#Honda DJ-1 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

let-me-love-you-loki · 3 years ago

Text

Head Over Feet--Ch.1

A/N: Since this is an AU of The Too Late Tales, the "Reader" from those stories plays a role here. To make this make sense, I've given her a name. When reading the TLTs, please feel free to ignore anything you read about her here and continue to self-insert!

Chapter 1

Her name was Samantha. But she preferred Sam. She was an art student. Two years older than Nick. Brown hair and matching eyes. Smart as a whip and funny. She loved Anchoes and Black Bear Diner and lived in Riverside. She drove a Honda and liked Fall Out Boy. A contagious laugh and an even bigger smile. She was pretty, and she looked at my little brother like he hung the moon.

I was glad for him, I really was. I’d never seen him so happy. Sometimes it was like he was a different person. Where he used to grouch and complain about how his Nissan couldn’t take the miles we put on it forever, he was now driving an hour round trip to Riverside every other day when we were home. If we were wrestling anywhere in Southern California, it wasn’t hard to find Sam in the crowd watching.

We rode together most of the time. She’d come up from Riverside and climb in the backseat of the Nissan—even though I always tried to insist that she take the front seat—and just listen to the two of us. Sometimes it was stupid stuff about ideas for new gimmicks or gear or merch. Sometimes it was stories from backyard wrestling or traveling to Japan. But it was like she soaked in the history and the things that made Nick who he was.

At first, it was annoying that whenever Nick and I hung out that she was there. It was like she was intruding on this thing Nick and I had. We’d been best friends since we were old enough to know what wrestling was. We’d been a tag team for years. I knew him almost better than I knew myself, and I’d bet he pretty much thought the same. Having Sam there was like having a rock in my shoe. Annoying as hell, but there wasn’t a good and quiet way to get rid of her.

It took a while, but Sam and I eventually became friends. It wasn’t for lack of trying on her end. She wheedled information out of Nick so that when they were over at my apartment, she could bring my favorite snacks and stuff to eat. More than once they showed up with Cracker Barrel. Then she insisted on cooking and made a mac-and-cheese bake that was honestly better than CB, but I was too stubborn to tell her that. After that it was Starbucks every time I saw her. Eventually I couldn’t act like an ass any longer.

Like I said, I was happy for Nick. Sam was great, and she sent my brother straight over the moon. Mom and Dad adored her, DJ was already secretly planning a wedding, and Mal just followed the rest of the family. She was there every time we set off on a new loop, and she was there at LAX whenever we came back sore and jet lagged. Sam might have hugged me in the terminal, but she wasn’t really there for me.

Jealousy sat sickeningly in my guts. And I swear it started making me bitter.

***

Living in Southern California is kind of awesome. It’s warm all year round. Bright sun and beaches in one direction and mountains in another. I loved being in Japan, and I was glad that wrestling allowed me to see more of the country and the world than I ever could have afforded otherwise. But there really was no place like home.

I was glad we’d been able to move back to Rancho Cucamonga once we started making a little money. We’d been born there. Gone to elementary school there. But we’d had to up and move to Hesperia when the city became too expensive for our parents. I still remembered our old house. I wondered if the ghost was still hanging around in the upstairs hallway.

Tuesday was one of the only days we had back at home. But this time we had a week before we had to head off on our next loop. We had a PWG show in Reseda on Friday night, but for a few glorious days we could relax and recuperate. My neck had been killing me. Some r-and-r seemed like a wonderful thing to me at the moment.

I walked downtown, through the shopping center where Mom used to buy all of our clothes. They’d opened up this new coffee shop that everyone said was amazing—no Starbucks, of course, but still—and I couldn’t help but give it a try. What can I say, I was a coffee addict of the highest order.

“Matt?” I heard my name and I jerked to a stop, looking around for its origin. When I didn’t see anyone I knew I just shrugged and walked on.

“Matt!” There it was again. Instinctively I jerked my head up and looked. They must be yelling for another Matt.

“Matt Jackson!” Okay, that got my attention. I turned around, expecting to see one of the few friends I still had from my early Rancho days. Then I realized it was a female voice calling out and I froze. She still lived in Rancho as far as I knew. God, save me from running into her ever again.

This girl walked up to me, grinning shyly and waving. “Oh my God, it is you!”

A fan. Great. I couldn’t even walk to a coffee shop in my hometown?

Her face fell. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“I’m sorry, I—” I shook my head, wondering where I was supposed to remember her from.

“Mrs. Rainier’s class, sixth grade,” she said, looking at me kinda like I was stupid. “I sat right behind you. I used to watch you guys from the other side of the fence when you wrestled behind the carpet store.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that I was sorry, but I didn’t remember her. And then it hit me. A memory clear as day from being eleven years old and seeing her standing on the other side of a chain link fence, her fingers poked through as she watched me, my brother, and our friends stage matches on piles of old carpet and padding. Blond hair, honey eyes, braces and an NKOTB sweatshirt.

“Danielle?” I said in surprise. “Danielle Kyle?”

She grinned at the recognition. “I go by Ellie now, but yeah. How’ve you been?”

“Good! Great actually,” I replied, surprised at how loud I was. “My brother and I—you remember Nick, right?”

Danielle—Ellie—nodded. “Who could forget Slick Nick?” Then she laughed and I couldn’t help but join her. God, we were stupid kids.

“Yeah. We’re a tag team. Legit. We’ve been wrestling here in Southern California, but we’ve spent a lot of time in the last two years over in Japan and around the U.S..”

Her eyes got wide. “Wow, you guys actually did it. I’m so happy for you!” She reached out and punched me lightly in the bicep. Like we’d been super best friends as kids. “Now I can tell everybody that I was front row for the early days of the… what are you called?”

I rolled my eyes. I’d hated the name at first, but the longer we went with it the more I liked it. Fans seemed to like it, too. “Young Bucks. We’re the Young Bucks.”

Ellie grinned even more, nodding. “I like it. Matt and Nick Jackson, the Young Bucks.” She paused for a second, tugged the strap of her bag up higher on her shoulder, and looked me over once. “It was nice seeing you, Matt! I can’t wait to see you as a big star.”

She stepped to the side to walk around me. I hadn’t seen her in fifteen years or more, but I had this weird nagging feeling. “Hey, Ellie?” She looked back over her shoulder. “I was just heading to that new coffee place. Wanna join me and catch up?”

For some reason, when she smiled the only thing I could think of was that she didn’t wear braces anymore. “Sure, I’ve got a bit of time.”

We walked side-by-side down the sidewalk and into the coffee shop tucked in the corner curve of the shopping center. I held the door open for her and followed her in, literally sinking in happiness as I was hit with the smell of roasted coffee beans. “Oh sweet Jesus, that smells good.”

“I’d live in a coffee shop if I could,” Ellie said as we stood in line. “Coffee scented candles never really smell right.”

“When did the braces come off?” I asked out of nowhere. I wanted to run straight into the wall. Why did I ask her that?

She went bright red, and I thought she was going to slap me. “Eighth grade.”

I tucked my hands into my pockets and looked anywhere but at her. Maybe this was why I was still single. I’d never really learned how to talk to girls. She and I had been together almost from the moment I graduated, so I never had the chance to practice.

“I’m sorry, Ellie. I have this really bad habit of saying really dumb things. Pretty often actually.” My shoulders touched my ears as I tried to hide from the idiot I’d just made of myself. “Feel free to slap me if you want. I’m pretty sure I deserve it.”

Before she could say anything, we were next up at the counter. She put in her order—something far simpler than most girls would grab—and reached for her wallet. I held out my hand, waving her to put it away. “It’s on me.”

Ellie looked over. “Well, in that case, I’ll take one of those sausage and egg bagels.”

“You heard the lady,” I said to the barista with a half smile. “Make that two of those, and give me a dark roast with a shot of espresso and milk.”

I handed over cash to pay for our order as Ellie walked down toward the pickup counter. I shoved the change in my pocket and went down to join her. “So…” My small talk game was so bad it was embarrassing. “What have you been up to?”

“Since sixth grade?” Ellie replied.

When I looked up, she was grinning, her brows raised. I looked at my shoes sheepishly. “I guess so.”

“Well, I went to high school. And that was an adventure. I played varsity soccer for three years. Went to UC Davis.” She stepped up to the counter when the barista called her name. She returned a second later, handing me mine. “I teach middle school.”

“Voluntarily?”

Ellie laughed. “Everybody has that reaction. It’s not as bad as people think most of the time. But I have developed the uncanny ability to predict the full moon without looking at a calendar.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I acted like I did. “I bet. I’ve gotten pretty good at time zones. And navigating airports. And eating on a shoestring budget.”

“Sounds like we need to swap war stories.”

The barista called out again. I grabbed our sandwiches and gestured for her to pick a table. She took an open two-top by the window. It wasn’t the best view—a blacktop parking lot that had to stretch for four or five acres—but it was better than the dark corner in the back.

“Sounds like.”

Tag List

@mrsmatt

#head over feet #matt jackson #matt jackson fanfiction #aew #aew fanfiction #alternate universe too late tales #danielle kyle #matt x danielle #ofc #oc #multi-chapter #the elite universe

16 notes · View notes

prettyoddfever · 4 years ago

Photo

some people have asked who the random guy is in the background of some early Panic! at the Disco pics so... Dan was with the pre-split band from the beginning (like before they even recorded AFYCSO or played their first show). random stuff to appreciate about him:

this DJ Rossstar interview was one of Ryan’s first interviews ever in summer 2005. he was clearly nervous.... and Dan was there to support him with online comments. you can hear him mentioned towards the middle.

Dan seemed the closest with Ryan, so I think the fandom just assumed that those two met while Ryan worked at Hot Topic for half a year when he was 16. I actually have no idea. But Dan definitely worked at Hot Topic and he’s the one who used his employee discount to get the guys some dress clothes for their early shows.

Dan was Panic! at the Disco’s merch guy for the early tours and fans LOVED him. He was so so so kind and I remember a few stories of girls who didn’t have enough money for a shirt so he’d give it to them for only $10.

I heard Dan was also acting as the band’s tour manager in fall 2005. He kind of stepped into any role that the guys needed help with. It sounded like Dan was cooped up in a van with a bunch of bickering, smelly teenage boys this season... therefore he is a hero.

remember that hair-in-the-cookies story that the guys told way too many times? Dan was the other guy in the story who ate the cookies with Bden in late 2005.

fans really did talk about “Merch Dan” a lot during late 2005 & early 2006.

by summer 2006 he had a P!ATD tattoo and was basically the band’s #1 fan.

Dan kind of had to step into an unofficial security role before the band got Zack for the 2006 summer tour. Zack was the band’s official personal security after that point, but Dan was still there a lot to help with whatever was needed (which often involved escorting band members too). Dan’s position with the band by the Pretty. Odd. era was labeled “security.” (Again, he was SO kind and the fans who met him seemed to adore him).

here’s a tag for some pictures where Dan shows up. he’s in a lot of Shane’s footage from the Honda Civic Tour too.

Sometimes it looked like Dan was just hanging out with Ryan offstage, but other times it looked like he was actually acting as security outside of tour.

In late 2005 Fall Out Boy stripped Brendon onstage, which was actually pretty traumatic for him at the time. He was kind of fumbling around with Time to Dance afterwards, but he became way more focused & confident once Dan walked onstage and put his arm around Brendon.

A year later Dan came onstage to prank the band during the NRWC tour.

I figured that Dan would follow Ryan after the split. I saw him in the background of a random picture of The Young Veins, so maybe he was helping them in some way.

Dan Angel. Snow Freak. that is all.

#dan

37 notes · View notes

terreisa · 4 years ago

Text

Love Down the Line: Chapter 9

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch. When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept. Unfortunately she isn’t really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma’s teenage fantasies, Killian Jones. With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn’t come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, AO3

~*CS*~

Los Angeles, May 24th

“-and there’s a bit of a backup on the 405 just south of the 10 due to a two car accident in the southbound lanes. That’s the morning traffic report brought to you by your local Southern California Honda dealer. This is Treena in the morn’ and I got some Yaz on the way along with Echo and the Bunnymen and Talking Heads after this-”

“A clock radio?” Emma mumbled into the pillow, “Really? What are you, like, three hundred?”

Killian’s chuckle stirred the hair at the back of her neck, “Try thirty-five, love.”

“So you say,” she groused as he reached over her to turn off the alarm. She blinked up at him as he set his hands on either side of her shoulders, looming over her with a smile, “I bet you still have a landline, old man.”

“And a rather impressive laserdisc collection,” he said with a wink.

“You would.”

He laughed, a bright joyous thing that had her smile stretching from ear to ear. It was the last of the three days of no shows that they had while in LA and the second morning she’d woken in the bed of Killian’s house in Malibu. Since their first night together in Denver they hadn’t slept apart, much to Tink’s delight and Will’s annoyance. When they’d arrived in LA Emma had been surprised and pleased to discover that Killian had a house there where no one would disturb them as long as they kept their phones on silent. Unfortunately it hadn’t really been an option as her suddenly vibrating phone reminded her.

“What time is Regina sending the car?” Killian asked as he dipped his head and started trailing kisses down her throat.

She hummed in pleasure, blindly swiping at her phone to dismiss the call, “Nine. We’re having brunch with people from the label to talk about the next album and then it’s interviews for the rest of the afternoon.”

“And after all that we’ll rendezvous back here for dinner and a bit of Netflix and chill,” he murmured into her collarbone before dragging his tongue across it.

“You go-” her breath hitched as his hand travelled up her thigh, “going somewhere?”

He paused his ministrations, much to her frustration, and said somberly, “Aye, Robin still lives out here with his son. I haven’t been in town for… well, quite a while and I’m long overdue for a visit.”

The delicious tension she’d been feeling mellowed into something warm and soothing at his earnestness. Ever since they’d landed he’d waxed nostalgic about all the things he’d used to do in the city, places he’d eaten that he wasn’t sure were still around, venues he’d played, museums he’d spent hours getting lost in and all the interesting people he’d met in that time. What he hadn’t mentioned once was his former bandmate and friend. In the bright morning light streaming through the wall of windows she could see that for some reason he was nervous about seeing him again.

“You guys talk all the time,” she reminded him, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair and cupping his cheek, “I interrupted one of your FaceTime dates just a couple of days ago.”

Killian chuckled, “Aye, and don’t think I haven’t received more than my fair share of nosey texts about that since.”

She blushed, forgetting that when she’d done the interrupting she’d been wearing one of his shirts and not much else.

“Seeing as Robin has come to Boston several times in the years that I’ve been there it’s only fitting that he gets to monopolize some of my time while I’m here,” he said, one shoulder lifting higher than the other in a half shrug. “I’ll be home by the time you’re done with your interviews.”

“You don’t have to rush back just for me,” she said quickly, guilt already pulling at her, “Just text me when your male bonding time is over.”

“We’ll deal with the logistics later, love,” he murmured, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to her palm, “For now I’d like to pick up where we left off before-”

Emma sighed in disappointment as her phone began to vibrate again. Knowing that Regina was the only one who would not only call but do so before nine a.m. no matter the time zone she couldn’t ignore it. She’d made the mistake of doing it before a show in Arizona once and had sworn Regina would have pushed her into the Grand Canyon if she’d been given the opportunity.

Gently nudging Killian off of her with an apology she sat up and grabbed her phone. Killian sat up behind her, pushing her hair to one side as he nuzzled into her neck. Giggling but in no way discouraging him she swiped up to answer.

Regina started talking the second the call connected, “The car will be there in thirty minutes to take you straight to the restaurant-”

“Wait, what?” Emma jerked away from Killian’s ministrations to look at the clock on the bedside table and saw it was only a little after seven. “I thought you said it’d be here at nine!”

“Plans have changed,” Regina said off-handedly. “The brunch meeting is now a breakfast meeting and I’ve pushed up one of your radio interviews to give you the time you’ll need for the streaming exclusives.”

“Exclusives?” She asked warily.

“Enchanted XM wants you to curate a ten song playlist and record intros for their Alt Rock station and then there will be an in-depth interview with one of their djs. Snowdrops and Buttercups has been their number one request since its debut and is poised to take the number one spot on the chart next week. It’s also been getting increasing play on their hits station. We need to strike while the iron’s hot.”

Emma tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling as she counted to ten to keep her patience. She was well aware that self promotion came with the territory, especially as a solo artist, and usually she had no problem giving interviews or whatever little fun extras needed to do so. What she hated was that Regina tended to take liberties with her schedule whenever they were in a big enough city and there was extra down time. It was all the more frustrating that Regina knew that things between her and Killian had shifted and apparently didn’t care about infringing on their time alone together.

“We’ll still be done by six right?” She asked, resigned, Killian’s warm hand gliding across her shoulders calming her much more than her counting had.

“Yes,” Regina huffed and Emma could practically hear her eyes rolling, “You and lover boy can have your romantic evening together and don’t think we won’t be discussing how to play whatever it is you two are doing to the press.”

“Really?” She growled.

“Really.”

Before Emma could even begin to shoot down that idea Regina had hung up, leaving her staring at the phone in her hand with disbelief and anger. Even Killian’s gentle ministrations were no longer helping.

“I need to get ready,” she said mournfully, moving to stand from the bed.

Killian stopped her with a hand on her wrist, “Everything alright, love?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. The meeting with the label got moved and there’s already a car on its way. Which normally wouldn’t be a big deal but-” she shrugged, still angry but also starting to blush, “We were getting to the good stuff.”

“That we were,” he agreed with a salacious grin. Then the grin faded and he narrowed his eyes at her, “Was there something else she said? You seem upset over more than just an earlier meeting.”

Emma hesitated. As much as she wanted to share her frustration with Regina dictating her life she couldn’t do so without bringing up the questions she’d successfully avoided since the morning after they’d first slept together. First and foremost, was what they were doing just as important to him as it was to her and if it was, then what did that mean for them once the tour was over and they returned to their respective lives. Chickening out she figured they could talk it over later, when there wasn’t a time constraint or a full day of interviews where she’d need to keep focused.

She shook her head and smiled, “Nothing you need to worry about. Regina just has me getting some list of songs together for some streaming thing and I have no idea what I’m going to pick. It takes me two hours to edit the playlists I already have, how the hell am I supposed to choose ten songs and then talk about them?”

“Simple, pick one of your playlists, put it on random and the first ten songs that play are the ones you choose,” he said easily. “You already know and enjoy those songs if you spent two hours picking them and there’s no pressure of trying to curate a perfect list from scratch.”

“That’s… actually a really good idea-” she beamed, grabbing her phone and bouncing up from the bed. She spun around and gave what she hoped was a come hither look, “You know, I hear California is in a drought. It’d be a shame to waste water by taking separate showers.”

His lips curled wickedly, “I’d say that I love the way your mind works, Swan.”

Taking his hand she led him into the bathroom and made good use of the less than twenty minutes they had before her car arrived. Several hours later, however, she wished she had pushed back a little more against the schedule Regina had set up for her. Of course she’d had no way of knowing that her too short morning with Killian was going to be the least stressful of her day.

Sitting in one of the green rooms at Enchanted XM between the recording session for her song picks and her interview she let her eyes slide shut. It had already been a long day and it was nowhere near being over and done with. The breakfast meeting had been good, the representatives from the label had been pleased that she had already written a few songs that she felt were strong contenders for the next album and they had easily agreed to giving her three months off after the tour to work on the rest. Even Regina had been pleased with the meeting, if her short and not too unreasonable list of demands for moving forward were any indication.

The interview she’d done directly after had been the kind that she’d gotten used to over the years. Questions that were more often than not the same ones others had asked her time and again. She’d gotten good at making it sound like she was hearing them for the first time and varying her answers just enough so she didn’t sound like a robot. The best part were the teasing texts from Killian waiting for her once she was done. She was surprised and touched that he had taken the time out of his day to listen to her interview, especially since he knew how unexciting they could be.

As her day continued Regina had left her to make her way to the Enchanted XM studios on her own. Once there she had immediately had to get to work ironing out her list of songs and recorded the intros with the program producer. It had been more fun than she’d anticipated. She’d already had her choices written down in one of her ever present notebooks, having listened to a randomized playlist in the car on her way to breakfast like Killian had suggested. The first ten songs that had played had been perfect but she’d made one substitution to make sure that a Realm of Jewels song was one of her picks. It was her thank you to Killian for giving her the idea in the first place and a not so subtle wink to whatever was going on between them.

The producer, a woman named Gwen, had been impressed with her choices. They’d spent nearly an hour talking them over, working through a rough script of what she would say about each one. Then she had been taken to a small recording booth where it had taken less than an hour to get what they needed. She’d wanted to text Killian about it but Gwen had immediately invited her to lunch and she hadn’t had the chance. Once they’d returned to Enchanted’s headquarters she’d been asked to record a few small promos for the stations that played her songs in heavy rotation. Not willing to say no she’d been ushered to another recording booth with barely any time to take a breath.

Being left alone in the green room was a welcome break from what had become an increasingly busy day. Just as she was about to pull out her phone for the first time since after her first interview the door opened and Regina stormed in, angrily snapping at whoever the poor soul was that was still in the hallway.

“-not recording as scheduled and I want to know why a rider was requested when nothing that is on it is in this room. There’s not even a bottle of water. See that it gets taken care of.”

“Of course, Ms. Mills.”

The disembodied voice wavered slightly and Emma's earlier annoyance at Regina flared back up.

“The water that’s in here is fine,” she called out, leaning forward and catching the eye of the young woman in the hallway giving her an apologetic smile. She turned pointedly to Regina and glared, “I don’t need anything else.”

“That’s not the point,” Regina sniffed, her dark eyes narrowing followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. “Certain expectations were to be met and they weren’t. Just one more thing this company has failed at. I have a mind to stop booking appearances here if they’ll just be treated like this.”

“Okay, this is about something more than water bottles and a missing box of Milk Duds. What’s going on?” Emma asked suspiciously.

Regina pursed her lips as she took out her phone and began rapidly typing. Emma waited patiently for her to answer, knowing better than to push if she wanted to keep her head on her shoulders. With a final tap on her screen Regina focused back on her with a wary look that immediately had her on edge.

“You were supposed to do the on air interview with Graham Humbert but apparently due to an ‘unfortunate’-” Regina rolled her eyes, “scheduling conflict you have to do it with Walsh Hoakley instead.”

Emma groaned. An interview with Graham would have been fun and easy. They’d both gotten their start in the business around the same time, so he not only knew what types of questions she enjoyed answering but what her boundaries were when it came to her personal life. Walsh, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.

Every interview she’d had with him had her sitting through bad jokes and his comparing her career against his own. He had been the frontman of a pop punk group that had taken a break almost a decade before, though he insisted that it was only a matter of time before they would release another album. It was bad enough she had to play nice as he gave her unsolicited advice but once the mics were turned off he tended to dial up his smarmy charm and invite her out for drinks or a meal. She’d always firmly said no but he’d kept it up and after their last interview nearly two years earlier she’d told Regina that she preferred not to do any more with him.

“I thought he was with that big station in New York,” she said sullenly.

“Apparently not,” Regina sniffed. Her eyes softened fractionally, “Do you want me to reschedule?”

“No,” she sighed, “We’re already here and I know we don’t have any time to come back while we’re still in LA. Plus I don’t want rumors starting that I’m being difficult over Walsh Hoakley. I don’t want to give him that honor.”

Regina smirked, “I’m sure he’d dine out on that for years.”

“He would. So where’d you disappear to?” Emma asked, through talking about Walsh.

“I do have other clients that happen to conveniently live where their label’s offices and some of the best recording studios are,” Regina said drolly, perching herself delicately on a chair. “You might want to reexamine the benefits of moving out here after this tour is done. You’re only going to get bigger from here on out.”

She hummed noncommittally. For a few seconds she let herself daydream about moving into Killian’s beachfront house, waking up in his arms every morning before heading to the studio that would admittedly be leaps and bounds better than the one back in Maine. She could almost see herself returning at the end of her day to find Killian preparing dinner in the kitchen or strumming his guitar on the balcony. Before her thoughts went any further than that she stopped them in their tracks, forcing herself to remember all the reasons why she loved living in Storybrooke and to not let herself get wrapped up in a fantasy. She didn’t let herself dwell on how her imaginings had given her the same feelings of home that her real memories of Storybrooke did.

Ten minutes and an increasingly impatient Regina later another assistant came to show them to the recording booth. From behind the glass they watched as Walsh introduced the next group of songs that would be playing and teased her interview. As soon as he switched off his mic she was ushered into the booth, shown which headphones and mic to use and then left alone with him. To her great relief he smiled and shook her hand, seemingly not knowing that she had requested not to do interviews with him. She smiled back, settling in the chair in front of the mic she’d been shown and adjusted everything to her liking. As they waited for the queued songs to finish playing they made small talk about their day and the thankfully very few mutual acquaintances they had.

The interview started off well. Walsh only mentioned his band Behind the Curtain twice and kept his advice to a minimum. Emma found herself actually enjoying the questions he asked, responding with enthusiasm when he asked about living in Maine and her writing process. She was so caught up in lightheartedly debating with him over notebooks versus a phone app to write lyrics that she was surprised when he mentioned that their time was drawing to a close.

“So, Emma, before you go, how has this tour been so far? You’ve only got a few shows left right?”

“Yeah, just the last few cities heading north but it’s been really, really great,” she enthused, “This is the biggest tour I’ve ever done and the fans have been amazing in every city we’ve played. I’m actually really looking forward to tomorrow night’s show since it’s where they have the Oscars.”

“Right, the Dolby theater, when we played it was still the Kodak and it’s a great venue. Bigger than what you would think when you see it on tv,” Walsh said with a wink and a grin.

Emma fought against a cringe at his bad innuendo, glad that he hadn’t been like that through the whole interview.

“I haven’t had a chance to get in the space yet and, I know this is really nerdy or whatever, but I’m really excited to stand on the same stage that some of my favorite actors have been on. I mean, some of my idols have played there and it’s always an honor to get to perform where they have too, but come on, tomorrow I could be standing in the exact spot where Meryl Streep or Tom Hanks or Oprah have stood. Oprah!”

Walsh chuckled, “So you still get starstruck meeting other celebrities?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a nod. “I don’t even think of myself as a celebrity. I live in the same town I mostly grew up in, all my friends are ones I’ve had since before I even thought about recording an album, I don’t even have ‘people’ or whatever. I nearly had a heart attack seeing Lady Gaga from across the room at a benefit concert once.”

“So how was it when you met Killian Jones, famous guitarist for Realm of Jewels, before the start of your tour?”

She shot a glance to the window into the sound booth where Regina had been throughout the whole interview. Regina barely looked up from her phone and nodded, twirling her hand in a gesture Emma took to mean keep going. They had talked about what would happen when Killian was finally recognized but the longer they went without it happening the more she had convinced herself that they could get through the whole tour with no one the wiser. It seemed their time was up. Taking a deep breath to settle her racing heart she looked back at Walsh and found him watching her closely.

“I was surprised and a little annoyed actually,” she said with a small laugh. “Ruby, the guitarist I usually tour with, had broken her arm but said that she’d found her replacement for me. The thing was she wouldn’t tell me who it was so I walked into the recording studio and Killian was there. Realm of Jewels was one of my favorite bands, still is, so seeing him sitting there was a kinda surreal fangirl moment and intimidating too, knowing how good of a guitarist he is.”

“Rumors have been circulating on social media for a few weeks that it was Killian onstage for your tour and then earlier this afternoon uber-producer Robin Locksley seemed to confirm it-” Walsh pulled up a sheet of paper and began reading, “He said in an interview: ‘I’m very excited to begin working with Killian Jones on new music and other projects moving forward. He’s been touring the past few weeks as a backing guitarist and he told me it’s been a great first step to getting back out there. I was even fortunate enough to hear a few rough cuts of songs he’s already written for a new solo album and they’re amazing. I really can’t wait.’ Since you’ve confirmed it yourself have you heard any of his new songs while on the road? He’s already with your label and turns out he signed on with your manager Regina Mills back in March so will the rest of the tour be a double bill? Maybe even a possibility of a duet in the future?”

Emma felt dazed, like she’d been hit with a pillow shot out of a cannon. She had completely forgotten that Robin had become a music producer after Liam and Milah had died. He’d even sent her an email after her last album had been released, saying he wanted to work with her at some point. That little detail was nothing compared to the realization that Killian hadn’t mentioned that his lunch with Robin was really about business. He hadn’t even hinted that he had whole songs written let alone recorded anything. Worst of all was that he had signed on with Regina before he’d joined the tour and she knew without a doubt Regina would do anything necessary to further a client’s career. Especially if the final outcome would prove advantageous for two clients at once.

“I, uh, haven’t listened to anything he’s recorded-”

Her phone buzzed at her elbow. There were several notifications but the preview screen showed a text from Regina. She opened it in a daze.

Regina: No double billing, play coy about duet, plug rest of tour, still seats in Vancouver

The fog she’d been in cleared away as white hot anger took its place. She looked at Regina through the glass and found her making the same ‘continue on’ motion she had before. There was no sign of an apology on her features, only impatience and the ever present look of expectation that she perform well. While acting wasn’t her forte she was more than ready to give the performance of a lifetime.

“Killian was only brought on temporarily until Ruby was well enough to play again. Luckily her recovery happened to work out perfectly with us arriving in LA-” she knew she sounded too upbeat but pushed through, “I’m sorry to dash any hopes but Killian has decided to stay here and focus on his own music. Ruby will be back for tomorrow night’s show and will be finishing out the tour. We’re sold out for most of those shows but I think there’s still some tickets left for Vancouver, but not many.”

“So, no duet?” Walsh asked hopefully and Emma wasn’t sure if he meant musically or hinting at something between her and Killian.

“Nope,” she said decisively, her heart cracking as she did. “I’ll be taking some time off after this tour is done. Rest and relaxation are the only duets I’ll be performing any time soon.”

Walsh laughed, “Now that’s a duo everyone loves. Well, Emma, it’s been great talking to you.”

“You too,” she said with feigned pleasure.

“Here’s Emma’s latest single ‘Snowdrops and Buttercups’ which has been flying up the charts. Safe to say you’ll be playing it tomorrow?”

“Yup. It’s been fun to see the responses get more enthusiastic as it gets played on the radio more,” she said, finally feeling like she was being genuine.

“That’s always a great feeling,” Walsh said with a grin. “Alright, here it is ‘Snowdrops and Buttercups’. Thanks for stopping by, Emma.”

“Thanks for having me.”

As the first notes of her song filled the studio Emma ripped off the headphones, ignoring the constant buzz of her phone at her elbow. She wasn’t sure who it was that was calling, she’d told everyone important to her about the interview and she knew they had probably all tuned in to listen. With the way her pulse was pounding in her temples she wasn’t too sure she could keep herself from unfairly snapping at whoever it was and whatever questions they were going to have.

“Emma?”

She looked up at Walsh and by the way his grin faltered a bit she was sure that her anger was painted clear across her face.

“Yeah?”

“Er, I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink?” He asked hesitantly. “Talk a little shop, maybe?”

“I already have plans,” she said shortly, the words tasting like the ashes of the evening she originally thought she’d be having.

“Coffee then? Or lunch? I’m up for anything really,” He said with a wink and a chuckle.

“Look, I don’t know how much more clear I can make this but I’m not ‘up’ for doing anything with you,” she snapped, his annoying persistence the final straw. “I thought that you’d gotten better than the last time you tried this but apparently not.”

She snatched up her phone and turned to leave when she heard him scoff and mutter something under his breath. She spun back to face him.

“Wanna share with the whole room?”

“Yeah, actually,” he said with a sneer that twisted his face into something vicious. “You act all high and mighty but you’re just a step away from falling into obscurity just like me. That whole thing about Jones was given to me by your people and by tomorrow morning both your careers will be reaping the benefits from it. I could have helped you along even further with the contacts I have in this business.”

Emma gaped at him, “By going out with you? Classy, you sack of shit.”

Something flashed in Walsh’s eyes, “You-”

“Emma! Let’s go, now.”

For half a second she was grateful that Regina had burst into the room, then she remembered why she was angry in the first place. She brushed past her, ignoring her stream of hissing admonishments and the stuttered apologies of the producer. Halfway back to the green room she realized her phone was still buzzing non-stop. Her stomach lurched, not wanting to know if it was Killian calling when she was walking the thin line between yelling at him or breaking down in tears. Steeling herself she finally looked at the screen and breathed a sigh of relief, swiping to answer.

“Ruby, pack your shit. I need you in LA tonight.”

#captain swan #captain swan fan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan fan fiction #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fan fic #ouat ff #my writing

14 notes · View notes

overwhelmedbyskeletons · 3 years ago

Text

A Chance to See What’s Out There

I wake up Saturday morning at around 7am. The AM radio DJ told the local news; A dog was arrested for somehow stealing a delivery truck while the driver was dropping off a package. The driver called in to say how he ran down the road after the truck. He ran for a few moments before the truck stopped, he caught up with it and found the dog sitting there, panting, as happy as a dog can be. I could almost imagine myself witnessing it take place in my head in real time. Luckily, no one was hurt and the dog only made it down the road before his attempted GTA was brought to a halt. He was a Boxer named George.

The sweet, cool scent of a winter’s morning rain was permeating throughout the room. The sound of rain drops on the wide french windows of our bedroom were a never ending symphony. The overwhelming smell of the moist mud and grass fields outside the second-story windows were a clear sign that we’ve come to know that the rain had not let up all night.

The bedroom walls were forest green, complimented by photos of my wife and I, and of her photography over the years. Shelves were filled with books and various handcrafted knick-knacks that we found humorous. A large lounge chair sit in the corner where a throw blanket and book would be placed most everyday.

I yawned and stretched, reaching next to me, but grabbing nothing but bedsheets. My wife was up already, normal routine for her morning was to make coffee as the sun was rising. I sat in bed for a few moments more before I heard the approaching, un-socked footsteps of my wife heading up the stairs.

“MY DEAR FUCKING LORD” I muttered out in a voice of definite confusion.

My wife, Miranda, bursts through the bedroom door in a panic.

“What the fuck is your deal?” She asks.

“Honey… I’m Blind.” I reply, with absolute certainty, reaching towards her.

“Oh fuck off.” She hands me my coffee.

I take it with a smile on my face with what what most would call a shit eating grin.

“Wipe that shit eating grin off your face, before make you mute as well.” she replies, sitting down next to me in bed as we both enjoy our coffee, listening to the rain.

The Incident, as we began to call it happened one week prior on an odd, but welcomed sunny winter day. We were both resting after a deep cleaning of our ever-growing backyard garden space. Weather resistant succulents and cactus were scattered all over on varying metal shelves and repurposed chairs. Monstera plants provided the area a zen-like atmosphere of which took us almost a year of collecting and soil-observing care to achieve.

Our two-story, cabin-like home sat at the end of a one-car mile long road that forked from off an already forgotten highway, winding and curving through trees and bushes. The seclusion was what attracted us the most. Noises of the human nature were something we had lived with before for years prior and the quiet of the two of us existing among the trees and all that reside within them was a necessary change in our lives.

We had spent many days of the year inside and the sun’s light was showing just how defined my farmer’s tan was. The idea of tanning was always a joke to me in the city, but in the security of the high-fenced backyard, the idea didn’t seem to half bad.

I sternly stood upright from my lounging and declared, “I’m gonna sunbathe.”

I began to undress. The removing of my shirt and shorts got the usual oo’ing and ah’ing from my wife.

“Should I go full on naked?” I asked.

“I don’t care.” Miranda replied, barely looking up from her book now.”

In one quick motion of pride, I was back to the way the gods had sculpted me.

“Exquisite.” Miranda said, through a chuckle.

“You know you love it.” I replied.

A moment of fidgeting in my seat before finding a comfortable position, but in the end, it only took a few minutes before my eyelids grew heavy in the warm sun.

“Wake me if I’m out for more than an hour, will ya darling?” I tried to ask through sleep.

“You got it, babe.” She replied.

“Thanks, mama.”

I was awoken with a sharp pain slicing across my face. I groggily shot up out of the seat, barely standing up right as I tried to open my eyes. Dark crimson began pooling in both eyes, blinding out my view of the world in front of me. I was trembling with fear of what was happening to me. The pain from keeping my eyes open was immense, so I shut them as tightly as I could. I screamed and hollered for help, but I heard nothing but birds chattering and the hiss of wind flowing through the trees. Once the pain subsided enough to allow movement, I noticed my face cold from liquid, I was bleeding so much even with my eyes shut. I was blind, helpless, and nude.

I had walked this garden hundreds of times, but for the first time in my life I was truly lost and alone. I wandered and bumped for what felt like hours. Finally, I had found the door handle thanks to the shower door inside the house being shut. I was navigating fully with sound, a trait that one surprisingly catches on quick.

Inside the kitchen area with the door shut behind me, I watched my every step hoping to not spill any blood from my face onto the tile floor. I already couldn’t see, the last thing I needed was a slip-and-fall concussion.

I made myself known, hoping my wife would come to my aid. “Miranda, can you help me? Please don’t freak out.”

“Of c- wait, what’s wrong?” She replied. Her footsteps I heard hastily walked towards me from down the hall. She gasped with absolute fear.

“I don’t know what happened.” I said, trying to smile to alleviate any fear she might have. “I think Thomas Shelby finally got to me.”

“Oh my god.” Miranda replied, unimpressed by my comment. “Okay, let’s get a clean cloth, we have to clean you/ you’ll be okay/ let me get the keys, we have to go to ER/ oh fuck, you’re still naked.” I could hear tears starting to form with her words.

I held out my arms to hug her. She embraced me so quickly, I stumbled from loose footing.

“Grab me a wet cloth, and get my shorts from out back and let’s drive to the hospital. My pain is okay. I’m okay.” I said in a calm voice to ease her nerves.

I was quickly dressed decent, in the passenger seat of our Honda with a wet rag on my face. The drive to the hospital was quick and silent.

We arrived, parked, and my wife guided me to the entrance.

“We need to be seen right away.” She exclaimed.

A nurse sat at a desk cut her off, handing her a clipboard and piece of paper to fill out. I removed the rag from my face a moment to show thick strands of blood sticking from my face to the bloodied towel. I was put into a wheelchair immediately and was soon in my own room.

Not much time went by before several voices entered the room, to help clean my face and understand what they were dealing with. Their voices were that shrill, fake-assuring tone that would deafen you at a theme park. Coupled with the sterile smell of everything and the loss of one of my senses, to say I was nauseated would be an understatement. But, I held through, asked my wife for an advil from her bag and laid on my paper bed. A couple of needle pricks of painkillers and many gauze wipes later, and I was being operated on.

The first procedure was quick. It involved cauterization of my slice eyelids to seal the wounds shut and to stop bleeding and a quick stick in the bridge of my nose. The second one, not as simple. Both corneas were damaged, sliced by whatever the hell it was that shot through them. I required eye reconstruction and I would be practically blind for a week post-op. 13 hours later on a Saturday and I was back home, with gauze taped to both my eyelids and a joint in my hand, doctor’s orders.

That night, We both slept like a animalistic hibernation was in order. When we both were awake and ready for the day, I opted to stay in the bedroom and practice walking to the bathroom, a trek of only nineteen steps there and back. Miranda went out back to try and find whatever it was that blinded me. With a retelling of what I felt from the bedroom window down to her, she set up a at-home crime scene. Within an hour she was able to identify the blood tinted smoking gun. A sharp piece of dark grey metal, what Miranda called ‘A Crow’s Prized Trinket’. We laughed it off as a freak occurrence, and put the piece of scrap in a baggie in my bedside drawer.

It took a little bit to get used to, but by Monday morning, I found my routes to the bathroom and the dining room table. I still bumped here and there, but I only ever tripped once.

By Wednesday, my Stevie Wonder impression grew old. Thursday night, My Roy Orbison impression required a google search and a realization that the Oh, Pretty Woman songwriter could indeed, actually see. Who knew.

Thunder rumbled and lightning crashed outside as if the gods were fighting on how to fix the water leak that is the rain beating down upon my house.

“Weatherman hopes for it to be through before night.” Miranda said, sipping her coffee and reading her book; a highlander smitten by the beauty and grace of a time-travelling housewife from the 20th century.

“I like it, gives me something to listen to.” I replied, still sitting in bed, soft jammies and all.

I went for the last gulp of my creamer with coffee, when Miranda quickly gasped in shock.

“Oh my god, that one was so close.” She said before cut off by the thunder that was at a previous six-Mississipi’s away, crashing at a deafening volume.

“Fuck me, blind and now deaf as well.” I said, jokingly through a chuckle. At that moment, through my laughing, for the first time in a week, movement of my eyelids. Nothing monumental, but I could see the warmth of the lamp near my wife, across the room. I quickly removed the gauze pads from over my eyes and opened them. Sight. It was all fuzzy, but I could finally see shapes again.

“Holy crap, babe.” I said with excitement. “I can see, not well, but shit, it’s a start.” I fiddled around at my bedside table, looking for my phone.

“It’s okay, I’m calling him.” Miranda replied, now at my side, petting my hair as if I was the family dog.

A quick phone call later, and I had my head in the bathroom sink, rinsing my eyes out with lukewarm water. The doctor had told us that my recovery was more speedy than expected, but nonetheless a good sign. Rinsing of my eyes would remove any crusty buildup over the week and help with the final process of healing.

I’ve never had the elusive 20/20 vision that only those gifted by the gods of sight allowed such a a trait, and after several minutes of washing, I was still far from where I was before the accident. Our excitement was put away, slightly defeated, but still pleased of my progress.

I wandered downstairs, testing myself with the readings of the backs of cereal boxes and old magazine covers while my wife remained upstairs, reading. This went on until sundown, when our bed was sending out it’s siren’s song of comfort. I slowly waddled upstairs and around the corner into the bedroom.

“So, I was able to read the cereal boxes and labels of most of the cans, I think.” I said while removing the decorative pillows placed neatly on our king-sized bed.

“That is so good to hear.” Miranda replied halfheartedly joyous.

I could tell she was upset that I wasn’t fully cured, but I remained positive to help her understand that all will be better soon. We laid under our soft blankets, cuddling one another. My arms wrapped around her from behind, I slowly guided my hands to her legs and tickled her to a pure state of relaxation. I could feel her frustration of my inability to see slip away as her eyelids grew heavier. She was asleep within minutes. I continued for twenty.

The ever-persistent rain had remained beating down upon the roof and trees outside all day. Mud puddles had began forming in the garden, but with how hot the summer was, excess was welcomed. I contemplated reopening the window, to hear the sounds more clearly, but I fell victim to the sandman’s spell before I could make up my mind.

That night I dreamed of something I had never thought I could imagine. I was in the walls of a dark and long hallway with not much in it. The walls around me smooth and reflective; it was basically a mirror in tube form. At the end of the room, was a door that never opened, but beyond it I could hear the grumblings of two, maybe three voices. In between their incoherent conversation was the stomping akin to that of a unsavory upstairs apartment neighbor. I’d usually think nothing if it, but for some reason I feared those steps. With every new set, my heart began to race at the thought of them opening those doors and showing themselves to me. I couldn’t take it anymore and began shouting, trembling with fear.

I was quickly awoken by Miranda who had shook me awake. I was halfway crawling out the window, drenched. I looked back and she was horrified, latching onto my shirt, pulling me back in. It took me a moment to realize all of this, when I did, I made my way back inside and shut the window. Miranda ran and grabbed me a towel.

“I was having a strange dream.” I described my dream to my wife in the best detail that I could at the moment. She was perplexed by how the two incidents were connected. She helped dry me off and get me warm.

“So I don’t understand, were you crawling out a window in the dream?” She asked.

Before I could answer, a flash of lightning followed by a rumble of thunder. This time was different than any lightning I had ever seen in my life. The flash was a bright green that illuminated the trees and land out the window instead of the sky. As for the thunder, it remained at a steady rumbling hum for a minute coming from the direction of the green light. We were stunned by what we were seeing. The window was fogging from our breathe so we cracked it enough to see outside.

I did my best to watch, but any amount of vision couldn’t deny that this was a strange occurrence. We watched for several minutes, observing the strange oddity deep into the forest. The light was persistent in it’s glow, but the sound would alternate in it’s pitch from time to time. Miranda and I remained silent, barely breathing the entire time we watched.

All of a sudden in an instant, the humming stopped, and the light shifted it’s focus towards us, our home. We shielded our eyes, but peeked through our fingers. That was when we saw it. Running faster than any athlete could, weaving through the forest floor, sometimes jumping off of a trunk for speed, and it was coming straight towards us. I quickly shut the window and bolted the lock. Whatever was headed towards us was fast and it didn’t take it long to reach the garden fence. I shut the blinds in hopes that that would somehow protect me from the whatever it was outside.

We heard a bang followed by a crash downstairs. It was in the house. The security alarm system began yelping, ringing in our ears. I ran up to shut the bedroom door, bumping the foot of the bed on my way and grab a bat beside it. Just before I slammed it shut, I heard the creature downstairs screeching along to the alarm, as if it was speaking to alarm. I slammed the door and backed into the chair where my wife usually reads. She was crying under the blanket. I wanted to join her, so I did.

It began it’s ascent up the stairs. The sound. It’s feet. It was exactly what I heard in my dream. The alarm finally shut itself off and I could hear it talking to itself. It was the same sound I heard in my dream. I was sobbing, shaking with fear when I bumped into my wife’s foot uncovered by her blanket. I shook her, stood her up and told her to hide in our closet. She resisted, but I finally got her in behind the door and I stood, ready to fight and slightly blind.

The creature scratched on the wooden bedroom door. It could hear me or smell me or whatever it was doing, it knew exactly where I was. It didn’t kick down the door, or blast a hole through it, but it instead turned the doorknob. I had forgotten to push in the button to lock it.

I readied my swing when it pushed open the door. I wiped away tears from both eyes, which cleared my vision a little more. I saw it standing there, hunched over with scales all over. It’s face covered in holes, in the center two large, clear eyes that blinked alternately. A large mouth, filled with teeth stayed agape, dripping fluids all over the floor. Tentacle like limbs had no significant placement on its body. It slapped on the floor with it’s constantly moving ‘feet’ tentacles. Standing seven feet tall, the creature purred at me, unmoving from the beyond the doorframe. We had a stand off for a moment before I made my move.

“What the fuck do you want?” I yelled.

It did nothing, it remained a statue. I repeated myself. It screeched back. I let out a scream and rushed it. I made two steps before it shot out one of its slimy tentacles around my neck, holding me in place. The smell was a horrible, rotting carcass smell. I gagged, but couldn’t restrain and vomited on its arm and myself. It pulled itself in closer to my face. It was observing me, looking for something. It starred for a while before it chirped with delight, raised a small tentacle and quickly slid it behind my left eye. I felt no pain somehow, not even when it yanked my whole eye out. It observed my plucked eye, dropped me to the floor, and then headed back down the stairs. Miranda rushed out the closet, and saw me bleeding from my eyes for the second time in a week.

I was calm and without pain, which somehow transferred to Miranda and we were both fine with what had happened. We heard a crashing coming from outside the window again, and we walked over to look. The one was making its way through the broken doors while another was sliding all along the floor and walls of our backyard. They soon both began speaking that incoherent mush again before quickly scurrying off towards the green light.

Not too much time passed of us starring out into the darkness. The green light began to flash, the thunder grew louder and stronger, knocking books off the shelves. The power shut off. We were in total darkness as we watched the dark object rise from the ground, hundreds of feet away, blowing branches and rain in every direction. It was high in the sky, hovering for a moment when I closed my eyes, well eye. I was back in that dark, mirror place, but this time It wasn’t as clear. I heard the creatures talking again, and a whirring sound. Before, in my dream, this place sounded distressed, incorrect. Now it was complete, whole somehow. A few more glimpses and it was gone.

Miranda and I cleaned up the bedroom in silence. We mopped up the water and blood and drool of the creature, fixed our bedroom to the best of our abilities. We would clean the downstairs in the morning. For now, we would sleep.

Every night since that night, I will take one meaningful look out our wide, french windows, making sure that flash of green hadn’t returned. I lay in bed and listen closely for that rumble that shook the walls remained gone. When I would finally shut my eyes and fall to rest however, I would hope I’d see that place one final time. That last chance to see something that no one could define. An otherworldy place.

#short story #scifi #horror #short-story #comedy

1 note · View note