #tutorial #fans #literature #booklets #booklets for ficlets #ficlets #ficlet booklets

75 notes · View notes

snarkwrites · 4 years ago

Text

07 | gangsta ; sweetpea

Notes:

So.. the sexual tension. The longing. The lingering touches and all that awkward but cute shit.. That’s starting here. Can we say sloooow burn? Because considering I’m now six chapters deep and they really haven’t... Done too much as far as touching / flirting / interacting, yeah.. That’s what this is. If you weren’t looking for a slow burn, I’m honestly not sure what to tell you? Other than oops? There’s been a few days pass between last chapter and this one. It’s alluded that Sweetpea and Alyssa have been bumping into each other over the course of.

This chapter came to me on a whim. Because I thought it’d be cute / awkward / funny to have one or ther other fall asleep in class, so here we are. The things my brain does to me at 9 pm, i s2g.

Warnings:

non canon compliant - this is the biggest warning, so if you’re into things that follow exact canon plot you are... definitely not going to like this. angst & slow burn, heavy sexual tension starting now, actually - this is just so everyone who started reading this thinking the smut would transpire in a hurry knows that apparently, it is not. violence / swearing & fighting, possible underage drinking and other shenanigans - look.. it’s high school. shit happens. also apparently, my ofc Alyssa uses the word fuck like all the time?... eventual sexual content / a virgin original character - this one is self explanatory. yes, i plan to write a smutty chapter in this at some point. when? i don’t rightly know. it’s got a while before we get there.

Pairing:

Andrews!Sibling OFC, Alyssa x Sweet Pea

Other Parts:

[ one - two - three - four - five - six - soundtrack ]

Other Stuff:

[ faq - tag list doc ]

Tagging:

@brithedemonspawn is the only person on my Riverdale tag list. If you’d like to be tagged for this story by all means.. Please let me know. Please, I beg. It’d make me super duper happy!!!

SEVEN.

“Where’d you disappear last night, man? It’s only the second night this weekend...” Fangs asked the question, gazing at Sweet Pea expectantly. Sweet Pea shrugged and grumbled quietly, “Went for a walk.”

“Where?” Fangs asked.

“Around, okay?” Sweet Pea snapped.

Fangs smirked. Teasing him with a laugh, “By around, you mean you wandered off and found yourself over on the North side.”

Just the way Sweet Pea tensed told the tale in it’s entirety.

And Fangs smirked to himself. “Did your little walk wind up with you walkin past a certain red-head’s house?”

“The park.” Sweet Pea answered. He scowled at how easily Fangs seemed to be able to read him. And for a few seconds, maybe he panicked. If Fangs could pick up on the whole thing this easily, did that mean Alyssa could?

,, you better hope not, otherwise, everything will get awkward. She’s never going to go for you. You need to do the smart thing and get over her already.”

“So you did find her. What the hell was she doing out at the park by herself?” Fangs asked, a brow raised. Sweet Pea was a million miles away and just seeing him like this had Fangs smirking to himself about it because Sweet Pea was not the kind of guy who got like this.

Apparently, Fangs mused to himself, there was a first time for everything.

“Walking her dog, I think. Or laying on the grass, looking up at the sky and talking to the dog.” Sweet Pea chuckled. Smiling to himself a little because he knew Fangs wasn’t really paying him any attention. Too busy watching the Keller guy walk past. Sweet Pea cleared his throat.

Fangs snickered. “Yeah, that sounds like her.” he mused aloud, distracted.

Sweet Pea muttered something. When Fangs asked him to repeat it, he refused entirely. The two fell silent as Cheryl, Toni and Alyssa made their way over.

“Sorry, we had to pull this one out of bed. Again. Because someone decided she just had to watch all of the Saw movies last night.” Cheryl explained, with Toni snickering and adding on, “We had to physically remove her. And she is violent when she’s mostly asleep. I thought I was going to lose an eye in there.”

“I thought I was swinging at that fucking little creepy puppet from the movie, okay?” Alyssa yawned, hugging herself between Cheryl and Toni. Apologizing to both.

Sweet Pea found himself gazing at her. A brow raising when he realized that her eyes weren’t green with a hint of brown, but brown. A deep dark brown, at that.. And that she was wearing glasses today. Thick ones. ,, and honestly, I prefer it.” the thought came but he was quick to shove it down. Or he tried to shove it out.

“You wear glasses?” he questioned.

“Not normally, but my brother scared the shit out of me pounding on the door and I dropped a contact down the sink.” Alyssa grumbled.

“Clearly, she is not a morning kinda girl.” Fangs chuckled, stepping away when she raised her hand to take a lazy swing at his upper arm and pouted up at him.

“Not when I only went to sleep at 3? Or was it 4?” Alyssa shrugged.

They started down the hall, splitting up to go into their respective classes.

Alyssa settled into her seat and Sweet Pea opened the textbook, putting it between them. When he happened to look down because he felt pressure against his side, he found her leaned against him, snoring quietly.

He glanced towards the front of the room. Mr. Keaton hadn’t noticed yet. Carefully, he moved his arm. Leaning down, muttering against her ear, “You gotta wake up now, Cherry.” making her shiver as a result and huddle against him even more stubbornly refusing to move.

“Uh uh. Warm.” she squirmed around as if she were trying to get comfortable. Tucking her feet beneath her in her chair. Sweet Pea grumbled, poking at her until she woke up. Trying to stop himself from having any sort of reaction to the way it felt to have her pressing against him. Because honestly, it was something he could definitely get used to. Even if he’d die a thousand slow and painful deaths before he admitted that to anyone, let alone himself.

Chuckling and giving her a smirk as soon as he saw the way she blushed. Leaning in to mutter quietly, “Careful, cherry. People might start talkin.” in a teasing tone.

Alyssa shrugged as she muttered quietly, “Honestly, I’m out of fucks to give.” and then rubbing her eyes and yawning. Going quiet as she tried to focus on the open textbook between them. Brushing against Sweet Pea’s side a time or two just so she could get a better look at the page closer to him.

Quick to pull away, making him pout to himself when he knew she wasn’t looking and nobody else was paying attention either.

By the time the bell rang, Sweet Pea definitely needed the long walk to his next class on the other side of campus just to even attempt pulling himself together.

Having her right under him for an entire class period. Now having her make best friends with Toni and Fangs. Constantly being around her. Being reminded that he wanted what he felt he couldn’t have.

It was.. Really starting to drive him crazy.

,, and now, you’re actually getting to know her and it’s making it harder to keep her at arms length..” the thought came, taunting him until he swung at his locker door in anger.

Sooner or later, something had to give.

#sweetpea fanfiction #sweetpea imagines #sweetpea fanfic #sweetpea fic #sweetpea imagine #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fic #my writing ; sweetpea #my fanfiction ; sweetpea #my fics ; sweetpea

13 notes · View notes

thegeminisage · 4 years ago

Note

question to Miss Experienced Professional Fic Author Liz—do you have your betas read your fic from the beginning, as soon as you start writing it? like i know you mentioned cathy and emily (?) have access to the doc. is that standard procedure? i'm curious because I've never written fic myself but I was drafting something today and my friend's gonna beta once i'm done but I was wondering if I should have her beta thorughout the whole process.

HI sorry i saved your ask for last bc i didn’t want it to get buried <3 and then it got so late that i didn’t know if you’d see it if i answered <3 this was extremely professional behavior <3 so i’m...................scheduling it to go up when people are awake. sorry again lol

anyway ok so the SHORT answer to this is: if you don’t know that your friend is willing to look over your fic multiple times, get your thing as polished and close to done as possible before letting anyone else beta it. that way, your second pair of eyes is able to do the maximum amount of good! if it’s a longer fic, you may be able to do this in sections - you can finish chapter 1 and then have your friend look at chapter 1, then chapter 2, etc, since nobody can beta a multichapter fic in one sitting. it depends v much on what you and your friend feel like!

the looooong answer is: my “betas” are also just my friends! same hat! so more often than not they just want to see what i’m doing. so if i mention what i’m working on they’re like “oh can i see” and i’m like “yeah” and then they come in and look. like, as far as standard procedure goes, it’s all very casual. if it’s too rough for proofreading i’ll usually wind up giving a heads up that it may change a lot later in case they don’t want to read it multiple times, but usually they do anyway (so in my case it winds up being a mix of both “edit now” and “edit at the end”). i’m really very lucky to have so many extremely smart and cool people willing to do that kind of thing for me <3

that said, imo there are different ways to edit and things to edit for - it’s not as complex and awful as it sounds, for me different people wind up helping me with different things. it really depends on what stage your writing is at/what your friend is helping you edit for. i categorize them as follows:

cheerleading - this is what i was talking about above...this is just someone reading as you write (sometimes checking in daily, sometimes literally WHILE YOU TYPE IT, my friends have done this lol) and encouraging you. i’m not particularly shy about letting my buddies just kinda hang out in there, it’s like my little house 🙏 it’s also fun to have people read as i go (it helps keep me excited). doesn’t exactly count as editing/betaing imo (so you don’t necessarily need a writing-savvy friend to do it), but it’s still a level of support <3

plot soundboarding - this is stuff like... “how do i get dean and cas to talk about x thing,” “where should i end this chapter,” “if i change this thing in chapter 1 that leaves a huge plothole in chapter 3, how do i fix it?” this is for the plot, not the prose itself, so you can do this when the fic is very rough, maybe even before it’s written, when it’s still in the planning stages

“regular betaing” - this is what most people think of when they say beta - this is a general readthru where they’ll point out inconsistencies or anything that sticks out to them (good or bad). “this sentence is worded awkwardly,” “you said mary had a cup of coffee here but earlier in the scene she had tea,” “you used the same word four times in one paragraph.” you want to have the fic written by this point (though again if it’s a long one, it doesn’t necessarily have to be complete - more on this in a sec)

final typo check - you want to save the LAST typo check for after everything else is perfect and not going to be changed at all. my friend coralie is checking my fic for typos and i asked her not to read unedited scenes yet - because of course if edit them, and my edits have typos, and she’s already read those parts, i’d have typos in the checked bits, which would defeat the entire purpose

so it really depends on what you want your friend to most help with - if you want plot help, obviously you’d come in early, but if it’s just typo help, come in late. and of course how much help she’s up for giving you - reading what you write daily might be more time-intensive than just checking it one time and sending it back.

as for whether or not it’s better to have “regular beta” stuff done on your writing as you write it or after it’s all finished, there’s pros and cons to both situations

reasons to edit as you go: a long fic divided into sections can seem more manageable, your pal gets to know your your project as it’s being written, you get someone to be excited with, you get immediate feedback on potential mistakes that might save you from having to do more editing later, editing as you go will DEFINITELY save you from a huge slog later, sometimes when you’re not up to writing it’s nice to have something to edit so at least you get to do a little work on it

reasons to edit after it’s finished: less time-intensive, when you can see the whole fic at once you’re less prone to forgetting what happened in the beginning, when you see it all at once you can also see the way things come together (or fail to come together), you're less likely to have to look over the same section multiple times, you get to polish it up before anyone else sees it (good if you’re shy), sometimes it’s nice to let things sit awhile before coming back to edit because breaks can help you see more clearly

and like i said, i usually wind up doing a mix of this. the important thing though is there’s really no wrong way to do it as long you and the person helping you are on the same page. just like everybody has a different writing process, everybody has a different editing process, yk? just try it whatever way seems most appealing and sensible to you, and eventually you’ll hit your groove. i hope that helps, sorry if it was a way longer answer than you were bargaining for lol

#liz answers asks #anonymous #liz loves writing #man when i first started writing fic i couldn't get anyone to READ it let alone help me edit #thats bc i was 14 and it was ABSOLUTELY awful writing but! i've rly moved up in the world #i say that bc i don't want you to feel bad that you don't have three separate friends in your google doc lol. stuff takes time. like #[checks watch]#yeah like almost 18 year i've been writing fanfic now #no biggie lol

8 notes · View notes

corpsentry · 4 years ago

Text

behind the taylor swift gundam was in fact another, smaller gundam: a brief inquiry into the events of june 2020

so back in june this year june and i got together and we made this motherfucker of a story with this motherfucker of a thread to keep track of it all. but you already know that! and i’ve already got one foot and three elbows in my grave, so i’ll spare you the long-winded stuff. you wanna know how i wrote 93,035 words in 4 weeks? i’ll tell you how i wrote 93,035 words in 4 weeks-

-by linking you guys to copies of my planning documents because i feel like those words speak louder than any words i can offer in the present day. these are long documents. but they are also historical artifacts. very interesting. very weird. very, uh, full of cussing. so anyway, here’s

BIG DADDY: THE ORIGINAL PLANNING DOCUMENT

for those, like me, who have no motivation left in life to do anything and rely on summaries from others to acquire new knowledge, it all started with a single line.

prince of a fallen kingdom atsumu tries to kill hinata but falls in love with him instead

june, april something, 2020

with that in mind i tested the concept out with a few paragraphs of text, which you can find at the bottom of the Big Daddy document in the graveyard segment, accidentally sold my soul to the image of hinata with epaulettes, and then worked backwards, structuring an entire plot around two images:

a) hinata getting the shit beat out of him, with snark b) hinata and atsumu dancing in an empty ballroom under the stars

if you want a betrayal, you have to have something worth losing. if you want to fall in love with someone you don’t know, you have to meet them. if you have to meet them, there has to be a reason for that meeting, and so somewhere in between atsumu became a sword instructor and hinata the prince with daddy issues. june and i used this method of glancing anxiously over your shoulder to see what you’d missed to fill out the blanks in the story, after which i tacked up a bunch of post-its, typed out the plot, consulted june, typed out the plot again, and then broke the characters down into a bunch of questions, like ‘what do they want?’ and ‘what do they have?’ and ‘what are they afraid of?’

with the plot more or less ironed out, i decided it was time to start writing, and then i decided that i was actually too scared to start writing after all, so instead i set a couple of timers using classroomtimers.com (15-20 minutes long) and i sat down and i wrote about the world that hinata and atsumu inhabited.

each warm-up was 300-500 words long, and for the first few days, i’d write one before getting into writing the story proper. later these evolved into simply picking a scene from the story and launching straight into it, which became useful for opening those scenes later when i got to them organically.

then i got lazy! so i stopped. but these shitty little exercises were really useful for me because, unfettered by plot, convention, or any kind of tradition hovering over my shoulder, i was able to fuck around loosely enough to realize what i wanted this story to be. it was a very contrived kind of trial-and-error, an exploration of the characters, the story, but most importantly, the tone.

RESEARCH, PLANNING, AND VICTORIAN BOUGIE FASHION

this is a loose map of the castle and Important Locations within it, which i drew up at the start so i could keep track of where everything was and how i could get my characters from point A to point B. i wanted the story to have Some kind of internal logic, you know, even if that logic amounted to ‘a compass would function normally in this world whereas kageyama tobio would not’.

99% of my planning and organizing within those five weeks took place in this lovely dotted cat journal which my sister gave me for my birthday and i repurposed into a metaphorical Diary of Suffering while working on juno. i used it for everything from keeping track of narrative threads to clothing consistency checks, but the main purpose was this: each day at about 10 pm i’d crack open the cat book to a fresh page, stamp the date and the day of suffering at the top, and then write down a list of things i wanted to write, address, or fix today. then i’d sit at my laptop and write like a madman until about 7 in the morning. with breaks, of course, for sitting in the bathroom and staring at the wall and sitting in the kitchen and staring at the wall, but mostly i was writing. and complaining about writing. you were there, you probably remember that.

anyway, here are some pages from the cat book.

aside from the fact that my handwriting is complete shit, you can see that i made zero effort for any of this to be presentable. it was mainly a way for me to keep track of my thoughts because i have the attention span of an ikea wardrobe and tend to forget things as soon as i think of them. the lack of structure also mirrored the way that i went about writing juno. while i did proceed, for the most part, in chronological order, i had a lot of weird and useless revelations during lunch, which by this point was happening around 2 am, and in the 5 minutes before the exhaustion finally hit and carried me down to hell. i changed A Lot. again, to understand exactly how much the story evolved from day one onwards, please consult the big daddy document.

in the meantime, here’s something else.

once june sent over hinata and atsumu’s character designs i sat down like the fucking fool i am and spent 2 hours poring over a document about victorian and other fashion movements of the past so i could assign a noun, adjective, and verb to each element of their outfits. i don’t know why i did this. i certainly could have not, but i attempted to make sense of their ‘fits from a logistical perspective and that went into the cat book too. everything went into the cat book. the cat book is a relic of the past now, stuffed with artifacts such as the birth of oikawa tooru, and also his demise.

MEDIUM DADDY: EDITING, PROOFREADING, AND CREEPY MURDER CATS

i finished writing on june 26th, 2020, approximately a month after i’d first started planning, somewhere around may 27th or 28th. at that point i had about 90,000 words’ worth of story and no sanity left whatsoever, so i took a day-long break to stare at a wall and listen to taylor swift’s enchanted on loop.

and then i made a new document, which you can look at using the link above, and i laid out everything i had to do. i’d discovered a fuck ton of plot inconsistencies and general errors while writing and lying awake in bed at 9 a.m., sleepless in seattle, and now that i was free of the demon egging me towards the first finish line, it was time to Deal with them. i speed-scrolled through the draft, which was 200+ pages compressed into one google doc, because i like to tempt god’s wrath, and fixed up all the plot issues over the course of a few days. this was the fun part.

the actual, hard editing was the extremely un-fun part. i reread the entire thing, paragraph by paragraph, line by damn line, from start to finish, paying especially close attention to awkward phrasing, incomplete dialogue, and moments which had fallen flat in my haste to get on to the next one. this was really fucking terrible. i spent more time lying facedown on the floor than actually editing anything, but after a long time (about a week), that, too was done.

SMALL DADDY: TITLES, SUMMARIES, AND GOOD FUCKING BYES

i spent a good eighty days thinking about the title, though hilariously enough we ended up with something that was a blend of our names. june + elmo = juno, which is, all things considered, pretty perfect, but the process of picking the title was Hell, and i Did Not Come Up With The Title until about 2 hours before posting. you can take a look at the haphazard clusterfuck of my title-selecting process in small daddy, which is linked above.

so the title was a last-minute choice. so was the summary. and the chapter divisions. and actually all the songs in the playlist for juno. the day we dropped juno onto planet earth like a newborn baby pitched out of the sky, i spent an hour hunched over my laptop, cutting my 213 page google doc into chapters based on nothing more than a Vibe. two days before that, i also attempted to voice-act the entirety of juno, an affair which ended at the 20,000 word mark with a sore throat and the kind of exhaustion one typically wants to sleep in a coffin for 23 years to get rid of. so in all honesty, i did very little editing, which is why there are definitely minor typos and/or mistakes hanging out somewhere on that chunky ao3 webpage. but whatever.

my attitude by july 5th (was it july 5th? or 4th? somewhere around there) was basically whatever. anything so i could get finish this damn thing, chuck it out of the window, and never see another google doc until the next century. i’ve been asked a few times how exactly i wrote at a rate of roughly 2000-3000 words per day for four weeks straight, and my answer has always been this: i died. what died, you ask? my soul. my spirit. my Will To Live. i’m a creature of fixations, and juno was my fixation for june. will i ever be able to do this again? would i recommend this experience to anyone? is god real? the answer to all of the above is probably no. juno was a fever dream, and so is my cat book. and so are all the lattes i had. and so was my 9 am to 4 pm sleep schedule.

but what we made is real. the research, oikawa tooru, the 4 am conversations in which i was like ‘how the fuck do i end this’ and june was like ‘jade proposal’ (the proposal was her idea. all rise for twitter user atsuhinas. she is the mastermind behind all of the Inch Resting moments in this story; i just flapped a korok leaf in her direction and made sure the air circulation was working properly) are real as fuck, and looking back, there’s a lot i’d change, but i’m lazy. and college is starting. and anyway, i did write 93,035 words in just under five weeks, four if you don’t count the week of Editing Hell, so i think that’s pretty cool.

thank you for reading this to the end, and for following us on our journey through the enigmatic taylor swift gundam fic which quite literally consumed my entire twitter account for the five weeks i spent working on it. retrospectively speaking i really was butt-obsessed so i am frankly incredibly impressed with everyone around me for putting up with a Husk of a Man for a month. thank you for doing that. thank you for indulging my vague tweeting, and our butterfly dns, and for reading 93 thousand words of gay fanfiction set in a high fantasy world with epaulettes and galettes. on behalf of june, once again, we are incredibly grateful for all your support.

if you have any questions about specific aspects of the writing process, or anything you’d like to know in general with reference to JUNO, feel free to drop me an ask through my tumblr inbox, or through my curiouscat over here. i’m aware i didn’t cover everything, but there’s frankly too much to put in a tumblr post without passing away somewhere around the 56% mark, so let me know what’s on your mind, and i’ll try to answer that to the best of my abilities. but anyway, before i go, here are some

TAKEAWAYS

one: don’t try to write 93,000 words in five weeks. seriously don’t fucking do it you will end up jittery and sleep-deprived and you will leave all your friends on read for a month. pace yourself. set realistic goals. you wrote 2k this week? that’s fantastic. you wrote 4k in a day? you absolute motherfucker. i hope you’re taking a long fucking break tomorrow. your story will not run away from you, but if you run too fast, you will get tired, and then you will pass away.

two: you don’t have to know everything about your story before you start writing. in fact if you have a single camera shot of two characters holding hands under a rose garden awning, i think that’s fucking wonderful. if you look at big daddy, you’ll realize that my initial plot draft, and all the ones following that, are not perfectly aligned with the final version of juno. i improvised over half of the scenes in this motherfucker, and to be completely honest, some of the improvised scenes were the best. fucking oikawa tooru was improvised out of nowhere. he only got written in way later, around chapter 8 or something, because i realized i needed a plot device and a source of information to keep the playing table from toppling over. i Sat Down one day and was like ‘okay, it’s time to write oikawa into the introduction. because he matters now. he didn’t matter last week but now he does, and soon he’s going to be the fulcrum of the entire story, because it’s like that with oikawa tooru’. it’s okay to change your mind halfway. it’s okay to go back and rewrite entire scenes or segments. it’s okay to highlight 4 pages of fresh, sentimental writing, and hit delete. writing is a fluid process, and you Will make discoveries as you progress through your story alongside your characters. be understanding of that iterative process. be kind to yourself.

three: You Are That Motherfucker. you, me, your dog, your dog’s friend, your dog’s enemy, all of us are that motherfucker. i never thought i’d be able to write anything longer than the great big map, which was a much simpler, linear story in which the other main character did not appear in the current timeline until like the eighth chapter. juno was different. juno was the motherfucker, and i was scared shitless of it, and to cope with that fear joked constantly while writing that it’d never see the light of day.

but it did. it was a rocky process, and i was awake for 48 hours after posting it because of the sheer adrenalin stuck in my skull, but i got through it. and i wouldn’t have been able to do it without june, who stepped in when i flopped over facedown on the floor and dragged me to my feet like the badass friend she is, and without everyone else in my life, who put up with me talking about The Thing that i couldn’t really talk about, but juno’s up there now. forever, or until the internet collapses and civilization goes extinct. and if the nineteen year old clown with the attention span of an ikea armchair and an a level certificate from hell wrote the 93,000 word long thing, so can you. i mean this completely unironically and with every ounce of genuine emotion i can summon from the cracked asshole of my heart.

writing is hard. writing is scary. writing is an investigation of the world around you and therefore, by extension, yourself, and that kind of honesty is freaky. it’s like going skinny-dipping next to the president’s mansion. who’s going to see you? what if they take a photo? what if you lose your spot at university?

but don’t think about that. our world is overrun with stories the way cereal bowls are full of cereal, but it’s those stories that keep us all sane in the disgusting day-to-day muck of reality, so think about your story. what’s haunting you today? what message do you want to leave printed in font size 666 comic sans across the southern hemisphere of the planet? what will you be tomorrow?

a writer. you’re going to be a motherfucking writer.

#my stuff

36 notes · View notes