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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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Jon & Sasha Arson fic

Little fragment of an idea that never went anywhere. No reason for it. Just thought it would be funny. I was right. Rest under the cut.

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.

*******

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Arson was attributable to a bookshelf of Leitners, humming strange songs and spewing toxic energy into the air in rhythmic hissing motions. The Leitners were attributable to Artifact Storage, a testament to mankind’s hubris and a modern-day tower of Babel where a group of underpaid academics found themselves stress testing kevlar and fire suppression systems each day. Artifact Storage was attributable to the Magnus Institute, where Jon had managed to land a job after three months of desolate post-graduate unemployment. And the Magnus Institute was attributable to - well, probably Jonah Magnus, but Jon found that it was likely a bit of a reach to blame a long dead Regency gentleman for all of his problems.

Jon needed this job. London was expensive and so were funerals, and he couldn’t keep living on life insurance forever. It was even a good job, with decent pay and the exact kind of limp, half-hearted academia that the private sector promised disillusioned English mastery holders. His coworkers were nice - well, Tim was nice, everybody else seemed to hate him for the same reason that everybody else hated him, likely intimidated by how smart he was - and the commute was short. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. Spiritually, metaphysically, and literally.

Which was why he should stop staring at this piece of paper. The follow-up research to a statement given by some idiot unlucky enough to cross paths with what was certainly a Leitner.

‘ORIGINATION OF PHENOMENA ISOLATED’, the page read out professionally, yet chipperly, like a young woman in a new office job. ‘ITEM QUARANTINED WITHIN ARTIFACT STORAGE (46B.1)’.

Hm.

Jon pushed down on the floor, rolling himself a meter to the left.

“Say, er, Mr. Stoker.”

Tim “I’m only four years older than you, please call me Tim” Stoker, who had been thumping away on his cheap plastic keyboard either writing up a report or messaging someone on one of those infernal casual sex websites, pulled down his headphones and blinked at Jon owlishly, before splitting his face into a grin. Jon could practically hear the David Attenborough-style narration within his mind: ‘After long weeks leaving out food for the wild Simothan, the feral yet gentle animal approaches the researcher of his own volition. A win for scientists everywhere.’

“Yes, Jon?” Tim asked, in an uncanny yet hopefully unintentional RP drawl.

“What’s Artifact Storage?”

“God, I wish I was you,” Tim said feelingly. But he nodded sagely anyway, milking his ‘wise senpai’ thing for all it was worth. Jon could practically feel Tim calling himself a senpai. It was kind of embarrassing. “You know the shady room locked deep within the basement that exudes a terrible aura of malice and hatred towards you specifically?”

“The gender neutral bathroom?” Jon asked, confused.

“No, the one that always smells somewhat of blood. You hear screams sometimes?”

“The Archives!”

“Yes, but no! It’s Artifact Storage. If the researchers dig up any creepy shit from a statement, or if a statement giver brings in something that melts the metal detector, then we dump it in Artifact Storage and let those miserable fucks take care of it.”

“Is it more of a containment facility, or would you say that they conduct experiments?”

But Tim just shrugged. “My source down there tells me that they do some experiments to justify their budget, but it’s mostly unscientific. Poke this and I’ll give you twenty quid, that kind of thing. They say that if you really want a sick day, all you have to do is touch a mysterious rock and whisper your mother’s name -”

“Fantastic, thank you for your help, must go back to filling now,” Jon said quickly, skittering back to his own desk. He tried to distract himself from the terrifying thought of the basement full of supernatural nuclear bombs underneath his feet by trying to remember his mother’s name, but he was stuck on if it was Marjorie or Margaret. Mary Anne?

Maybe Tim’s personal Meerkat Manor series of Jon’s life had paid off - Sims Shack? - more than Jon would like, because Tim squinted at Jon in an unsettlingly familiar way. As if he knew exactly what Jon was thinking about the literature of mass destruction, and he really wanted Jon to be thinking literally anything else.

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, Jon,” Tim warned, sounding a little like a horror movie trailer. “Bushy tailed college grads who go down there don’t come out the same as they went in.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Stoker.”

“For the love of christ call me Tim!”

It really was a pity - Jon had actually liked this job.

*******

It was remarkably easy to commit arson in central London.

Jon had done it once or twice. Three times, actually, although when you think about it arson was a criminal charge and only truly existed so long as someone was charged with it, so technically you could say that Jon had done arson zero times. In his defense, you try making it through Oxford without doing anything embarrassing. 90% of your time was in class or schoolwork and 10% of it was being hazed. At least Jon hadn’t fucked any pigs.

Jon hit up the usual stores, and stashed the usual implements in his rucksack. It was a careful week after his conversation with Tim, as he couldn’t afford for the older man to connect the dots. He made a show of going home at a timely five pm, startling everybody around him, and paced in a tight circle around his flat until he gave up and watched mindless telly until the clock struck midnight.

He took a cab to the park a few blocks down from the Institute, and walked the rest of the way. It was a cool, dim night in London, and the foot-traffic had slowed down to a steady trickle of young people in tight clothing. Jon pulled down his baseball cap on his head, fished a key out from his pocket given to him by a helpful and friendly janitor, and took a back entrance into the Institute.

Said helpful and friendly janitor, whose allegiance had been won because Jon was a “nice young lad” and “I always wanted to burn down the place myself, I’m happy to see the next generation give it a go” had helpfully told Jon that there were no security cameras inside the Institute. A grievous oversight, but good luck for Jon tonight. He took the stairs down to the basement, zipping his jacket up tight against the inescapable chill, and pushed his hat further down his head as he navigated his way towards Artifact Storage.

He unlocked the door with the janitor’s key, hands shaking, and slipped inside into the dusky and unlit room.

It was pitch-black, and Jon quickly fished a torch out of his backpack. He flipped it on, letting it slowly scan the room. It was the lobby into Artifact Storage, familiar from his stake-out missions: you walked in, met the bored woman behind the desk, checked in or checked out what you wanted, and if you needed to go inside she would press the button that unlocked the heavy climate-controlled door and let you into the hallway inside. The only other door in the lobby was to the office of the Director of Artifact Storage, a terrifying short and squat woman with silver hair pulled into a bun.

Jon leaned over the counter and jammed the button, holding his breath until he heard the door click open. He quickly twisted the handle, swung the heavy door out, and slipped inside, taking care to grab one of the chairs in the lobby and prop it open. Quick escapes were necessary.

He was in.

The torch lit up a map taped up to the wall, and Jon squinted at it. Section A, Section B, Section C...he remembered the classification from the document he read a week ago, and slowly walked down the hallway until he found the heavy climate controlled door marked ‘SECTION B’. He carefully wrenched it open, taking care to grab a rolling cart and using it to prop the door open, before stepping inside. He fished the canister of gasoline and the lighter out of his backpack, giving the gasoline a good shake.

It was a library. Small, and instead of shelves there were long metal racks with filing boxes stretching long into the darkness, but Jon knew a library when he saw one. Each box had a clipboard attached to it, and most boxes had very large and terrifying stickers on them painted sickly yellow or dangerous red.

The only thing in the library that wasn’t a filing rack was a battered and beat couch. And the only person in the room besides Jon was a woman, blinking up at Jon blearily from where she had been passed out on the couch.

“Er,” Jon said.

The woman sat up, squinting at Jon’s torchlight until he guiltily aimed it just to her left. She had a wild mane of curly brown hair, and was wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled burgundy blouse. A blazer was folded at one end of the couch, clearly being used as a pillow, and she looked strongly as if Jon had just woken her up from a very nice nap.

“Whuh,” the sleepy woman said.

“My mistake,” Jon said, “this isn’t the loo. Go back to bed, this is - er, a very bad dream, goodnight.”

“Whutuhiseet,” the woman slurred.

“It’s - very late, go back to bed.”

“Alright,” the woman said, falling back on the couch. After a second, her snores echoed through the room again.

Jon very slowly crept backwards. Actually, on second thought, his mission could wait for tomorrow. Bit of a cock block, this, but that was alright -

“Hey! Who are you!”

Jon, hand on the handle of the door, squeaked and turned around.

The woman was back up again, and this time she seemed actually awake. She was frowning mightily at Jon, and was already sliding off the couch in stocking feet to glare at him. Jon was aware that he did not look like an innocent person in these events. The gasoline did not help.

The woman’s eyes trailed to the gasoline, then widened. Jon ineffectually tried to hide it behind his back.

“You’re trying to burn down Artifact Storage!” the woman accused, somewhat fairly.

“Not all of Artifact Storage,” Jon said guiltily, “just the Leitners.”

The woman stared at him further, as if she was a special guest on Tim’s Sims Shack nature documentary.

“Why,” the woman said slowly, “would you want to do that?”

Despite himself, Jon found himself puffing up in indignation. “They’re evil, nasty little books that shouldn’t exist. Forget studying and - and containing them, we should be making sure no more of them ever disgrace the world again. We should be burning every one we see. They’re pure evil given literary form, they are a disgrace to books and libraries, and if I ever met Leitner myself I would beat him to death with a rusty pipe for subjecting me to his fucked up books.”

The woman stared at him.

Finally, she said, “I’m Sasha James. Want some help?”

“I - er, wouldn’t that get you in trouble, Ms. James?”

“I like this job but I hate Leitner and his fucked up books more,” Sasha said gravely.

Jon, having found a kindred spirit, held out the lighter.

Sasha James took it, a wide grin splitting her face.

*********

Jon didn’t remember much else of that night.

There was definitely arson involved - or, seeing as they hadn’t gotten caught, just some good old-fashioned fire starting. He had the sense that they had both been so giddy with adrenaline that they had immediately joined the raging uni students in the late night bars, toasting their success in toasting. There had probably been quite a bit of alcohol.

When he woke up the next morning, it was in his narrow and uncomfortable bed, face to face with an unfamiliar snoring woman. For a second, two, Jon was briefly convinced that he had done something so drastically out of character it meant that a fucked up book had body swapped him with Tim. Bodyswapping was more likely than him having casual sex.

Then Jon remembered the arson, and he exhaled in relief as his life made sense again.

“Ms. James,” Jon whispered, poking her in the arm. She snuffled and muttered something. Jon poked her harder. “Ms. James, we have work.”

Sasha turned around, turning her back to him and pulling up the blankets. “Go back to bed, Tim.”

Ti - oh god. Jon felt like he was in a CW drama. This was why he didn’t interact with people, far too much likelihood that he would accidentally end up interacting with somebody who had sex.

“Ms. James,” Jon hissed, extremely embarrassed, “you have to get up!”

“Mergh mergh fuck off,” Sasha James said.

Jon, like a true gentleman and hero, got up and made them both strong tea. He squinted at Sasha, recalling everything he knew about her (slept a lot, liked arson, hated Jurgen Leitner) before digging out some instant coffee and making some of that too. Finally, after shoving a hot cup of sludgey black liquid at the woman, she grabbed the cup and chugged it until she was able to sit up and open her eyes.

She blinked at Jon, who was already picking his hair in an attempt to get ready for work. He could clearly see the thoughts ‘you aren’t Tim’ run through her brain. Hah! He could be the narrator of the nature documentary for once!

“Uh,” Sasha James said, “I’m sorry, did we…?”

“Commit arson? Yes.” Jon paused a beat. “But as I don’t believe we were caught, call it an indoor campfire.”

Sasha James drank more of her coffee. Jon grabbed his clothing and disappeared into the loo to get changed.

When he re-entered his bedroom, she snapped her fingers at him. “Right! We got pissed after! Good times, mate!”

“I have to assume,” Jon said politely. He was doing his very best to be very polite, because Jon knew he was rude and didn’t want his new coworkers to know that until his probation period was over. Maybe he should have waited until after his probation period for the arson? Would it look bad on his annual review? “Do you need to borrow some clothing? I think we’re about the same size.” Oh, no, was that rude to say to a woman?

Sasha James squinted at him. “It’s like you’re not hungover at all. How old are you?”

“Twenty five?” Be polite, Jon! “And you’re...thirty seven?”

“I’m thirty one, asshole!”

Oh no. Women hated it when you called them old. “You don’t look a day over twenty seven!” Jon cried, panicked.

“Have you met a woman?”

“I had a grandmother?”

“I’m going back to bed,” Sasha James said.

Unfortunately, Jon knew that it would be very suspicious if they both skipped, so he forced Sasha into one of his suits that...looked much nicer on her than him, but whatever, and hustled them both to work. Now that the adrenaline had worn away and the sense of purpose in his holy mission had burned up with the cleansing flames, Jon found himself biting his nails in agony in the Underground.

They had to know. Someone must have caught them. Maybe there were secret CCTVs in the Institute. Maybe Sasha was going to rat him out - but she had helped, so wouldn’t she just be ratting out herself? Was she a double agent? Mr. Bouchard was never going to forgive him, no matter how nice he was and how much he seemed to like Jon to the point where he rather wished someone had given him the ‘Stranger Danger’ speech as a child so he would know what to do. Jon was going to go to jail, or worse - get fired.

Sasha, cooly sipping her coffee and looking somewhat fly in sunglasses and his suit, did not seem disturbed by any of this. Jon’s rapidly spiralling panic attack must have been obvious, because she casually flicked a finger on his forehead. Jon yelped with pain.

“Take it easy, mate. If they catch us, I’ll just say that the books made us do it.”

Jon scowled at her, rubbing his smarting forehead. “The books?”

“Sure.” She waved her fingers spookily as the Underground rattled forward into the heart of London. “Brainwashed us to do their evil bidding of -”

“Destroying them?”

“There’s a lot of arson Leitners,” Sasha James said sagely. “Trust me, this is just a normal day in Artifact Storage.” She clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and Jon fought a blush. “Don’t worry. We performed a public service, kiddo. St. Peter’s gonna give us a medal when we get to the pearly gates.”

“I’m an adult,” Jon said, scandalized. He had gray hair!

“Well, I guess, but I don’t know your name, so…”

Jon squinted at her. She squinted at him back.

“You’re thinking that if you don’t give me your name I can’t rat you out to the feds,” Sasha said flatly.

Jon pursed his lips.

Finally, he settled on, “You don’t rat me out to the feds and I won’t tell them that you’re in an illicit relationship with Mr. Stoker.”

“Mr. - how did - what!”

“It’s Jonathan Sims,” Jon said gruffly, crossing his arms. He was slightly hungover and his nerve were jittery and he had set fire to his workplace the previous night, but somehow Jon thought that his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest for a different reason. Somehow Jon felt as if his heart couldn’t stop thumping behind his sternum because Sasha James was staring at him, head cocked, as if he was a mystery she was interested in finding out. “That’s my name.”

Sasha James stared at him, as if surprised, before her face broke into a wide and happy smile. Jon hunched his shoulders up, embarrassed, faintly aware he was blushing. “It’s nice to meet you, Jonathan!” Then she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly. “And there is nothing illicit about me and Tim, and there is nothing between me and Tim at all, we are just friends, so get that out of your little head -”

The train rattled on towards the Magnus Institute, and towards the slight smell of smoke in the air.

*******

Sasha: are you coming 2 the pub w/us 2nite?

Sasha: come onnn you should comeee don’t feel awkwardddd

Sasha: I know you hate a) group settings b) drunk people c) Tim in a group d) drunk Tim and e) Tim drunk in a group but that’s no reason not to come!

Sasha: Tim is physiologically incapable of not adopting men 3-5 years younger than him it’s in his blood you can’t escape his affection

Sasha: or at least I find it funny so I’m not letting you

Sasha: Jonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Jon: Yes I’ll come, I need to talk to both of you.

Sasha: WAHOO

Sasha: wait

Sasha: really?

Sasha: did you commit ars*on again

Sasha: wait if you did don’t tell me the courts can request text transcripts

Jon: No, I just need your advice on an urgent matter.

Sasha: do you need to be drunk to do it

Jon: ...maybe.

Jon: ....Mr. Bouchard offered me the Head Archivist Job?

Jon: Which is stupid because I’ve worked here for barely four years and you’ve worked here for about ten years I think. And you’ve published five papers in parapsychological research. I know I helped you figure out that this place is a weird trauma mill but it was really mostly you. It’s completely ridiculous to promote me and I’m afraid it’s favoritism. For potentially heinous ends? This feels awful because it’s such an honor but I would never stop feeling stressed and guilty because I know so many more people (like you) are so much more qualified. Or qualified at all.

Sasha: holy shit

Sasha: ...do you remember the speech I gave you on stranger danger?

Jon: I’m afraid to mention this to Tim because he might beat up Mr. Bouchard for both my honor and yours.

Sasha: Jesus at this point I don’t even want a fucking job anymore. What bullshit. I’m never going to get promoted and I just need to accept that. This isn’t your fault, Jon, seriously, thank you for telling me.

Sasha: we can talk about this at the pub

Sasha: in private. Off the radar.

Jon: Looking forward to it :)

Jon: did I use the emoticon right?

Sasha: Yes, Jon, you did everything right.

#tma #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #sasha james-centric #this is an implied fix-it everybody lives fic #crack #comedy #absolutely nothing sad? in a MEG FIC?#sasha james #tim stoker #jon is based off me at a new job anxiously calling everyone 'mr'#rest assured sasha is trans but it just never came up #my writing

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your-eternal-muse · 5 years ago

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How Could I Hate Her?

Heather Series Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Bonus! Readers Card Confession Part 6

Summery: When checked on by the team, Reader confesses her guilt ridden feelings

Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of depressive episode, light swearing, mentions of medication, but other than that? Nothing that I can think of?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Heather Carmichael, Spencer Reid x eventual Female!Reader

Words: 3.1k

A/N: Y’all.....it is almost 4:30 in the morning. I started writing this around 9 pm. I am committed and I have Criminal Minds to keep me company so its fine. Also, there is much needed fluff in this chapter. I also tried writing in 3rd person, because there were things I wanted to show that I wouldn’t have been able to if I didn’t. I hope you like it! I should have a bonus episode out later today at some point when I wake from the dead, so, enjoy!

~~~~~

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since anyone on the team had seen or heard anything from y/n.

“I stopped by her place a couple days after, to try and talk to her. I couldn’t even tell if she was on the other side.” Derek remarked.

Aaron, Derek, JJ, Emily, David, and Penelope stood in her office, talking about y/n, and how worried they were.

They all just got back from a case.

Spencer had immediately gotten called away from work by Heather, who claimed it was an emergency. None of the others truly believed it was.

“As icky as it makes me feel, I can check to see if she is still in her apartment, I mean. If the place where she lives has cameras, I can easily check to see if she’s left.”

She looks to Hotch for permission.

He nods his head in approval.

“Has anyone else tried contacting her?”

“I’ve tried calling, but it goes straight to voicemail. She turned her phone off.” JJ chewed at her lip, her mind traveling to the worst possible scenario. A scenario she wouldn’t let happen. Not again.

“Poor kid. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through.” Rossi’s voice is soft, and he leans back against the wall, eyes not really connecting with anything.

“I know Spencer has tried calling her a couple times. But by the look on his face, I don’t think he got very far.” Prentiss paces back and forth, trying to keep herself busy so she doesn’t go kick down y/n’s door herself.

They all knew.

Derek couldn’t keep something like that to himself. And when he told the team, JJ stepped forward, and confessed that she knew. Spencer was in disbelief.

Y/n had come to JJ so often over the past couple of months, Will didn’t question it anymore. Y/n said watching Henry, and being around someone she doesn’t have to compete with helped.

She never really saw her smile like she used to, but JJ did see her relax, let her walls down. She thought y/n was getting somewhere. She was wrong. Some profiler she was.

“You should have seen her guys.” Derek had been the one to see her shut down before his eyes.

“She was shaking. She couldn’t stop crying, shaking. She was mortified that he had heard her. And then she just, stopped. She stopped shaking. The broken look on her face completely vanished. She didn’t say a word to me when she left. It was like she turned herself off.”

“Confessing your love for someone who then tells you they don’t love you the same can do that to a person.” Penelope says, typing away at her screens.

“No, it’s so much more than that.” JJ says, taking a seat in one of Garcias spinning chairs. “ Every time she would say something even remotely mean about Heather, or Spencer, she would shake her head, look up and smile. She shoves it down because she doesn’t want to be bothersome. That kind of burial of feelings can only end in an extreme.” JJ thinks back to every night, every tear shed at her house. How y/n would wipe her tears, shake her head and force a smile.

“I’m in.” Garcia chirps up from her desk, pulling up video footage of a hallway.

They all circle around, prying eyes eager to look inside the private life of their family, who is in desperate need of assistance.

“So, here she is, the day she left, about an hour after leaving the building.”

They watch the video as she walks down her to her door, tears streaming down her face. She takes her keys out, but before unlocking her door, she leans her forehead against the wood.

Her shoulders shake.

A collective sigh leaves all of them.

“And here I am fast forwarding a couple days.” People walk up and down the hallway, yet her door stays still. Until it opens. She taps a key and the video returns to normal, and a forlorn y/n exists, now clad in sweatpants and a cal tech sweatshirt.

“That’s Spencer’s sweatshirt.” JJ whispers, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Penelope fast forwards again, stopping it when y/n appears once again on the screen.

“Okay, she was gone for about, 2 hours and 43 minutes.”

Y/n is holding two bags, one in each hand, though neither of them are very full.

She disappears behind the door, and Penelope fast forwards again. Morgan can be seen a few times, but y/n doesn’t leave again.

“Oh my god. She left once, three days after and hasn’t been out since.” Penelope takes her glasses off, and wipes her face.

“Alright. We’re doing a wellness check. Y/n clearly needs some help right now, so help is what she is getting. Let’s go.”

The team all nodded, and off they went.

When they arrived, Hotch walked to the front desk, his badge already out. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. We’re here to do a wellness check on y/n y/l/n in apartment 112.”

The front clerk doesn’t question it, simply grabbing a set of keys and leading them down the hallway to an elevator.

Each person is in their own head, but when they appear outside of her apartment, their focus changes. It was about y/n now.

“Y/n, are you in there? Baby girl, can you let us in?”

They stand and listen for a shuffling of feet or the sound of a chair, but nothing.

Radio static.

Hotch nods to the man, and he unlocks her door, allowing the team into her apartment.

It’s dark.

That’s the first thing Derek notices as he walks forward. The second is how cold it is.

The third is the glass breaking underneath his boot.

His eyes land on the pile of shards beneath him, and the move to the book laying on the floor, and the broken mirror which still stands on her wall.

He’s trying not to profile her, but it’s hard.

She didn’t even want to look at herself.

The team walks through her apartment, taking in the abandoned bowls of half eaten food, the empty liquor bottles and faint smell of cigarette smoke.

The path leads them to the living room, where y/n is curled up under a blanket on her couch beneath an open window.

Derek walks over and shuts it, his heart aching at the sight before him.

Y/n clutches a pillow to her chest, her grip tight. Unfinished chinese sits in front of her, beside an ashtray filled with buds.

An empty bottle of medication lays on the ground next to her, and he prays to a god he stopped believing in years ago.

She’s mumbling in her sleep, and the team gathers around, varying versions of wet eyes.

Derek is the one to kneel beside her, and place a hand on her shoulder. He’s relieved when he hears her mumbles, feels the warmth beneath his fingers.

“Baby girl. Baby girl, I need you to wake up.” He knows she’ll feel cornered. He knows it’s a lot to wake up to. But he knows she needs this.

She stirs and her eyes open, cloudy and grey. They flick up to him and then around the room, taking in the sight.

She wants to cry.

She begins to move herself in a sitting position, and Rossi can’t help but notice how thin she’s gotten the last couple weeks. She looks tiny compared to Derek. He just wants to hold her, and never let her go.

JJ notices her lips are chapped, and the dark circles under her eyes. She turns and heads towards the kitchen for a glass of water.

“What are you all doing here?” Her voice is hoarse. She hasn’t spoken in days, unless you count the incoherent sentences she sobs at three in the morning.

Aaron wishes he had stepped in sooner. Her hands shake as she moves to brush hair out of her face. She was his daughter, even if not by blood. He doesn’t know how he couldn’t have seen this.

Emily notices the dry wet spots on her t-shirt, and the pillow that now rests in her lap. She bites her lip to keep her own tears at bay.

“Don’t you have more important things to do?” The words are laced with guilt and self-hatred. How can she possibly take them from a case that could be 10 times more important than her?

Derek runs a hand over her head, wishing he could take her pain away in the blink of an eye.

JJ appears with a glass of water.

“You’re family, y/n. We take care of our family.” Penelope falls to her other side, and grabs y/n’s hand, clasping it in between her own.

JJ moves a couple things on her coffee table, sitting down and handing her the glass of water.

Y/n takes it with her free hand, taking a sip from it.

“Sweetheart, when did you run out of medication?” Derek's voice is soft, it almost breaks near the end, but he holds out.

She sniffs, rubbing the back of her hand under her nose. “A couple weeks ago. They’re filled, I just haven’t….I couldn’t…”

She hands the glass of water back to JJ. Her fingers start tapping her thigh.

“Talk to us, y/n. We’re not going anywhere.” JJ starts to cry, but she can’t help it. The situation in which her friend was in, was dark. It was deep. She’s been on the road to where she is for months, and JJ didn’t do anything.

Y/n thought for a moment. About lying, saying she was fine, that she was coming into the office the next day, that she was over it. But she was tired. Tired of running. Tired of lying.

“I love him.” Her voice is wet, flem and saliva coating each word as it leaves her mouth. The sentence isn’t louder than a whisper.

She clears her throat, and grabs the glass back from JJ, taking a longer gulp.

Her head hurt.

No one speaks.

No one moves.

“I love him.” The tears flowing down her cheeks are different from the ones she’s shed the past couple months. They’re warmer, more full. It relieves the stinging behind her eyes a bit.

“I love him, and I can’t help but tell myself over and over how much better she is than me.” She turns her palm over in between Garcia’s and clutches it with every fiber of her being. “Every bad thing I’ve ever thought about myself is ringing through my ears, in her voice.” She chokes on her sobs, and the room is filled with the months of feelings building in her chest.

“I hate her.” The words fall from her tongue and her chest falls. A weight has been lifted.

“I hate her, and I hate that I hate her. Why should I? She’s pretty, she’s accomplished, she makes him happy.” She looks up at Derek, eye’s pleading. “She is everything, and has everything that I can never have or be. And it kills me.”

JJ takes the glass before it slips from her hands, and sets it down, mirroring Penelope and clutching y/n’s hand between hers.

Y/n leans into Derek, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her in for a tight embrace, resting his chin on her head.

She cries and cries, and finally after months, she breathes. Her tears stop and she lets the oxygen fill her lungs and she breathes.

For a moment, sniffles throughout the room are all that can be heard. And then Aaron speaks.

“Morgan, I think you should take y/n to go get her meds. A little sunlight and some time out of the house will do her some good.”

She retracts herself from Derek, a slight pink returning to her cheeks. She nods.

“And when you get back, I’ll help you shower.” JJ whispers rubbing her thumb over the back of her hand.

Another nod.

Penelope and JJ let go of her, and she stands.

Penelope notices that she’s wearing the same sweatshirt from the video.

Derek stands with her, one hand on the small of her back, the others holding hers protectively.

“Where are your shoes sweetheart? I don’t want you cutting yourself on the glass.”

“They’re in the kitchen somewhere. I kicked them off and didn’t notice where they landed.”

“Okay. We’ll just be careful, okay?”

Another nod.

The team moves as she does, not crowding her, but never being too far away.

Derek helps her get her shoes and coat on, and leads her out the door.

Once the door shuts, Hotch turns to the others. “Alright. JJ, Emily, start in her bedroom and bathroom. Laundry, bedding, the whole nine yards. Garcia, start in here. I would suggest going through her laptop to see if there's anything we should know about. I know you don’t like it, but in order to make sure she’s safe, we have to.”

The three women nod, and Penelope is already grabbing the laptop that lay at the end of the couch.

“I’ll work on cleaning the kitchen, and David,” He turns to Rossi, already rolling up his sleeves. “I’m sure she doesn’t have much food on hand, and she could probably use a home cooked meal.”

“Say no more. I’m on it.”

~~~~~

The car ride to the pharmacy was quiet.

I can’t say it wasn’t nice to get out of the house. I missed the light.

It was early February, so pink and red hearts decorated the storefront in preparation.

I hated the thought of valentines day during all of this. The thought of what he would be doing for her drove me insane.

It still makes my heart ache.

“What’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours, baby girl?”

I shift my focus, turning back to the driver's seat where Derek sat.

“Just thinking about how much I hate valentines day. It’s over commercialized and the guy who named it named it after himself, selfish prick.”

I see Derek chuckle. “That you are right about.”

I let a small smile slide across my face, and for once it’s not forced. I know not everything will be better right away. I know it’s gonna take time. But still.

It feels nice knowing I’m not alone.

We arrive, and he parks.

We sit for a minute in the silence, and his hand reaches over and takes mine in his grasp.

“I want you to know, that you are a million times better than Heather could ever wish to be. And any dude who doesn’t see that isn’t as smart as he appears.”

He turns his body, so he’s fully facing me. “If you ever feel like this again, I want you to call me right away. Even if that voice inside your head is telling you it’s nothing, call me anyway. You’re not alone, y/n. And I will do anything and everything it takes to make you see that.”

I squeeze his hand, and nod. “I promise, Derek.”

“Good. Now let's go get you your medication.”

I nod, letting go of his hand, and releasing the seat belt, and climbing out of the car.

The pharmacist greeted me with my name and a smile, handing me the white paper bag that held a refill that was long overdue.

Before leaving, my eyes caught something inside a soda cooler at the front.

Derek stops and follows my eye. “What is it, love bug?”

I point to a purple bottle. “When I was a kid, and I had a bad day at school, or life just got to be too much, my mom and I would go to the movies, and watch the most cringy, bad looking movie they were showing. We would sit in the back and eat our weight in popcorn while making fun of everything. And she would always get a large grape fanta for us to share.”

He smiles, and steps forward, opening the door, and grabbing a bottle. “I think this constitutes a grape fanta than.”

It’s getting easier to smile at him.

He buys it, and we head back out to the car.

We sit, and he waits until the pill is down my throat, followed by fizzy grape soda. It's tart and sweet at the same time, and I lick my lips of the stickiness.

The music is a little louder on the drive back.

When we enter the door, the first thing I notice is the smell. It smells like Italian, and the best Italian at that.

I walk into the kitchen and I see Rossi, towel over his shoulder and wooden spoon in his hand.

He smiles when he sees me. “Ah, principessa, come. Taste. I know pesto cavatappi is a favorite of yours.”

He ushers me forward, holding out the spoon with a bit of sauce on the end.

I lean forward, capturing the end with my tongue.

“Mmm.” I lick my lips, and chuckle a bit. “It’s really good.”

He smiles, setting the spoon down. “Good.” He wraps his arms around me, and pulls me into his embrace. He kisses the top of my head. “I love you, kiddo. Don’t you ever forget that.”

I smile into his chest. “I won’t.”

“Good. Now go get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready.”

I nod, setting my soda down on the counter, and walking through my apartment.

It doesn’t even look like mine. It’s lighter and clean, and every shadow that played tricks on my mind are no longer there.

I look around at the apartment, taking note of how much was done in the time I was gone.

The broken mirror no longer hangs on the wall, mocking me. My couch is back to its original position against the wall, and my windows are closed, the curtains open, letting all the natural afternoon light in.

My laptop is set up and a playlist of feel good songs is playing softly through its speakers.

I can’t help myself.

I start to cry, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, looking around at the room.

How could I have not seen this?

“Oh no, you’re crying. What is it? Can I fix it? What can I do? Tell me what I can do?” Penelope rushes over, her hands running over my arm.

JJ, Emily, and Hotch enter at her exclamation. JJ is holding a fresh set of clothes for me.

“They’re good tears, Pen, they’re good.”

The feeling in my chest is warm.

They move around me, hands coming to gently grasp at me.

“I just forgot that I have a family. I don’t know how but I did.”

Aaron smiles at me.

“And man does it feel good to be reminded.”

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#spencer reid #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds series #cm series #cm #heather #conan gray #song fic

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cadomoisspokenfor · 4 years ago

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Legion Rewatch Notes,

Chapter 8:

The Revolution

Aw man, how unfortunate what’s happened to Clark. I feel soooooooo bad. I mean he was just humble div 3 agent, doing his job, gaslighting marginalized individuals, participating in a genocide. How cruel of those bad bad mutants to injure him so badly. He was only actively about to kill David. What could he possibly have done to deserve any of this?

In other words, the Clark propaganda is not working on me this time. At all.

Maybe don’t participate in a genocide? Idk :/

I normally hate when people type in the passive aggressive way I have been for the past few paragraphs, but goddamn, Clark deserves it.

He’s not quite as damaged... but he’s kind’ve like old David here, from the over-medicated living with Amy timeline. Again, not quite as damaged as that though.

Clark considers mutants a “threat to democracy.” 🙄 “Moral panic” I guess?

“The second I walk outta this room, i’m going to war.” There’s that word again. Clark could just... not, and they’d probably have more time to figure out how to safely eradicate Farouk. But because he doesn’t and David busies himself with peace treaties, Farouk escapes and continues to be a problem for the next year. Clark has a family. A husband and child who love him to death. And he chooses war over them. This pattern will repeat in other character. Technically this isn’t even the start of it.

Suit change, new cane, same Clark. This really doesn’t change anything, does it? He could go through the rest of the series in the suit he wore before and it wouldn’t make difference. The valiant hero dressing for an expected victory over their long time (relatively) rival, only to be stopped immediately by an unforeseen development. This pattern will repeat... tragically.

Considering Farouk!David woulda just dusted them, it’s probably nice for his friends to see the real him is much less violent. He just stacks em like a Jenga Tower, no need for anything more.

Also, Wilhelm scream from one of the soldiers.

He’s also talking strangely. In an almost too calm voice. Measured. He talks like this a few other times, but I think those times have sadder context. Maybe they reflect on this moment. He talks like how he talked when Farouk was mind-melded with him, but his intentions aren’t evil this time around. I guess this is just his “fully in control” voice.

Clark’s literally shaking where he stands.

The zoom in to Clark’s blind eye is reminiscent to previous zoom in’s to Walter’s foggy eye. I guess Clark has taken on the role of Walter, artificially. Makes sense since he’s now the main D3 representative/antagonist like Walter was before.

“I don’t care if you save me, or the world, if you don’t save yourself.” David will eventually choose himself over the world, and Syd. And Syd will hunt him for it. Goes to show how much things change in s2.

“You know the most dangerous thing about schizophrenia?”

“You’re not-“

“The most dangerous thing is believing... you don’t have it! That’s the trick, the mind killer, your disease convinces you you don’t have it. So, for example, one day in the hospital you meet a girl and she has some friends, and they tell you you’re not sick. You have superpowers. And more than anything you wanna believe it because that means you’re not crazy! That means you can fall in love and live happily ever after. But you know if you believe it, if you surrender to the hope and you’re wrong, then... you’re never coming back.”

“I’m here. I’m real. The power is real. You gotta accept it, otherwise we can’t move on.”

“I was in Clockworks for six years. Drugged, doing nothing. Contributing nothing. And now, finally I can be useful! I can help! Don’t you get it? I am so sick of myself. This only works if it’s not about me.”

“David...”

So... that’s a lot. David believes being crazy means he’s not allowed to fall in love, or be happy. He said the same sentiment to Amy before Clockworks. This whole season and this episode especially push David into his full “I’m not insane, I won’t believe you if you tell me otherwise” mindset. At the very least that’s the stakes we’re playing with. If David fully gives into the hope, even for a moment, he believes there’s no possibility for recovery. No possibility for love or happiness. Why even try after that? It’s life or death for him. “If the choice is between life and death, I choose life.”

I know this is all already known and talked about and circulated 100’s of times over in various fan circles, but it’s probably the most important line for David’s character (the speech, not the Farouk quote). It’s very ableist, yes, but at least in the moment it’s coming from someone who’s just being too hard on themselves, and not ya know, being actively validated by the show.

2 episodes ago David talked about being worried about an “invincible” feeling. The dangers of mania.

We also know from that episode that David is more at peace in a calm, responsibilityless setting (with Syd) than he is out in the real world. David’s gonna take on a ton of responsibility, some of it’s gonna draw him away from Syd. At multiple moments throughout the show David has known his own mental health better than any of the others, and even warned them about potentially dangerous slopes he could fall down without their help. Despite this, David is pushed further down a path he tells them is dangerous and is still blamed for what happens in the end. I feel like Oliver’s line from ep4 is relevant here again, “We are the root of all our problems. Our anger, our confusion, our fear of things we don’t understand.” Everyone wants David to be something other than... David. A hero, a god, there projected image of a perfect partner. Not just... David.

Man, the more I realize about David’s self-awareness in s1 the madder I am at Syd for saying all that ableist stuff to him in s2 as if he wasn’t already down on himself 24/7. “It never occurred to you that you’re the problem not the solution?” It’s occurred to him like 5 times by now and has been shut down by you at least 3 of those times. I don’t understand.

What’s strange is... to my recollection David doesn’t believe he’s invincible at the end of s2. Or that he’s not sick.

“Saint David.”

“I’m not saying that. I make mistakes.”

“Say you’re gonna let them kill me if I don’t let them turn me into something different. Something easy. Something clean.” He sounds sinister here, but it is an indication that he knows he’s not perfect. In fact it sounds like he’s trying to appeal to Chap 1 Syd’s mentality. Your disorder is what “makes you you.”

So what’s the message here?

“We can’t just kill people. Or is that who we are now?”

“That’s who they are.”

The justification for killing here is that they’ll kill them if they don’t. Div 3 will kill Summerland if Summerland doesn’t kill Div 3, is what I meant. David has a similar justification for killing Shadow King in s2. Well, he has a LOT of justifications for it, but that’s one of them. Syd doesn’t hear it then either. She does attempt to kill David herself though. I don’t quite understand where the line is.

“He was gonna kill you, twice.”

“With that kind of thinking wars would never end.”

So... he shoulda just talked to The Shadow King when they were both powerless? Talking is what ultimately ends their fight in s3... hmm...

Cary is more humane to their POW than Melanie and Ptonomy are.

The show doesn’t necessarily say it was Cary’s fault for leaving Kerry. Either way though, Kerry needs some space.

Melanie calls David a “world breaker” and outright says now that he knows that’s what he is, div 3 doesn’t stand a chance. I suppose... knowing that... is why they so readily team with Farouk. They stood no chance otherwise. Even then, at least hide him away till after the intervention.

David’s floating meditation pose is seen more in s2 and A LOT more in s3.

He puts the onus of ending the war on Div 3. As if to say, “If things get violent again, it’ll be on you, not us.”

People keep talking about “gods” “waking up” and “realizing they don’t have to listen to us/them anymore.”

When Clark says it David’s first response is, “Isn’t that the history of the world?” But it’s a red herring (or something else) cause he follows it up with, “People of different nations, different languages, learning to live together?”

Clark is afraid if mutants gain power they won’t show humans mercy or equality. This is a common belief among fascist. The “they’ll treat us like we treat them” argument. Only it’s rarely self-aware, and it isn’t here either. Clark genuinely believes he’s not doing anything wrong. It’s all somehow in “self defense.”

Ah, so Farouk and Syd are connected psychically. He entered her mind whenever she entered David’s. He psychically affects her at multiple points throughout the series.

Syd here is convinced to help The Shadow King by The Shadow King. And while he’s wearing a mask at that. Yeah yeah, this pattern will repeat. But still, Syd gives in relatively quickly here. Perhaps she just... doesn’t fully trust Summerlands capabilities? They are legitimately trying to get rid of Farouk, but Farouk has proven time and time again how dangerous he is. Or maybe the “unmake soup” thing is just that convincing to Syd.

Clark’s still standoffish, but he’s slowly becoming more cooperative.

Syd rolled a 4 on that hero speech. She needed at least a 7.

I legitimately NEVER noticed before that Syd secretly turns on the lab camera feed for Clark to watch. They weren’t trying to show him that.

David gets a chance to look back at his whole life and recontextualize everything.

David straight up halts Farouk’s theme. If Clockworks Podcast is right and he can hear that whenever Farouk shows up, this would be evidence of it. Alternatively, he was halting Farouk, and the music halting was for the audience. A fun subversion of expectations.

David describes him and Farouk as, “The Sun and Moon.”

Division 3 sees it. The monster they saw on infrared. Clearly a separate entity from David Haller. Clearly of a different disposition than David Haller as David Haller has acted very differently and non-hostile compared to when they saw him roaming those HQ halls. The monster and David are not the same. They see who their real enemy is now.

It seems evident there was no chance of David beating Farouk on his own here. I wonder why? Was it true? Is Farouk just too ingrained in his mind? Cary said he was like a, “Computer virus. Learning his systems, bypassing his defenses.” Maybe Syd remembered that, and that’s why she believed Farouk. Cause Cary had already said something similar before.

Clark could've escaped, but he stayed, then tried to help fight Farouk.

I feel really sad Oliver got possessed. It never occurred to me before he could even tell Melanie he remembered her. Melanie’ll just go on thinking he never remembered her for a year.

And thus it’s established. There are “good mutants” and there are “bad mutants.”

No one checks on Ptonomy :(

The Lenny that’s talking to Oliver here is still just Farouk.

Did the orb go back as far as it could? Or was this time specifically chosen? If it was chosen, it was probably because it’s very soon after Farouk had been expelled from David’s head, and before the big race for his body starts.

#legion fx

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taeminstetrislips · 3 years ago

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SCHOOL TRIP SERIES - ITALY PT. 3

Florence

After a bus ride full of UNO games, the group finally arrives in Florence. The entrance is announced by your professor at the head of the bus and in response, the entire group goes quiet. The occasional sigh of someone ogling the sights out their window is the only noise heard besides your professor. He begins reviewing the brief history you learned about the Medici family and their impact on art in the Italian Renaissance. Your first destination would not exist if it weren’t for them: The Boboli Gardens behind Palazzo Pitti.

Once you are all let off, you are lead through the beginning with narration from you professor almost like a tour guide. He describes Florence as being one of the largest contributors to Italian art with its many guilds. After a good thirty minutes, you are set free to wander. You easily break loose from the group and start to wander over to something that caught your eye earlier. Whether or not the rest of your friends followed, you didn’t know. Something was summoning you to this tunnel-like path, completely made of trees bending and folding into one another above you. You look at the perspective in front of you and take note that if you were a painter, you’d love to try and capture the beauty you saw before you. Letting the weight of your head fall backward, you squint into the sunlight streaming in between the leaves above you. It isn’t until then that you slowly turn 180 and catch Jaehyun looking at you. You let out a small laugh as a sign of slight embarrassment, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. His small smile only grows into a grin before he walks closer.

As if in slow motion, he walks over to you and the wind picks up. It gently tosses his hair into his eyes and across his forehead as he speaks. “I saw you take off on your own and wanted to make sure you were okay. Looks like you found a pretty cool place.” Once he reaches you, his hand stretches out toward the side of your face and retreats with a leaf he pulled from your hair.

“Oh, thanks.” You say in response to the gesture and respond to his last statement with, “Yeah, I saw this before on the walk and knew I wanted to check it out before everyone else got here for pictures.”

“Fair,” he responds, continuing the walk through the tunnel toward the other opening where you are let out into yet another stylized garden with statues whose light and shadow of depth changes as the clouds pass over the sun. The two of you take time to silently observe the statues, walking calmly and enjoying each other’s presence. Although, you can’t help but notice the tension you feel in your chest as you occasionally sneak a peek at him or make fleeting eye contact. One time, you catch him looking at you first and he holds your gaze for a second, his eyes widening as if he was scared to be caught before slowly relaxing and turning away with a smile on his face. That dimple returns.

You get distracted by a buzzing in your pocket. Checking your phone, you see a text from Johnny that the rest of the group is by the lemon trees. You share this information with Jaehyun only to realize that neither of you remember how to get there. The two of you laugh together as you quicken your pace and try to navigate your way back to the group. At one abrupt turn, you are cut off by your professor strolling down a pathway. He looks at you suspiciously and you wonder why for a moment before realizing that this is the second time you were caught with Jaehyun somewhat out of breath away from others. You try to pretend that slightly dirty thought didn’t cross your mind and ask your professor if he knows which way it is to the lemon trees. He points you down the right path and you are on your way to the rest of the group.

It isn’t long after you unite with the group that you are all pulled away and driven to the Accademia Gallery. The goal is to see Michaelangelo’s David even though it is going to be very crowded. When you arrive, the crowd is so large that you all try your best to push through without knocking someone’s camera or phone out of their hands. Finding your way to an opening, you pull the first wrist closest to yours through the crowd to the backside of the sculpture. You see that you’ve gotten Johnny and his fancy camera. He’s talked about his interest in photography before and you remember how excited he was to get to photograph such a famous piece. Once he gets a good angle and a couple good shots, he comes back to you to thank you for getting an open spot. You ask to see the photos and he shows you.

“They’ll be better with editing. Honestly, that’s just as important for a photographer as the actual taking the picture itself,” he explains. “Oh my God, do you remember prof talking about this dude’s weak ankles?”

You laugh at the memory, “Yeah, I guess they look kinda weak?”

“Dude needs to hit the gym,” Johnny says, clearly with excessive sarcasm. However, some middle-aged American tourist lady nearby feels offended at the joke and shoots the two of you a death glare.

You point her out to Johnny with a small nudge of your elbow and nod in her direction. Once he’s seen her, you continue to poke fun at the proportions of the body, including parts that may not be appropriate for public conversation. This pushes Johnny to say, “ Can’t relate,” in a very deadpan voice loud enough for the woman to hear. She audibly scoffs in disgust at him, while you jab him in the side with your elbow while trying not to laugh. He pushes you gently in return, but you’re caught off guard and lose balance, almost directly falling into the woman. Now it’s your turn to glare at Johnny.

Just to change things up, you and Johnny begin a very educated discussion about how the proportions are exaggerated for perspective, how the symbol of David was actually a symbol for the city of Florence at the time, and the time when he was attacked by a man with a hammer, etc. etc. Basically, you were throwing all the facts out there that you knew until, finally, the woman walked away. Satisfied, you break through to the end of the crowd and scan the room for your friends. After strolling for a bit, you see Xiaojun just in a trance looking at the drapery on a female statue. “How’s it going?” you ask, somewhat startling him.

“Wow. Just- this is so- wow.” He manages.

You can’t help but laugh, “Very articulate. I like your review,” you tease. “Is this your favorite piece here?”

“So far, yeah.”

“Is there a gift shop here? Maybe we can get you a little replica.”

He gives you a small glare before turning back to the piece in front of him. “There has to be a gift shop somewhere nearby, we can go look if you want?” You nod in agreement. Shortly after, Renjun shows up followed by Sungchan.

Renjun asks, “What are you guys up to?”

You respond, “We were thinking of trying to find a gift shop somewhere nearby to pick up some souvenirs, wanna come?” Renjun agrees, then looks to Sungchan. “I’m down for anything as long as we can eat after,” he replies.

With that, Xiaojun takes on the responsibility of finding a place nearby. Once you arrive, the store says it’s a “gift store” but inside are not the museum keepsakes one might expect. Instead, there are a bunch of knick knacks and jewelry. But you all agree that you’ve made it this far and might as well check it out.

You wander through the scarves and stuffed toys before turning around and discovering the jewelry behind you. Renjun reaches out to a pair of earrings that had caught your eye and hold them up to the side of your face.

“How are they?” you ask.

“Really pretty! You should get these,” he says. You take them from his hand and check the price. It’s a little more than you want to spend and you think that you’d better save your money to buy gifts for your family or friends instead of yourself.

“They cost a little too much. Shame. They’re very pretty.” Renjun simply smiles in response with understanding. You don’t have much time to be upset before you’re distracted by a call from Johnny asking where you are.

“I’ve tried calling Sungchan AND Xiaojun AND Renjun. Jaehyun and I already left the museum,” he says on the other end of the line.

“We did too. We’re at a gift store right now but I think we’re going to go for food soon,” Sungchan interjects with agreement in the distance, “Want to just meet us there?”

“Sure.”

“Any ideas on where to eat?”

“Yeah, Jae and I found a spot we want to try out. I’ll send you the address.”

“Great. See you there,” you say before ending the call and rounding up the gang before making your way to the restaurant.

Masterlist

//Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. I'm in grad school now so updates will take a while. But, I haven't given up on the series yet so let's keep it going y'all!

#nct #nct scenarios #nct drabbles #moodboard #schooltrip!AU #nct 127 #wayv #nct dream #Italy #johnny suh #Jaehyun #xiaojun #renjun #sungchan

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nostalthicc · 5 years ago

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white lies | jeff wittek

jeff wittek x reader

summary: jeff told trisha about y/n’s hidden past and trisha did was she did best

warning: angst, mentions of miscarriage, sexual assault, and abortion, mistakes(unedited)

2.1k words

when she first saw the video y/n didn’t know what to think, she was upset but also growing extremely worried about the outcome of the leaked information. She already knew who was the cause of the spill, she had only told a four, maybe 5 people in all of her life but now the entire world knew and it wasn’t from her own two lips.

many of her friends have already started trying to reach out to y/n but she shut down all of her devices immediately after she finished trisha’s video. y/n didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment, she didn’t want to explain why she kept everything a secret for so long, why were kept it a secret from her friends for so long. she knew ignoring the situation would only make it escalade more than it already was but she didn’t even have to confidence to look at herself in the mirror without breaking down into a million pieces.

y/n tried to calm herself down as the time to go to david’s neared, she wanted nothing more than to skip but the plans had been in place for a while now and she didn’t want to mess up someone’s vlog by her absence. also, y/n didn’t want them to send a search party to her door, it would look less suspicious if she went on with her life as normal. she needed her friends to think she was okay, this entire mishap hadn’t affected her in the slightest. so despite her mood y/n got ready to meet up with her peers, she wished leaving the security and comfort of the mountain of blankets would be the hardest thing to do tonight but she knew more was to come. y/n figured she looked absolutely hideous from all the tears, snot and sweat on her face, her suspicions were, in fact, correct, she sat down in front of the vanity mirror trying to fix everything she could to look somewhat content and not a red-eyed, pink, puffy mess.

when arriving at her destination y/n was blessed to know the entire vlog squad was present at tonight’s gathering, plus a few extra people joined for the evening. many conversations ceased as their eyes fell on the y/n as she made her way in the living area, y/n felt highly compelled to run and hide away from all the stares and murmurs but those thoughts quickly dispersed when she felt natalie’s warm embrace. she had stopped whatever she was doing for david to comfort her friends, she had been trying to reach her all day. natalie was one of the only people in LA who y/n had told about the whole deal, natalie knew how bad she was hurting and wanted to help her as best as she could. everyone else soon followed in suit, leading to a series of hugs and embraces.

after a few tears and drinks, y/n was ready to tell her friends the real, unedited version of her miscarriage:

y/n grew up in and out of foster homes most of her life since she was five until she was seventeen years old. the second to last foster home she ever stayed in was a living nightmare, everything seemed perfect when she got there- the parents were fine but it was them, it was their twenty-year-old son who raised hell in y/n’s life. everything happened at a slow pace, it was many months after she had joined their household had his abuse started. he began with the teasing here and there, nothing anyone would note as odd or out of the ordinary but shortly after the teasing started his jokes became aimed at her age and body. y/n didn’t notice the danger in his switch of attitude at the time, she thought it was still harmless, brother-sister, teasing- she didn’t know any better. that was the first and only mistake she got to make before he touched her and impregnated the poor girl. her foster parents were completely horrified, they filled y/n’s young mind with lies and storied as to why she must abort the baby, telling her she would have lost the baby regardless of the situation. the last thing they ever did for y/n before kicking her out was taking her to the clinic for her abortion they forced her to get. they deceived y/n’s mind into thinking the right thing while they really took away her voice and choice in her own body.

when y/n first came out with her storytime on the events in her foster home on her youtube channel, she told the platform it was a miscarriage with a man who didn’t want to take responsibility for the baby. although it was a lie, the loss of her baby was like a miscarriage to y/n, she had no choice but to listen to these people who were in control of her life at the time. that abortion was a loss, a loss y/n continues to feel to this day. there were many times she wanted to share the truth about her story on the internet and with her friends but every time she sat down in front of the camera she chickened out before even getting halfway through the video.

to her surprise, all her friends super supportive of y/n- they offered to help her get through the mess no matter what and back her up against trisha and her fans. she finally felt the impact of having people who truly care about her and actually have her best interest at heart. they all decided to ignore the issue at hand and get y/n’s mind off her shitty weekend and have some fun. and she truly was enjoying herself until she saw him walk in, his eyes darted around everywhere clearly looking for the girl but natalie was quick to drag her outside before he did find y/n.

“y/n/n, be honest with me, okay?” natalie said, grabbing a hold of her friends shoulders. “do you want to talk to him right now? because i can get david to kick him out.” she couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going through y/n’s head, nothing could compare to this low point in her life and natalie didn’t know if seeing jeff would help of hurt her. but her worried soon faded away when y/n nodded her head, not a quiver of doubt hidden in her eyes.

y/n had gone to natalie before she told jeff about the abortion, she wanted advice, she wasn’t sure if telling him was a good or bad idea. natalie helped her weigh the pros and cons of jeff knowing the full story and the pros seemed to breakthrough. the conversation went for hours and led to a level of trust neither of them thought they would reach so soon in their relationship, it allowed jeff to open up to y/n about his rough past as well. they stayed up all night talking to each other, making a pact to keep each other’s secrets through any bump they went but y/n couldn’t quite figure out what she had done to him for jeff to exploit this type of information- to trisha of anyone else.

she watched as natalie scrambled away into the loud house. to say y/n was terrified would be an understatement, she had no idea how this conversation was going to go with all her emotions bottled up as they were. her heart rate picked up when she saw jeff making his way to where she was planted, a million more emotions flooded y/n in the moment. part of her wanted to run into his arms and never let go and the other wanted to yell and scream in his face until her voice gave out.

y/n raised her gaze to meet the eyes of jeff, his features plagued with a guilty expression as he approached the girl. he never meant for any of this to happen, he loved her and would never do anything intentionally to hurt her, he just hoped y/n remember’s that as well. deep down she did know but she was masked by the hurt and pain of his so seemed betrayal.

“why?” she croaked, speaking before jeff couldn’t even try to apologize. “what did i do?” she was at a loss of words, nothing seemed like the right thing to say. “what did i do for you to do this to me?” she raised, raising her palm to collide with his chest, over and over again. it didn’t hurt and even if it did jeff wouldn’t have dared stop her, he understood she needed to get this out, all the anger and frustration.

jeff couldn’t bear listening to her distorted cries, the guilt flooding into his body was beginning to become over overbearing for jeff to handle. this wasn’t supposed to happen- this mess wasn’t meant to play out this way. when jeff told trisha about y/n’s past he thought it was a safe, inclosed conversation, he thought he could trust her because she was telling him her own assault story. everyone but jeff seemed to notice trisha had it out for y/n but jeff apparently, if he would have known he would have never told her personal information. he wished he hadn’t had been so blind and just kept his mouth shut, he opened the door to his own girlfriend’s misery. jeff wished he could take the entire thing back but even he knew that was impossible and he had to show y/n how sorry he was.

y/n did believe jeff, but she was too overrun with emotions to even process his explanation any farther than the surface, she was having a hard time looking past it. he broke her trust and it really fucking hurt her.

y/n choked on another sob before sliding to the ground, jeff was quick to catch her limp body in his arms. although she wasn’t ready to let him back in, y/n needed the comfort at the moment. no longer was it about the lies or her past, it was about the pain, the hurt her past held over her and she needed the support. they stayed like that for a while, jeff holding y/n, whispering sweet nothings into her ear until she calmed down. as her breathing steadied and the tears stopped y/n pulled away from his warmth, sending a shiver through the both of them.

“i need another drink for this.” y/n sighed, throwing her hand onto her forehead. she knew she was too sober to be going through this and hopefully it would help calm her down. y/n set out towards the door but was stopped by jeff’s hand on her forearm, her gaze fell down to where he was touching her. she didn’t trust herself to look him in the eyes.

“y/n/n, a-are we okay.” jeff questioned softly, his own voice close to breaking. he couldn’t fathom a world without y/n, his entire world was y/n and he couldn’t believe he fucked up so bad- again. y/n finally met his eyes, jeff’s eyes boring into her own, the expression on her face begged him not to ask, she didn’t want to answer his question. y/n wanted to forgive him, go back to the way things were but whenever she looks at him she sees pain- a pain she doesn’t need in her life right now.

at that then moment, jeff knew, he knew the answer but he needed to hear it from y/n. “i think we should take a break, jeff.” y/n crocked out, her heartbreaking when his hand dropped from her arm. “i need time to figure out what i’m going to do with myself before i can even begin to think about us.” she was starting to learn everything went smoother when she just told the truth, no matter how hard it ached. “it’s not because i don’t love you, i probably always will but i can’t ignore all this because you hurt me. i need time to heal.”

y/n left jeff standing in the grass, daggers shooting through his heart. he was going to wait, no matter how long, he was going to wait until her wounds were healed.

#jeff wittek imagine #jefft wittek #jeff wittek x reader #david dobrik #vlog squad #vlog squad imagine #toddy smith #jason nash #zane hijazi #scotty sire #Josh Peck #erin gilfoy #natalie mariduena #carly incontro

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capnjay21 · 5 years ago

Text

A House is Never Still 4/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: and here is chapter four! thank you so much for all the support so far, this chapter actually has one of my favourite sequences I’ve written for this fic. but I’m not telling which it is!

again, heaps and piles and many fancy vases full of gratitude for @hollyethecurious for creating this amazing aesthetic, without which this fic would not exist.

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

starting a tiny taglist since I got a request for one, so I am ~tentatively~ tagging a handful of people I think might want to read this - NO obligation to, and feel free to drop me a message to say hell nah if you would prefer! I won’t be offended in any way, shape or form!

@snowbellewells @carpedzem @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl

AO3 | one | two | three

-/-

4 – an unearthly hand

Present Day

The clouds parted for the first time since Killian’s return to Storybrooke on the day he brought Regina to Brooke House, lifting the feeling of grey that had cast its blanket over the town. For days, it had warmed itself in open doorways, prowled after townsfolk around street corners and crept beneath windowsills, and Killian was relieved to be granted something of a reprieve from the fog of autumn in New England.

The house stood, as it had the day before, in the north woods just a brisk, ten-minute walk away from the well-trodden track of the White Pine trail. He didn’t need the faded pieces of string to guide his path to the house anymore, and it had become so present in his impression of the town that he had forgotten that Brooke House, as it looked at that moment, had not always been there.

Regina had stopped twenty paces from the door, expression unreadable but for her parted lips.

It seemed almost unusual to see it in the sparkling sunlight of the morning, like something had been taken right out of it. Here it was white brick and rotted wood and barren, where at night it positively brimmed with something far more than any one person could comprehend. Even at a shell of its normal, terrible self, Regina had taken a little time to process.

“It really is here,” she had said finally. “How about that.”

She said how about that the same way you would say it if you found out an old classmate had gone on to become a movie star, or you discovered your local grocery store was lifting its embargo on branded products.

Not like a house that was sometimes there, sometimes not there, was today, decidedly, there.

It had been a bit more of a laborious journey than he was used to, but Killian’s Chevelle could only take them so far and he had a lot of equipment to bring with him today, cramming everything he could as delicately as possible into his rucksack. Regina, too, had brought a duffle bag full of materials, and Killian could spot the heavy corner of her book of shadows poking out from within, begging to be noticed. The previous times he had visited Brooke House he hadn’t been properly prepared, but this time around Killian was determined to leave the house with something he could quantify, rather than just the deep, sick dread that had left with him every other night.

He had entered the house ahead of her, the novelty of its return long since worn away, and moved into the living room just to the right of the hallway. It was far brighter in the light of day, the long, Victorian windows allowing a brilliant glow from the outside, and Killian could now even spot a few holes near the top of the front wall where the mortar had crumbled away, as dapples of sunlight trickled directly in from above painting yellow specks on the floorboards. Even still, he was not entirely comfortable being there. He walked twice around the edge of the room, every unexpected creak making his heart lurch uncomfortably into his mouth, and even once whispered Emma’s name out into the dust.

Nothing stirred.

Today it was bricks, and rotted wood, and bare.

He was just setting his camera atop its tripod when Regina finally entered, the heels of her boots clicking loudly on the old wood.

“It’s like walking back into high school,” she commented drily, clearly taking in the discarded scarf, the Apollo chocolate bar wrapper. “Is that my Ouija board?”

She looked almost indignant, as if Brooke House were an old friend who had borrowed a CD and never bothered to return it, but Killian wanted her attention focused elsewhere.

“Here, come and feel this.”

He led her by the hand (amid protests) to the centre of the room, a ring of dust slightly newer than the rest just barely visible on the floor. It was the place he had been standing the night prior, when Emma had dug her nails sharply into the back of his jacket.

“Palms out. Doesn’t it feel colder here than the rest of the room?”

Regina looked unconvinced. “Maybe a little.”

“It is,” Killian insisted. “I’m sure of it. Stay right there.” He darted back to his rucksack and pulled out two identical aluminium rods, bent at a right angle six inches from one of the ends. When he returned, he held them out to Regina so she could hold the shorter end, and although she pursed her lips in displeasure, obligingly she took them. “Hold them loosely, like this.” He adjusted her grip to match.

Regina looked unamused. “And what, in God’s name, are these?” She arched an eyebrow. “I better not get struck by lightning.”

Killian returned to where he had been squatting by the camera, tilting the tripod so it could capture the spot Regina was standing in. On the infrared display, she was a warm scarlet and gold storm.

“They’re dowsing rods.”

“You’re joking.”

“Couldn’t be more serious. Hold them steady – like that.” Regina reluctantly obliged. “Tell me if they move.”

Killian had experienced limited success with dowsing in the past – it had been shown to him by a farmer in Iowa who had used it to find buried metals and ores underneath the ground, and admittedly actually had a lot to show for the results. Killian himself had been sceptical, and given how intermittent his own successes were, there was no way to tell if they could be attributed to any real sense of divination or sheer blind luck. Still, he wanted to throw everything in his arsenal at Brooke House.

“I don’t have to tell you about the ideomotor response, do I?” Regina said flatly. “Unconscious involuntary movement. Dowsing is bullshit.”

“Says the woman brewing potions in her living room,” Killian shot back. “I mean it – even if it’s a little, tell me if they move.”

Satisfied with the positioning of the camera, he plugged in his tablet and left it set to record before returning to his rucksack. After some deliberation, he reached for the electro-magnetic field reader he had tried to cushion in the bag with a thick scarf. It was blocky and old, and looked like something that had been lifted from a 60s Star Trek set, but it had become one his most valued instruments over the years.

Regina had been craning her neck to see what he was holding, and once she realised, she let out a noise of frustration.

“Killian, if you wanted an EMF reader I would’ve brought mine – at least it’s not a hundred years old. And that’s clearly a single axis meter.” Single axis meters were notoriously more difficult to use than a tri-axis, as they required significant coordination in order to measure the information recorded across all three axis ,while also trying to move the instrument to gather more data; a tri-axis allowed for much more detailed data acquisition. You could only point Killian’s meter at one thing at a time, slowly, whereas Regina’s could probably handle something far more intricate.

Even so, Killian had far more faith in his own device.

“Believe me,” he informed her, “this is better.”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“Where did you get all this stuff anyway?”

“Ebay, mostly.”

She scoffed. “You look like a quack.”

Killian laughed. Quack was probably the most positive way Regina had ever described him. “And you’re listening to a quack,” he pointed out, “so what does that make you?” He glanced over to see her still standing where he had left her, holding the two dowsing rods outstretched. It didn’t look like they had moved. “Let me know if they cross.”

He was just tweaking with the settings on the EMF reader when Regina carried on.

“Where’s David today, anyway?”

She said ‘where’s David today’ as if she were enquiring which films her old school friend had starred in, or when branded products would be making their way onto the shelves at her local supermarket. Mild disinterest and a characteristic neutrality. She didn’t fool Killian for a second.

She carried on. “I was sure we’d be joined by the witless wonder in no time.”

Killian had sent David just one text message last night, a simple I’m sorry. David had read it, and not replied. He had to remind himself it was better off this way.

“He’s… busy.”

Regina looked surprised. “It’s been three days. How have you already fallen out with him?”

Killian tried to make his shrug as blithe as possible. “It’s a gift, I suppose.” He could just add David Nolan to the long list of people in Storybrooke who really didn’t want him to be there. Deciding finally that the dowsing rods weren’t getting anything from the cold spot, or perhaps weren’t getting anything from Regina, he crossed back over to her and swapped them for the EMF reader. This was something Regina was far more familiar with, and immediately began spinning slowly in place even as she wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the antiquated design.

“And, why, exactly, are we here?”

“We’re looking for Emma.”

Help me, Killian. Let me out. Please.

He had thought it over constantly over the last day. Maybe those words hadn’t just been spoken by that dark, terrible spectre of the house. Maybe that had been a little of Emma, their Emma, bleeding through. He had to find out for sure if there was anything but darkness left, and these were the only ways he knew to look for ghosts.

“We’re looking for Emma,” Regina repeated, in a strange tone.

It gave him pause, so he turned to look at her. She looked unfairly doubtful, and it made irritation flare within him. “The house is here, isn’t it? Where it wasn’t before. It stands to reason she could be here too. David saw her. So did Ruby. You said it yourself, something is changing. Why can’t it be her?”

He’d seen her, he wanted to say. But something held him back. Something private and longing and scared beyond his wits.

“Why can’t it be her?” he repeated, a little more forcefully when she didn’t immediately reply.

Regina bit her lip, as if trying to work out how best to proceed. She took a few steps forward, the wood underneath her boots creaking loudly.

“You and I both know… Emma wasn’t the only thing there that night. In the dark.”

Black lightning. Her wrist stained red, angry welts erupting across her forearm. Eyes as dark as obsidian.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

A wave of nausea rose within him.

“Is it wise for us to start messing with stuff we don’t understand – again?” To her credit she looked like the suggestion made her almost as miserable as it did him, but her nature dictated she give voice to the thoughts that cut everybody to the quick. “I mean, what if this is something else, just taking the shape of Emma? And appealing to those made most vulnerable by the sight of her?”

So good of you to come and see me.

First David, then him. After all, Mary Margaret hadn’t reported any ghostly sightings, and neither had Regina – and she had practically drenched herself in the supernatural.

Killian shook his head, clutching the dowsing rods tightly.

“But what if it is Emma?” he said finally. The crux of the thing was that he could never ignore her, no matter how sensible the suggestion that he do so. He knew he looked weak, that the confidence he had projected toward Regina since returning to town had crumbled and he must look stupid next to her now, seventeen again and blithering and hopeful beside her world-worn pragmatism. “We have to try.”

He begged her, pleaded with her silently to support him.

Regina was quiet for a long moment, and the EMF reader let out a low zinging noise from where she was pointing it. After a while she sighed.

“Alright,” she said briskly, and Killian visibly sagged with relief. “But I’m going to need much more sage.”

-/-

October 24th – Five Years Ago

“Killian, it’s creepy here,” whined Mary Margaret. “When can we go?”

Emma watched as Killian laughed from where he sat across the room, drawing something onto the floorboards in thick, black marker.

“I’m sorry, Mary Margaret. Just indulge me a little longer.”

Brooke House wasn’t nearly as scary the second time Emma had visited it. They had come virtually straight from school, the sky starting to fade from bright blue to soft pink, but while Emma still didn’t exactly relish the idea of being there after dark, it had lost something of its harshness from the last time she’d been there. Somehow, by bringing Regina and Mary Margaret too, expanding their nervous trio out into a confident fivesome, it took power away from the old walls of the house. Regina had laughed when they showed her the spinning wheel, kicking it into an aggressively fast spin while they all gaped and cried for her to stop. Mary Margaret had removed the sheet from one of the armchairs in the sitting room, declared it looked comfortable enough to sleep in and confidently sat herself down – only for a large spider to creep out of the seams of the cushion, and crawl onto the edge of her dress.

Her shriek had nearly brought them all to tears, and Emma hadn’t been able to move or breathe for laughter for at least ten minutes.

Ever since Killian had asked them all to come to the house, and David had taken great pleasure in informing them it was probably haunted, Regina had been saying she would bring something to match the occasion, and she did not disappoint. Currently she, David and Mary Margaret sat on the floor (the latter with her skirts bunched up around her, casting nervous, fearful glances around for anymore creepy crawlies) surrounding what Regina had called a Ouija board. Emma recognised it only as something she’d once seen on television.

It was an old, polished wood surface ornately decorated, with all the letters of the alphabet and the numbers 0-9 beautifully calligraphed across the top. The symbol of the sun had been drawn in one corner, and a crescent moon in the other. The board came with a planchette, a triangular pointer with a glass circle in the centre to allow you to see the characters underneath. The idea, as Regina explained, was that spirits were supposed to speak through the board, by directing the planchette around its surface to spell out words and wishes.

All three held the tip of a finger on the pointer, and Emma watched with mild interest as it inched across the board. It was all bullshit anyway, but it did add to the atmosphere.

“Mary Margaret, you’re moving the pointer,” Regina scowled.

“I am not,” she replied, affronted. “David’s moving it!”

“I’m not! I swear I’m not!”

Regina brushed her hair from her face impatiently. “At least wait until we’ve asked it a question.”

“Where’d you get the creepy board, anyway?” Emma asked.

“My mom was keeping in in the attic, I found it last year when I was looking for Christmas decorations. She was so pissed when I brought it down, made me put it straight back. I always knew she was a bit nuts.” Regina grinned smugly. “So obviously I had to get it out again now the occasion called for it.”

David cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to the board. “Let’s start.” He raised his voice, projecting it around the room and inserting as much grandiose as he could muster. “Are we alone in this house?” The planchette slid across the board, and David sounded out the letters it landed on. “N… O. It said no.”

“David, you’re clearly moving it.”

“I’m not!”

Leaving them to bicker, Emma turned her attention back to Killian. He had finished what he had been drawing on the floor, and was now scattering salt in a circle around it. Completely entranced in his work, his attention flickered between the salt in his hand and a few battered pieces of paper he had lain flat against the floor. Emma recognised one of them as the one etched with doodles and a few scribbles that they had found in Liam’s toolbox. Somehow, that only increased her feeling of unease.

“Hey,” she said, after crossing the room to sit beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. She was careful not to let her trainers disturb the circle he had made. She also wondered if Archie knew where all the salt at the group home had gone. “You okay?”

He had joked around with them while they let the others explore the house, but had soon retreated to his work. Which, Emma now realised, was a five-pointed star drawn on the floorboards in thick black marker, with each tip touching the edge of the salt circle.

“Yeah,” he replied, flashing her a smile. “I’m almost done.”

Emma bit her lip. “Remind me what it is you’re hoping to achieve? Do you really expect to, uh… summon some kind of ghost?” The look he gave her was unimpressed, but Emma shrugged. He hadn’t exactly given them a lot of clues. “What? I was there with Belle, remember? ‘Do you believe in magic?’”

Emma most certainly did not believe in magic.

The five-pointed star and the circle of salt were telling her something else about Killian, though.

“All I want is to understand. To just – get in his head, I don’t know. He was working on this house for weeks, but it looks like all he did was start peeling off the wallpaper. And why did he go and see Belle? Why did he –?”

Drive his car into a ravine? Emma couldn’t count the number of times Killian must have asked himself that.

He shook his head.

“It has to have something to do with this house. And look, these were in his toolbox.” Killian stepped carefully over his handiwork so he could crouch beside her, showing her the piece of paper, curling at the edges. “He drew the pentagram, right there.” He pointed out an image identical to the one Killian had just drawn on the floor. “I was doing a little research into the symbolism, and a lot of Satanic cults use it for, uh, stuff.” He trailed off unconvincingly, and Emma tried not to look the equal parts amused and creeped out that she felt.

“And like he’s done here, I’ll light a candle at each point. The notes he’s actually written are brief so I just had to interpret as best I can – ‘salt circle’ and ‘curvy dagger’. Did you bring your fishing knife like I asked?”

Emma leant forward so she could reach into the back pocket of her jeans to retrieve it. She held it close to her chest for a moment, thinking about all the comfort it had given her back when she was a kid – in a world where she could control so little, she had liked how powerful it made her feel. The first time she had showed it to Killian was when they were fourteen, and his eyes had grown so round that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from giggling.

After a moment of hesitation, she handed it over.

Another of David’s noisy questions out into the room drew their focus.

“Will I become rich and famous one day? Oh – Y… E… S.” He smirked triumphantly. “Well, better start sucking up to me now guys.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “It’s for talking to spirits, stupid, not predicting the future.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Regina purred. “Will David get a smack if he keeps moving the pointer? Yeah?”

There was a loud thump as she swatted him on the arm.

“Looks like it tells the future just fine.”

“Regina!”

They joined in the laughter with the others, the indignant surprise on David’s face just too funny to ignore; he protested loudly at all attempts of maltreatment, and started entreating the spirits in the house to retaliate on his behalf.

“They think this is a joke,” Emma said quietly, careful to keep her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear her. “Please don’t let it get to you when… if this goes nowhere.”

Killian had started wandering down a dangerous rabbit hole – she just didn’t want him to get hurt.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, as he started placing candles at the five corners of the star. “Summoning an evil spirit? I have my expectations really low.”

“E…M…M… Emma, it’s spelt your name!” Mary Margaret squeaked.

Emma rolled her eyes, growing more tired by the minute of the game Regina had started. “Cut it out.”

“C…O…M…E.”

David narrowed his eyes at Regina suspiciously. “You’re moving it, right?”

Regina glowered back. “No, you are.”

“Guys,” Killian called over, “I’m ready.”

They left the Ouija board where it was, planchette resting atop the E, and came over to join them in the centre of the room. Killian directed each of them to sit at a point on the star, David and Mary Margaret giggling to each other but trying to keep a straight face, before he followed the line of the circle with some matches, lighting each candle. David jokingly blew on his, causing the flame to flicker wildly, and Emma shot him a warning look.

She only wanted them to take it seriously for a few minutes, just for Killian.

“What exactly are we trying to do?” Regina asked, looking bored as she played at dabbing the tip of the flame with her finger.

Emma had been about to bark a rebuke, but Killian beat her do it with an indulgent grin.

“We’re trying to get results.”

“I think I saw this ritual on an episode of Ghost Hunters,” Mary Margaret whispered excitedly. “See, the wife had murdered the husband, but they found a second body buried under the…” She seemed to sense the atmosphere starting to shift to something a little more sombre, and let her sentence trail off.

Killian stepped outside the circle to take his place at the final point of the star, placing the knife carefully in his lap once he was settled. Then they waited.

For a beat, nothing happened at all. The candles flickered in place, they exchanged uncertain looks. The shadows inside the sitting room had grown longer the closer the sun inched behind the trees, and it made the dappled light from the star in front of them look a little more ominous now that daylight was fading.

Regina huffed loudly. “Now what?”

“Erm,” Killian scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t really know.”

“Maybe we should hold hands?” David suggested quickly.

Emma felt that suggestion was probably more to do with the hand he would be holding than wanting to increase their chances of success – and she knew Killian agreed from the amused glance he sent her, but they consented all the same. Mary Margaret blushed as she slipped her hand into David’s.

Killian’s hand in Emma’s was warm, and a little clammy. It didn’t feel like it had the day of her birthday, when he had walked her back to the Nolan house from Granny’s. They had held hands the entire way, continuing to talk with enough forced nonchalance that they both knew the other was also clearly trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, hiding their smiles with glances out into the road. Then, it had made her feel dizzy with possibility, the gentle move of his thumb on the back of her hand sending her stomach spinning with delight.

This afternoon it didn’t thrill her the same way. She could feel how nervous he was in the slight tremor of his hand, and as she glanced at Regina on his other side she could tell the other girl could feel it too. Whether it was a sense of compassion for him or a desire to just get it over with, Regina slipped smoothly into control.

“We’re talking to the spirit in this house,” Regina said clearly, firmly, looking up into the ceiling. “Are you there?”

They all waited with bated breath.

“Can you hear us?”

All at once Emma was struck by the old, kind face of Belle Gold, wide eyed and fearful.

He found – he found a house, in the woods – and he thought it might make him strong.

Something thumped inside her chest. Like static from a radio, she could hear something crackling at her ear, but every time she turned her head toward the sound it disappeared. Twice she cleared her throat to try and speak but no sound came out. She knew, she knew, but she didn’t know how she knew, and Killian had turned to look at her, concerned, as her hand tightened on his.

“The knife,” she blurted out, and he raised an eyebrow. “It should be in the middle.”

Killian didn’t question her, merely stared at her curiously as he let go of Regina’s hand to slide the knife into the centre of the circle. It clattered against the floorboards before rolling to a stop in the middle.

But it felt – wrong.

“Wrong,” Mary Margaret echoed. Her eyes were closed.

David, too, had shut his eyes, and after Killian had once again completed the circle, Emma did the same. Regina didn’t speak again. Emma sensed she felt the same as she did; they had asked whatever they meant to ask, and it would be cheap to do so again. Only for show. Outside was nothing but stillness, not a sound to drown them out – in fact she had only become conscious of noise in the absence of it, and she now wished she had been playing closer attention to what it was that had stopped dead when they formed the circle.

They had been heard.

“I’m here,” Killian whispered quietly, so quietly Emma couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Find me.”

It had grown colder, gooseflesh beginning to erupt along her arm. Everything began to feel much farther away, as if her ears had popped, and a faint buzzing replaced the quiet that had blanketed them before. Oxygen was taking longer to reach her lungs, like the pressure in the air had changed. She could feel hair rising from the back of her neck and the thought suddenly entered her mind with a shuddering fear that she was about to be struck by lightning.

A rumble sounded from above, the rumble of something trapped beating against impossibly old doors.

The wardrobe.

It was all – wrong.

Come.

Listen.

Static zinged through her grip on Killian’s hand, and they both yelped and broke apart.

“What?” David spoke first, but the other three were all giving them baffled looks. Both Killian and Emma nursed their injured hands with matching grimaces. “What happened?”

“Electric shock,” Killian answered, shaking his hand out. “Bloody hell, ouch.”

“It’s the weather,” Regina offered. “I saw the forecast earlier. It always gets like this right before a storm.” Finally tired of the whole affair, she blew out her candle with an air of finality. “I think we can safely say this house is not haunted.”

Emma was willing her racing pulse to slow, trying to process what the fuck had just happened, but everyone else seemed to be carrying on as if nothing had occurred at all. David was helping Mary Margaret brush cobwebs from her hair while she asked if he wanted to come over to the Blanchard’s for dinner. Regina stood up and began to pack up the Ouija board. Killian stared at the flickering wick of his candle, looking despondent and a little frustrated. All like nothing in the world had taken place.

“Wait,” Emma said, looking around them all at confusion. “Are we really not going to talk about what just happened?”

They all turned to stare at her.

Killian was the first to reply. “What do you mean?”

“The – you know. It went quiet. The, uh, atmosphere.” She realised with frustration that it was amazingly difficult to describe, that breathlessness. The sense of standing on the edge and peering out into the dark. “You said it,” Emma pointed at Mary Margaret, remembering now that the girl had spoken. “You said ‘wrong’.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” When Mary Margaret again shook her head, Emma grew indignant. “You did!” She hadn’t goddamn imagined it, so why was the other girl bothering to deny it?

“Emma, she didn’t say anything,” David said cautiously. “Nobody said anything until you guys did.”

When she opened her mouth to retort Killian put a hand on her arm. It made her hesitate long enough for them all to brush past the moment.

“This place is creepy,” Mary Margaret declared, “and I’ve got to get home. David, are you coming?”

As Mary Margaret collected her stuff, David looked torn. Emma merely smiled at him weakly, but nodded her head – he should go. She was just… she was overtired. She probably shouldn’t have stayed up so late the night before studying for their calculus test on Monday. And she was letting the feeling of that house, of Killian’s hopefulness in that house get to her, and she’d let herself get carried right along by something else altogether.

They finished helping Regina pack the board away, but Emma stayed behind to help Killian clear up, promising to see the others at school the next day, and David that night once he got back to Ruth’s. The pair of them worked mostly in silence, using the old bucket and sponge Liam had left and a bottle of water to wipe the black marker away from the floorboards. Even amongst the disrepair of the house, it felt dishonest to leave the markings on the floor.

Or perhaps they just didn’t want to leave any permanent evidence of their being there.

“I believe you,” Killian said quietly. “I didn’t hear her, but I believe you. I think these things have to affect all of us differently.”

And by ‘these things’, he meant the supernatural. Ghosts. The movement of the planchette across Regina’s spirit board.

Things Emma definitely, categorically did not believe in.

Right?

She dismissed him. “You only think I heard something because you want me to have heard something.” It wasn’t true belief in her, it wasn’t because he knew her to be honest or trusted her. It was because something else was what he had come here for, and her ramblings had been his only glimpse of it.

Killian’s wanting, longing, was palpable in his every hopeful inhale.

“That’s unfair.”

Emma chose not to reply.

“What else did you feel? In the circle?”

“Killian, stop.” She made sure her voice was firm. “You promised not to let this get to you. We tried, okay? Nothing happened.”

They had been heard.

“But you said –”

“I didn’t hear anything, alright? Just forget it.” She stalked over to the window and picked up her rucksack. If she said it forcefully enough to him, she could make it just as true to herself. “Do you want to grab some dinner somewhere?”

She knew she sounded irritated, and Kilian didn’t respond, just watched her from the centre of the room. He was not impressed with her brushing him off, clearly wanted to continue down that line of questioning, and was waiting until she felt ready to talk about it. Suddenly irritated with his saintly level of patience, Emma huffed.

“Fine. Stay here by yourself. See if I care.”

Without waiting to see if he would reply, Emma barged out of the front door and stomped down the rotted steps without another word.

-/-

But she couldn’t sleep that night.

Every time she shut her eyes, drifted near enough to something dreamless, images so vivid they felt more real than the bed she lay in assaulted her. Killian’s disappointed expression from the centre of the room, expectant, waiting. The scrape of the pointer across the board. The knife, lying still in the middle of their circle. Firelight flickering. Regina blowing out her candle with a whoosh that seemed to extend for minutes at a time.

The nothing she had felt as she sat and breathed in the circle. That terrible, absence of anything.

She had realised too late that she had left her fishing knife in Brooke House. It was altogether likely that Killian had picked it up, and after a quiet dinner with Ruth she considered going around to the group home to retrieve it from him. Instead, a wave of annoyance had risen in her. If Killian had picked it up, he should have brought it round to her. And after the brief spat they’d had before she left the house, she decided, really, he should be the one putting effort in for her. Her resolve had strengthened, and she had announced to Ruth that she would be going to bed early.

She had lain awake for a few hours, ears pricked for any noise downstairs. David had come home a little later than expected, had spoken with Ruth for a long time before retreating to his own room. Ruth had stayed in the living room for a while, likely catching up on a few chapters of the novel she had been reading, before Emma heard the creak of the stair indicating she, too, had gone to bed. Killian had not come round. Still the night wore on, and Emma found herself no closer to sleep.

Downstairs the refrigerator hummed, and the electric heater on the landing rumbled, with the occasional clank she had grown used to. On her first night, all the odd sounds of the Nolan house had unnerved her. Much like tonight she had stayed awake for hours, worried she would never be able to sleep, certain the Nolan’s would want to send her back before too long, missing Killian terribly. The further her anxiety had skyrocketed, the more restless she became.

Tonight the noises included the sliding pointer, the squeak of Killian’s pen on the floorboards, Mary Margaret’s quiet whisper, wrong.

In Brooke House, something clattered in the attic. The wardrobe doors bumped and groaned.

Emma’s eyes flew open.

Something was trying to get out.

Her heart began to thump wildly.

Come.

Listen.

She threw back the duvet and reached for her trainers.

Which was the last thing she could remember before she found herself stood in front of Brooke House.

Emma stumbled backwards, as if she were just now falling back into her own body and her knees felt weak with the strain of it, and dry leaves crunched underfoot. She was wearing her trainers. She was also still wearing her pyjama shirt and shorts, but had thrown a hoodie and a coat on over the top. Her legs were bare, and cold. In one hand she held a torch and the other was clenched into a fist at her side.

Why had she come here?

Something loud crashed inside the house, a shadow darted across the upstairs window.

Yes, Emma remembered now. She had come for her knife.

She always felt safer with that knife.

Climbing the front steps, slowly, her shoes sounded more muffled than usual. Before she had a chance to touch it the front door creaked open, beckoning her to step inside. She felt foggy, all – all lost, and what time was it, anyway? A dazed search of her pockets told her she hadn’t brought her cell phone. Why had she left without it? Why couldn’t she remember?

The by now familiar creak sounded from the landing. Emma was halfway up the staircase before she remembered setting her foot on the first step.

For a moment she felt Killian’s hand resting on the small of her back again, ready to steady her if she lost her balance, and she began to lean backwards into it – before it vanished and she had to jerk herself forward to avoid toppling down the stairs. Her hand was so tight on the banister that her knuckles had turned white. Right, Killian wasn’t there. Killian was at home, asleep.

Emma was in Brooke House.

The second floor was lit with tendrils of moonlight, dirty white and shapeless, crawling up the walls and stretching across the floor. The creak sounded again, and Emma gently opened the door to the room with the spinning wheel. As expected, the spinning wheel lay turning slowly on its axis by the soft press of the pedal underneath, except this time a man sat there, steadily feeding in pieces of straw until they came out as spun gold twine, which then pooled into a basket at the end. His face was obscured by the shadow of the windowsill, but he raised a hand in greeting before returning to his work.

She shook her head to try and confirm what she was seeing, and realised with a start that the door to the spinning wheel room was closed, and her hand was still poised above the handle. Had she opened it at all? She couldn’t remember. The old wood of the spinning wheel groaned behind the door and, firmly this time, Emma swung the door open inwardly. The wheel spun slowly – but on its own. Gone was the man, the spun gold, the straw. Only the empty dark and the dancing moonlight remained.

An odd noise jerked her attention away from the wheel, just as the light from her torch winked out. Now concerned, Emma smacked it against her palm a few times to try and knock the device back into working, but it did not respond. The sound came again, and to her ears it seemed like –

No, there it was again. She was sure.

It was a giggle.

High-pitched and delighted, something was laughing at her.

“Who’s there?” she said. Or did she?

She might have said: “I’m coming.”

Uncertain which she had said and which she had not said, Emma reached the end of the corridor and stood on her tiptoes so she could begin to scrabble with the door to the attic. The metal ring which would allow her to pull it down was just out of reach, but after she asked politely the panel dislodged from the ceiling by itself, and with it came the ladder. She rose one cautious step at a time, up into the black, and tried to remember why she was there.

Her knife, yes. She was coming for her knife. She had been just thirteen when she took it, lifting it from a set of tools a dockworker had left abandoned while he helped unload a seiner, and it had made Emma feel so dangerous to be holding it that she had immediately cradled it with both hands before making her escape. The blade was deadly sharp, far sharper than any knife she had seen in the group home or otherwise, and she had cut her hand while examining it later.

It had reminded her of herself. All along she had been afraid that one day someone might fall on her, and get hurt on all her sharp edges.

Another banner year, right?

What?

We’ve all got ghosts here.

As she reached the top her pulse began to race, and her heart turned her head and waited for her body to catch up. She ignored the desk, the vials, the shattered glass on the floor; like a string had been tied to the centre of her chest, made of hope and sadness and something wild, it propelled her forward to the darkest corner of the room. There, tucked into the downward slant of the roof, stood the wardrobe. It rattled in place, as if someone were stood behind and shaking it back and forth, and she could feel it.

She could feel it wanting, could feel it longing for her, and she longed for it right back. Breathless and exhilarated, she crossed the room in three short steps and knelt before it, hands reaching for the ornate handles on the doors. Darker swirls of colour spun out from the handles and almost seemed to move, curling delicately around her fingers.

Yes, they whispered, come.

Listen.

Emma tugged open the doors.

Which was the last thing she could remember before she found herself in her bed at the Nolan house, blinking against the hazy light of morning.

Once realisation struck Emma bolted upright, glancing wildly about her room. Her trainers were tucked against her dresser, her coat hung on the back of her door. There were leaves in her hair. Once she registered it was morning she scrambled for the clock at her bedside, which read 6.03am. Almost time to wake up for school.

Had she – had she dreamed it? The house?

It was already beginning to turn foggy and fade, the corners curling in on themselves with greater speed the more she tried to remember, like clutching at the tendrils of a dream that was vanishing out of sight. Everything was as it was.

Except for the knife.

Emma blinked, realising her left hand had been curled around the hilt of a very strange, very ornate knife – no. Dagger.

The hilt was black as pitch, and cool to touch, but the blade was what interested her the most. It’s edge was curved, as if it were blurring in and out of sight in the nature of a mirage, and was ornately patterned with twisting black shapes reaching all the way to its desperately sharp point. It was heavy, and unlike anything Emma had ever seen before.

But perhaps what intrigued her the most was the name emblazoned across it, written in an almost medieval cursive.

Weighty in both heft and emotional damage, Emma could scarcely believe it. What did it mean?

For written on it was a name she recognised. One they were all familiar with.

Liam Jones.

-/-

2nd May 2015 – Seven Months Later

David was the last to arrive by a couple of minutes. Although the air that night was cool, the day had been hot, and he was still dressed in the same t-shirt and shorts he had been wearing earlier. Killian couldn’t be more grateful for the drop in temperature – he could remember a time he had been a fan of the immortal summer, of scorching afternoons and ice cold drinks, it made him think of fly fishing in the lake in the middle of Memorial Park or setting off cheap fireworks by the docks that fizzled and burnt with the whole year’s lost potential. Last year he and Emma had borrowed Archie’s car and driven all the way to Portland, just so they could track down a lobster restaurant a traveller stopping in at Granny’s had told them about. They spent the entire afternoon searching until, tired and hungry, they’d picked up a few sandwiches from a convenience store and perched at the edge of the harbour, watching the boats roll in, and roll away again.

The whole day had been a bust. Killian couldn’t remember it being anything but perfect.

As the days stretched and he found himself looking for her amongst the sun-soaked streets of Storybrooke, summer became just one more thing he wanted no part of anymore.

“Is this going to take long?”

Mary Margaret’s voice jogged him back to the present, and Killian quickly jerked his head around to check nobody else was nearby. They had met at their usual spot, just a little ways into the north woods. Far enough that they would go unnoticed by any stray observer near the edge of the forest, but near enough that the distant sound of cars zooming past on the street could still be heard. Most of them were reluctant to venture any farther in now, if it could be avoided. Especially after dark.

Regina scoffed. “Why, are we keeping you from something?”

“My mom doesn’t like me being out late anymore,” Mary Margaret replied defensively. “I had to sneak out my window.”

“Well, our apologies for the inconvenience.” Unsurprisingly, Regina did not sound that sorry at all.

“Would you just stop?” David groused.

“Guys, please,” Killian interjected, wanting to cut them off before they could start getting too snippy. He turned his attention to Regina. “By the way, are you alright? I hear Humbert gave you a hard time yesterday.”

Regina had been collected from the school gates by Sheriff Humbert, in full view of everyone. He liked them to be observed when he decided to bring them in for another interview; it was one of his favourite tactics.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she shrugged. “It was the same questions as always.”

Why were you out in the woods? When did you see her last?

Is there anything you’re not telling us?

Smooth, long exhale.

Nothing, Sheriff Humbert.

“Good,” Killian answered, nodding slowly. “That’s good. And you, Mary Margaret? Did you get a chance to look for the house this week?”

They had been taking it in turns for the last few months, always making sure that they weren’t spotted together heading down the White Pine Trail, to investigate the place Brooke House had once stood. Ever since the first time they had been caught by Sheriff Humbert there, they had realised the man had started watching their every move in the weeks that followed Emma’s disappearance. Killian, especially, had scarcely been able to get away with taking an unusual route home from school without the sheriff picking up on it. The more time marched forward the less observed they felt, but they still stuck to the same precautions just to be sure.

It had been seven months since Emma had disappeared. Graham Humbert never let him forget it.

And with Emma, Brooke House had also vanished. Nothing stood at the end of the orange string trail Killian had once left anymore, only silence and torment.

Finding it again had to be their best chance at finding her. It was just that these days, finding felt a lot more like waiting.

Mary Margaret hadn’t answered him, so Killian flicked his eyes over. He could see her eyes were averted, jaw clenched. One of her shoes kept stringing up a restless beat on the floor for a few seconds at a time.

“Mary Margaret?”

She let out an almost irritated sigh. “No, Killian, I have not gone looking for the damn house.”

Killian blinked. “And what’s with the tone?”

“I have to study,” she burst, “I have AP tests in two weeks, and if I don’t pass I probably won’t be able to go to college. And instead, I’m disobeying my parents, standing in the middle of the woods and thinking about how much I don’t know about environmental science.”

Regina looked the way Killian felt; completely dumbfounded. “You’re thinking about exams right now?”

“It’s not just exams, Regina,” Mary Margaret insisted. “It’s my life. I want to make something of it one day, and I suggest you do the same.”

Something still had settled between them, as if Mary Margaret had started to lift the lid on something they had sworn to keep closed, and even the night around them was stiffening with anticipation. It was sacred ground on which their harsh words steered them, and it was impossible to discern where the line could be drawn between how to move forward, and how to avoid moving backward. At times they seemed to be the same thing, but somehow it was impossible to think of them the same way.

Emma had wanted to pass her exams too. Desperately, in fact. It had been so important to her that she be able to push off into the rest of her life in better straits than how she had been brought into it, and to that end she had often stayed up long into the night studying at the group home so she could avoid the noise and the steady stream of interruptions that came during the day. It was that which had prompted her to accept Ruth’s offering of a fostering, even after deciding long ago never to hand her heart out again to somebody she was sure would just return it later.

Killian had encouraged her; he had hoped she might find more at the Nolan house than a quiet place to work, and she had. She had found David, and with David came Mary Margaret, and Regina had fallen in as easily with them as she had with Killian and Emma years earlier. They had been a haphazard band, and for a year everything was warm and gold.

That was over now, and they had begun to splinter.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

He heard her, always. Always, always.

“What about Emma?”

It was David who spoke, and he looked stricken to have even needed to say the words.

What about Emma? Was holding onto this, meeting clandestinely in the middle of the night to yet again swap how little progress they had made in getting her back – was this moving forward? Or was this trying so desperately not to move backward that they couldn’t keep their focus on anything ahead? Brooke House was never there when they looked for it. But Killian didn’t care about school, anyway. He’d had enough credits to graduate at the end of his junior year, before all of this. Every AP class he’d taken he had since dropped. Archie had barely been able to convince him to go to school for much of the year.

It didn’t matter to Killian, not a whisper; but was it okay for this to matter to someone else?

“Emma is gone,” Mary Margaret said, quietly. As if scared that they might hear her and yet desperate for them to. “And it’s…” She sucked in a sharp breath before continuing. “It’s devastating. But it’s – it’s been seven months. We have nothing. And more importantly, the police have nothing.” Killian could tell from a subtle movement in her fist that she was trembling. With fright, anger, sadness. Who could know for sure? “Finding Emma, if she can be found, should be up to them.”

Killian felt as if he’d been slapped. “How can you say that?”

“It’s their job, isn’t it?” she bit back. “And the more I think about that night… the more we feed into that – that hysteria, or – or whatever we thought we saw – the less help we’re being to them. The police, I mean.”

Killian felt his temper rising. He knew what he had seen – they had all seen it, although for reasons Killian couldn’t fathom, it had become a matter of spirited debate between Mary Margaret and David, and he and Regina.

“We never should have lied,” Mary Margaret continued firmly. “We should have told them everything from the start, about the house, about all of it.”

“They would have told us we were crazy,” Regina pointed out. “Hell, I would have called you crazy if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

“But at least I wouldn’t feel like this!” Mary Margaret’s voice cracked on the last syllable, and the bite in her expression had crumpled. She was all melancholy, draped in it like an old cloak, where in their group she had always been warmth. Everything was twisted now, like none of it could ever be light again. “Like I have this weight, poised above my head, and I’m just waiting for it to – to fall and crush me. And it hurts.” She clutched at her throat, eyes wide and sad. “And I’m breathless, and scared. All the time. And sometimes – sometimes I don’t realise I’ve forgotten that it’s there, but then I look up –”

David had taken a few steps closer to her, and put his arm around her shoulders. She curled into it and buried her face into his chest for a few moments, shaking, while he murmured something neither Killian nor Regina could hear. They couldn’t find the words to interject.

After a few long moments she gathered herself, her fist clenching into David’s shirt.

“It’s this lie,” she said fiercely, speaking into the solidness of David’s form, sounding as wretched as she looked. “And this feeling that if – if we’d just told the truth then they would have found something, and they would have found her.”

The accusation was softly cushioned, and gently aimed, but Killian felt it with the keen force of any blow.

“They wouldn’t have found her,” he answered evenly. They couldn’t. “It’s up to us.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you would say that.”

Killian’s temper flared. “Excuse me?”

“It clearly doesn’t bother you, Killian, but I’m just saying – if I could do this again I wouldn’t lie.”

I wouldn’t tell the lie you told me to tell.

The lie he had told them tell to protect them.

Humbert’s hard expression flashed in front of him.

Your friends say she was with you when she went missing. That you were the last one to see her.

“I wouldn’t either,” David added quietly.

Disbelief marred everything, it made everything black as tar – was this really what it was all coming to? Rounding on him?

“And what would you have told them?” Killian shot back. When David grimaced he pressed on. “No, really, I’m interested to know what you would have told the sheriff about the haunted house and the magic dagger.”

“Stop that,” Mary Margaret snapped, “it’s not magic.”

“Then how the bloody hell do you explain it? Explain this?”

With intent, Killian reached into his jacket and pulled out the dagger. Its curving edges glittered dangerously in the dim light, and in a movement so quick he might have imagined it he thought he saw Regina reach out a hand to take it, before snatching it back. The intricate pattern engraved onto the blade was one he had memorised from long nights spent staring at its edges, begging for it to reveal its secrets. The inky black writing crafted beautifully on top spoke of everything they had lost – the truth they all knew, and the only tangible proof that forces greater than themselves were at work.

The name carved across it was clear: Emma Swan.

Like a spell, it brought with it an almost supernatural quiet. Mary Margaret had begun to weep silently, and she shrugged away from David’s touch this time. Regina watched but did not speak. David couldn’t bear to do more than glance at the dagger, a pained expression on his face clear before he turned to look out into the forest.

“This is how we know she’s still out there,” Killian insisted fiercely. “We can’t give up now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

For a little while, the only noise was Mary Margaret, trying to suppress a gasp or wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. After some time, she sank down to perch on a nearby log and Regina joined her, threading their fingers together tightly. In the distance Killian could hear the rumble of the road, the sound of an engine increasing in volume before skittering away. Although reluctantly, he slipped the dagger back into the inside pocket of his jacket, and the blade was cool against his chest even through the fabric of his shirt. A cold comfort, but a comfort all the same.

“The truth is,” Mary Margaret began quietly, staring at the mossy ground at their feet. “I want to grieve. I loved Emma. I want to treasure her memory… I want the chance to miss her.” She lifted misty eyes and looked at each of them in turn. “But it’s impossible around all of you. For you she’s still here. But I want to keep moving forward.” She brushed a hand across a tear-stained cheek. “Will you – will you let me do that?”

With quiet strength, she dug the stake into the earth. Beneath it, they cracked.

She stood. There wasn’t anything else to say.

She looked impossibly guilty, and Killian searched for something to say that would deliver her from that, but all of it felt brittle and fake. The honest truth was that he loved her and wanted nothing but her happiness, but he might never forgive her if she walked out of that clearing now.

Mary Margaret looked to all of them, but it was Killian’s gaze she sought most eagerly. He couldn’t give it, staring stonily at the ground instead.

“I’ll… I’ll see you.”

She didn’t say at school, since he wouldn’t be going anyway and they both knew it. Recklessly, he thought that without it there might not be another excuse for their paths to cross. If she wanted to keep moving forward and leave all this in the past, then Killian would not be going with her. Dry leaves crunched as she departed, slowly receding until the only sound was the breeze whistling by.

“I’m not giving up. No way.”

It was Regina who had spoken, and Killian felt a wave of unreserved tenderness for her.

Her face softened, and she stepped over to lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“She’ll come around.”

She wouldn’t, but it was easier to pretend.

After Regina had gone Killian sat on the damp earth underneath him, leaning his head back to stare through the canopy. The trees had clustered together here, dark shapes towering over through which he could spot the stars winking in and out.

David shifted from where he stood. “Are you okay?”

Killian let out a long breath, one that he felt like he had been holding onto for a number of days. His chest felt tight, and he could feel a familiar tugging sensation behind his nose as the stars started to swim before him.

“Belle died. Yesterday.”

David let out a soft expletive. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

“It was peaceful,” he nodded to himself, like it made everything fine. “In her sleep.”

Belle had been a great source of comfort for him. She talked in circles and remembered very little, but she remembered Liam and often asked after Emma, and had lived a deep and fulfilling life she loved to tell him about. It did her good to talk, the nuns had said, which was why they let him come. Every character in all of her stories was long gone now, but it didn’t cause her any pain. She spoke only of the joy in having known them and the colours with which they had brushed her soul. It didn’t matter how lonely it looked now, or how sad everyone else thought she must be to be alone; she had assured him many times that she was lucky, and wanted for little else.

He wanted desperately to feel like that, even if only for a heartbeat.

Sometimes, she had said with a smile, the best books have the dustiest jackets.

“It just feels like everything is slipping away.”

Mary Margaret, Belle. Liam. Emma. Everything he touched was dust.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

A hot tear spilled down his cheek and he angrily swiped it away.

He cleared his throat loudly, mostly to try and cover the sudden rush of emotion, but he knew that David had seen it. “Sometimes I can’t help but think… maybe it’s all in my head, you know? The more I think about that night the hazier it gets.” Like trying to remember a dream after you’d woken from it, every single day more details faded into nothing. “I just hear her.” That final, startled scream. It would never leave him, he just knew it. “All I can hear is her.”

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

“Me too,” David admitted quietly. “I hear it too.”

“I’m leaving,” he said suddenly, and with the confession came a twinge of relief, and he forgave himself a little more for it. “Right after graduation. I have to find an answer, and there isn’t one here.”

He’d go as far as needed, for as long as it took. He’d walk the stretch of the Earth if he had to.

For a moment David looked crestfallen, but he mastered it quickly. “I understand,” he said. And he might think he did – but David would never be looked at the way Storybrooke looked at Killian. In their eyes he would never be blameless, not the way the David Nolan was. Emma was his sister; she was just Killian’s victim.

“I’d go too,” David continued, “but my mom… it’s just hard, you know? I feel like there’s so much she doesn’t know. And I couldn’t…”

“I know,” Killian assured him, “it’s alright. I wouldn’t ask you to come.” It was something he would rather do alone.

A few moments of stillness passed, before David let out a low whistle.

“So. Right after graduation, huh?”

Killian nodded. June twenty-third, 18:00.

There was a bus to Augusta that he had promised he would not miss.

-/-

Present Day

As night fell, Killian again returned to Brooke House.

He had already spent much of the day there with Regina, taking readings, burning herbs and mumbling variations on familiar incantations from her book of shadows. There were a few key vocabularic differences, but the intention behind a few spells seemed similar to some he had seen from the coven in Pennsylvania. Just once they had let him sit in on a cleansing ceremony, a practice of healing for the soul, and he could recognise some of the actions as Regina guided him through a ritual for cleansing the air in the house. Smudging, she called it. But by the time they had departed in late afternoon, visibly nothing had changed within the house.

After grabbing a quick bite at Granny’s Killian had spent the remainder of early evening categorically working through all the other data he had been able to gather over the course of the day; and not one instrument had indicated anything outside of the realms of a normal abandoned house. In fact, most of the anomalous readings one could expect from a long period of constant use (a sudden spike in electromagnetic radiation, a noise in static on a recorder where there had been none aloud) were completely non-existent. Brooke House was as silent as the dead other than the sounds he and Regina made. It were as if they were measuring nothing at all.

No doubt, that was its intention.

He expected much to be different in the dark.

Again, he left the dagger rolled up in his scarf in his car, not wanting to bring it any closer to Emma – or to whatever Emma was. They were clearly linked, the spectre of the house and the dagger, and he had to believe that somewhere buried in there was his Emma. She retained the same memories, even if she warped them for her use. She recognised him. It was her name on the dagger.

He had taken the dagger to three different psychometrists over the years, seeking insight. Each one had only been able to tell him that its origin was evil, that its master was lost.

Even Killian could have surmised that much.

“Emma?” he called, as he stepped over the threshold. Only creaks of old wood answered back.

He lingered briefly in the sitting room, checking his old tape recorder that he had left running, tucked under the sheet of one of the armchairs as gently as possible. He wanted to avoid the possibility of muffling any sound while also trying to prevent its detection from any nefarious spirits that chose not to make a sound while he and Regina were there. All he needed was some kind of proof that something in the house moved when it was left to its own devices. In the morning he would return for it and listen for any erroneous sound.

As if reading his thoughts, an audible thump came from above him. He headed back out into the hall. For now, Killian decided to pocket the recorder and return it after he’d come to say what he meant to.

Again Killian called Emma’s name, mounting the stairs slowly. Once he reached the top he spotted the flash of white fabric trailing along the floor, disappearing into one of the rooms on the landing. Aside from the room with the spinning wheel that never faltered, Killian hadn’t spent much time in the other two rooms. One was a bedroom and the other a study, boasting only a desk and a wall lined with ancient, brittle bookcases, the tomes atop them turned grey with age with faded and illegible titles. It was into the study that he had seen her go, so Killian opened the door cautiously so as not to startle her away.

The bottom shelf of the bookcase nearest the door had collapsed, the books falling into a haphazard clump onto the floor. A dust cloud still lingered so he imagined it couldn’t have happened too long ago; he wondered if that was the noise he had heard from downstairs.

Emma stood with her back to him, the rustle of pages the only indication that she was moving. Then, without warning, she swung her right arm back and hurtled the book against the wall. The binding tore with a snap, and in pieces it clattered down onto the ground. Killian, reluctant to become a target for one of those heavy missiles, cleared his throat to announce himself, but quickly tucked the tape recorder subtly into one of the bookcases as he did so. He didn’t want her to catch it on him.

Emma turned, her jade eyes sharp in the gloom. As always, they cut right through him.

“Have you decided?” she said, her voice as heavy as stone.

Killian didn’t answer immediately, but tried to look at her more critically. What was he seeing? Just what he wanted to see, or something more?

Regina’s warning repeated itself over and over. What if this is something else, just taking the shape of Emma? And appealing to those made most vulnerable by the sight of her?

“Why didn’t you show yourself to Regina?”

They had been at Brooke House all day, there was ample opportunity. Not a creature had stirred out of place, as if the house had been holding its breath and waiting for them to leave. That meant one of two things – Emma did not think Regina could help with what she wanted, or there was nothing of Emma to show.

Emma lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and turned back to the bookcase. She picked up another book, and began lazily flipping through its contents.

That, too, found itself tossed to the edge of the room.

“I didn’t feel like it.” She reached for another.

“Come here,” he said, before he felt he’d truly made the decision. “Let me look at you.”

She turned slowly to stare at him; it was clear in her expression that she was unaccustomed to receiving orders, and was flirting with the idea of being furious, or going along with it. Keeping her eyes locked on his she discarded her final book, letting it flutter onto the floor, and started to walk towards him. It felt distinctly like being stalked by a predator, and he resisted the urge to step back when she came to a stop in front of him, looking up.

Instead he steeled his resolve, and lifted his thumb and forefinger to her chin. Her skin was glacial to the touch, pale and smooth. Like marble.

Applying a little pressure, Killian turned her head first to one side, then to the other. She allowed him, her eyes continuing to follow him intently. Up close, she looked human. With a little more colour in her cheeks she would look just like he remembered her. Would it even be possible, he wondered, for him to conjure up something so near to perfection? Was he capable? Could he really have imagined this?

“I’m so sorry,” he sighed sadly, brushing his fingers along her jaw, stilling them when they reached the tip of her neck.

Emma tensed underneath him. “What for?”

The list was unending.

“All of it.”

Something flickered across her expression, but it had moved too quickly for him to notice it. A blackened petal dropped from the circlet around her head, and became tangled in her hair. Without thinking, Killian gently tugged it loose.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

A cold hand came to rest over his. Then, to his surprise, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and leaned forward. Too shocked to move, Killian froze in place as she reached him. Like the rest of her, her lips were icy to touch, and moved gently against his like the purl of the ocean against the sand. His eyes stayed open but he could see hers had fluttered closed – she looked unarmed. Gentle. Like a girl.

She pulled back because he did not know how to keep her, and he could feel now that he was trembling. He was cold, his heart ached with grief, and he was furious.

That was a kiss that he had been saving, and she had taken it.

He opened his mouth to rattle off a rebuke, but something in her manner had changed. Her brows had knitted a little closer together, her lips parted – even her eyes looked as if they might have dulled from their usual startling shade.

Recognition fluttered across her features. She blinked slowly. “Killian?”

Killian’s heart began to hammer against his ribcage. Hope stuttered to life with every beat, but he tried to remain cautious. Something was different, he was sure of it, and now he wished he had been paying closer attention to her before so he might able to more clearly see now what had changed.

He watched her warily. “Emma?”

It happened in painfully slow motion. Her eyes glazed over, she turned herself away, something that had been out of alignment clicked back into place. In an almost unnatural way her head tilted, and began to stare at him with those new, wide eyes.

Her lips curled in a snarl. “That’s enough of that.”

A rush of air blew past him and she was gone, but Killian, exhilarated and almost breathless, couldn’t let her go.

“Wait, I –” He caught her in the hallway, her hand resting on the door to the spinning wheel room. She whirled around to face him expectantly, eyes ablaze. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

The corner of her mouth curved upwards, a smirk rising into place.

Killian swallowed. He’d been at her mercy since the moment he laid eyes on her.

“Just… tell me what you need me to do.”

#jay writes #a house is never still #cs role reversal #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs halloweek #gonna go ahead and still tag those #killian jones #emma swan #I hope you guys like this!#also those on the taglist must feel free to tell me to jog on #hahaha

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d-criss-news · 5 years ago

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There’s no business like show business, especially Ryan Murphy’s version of events in Hollywood.

On the ambitious seven-episode series he cocreated with Ian Brennan (The Politician), Murphy marries the glamour of 1940s Los Angeles with its seedier side, as established stars like Vivien Leigh (Katie McGuinness) rub elbows with fictional up-and-comers, including aspiring actor Jack Castello (David Corenswet, below, with Patti LuPone), who’ll do anything to get a foot in the door.

The visually stunning series imagines a world where the industry’s antiquated rules — such as casting minorities only in supporting roles — were bent, and changed the world in the process.

“There’s a lot of fun to be had with that,” explains Darren Criss, who plays new director Raymond Ainsley. He breaks ground by casting his girlfriend, African American actress Camille Washington (Laura Harrier), in a lead role for his major studio film. “Dreams come true, but at what cost?” teases Criss, also an executive producer on the series.

As with most of Murphy’s projects (American Horror Story, etc.), Hollywood features an impressive ensemble, including LuPone as the wife of a studio exec played by Rob Reiner, Jim Parsons as a smarmy agent and Queen Latifah as Oscar-winning actress Hattie McDaniel.

Here, Criss clues us in on more.

There’s a great mix of real Hollywood lore with fictional characters and situations in the show. What did you make of that?

Darren Criss: It is sort of a Hollywood-ization of Hollywood itself, or the Ryan Murphy version of that fantasy. I hope people watching it go in taking it with a grain of salt that this isn’t sort of a grand expose of the time, or some sort of factual recounting. I think that it will become very clear from the tone that things happen [in the show] that, clearly, didn’t happen, otherwise you would’ve heard about it. It becomes pretty clear that this is, again, Hollywood getting the Hollywood treatment.

The show is also about being an outsider and we see a lot of characters working their way into Hollywood. How is Raymond an outsider?

He sees himself as an outsider, which is usually ground zero for anybody feeling isolated but in Raymond’s case, he has a bit of a chip on his shoulder for being of half-Asian descent, which I think is just something that Ryan has always been interested in, especially being white passing. When we first started talking about the Versace series, he took a keen interest in me being half-Filipino and not looking like it. And that was kind of a big part of Andrew [Cunanan’s] own makeup as a person and as a genetic person as well.

[In Hollywood], Raymond has made himself to feel like there’s a part of him that is responsible for helping those that don’t have this free pass and he wants to be able to use his art form as a means of being a social justice warrior, and looking out for other people who didn’t have the same strange leg-up in a way.

Like a lot of the characters in the show, is Raymond going to have to step over some of his moral lines to get what he wants or to follow those dreams?

Raymond is prepared to do what he must. But in the same vein, what’s really charming to watch about young ambition is that young people can get in over their head when they want something. They want something so bad that they’ll say yes to anything, and then suddenly they wake up, and they realize, “Oh, my God, what have I gotten myself into?”

And watching somebody as level-headed, seemingly, as Raymond, means that he makes decisions that now he has to take responsibility for. And that happens throughout the series, where it’s a charming journey to go on, because any young person can attest to always wanting something, and then realizing, “Oh, wait, I have to do what in order to get that?”

And tell me about wearing those fabulous clothes, because I was very envious of the suits, and the ties, just all of that. How was it for you?

I don’t know when the last time you wore a high-waisted pant was but if you ever want to walk like a gentleman in the 1940s, you hike up those pants, you tuck in that shirt, and you will hold your cigarette differently, and you will talk like Cary Grant. It just happens to you. So a lot of the famously impeccable work of the Ryan Murphy television design team really elevated, I think, everybody in the way that they carry themselves in the way that they perform, because it’s just an instant time machine. So that was just so fun. I felt right at home.

With so many Broadway musical vets in the show, yourself included, safe to say there was some singing when the cameras stopped filming?

100 percent. It was constant. It was absolutely constant. If we’re going to use Patti as an example, there was a late night after the George Cukor party [in the show], where everyone’s driving back in the van, and everyone’s really tired because it was a really long day. And Joe Mantello, bless his heart, went, “Patti LuPone, sing us a song.” And then she just sang “What’s New Buenos Aires” [from Evita] just for us in the van. And it was incredible. And then Patti also — shameless plug to my piano bar [Tramp Stamp Granny’s] in L.A. but the cast all came out, and Patti sang “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina,” bless her heart.

So whether it was at my bar, on set, or at my house, a lot of music abounded constantly. It’s a very musical cast. And, yeah, never tempt me with a musical good time. I will always find an excuse to play a song, or sing with somebody if they are up for it as well.

That was honestly one of my favorite parts of the show, was the really nice combination, by the way, because you have sort of the young Turks as Patti would say, the young gang, and we’re sort of taking a cue from the upperclassmen. The wisdom of the true veterans and the enthusiasm of the young Turks was a really great cocktail that bred a lot of hope and excitement. I think the show really hopes to achieve for an audience this sense of constant hope and excitement, which is really the backbone of what Hollywood’s supposed to be.

Hollywood, Series Premiere, Friday, May 1, Netflix

#darren criss #tv insider #hollywood #press #april 2020

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isnotys · 5 years ago

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Seamless Part 1

Summary: After being Shane Dawson’s assistant for a year, things couldn't have been going better. However, Shane had other plans. He has decided that your next move is to jump headfirst into your true passion and with some unexpected partners.

Warnings: None

It’s only been a short year after I moved to LA to work as Shane Dawson’s assistant and it has been the best decision I have ever made. After all of those grueling years in college, being an assistant to just any YouTuber would’ve been a hard pass, but this is Shane we’re talking about. I haven’t even been here that long, but he has already taught me so much about the business and has introduced me to the influential people that could potentially help me when I decide to pursue writing as a full-time career.

By far meeting, Jeffree Star has been the craziest experience of my life, although he has been one of the nicest people I’ve met. However, after the last Jeffree Star series, Shane had said he wanted to do a few more lowkey videos. Like the ones he used to do with just Andrew, Drew and Garret. Something that didn't rely as much on just him and Andrew and this makes a lot of sense because the wedding planning had kept him and Ryland quite busy, even Morgan and I as well.

Shane has never stopped helping people though, no matter how busy he is. That is why he let me have the day off today because he had some people coming over for an interview/video/therapy session and Shane wanted to be able to help them with no interruptions. He was mainly worried about how loud Garret usually is, but he asked us all to stay out of the house for most of the afternoon.

So Ryland, Morgan, Garret and I decided that it would be a productive use of our day to go Christmas shopping. Especially because Ryland and Morgan’s parents are coming to California soon and then we are all leaving for Colorado. Despite it being the middle of December, the LA sun is shining bright and nothing more than a hoodie is needed to battle the not so cold weather.

I was so honored that they invited me though. Not only has Shane become such an important part of my life, Ryland and Shane have also welcomed me into their family. My family doesn't celebrate Christmas and they live in another state, so they insisted I join them to celebrate it all together. After all, Christmas isn't the same in LA.

After a long drive in the crazy LA traffic, we hit a few stores in Rodeo Drive and got most of what we were going to gift each other. However, we still hadn't gone to the most important one, Target.

Just when we were coming into the store we saw none other than David Dobrik accompanied by his assistant, Natalie. I honestly thought that was who Shane was meeting with today so I was surprised to see them there, to say the very least. We have met a few times before at influencer events, which Shane doesn't go to therefore Ryland and Morgan drag me along, so we just all talked a little and they quickly left because they had to film a bit with the squad.

After saying goodbye to them, I immediately ask Ryland who was coming to the house today. David was my best guess and that had just been proven wrong.

“Ryland,” I begin to accept that my curiosity has finally gotten the best of me, “do you know who is coming to the house today to film the video?”

“Of course I do, hunty!,” he says smirking and with the enthusiasm and charisma he is known for, “Shane told me last week. But you, especially you, can’t know who it is just yet. It is all part of the master plan.”

“Well if it’s John Green, I think it is in everyone’s best interest that I am informed of what is going on,” I say trying to act unbothered and nonchalant, but Ryland can obviously tell that I am not happy that he isn't telling me anything.

“As long as there are snacks, there shouldn't be any problem,” Morgan says clearly over with this whole thing. She for sure knows something I don’t.

“SNACKS! You got that right, Morgan! Snacks and a good movie, that should be the plan for tonight,” says Garret excitedly and begins to laugh.

“Wait, why especially me? Why can't I specifically know about who’s at the house today?” I ask Ryland honestly confused and deadass scared for my job. What if Shane hired someone else and wanted to let me go? Before Christmas? This is the best job I have ever had, I don't want to lose it.

“Don’t worry it’s not what you think,” Ryland says walking away because he just saw some cute wine glasses. Ryland is clearly done avoiding my questions so we just keep shopping until we find what we need.

We finally make it back to the car after this long day and we are on our way home. Hopefully, we can just rest for the remainder of the evening because I am just exhausted. Ryland had picked up somethings and was planning to make a quick, homey meal so we could all have a chill night. Well, Ryland hardly ever cooks so, in reality, I’m the one making the food and Garret is gonna eat most of it before its done. We might need Postmates after all.

It's about 4 o'clock, but the sun is already setting, which is what I hate most about the winter. We are all in the car heading back to the house and the sun shining bright on our faces as Welcome to the Black Parade plays in the background. Emo? Maybe, but it never goes out of style.

As I lose myself in the lyrics, and Garret keeps talking about an upcoming Marvel movie, we finally arrive at the house. I am dying to take a warm bath and get out of these clothes because we have been running around all day and it might not be that warm, but I definitely look a little rough right now. As I look at my Lover crop top in the reflection when I get out of the car, I remember that Shane keeps telling me that I wear too much merch, and I am starting to believe he might be right after all.

We get all the bags out of the G-wagon and when we walk into the patio entrance of the house, Morgan trips and falls. The decorations fly in the air as we all die of laughter. Shane and Andrew rush out of the door to check if Morgan is ok. She is, though we are all mad it wasn’t caught on camera. When we are finally able to stop laughing, I look to the door and I see the last people on earth I have ever expected to meet at Shane’s house. Suddenly it all makes sense.

He was filming a video with the Dolan Twins.

#shane dawson #ryland adams #garret watts #andrew siwicki #ethan dolan #grayson dolan #morgan adams #imagine #the dolan twins #dolan twins #dolan twins imagine #blurb #fan fic #fan fiction #youtube #youtuber

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pagetgram · 4 years ago

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Getting To Know The Cast Of Criminal Minds

As Criminal Minds rolls out its 15th and final season, the beloved cast gathers to discuss serial killers (what else?), special guest stars, and their millions of phenomenal fans in this exclusive interview. (x,x)

By David Hochman

The scene is quintessential Hollywood: a train station at dusk. Steam billowing up from the tracks. Loved ones bracing for their emotional farewells. What could be more fitting for the cast of Criminal Minds?

Chugging into its 15th and final season after more than 300 episodes, the police procedural is among the 10 longest-running dramas of all time, and in the top 20 for longest-running scripted television shows. "This is Gunsmoke and Guinness Book territory," says Matthew Gray Gubler, who has played quirky FBI brainiac Dr. Spencer Reid since episode 1.

To honor the landmark occasion, all eight series regulars are gathered at a railway museum in L.A.'s Griffith Park for photos, poignant reflections, and a few behind-the-scenes confessions (mostly involving a tradition called "hot tub wine machine"—stay tuned).

On TV, the tenacious profilers of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit—or simply "BAU" to fans—are a hard-bitten bunch, tracking down serial killers and other vicious "unsubs." But in person, clearly good friends across the board and decked out today in their spiffiest finery, the cast can scarcely hold back tears as they get candid about their extended journey together and what it means to come to the end—sniff, sniff—of Criminal Minds.

Originally published in Watch! Magazine, July-August 2019.

Judging from the misty eyes and group hugs, it looks like the series wrap-up is generating "all the feels," as they say. Are you able to get through scenes this season without a tissue break?

Joe Mantegna (Senior Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi, Seasons 3-present): This is my 50th year in show business, and next to voicing on The Simpsons, Rossi is my longest-running role. I came in with dark hair and now it's gray. I arrived without much of a game plan, and the show and character are now a deep part of who I am. This cast is a true family for me. So every episode this year has an added bittersweet layer. When the director announces, "This is the last profile scene" or "This is our last scene on the jet," you look around with a real sense of passing. It's monumental.

Kirsten Vangsness (BAU Technical Analyst and Media Liaison Penelope Garcia, Seasons 1-present): The term that keeps coming up is "ambiguous loss"—that feeling of losing something you love, and that everything's about to change. In this case it's not a person, thank goodness. But still, in the middle of a scene, it hits you. But you can't cry; you have all this makeup on. Plus, what are you crying for? It's been such an incredible experience. I will have done every single episode except episode 5, every episode of the first spinoff, and two episodes of the second spinoff. I love these people. No, sir. I'm not crying. You're crying. [Editor's note: She's crying.]

Paget Brewster (Supervisory Special Agent and BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, Seasons 2-7, 9, 11-present): Um, I'm in complete denial, so I'll break down into tears the week after we end, but not before. I'm pretending this show's never, ever going to end.

Without spoiling anything, what can you say about Season 15?

A.J. Cook (Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Seasons 1-present): Well, I can tell you that we will find out what happens now that JJ has expressed her true feelings for Dr. Reid.

Matthew Gray Gubler (Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid, Seasons 1-present): Don't you mean "Jeid?" That's what the internet is calling us. Hey, I'm not spoiling anything. I mean, don't rule out, uh, "Jemily" or "Jarcia" this season, either!

Adam Rodriguez (Supervisory Special Agent Luke Alvez, Seasons 12-present): And we do have guest stars. We love guest stars! [Editor's note: Among others, watch for Jane Lynch to return as Reid's schizophrenic mother, and for Rachael Leigh Cook as a potential new love interest for Reid.]

Daniel Henney (Supervisory Special Agent Matt Simmons, Seasons 10, 12-present): Overall, I'd say 15 has more of an arc through the episodes than previous seasons. Our unsub, Chameleon, is played by Michael Mosley, and he's definitely into some gruesome, creepy stuff.

Brewster: Like, we have a scene where a bunch of body parts are hanging from a tree. Our prop guy, who's a professional fisherman in real life, was on top of a 15-foot ladder with a foot and an ear hanging off his fishing pole.

Aisha Tyler (Special Agent Dr. Tara Lewis and forensic psychologist, Seasons 11-present): And people wonder why my house in L.A. is like a fortress and I'm armed! I'd say it's a direct result of Criminal Minds. This show is definitely dark. I'm not going around profiling sociopaths and serial killers, but, yeah, being on Criminal Minds, you become more perceptive about people's bad behavior.

Anybody else find it hard letting go in real life after chasing serial killers at work all day?

Cook: I'm blessed with a good shut-off switch. Once the day's done, I can block everything out. But as soon as I became a mom, something shifted where the naive girl from Canada got the boot and mama bear arrived. We saw that happen with JJ on the show, too. When she became a mom, it was suddenly like, "Whoa, watch out for that guy in the park!"

Henney: I'll tell you a story. About two months ago, I'm at home sleeping and a burglar alarm goes off, and I literally switched into Simmons mode. All the training I'd done with the FBI guys and our tech advisers instantly came into play. I threw on black sweatpants. I was creeping around the perimeter of my house, FBI-style. I clocked all my points of ingress and egress. When you do so many episodes, basic instincts kick in.

Did you identify the unsub?

Henney: Nobody was there! It was a stupid, faulty window sensor.

Brewster: The show definitely sharpens your reactions to your surroundings. When you start the show, you have access to the FBI training manual, which, frankly, no civilian should ever see because the photographs are so grisly. You end up going through a period of hypervigilance where you can't go into a sandwich shop or airport without thinking, Uh-oh! I think that couple's going to end up in a domestic dispute tonight.

Group question: What's your standout memory from these many seasons?

Rodriguez: I jumped onto this flying carpet 12 seasons in, and my first scene was out in the middle of the desert, and we shot all night long. There was an old car that was supposed to be in the scene, but it broke down and they ended up rolling it into the shot, which was funny. But more than that, I remember how welcoming people were. I was the new guy, but I felt immediately at home.

Brewster: We watched your family grow, too, Adam. You had a kid. A.J. had two kids. I met my husband on set. We've been lucky enough to live our lives and develop together as people.

Cook: For me, having both my boys appear in the show was an absolute treasure. Mekhai, who's 10, has been doing it way longer than Phoenix, who's 4, and he loves it, though I can't tell if it's the acting or that everybody's giving him cookies and ice cream all the time.

Henney: I was really proud to play Simmons because, as an Asian American actor, you don't often get the chance to play the quintessential American guy's guy. He's married to a Caucasian woman and has mixed-race children—which is true with me, too [Henney is also of mixed descent]—and I loved representing that on television. To have a kissing scene with Kelly, my wife on the show—you weren't seeing that 10 years ago.

Tyler: Directing a couple episodes was an incredible opportunity. But for me, just the experience of seeing this through to the end is so rewarding. I was only supposed to do six episodes. Everything's been gravy since then.

Mantegna: Hands down, my highlight was being able to work in my passion for law enforcement and the military by making my FBI character a former Marine. That allowed me to bring in Meshach Taylor, one of my dearest, oldest friends, as my commanding officer in Vietnam, and directing two of the three episodes that involved him as a character.

That included the episode where his character died, because Meshach had died. To actually bury him on camera as my dear friend—I'm the godfather of his kids, and he's the godfather of mine—it was everything. If I do nothing else on television, doing that for Meshach to me means the top of the ladder.

TV shows come and go. How do you explain the enduring success of Criminal Minds?

Tyler: Well, I'd say it's not about prurient interest in the macabre. I think the reason people like the show is because we want to know that there's a smart, dedicated team of professionals out there working very hard to make sure that the rest of us stay safe. Even if we don't know who they are and we can't see them, it's comforting that people are sacrificing their personal lives and their relationships so that they can put evil people away.

Rodriguez: I meet young people all the time, teenagers, who love the show and say they love the game of it all—figuring out how these processes work and the skills that go into solving crimes. I think we've probably inspired a generation of people to go into this important work—on the good-guy side, not on the bad.

Cook: So many people have struggled in their lives, and they can relate to what they see on the show. Hardworking moms, people that have been abused, people who've experienced loss.

Vangsness: I think it comes down to a show with some of the greatest characters on television. Garcia is just a bundle of positive energy, and that resonated. Her desk is a living piece of art to how she's connected with the audience. I've got a papier-mâché heart pen a fan from France gave me. There's a little rabbit from a fan in Japan. A German woman knitted a Penelope doll that's sitting there. Oh, and Richard Simmons gave me a necklace one time because he loved the show!

Criminal Minds fans are a devoted bunch.

Henney: I once checked into a ski lodge in Switzerland and my television wasn't working, so I went to the front desk. The two desk guys started staring at me like zombies and pointed to their TV, where Criminal Minds was on, with me on the screen.

Brewster: It takes you by surprise in the weirdest places. You'll be in a bathroom at a movie theater and girls are outside whispering, That's Emily Prentiss, and they wait for you to finish so you can wash your hands and hug them.

What are you going to miss most about the show?

Cook: Um, everything. The scenes in the jet are my favorites because it's such a tight space that we forget we're on a TV show and just enjoy hanging out together. This show, for me, was a coming of age. You can look online and find me in the beginning of season 1 wearing this ridiculous pink pinstriped blazer that will haunt me forever. I look like I'm 12. But I've grown up along with JJ. [Tearing up.] I'll miss it all so much.

Gubler: Likewise, I really look up to Spencer Reid, and I feel so honored to have played him for so long. I will miss his long, you know, three-page monologues of technical jargon about protons or whatever. I'll miss the way he holds his hands like an ostrich foot when he's solving a problem. He's definitely way smarter than I'll ever be, but I like to think that some Dr. Reid qualities have imbued themselves into my own personality a little bit. If nothing else, I've adopted his ever-changing hairstyles.

Tyler: I'll miss being an FBI badass. I'd love to take the FBI jacket, but it's absolutely illegal to walk around wearing it.

Vangsness: I can tell you what I won't miss. Garcia's glasses—because I have them all already. I've bought every pair she's ever worn, so I have a collection of around 65 at home. They remind me to be confident like her, to see life through her eyes. Garcia is my Sasha Fierce.

Brewster: I will miss the hot tub wine machine.

Hot tub wine machine?

Vangsness: You heard that right, mister. It's an epic hot tub party at my house that the women on the show have turned into a standing gig—or more like a floating gig.

Brewster: It's basically a therapy and gossip and splashing-around session fueled by chardonnay and rosé.

Tyler: And it's ladies only because it gets kinda frisky.

Rodriguez: This is a sore subject for me even as a very securely and happily married man.

Mantegna: They do send us pictures on group text, which is thoughtful of them.

Vangsness: I don't think it's too much of a spoiler to tell you that this fine tradition makes it into our last episode. I co-wrote the finale, and we tried to cram in as many little Easter eggs and satisfying plot tie-ups as we could, both for fans and for each other. So within the episode, you'll see the BAU version of hot tub time machine. We worked really hard solving these super-intense crimes over what will be 325 episodes. After all these years, don't you think we deserve a little spa time?

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advicewithkali · 4 years ago

Text

Mistake, Maybe (Chapter One Draft)

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“What’s up guys, today we’re visiting Woodhils University to surprise a girl name Aubrey and her friend, who say they’re my biggest fans!” David sayid as he yelled into the camera.

He then turns his camera off and holds it in his left hand.

“David, how big of a fan are we exactly talking?” Jason inquires while chewing on green mint-flavored gum.

“I have to show you guys the video she sent me on twitter, I think she’s literarily my biggest fan. Check it out!” He said as he rummages through the slender small pocket of his black jean.

“You too, Jeff! You’re not going to believe this!” He yelled excitedly.

Jeff trudged over to the duo reluctantly, not really interested in the video David was about to show them or the visiting the university at all. David then pulled out his phone and opened the Twitter app, immediately going to his DMs. He scrolled through the messages for a second, before he landed on the video.

“Are you guys ready for this, it’s literally insane.” He said with pure excitement in his voice.

“David, come on just play it already,” Jason responded.

“Okay, okay, give me a sec.” He said as he turned his phone horizontally so that all three of them could see the video clearly. David then clicked on the video and let it play.

“My name is Aubrey and uh-sorry I’m a little nervous and excited uh.” She said as she began to fidget on her wooden chair. “Oh, my God David! Please, please, please come visit my school! I’m literally your biggest fan.” She abruptly blurted out quickly and loudly.

“She really is!” A female voice yelled in the background before quickly coming into the view of the camera.

“She’s literally obsessed with you, David. It’s bad. It’s so bad that we even have a “David Jar” in our dorm room. Anytime she mentions your name- mind you which is like every other sentence she has to put a dol- “She said before her explanation was interrupted by a slim hand muffling her speech.

“Sophie, shut up! Don’t say all of that shit. He’ll think I’m crazy! I’m trying to get him to visit us not run away, stupid!” Audrey yelled in slight frustration.

“Heh, sorry David uh, sometimes Sophie just says too much. Ha, you guys know how it is.” She said slightly nervous again as muffled noises began to come out from behind Audrey's hand.

“But anyway, David if you would come to visit me-us at Woodhill University dorm room 274 I would literally die, well no- but yes, okay gotta go bye!” She said yelled slightly frazzled and waved bye to the camera, along with a still muffled Sophie.

As the screen faded black, David turned around to face Jason and Jeff. “Can you guys believe that shit?” David asked still feeling ecstatic.

“David, I then she might be a little- off.” Jason trailed off and stopped chewing his gum.

“Ugh, Jason. Jeff please, please say you’re siding with me on this.” He said looking towards Jeff.

“Hell no, David. I’m siding with Jason on this one. You go there and you’re dead.” He said not sounding entertained with this idea.

“Well, if the two and the rest of the guys go, then I won’t be alone, no chance. Besides this will make some sick vlog footage! Jason told me it wouldn’t!” He said trying to convince them.

“It would but not if our lives at risk, David,” Jason said sounding slightly worried. “It’ll be fine. We’ll call up everyone and we’ll be all set. Nothing’s going to happen, Jason.”

Jason let out a deep sigh, “Alight, David. Let’s do this.

“Yes!” David said sounding thrilled. “What about you Jeff?” David said looking in his diffraction once again.

“I’m gonna pass. I don’t want to get murdered or risk going to prison again.” He said as he started to walk away.

“Wait, Jeff! If you don’t go how will you ever get that girlfriend, you said you wanted.” David said knowing that he had reeled Jeff back into his plan.

Jeff stopped abruptly in his steps, regretting a few months ago when he told the whole squad that he had been looking to find a serious relationship because now it was backfiring on him.

“Come on Jeff, at least one of those girls had to be your type!” Jason teased as he continued to chew the gum in his mouth.

Jeff smirks small as he turns around quickly, “Really, Jason? I pegged them more of your type don’t you like them young.” Jeff said as he was alluding to his tumultuous relationship with notorious Youtuber Trisha Paytas. They were twelve years apart.

“What?!” Jason yelled trying to act as if he didn’t know what Jeff was referring too. “That’s what you’re going to do old man? Act like you have no clue what or WHO I’m referring too.” He said as he chuckled.

“Of course, I do! I just don’t want to think about the past at all.” Jason said as he tried to make up an excuse.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tell the truth Jase, is it because you don’t want Tris- “He said before he was cut off by a series of objections coming from Jason.

“No, no, no! Don’t say that name! I don’t want any more drama!” He pleaded. Jason, then took his eyes off of Jeff and glanced to his right and saw that David was filming their whole conversation.

“No, David! Do not put that in! Delete it!” He screamed as he waved his hands in front of the camera trying to block it from recording any further.

David just giggled as he blocked all of Jason’s attempts to shield his camera. “Are you kidding that clip was too good not to put in! Think of the views Jason, the views!” He said jokingly.

“David, no. I’m going through this all over again with her, I’m begging you not to put that clip in.” Jason said feeling exhausted.

David stopped moving and lowered his camera as he pondered for a bit. A few moments later, he began to speak, “How about this?” He said with a smirked.

Jason, looked into David’s brown eyes, “Really, you’re betting on my life right now.” He said knowing too well that, that statement followed by that smirk never meant a good thing. Jason knew from the past that meant that David was thinking, plotting really, and it sucked to be on the other end.

Jason let out a slow sigh, “What is it?” He spoke in a defeated manner.

“Nothing, much. It’s nothing much just two small things.” He said.

Jason gave him a look of disbelief knowing that when David meant small, he really meant large and at times very extreme.

Jeff moved closer to the duo as he began to take interest in something regarding the vlog for the first time today.

“The first part includes Zane- “

“Oh God, I’m screwed!” Jason shouted out.

Jeff’s left eyebrow raised as he took more interest in the situation unfolding before him.

David laughed as he continued to speak, “So Zane has to come out of this party without hurting himself, breaking anything, or hurting someone else.” He said.

“I’m doomed,” Jason said weakly.

Jeff chuckled as Jason began to panic waiting for David to announce the second part to his “wicked” plan.

“The second part involves Jeff,” David said laughing harder as he observed Jeff’s facial expression.

“Me? Why the hell am I involved in this!?” He questioned loudly.

“I’m glad you asked Jeff, because if you don’t find a genuine connection with a girl tonight then I guess Jason will be on Drama alert this week.

“Yeah, and how are you going to be able to tell if I made a genuine connection or not? You gonna stalk me like your little super fan?” He said in a brazen tone.

“Ha, no. I’ll ask you some questions, see if they add up and if they don’t well… It’s Killer Keemstar for Jason.” He said as he tried to imitate Keemstar.

“Wow, David. You’re crazier than I thought. You sure you aren’t part of the Slovakian mob or something?” Jeff asked.

“Nope, just doing it for some content.” He said casually.

“Jeff please tell me you got this. Please.” Jason begged again. “What am I saying, of course, you do. Look at you, the real problem is Zane. I’ve got to call him!”

“Don’t worry Jason, I’ve got your back.” He said but for the first time in years, he wasn’t confident about the words that came out of his mouth. After all, it had been so long since he’s made a genuine connection with anyone, let alone a girl. He’s a thirty-year-old man, with a lonely apartment, a dog, and a group of wilds friends, could he really get real and open with someone at this point in his life? Let alone in one night?

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“What’s up guys, so the squad and I are right outside of Aubrey’s door and we’re about to knock.” He whispered slightly as he filmed the members of the vlog quad, which insisted on Zane, Heath, Mariah, Jason, Erin, Carly, Toddy, Jason, Jonah, and Jeff. Then turned the camera back on the door room, 247.

David smiled brightly as he began to knock on the door. The door instantly and swung open, slamming into the bedroom wall. The squad was greeted with the sounds of loud squeals and jumping up and down coming to a brown skin girl with dark brown long hair and a slim thick body and a bright smile from an olive-colored girl with long black hair, dark brown eyes, and freckles.

“You must be Aubrey, right?’ David said with his well-known smile. “Yes. Yes! That’s me!” She said as she switched from jumping up and down to bouncing on the heels of her feet.

“Can I- Can I hug you, David?” She asked.

“Of course!” He yelled as he pulled her in for a hug. The pair hugged for a few moments before David pulled away.

“And you must me Sophie?” He asked.

“It’s Sophia actually everyone usually calls me Sophie or Soph. I really don’t care which one you call me by I’ll still respond.” She said chucking.

“I think you guys should come in before Audrey explodes. Plus, it’s Taco and Tequila Tuesdays and you don’t want to be outside for that.” She warned.

“Mhm, that sounds so good right now!” Zane yelled from the back of the group.

“Zane!” Jason grumbled under his voice as he elbowed Zane on the left side of his ribcage.

“Right, right. I forgot.” He responded back as he retreated slightly from the conversation.

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Jeff’s P.O.V

David was the first one to walk in the dorm room. Followed by everyone else. I was hesitant to walk in. I can’t really say I feel comfortable being on a college campus filled with people- kids about a decade my senior. And David really expects me to find a genuine connection with one of them. He’s clearly lost his mind.

As I walked into the cramped and small room, I noticed how differently each side was decorated. On the right was a very bright, pink, and girly side, it had to be Aubrey’s side of the room. It was pretty much like any other college dorm you’d see. While the other side was decorated in an alternative way. It was darker and had stacks of books, CDs and records, and band posters. I wonder who’s side it was. Not, Sophia’s. It doesn’t seem to match her personality.

I continued to analyze the room as everyone gathered around Aubrey’s bed. I then spotted a small shuffle out of the side of my left eye. I looked closer and saw that it was a girl. She was stunning. She had the most beautiful smooth brown skin and pillow-soft curls. I continued to stare in her direction as I observed her reading a book.

I guess I stared too long because she looked up in my direction before quickly turning away, huddling down in her book further. I was taken back slightly; I had never had that reaction before from someone. I guess she was just shy. I didn’t really know but I wanted too.

I kept looking in her direction a few moments longer, hoping she would look up at me again. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen as I was knocked out of my trance by Toddy when he elbowed me in my right ribcage.

“Dude, you alright? You zoned out for a while there.” He questioned. “Yeah…. I’m fine.” I said back, still not fully paying attention to him.

“Well then come on, Audrey’s about to answer some questions and prove that she’s David’s number one fan!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. Before he could move, he glances back at the girl in the corner and saw her twitch slightly and move closer into the corner as she turned her back towards him.

With that, I finally joined the rest of my friends. I didn’t sit. I told everyone that I felt better standing but in reality, I was uncomfortable being in this room. Not only was it a room for college kids but something was very off about the vibes in this room.

I left my train of thought to try and pay attention to what was going on before me. I tried my hardest to be entertaining and put on the “Jeff character” but I was so distracted by the girl in the corner. Every second I spent in this room I just wanted to turn my head and peek over at her even if it was for just a second.

“Okay, okay! Next question, “What sport did members of the vlog squad play that eventually lead to a kiss between Heath and me? I heard David ask.

“No way she’s going to get this one!” I heard Heath scream.

“Baby, it’s a wrap you ain’t getting this one!” Zane yelled in agreement.

“If she gets this one, I’m done I’m just- I can’t!” Toddy yelled right beside me.

I then looked up at Aubrey and saw a look of determination on her face followed a smirk and small glimmer of some something I couldn’t put my finger on, in her eyes.

“Beer Bottle Frisbee.” She said with all the confidence in her voice. Her answer was met with extremely loud cheers. As everyone was distracted, I turned my head quickly in the direction the mysterious girl was sitting and saw her getting up. I immediately turned my head back around, this time looking down in hopes of seeing where she was off too.

To my surprise, she ended up leaving without anyone noticing. While everyone was still cheering, I took this as an opportunity to go speak to her. I waited a few seconds before I slipped out of the room quietly and followed the direction, I saw her go in.

As I walked down the hallway, I saw piles of garbage, toilet paper streamers, and drunk guys getting loud in the hallway. This gave me even more of an incentive to find this girl. She doesn’t seem like the type to be safe in this environment.

I followed her for what seemed like an hour. I made sure to keep my distance. I didn’t want her to know that I was following her. I guess I could throw that thought right out the window because this is when she completely stopped walking.

“P-please stop following me.” She said with her back still turned to me.

I just continued to stare at her for a second before I spoke, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to talk to you.” I said, trying to find the right words to say to her. For some reason, my confidence with this girl was swaying.

“Why?” She mumbled lowly.

I walked closer to her until I was a few inches away from her.

“I can’t really come up with an excuse right now. There really shouldn’t be an excuse to talk to a pretty girl, so I won’t say one. I’ll tell the truth. There’s- there’s something about you something different that drew me into you and I just wanted to get to know you.” I said as I smiled.

“I’m Jeff,” I said as I held my hand out and continued to smile.

She turned around fully after I said my name. I could’ve sworn I stopped breathing for a second as I took in her full appearance. I felt wrong in away because I knew she was too young, but I pushed those thoughts aside because this opportunity was too perfect to miss.

I continued to hold out my hand and smile but her facial expression never changed, and she never made and moves to shake my hand. I looked at trying to predict what she would do. She then began to shuffle on her feet and moved her arms to wrap around her body.

“I know.” She whispered lowly. I wasn’t quite sure how to react to her reactions. She seemed so scared and guarded.

“Uh, so you watch the vlogs then?” I asked trying to then of something to get relive some of the awkwardness.

“Um, yeah sometimes. Mostly when I have free time form classes and studying.” She said with a little more pep as she looked up at me.

I smiled small. She finally said something more than one word.

“Not like your roommate, right?” I said as I chuckled lightly. Her face faltered at the mention of her roommate.

“No.” She said quietly again.

“So, I didn’t get your name,” I said.

“It’s ah Kamora. Kamora Maxwell.” She said facing me again with those big brown eyes. Even her name matched her.

“Everyone usually goes crazy for David and the vlog squad and you left? Not your type of YouTubers?” I asked trying to get her to speak more and refraining from personal or sensitive topics.

“Um, I’m just not much of a social person. And I do like you- um you guys but I like to see you guys as normal individuals. I don’t want to separate the human qualities from you guys just because you well know.” She said.

She’s attractive and smart, the full package.

“Believe it or not, I’m not social either,” I said being completely honest.

She looked at me intrigued.

“Yeah from the vlogs and my channel I look like this super social guy, but I hate it. I like to be independent and do my own thing. Don’t get me wrong I like my group of friends but sometimes I just need to retreat to my cave and recharge.” I said just blurting out how I felt. For some reason, I felt completely safe confiding in her.

She nodded her head in agreeance with me.

“So where are you from? You kind of have an accent but I can’t pinpoint it.” I said.

“I’m from New York City, actually.” She said.

“You’re lying!” I shouted getting a bit excited. She shook her no.

“What part?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t Staten Island.

“The Bronx.” She responded back.

“The Bronx, huh? I know a couple people up that way. They’re cool guys. I outta visit them when I head back home again.” I said reminiscing slightly.

“Since you watch the vlogs then you probably know that I’m from Staten Island- “

“The Forgotten Island,” We said in unison.

I chuckled at that and smiled at her.

We stood in silence for a few moments before I began to speak again. “It’s funny how we both ended up moving from one side of the country to the other. It’s crazy to think about how bad my life was going. The decisions and the people I were hanging out with put me right in prison. But, I’m so glad I was given another chance at life and I’m finally able to live a decent life.” I said as I opened up to her.

“For some reason, I feel like you weren’t like me. You needed up her for some reason and I-“I said before she interrupted me.

“I- I’m sorry. I-I can’t do this!” She yelled as she took a few tentative steps back before bolting past me.

I stood there in shock for a few moments. What did she mean that she “couldn’t do this”? Did she mean socializing in general or just talking to me? Was it something I said? I didn’t really know what to say or do at this moment all I knew was I had to find her and I had to make things okay.

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