#also how Alex’s hand looks so much smaller than Miles’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

supercorpkid · 11 months ago

Text

Powergirl Should Die

Supergirl. Powergirl. B!D. Kara Danvers x BabyDanvers!Reader, Alex Danvers x BabyDanvers!Reader, Lena Luthor, Winn Schott.

Word Count: 2550.

Porwergirl should die. Someone should kill her.

The suit is skin tight, it clings so forcefully onto you as if it's trying to become part of you. But this other skin, just simply doesn’t fit right over your bones.

There is a huge House of El crest over your chest, in its golden glory. It weighs down on your skin, heavy and sacred. It should help you feel at ease. It doesn’t. It feels like it’s burning your skin like a branding iron.

Kryptonian?

Yes.

Super powers?

Yes.

You’re a superhero. Next, please!

Kara stands tall next to you, hand on your shoulder. “Would you look at that,” your sister smiles brightly at you. “Mother and father would be so proud of you, mini me.”

Kara has called you that your whole life, but you never felt so little as you do right now. You've also never felt so much like Kara. Crumpled up inside this supersuit to fit someone else’s dream. You don’t think your parents would be very proud of you now.

“Kara, this feels odd.” You try to lift the suit from your skin, that is so snuggled up it barely leaves you room to breathe. “I-I look like you.”

“I know!” She proudly squeaks. “I asked Winn to only change the colors. How do you feel about the white, red and blue?”

“Like a walking American flag.” You wince at the thought. You like the white, it’s a little more sober than the blue in Kara's suit, it also reminds you of the vest you used to wear back in Krypton. The red cape feels like they've ripped a piece of Kara’s and placed it on your back. The high blue boots are uncomfortable and the matching gloves are just plain stupid.

“You certainly don’t look like one.” Alex chimes in from behind you, and you turn around, sick of the sight of you in the mirror. “Honestly sis, I like this suit. I think it might be even better than Kara’s.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, mine has history.”

“Yours is a copy of Superman’s.”

“That’s what I mean, history.”

You watch your sister’s bickering with faint attention because they both would never say how ridiculous you look with this dull, hideous, comical outfit.

But it didn’t matter how foolish you looked, or how stupid you felt. There was no way out of this. Kara said you looked perfect and Alex agreed. J’onn, who’s been the closest thing to a father to you on this planet, gave you a stiff smile when asked what he thought. He could read your mind, remember? That’s what he thought about it. And Winn was just over the moon with his creation. No way out. From that day on, you’re Powergirl.

It hasn’t been long since you started being Powergirl. You’re still not the most prominent face of the Supers, thank God for that. You do the easy jobs while Kara takes on the real bad guys. You follow her lead. Obey to what Alex tells you to do over the comm that is permanently stuck in your ear. As if you couldn’t hear her from miles and miles away.

But with every passing day, it becomes even more obvious to you that you were really not cut out for this superhero life. Not good at it. Not happy with it. Not fit for it.

The very opposite of Kara, actually. Because Kara fits everywhere and with everyone. She fits perfectly in her suit, with her alias. Perfectly at her job at CatCo, as a news reporter. And ever since she landed on Earth she created her perfect family, story, life on this planet.

You, on the other hand, wish everyday you were still at Krypton. You are well aware that if you stayed behind, that if your parents hadn't made Kara snuggle your smaller form against her own body on that pod, you would have exploded. You wouldn't be alive today. And you wish people knew you don't want to be dead, you just wish your planet hadn't exploded in the first place.

Sure Kara feels the same. Yet she makes a name for herself and gives back to this planet that took you both in so willingly, that gave you both powers because of its sun. Kara is just different.

"Mother would want us to use our powers for good." She would whisper to you in the dark, whenever the Danvers would tell you to not use your powers. Whenever they asked you to fit in completely. "Father spent so much time trying to stop our planet from deteriorating, don't you think that if he had powers he would use them to make that happen?"

She would ask you questions that didn't feel like questions. That required no answers at all. Kara would tell you what she knew about them, use them as arguments to explain to you (convince even) why you had to become a superhero too.

And you would lay there in the dark, after your sister was asleep, looking at the long dead stars, and wondering whether she was right. Whether that was your parents' plans all along or just a sad coincidence.

"Powergirl." You hear Kara's voice early in the morning while you're still trying to brew yourself a cup of coffee. "I need you for a second."

"It's too early in the morning and I have to get ready for work." You press on your comm to answer. "Can't you deal with it alone?"

"Hm, no. I need you to come here now."

You let out a huge sigh, trying to ease your own mind. Coffee will wait, you guess. You're out of your pj's, into your suit, and out of the house in a blur. You stop next to Kara while she stares at a billboard.

"What?" You can't help the harshness of your tone as you see no emergency around her.

Kara says nothing. Only points at the billboard and you finally take note of it. Written in large red colors, the sentence: Powergirl should die.

Huh.

"It seems that you have an enemy." Kara says when time enough has passed for you to read the sentence over a few times. "Don't worry, we'll catch them."

Cute. It's your first thought. It's almost like someone wrote you a love letter, au contraire.

Kara makes an effort to tear it all down, destroy the billboard before anyone sees it. You don't help her, stuck inside your own mind, replaying the words in your head.

"No need to worry." She assures you, hand on your shoulder to get you out of your trance. "No one will do you any harm, mini me. I'd never let anyone hurt you."

"Thanks, Kar." You look at your watch on your wrist. "Work calls." And so you fly home.

You try to lodge that sentence in the back of your mind. You don't wanna seem stressed out, even though you are. But showing how actually worried you are about it, and with the fact that someone is coming for you, it's inconceivable.

Kara would worry. Alex would stress. Ooof, you can see it all playing out. Sleepovers and excuses for you to miss work and hang at the DEO headquarters so they can keep an eye on you, until you're feeling suffocated.

No, no. You can't go through that. It's been a while since you and your sisters shared a bedroom. You don't think you three can do that again now that you're grown ups.

It happens again. You don't see it, but you hear the agents commenting about it, a couple days later. They get muted the second you fly in the DEO, which is not only annoying but foolish. You do have super hearing after all.

"So, where was it this time?" You ask Alex, while she tries to avoid looking at you.

"Where's what?" She tries, and you furrow your brows.

"Winn, put it on the monitor." You ask coming closer. Winn looks at Alex as if asking for permission, but you don't give her time to deny him. "Come on, I heard the agents. I'm still Kryptonian even if I'm not a Super."

Winn huffs. "On the tallest building of National City." The photo goes up on the large TV in front of you, and you swallow deep.

Powergirl should die.

"Y/N," Alex talks in a low tone so the agents around can't hear her. "it's not personal."

"Looks personal." You cross your arms, turning your back at the TV. "Someone wanting me dead sounds like it's as personal as it can get."

"Supergirl is looking into it, I promise we'll catch whoever did this."

"Alex, please." You pass her on your way to the training room. "You know damn well my favorite thing about you is that you don't lie."

"You've lost too many punching bags." You hear a voice behind your back, and you breathe deep before turning around.

"Just training a little." You look at the number of destroyed bags by your feet and decide that it's true, there's too many, even though that's what they're here for.

"Alex told me about the message." Kara approaches you slowly, trying to test the territory. She can see your distress, but doesn't know the extent of it. And she won't, because you're definitely going to fake it.

"Yeah, tall building. They got the writing off quickly, though. So no major problems."

"Honey," Kara's voice is even sweeter now, if that's possible. "I'll catch them. I'll be patrolling tonight. No one's coming for you."

"I'm not worried." You smile at your lie, or half of lie for what it's worth. Knowing that Kara will be patrolling the city helps. You know your sister would never let anything bad happen to you. And it's very unlikely that anyone on this planet could easily defeat two Kryptonians.

Kara also smiles, and brings you into her arms for a hug. And you breathe out, calmer. Kara's arms have kept you safe from many perils. Spaceship lost in space, new planet, new school, new job. Surely she can keep you safe again.

You don't feel safe, though, when you wake up to a familiar voice far away. You rub the sleep from your eyes, well awake, paying close attention to a conversation you weren't invited to be a part of.

"Alex, I went around the city, there's no new wri-"

"Kara? What was that?"

There it was, in big red letters the sentence that has been haunting you for days. Powergirl should die. And under it new words' been added, someone should kill her.

"I found new writing." Kara's voice comes a second later. "It's worse this time."

"Take a picture so we can compare the handwriting and get back here."

"I have to clean this up." But before Kara even has the chance to, you're flying next to her in front of the L Corp building. "Y/N! What are you doing here?"

You move closer to the building to investigate. The ink is still wet, it wasn't done too long ago. You look around trying to find cameras. It's Lena's building, you're sure there are cameras everywhere. You spot one with a direct view.

"Mini me-" Kara tries.

"Go to work Supergirl, I'll deal with this. Someone wanting me dead is my problem." It's always been your problem, you are aware. But Kara promised you, you had nothing to worry about. Promised she would patrol the city. Promised she would protect you. And yet, here it is, in big block red letters.

"But-"

"I got it, Kara. Can you just believe in me?"

"Y/N, you know I do. I just wanna help."

"I don't need help." You clench your jaw, tired of being treated like a little girl. Like a mini Kara instead of your own person. "I'm Kryptonian too."

Cheap shot? Maybe. Definitely. You throw it, anyway.

You clean the writing then fly home to suit up. You can't face Lena without it. Another secret that only makes you hate your secret identity as hard. Lying to your friends, sneaking out, it's all stressing and there's literally no reward high enough worth of all this.

"Lena."

"Oh shit." Lena's hand goes to her chest after her obvious scare. You can hear her heart almost beating out of her chest. "It's too early for bad news, Powergirl."

"Trust me, I agree with that." You breathe out, trying to give her a smile. It comes out flat. "I was wondering if I could look into one of your surveillance cameras. There was some writing on this building this morning, I would very much like to know who's responsible."

"Writing? I - I didn't see anything when I came in."

"Good. I cleaned it as fast as possible." You point at her computer and she breathes deep as if she is agreeing with you.

It doesn't take long for the images to be up, and you two to be carefully reversing the filming until Lena sees you and Kara flying in front of it, and read the words herself. She looks up to you and quirks up an eyebrow, in question.

"Currently unsure if someone is threatening me or if this is just general knowledge being passed on."

"People don't want you dead, you're a superhero!" Lena argues. "Maybe Lex, but he's currently serving his time."

"Clearly not everyone agrees with you." You point back at the words on her computer.

"It's awful." She admits, even though she doesn't fully trust you or Kara yet. "Wait, wait. There."

You can't see a thing. One minute is there, the other isn't. You slow down the images, trying to see any detail. Lena soon takes over and slows down as much as she can. That's when you see it, just a tiny flash of red. You hold your breath. Thankfully, Lena hasn't noticed it.

"How's this possible? There's no one."

"Seems that I'll have to patrol the city myself tonight." You're almost leaving Lena's office when you turn around one more time. "Thank you for your help, Ms. Luthor."

"I was barely of any help at all." Lena points at the computer as proof and you give her a smile.

"Au contraire, darling. You showed me everything I needed to see." You wink at her, then fly out.

You march inside the DEO, positive on your plan. No one is talking you out of it, that's for sure.

Winn tries to argue that it is illogical for you to just give yourself to your enemy. He gets ignored. Alex argues that as a DEO agent she can't let you do this, and as your older sister she would be insane to leave you alone in this situation. You don't budge. Kara pulls out the big guns, her promise to mother and father, her duty as your protector, how you're the only connection she still has with Krypton, her love for you and so on. Her cries fall on deaf ears.

So at night, you fly around National City watching and studying everyone in it, even though you know you should only be looking for one person. One person with superspeed, a red cape and a big motive.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x reader #reader insert #baby danvers #alex danvers #alex x reader #powergirl #supergirl imagine

85 notes · View notes

danieesketches · 2 years ago

Photo

[MAY 2006]

‘And when they do, there’s an explosion of emotions. They talk and laugh and smile. They go see a movie, they go out for a meal, mobile phones allow them to take photos so easily and they have fun pulling stupid faces into the tiny lens, hands twisting awkwardly so the camera can actually focus on them.’

I’m not a writer, but after finishing Road 96 Mile 0, I had many emotions and decided to write a fanfic. I’m not the greatest writer out there, and I imagine there’s probably a fair few mistakes in this, but I had fun creating this.

More of my ramblings are below the keep reading line, along with the story. It became way longer than I imagined it would, but I hope you enjoy reading it, if you chose to do so!

[SPOILERS IN STORY AND AUTHOR NOTES BELOW]

Self indulgent Road 96 Mile 0 fanfic because the game was everything I hoped for it to be and more.

SPOILERS FOR MILE 0 AND ROAD 96 GOOD ENDINGS.

Also, there is swearing in this story.

This is set during and after the ending in which Kaito and his family are driving away to start their new lives. There is also some mentions of the Road 96 ending where Florres wins (specifically the ending where John, Fanny and Alex embrace one another).

I haven’t started the main Road 96 game yet though, so the knowledge of it I do have is based on playthrough bits I’ve seen on YouTube.

It’s somewhat mostly Kaito-centric but I do try to discuss his parents and a few other characters here and there.

In which life goes on and the years bring many changes.

The feeling of the night time breeze hit Kaito as he mindlessly gazed out the open window. The stars lined the sky for what seemed like endless miles and the view behind them got smaller and smaller.

Big Bear Rest Stop got smaller and smaller.

Petria got smaller and smaller.

Kaito could have screamed, he could have cried. Zoe had taken the file, but she’d finally know. She’d finally wake the fuck up and see he was right all along. Robert had been so close to finishing them all off there but something in the gun wielding man let them live, leaving with fake IDs, glances across their shoulder and hope.

Instead, he cleared the breath he’d lodged into his throat and whispered “I love you both.” to his parents. He’s nearly lost them so many times, but he hasn’t told them how much they mean to him. How he’s sorry he’s been so angry that he’s not let them know he can still feel love without it being at the expense of hurting someone else.

He sees his mom and dad smile. Tired smiles, but for once they seem to have a light in their eyes. Like maybe something good is ahead.

“We love you too Kaito.” Anzu smiles. “Now get some rest, we have a while to go.”

For the first time in longer than he realises, he knows he’ll sleep maybe peacefully as opposed to the often mild resentment.

The car takes them to a place that isn’t quite a town, village or city. More like a pit stop kind of area just after the border, enough places to look around but not exactly somewhere you’d settle down for the remainder of your life.

It’s small, quiet and far from the shitty work dormitory. Daw looks over at his sleeping wife and son and is thankful to whatever higher power exists that he lives another day to see them flourish.

He’d long been desensitised to the awful treatment from the upperclass toward the poorer folk of Petria. Having moved there with his wife during its early days of the past dictatorship, they’d managed to get by easily enough as long as they kept their mouths shut and just did what they were told. But then the old leadership was overthrown by Tyrak and everything went from bad to worse.

When Anzu found out they were expecting Kaito, she and her husband had been living in a small apartment at the time, but supporting a baby and yourself was not easy with their wages, so Daw took it upon himself to take as many jobs as he could so Anzu could rest during her maternity.

Their neighbours at the time had been the loveliest older couple they could ever call friends. The Johnsons had seen Petria in many of its forms. Their own lives had not been a walk in the park there, but things went onward and got manageable. Malcolm, the husband, was a crossword enthusiast but didn’t always like reading the contents of the newspapers he bought for puzzles. Abigail, the wife, was short but absolutely loved to wear a bright pink cardigan and green flowery bag whenever she wasn’t working.

They had been a staple support, Abigail coming around to check up on Anzu when Daw and Malcolm weren’t available. She’d bring around some jam and crackers and gently spoke. Malcolm helped them insulate their apartment windows and put reflective foil behind their main room radiator so they’d be a bit warmer when it got colder.

Daw was a silent man. He didn’t argue with authority. He just did as he was told, even when his boss was a pretentious 20 something year old whose manager status was entirely down to nepotism. Daw cleaned streets, wiped windows, trimmed hedges, painted walls. You name it, he’d probably done it.

Long hours, mediocre pay, but if it meant his wife didn’t have to worry or suffer, he’d do it a thousand times over.

Kaito was born on February 17th,1980. He’d cried so much and held so tightly onto the fabric of his mother’s nightdress. Daw had been afraid to hold him too roughly but Anzu had placed the restless infant in his arms and immediately, the fear was replaced by a strive to make sure his son and wife never had to worry.

In the very far distance of White Sands, fireworks had been set off for some other party, but Anzu and Daw saw those as a joyous cry out to welcome their baby boy into the world.

As time went on, Daw was heartbroken to see the consequences of not being able to keep his promise. Kaito was 14 when Aya passed away and he was 15 when he dropped out of high school to help his parents out when they ended up being evicted from their old apartment.

He’d done so with a smile, but Daw knew when his son was lying and would never admit to seeing the resentment he cast at the rich folk who’d look at workers as if they were scum.

Times like these, he missed the Johnsons. He regrets 1986 happening. He hoped they didn’t suffer.

Anzu did the speaking at the motel front desk. John had given them an envelope of cash along with a note reading the address to this place.

“Tell the front desk Mr Ursus recommended you stay here. That’ll help things run smoothly. This should cover you for a bit.” The trucker has advised them before heading on his own way.

The bearded Brigade had been right too. Front desk had them sign a month lease and gave them the keys to a room. The rate worked out fairly even to the worker dorm rent. The envelope had held a combination of their savings they had slowly put away over the course of 6 years and a little extra that John had added.

The room was one main room decorated with a double bed and single bed separated by a desk with a lamp, another desk, a tiny mini fridge and a wardrobe. An iron and a kettle were sat on the bigger table. Through a door was the bathroom which was plain but had a cupboard above the sink for storing things in.

It was big and small all at once, but for now it was home. So clad with only a few bags of clothes and the odd trinket between them, they wiped down surfaces with some wipes and set to getting accustomed to all of this.

“It’s so big.” Kaito mused. For the first time in a long time, all of them would be guaranteed to sleep in a bed for every night the family stayed here.

For the first three days, tiredness had taken hold of the Lin family far more than expected. To the point they’d maybe been awake for 5 hours of each day. Almost like they were chasing away years of burdens. By day four, they needed to eat an actual meal instead of a couple crackers.

Front desk had lead them to a room they could use for cooking. $5 fee per person, per use, so the family decided only one would cook in there while the others would take the food to their room.

The first proper meal they sat down to eat was rice with some veggies they’d gotten from the convenience store. Their fridge however had many sandwiches wrapped in cling film, a bag of apples, a bottle of diet cola and some instant noodles.

And it, in Anzu’s opinion, was the best meal she’d had in ages.

Maybe this little motel could be home for a while longer.

After their first week of staying together and slowly adjusting to now being known as the Chen family, the trio enquired to the front desk clerk about employment within that area. And would luck have it, the motel was considering hiring more help with some tasks like the laundry and housecleaning.

With the promise of things that sounded too good to be true (alright hours, alright payrate, heavily discounted accommodation and a $3 discount in the utilities rooms) the trio were responsible for things like the cleaning of the rooms, laundry and making the exterior look nice. They worked at different hours but usually two were working the same shift, leaving the third to their own devices.

“Not to worry, if Ursus sent you here, it’s the least I can do.” The woman smiled a cheeky grin before pulling out a sheet of paper to jot down their names and place them into their respective shifts.

Paychecks were given every two weeks and Kaito nearly choked when he saw they’d each gotten $60. Last time they’d gotten something even close to that was when management had been feeling generous (probably trying to be eligible for some weird tax loophole) one Christmas and gave everyone a bonus as a treat. It was only ever the once that happened though.

While his parents had work that day, Kaito had two days off and so he decided that he would treat his parents to dinner. The convenience store clerk was bored reading a magazine. Kaito felt weird as he tried to decide between which pasta sauce he wanted to try. The mini basket on his arm already had a huge bag of fusilli alongside some milk powder and a box of cereal.

Deciding on a plain tomato one, he took the items to be paid for when he glanced a packet of plain biscuits on the stand by him. And for the first time ever, he didn’t cringe when he saw they cost nearly a dollar.

Anzu and Daw are asleep in their bed when Kaito creeps out of the room to sit on the porch steps outside. In his hand he has a mug of water and a few biscuits on a napkin. He just sits and watches the world go by. Rarely does a car drive past tonight and here he is in pyjamas with midnight snacks, feeling the weight of the past three weeks.

Petria feels like forever ago and not long enough. He’s woken up each day and not felt like he’s going to lose his shit and tear down Tyrak posters. Thankfully this place is very ‘no politics mentioned’ (at least in attitude) so he doesn’t particularly have to consider the implications that anyone around him may want to sing praises for that shithead.

If they’re going to feel that way, they should stay silent.

The stars aren’t as bright tonight. But the skies are peaceful. He knows that if he were to stand in the middle of the road, he’d see Mount National closer than he could from the roof he and Zoe once sat at. Picking a biscuit to chew on, he pauses and places it down.

“Fucking hell.” He mumbles and draws himself close. Tears pool and are blotted away by the sleeve of his top. “fucking hell.” He repeats.

Because his family is not rich; but here he is. A warm bed, a job he doesn’t particularly hate his manager at and he just bought a pack of fucking biscuits because he saw them and decided why not? He feels like they’re finally winning something. Maybe not a huge something but there’s something.

“I know son. I know.” His mother whispers lovingly as she takes a seat next to him and brings him in for a hug. It’s been so long since she heard her son cry, even more so for reasons not affiliated with the brutal reality of what being poor poor was like.

Daw watched the scene from the door. For the first time in a while, all three of them had the next day free and so he decided he’d see if there happened to be any crossword books in the little shop.

“I’m sure you’d be proud, Johnsons.” The older man smiled.

The store has crossword books. Daw buys a handful of them.

They haven’t gotten around to talking about everything they went through, and for a while, they probably won’t. But that’s for their future.

By July, Kaito and his family take a trip to the town a 15 minute drive away from their accommodation. They’ve been putting bits of money down here and there and that’s just as well because after the past two months of a better diet and a steady enough routine, Kaito finds that his old clothes fit slightly closer on him than they used to be. His face wasn’t so gaunt anymore either, one might say he didn’t immediately look like seething death.

Their family had never had a reason to spend above their means, so on a sleepy summer morning, the trio are looking at items in a small charity shop. Amidst her collection of clothing, Anzu saw a lovely green top with flowers on it that reminded her of the bag Abigail had once owned and cherished.

Daw picked up a few Hawaiian shirts and a little fishing hat to add to his collection of one. The work back in Petria may have been gruelling but the hat he wore everyday was a comfort to him. It has been a gift Kaito had acquired for him (the younger never did reveal how he found or got the hat).

Kaito, however, had a bit of different styles in his hand. He had a couple plain tops, a pair of jeans and a couple pairs of trousers, however he also had a bright green and orange colour block shirt and a t-shirt that seemed to be for some band called Metallica.

By the time they get back, Kaito and Daw head back out to start their respective shifts cleaning the vacant rooms and sorting out the laundry load. Anzu sets to carefully removing the price stickers on the clothes and separating them accordingly to get them washed while the machines were free.

Charity shops weren’t a huge thing back in Petria, but when they were, the price of stuff was outrageous to even be considered charity.

Sat in the little room with only her thoughts, she absentmindedly listens to the radio talk about things like some pop group’s upcoming concert in Philadelphia or a new vacuum going on sale. And as the washing machine thrums, she finds herself calm.

Routine, Kaito learns over time, is nice. The solid structure of expecting to do something one day and another thing on another is working wonders for him. He carries a little year planner and in it he has his work shift hours written and any reminders he needs to note.

He starts thinking about the gaps in times he has on some weeks. How he remembers his days used to be fairly sporadic after he dropped out of high school. Sometimes he’d be delivering newspapers, others he’d be hanging out with Zoe- before all the need to get out was a thing.

Petria doesn’t become much of a topic of conversation for any of them, though he’s sure at some point his family is going to need to talk about this to someone. He also doesn’t hear about it on the radio stations or TV in the reception area. It’s frightening, like it cut itself off from the world. Beyond those walls was a hellscape.

This motel area isn’t perfect by any means, but it’s a thousand times better than where they ran away from and that in itself makes it almost like a heaven of some sorts.

Kaito wasn’t sure how long they’d be staying here after they renewed their lease for the fifth time. He was starting to wonder what was beyond this beyond.

Donning a pair of rubber gloves, Kaito sets to cleaning the utilities area of any food stains, bits of rubbish and dust that may be accumulating. As he scrubs and sprays surface cleaner, the clerk (god, what was her name?) came rushing in to him and quietly beckoned him to come into the back room.

His parents are in the room, eyes glued to the TV when they see it. The newscaster is discussing some documents that have been given to them, recording how the 1986 Peak Collapse was caused not by the Black Brigades but rather Tyrak and his government. Kaito finds himself unable to speak. And as the story progresses, they hear how the dictator had been arrested for his crimes, how Senator Florres won her election campaign and pledged to make amends with many of the citizens of Petria and break down barriers set by the corrupt class system and its equally awful upholders.

“Holy shit.” His father swore. Kaito didn’t know the man even knew how to swear. Learn something new every day.

“I imagine you guys will want some time to process this. Finish up what you’re doing now and take the rest of the night off.” The woman, whom Kaito notices has a name tag saying ‘Arlene’ speaks softly to the boy before she walks into another smaller connecting room to take a call.

The family turn to one another. This day, this day that they could never imagined would happen, had indeed happened.

“Go on Kaito.” Anzu looked ready to burst into tears, her hands shook in her husband’s and she hunched over to take a deep breath. Kaito looked over at her, and wrapped his arms around her and his dad before agreeing and leaving.

In the smaller private room with only a filing cabinet, a yellow radio and a landline, Arlene dials a number she’s committed to memory but still keeps a post it note for. The phone line rings out and nobody takes the call, so she hangs up and just stands there.

Right now she wants to speak to John. Wants to tell him it’s all been worth it, to say thank you for what he and Conny and Stephen and Naomi had done for her all those years ago.

See, she knew what the deal with people that came to her establishment per recommendation of Mr Ursus was. Having been a Brigade as long as she was, she knew what it was like to be scared and looking for a new life.

The dictatorships of Petria had turned what could have been a good place to live into a nightmare for the reserved many.

The Brigades in their early days helped her get out, but she couldn’t bring herself to completely abandon her roots. Something about the hope John had for the future for many had drawn her to staying as a contact for the cause.

This motel had been abandoned when she took it under her wing for dirt cheap from a businessman desperate to get it sold off. And it had taken some time and perseverance, but things were going in such a way that they could keep the business running.

She was happy to spend a while longer here, until there was a guarantee that Tyrak and those alike could never ruin Petria as much as it already had been. And she’d use this place to help those John brought to her.

She’d give them employment as their new self, something to have a reference of for when they spread their wings and flew out of the nest. Rule number one, everyone gets a second chance at life. Rule number two, whoever you were before you came to her was irrelevant.

Arlene takes a deep breath and takes hold of the radio, putting it in one of the black plastic bags she always keeps in the cabinet. Tonight she is celebrating, she’s not sure how, but she is. Once night shift comes in; she’ll let them know the good news if they haven’t already heard.

When Kaito returns home, there are grapes and strawberries in one bowl and a huge serving of pasta and sauce in another. There’s also a bottle of cider on the desk that he nearly asks about but his mother smiles “Arlene is very kind.”

As Kaito cheekily asks if he is included in the kindness, Anzu follows up with “maybe our kindness, but not hers.” And the younger realises that’s the first time in a long time that he has heard his mom make a joke (though he knows she’s completely serious).

They eat happily that evening, and still have a nicely stocked fridge for the next few days. Tyrak is hopefully suffering tremendously and people might not have to sneak out of Petria anymore.

Kaito finds himself a little bitter that his family had to worry for so long only for a few months later to bring new hope. Only a little though. Kaito Lin was born in poverty, raised in poverty and saw people’s darkness far too often. Kaito Lin can rest easy now and Kaito Chen will carry on for him.

Maybe that, in itself, is the greatest gift he can receive.

And if the Chen family smile a little more often as they work the days after, well that’s not for Arlene to judge.

It was late September when Daw and Anzu were finishing their shifts when they saw her in the lobby. Zoe Muller, but not as they remembered her. Now she seemed different, not just because of the piercings and tattoo, but something about her seemed knowing right now. And she must have recognised the duo too because Arlene looked between the trio, lingering on the Chen’s as if to ask if they needed her to do something.

When Daw greeted Zoe with a simple “hello. You are looking well.” Arlene figured they might be okay, and left to go take care of some paperwork, sliding a set of keys to Zoe and taking a few dollar bills into the back room.

Zoe was at a slight loss for words seeing Daw and Anzu in attire that wasn’t the blue Petria workers uniform. They looked content in their grey sweats and plain tops. She took a moment to compose herself and approached the duo, keeping a slight distance between them as if she were afraid they’d reject her.

“I-I. I’m sorry.” She spologises.

“We know.” Daw comments. Kaito had told them what happened when they got into the car after Robert’s hissy fit.

“If you wish to see Kaito, he will likely be around. He likes the view on the porch steps.”

Zoe nods, fear and elation caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected the Lin family to be here. She knows John mentioned having a contact running a motel, but what were the odds of this one being the exact one that her best friend and his family would go to?

“I’d like that.” She smiles. She lets them leave first just as Arlene returns to the front and gives her a knowing look.

“Got some catching up to do or apologisin’?”

“Yes.” Zoe notes, and leaves. Arlene chuckles to herself, wondering what on earth John would say to all of this.

Kaito was wearing a green and orange shirt when Zoe saw him sitting on one of the remaining plastic chairs at the foot of the porch. She couldn’t tell if he was sat outside his own room or not but there he was.

He seemed at peace, a crossword book in his hand and a pencil in the other.

“K?” The nickname seems foreign on her tongue. And when the boy turns to her, he can’t help but take in Zoe’s appearance. Eyebrow and numerous lobe piercings, shorter hair and the bird tattoo she’d once had him trace was now permanent ink.

“Z?” he doesn’t seem to quite believe his eyes, setting down the book and standing up to properly determine he wasn’t imagining things.

“Can I sit?” she motions to the porch space next to him. He nods, and then they realise that they’re not the same teens they were a few months ago.

“You got that tattoo eh?” Kaito motions to her shoulder. She’s taken aback. There doesn’t seem to be animosity in his voice. And his eyes aren’t analysing or glaring. In fact, the boy before her is what she imagines Kaito would have been like if his life in Petria had been different.

His dimples are more prominent too, and here he is. As real as can be.

“You were right K. you were always right, and I was so wrong, and-“

“I know.” He muses.

Kaito neither forgive Zoe, nor did he not forgive her. It was a grey area of understanding and knowing that everyone was hurting. Granted he wished they’d left on better terms, but it is what it is and they’re here now.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Kaito finishes. “I’m sorry too. For hurting you back then.”

Zoe forgave Kaito the moment she read the file, but in the spirit of the conversation, she made that vocal and while it wasn’t an immediate patch up of their friendship, it was a start.

“So how are things? I saw the news.” The raven haired boy asks as they stare at each other, noting changes here and there. “Florres won.”

“Yeah, she did. People decided change needed to be given a chance. She’s mild, but she’ll need to be strong to keep her promises. She has potential.”

“Well if the footage of the riots is anything to go by, I think she’ll be desperate to prevent being on the receiving end of that.” Kaito mused, but the way he looked at her said there were unsaid things.

“And how are you?” he went with.

“Depends. There’s a lot of things happening all at once. I think I should give you full disclosure that technically I may or may not be a Brigade…” Zoe starts off and the look Kaito gives her is frozen in the shock. It’s not mouth open, jaw on the floor but the way his eyes nearly pop out of his skull and he whispers “you fucking what?” certainly say something.

“You were right K. The government were lying the whole time. It was the only way I’d have the means to get the story out there!”

“You could have gotten hurt or worse.” Kaito harshly reminded her. “You’re not indestructible.”

“Maybe! But if it meant other people didn’t have to say goodbye to their loved ones, it was worth the risk!” Zoe slammed her hand on the porch floor. “The worst thing I ever did was not saying goodbye to you and I’m not letting anyone else go through that.”

The eighteen year old watched her backpack topple onto its side, the trombone and skates tied to it made a noise. Her friend? Ex-friend? Best friend? Looked at the stuff with something akin to yearning. It had be a while since he skated around.

“You know, the field over there isn’t too sandy.” Kaito stood up and walked behind him into the room. For a few minutes, Zoe wasn’t sure what he was planning until he came out in plainer clothes with his board tucked under his arm.

“Bear in mind, I’m a little out of practice.” Kaito quickly defends, and Zoe’s relieved. “But is now the time for skating?” she’s hesitant to say all is forgiven just yet.

“Was it ever the time for skating back there?” he shrugs. “…unless someone’s out there chasing you?” he eyes her and she shakes her head. Most- if not all- authorities are too busy trying to gain public forgiveness or repair the extensive damage of the past three weeks of rioting.

“Unpack your stuff and let’s go!”

Not all has been forgotten or forgiven, but it’s one step at a time.

It’s coming to the end of the summer of 1999 when the Chen family make a huge decision to leave the motel and head further up. They’ve made some good memories in this small unassuming area and found many an interesting store in the town up ahead, but they’re ready to spread their wings and fly.

Arlene sits them down in her backroom office to say goodbye. A litre bottle of some flavoured water and some crisps are in a little carrier bag that she shuffles over to them. “You three have been real good company here, I’ll miss y’all. You promise to take care, you hear me?”

Anzu smiled and takes her hand to shake it. “We will. Thank you, for everything you’ve done for us. We truly can’t thank you enough.”

Arlene waves her hand. “Nonsense, you just be sure to live a happy life however you can. Don’t go becoming assholes though; I’ll never forgive you for that.” She cackles. She knows they’re good people at heart. This world ain’t made to be easy if you’re too kind, but after what they’ve been through, she’s sure they’ll figure something out.

“As long as I’m here, this place will always be open for you. Just ask for Arlie.” Arlie is a nickname she let’s an absolute select few use. Most are Brigades but the people they send to her get to share that privilege if she sees fit.

(What she doesn’t mention explicitly is how she added a little extra to their final paychecks, nor does she mention the post it note with her number on it. A smile is scrawled in the bottom corner and a tiny ‘be safe!’ written with it. She really wants them to do well, as she does all who are sent to her).

Kaito asks Arlene to let Zoe know that they’re leaving. He’s not sure where though.

“Yeah, the baby birds are finally flying the coop.” Arlene feels like a mother hen watching her kids move out. “Kaito wanted me to let you know that much. Somewhere beyond here. He’ll figure it out.”

It’s early the next morning when the family have their boxes and bags filled and they make their way out of the parking lot. There’s a gas station in the little town up ahead, so they stop there to fill up the car and extra gas can they have in the boot. Mount National is further behind them than it was before. Daw keeps driving. The family decided that they’ll stay in one of the towns further on their journey.

The place itself is within the Western Sea side of the map called Anamesa. It’s a fair distance away from the seaside town of Thalassa; so the cost of living isn’t too bad. Not as cheap as the motel afforded them, but you could see something for what you spent.

They live in their car while paperwork is sorted out for the little two bed house they choose.

It’s a humble house, in need of some care though. The back garden is covered in weeds and dandelions, inside the paint is chipped in places and the only furnishings remaining of the old tenants in the house are the wardrobe in one bedroom, a dull white washing machine and a brown leather sofa that creaked when you sat on it. (They definitely did not get their deposit back).

But this is their fourth home. And they love it already.

(Daw finds a phone booth a few roads away and calls the number on the now found note to wish Arlene well and let her know they’re settling in as best they can).

Finding work takes some time, so they try to get many affairs sorted like opening bank accounts, getting registered to vote in the area and all that. The phone booth did not know what hit it. They live very frugally for the time being until some full time cleaning jobs open up and Anzu and Daw go for them. Arlene giving them both a glowing set of references when she receives the call from the employment agency, practically tells them they’re lucky the Chen’s want to work for them because they were so good to Arlene’s business.

The probation period of the job lasts three months, so the duo make sure they’re present on time at every shift, even if the hours they’re away from home are very long. It’s somewhat lonely for Kaito who uses his sudden free time to sort out things at home like clearing the back garden and trying to find his own feet, searching through numerous newspaper ads for what this place has to offer.

As of December 1999, that is working as a kitchen porter for a fast food place.

It’s then in the Friday newspaper in January of 2000 when Daw mentions to Kaito that he saw an ad in a paper detailing how to apply for GED examinations. His mother and father have a high school education and they wanted to make sure he had as much of a foundation in life as he could.

They didn’t tiger parent him about it, but did express they’d never been able to forgive themselves for being the reason Kaito dropped out when he had a good head on his shoulders and could use it. Kaito doesn’t argue with them, but he does try to dilute their feelings of guilt by mentioning how the school was probably going to close anyway after the Vice Principal was arrested for having Brigade affiliations.

(It’s true. Well, except for the school closing. Tyrak just dumped a heap of his goons there to make sure people kept silent about any anti-government slander. Everyone hated everyone there. Who knows if the place does even still exist by now).

So Kaito does as the newspaper says. His mom got a landline phone with the first paycheck she got for that month and he calls the number to register his interest. He’ll need to take a couple tests so they can determine if he would be eligible for the programme with any chance of passing at the end. Hopefully work won’t be arses about him needing to switch his hours. (They kind of are, but they don’t fire him so he guesses it’s a win?)

Daw used his pay on the monthly rent and the utilities while Anzu focused on things like necessities and getting their house slowly done up. Kaito would often buy some bits of food, but his parents urged him to make sure he was saving bits away (and had any necessary text books he’d need for his studies).

Kaito passes his pre-study exams and is accepted onto the programme. The cost of the programme is not at all as daunting as he’d imagined it to be, but he dips into the small savings fund he’d assembled from his motel cleaning wages, promising himself to put it back over the year.

The library is an hour away, so Kaito decides to get all the books he can in the one sitting and gets a library card sorted while he’s there. (He’s amazed at how real the fake IDs are and wonders whether Robert had some dirt on someone in the profession. Even the birth certificates are frighteningly real… though the fact the only differences on them to his genuine documents is the family surname and very minor details is funny to him in some respects).

Maybe he ought to consider some home workouts. The books were heavy, but the librarian was at least 20 years older than him and wielded them without fuss.

One year passes and by the time it’s May of 2001, not only does Kaito pass the GED examinations, but his Walkman kicks the bucket after four years of faithful use. Mp3 players are coming into the market, but their price tag are a little steep for his liking, so he finds a little shop on the high street and gets a second hand one for $90 dollars. (It lasts a year and a half).

Thankfully, some other things the Chen’s have acquired over that time are lasting way longer. The dressers and the bed bases are holding up well, as is the TV. Pretty much all of their furniture is from a charity stores around the town, the only exception to the rule is the mattresses on their beds. Anzu never trusted second hand fabric focused upholstery because of how easily germs could settle inside it and you wouldn’t know.

It’s why all their furniture can be wiped or in the very least is water resistant.

Daw and Anzu work early mornings and sometimes a few hours in the evenings, so they don’t have forever to sit around and take in the sights, but one of the rare times their rota means they work bulk hours over a few days, they use their time off to sit in the garden with a couple cheap beers in hand and watch the sun slowly dip down over the hours. Today, they decide that the day can be lazy. Dinner isn’t anything huge, just a bowl of pasta and sauce.

Kaito returns home from work with some fries from work and for some reason, a handful of the little toys usually included in the kid’s meals.

“They just looked goofy.” He shrugs. “And they were getting rid of them because of the new theme or something.”

The little toys sit on his windowsill in the corner and remain there for many years to come until Kaito takes his own next step in life and moves into a little studio apartment.

As more years pass, it’s soon May 2006. Ten years since they fled Petria.

Anzu and Daw remain working with the agency that hired them in ’99, however they move house as one closer to some hiking fields becomes available. Kaito goes from kitchen porter to hotel receptionist for a small chain. The hours are slightly under full time, but it gives him enough to pay his bills, he has some small tattoos too. Nothing major- just lineart of Mount National on his left clavicle and a skateboard on his inner arm.

He has a few friends too; or at least people he talks to enough. They’re kind. He doesn’t tell them a great deal about himself other than things he’s learned about himself post-1996 and that his family moved there after finding themselves in awe with the fields. It’s partly true.

He gets a TV, a Playstation 2 and a mobile phone (though to be fair, he gets them on a monthly credit pay back plan so it’s not a huge chunk of luxurious spending in one go). He gets Arlene’s phone number from his family so he can call her, because he’s mature enough now to independently put into words his gratitude to her and to John. The number still leads to her, her voice is heavy with smoking and age, but the smile in her voice is just as prominent as it was years ago. She’s happy to let Kaito know that Mr Ursus found love in his life. She also mentions a few things she’s learned over time.

“I think I got a couple years left here before I try fly the coop, if I’m bein’ honest with you.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. Florres seems to be doing okay enough at her job; Petria isn’t as huge a shitshow nowadays. It still has a lot of progress to make, but democracy is doing its best. I ain’t movin’ down there though. Been there, done that- got the t-shirt. I wanna see what life’s got to offer elsewhere.”

Arlene is smiling on the phone as she looks at a few leaflets she has for different places to visit beyond the border. People come and go out of this place, they want to see the Petria of the news stories or they’re finally visiting away from there. She’s got a good team of people. She’s thinking of turning ownership over to her night shift lot, maybe expanding this place to other areas. Who knows?

Kaito runs a hand through his shorter hair and inhales through his teeth to ask “Have you heard from Zoe?” last they saw each other was when they both ran into the plains opposite the motel to skate. Kaito still has his board too. Sometimes he regrets not continuing using it, he’s pretty sure his balance is shot to shit and he’d fall if he tried to use it, but he keeps it as a memory.

On a plus side, he knows for a fact he could carry those GED textbooks without complaining if the situation called for it.

“A while back. She sounds well in herself. I can pass along your details to her if you want. She’s probably travelling at the moment.”

Kaito nods. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it kid. You keep yourself well, pop down here if you can. We still got some good cola.”

“Aha, I’ll try. I won’t promise though. But if you do decide to go travelling, come up to Anamesa. We got good beers here.”

“Oh my god. You’re still a baby, why are you drinking?”

“I’m 26.”

“You’ll always be a baby to me.” Arlene pauses. “Keep yourself well Kaito. Your parents are proud of you. I hope you’re proud of them.”

“I am. I really am. Thanks. See you later!”

“Good. Take care!” Arlene hangs up.

A month later, Kaito receives a text message.

‘It’s Zoe! Call me!”

And he does. And he hears how the years have deepened her voice slightly, but her experiences have humbled it.

They decide to meet up that week.

And when they do, there’s an explosion of emotions. They talk and laugh and smile. They go see a movie, they go out for a meal, mobile phones allow them to take photos so easily and they have fun pulling stupid faces into the tiny lens, hands twisting awkwardly so the camera can actually focus on them.

She offers to stay in a hotel so she can stay in Anamesa a while longer, but he offers her his apartment. So they get some snacks and drinks and they act like the apartment is their old construction yard hideout. Kaito has a few games so they hook them up and joke about things and it’s all just amazing.

Zoe thinks that they needed to be adults to be able to do this, that the pain of their parting ways was too fresh in the 90s. Time didn’t erase what happened; it just put a few things into perspective.

Her style has changed slightly again. Her hair remains shoulder length and loose, but she also has some blonde highlights in her bangs. She still has her eyebrow piercing and the numerous ones in her lobes, all adorning purple earrings; however the addition of a new nose piercing is also noticed.

Kaito knows she has more tattoos, though the only bit he’s seen to indicate that is a few stars he saw on her lower arm. She’s long abandoned her full on ripped alien top- punk skater girl look and gone for a white tank, blue denim jacket and green ¾ khakis.

Kaito wouldn’t particularly say his own sense of style was all that different from his youth, granted he owned more formal clothing now (shirts, and a couple trousers and a blazer). Most of his clothes were plain black for his job, but outside of that, he was mostly a comfortable clothes kind of guy. And none of them had holes in them.

They’re playing one of the Street Fighter games and Kaito is getting his ass kicked for the fifth time in a row when he makes a request.

“What if we went on a road trip?”

“Hmn?” Zoe’s turned to him but is still button mashing and Kaito considers knocking it out of her hand so he can land a few hits in. He chose not to because of maturity and shit, but he pauses it and that’s just as good.

“You know, rent a car and go out on the roads for a week in summer. See what else there is to this place?” last time he said something similar was in relation to escaping Petria, but this idea is about enjoying life. Making memories. His life here is amazing, but he wants to see more things.

Zoe seems to take a few minutes to ponder the idea and Kaito regrets even asking until the woman asks if he can drive and if he has the time. Because while she personally does, what with working as a freelance travel writer and pretty much funding her life with the savings fund she’d transferred into an entirely separate bank (the privilege of her rich upbringing, she’d not lie); it feels only fair for her to check he’s in a comfortable position to do so.

“I have plenty of remaining hours. Only have a few days booked for use so far.” He shrugged.

Zoe nodded wordlessly as she considered the idea. She vaguely remembered the last time Kaito had said something similar back in White Sands, back when it had been hidden with the intention of fleeing a terrible place.

“Zoe?” Kaito quietly asks and she blinks a few times, straightening her back before her expression relaxes and she nods at him. “I don’t think I can say no to that.” She smiles, holding up her can of beer for a toast. And as the night continues on, Kaito offers her his bed but she opts for the sofa. He has an early start the next morning, but finishes after lunch so they can talk about other stuff when he gets back.

Zoe was awake when Kaito left out for work at quarter past five. Leaving his keys on the side after unlocking the door, he waves her a “later Z!” and she returns it with a “later K!”

The sun was bright even at its early rising, the heat wasn’t yet unbearable. And as Kaito sat on the bus to work, he truly felt like he had what he’d yearned for most in life.

A lot of elements of this are based on Google searches for things that were applicable to America in the specific years I mention during this story. I may not have all the details correct, so I apologise for any mistakes I may have made.

I didn’t know whether their new IDs would change their names completely, partially or just different details instead, so I chose to only change the family surname, any other details that could/would be changed are down to your interpretation.

Arlene was not a character I thought I’d write about in this as much as I did, but she grew on me.

In respect to Thalassa and Anamesa; I searched Petria’s meaning online and the first result I got said it was the Greek word for ‘rock’. Following that, I decided to find the word for ‘sea’ (thus Thalassa and it being a seaside town) and Anamesa is noted as an adverb meaning ‘between’ (and I wanted it to be placed in between a bunch of other towns/cities).

Also an extra I wanted to include but Kaito definitely got his tattoos done by an apprentice artist (based entirely on my first tattoo being done by an apprentice).

Maybe things have been unrealistic in this story, but I love happy endings. I’m not the best writer out there, but I had a lot of fun writing this. It became way longer than I had in mind but it is what it is.

#road 96 #road 96 mile 0 #r96:m0 #road 96 zoe #road 96 kaito #zoe muller #kaito lin #road 96 fanfic #danieesketches

17 notes · View notes

imagine-that-100 · 4 years ago

Text

Glass in the Studio

Description: Alex Turner x Reader (Female) | Alex injures himself before your date which means that it’s a trip to A&E instead of a restaurant.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of blood & injuries?

A/N: This was requested by @supersonic-scientist I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think. This is the first of a few drabbles coming over the next few days so enjoy. Likes and reblog are appreciated and as always, thank you to everyone who reads x

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Miles you really are a fucking idiot.” Alex rolls his eyes as he crouches down on the floor to pick up the now smashed Coke bottle.

“I think you’re the idiot mate. You couldn’t catch a bottle from four foot away.” Miles shakes his head.

Alex looks up at his best mate as if he’s stupid, and also chuckles a little in disbelief, “Why would you throw a half empty bottle at me from four foot away when you could have just passed it me?”

Miles mumbles something under his breath that Alex didn’t quite hear as he starts picking up the glass. There were quite a few large shards that acted as bowls for the smaller shards to sit on as Alex continued to collect the glass from the studio’s wooden floor.

The fluorescent lights that were lighting up the room were making it pretty hard for Alex to actually see the smaller pieces of glass because they blended in with the glossy floor beneath him. However, Alex thought he did quite well with what glass he’d already collected so he asked his best mate to pass the bin over.

This is something Miles does for his friend, but he’s still in a weird mood that the both of them get into when they are in the studio together. So Miles extends the small bin in his hand towards his best mate, but when Alex goes to put the glass in, Miles pulls it away.

No glass goes on the floor again because Miles never actually let Alex get that far, but it was amusing to Miles to see his best friend getting annoyed at him. So he just decided to do it one more time.

This is when tragedy struck. Alex preempted his idiot of a mate to pull his trick again so Alex lunged himself forward ensuring that the glass went in the bin this time, but as he did he threw himself off balance.

His free hand landed right on a decent sized shard of glass, cutting the small muscle on his palm that protected his thumb. And he could feel it stuck in there pretty deep.

“Fuck.” Alex seethed, picking himself up off the floor as he started seeing the blood oozing around the glass that was stuck in his hand.

~*~*~*~

You’d just finished work and you were really excited for your night ahead. You were seeing Alex later and he was taking you out on your 7th date.

You’d been friends for well over 5 years so you knew each other like the back of your hands. But only 6 months ago did you both question if you could be more than the friends you've been for ages.

And as it turns out you could.

You’d loved each and every second of seeing Alex in a romantic sense. He was a real gentleman and you were loving that he treated you like ‘his queen’.

That was a little joke of his because since he’d grown his hair out over the past 2 years after the AM tour, you'd told him that he looked like prince charming but with brown hair. And he was honestly living up to that title because he never stopped looking after you.

Your job stressed you out a lot and with Alex being back and mostly being bored before his tour came back around he was always with you. He gave you a lovely distraction from what your life normally was and he lit you back up again.

You’d really fallen hard for him. And he for you.

That’s why your heart stopped in your chest when you got in the car and found out what had happened. Alex had FaceTimed you saying, “Hey love, sorry to bother you when you're not even home yet but I’m gunna probably be really late tonight.”

“Are you okay?” You ask him as he looks white as a sheet on the screen on your phone. His floppy hair was a mess too.

You didn’t even mind about the date, you’re just worried about him as he looked really unwell. Like more unwell than you’d ever seen him before.

And you’d seen him in some states over the years.

“Erm, yeah and no.” Alex says and panic sets in your stomach, but thankfully he carries on explaining, “I cut my hand on broken glass and Miles is dragging me to A&E.”

“Not dragging you Alex, you’re hand’s cut open.” You can hear Miles say in a scorning voice.

You could see from the screen that he was sitting in a car but he didn't let you ask about his health. He just shushed his mate and apologised, “That doesn’t matter. Y/N I’m really sorry I’m gunna more than likely miss the reservation but I swear I’m gunna make it u-”

You interrupt and ask your boyfriend, “Al, Are you okay?” as he looks very light headed now.

“I’m fine” Alex says before lifting his hand so you could see it in the camera.

You could see that he’d tied a pot towel around it but what scared you was that the bit around the back of his hand was white and the bit on his parm was completely soaked red.

Your heart drops knowing what it was but for some reason you ask, “Is that blood?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” Alex tries to carry on but you don’t let him.

You shake your head and widen your eyes to scorn him for trying to continue on about the date, “You are literally bleeding… There’s more important things Alex.”

“But I just wanted to take you out.” Alex pouts and he leans his head against the window of the car Miles is obviously taking him to hospital in.

He was so adorable but at the same time so stupid.

After you ask Miles which A&E he’s taking him to, you race there yourself. You knew Alex and you knew how he was around doctors, especially when the trip was an unwanted one.

One too many bad experiences left him nervous of waiting rooms and seeing men and women in white coats. He didn’t like it all that much so there was no way you weren’t going.

Whether that be for moral support or to help ease his nerves you didn’t know. You just knew you couldn’t sit at home wondering if the man you love was okay after seeing how much blood was on that thick pot towel.

“Are you okay?” You say as your arms wrap around his waist.

“I’m fine.” Alex says, hugging you while simultaneously keeping his hand raised. “Better now you’re here.”

He kissed the side of your head before he let you go and you sat yourself down beside him. Miles left after you’d all been waiting together for 20 minutes but you assured him that your (but also practically his) boyfriend would be alright with you.

You were waiting an hour in total before you were sat in a chair next to the bed that the nurse had made Alex lie down on the bed and was preparing his hand to be stitched up. The cut was fairly deep and the nurse really wasn’t surprised at how much blood he’d lost considering the size of the wound.

It was lucky the glass hadn’t gone any deeper into his muscle or he could have been in a lot worse situation.

“I’m sorry.” Alex says when he looks away from the nurse to you sitting just beside him.

You frown a little then and look into his soft brown eyes, “What for?”

“This isn’t the date I wanted to take you on...” Alex tells you, pouting his bottom lip a little. “A&E isn’t really what I had in mind for tonight.”

You softly smile at him then and gently rub his shoulder as you say, “We could be here or at a dingy pub or a fancy restaurant and I’d be just as happy because you’re with me.”

Alex just grins at you like an idiot then, even more so when you say, “I’m happy anywhere as long as you’re with me.”

Alex’s heart melts.

“Please give me a kiss.” His Sheffield accent comes through thick when he asks you that.

You grin like the idiot in love that you are before you get up off the chair you’re sat on and kiss your boyfriend. His lips are warm and inviting as they always were and you smile into the sweet kiss as he tries to keep you there a little longer to distract him.

When you pull away, Alex softly smiles, “I love you.”

“I love you more...” You grin and add, “My little damsel in distress.” You run your fingers through his floppy hair and smile when he leans into your touch a bit more.

Alex laughs at that as you sit back down beside his bed and he chuckles, “This make you my prince charming now?”

“Well I’m not the one about to get stitches so I think so.” You giggle, looking over to the nurse who looked just about ready to start.

She moved her wheely table that now held her equipment to start treating Alex and she looks to him and asks, “You ready?”

Alex then grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers and after giving it a kiss and a squeeze he smiles and nods, “I am now”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

406 notes · View notes

seb-writess · 3 years ago

Text

I Will Go Down With This Ship

Pairings: Henry/Alex (Red, White and Royal Blue)

Tags: Rated explicit (for explicit sexual content), angst with a happy ending, Titanic Au but nobody dies

Notes: I've watched Titanic twice this week (I think it's my new comfort movie) and this came about because the last time I was watching it, I was also re-reading RWRB so *shrugs*

Status: Complete (7,300 words)

Preview:

“I want you to draw me like one of your french girls,” Henry tells Alex.

Brown eyes look at him, completely taken aghast, but Henry sees Alex’s true emotions flash inside them. He feels excited. He feels daring. He feels challenged. It’s the look Henry noticed first about Alex. That spark in him, the defiance, the take-no-shit attitude that pulled Henry in like a force, equally unattainable as it is unexplainable.

The first time he saw Alex, all Henry could think was “Who is this peasant boy and why is he talking to me?” Forgive him. He was in the middle of having an existential crisis while hanging over the back of a cruise liner, he had managed to forget his manners, but that look was the first thing he noticed in Alex.

It might be the first thing Henry fell in love with.

Henry continues, while that same look is still transfixed on him. “Wearing the diamond.”

He’s referring to the larger than is necessary heart of the ocean Alex currently holds. It’s cerulean blue, surrounded by smaller white diamonds, and reflects Alex’s face a thousand times over while he holds it carefully in his well-worked hands.

“Okay,” Alex agrees, smile on his lips.

“Wearing only the diamond,” Henry clarifies.

Alex’s smile falters, and Henry can’t quite read why, but knows it has nothing to do with contempt.

“Okay.”

READ UNDER THE CUT

“I want you to draw me like one of your french girls,” Henry tells Alex.

It might be the first thing Henry fell in love with.

Henry continues, while that same look is still transfixed on him. “Wearing the diamond.”

The night of April 14th, 1912, inside a private room aboard the R.M.S. Titanic, sits a jewel so large it couldn’t be fathomed by any one man, and shouldn’t be owned by any one man either. Yet it is owned by the royal family, and held in the hands of someone so far removed from the royal family, it would take miles of paper and documents to find exactly how far removed. If he even had papers.

Alex whistles as he gazes at the necklace.

“Okay,” Alex agrees, smile on his lips.

“Wearing only the diamond,” Henry clarifies.

Alex’s smile falters, and Henry can’t quite read why, but knows it has nothing to do with contempt.

“Okay.”

Alex is good at setting the scene, dragging tables and chairs where he needs them like he owns the room. He should. He’s a far better fit than any of Henry’s family; at least he would appreciate the extravagance of it all. Henry finds himself nervous as he steps out of the ensuite, robe around his shoulders and the pendant heavy around his neck, yet finds so much courage as well. Courage to walk right up to Alex while he settles himself, sharpening tools, having not noticed Henry walk in. Courage to demand satisfaction, as a paying customer, as he slips Alex an American quarter coin. He would pay more; anything in the thousands, even the very heart beating rapidly in his chest, but he feels it would be disrespectful to Alex as an artist to ignore his rates.

Henry will just have to convince Alex to raise them later.

Alex’s eyes are fixed on him, and Henry forces himself to not look away as he slides the robe from his shoulders. He forces himself to memorise the look in Alex’s eyes now, large and warm and raking over every inch of Henry’s now naked body. It thrills him, and only fills him with more courage.

Alex directs Henry to lie on the chaise lounge in a way that makes him comfortable, then makes small adjustments to his position from there. Henry follows, his pulse quickening by the moment. Henry is finally where Alex wants him, and Henry would rather be nowhere else.

Alex begins, eyes flicking between his book and Henry’s body, the page quickly filling with carefully placed lines of charcoal. He moves with such purpose and poise and practice, making it look so easy. Alex makes everything look so easy; including falling in love with him. Alex’s eyes appraise Henry carefully, like Henry is the work of art. Henry would scoff, if Alex hadn’t told him to remain completely still while he worked.

Alex continues, lamps burning around them, casting a burnished glow over his skin. As if Alex needs the help to look radiant. A curl falls over his eyes and he brushes it away. There’s a smear of charcoal where his fingers touched. Henry wants to get up, reach over, wipe it away and replace it with a kiss, but again, Alex has a job to do and Henry would be loath to interrupt him. Besides, staring at Alex, at the gorgeous shape of his jaw and his eyes lit up with passion as his tools scrawl across the page, it’s certainly not boring.

Alex catches his eyes.

“Let me know if you need a break,” he says. Henry forces himself not to smile, less it ruin Alex’s work.

“I’m the one lying down. I should be saying that to you.”

Alex laughs. It’s a beautiful sound and Henry finds himself clinging to it with all his strength, holding onto the lilt and the sharp edge it has. Everything about Alex is sharp; sharp cheekbones, sharp wit, sharp laugh, but Henry has never felt more cherished since being in Alex’s care.

“Well, I’m the one getting paid.” Alex nods to the single coin placed on the table beside his row of artist’s tools. Henry can’t help it. He does smile.

Henry carefully dresses again before taking the drawing from Alex’s hands. The finished piece is beautiful, not that Henry expected any less, and it hasn’t anything to do with the subject. It’s the lighting, the fall of the lines and the soothe of the shading, the sheer passion found in every black, dusty line decorating the page. The perfect last gift. Henry scrawls across a separate paper, his last message to Phillip, to his grandmother, and to anyone else who wants to read it.

Now you can keep us both locked inside your safe.

Alex comes up behind him, kisses his neck, and Henry wants to lean into that shiver that runs up the entire length of his body. But as much as Henry wishes to give a right ‘fuck you’ to his family and disappear into the fog while doing it, desecrating their room with Alex, as fun as it sounds, might be going too far. Besides, he’d rather not be interrupted if he were to let Alex have him like that.

Henry still reaches up to wrap fingers in dark, brown hair, tilting his neck so Alex can work his lips up the length of Henry’s neck. A kiss on his pulse, the corner of his jaw, the lobe of his ear.

“What are you writing?” Alex asks, voice so incredibly soft Henry could sink into it.

Henry hums.

“One last hurrah, you could say.” He finishes the letter, folding it in half and placing it utop the drawing. He can’t help but notice his eyes don’t look like quite so vacant in it. Alex can capture life so well, even life Henry thought lost to him long ago.

He closes the leather binder he chose to hold it all, offering it and the box with the necklace safely back inside over his shoulder.

“Can you put this back in the safe for me?”

Alex takes it, but gives Henry another kiss as trade.

While Alex does that, Henry finishes tidying up. He’s almost done when he hears familiar voices on the other side of the door, travelling up the hallway; voices he’d rather not hear. Alex must have heard them too, because he hurries back to Henry’s side. Henry doesn’t hesitate to grab his hand, pulling him away from the voices toward the second door that will let them out without being seen. Henry places a finger over his mischievous smile, signalling Alex to remain quiet. Alex’s own smile mirrors Henry’s.

Henry carefully shuts the door behind them and they hurry as inconspicuously as they can toward the deck.

“Do you think we got away?” Alex asks. His hand is tight around Henry’s, and Henry has never felt so free in someone else’s hold.

“Hey!” They hear. A quick glance over their shoulder shows the owner to be Phillip’s bodyguard, probably sent in search of Henry.

“I think not!” Henry says, but he can’t help his face as it breaks into a grin. He takes further hold of Alex’s hand and runs.

From day one, everything with Alex had been an adventure. That might sound tiring, but to Henry, it feels like freedom. Learning to spit over the ship’s edge, parties in the basement, making out in the light of the setting sun while the sea breeze threatens to blow them from the bow, if it weren’t for their hold on each other, if Alex hadn’t taught Henry how to fly.

This isn’t any different. Running through the ship, through the maze of hallways and stairwells, laughing as loudly as children causing trouble. Henry never thought he’d see true happiness again, let alone the boiler rooms the make up the innermost workings of the cruise liner. They’re screamed at some more as they sprint between piles of charcoal and burning engines, steam billowing around them, Henry’s hand never leaving Alex’s.

Through one door after the other, and they find themselves in the cargo bay. Laughter is tumbling from their lips, and dies in slow bubbles as they take in their surroundings.

Henry bawks at the amount of luggage still stowed away, the amount of things people seem to need. That’s all it is; things. Probably worth more than any thing has a right to be.

And Alex charges a mere quarter for his life’s work.

Alex marvels at a car fastened to the floor, running his fingers gently over the gold paint and the rim of the wheels. Henry looks at Alex, at his gentle touch, and sees the fun to be had here. He catches Alex’s gaze, looking at him expectantly, tilting his head toward the car’s door.

Alex would roll his eyes, Henry’s sure, if he wasn’t so thoroughly entertained.

“Oh, apologies, your Royal Highness,” Alex bows dramatically, pulling the car door open and offering a hand to Henry. Henry looks at him like and you should be before taking the hand and stepping inside as gracefully as he was taught to. Alex would laugh if he ever found out Henry was taught something as asinine as the proper way to get into a car.

Then Alex climbs into the front, behind the wheel, and makes a show of pretending to start it and drive off into the sunset where happy endings are found. Henry wants so badly to find his happy ending with Alex.

“Where to, good sir?” Alex asks. He tips his head backwards, gazing over his shoulder and the car’s divider to find Henry’s eyes. Henry reaches through, encircling Alex’s neck and kissing him heatedly.

“To the stars,” he whispers, and feels Alex smile with his answer. Henry uses strength he has been forced to maintain over the years to pull Alex out of the driver’s seat to join him inside the cab. Maybe all those years of polo were good for something after all.

Alex is laughing the whole time, and once he’s half settled into the car seat beside Henry, Henry kisses his mouth.

They’ve kissed before, of course they have, and everytime was something different, something new, something so beautiful Henry felt like he shouldn’t have touched it. Now, it’s filled with heat and heady breaths and a different kind of passion. A passion Henry never thought he’d find in himself. Not with someone as wonderful as Alex.

Henry promises his intentions were pure when he pulled Alex into the back seat with him, that he just meant to continue the joke and the fun, but he’s not going to stop where this kiss is leading him. He hadn’t realised how badly he had wanted it, how long he had wanted for.

He’d spent his whole life following others and their demands and their words, sitting quietly and letting his life unfold in front of him, assuming that was the only path for him. He’d never been taught to ask for what he wants, because it was never expected of him to want anything.

He wants Alex. He wants Alex so badly he feels it could burn his skin off his bones.

“Put your hands on me, Alex,” he demands now.

He catches the look in Alex’s eyes. That same look from before. Excitement. Daring. Challenged. Love.

Alex does touch him. And it burns like Henry knew it would. And Henry allows Alex to set him on fire.

Henry is so glad he didn’t put anything more on other than a white dress shirt and some spare slacks. He’s even gladder Alex isn’t wearing much else, only a coat more, because if he has to wait a second longer to get to Alex’s skin underneath, he might go crazy. Alex draws Henry into his lap and unbuttons his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders like Henry is a prize Alex is elated to have won. Henry yanks at Alex’s own shirt, pulling it from his waist and up and over his shoulders.

Alex’s chest is broad and bronze and still shining despite the dimmer light of the cargo bay. Henry cards fingers through brown curls, and chases every kiss he’s given off Alex’s mouth. Alex returns the fire, flicking open Henry’s fly and beginning to push the slacks off Henry’s hips. Henry lifts himself, and although he was naked in front of Alex moments before, he feels truly exposed now.

Maybe it’s the absence of the necklace. It didn’t cover a thing but at least it could still be considered part of an outfit. It’s more likely how Alex rakes his hands over Henry’s thighs, and how Henry can feel every bit of Alex’s own eagerness. He’s not talking about the hard-on pressed to Henry’s own, though that definitely counts for something.

Alex manages to get his own pants open and Henry could cry he’s so beautiful. Alex pulls away to take Henry’s face between his palms.

“Have you ever done this before?” Alex asks.

Henry wants to say no. He wants Alex to be his first and only and he’s going to count Alex as such from now on, but that might make Alex cautious with him, which is something Henry won’t be able to sit through. He needs this raw and demanding and passionate like Henry has never felt before.

Henry nods his head. Alex looks like he’s caught between feeling relieved and feeling jealous. Henry decides to help tip him more toward relieved by taking Alex’s cock in his fingers and stroking it with all the experience he can muster. Alex gasps. Henry smiles. They’re back to the same pace as before, and Henry’s own relief washes over him.

Henry has lube he snuck away with him from the room, and Alex uses it to pry him open with his fingers, all the while prying Henry’s heart open with his eyes. It doesn’t hurt, not with Alex, and soon Henry is kissing Alex deeply and sinking him inside even deeper.

They moan simultaneously when their hips finally come flush together. Alex’s arms are wound around Henry, supporting his back and rocking him carefully. Alex’s chinos feel rough on Henry’s arse. Henry moves his hips, lifting himself steadily and sinking down to chase that glorious feeling Alex is bringing him.

Henry had come to the conclusion sex just doesn’t feel good. His first time had hurt, but that was to be expected. His second time hadn’t hurt, but it hadn’t felt good. He came eventually, and more by his own hand than any work his partner had put in. His third time, with the same man as the second, he had only agreed to because he had been having a particularly rough quarry with his family, and wanted to feel a little rebellious and in control. It hadn’t been worth it.

So Henry had come to the conclusion the deal about sex was another farse told by people to make themselves feel better.

And then Alex.

Alex is an inescapable pleasure Henry wants to drown in. Henry feels hot fire lace his veins and lightning travel up his spine. Henry is moving in earnest now, debauched and desperate and uncaring he probably looks so. Alex doesn’t seem to mind, he actually seems to enjoy it. A lot. He keeps leaning in to kiss Henry, to lick into his mouth and chase his moans with his tongue. Alex’s arms are still tight around his waist, drawing their bodies impossibly close. Henry wants to feel closer.

Henry almost cries when Alex takes his cock in his hand and begins sliding along the length. There’s more fire and Henry chases it, lifting his hips faster, moaning louder. Alex draws Henry up, completely underneath him now, where Henry loves to see him. The pleasure is building and Henry doesn’t know if anything besides he and Alex and this even exists anymore. This has to be all there is. This pure, burning, unequivocable love between them that is made so physical.

Henry feels his climax building, and slams a hand onto the car’s window for leverage. There’s an insurmountable amount of fog, and Henry’s fingers leave streaks where he touches. Alex reaches for Henry’s neck, so Henry is free to moan as loudly as he can. Alex doesn’t relent, and Henry sends a silent thanks for it. His long fingers take Henry apart in pieces. Henry didn’t know he had any pieces left to give, but he’ll give them all to Alex.

He cums, crying, clutching Alex to his skin. He’s soaked in sweat and his hand slides down the window as a result, causing Henry to collapse on top of Alex’s smouldering chest. Alex is panting beneath him, arms tight around him, and Henry silently begs Alex to never let go. Only silent because he has no words to give at this moment.

He manages to move his head enough to gaze at Alex, who wears so much happiness on his features, even if it had been disappointing, that’s the kind of look that would still make it worth it.

“That was incredible,” Henry gasps, words having finally found him.

“Yeah,” Alex gasps, more meaning behind it than anything else he could have said.

Their chests heave, Alex’s dark skin such a contrast to Henry’s pale complexion, but their heat is shared, even as the cold of the Atlantic night begins to creep back in. Alex trembles beneath Henry, but his eyes never waver from Henry’s face.

“You’re shaking,” Henry notes. Alex nods, like he doesn’t care, and proves he doesn’t by kissing Henry again.

Henry isn’t sure what’s so funny. That he’s been naked in front of Alex twice now in the past hour. That he just had sex with Alex in someone else’s car. That Henry hasn’t felt this free, this light, this happy in so many years, and he found it in the most unlikely of places. In brown eyes and a tanned smirk. In rough artist’s hands and well-worked shoulders. He’s laughing at it all, and Alex is laughing with him.

They burst through the door onto the deck, night air hitting Henry in the face like a welcome slap. Alex is clutching Henry’s hand so tight, and Henry has his other arm around Alex’s neck. Henry thinks they might be dancing, or attempting to, while they topple over each other. Alex pulls them to a sudden stop so he can kiss Henry, and Henry welcomes it despite the laughter still between them.

Their lips are warm where the outside air is not. Henry pulls away, looking into Alex’s eyes, finding so much love and laughter in them. All for him. Like he deserves it.

“When we dock, I’m getting off with you,” Henry declares. Alex looks shocked, but that spark never leaves his eyes. “I’m not going back to England; I’m going to live in America. With you.”

“This is crazy! You’re crazy!”

Alex kisses him and Henry can taste rather than hear his words.

And I love that about you.

It’s such a good kiss. A kiss that could start fires and quake earth and rock boats. Wait, no, that really is the boat rocking.

They stumble again, the entire ship beneath them lurching. Alex catches him, righting them just in time to view the enormous wall of ice they sail by. It looms over them, daring and regal, mother nature reminding them of her rightful place on top. Alex pulls Henry back as chunks of ice large as boulders fall to the deck where they had stood, spraying their ankles in cold crystals.

Henry shivers, and for the first time tonight, it has everything to do with the weather. If he knows anything about icebergs, what they saw was a mere fraction of it’s true size, and a single thought flits through Henry’s mind as he bears this information.

Did the Titanic just hit?

Yes. Yes it did.

As Alex and Henry begin to head inside, they pass a team of crewmen, the captain and engineer among them, talking of the imminent threat to the hold that the iceberg had already wrought them. They catch snippets of their conversation.

Boiler room eight and seven are flooded.

She’s buckled in the forward hull.

Can it hold?

Not unless the pumps get ahead.

The mail hold is already underwater.

“This is bad,” Alex murmurs, maybe hoping Henry wouldn’t hear.

Henry looks to him. “We have to go tell my family.”

Yes, his family is the last people he wants to see, usually ever, but they deserve to know the severity of what’s transpired.

And Bea. Henry can’t leave her alone with them at a time like this.

—

Alex is a solid force by his side as they make their way toward the first-class rooms. They manage to find Phillip’s enquerry along the way, who nods politely and guides them to the suite.

The tension in the room could be sliced like a well-cooked steak. As Henry looks over the guarded faces of his grandmother and Phillip, the distraught expressions on Martha and Bea’s faces, Henry wonders if they already know. It would mean skipping a step, and stepping right into action to save themselves.

“Something very serious has happened,” Henry begins, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Alex is being ripped away from him. Henry cries in protest, confusion written on both their features.

“Of course it has!” Phillip is charging across the room, red face with anger. “We’ve been robbed!”

Henry could roll his eyes. The largest ship on the surface of the ocean is about to be flooded in ice water and all Phillip cares about is his possessions? And what has Alex got to do with any of that?

“Search him!” Phillip demands. The men surrounding Alex ask him to take his coat off, not really waiting for him to comply as they begin to do it for him.

“This is ridiculous!” Henry argues, and it breaks his heart to see Alex resign to their forced shoves and accusatory glares. “We’re in the middle of an emergency and-”

“Is this it, your Highness?” A guard speaks. Henry turns, and his heart drops into his stomach upon seeing the familiar glint of the heart of the ocean swinging from the guard’s hand, clearly just taken from Alex’s coat.

Henry freezes. A thousand other questions flying through his mind.

“I knew it,” Phillip says, seething with anger, glaring at Alex.

“Pip, please!” Bea cries.

“Absolutely ridiculous,” the queen scoffs.

Henry’s eyes are transfixed on Alex. He looks just as shocked as Henry feels.

“This is bullshit!” Alex shouts. “I didn’t do it! Henry, tell them I didn’t do it!”

Logic and reasoning are working overtime in Henry. Reasoning tells him there’s no way, logic tells them this is the only way.

“He couldn’t have,” Henry gasps, his mouth dry. “I was with him the whole time! I-”

I told him to put it back in the safe.

“He! Is a liar, and a thief!” Phillips is jabbing a mad finger at Alex with every word. “I told you what would happen if you got caught up in his kind, Henry!”

“They’re lying! I’m being set up!” Alex pleads, and he fights the guards that grab his arms and begin to take him from the room. “Henry! You know I didn’t do it! Henry!”

The door shuts Alex out, quietening his cries.

—

He didn’t do it. He can’t have done it. Why would he do it?

Denial is a hell of a coping mechanism. His grandmother is in denial about the ship sinking. Phillip is in denial about Henry’s sexuality, and the ‘trouble it’s caused them’. Henry is in denial about Alex. He feels numb. The air is freezing. There's a definitive air of panic rising around them. Bea has a tight hold on his arm, trying to be a source of comfort. Henry doesn’t have it in him to put on a brave face for her.

The ship sways again, and the lifeboat being prepared for them bangs against the side. The crewmen throw his family an apologetic look.

“Just a moment, your Majesty! Then we’ll be underway! No need to panic!” One crewman says, cheer so fake on his tongue.

The queen is doing anything but panicking. She’s jabbering on about how inconvenient this all is, like the Titanic hit ice just to spite the British Royal Family. Phillip is still smoldering, steam almost coming out his ears, yet painfully smug. Henry doesn’t have it in him to care.

He didn’t do it.

Henry has become very good at lying to himself.

“As long as we don’t have to share with any others, I suppose!” Queen Mary spits.

Henry’s resolve cracks like a wishbone on Thanksgiving.

“Dear lord, gran, shut up.” He doesn’t realise he was the one who said it until all eyes are on him. Phillip’s smugness finally fallen from his features, the queen with a look of horror like Henry just told her her minx coat is fake. “Don’t you understand!? There aren’t enough lifeboats. Half the people on this ship are going to die.”

There’s a silence so thick it could be another iceberg looming over them.

“Thankfully not the better half,” Phillip says, like it’s meant to be funny.

Henry fixes his glare to Phillip, and barely holds himself back from punching his jaw. These are the people he’s meant to live with? The people who are meant to hold up a centuries old legacy? Henry might throw up on their annoyingly polished shoes.

He turns his back on them and strides toward the doorway.

He hears them calling his name, and none of it is filled with worry or concern for where he’s going or who he’s going to. He’s just another reason they have to stay outside in the cold longer than necessary.

Henry begins to run, wanting to be as far from them as possible.

No longer denial, but complete truth rings in his head.

He didn’t do it.

—

Finding where they took Alex is surprisingly simple, if not completely harrowing. Half the bottom most halls of rooms have half flooded, and Henry gasps as he pushes through the waist deep water. He follows the sound of banging and shouting, recognising Alex’s voice before he recognises the sheer desperation it’s laced with.

He shoves the door of the master-at-arm’s quarters open, barely having time to debate if Alex even wants to see him. Alex is already climbing up the pipe he’s handcuffed to, attempting to get as much distance from the steadily climbing water as possible. When he sees Henry, there’s only understanding in his eyes.

“Alex, I’m so sorry!” Henry falls through the water, throwing his arms around Alex’s neck and kissing him. Alex kisses back, and Henry knows he’s forgiven.

“I was framed!” Alex still says when they part.

“I know! I know! I shouldn’t have left you!” Henry replies before kissing him again.

Would that he could kiss Alex forever, but they are literally aboard a sinking vessel. Henry looks to the handcuffs around Alex’s wrist, giving them a tug like they might break open with brute force. Of course they don’t budge, and Henry glances around the room for anything that might pry them open.

“Look for a key! Or wire cutters! Anything!” Alex pleads.

“Will this work?” Henry asks, referring to the axe inside in the glass case branded with the ironic phrase ‘break in case of emergency’. Henry smashes it open with the telephone sitting utop the desk, yanking the axe from it’s hold.

Alex looks like he might faint, but still parts his hands and holds the chain flat over the pipe. He must figure better a few lost fingers than wasting time finding the key. Henry is good with a polo bat, he can swing a stick just fine, but it doesn’t stop his hands gripping the axe so tight his knuckles turn white. They slip a little with sweat, and Henry grips even tighter.

Henry blacks out. He swings. There’s a loud clang as metal hits metal, but no blood curdling scream, and when Henry comes back to his body, Alex is encircling his miraculously free arms around Henry and kissing him deeply. Henry clutches himself to Alex, like he can hardly believe it himself, and then the water rises again and they’re forced to come back to a reality that wants to leave no survivors.

“Shit! We have to get out of here!” Alex says, taking Henry’s hand, pulling him through the water and out of the room.

—

By the time they get back up to the deck, the entire ship is in an uproar. People are shouting and crying and the crowds around the lifeboats have grown so thick, Henry can’t even see over the sea of heads to the sea of water. Henry holds tight to Alex, silently praying this isn’t all there is left.

“Let’s try the other side!” Alex suggests, and begins to push through the crowd, pulling Henry along. Henry follows, trying to remain as calm as Alex seems to be, but Alex’s quickening pulse flutters against Henry’s fingertips.

Amongst it all, Henry can still hear his gran’s incessant nagging in his head. He realises it’s not stopping, and looks through the crowd to realise his family is still being boarded into a lifeboat, apparently having it ordered to halt until Henry came back.

“There you are!” Phillip shouts, spying him.

Henry fully plans to ignore them. Let them choose to drown if they’re going to be such fools, but Alex steers them toward the lifeboat without hesitation. Henry feels ridiculous fighting against it, but Alex carefully cages Henry’s shoulders, and begs with his eyes. Henry had planned to live a life not denying Alex a thing, he didn’t think he’d have to start now.

“Go with them!” Alex asks, asking the impossible.

“I’m not leaving you!” Not again.

Alex presses his lips together, like he’s making himself argue.

“I’ll get the next one,” he promises.

Henry shakes his head, desperation in every cord of muscle in his body.

“Then I’ll get the next one with you!”

“Henry, please!”

Phillip has come up beside them, a gentle smile on his features. If knives and cages were ever meant to be gentle. Henry can see through Phillip’s facade in an instant.

“Look, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for our man here,” Phillip says, clapping Alex on the shoulder far more harshly than is necessary. “He’ll be guaranteed to sail out of here within minutes after us. You’ll hardly miss him.”

How does everything out of Phillip’s mouth always sound like a threat? Like a promise you have to make him, knowing full well he’ll break it the moment he gets the chance.

“See?” Alex pleads with Henry again. “I’ll be right behind you!”

Henry knows Alex isn’t daft enough to believe Phillip, but they’re not exactly in a position to say no to miracles. Or empty promises of them.

Henry begins following Phillip toward his grandmother’s disappointed scowl, shivering the whole time. Being away from Alex the first time was torture; being away from him now will be hell on Earth. Henry doesn’t let go of Alex until the crewman gives the order to begin lowering the lifeboat, and even then he leans over to kiss Alex until they're too far away to reach each other.

Henry feels tears well up inside him, but is too frozen to let them shed. Bea clutches his arm, his only source of comfort. He can hear the sighs of relief coming from Phillip behind him. His eyes never leave Alex’s face.

Fireworks, flares, erupt above them, casting an angelic glow upon Alex’s skin as he looks to Henry too. Alex could very well be Henry’s angel; never having wavered from his side since they met. It was Henry who had wavered, but Alex brought him back, again and again until it became too much for Henry to be away from him at all. It hurt then. It hurts now.

As much as he tries not to, Henry begins to panic. He knows all too well he couldn’t live with himself if he left Alex behind, after everything they’ve been through and done together. Alex has taught him so much over the past few days, helped find a part of himself he was so sure he’d never see again after his father died, and here he is abandoning Alex. Henry refuses to get off this ship the same person he was when he got on.

He only wants to be the person Alex taught him he could be.

“Henry! Get back in the boat!” Phillip shouts.

Henry has leapt from the lifeboat onto the lower deck’s railing, grappling for purchase amongst distressed screams. Kind hands grab him before he can fall, helping to pull him over and right back onto the Titanic. He can still hear Phillip screaming after him. Bea screaming “Go get him you sunnava-bitch!” The queen screaming at Bea for her language.

For some reason, Henry knows exactly where he needs to go to be with Alex again.

He’s right.

Alex is sprinting down the grand hall staircase, two at a time. Henry remembers when Alex had met him here, their first act of rebellion together, Alex hurrying him away out of prying eyes and into a world Henry had never known. Now, they meet again, in a tangle of limbs and lips and Alex is furious but is pulling Henry close and pressing lips into blonde hair.

“You’re crazy!” Alex says. Henry wants to laugh. He’s heard those words before.

“That’s what you love about me,” Henry replies through tear-soaked lips, still pressed into Alex like he’s the only blood Henry has ever known.

��-

How poetic that it might end where it all began. Titanic cracked in half like it was breaking off a phantom limb. The stern is completely vertical, and anyone still holding on brace for what’s coming. Alex is a constant behind Henry, breath still warm on his neck, arms rock solid around him and gripping the railing they hang over.

Henry has never felt fear like this before. He’s so unsure of what will happen next. He used to love not knowing, never wanted to know what his life would hold for him, but not like this.

The stern plunges, and Titanic is finally under.

The water feels like knives in his lungs. He had thought, hoped, when they spoke of the cold, they were exaggerating. If anything, they undersold it. Henry can barely breathe even as he breaks the surface, staggering between every other floundering body around him.

Where’s Alex? Why isn’t Alex with him? He was just here.

Henry calls for him, and already his voice cracks, cold sucking the words from his mouth before they can barely form. He tries again, until Alex is there, grabbing his arm and pulling them out of the drowning crowd.

It’s calmer, but only marginally. Death still fills the night air around them. The screams will haunt Henry for years. They search for anything that floats, anything that will hold them and keep them out of the water as long as possible.

“Henry! Here!”

It’s a door, and by the extravagance of it, somewhere from the first class lounge. It’s awkward and barely able to stay long enough for Henry to climb up. It still sinks slightly, the water only around his arse and ankles. It’s something. It will be better when Alex is with him.

But Alex remains in the water.

“It won’t hold us both.”

Henry is too cold to cry.

“It bloody well will! Get on the door, Alex!”

Alex laughs. He laughs. Henry leans over, tipping the door precariously close to a second sinking of the night, but tries to grab for Alex anyway.

“Henry, it’s okay,” he says gently, voice shaking on every syllable, and kisses Henry to distract him.

Henry is ashamed that it works.

“Fine! We’ll take shifts.”

Alex laughs again, but it’s so much weaker. Henry knows ice water will kill you mercilessly, but on it’s own time. Henry forces himself not to think of it, of the pain Alex is in.

“It’s just until help comes,” Alex reasons, and Henry doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince. “They’ll come back for survivors. Any minute now.”

Henry keeps the wrangled and tortured sceam from escaping his lungs. He kisses Alex again instead, trying to share whatever warmth he has.

It’s growing so quiet. Henry never thought he’d miss the screams of the dying, as they diminish in numbers, the water having taken them so quickly.

—-

Henry is so cold. He is so tired. He’s pretty sure he’s hungry too, but he’s too cold and too tired to notice. Ice has formed in his hair line, on his eyelashes. It’s getting harder and harder to talk. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

He’s going to fall asleep. He shakes himself awake.

“Alex,” he tries. He can barely hear himself. “Alex. It’s your turn.”

Henry hates the thought of getting in that water, but he hates that thought of Alex being in it even more. Alex ignores him.

“Alex,” Henry croaks. “Please, love.”

Except when he tries to move, he can’t. Cold and ice and death have taken all his strength. He can’t imagine how Alex feels. There’s fingers placed lightly on his cheek. Twice as cold, twice as frozen.

“Just a little longer,” Alex says, and his voice sounds like gravel and harsh secrets. Henry whimpers.

“‘Just a little longer’ will kill you,” Henry argues.

Alex ignores him.

—-

Henry knew death would look white. He did not expect it to smell like alcohol wipes and disinfectant and medicine. He hears voices. Murmurs. Someone is talking over him. He tries to open his eyes. He blinks, and sees a figure standing above him, talking to another figure. He blinks again.

Slowly, the room comes into focus.

A hospital. He’s in a hospital room. From the look of the limited space around them, a hospital room on board another ship. There are nurses talking amongst each other. They haven’t noticed he’s awake. He feels cold. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel warm again.

Where’s…

All at once, it hits him, along with the desolate pain that comes with it. Tears once too frozen to fall are flooding his eyes and rolling down his cheeks in torrents. He thought freezing to death was painful, but he would take bathing in that water forever over this.

“Sir! Your Highness! Where does it hurt?”

Henry can’t help curling into a ball, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes as if to dig them out, so he might not see a world without him. A world without Alex. He wails, pain like ice in his heart, the ice he was unlucky to escape alone.

“I need help over here!”

Henry refuses to stop crying, and couldn’t even if he had the desire. He can hear the nurses asking him where it hurts, over and over and over again.

Everywhere. It hurts everywhere and it will never stop hurting.

Then there are brown hands taking hold of his wrists and pulling them away from his eyes so he might look into the most beautiful face he’s ever seen. Alex is saying something, worry in his eyes. Henry doesn’t listen, only takes Alex’s beautiful face in his hands and kisses him like he was so sure he’d never be able to again.

Alex winds arms around him and holds him tight, kissing him back. Alex feels like the warmth Henry couldn’t find before, and Henry clutches himself to it, silently begging for Alex to share.

The nurses awkwardly disburse, now that Henry has stopped causing such a panic, leaving them alone. Henry parts to get a good look at Alex. He has scrapes and bruises mottling his skin, but he’s smiling while clutching Henry’s hands. He’s a vision in a white hospital gown, because only Alex could look beautiful in such garish attire.

“I leave for five seconds and you lose it at the nurses,” Alex tries to joke.

Henry does laugh, but it’s wet and feeble and pathetic. “Don’t leave then!”

Alex cups Henry’s jaw and kisses the corner of his mouth. He encompasses Henry in his arms and kisses his hair. Henry tries not to lose it all over again.

“I won’t. I promise.”

—-

They eventually find Henry’s family, in a separate area of the rescue boat entirely. They’re beside themselves when Henry shows himself, Bea the only one for the right reasons. She flings herself at Henry and pounds her hands on his chest. He hugs her tight and apologises for running off.

His grandmother is his grandmother. Silently despondent and overall scathing. Henry ignores it. Phillip is still asking around for him. Henry figures he can stay searching a little longer.

Once outside again, morning rays touching the ocean before them, Henry leans his head against Alex’s shoulder. It’s so odd to him looking at the ocean now, so calm and inviting, as if it had never held any threat to them. He closes his eyes, presses his nose to Alex’s neck and inhales.

Alex, true to his word, hasn’t let go of Henry since he woke up.

There’s a man walking around with a clipboard. He talks to each passenger in turn. They all look like white shells of their former selves. He finally approaches Alex and Henry, awkwardly keeping his distance for a time. He finally works up the courage to approach them.

“Excuse me, good sirs, but I’ll just need your names for the registry, you understand.”

Alex nods.

“Alexander Claremont-Diaz,” he provides.

The gentleman writes it down on his clipboard, then looks expectantly at Henry

“Henry. Henry Claremont-Diaz.”

He knows Alex looks at him then, shocked and excited all at once like he gets when something amazing has happened to him. The man writes it down and leaves them be.

“I like the sound of that,” Alex says. His voice is warm in Henry’s ear, soft like butterfly wings, and Henry hides his grin in the column of his lover’s neck.

#red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #first prince #alexander claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex x henry #red white and royal blue fanfiction #queer fiction

10 notes · View notes

black-dragon1998 · 4 years ago

Text

New trainer part 2 (Kelley O’Hara x reader)

Summary: Not much for plot just a whole lot of fluff.

warnnings: none.

Thanks for leaving and drop a comment.

part 1

“Come on ladies! Move it!” you watch as the girls jog in front of you. Instead of running on a football field, you had taken the team outside the stadium on a nearby running track. It was one of your exercises to improve their endurance.

You had gotten their files before you started your job but liked to have your own numbers to roll. That is why you were pushing them to their limits, to see if they made any progress. With tests like this, you made no difference between forwards, midfielders, defender or keepers.

All of them were suffering you had a good look at everything from your spot at the back of the group., holding the tempo. Anybody who went slower than you had to do a workout with you after practices. This caused Kelley to run faster than anybody else, telling everybody that your workouts were insane.

“Ladies, I hope this isn’t your best? My grandmother can run better than this.” You yell at the youngsters who were lingering. You can hear a couple of them grumble but they keep running so you let it go.

Over the last couple of weeks, they had learned how intense you could be at practice, just to turn into an immense teddy bear when behind closed doors. The team even joked that Kelley had tamed the beast. Something they liked to remind you of when you were cuddling your girlfriend at team nights.

You were about to yell again to drive up the tempo when you saw Emily stumble and fall. All the girls abruptly stopped and surrounded the blond. You pushed some of the players aside to look at the fallen girl. Emily was in a sitting position and was cradling her right knee with her hands.

“I think I’m not going to make it. You guy’s will just have to go on without me.” Emily said in the most theatrical tone.

“Please never forget me.” With a dramatic sight, the girl fell backwards with her eyes closed. Seeing Emily being her dramatic self, everybody lets out a breath including you.

Crouching down beside the girl you take her injured knee in your hands and try to assess the damage. Moving her the knee in a couple of different ways to see if it was broken. Seeing as she didn’t flinch at the movements you guessed it wasn’t broken., telling the team as much.

“you think you can stand?” you ask Emily seriously wanting to make sure that nothing else is wrong. The look on your face told you not to play around. Emily got up with you helping her. When she was standing you asked to put some pressure on it.

Emily’s face contorted in pain just a little bit you had seen enough. She wasn’t running back to the stadium. You turn around crouching down.

“come on getting on.” You told Emily, she looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“you aren’t running back, so let me carry you to make it more comfortable.” While you tell this you catch the little pout on Kelley’s face and memo yourself to give her some attention when back in the hotel. Tomorrow was also your day off so maybe you could take her out for breakfast.

Lindsey helped Emily on your back and you felled leg close around your middle and her arms settle on your shoulders before you rose, making sure Emily was secured.

“can people have harder abbs than yours?” Emily exclaims her cheeks bright red. Kelley slapped her on the tights.

“hey, that is my girlfriend.” Kelley glared at the blond. Emily only snuggles further into you shoulders whining. Okay, maybe you would have two bodies to comfort later. Turns out when you were at camp Kelley and Emily were almost a package deal. The only time you really got Kelley alone is when you bribed Emily with food or outright tell her you to want to have sex with your girlfriend.

“come on you two.” You sight out. Sometimes it was difficult to have both frat daddy and frat daddy junior attention at the same time and new to better stop it soon before things escalated.

“Alright, ladies, back to running were are still a couple of miles away from the showers I know everybody wants to get to.” You bark out getting everybody back into motion.

“you going to walk behind us?” Ashlyn asked, eyeing you with concern. Kelley just barked out a laugh, knowing you would have no problem keeping up with the soccer players. Reassuring everybody that you would be fine, taking your place at the back of the group again.

On the last mile, you really wanted to push.

“faster ladies, I start to think a lot of you want to do a workout with me.” Suddenly Kelley was running faster than even Alex and Christen, making you laugh.

Before you knew it you were back at the stadium and had left Emily with the medical steam to look at her knee. Promising her you would come back for her so she would miss movie night.

You soaked in the quiet locker room for the training staff for a quick shower. Knowing your girlfriend would demand cuddles the moment she saw you.

When you were putting on your regular clothes you noticed that your hoodie was missing. Looking all over for it in the locker room you pondered where you could have left it. You were sure you had taken it with you. An idea popped up in your head off where it could be, hoping the girls had finished showering.

The player's locker room was rowdier than you liked but you were on a mission. Luckily most girls were already dressed and those who weren’t were putting on the last pieces. You also saw that Emily was with them so her injuries shouldn’t be that bad. The only person you didn’t see was your girlfriend confirming your suspicions.

“hey girls have you seen Kelley?” the youngsters were grinning at you like they knew something you didn’t.

“the matter sergeant lost something?” Emily teased. Yes seems like she was perfectly fine.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end when you felled a presence behind you. Turning around just in time to catch your girlfriend who launched herself at you. The first thing you notice is the hoodie she is wearing tighter with the cheeky grin.

“I think that is mine.” You tell her smiling. You couldn’t help but think how adorable she is in your clothes, they were a little bulky on her and made her look even smaller.

She doesn’t answer just clings to you harder. Sadly for you the reputation it went out the window the moment Kelley came into the equation. Luckily the only thing they did was teasing and you got back at them during training and they knew it.

Over the time you waited for everybody to finish dressing Kelley didn’t let go. She even started a conversation with Alex over what film they would be watching later that night.

After another ten minutes, everybody seemed to be ready to leave when Emily suddenly started whining. You asked her what was the problem and then she reminded you that you would carry her to the hotel. When you argued with her that her leg was totally she only pouted harder. Kelley who was still clinging to your front tightened her hold. You looked at the rest of the team for help but they only laughed and told you good luck. Even Lindsey who usually helped you keep Emily in line padded your shoulder with a face that said. ‘you brought this upon yourself’. Huffing you help her on your back and start walking toward the bus. Threatening with an extreme workout it anybody if they dared to say anything.

Even arriving at the hotel both Kelley and Emily demanded to be carried. Now you weren’t met by one but two pouts and couldn’t help but cave. Sometimes it felled like you were raising two children instead of having adopted Emily, but being honest with yourself you wouldn’t change it for the world. You loved your girlfriend too much and Emily was too precious.

The team watch as you were lying in the middle of on the beds flanked by Kelley who was resting on your chest, your arm holding her close. Emily was in her turn was also asleep but was facing away from the two of you her head resting on your bicep, using it as a pillow.

The movie they were watching was long forgotten and a couple of the girls had even taken a couple of photo’s to blackmail you and Kelley with.

“It is hard to imagine that is our scary trainer running us to dead not six hours ago.” Tobin joked. Making the rest laugh.

“Hey don’t forget they had to carry Sonnett back to the stadium and after that, she and Kelley wouldn’t let go of her before she crashed on the bed,” Ali said. Smiling at you. It was true to the outside world you were scary and fierce but the team knew better. You were a big teddy bear not only for Kelley but for your adopted kid Emily as well.

Want to support me Buy me a Ko-fi

277 notes · View notes

gra-sonas · 4 years ago

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes Characters: Alex Manes, Michael Guerin Additional Tags: Canon Disabled Character, Dogs

Summary:

Alex's face softens. "I know you're careful. Sorry, it's just hard not to worry. But back again to my initial question. Do you know what today is?”

"I don't know, Alex. It's February 13th, so I didn't forget Valentine's Day or something. We ruled out the thing at Isobel's, and it's still Saturday. No matter how much I'm wrecking my brain, I can't think of anything else. Please tell me I didn't forget anything important."

"No, you didn't, no worries. I'll put you out of your misery. What do you think about taking a short trip across town?"

This is my contribution for day 3 of @malex-cupid. 3.3K of fluffy Malex.

Dialogue prompt: “Do you know what today is?”

-------------

“Do you know what today is?”

Michael pretends to think about the answer before he says "Saturday."

Alex rolls his eyes. "Smartass."

Michael smirks. "Takes one to know one."

Alex smirks back. "I'm badass," he says.

Michael laughs. "True."

"Come on, Michael, try again. What day is today?"

Michael groans. "It's that stupid thing Isobel roped us into attending, isn't it? I thought it was next weekend."

"That one is next weekend. Which reminds me, we have to get our suits from the cleaners." Alex pulls a face. He hates wearing formal attire, especially ties. But Isobel would have their heads if they didn't dress up for her fancy party.

"We'll get through it together, and any chance we get, we'll hide in one of Isobel's guest rooms, and I'll suck you off." Michael waggles his eyebrows suggestively. He looks ridiculous, but it makes Alex laugh.

"If she catches us, we won't live to see another day," he points out.

"Well, I'll have to be fast then. It's unfortunate that she also can pick locks with her brain these days."

"You're not going to suck me off in two minutes, if anything I'll claim that my stump's hurting and we can go home early, where we'll take our sweet time sucking each other off."

Michael looks worried. "Has your stump given you any trouble lately? Should I take a look at the prothesis?"

Alex smiles. "No, Michael. It fits perfectly, and for some reason it even adjusts to the occasional swelling? I have no idea how you engineered it, but it almost feels as if the prosthetic becomes a part of me when I put it on. It's incredible, and it has given me that much more quality of life." He leans closer and kisses Michael, soft and sweet. Michael beams.

"I'm so glad. The material is so cool, I'm glad that I decided to give it a try, and now that I no longer need to rebuild a working console, I want to find out what other useful things I can build using it."

"As long as you are careful and—," Alex starts.

"Yes, I know," Michael interrupts him. "No worries, I've been paranoid about hiding who and what I am my entire conscious life on this planet. I won't risk it now just to brag about an invention that includes alien tech."

Alex's face softens. "I know you're careful. Sorry, it's just hard not to worry. But back again to my initial question. Do you know what today is?”

"No, you didn't, no worries. I'll put you out of your misery. What do you think about taking a short trip across town?"

Michael nods. "Sure, I have no other plans for today. Can we drive past the Crashdown to pick up some coffee?"

Alex looks at his watch. "If we call from the car and ask whether Javier could bring our order to the curb, we can do that. But we have to leave now. We have an appointment at eleven."

Michael pulls Alex up from the couch. "Okay, let's go. I'm really curious what you're up to!"

They call the Crashdown from the car and Arturo himself stands at the curb to hand them coffee and a box with heart shaped cookies through the window. Michael tips him generously, and then they're on their way again.

When they pull up outside of a red building fifteen minutes later, Michael's eyes widen.

"Alex, this is the animal shelter. What are we doing here?"

Alex turns around in his seat to face Michael. "Well, I thought we could go inside and look at all the rescue dogs in there, and if we like one, and the dog likes us, that we should take them home for a trial run. What do you think?"

Michael's eyes are wet. "Alex. This is—perfect. So much better than some kitschy Valentine's gift. Don't get me wrong, any gift from you would be amazing, but a dog, Alex. A dog! We've talked about this so often. Why now?"

Alex's smile softens. "Because we talked about it so often. It's pretty obvious how much you want a dog, and honestly, I want one, too. My therapist has talked about a therapy dog in the past, but I think a dog that's ours is even better. It can either stay with me while you're working, or come with you to the junkyard when I'm meeting clients. And if push comes to shove, we have a large yard where the dog can stay on its own for a couple of hours."

Michael flings himself across the car's middle console and pulls Alex into a fierce hug. "Thank you, Alex. Best pre-Valentine's gift ever."

Alex smiles into Michael's shoulder. "Come, let's go inside, I have a feeling we'll meet a very special someone in there today."

They enter the shelter, and a young woman shows them the way to the large backyard behind the building. Three different agility courses are set up, and there's a pool where three dogs are playing with an old football, splashing in and out of the water.

"This is what heaven must look like," Michael says, and the awe in his voice tells Alex that coming here was an excellent decision. He's counting at least twenty different dogs of various sizes, and they all seem happy and excited. He turns to the young woman.

"So, how are we going to do this, Janet. Are we supposed to sit down and wait until a dog approaches, or should we throw a ball or something?"

Janet points at a bench that's set up under a large tree. "If you want to take a seat, I'll get a basket with some toys for you to use and play with the dogs." She leaves, and Michael leads Alex over to the bench where they sit down.

Most of the dogs have stopped playing and running around, they are looking at Alex and Michael instead. Michael takes Alex's hand. "I'm nervous."

Alex squeezes his hand. "I don't think they are dangerous, relax, Michael," he soothes.

Michael laughs. "Not what I mean. I'm nervous because I know one of them's going to be ours, and I want to make a good impression."

Five dogs are brave enough to come closer, their tails wagging. Michael holds his hand out for them, and once the brave dogs are close enough, they start sniffing and licking Michael's fingers. After that it's just one large furry puppy pile with Alex and Michael in the middle, and more dogs joining. They pet as many dogs as they can reach, always careful to read the body language of each of them. But they are all very friendly and excited to meet them.

Janet returns, a large basket filled with various toys in her arms. Some of the dogs start barking happily, apparently, they know what the basket means. Janet sets it down in front of the two men. "Many of our dogs love to play fetch, you can also go over to the agility courses and see what each of the dogs can do."

Michael picks up the basket. "Thanks, Janet, I think I'll go over and play with the dogs. Do you want to come with me, Alex?"

"I'm actually good right here for another moment, thanks. Maybe I'll come over to you later."

Michael smiles at Alex and gives him a kiss. "Okay, love you."

Michael squeezes Michael's arm. "Love you, too. Have fun!"

Michael walks over to one of the agility courses, basket in hand. And like he's the Pied Piper, most of the dogs follow him, yipping excitedly.

Janet turns to Alex. "I'll leave you to it. If you have any questions, I'll be inside."

"Thank you, Janet, I appreciate it." She turns around and walks back to the house, and Alex focuses his full attention on Michael. He's started to throw balls in different directions (no doubt giving some of them a little extra spin with his telekinesis, but there's no one around, so Alex relaxes and enjoys watching Michael having the time of his life).

There's one dog in particular, that seems to have the largest heart eyes around Michael. It doesn't run after any balls Michael's throwing, instead he picks up a plushie from the basked and carefully places it in Michael's outstretched hand. Michael pats the dog's head and tells him what a good boy he is. Alex smiles.

The dog is gorgeous, a little taller than a German Shepard, dark fur and a tail that's wagging a million miles a minute. Alex can picture himself and Michael with the dog in front of the fire. Not a lapdog exactly, but he doesn't mind.

A minute later, the dog leaves Michael's side and while Michael's busy getting acquainted with some of the other dogs, Alex's eyes follow the black dog. He walks over to a sunny spot near the pool, where smaller dog's curled up in the grass, seemingly uninterested in playing with Michael.

Going by the fur marking's, Alex thinks it could be a beagle. He smiles, remembering Mimi's "prophecy". The black dog noses at the beagle's ears and licks them, then he nudges the dog as if to say, "come with me".

It takes another few nudges before the dog gets up (and yes, it's definitely a beagle, an older one by the looks of it), and follows its black brother over to Michael.

When Michael notices the duo, he stops throwing balls and kneels down. "Oh, do you want me to meet your friend? Hello sweetheart." He scratches the beagle behind the ears and the dog almost goes cross-eyed with pleasure. The black dog wiggles closer and buries his nose in Michael's half-open shirt.

Michael looks over to Alex, and Alex smiles. "Guess we're not just picking up one dog, huh?"

"Would that be okay? They seem to be friends, and I couldn't stand to leave one behind, especially since this little lady seems to be a bit older. Do you think we can handle two dogs?"

Alex gets up from the bench and walks over, and the moment he reaches Michael, they look up at him and start nosing at his feet and legs. When they are finished sniffing at him, they look at him with huge puppy eyes.

"Oh, you two, this isn't fair." He kneels down carefully, holding on to Michael's shoulder for balance. The moment he feels stable, he has his arm full of two dogs, one large black one, and a smaller beagle.

They lick his face and almost barrel him over in their excitement, if it wasn't for Michael's steadying hand (and a smidge of telekinesis) at his back. "Thanks," he manages to get out between increasingly wet and enthusiastic doggy kisses.

Michael chuckles. "Guess these two have made their decision. Now it's up to us. Can we, and do we want to adopt two dogs? I know we've talked about a dog, and this morning I didn't even know we'd get one. And now there are these two. What do you think?"

Alex smiles. "You know, we have a big house, an even bigger garden, I don't see why we shouldn't adopt both. They insist on a two week trial anyway, so why don't we take these two sweethearts home with us and see how it goes?"

Michael manages to place a smacking kiss on Alex's cheek without them tumbling over, then he helps Alex stand up. The two dogs stay close to them and follow them back to the house.

They find Janet at the reception desk. She looks up when she hears them approach.

"Oh, that went quick. Did you meet a dog you like?"

Alex realizes that she can't see the two dogs at their feet from her position. "Actually, we met two dogs."

"Two?" Janet stands up and looks down. "Oh, I see. These are Buffy and Lando. They met here and it was love at first sight. They are pretty much inseparable, and since she's basically a senior dog, we'd rather not separate them, I'm sorry."

Alex shakes his head. "There's no need to separate them, we'd like to take both home with us for the trial period. You know, they picked us, and now it's our turn to pick them, and see whether we're a good match."

Janet's smile gets excited. "That's wonderful to hear. They've been here for a while, and the fact that we don't want to separate them has prevented their adoption so far. If you'd like to take them for a short walk, I need about twenty minutes to get all the papers ready. Leashes are over there by the door."

They return from their walk half an hour later, relaxed and smiling. Neither dog's wearing a leash anymore. When Michael notices Janet's look, he says, "She wouldn't leave our side, and he wouldn't leave hers, there really was no point in keeping the leashes on."

Janet nods and hands them a clipboard with several sheets of paper, yellow post-its marking the spaces where they need to sign. Alex grabs the clipboard and takes a seat at a nearby table, while Michael looks at the wall opposite of the reception, where several dozens of photos are pinned to a large cork board. Happy new pet owners with their adopted pets. He can't wait to add their photo to the wall.

Once all the papers are signed, Janet gets two large bags from a nearby storage room and hands them to Michael. "The bags contain bowls, leashes, and dog beds. We don't expect you to buy everything before it isn't clear that you'll adopt the dogs."

Michael nods. "Do they have favorite toys or blankets we should take with us?"

"No, they usually play with the toys we provide. I can put a few tennis balls into one of the bags if you want," Janet offers.

Alex shakes his head. "That won't be necessary. I—uhm, I actually may have bought some toys. And a box of tennis balls." His smile is a little sheepish, but Michael isn't having any of it. "You are brilliant, and I love you." He smacks a kiss on Alex's cheek.

"Alright, you've got my number, in case there are any issues, please don't hesitate to call. If everything goes according to plan, I'll see you in three days for the first mandatory visit."

They smile at her, bid their goodbyes, and when leave, their two new canine family members follow them unprompted.

"I have a really good feeling about this," Alex says once they are back in the car, both dogs comfortably snuggled up on the back seat.

"Me too," Michael admits. "You've made me a very happy man today, Alex. Truly the best pre-Valentine's gift ever." Alex laughs. "It's not just a gift for you, Michael, I'm also a very happy man today. I'm very excited that we're taking this next step." He looks back at the two sleeping dogs. "It already feels like they're part of the family."

On their way home, they stop at the pet store, and pay an obscene amount of money for dog food, bowls, leashes, harnesses, the most comfortable supersized dog bed (suspecting the dogs would rather share then sleep in two separate beds), and way too many toys. They don't care that this is only a trial, they know that Buffy and Lando are meant to stay with them.

When they get home and set everything up, the dogs immediately curl up in the large dog bed together, completely ignoring the two separate beds they put up to give them a choice.

"We already know them so well," Michael says proudly, clinking his glass with Alex's. There's a fire burning in the fireplace, and they're sharing a bottle of red wine that goes well with the pizza they've ordered.

The dogs are snoring, and Alex's and Michael's hearts are full.

Michael goes on a quick walk with the dogs while Alex gets ready for bed. They're trying to keep the dogs out of their bedroom, but it's not happening. Lando drags in the dog bed in before they can close the door, and while they'll have to set boundaries eventually (because there are things they'd like to do in their bedroom without an audience), they won't start tonight.

They place the dog bed at the foot of their bed, and the dogs curl up together. "Uhm, we'll get to that eventually, I guess," Michael says, but then he lets himself being pulled into Alex's arms and they fall asleep within minutes.

It's a quiet night, and when they wake up in the morning, the dogs are already up to drink water in the kitchen. Alex and Michael exchange lazy kisses, until Michael wiggles out of Alex's embrace. "I'll take them out for a couple of minutes, that should do until we can go for a real walk after breakfast."

Alex gets up to pee, then makes a beeline for the kitchen to make coffee before he returns to their bedroom. He snuggles up under the covers, when he hears the front door open and shut, which means that Michael's back.

The dogs enter the bedroom first, and Lando walks up to Alex's side of the bed. He gets up on his hind legs and puts his front paws on the bedframe, like he's extra careful not to step on the mattress.

"Good morning, handsome. You are such a good boy, Lando," Alex croons and pats Lando's head. When he sees something gleam in the sunlight filtering through the blinds, he reaches for Lando's collar. There's a ring attached to it. A ring with an iridescent piece of an alien spaceship console embedded.

Alex blinks back tears and tries to remove the ring from Lando's collar, when Michael drops on one knee next to the bed. His eyes look a bit wet, too.

"Alex Manes. You're not only the man of my dreams, you're the man of my life. We've been through so much, and I love you more than should be humanly – or alien-ly – possible. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Alex can't stop the tears from falling now, but he nods and reaches for Michael. They kiss and hug, and Michael helps Alex to remove the ring from Lando's collar. When Michael puts the ring on Alex's finger, it fits like a glove.

"Michael, the ring is extraordinary, thank you so much. I can't wait to marry you." They kiss again, but before Michael can get up from the floor, Alex pulls a thin silver chain out from under his pajama top he only put on a few minutes ago when he was in the bathroom. There's a ring attached to it. He opens the clasp and lets the ring fall into his open hand. Then he shows it to Michael.

"Adopting a dog with you was only meant to be a first step, I'd been meaning to propose to you on Valentine's Day, though. I just love you so much, more than anything or anyone, and I want to share my life with you. Forever. Marry me?"

"Yes!" Michael's reply is short, but he barely waits for Alex to put the ring on his finger (it also fits perfectly), before he gets up and lets himself being pulled into Alex's outstretched arms. They laugh and kiss and tumble all over the bed, and Buffy and Lando start barking. Soon enough they manage to jump on the bed and join the celebration.

When Alex and Michael adopt Buffy and Lando officially two weeks later, they do so as Mr. and Mr. Guerin-Manes, their wedding rings clearly visible in their we've-adopted-a-dog celebratory photo.

#malexcupid21 #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #rnm fic #malex fic #my fic #buffy manes

64 notes · View notes

whythinktoomuch · 5 years ago

Text

iv. to be as good as dead

(pt. i) (pt. ii) (pt. iii)

tw: gore & death (but only of zombies :D)

Kara’s awareness gradually slips out of the syrupy depths of sleep, the low rumbles of Lena and Alex’s conversation casually filtering into her ears. She starts to stir, jerking fully awake only when she accidentally elbows Lena right in the ribs.

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” Kara says hastily, as Lena clutches at her side with a wheeze. “Oops. I, yeah, sorry.”

Kara inches over in a futile attempt to provide Lena with some more space, but her bed was never really meant to accommodate more than one person at a time.

“It’s fine,” Lena grumbles. “I actually prefer my lungs bruised.”

“I’m sorry…”

Alex just shakes her head as she approaches the bed, and Kara is already averting her eyes with an extended sigh. But Alex crouches down anyway, places a gentle hand atop Kara’s shoulder and squeezes.

“I heard what happened,” she says softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was leading the group, so of course it was my fault.” Kara directs her words more to her pillow than anyone else. “Like you’ve always said, if you’re the lead—”

“Forget what I said!” Alex snaps. “You’re alive, okay? And you brought everyone else back here, alive. Which means you did the right thing, and that’s all that matters.”

Kara shrugs and just curls up into a smaller ball underneath the sheets. Alex sighs, giving Kara’s shoulder another comforting squeeze before slowly climbing to her feet. But on her way out, Alex takes one last pause by the door. She gestures aimlessly toward Kara’s bed. “So, what’s going on here? You two officially banging, or…?”

“Oh, shut up, Alex, god! It’s not even like—”

“No, Kara was just having trouble falling asleep, so—”

“Mmhm, yeah, I bet,” Alex says, cutting off both their protests as she shuts the door behind her.

“You’re such a fast reader,” Kara comments, as she watches Lena thumbing through her second trashy romance novel of the day. “You must really dig those, huh?”

“I kinda hate them actually,” Lena says with a shrug. “But I’m also kinda into the fact that I hate them, so it all works out.”

“Hm…” Kara nods thoughtfully to herself. Then, “Well, hang on, are they dirty?”

Lena’s pale features are instantly awash in a very conspicuous shade of pink. “No,” she says several beats too late, and Kara practically pounces onto Lena’s side of the bed.

“Oh no, no, wait!” Lena is laughing as she falls backwards, Kara scrambling on top as she grabs for the book. “No, Kara, stop, you’re not allowed to look!”

Kara fumbles with the book, fingertips slipping off the glossy cover as Lena tosses it just out of reach behind her. But persistent as ever, Kara just climbs a bit higher, now practically straddling Lena’s stomach. Her next swipe overshoots by a tad though, and she ends up swatting at Lena’s rucksack instead.

“No—!” Lena says in a sharp inhale, but Kara’s already caught the bag by one of the shoulder straps before it could hit the ground.

Though considerably lighter now, the rucksack seems to still hold quite a few private things that give a distinct clink as Kara gently sets it back on the bed.

They both stare at the bag in silence until Kara springs back into action, snatching up the romance novel with a triumphant Yoink! and jumping onto her own bed. She’s barely flipped through the first few pages when the book’s being ripped out of her hands, and Lena’s climbing into her lap and kissing her.

All of Kara’s grunts of surprise are muffled against Lena’s soft yet sweetly insistent mouth. It’s been a while—much too long of a while, in fact—but Kara’s body eventually remembers what to do, and she’s seizing Lena by the hips and hauling her onto the bed.

Kara’s breaths are ragged as she settles on top, her kisses near frenzied and desperate, and getting messier and messier by the second. But Lena doesn’t seem to be faring much better, with her eyes darkened, hips bucking up against Kara’s, and it’s honestly gratifying enough just to feel this wanted.

But then Kara’s tugging at the hem of Lena’s shirt, dragging it up to expose soft skin, the paleness only marred by a slight blush of desire, when Lena stiffens underneath her.

“Oh, is this… is this all right?” Kara asks, freezing in place. “Because we totally don’t have to.”

Lena’s face screws up, hesitant. “Um.”

The door swings opens, and Kara and Lena scramble off each other, in a hasty attempt to make it somehow seem like they weren’t doing exactly what they were just caught doing.

“Wow,” says Alex, just so utterly bored. “Can’t wait to hear your excuse for this one.”

A couple of weeks later, Kara and Lena are lazing around in the sun—Kara bouncing a tennis ball against a brick wall, Lena reading some two-dollar sci-fi thriller. They still have yet to talk about the kiss.

It’s not that they are avoiding it, per se. It’s just been way easier to talk about all the other things worth discussing.

Like, for example,

“They’re gearing up for a supply run,” Lena says, eyeing the small group forming by the front gate. She watches as they pass out the guns, lace up their boots, and fix up their backpacks, and such.

“Yeah.” Kara doesn’t look over.

“You’re not going with them?”

“No, Alex is gonna go this time,” Kara says shortly, already walking off toward the barracks before Lena could ask why, tennis ball left behind and forgotten.

“Hey,” Lena says, when she eventually finds Kara lying in bed with her dusty boots still on. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What?”

“Let’s leave the camp for a while. Stretch our legs somewhere that’s not packed with all these people,” Lena insists. “Didn’t you say that there’s a lake nearby? Let’s go there.”

“… Why?”

“Why not? It’s a free country.”

Kara actually snorts. “There is no country anymore, Lena.”

“Whatever, let’s just go get some privacy then,” Lena says with a shrug, and Kara perks right up.

“Privacy?” Kara echoes. “With me.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Kara nods a lot. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s not very hard to sneak out the front gate, and the ease of their escape forces Kara to admit that maybe this is something that she’s done before. “But only like once or twice. And only when I was going absolutely stir-fucking-crazy, I swear.”

The aforementioned lake is a trek of couple of miles, but inherent peace brought on by the very sight of it is well worth the journey. Kara stretches out beneath the shade of her favorite tree, heart and face relaxing as one as she watches Lena dip her toes in the water.

Within minutes, Kara’s on her back with her eyes fluttering shut. And within a few more minutes, Lena is snuggled up to her, head cradled against Kara’s chest, and for a while, everything is good again.

Kara’s just basking in the sun, taking a brief nap in between classes on a grassy hill, and Lena’s her girlfriend who adores her despite all her cheesy puns, and they’ll probably share a tub of ice cream at some point in the night before engaging in lots of sex and way too little sleep, and everything was just good.

Almost good enough to be true

“KARA!”

The panic in Lena’s voice has Kara’s eyes snapping open, and she feels a violent tug on her left foot. A growling zombie, lake water dripping off its disgusting, bloated body as it drags Kara closer to its snapping jaws.

Kara immediately launches her other foot forward, smashing it into the zombie’s face as hard as she can. It gives her the leverage to slip out of her left boot and scramble to her feet.

She shoots point blank right through the top of its head.

But more and more zombies start emerging from the lake, all puffy and rotted, their swollen faces split open in near identical snarls. Kara shoots them down, one by one, but more just keep coming to take their place in an endless swarm.

“Fuck, fuck,” Kara swears, her fingers clumsy as she tries to reload her gun. “Fuck it, run, Lena, run!”

They take off sprinting, and actually manage to outrun most of the zombies that are thankfully still incapacitated by their bloated limbs, waterlogged and somewhat useless.

When Kara throws a glance over her shoulder, just to make sure they’re still in the clear, she misses the dip in terrain, and the pothole sends her sprawling across the dirt.

Kara turns around and a zombie is already almost upon her, its stagger increasing in speed, as if it could already taste the sweet victory of Kara’s flesh. She reaches for her gun, but it’s landed too far away, and the spare bullets even farther. By the time she faces forward again, she’s all out of options.

A single gunshot rings out, and the zombie falls heavily on top of Kara, blood and bile spurting all over her face, mouth, and body. She coughs at the taste of decay and rotting water, clambering out from underneath the zombie, now motionless with a prominent hole through its right eye.

Lena’s standing a couple feet away, Kara’s gun clutched in both hands. She gets the next two zombies between the eyes, then a third right through its cheek.

The first two crumple instantly, but the last doesn’t slow one bit as it charges at Lena.

But she doesn’t flinch, only whips out her hunting knife, leaping forward to meet the zombie head-on, and sticks the blade right through its protruding forehead with a shout.

If Kara didn’t have an entire dollop of zombie goo still dripping from her mouth, she probably would have kissed Lena again right then and there.

Kara’s not too sure on how or when she finds out, but by the time Alex is back from the scavenging mission, she’s stomping toward her and Lena like she already knows.

“Listen, Alex,” Kara starts off right away, swiftly putting herself in front of Lena. “It’s not her fault. I wanted to go too, and, look, we’re fine now, and…”

But Alex shoves right past her and yanks Lena into a violent bear hug that lifts her straight off the ground. “Thank you,” she sobs over and over again into Lena’s hair. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”

(next part here)

#i swEAR to GOD that the next one is the LAST ONE! *skull emoji*#1745 wds; can u believe it #g'night #my words.

490 notes · View notes

theriverpersonshadow · 4 years ago

Text

Lamia Drama Part 10

DND PLANNING IS HERE AT LAST. >:D

I don’t think there’s anything impenetrable to non-DnD fans here... But here’s some basics on the classes anyways:

Monks are fast and good at fist to fist fighting, barbarians are tanky berserkers, sorcerers have inborn magic, druids have nature magic, clerics have god-granted magic, warlocks make pacts with patrons, fighters just got good with weapons and standard melee fighting.

Again, I’ll tag and link properly later, gotta go get foooood. But nothing majorly angsty anyways.

Previous Beginning Next

Keith took a deep breath as everyone settled around the table, hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. A mixture of excitement and nerves were bunched up inside his soul and he hoped Alex couldn’t feel it, though she seemed genuinely clueless so far. Either that, or a far better roleplayer than he anticipated. The tip of his tail was sweeping back and forth on the floor as he scratched lightly at the insides of his pockets, desperate to find some way to dissipate some of his energy. Still, he wasn’t going to start until everyone was settled in.

It was a round table, easy to see everyone. Keith had offered Alex a spot on his left. Oozy was sitting on her left, then Nikolai, then Liam, then Hux, then Keith. Trousle had claimed the middle of the table.

Most had already gotten their drinks ready, but Hux was buying some chips from the vending machine… Or rather, he was convincing Nikolai to buy him chips from the vending machine, given that he was the one who actually had a paycheck. Alex had bought herself a tea from the vending machine and Liam had prepared his “Health Potion” which was really just an extra-sour red cherry slushy. Also…

“I’ve brought you all some snacks, no need to thank me,” Liam said, plopping a Tupperware full of chocolate and peanut butter no-bake cookies on the table. He crossed his arms and smirked, head held high.

Alex did a double-take, looking at her bag, “When did you…?!”

Keith stifled a laugh, “Liam, no.” He was pretty sure Alex intended to share those anyways, and his own mouth was already watering, but still.

“Liam yes!” Liam said, cackling dramatically.

Hux already had a cookie in his mouth.

Nikolai lightly swatted him, “Ask first…”

“What,” Hux said through a mouthful of cookie. “They’re to share.”

“I mean, yes… Go ahead, but not gonna lie, I’ll probably eat way too many by myself,” Alex said, grabbing a cookie.

“See?” Hux said.

Nikolai rolled his eyes and politely took one – he didn’t care much for sweets, but wouldn’t turn it down. He gave one of the smaller globs to Trousle, and Keith took that as a go-ahead. It practically melted in his mouth, cocoa and peanut butter melting into a sweet cream as the oats gave it just enough weight to count as solid matter. It was deliciously rich, not over-sweet, but still very much a dessert. He was tempted to reach for another, but maybe he should hold back…

Well Alex has already gotten a plate and taken four, so no reason he can’t have another…

“How did you do that by the way? I didn’t even hear the zipper,” Alex said, looking to Liam.

“A great hunter never reveals his secrets~”

“He’s sneaky, you have to watch out for him,” Nikolai said. “But speaking of which, I was actually thinking of trying out a rogue…”

“Daaaang. Playing against type?” Hux said. “Ain’t like you to be anything but a healer.”

Nikolai shrugged, “I figured I’d give it a try.”

“Respect,” Hux said. “That said, I’m making a Totem Barbarian.”

Trousle rolled his eyes, “You never play anything else!”

“It works, don’t it?”

“It’s boring!”

“I have to agree,” Liam said. “It’s like you’re just playing the same person every time…”

Keith decided to cut in before this could get ugly, “Let him play what he wants.” If Hux wanted to play the same character with a name change, then let him. It’s a game, might as well have fun with it.

“Thank you,” Hux said.

“Alex, what’re you thinking?” Keith said.

“I mean, I’ve got a lot of characters I could maybe use? Do you have a setting in mind, or…?”

“Go nuts dude,” Keith said. “As long as it ain’t completely broken, I’m down for most things.”

Alex’s face lit up. “In that case… Gimme a minute here.” She pulled a notebook from her bag and started scribbling furiously, making little bullet points, rambling in words, all sorts of things. It was a chaotic, disorganized mess, and Keith could absolutely feel the excitement pouring off of her, making it even harder to sit still. Apparently she felt the same, her foot was shaking a mile a minute, and any time she wasn’t writing, her pencil tapped against the page.

Trousle slithered over, peaking at her notes, and Liam leaned over smiling like a cat with a canary. They were probably happy to have another roleplayer at the table.

Hux, however, was glaring at Alex’s foot, “Can… can you not? Like, that’s kinda distracting.”

“Hmm?” Alex said. “Ah… sorry. Which part?”

“Stop shaking your damn foot.”

Alex nodded, crossing her legs. Keith bit his tongue – it was a reasonable request, but he was tempted to hiss at Hux. He dug his claws into the insides of his hoodie instead, feeing the fabric catch and finding the little hole he’d worn in his left pocket. It didn’t feel like enough, he wanted to move, wanted to do something to let out some of this pent up energy – since when did he have this much anyways?

Alex started rocking in her chair, making it clack as it hit the floor – it was off balance – and some of his anxiousness subsided as he listened to the steady rhythm of clacking.

“… dude,” Hux said. “That’s not any better! That’s actively worse!”

Keith was tempted to tell him to shove it up his ass, but thankfully Nikolai spoke first, “Just let her. No one else is bothered, are you?”

“Nope,” Keith said.

Trousle and Liam shook their heads.

“Fine…”

“Do you want me to do this somewhere else?” Alex said.

“Yer fine,” Keith said. “Whatcha thinking about anyways?” Change the topic…

She perked up a little at that, looking over her notes, “I was thinking maybe a warlock contracted out by the Fey? That seems kinda obvious though, so I figured, why does it have to be a warlock? I’ve already made a lot of those anyways.

“So, like… Here’s another idea. Maybe my character got traded away as a kid? Like a changeling sort of thing! They’ve lived with the fey for a lot of their life, but didn’t have the magic they did since they’re just a normal human. But they’ve had some opportunity to learn since, y’know, they’ve lived in fae realms. I’m thinking maybe the magic infected them somehow and they ended up a wild magic sorcerer? Or maybe got CURSED and ended up a sorcerer! And maybe they’ll meet the person who replaced them one day, and they’re used to contracts and stuff, and, uh…

“It’s still kind of rough. I put this together in, like, five minutes guys.”

“I think I can work with this…” Liam purred. “I want to play the changeling that replaced her character in the mortal realm.”

“OH THAT’S REALLY COOL!” Alex squealed, bouncing in her seat.

“Dude, you can’t have all the fae abilities, y’know that, right?” Keith said. He tended towards rule of fun, but there still had to be SOME boundaries…

“I’d be disappointed if you did! At least, not right off the bat. My character’s been raised as human and only knows of the mortal realm. Perhaps a fighter… With shades of sorcerer. We can work it out.”

“I like it! I might change my class though, is that okay?” Alex said. “I’m not really sure which to use for this…”

“Can I be a fairy companion? Maybe I was sent to watch over Liam’s character and that’s how he started finding out about his heritage? Or to protect him? Maybe he’s important!” Trousle said. “I can take healer and support! Maybe a cleric? Or a druid! Yeah! A druid!”

Keith grinned, these guys were putting it all together themselves! “Y’know what, go for it!” This was practically writing itself…

“In this case… I think I’ll play a rogue who specializes in shady political dealings. Particularly fey contracts,” Nikolai said.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“I, uh… I work for Nikolai’s dude. Contracted barbarian, I guess,” Hux said. Roleplay was never his strong suit.

Keith nodded, “I’ll get to drafting stuff…. And Oozy?”

… Oozy yawned, waking up from a half-doze. “Hmm? Oh… sorry. Yeah, I made one while you guys were talking.” He slid a character sheet over.

Keith raised the ridge of his eye-socket, “A gnome monk?”

“Yep. It’s gonna be terrible.” He grinned, a twinkle in his eyes. “Or more accurately… A G’nome G’ninja.”

“Pffft. Perfect,” Keith said.

Looks like they had a campaign.

9 notes · View notes

rezdogsyonder · 4 years ago

Text

Changing

Pairing: Peter Parker x Tall!Reader

Summary: Peter has found his soulmate but does she feel the same? Basically a soulmate au but different

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging,

A/N: Peter is aged up. Also I changed his powers just a tiny bit just one thing and the rest is the same.

This peice is unfinished and it will remain unfinished because I’m leaving tumblr and will not be returning. If you wish to continue this you may.

*********

Fuck. Not right now. Not today.

That’s all you can think as you’re nearly late for your first day as an photographer. It isn’t the first place you wanted to work for but you need the money. Well probably not a “real” photographer. You’re not hired for the job on a regular basis, but for their front page photos of Spider-Man. It’s cool, Spider-Man won’t let anybody else take his photos.

Well, it’s not really your first day but it’s the first day that Jameson is actually considering you as his official Spider-Man photographer. Before you usually would email him asking if he needed more photos and now he is finally now telling you that you’re going to be the official photographer for the weekly Spider-Man pieces.

You have started a blog for the hero and hopefully it will gain traction and maybe you’ll get to make an income from it. But for now you have to sell your photos to the Daily Bugle.

The rent is due Friday and you get a check from the gas station you work at that day, it won’t be enough to cover it though. But with a check after each batch of photos you provide will put you way over the green this pay day.

You’re rushing about your medium sized 1 room apartment. This place was a gem, the only reason this place was as cheap as a studio is because a billboard was directly across from the extremely large windows. Lighting up your entire apartment. It didn’t bother you much, it saved on electricity from never having to turn on the lights and all you needed was blackout curtains in your room.

You are not changing shirts but you squeeze into a pair of black pants. The grey boyfriend cardigan getting tucked in the back, but it doesn’t deter you from running to the bathroom and vigorously brushing your teeth. You’ll have to forgo the entire makeup routine but you have time for foundation and mascara.

Rushing back into your bedroom you pull a pair of socks from the top drawer of your dresser and look at your alarm clock. 9:42. 18minutes till you’re late. Well you know in Jameson’s eyes you are already late but he screams at you no matter what.

Your second shoe is tied, you got your purse and it has your wallet, phone, and keys already. You run out of your room and in the hallway of the complex. Fuck, locking these doors seems to be the longest part of leaving. 3 locks, self installed with the extra long screws. Never needed this much security before but some blind asshole next door seems to always be getting into fights. Like what the fuck, how hard is it to not fight someone, and then he leads them here.

Once the doors are locked and you’re out of the building you look at your phone. 9:44. 16 minutes to go around 2 miles. Well broadway cuts across, so probably less, but anyways you gotta run it. Now you’re not the most fit person, but you are able to push yourself more than what others would think you’d be able to.

Dodging people and avoiding running into the road, you make it to the first turn. Basically a straight shot now, but it seems as though people are wanting to be in your way today. You would love a bike right about now. Though you’d have a really high chance of getting hit by a car. But it’s right about the same risk since you are not stopping at the do not walk signs.

One car almost did hit you, but it braked in time but not without you slapping the hood as you went by. Not on purpose but from loss of balance. Well you probably would have slapped it anyways. Your face burns from the run, and the heat, it is the end of summer but it is still pretty hot out.

Oh god, this is awful, you’re just a more than halfway and you nearly ran into an old man and his wife outside of m&m world.

“Sorry!” You shout back but it’s not very loud and sounds winded. You won’t stop though.

Just a couple more turns. Just two more turns. Just one more. You keep telling yourself that you’re almost there, legs straining the muscles from the over exertion.

You get into the building and run to the elevator. You know you probably look unprofessional right about now but you don’t care. You just need to catch your breath.

You press the right floor and dig through your purse. The small mirror being a lifesaver as of recently, since being late is seeming to become a common ovccurance. You pat your forehead with the sleeve of your cardigan. You don’t look too bad, but not the best. You check the time, 9:58. Not bad, you’ll be just 1 minute early. The elevator ride giving you just enough time to breath properly.

The elevator doors open to the busy floor, and you go over to Jameson’s assistant, not even reaching her desk before she points her pen behind her to his office.

“L/N!” He immediately shouts, “Where are those photos?” He is still looking out the window behind his desk.

“Right here sir,” you pull the envelope out of your purse holding it out for him to take it. Which he does, ripping the lip of the envelope and begins examining your photos.”

“850. Tell Betty on your way out.” He plops you’re photos on his desk.

“850? That’s not my rate, there are 12 photos there.”

“These just aren’t worth your usual rate. 850.” He argues back, you’ve seen this before, had you been any smaller or even sitting he would have put his hands on his desk and leaned towards you to seem intimidating, but right now he looks like a child with his hands balled at his side.

“65 per photo or I go to The Post.” You won’t back down. That’s nearly a thousand, and you don’t want to let it go, even if it is less than 200 more than what he offered but you need it.

He stares at you, he’s turning red now in the ears. You collect your photos calling his bluff.

“Fine,” he grumbles, he presses a button on the small speaker on his desk, “Betty, write out a check for L/N for 975.” He released the button and you put the photos down. “Get out of here, she’ll call when we have another piece.”

“You’re a peach,” you smiled as you back out of his office. “Hey Betty, how’re you doing this week?”

“Just fine, but his wife wants me to control his anger as soon as his meds are sorted. Not looking forward to that.” She finishes filling out the check on her computor, and with one last click that is so familiar to you now, you know she printed it.

“Jesus, I do not want to be here for that.” You step back four steps to the printer and rip off the receipt at the bottom that she needs to keep and hand it to her. “Good luck, because you will need it. Thanks, see you next week!” You wave bye as the doors close.

Letting out a sigh of relief, and tucking your check into your wallet. You’re glad you won’t have to worry anymore. With this check you’ll have four or five hundred more than you’ll need for rent, meaning you won’t have to scrape by for grocerys.

You better hurry though, you have an hour till your next shift at the gas station and you still need a shower.

**********

The hours are going by slowly, with few customers to keep you distracted. Just 4 more hours and you get to call it a night. It has already been 6 hours since you clocked in and there had only been a handful of customers, making the day uncharacteristically slow.

Your phone begins vibrating on the small fridge below the counter, the shift managers name on the display screen. Seeing as there’s no customers you think it is fine to answer.

“Hello? Debby?” You greet subconciously.

“Y/N I have some bad news.” She pauses, “the person who is supposed to relieve you is refusing to come in. She quit.”

“What am I supposed to do? I’ve been here since 11:30, I don’t think it’s allowed for me to work past 1. Wasn’t her shift supposed to last till 8?”

“Yes I know but you are legally allowed to work till 4:30, and that is when I’ll take over because I cannot find another person to cover her shift. It’s only alright because I’m switching your shift tomorrow with Alex and you’ll have the day off to recuperate. Then it’s your usual day off the next so I think that’s enough time to get back to normal.”

“So I’m leaving at 4:30?” Disbelief evident in your voice.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I would get there now but John doesn’t come home until late tonight because he took the graveyard shift at his job and I can’t leave J.C. alone.”

“Yeah I understand, family comes first.”

“Thank you, you’re the best. See ya later.”

“Yeah, see you.”

You put down your phone and mentally prepare yourself for another 11 hours.

**********

Three red bulls, and a seasonal pumpkin spice coffee from the dispenser and it was almost midnight.

Many more customers has came in after the call, the universe seemingly wanting to tire you out further. Then it began slowing down again after 9. The time you were supposed to be going home if Patricia didn’t fucking refuse to come in.

It was about that time that a young man came in, wearing a dark suit but without the blazer. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Light brown hair and pale skin, he looked breathtaking. He quickly rounds to the back grabbing three of the big bottles of water.

“Just these for me...” he trails off as he sniffs, then he looks up and makes eye contact with you.

You two are staring at each other for a few seconds, his stare becoming unbearable and you look away.

“Ok sir... that’ll be 5.97.” You still feel his gaze. Refusing to look up, you bag his things. You hear his card slide through the machine.

“Thank you sir, have a nice night.”

“Yeah... you too.” And with that he was gone. Leaving you to think about this stranger for the rest of your shift.

**********

As promised, Debbie came at 4:30. You left to walk home. It was nice living basically across the street from your work. A short walk, but you still felt a sense of unease.

Looking all around you, you don’t spot any suspicious people. Not even one heading in the same direction as you. You let out a small sigh as you cross the road. But it does nothing to calm your nerves.

You’re trying not to seem panicked as you try to get through the door to your building but it might be obvious with how you’re shaking.

Past the door you let go if your breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Finally able to calm down. You walked to apartment, using the elevator instead of the stairs.

Once at your door your heart beat seems to have gone back to normal, but before you even put your key in the door you feel the hairs at the back of your neck stand up. You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s just a chill.

Unlocking all the locks you go inside, greeted by the bright pink fluorescent lights. You shut the door behind you and drop your bag on the floor. Too tired to care. Moving to go into your room, knowing that you’re not going to change into pajamas either.

Well probably take of the pants. Yeah, jeans are never comfy.

Shoes kicked off, pants off, bra off with some difficulty from your long sleeves, blankets pulled back and you’re ready for bed. You’re getting in when you hear a creek in the living room, but you don’t see anyone so it’s maybe the upstairs neighbours.

You turn around once more to lay down and you feel a pinprick at your neck. You slump over and you feel hands at your shoulders, picking you up in their arms.

Eyes won’t open, and you are quickly losing consciousness.

“Shh, you’re safe with me.”

*********

Your head is pounding, that’s what wakes you up. You still feel groggy and it makes your eyelids feel incredibly heavy. You want to sleep for more but your eyes keep fighting to open.

Once they do you are met with a room that is not your own. Everything is white, except the headboard which is a light grey, matching the bedside table. You look around, about 6 feet from the foot of the bad is a back door and there’s a bathroom to the left of the bed with the door wide open.

You run to the closed door, you grasp the handle but you get a head rush and are unable to turn the handle for a good 5 seconds. It’s no use though, the door was locked, and it doesn’t seem like a regular lock. It seems more advanced, it’s a regular handle but it’s warm, and doesn’t have any keyhole. It’s also not as big as a hotel handle, like the ones with the scanners. Irrelevant, but your mind is running a million miles an hour and you’re trying really hard to not panic.

You realize that you aren’t wearing your pants but a pair of sweats were at the edge of the king bed. You quickly pull them on. Your kidnapper has already seen your ass, but it’s a little bit comforting. Your bladder is full and it is more apparent now than a couple minutes ago.

They aren’t here yet, better be quick. You half jog into the bathroom it has a large sink and a nice looking shower, but you don’t want to use it due to there being no lock on the bathroom door and the shower door is glass. Not even one of those blurred glass doors, it is crystal clear.

You had already peed and we’re washing your hands when you hear a small beep and the locks opening. You’re drying your hands when you hear a knock at the door. You don’t answer.

Another knock, you stared at the door, a low sigh is heard and the door swings open.

It was the man from last night, except now he was covering his eyes with his hand.

“I swear I’m not looking but please come out right now.”

“... alright.” You’re voice is a little rough and just above a whisper.

“Thank you.” He turned around leaving the door open and you follow.

“Come with me.” he waves his hand over the lock and the beep is heard again.

He leads you through the door into a long hallway, when he turned to the left so did you. There’s no point in running when he would catch you in less than 2 seconds.

You pass by 4 doors, one on your left and three on your right. The fifth door on the right you entered and it was an office.

“Sit.” And you did, he sat behind the large desk and leaned forward with his elbows on it. “I need to tell you something that would be hard to hear. Hell, hard to believe, but just know that everything I’m telling you is true.”

You nodded when he paused and looked at you. You felt so out of place and uncomfortable. Heart beating so fast and hard, it feels as though it’s bursting out of your chest. Your hands slightly shaking and feet tapping where you sat on the edge of this obviously expensive chair.

“I’m going to be frank with you alright? You are my soulmate.”

You freeze, “wait... what?” You didnt believe it, he was right. He’s crazy. Soulmates were a rare thing in this world. How would he know? He only knew you for 5 seconds so why does he know? Why would he take you?

“We are soulmates. I felt it when I first met eyes with you, I know that you did too. I took you here because, to put it simply, you would be safe. There are many people after me and if they learned of your existsence they would find you and use you against me.”

“H-how do I know your not lying?” You stare at the lines in the wood of his desk, refusing to look up. When you look him in the eyes you feel the same pull that you did back at the gas station. You hear rustling and you glance up for just a second, then you look back when you realize it’s just his arm that he wants you to look at.

He begins rolling his sleeves like the way you saw last night. Or was it even still the next day? You don’t know. Not seeing any clock or any windows since you were at your home.

Beautiful lines are spread across his forearm and you realize it wasn’t there before. “Can you look at your arm?” His voice is gentle, like he’s trying to be comforting.

You stare at his arm as you pull your sleeve up, then you look down at a blank arm. You pull up your other sleeve just as roughly and see the same tattoo that he has. You touch it gently as though it’ll smear if you are as rough as you were two seconds ago.

“Mine showed up a little after I stepped out of that store. I guess you didn’t notice yours.” You rub at yours and it won’t come off, and the skin isn’t raised as though you have a regular tattoo.

“What does this mean?”

“This means that you are now mine.” You feel tears welling in your eyes.

“So I can’t go home?”

“No, and some things are going to change.” You look at him wide eyed, fearful for the changes that he has in mind.

“So I’m sure you have heard of the powered people of New York, and I am telling you that I am one of them. Not only that, but I am a member of the avengers.” He pauses, you feel his eyes on you and you can only assume he is trying to gauge your reaction. “But I didn’t achieve my abilities through government testing or anything of the sort. I was bit by a mutant spider and I gained the spiders abilities.”

“You’re... Spider-Man?”

“That’s right. Now that you’re here, I will have to give you the same abilities I have so that we will be on equal grounds.”

“How are you going to do that?” You look up at his face.

“I will bite you of course.”

#avengers #marvel #avengers fic #marvel fic #peter #peter parker #spiderman #soulmates #soulmate au #dark!peter #dark!peter parker #dark!peter x reader #dark fic #dark fandom #dark fanfiction

62 notes · View notes

uponrightful · 4 years ago

Text

Unforgettable

So this isn’t my normal S.W.’s content.

I’ve been working on this for a college final, and thought I would share it.

(Note from the Author: If you’d like a little atmosphere while reading… play the original “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole. It might replay once or twice, but I don’t think Rose would mind hearing it. :) )

A cast iron skillet with pork chops sizzled over the wafting heat of the stovetop. The worn silver handle sat turned away from the edge of the old Glenwood. It was a long ago formed habit after that same skillet had ended up in the floor, smattering gravy and fried potatoes to the floor. The pockets in her apron wouldn’t cause any problems tonight. Next to the pork chops sat a towering stock pot full of cubed potatoes, rumbling under a cloud of steam that poured over the sides of the cookware. Rose dropped her wooden spoon down into the pot, stirring just long enough to make sure nothing was sticking. She hummed a little tune as she went along, tending to the collard greens and bacon grease, letting the shaky sound of her voice carry her through the dinner preparations.

At one point she might’ve swayed to the King’s voice, loving the smooth piano and gently dancing around the kitchen with light feet. Maybe giggling at how silly it was for a young woman to be dancing in the kitchen. Labors of love had Rose’s wrists swollen and fingers crooked, detailing just how many nights she’d spent toiling away to soft sounds of music in the kitchen. Only now, she did well to lift the cast iron skillet onto the stove without making an awful racket when the weight became too much. Rose preferred to hum now, occasionally deepening her voice to sing a few words along with Mr. Cole. Her ankles protested the constant standing and so would her babies if they had seen her fussing over such a trivial thing as dinner on a Thursday night.

No doubt her daughter-in-laws would offer to mash the potatoes for her, or politely bargain with Rose to tend to the cornbread once it was done in the oven. With a wrinkled smile she would decline, knowing just how much longer the cornbread needed without a timer and that you needed to add buttermilk before thinkin’ about reaching for that wood-handled potato masher hanging on the wall. Bless them girls, they always offered to help but dinner never turned out quite right if Rose wasn’t the one “doin’ the fixin’”. Donnie Jr. didn’t like it when the collards weren’t greasy enough, and Billy always liked the potatoes a little lumpy. But tonight, only three pork chops simmered in the skillet.

It had become one of her newer habits -only about twenty years old now- where she cooked a little differently than she had before. No longer did she have to catch children running around her feet, or take a moment to step away from the Glenwood to tie a shoelace or button up a jacket. It was in the last twenty years Rose hadn’t bothered with buying the fattier cuts of pork opting for the new green-packaged medallions, always reading ‘low fat’ or ‘heart healthy’. The smaller portions and ‘grass fed’ options weren’t the only things that had changed for Rose. Now she needed a pair of glasses to see just a bit better to stir in a little more salt and pepper to the greens. Even the once-white paint on her stove had tinged a bit yellow despite umpteen tries at scrubbing away the aged tone on the iron.

In a different time she would’ve worn a pretty dress and a little heel as she cooked; Maybe going far enough to wear some of that light pink Avon lipstick she used to love. Of course she couldn’t really remember the last time she’d seen one of the order booklets on the church’s greeting table. All those trivial things had fallen to the wayside over time. Rose looked down at her feet, bare and blending in with the gnarled and knotted floor below her. A bright smile spread over her face at the sight. Her mother would’ve had a fit if she could see Rose cooking without shoes on. Even worse than being barefoot in the kitchen Rose neglected to wear a dress as well, preferring some corduroy pants and a sweatshirt with buttons sewn to the front in the shape of a heart. A Christmas present from many years back, given to her by Billy’s wife as newlyweds. Rose didn’t mind the thought of her own mother’s disapproval of her style, rather choosing to reminisce on that sweet Christmas so long ago and how much she treasured the button-embroidered shirt from her sweet daughter-in-law.

With shuffling feet Rose moved away from her place at the stove to set the dinner table. She pulled at the silverware drawer, making sure to gently guide it a little to the right so that it wouldn’t stick or make that awful squeaky noise. In the back of her mind, she momentarily reminded herself to pick up some beeswax and grease the darn thing instead of putting it off any longer. Billy had used some type of spray last month, promising that it would be better than her tried-and-true beeswax. But here Rose stood, listening to the sharp queak of the drawer pulling dryly across it’s wooden rails. Her shaky hands searched for the two best forks in the mess of mismatched cutlery, making sure that tonight the table would look its best with identical forks and knives. She wanted to celebrate the best way she knew how. After deciding on a set, she tucked them in the pocket of her apron. Just above her head in the cabinet above, Rose collected plates, little dessert dishes and salad bowls, stacking them in her hands with another precious memory playing out to that same sweet song she’d been humming all afternoon.

The table setting, milky white with small pink flowers painted along the rim of the dishes had been a wedding gift. Darling in their time -and still timeless in her opinion- as Rose set to work setting the table in the dining room. Again to her mother’s disapproval, she skipped adding a tablecloth before sitting the dishes and cutlery down in their respectful places. A table so well-used deserved to be seen, instead of being hidden under some plain white cloth. Little scratches in the varnished wood had once caused quite a fuss at dinner time; A dropped steak knife, or the unpracticed hands of a child dropping their fork onto the unprotected surface. Now, Rose could look at them with tenderness and a wisdom for the blemishes that life imprinted on everyone and everything. Seeing years of love and togetherness in the scuffed and scratched surface, just like in the growth rings of the planed wood that had been collected to make the table. The old thing was beautiful in its own unique way, and Rose couldn’t help but feel the same way about herself.

That internal clock ticking in her mind reminded her of the cornbread in the Glenwood, and additionally the pork chops that would no doubt be done by the time she added that buttermilk to the potatoes. Just as she’d already known, the cornbread came out the same as it always did… but not quite as good as she remembered her mother’s to be. Nevertheless Rose couldn’t help herself from sneaking a little nibble in an unsuspecting corner, enjoying the heavy weight of the bacon grease-soaked bread with a little nod of approval. Rose repeated the process of taste testing her other side dish, and tending to the pork in the cast iron with an expectant glance focusing on the back door just outside the kitchen.

It wouldn’t be much longer.

Dinner didn’t take a full two hours from start to finish, and more importantly Rose knew the drive to Dr. Nancy’s office in town only took eight minutes. If you were driving fifteen miles an hour down main street. The waiting room always took up twenty minutes of time, especially when that sweet receptionist wanted to know how everyone on the edge of town was doing with the annual hay cutting. It seemed Rose was the only woman who could find out how many more acres were needing laid down before a rainfall came.

Even Dr. Nancy knew that dinner was on the table at seven thirty though. She’d have Sam sent on his way long before Pat Sajack and Alex Trebek made their nightly appearances.

Normally the sound of gravel would set Rose into motion, delivering the serving dishes to the dining room, potholders protecting her wrinkled hands from the heat and subsequently the table. Filling cups with ice, and sitting them at their ritual place next to the fridge. Rose knew what time it was without even looking at the old clock above the ‘frigerator and even though she couldn’t hear the tires in the driveway anymore, it would only be a couple more minutes before that back door swung open on a bees-waxed hinge and a loud smack of the screen door following close behind. Another weathered smile broke her consistent humming. Maybe there were some things that didn’t change after all...

Struggling the most with the old cast iron, Rose managed to get it to the table without accident. The potatoes had been mashed, and transferred into a more presentable bowl resting on a crocheted potholder, browned from hundreds of bowls of potatoes. While the greens stayed in their skillet between the two other dishes, steaming temptingly up towards the dining room‘s light fixture. The salad Rose had chopped that morning rested in the middle of the table with a bottle of sour-cream base ranch accompanying it in a quart-sized mason jar. A pie also sat in the fridge, awaiting dessert time with the plastic container of sweet tea that had been religiously filled that morning as well.Of course none of that was considered ‘heart healthy’ but there were some recipes that didn’t agree with Dr. Nancy’s orders. Rose had never been royalty, or had any desire to be one. But in her heart of hearts this meal was more than worthy of being served to a king and queen… or the occasional doctor.

In her haste to bring the cornbread to the table, she’d missed the tap of the screen door on the doorframe, and the slow thump of boot heels over the hallway floor. Not even the rustle of a Woolrich coat unzipping and being hung on the coat rack just outside the kitchen alerted Rose that she was putting on quite a show.

“That someone so unforgettable… thinks that I am unforgettable too…” Rose sang, quite lost in her slow hustle of final preparations, unaware that her husband was standing with a big grin on his face. As terribly unaware as she was, Samuel couldn’t resist joining his sweet wife’s ode to Nat Cole.

“Like a song of love that clings to me, How the thought of you does things to me.” Sam’s voice wasn’t nearly as pretty as Rose’s, but he had sang just loud enough that her surprised gasp of realization had given away his little hiding place behind the wall.

They met in the middle of the kitchen, neither one wanting the other to walk the long distance. And as if they both still had the King‘s song playing, a gentle sway brought them together, right on time with the imagined strokes over ivory keys. The couple shared a little laugh, imagining how they must look to anyone out the window. Struggling to keep time with such a slow tempo, nevertheless letting their dinner get cold. This didn’t keep them from enjoying the moment, taking each other’s weathered hands and rocking gently to Rose’s light hum. She rested her head against his chest, cherishing the slight bump of his leather glasses pouch in his shirt pocket and the smell of freshly cut hay filling the room.

“Who are those two?” Sam’s warbly voice spoke out, rocking them in a circle towards the small shelf on the wall of the dining room. In the middle of family portraits, grandchildren, and children hung a monochromatic picture of Rose and Sam smiling brightly at each other. It had been taken ages ago… almost a lifetime.

“Hmm,” Rose paused in fake contemplation. “No idea. Must be as old as the hills by the looks of that old picture.” She chuckled when Sam’s eyes glowed mischievously at her little jab. Sensing that Sam might’ve been thinking the same thing she patted his shoulder knowingly.

“Well, you might be right there.” Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest. “But I can’t imagine having spent sixty-two years married to anyone else.”

Sam ducked his head down pressing a soft kiss to the love lines between Rose’s greyed eyebrows, sighing contentedly. Her brown eyes had turned golden over the long years, reminding him of just how rich he was standing in the middle of the family kitchen. Even the soft circles she rubbed against his back soothed away the stiffness he’d felt sitting in the drivers seat of the truck.

“Happy Anniversary, dear.” He murmured into her hair.

“Happy Anniversary, my love.” She smiled brightly back at him, glowing just as brightly as she had sixty-two years ago today. “How was Dr. Nancy today?” He chuckled in response, extending his arm to let her take a slow spin, careful not to let her get too dizzy.

“Tickers ticking like it should be.” He paused, focusing on catching her hand after the turn-about, easing her back against his chest. “She did say to lay off the blackberry cobbler…” He added softly.

“Oh that woman… I already told her I was using fresh blackberries. Not frozen.” Rose sighed, thinking about how there was no pleasing the young doctor. “One day she’ll understand how nice it is to have a nice slice of pie after a hard day’s work.” Sam let out another chuckle, this time he was more than happy to oblige his wife with a little more good news from Dr. Nancy.

“I have more good news dear.” He waited for those bright golden brown eyes to look back up at him, waiting expectantly. “I didn’t have to schedule another appointment for a whole year.” His eyes glittering with a mix of tearful relief, and pure adoration for the prospect of another whole year with his best friend.

Tears welled in Rose’s eyes, followed by an unsteady little cheer of laughter. Her soft hands rubbing gleefully up and down his back. The two tightened their hug, still gently swaying as if the kitchen itself had put them under a spell where aching joints and deep wrinkles didn’t exist anymore. A room that didn’t remind them of how difficult life could be. The kitchen, with its wood-burning Glenwood was a sanctuary. A place where both Sam and Rose could forget about the bustle of appointments and prescriptions and celebrate a life full of love, all while swaying back and forth to King Cole.

#unforgettable #rose #sam #oc #grandparents

5 notes · View notes

astralaffairs · 5 years ago

Note

can i get number 29 from valentine's day prompts with laurens?

prompt 29: Secret Admirer

it took hella mental effort not to make this ridiculously tacky, and i cannot explain how it became 3.5k words. but pls someone explain to me why RA john is such a cutie??

————-

It had to be a crime for anyone to be up that early on a Sunday morning.

You’d spent your Saturday night out with Hercules and his clan of fellow grad students; you were still an undergrad, but he and you had always been surprisingly close for siblings, so when you entered his university just two years behind him, he’d adopted you into his friend group, who accepted you with open arms.

This, however, was three years later. You were a junior, and you’d spent the fall thanking your lucky stars that your friends had decided to stick around for grad school there, as, not only would you have missed them dearly, but just by chance, a few of them had ended up as teacher’s assistants for your year’s courses.

Them staying around also meant they could drag you to law school parties off-campus, and it meant you had them to thank for your hangover. You were lucky John had been the designated driver; as the RA of your floor, you and he were headed to the same place at the end of the night, which meant you had him to force you to drink a bottle of water and actually go to sleep in a bed, as opposed to passing out sloppy and wasted on the floor.

Who you really owed your thanks to, though, was whatever genius decided it’d be a good idea to come knocking on your door at 6 AM.

You let out a long, dramatic groan as you pulled yourself up. This was one of few times you were relieved not to have a roommate.

Despite the shrunken proportions of your dorm room, walking those eight feet to the door felt like walking eight miles that morning. It didn’t help when you opened the door to an empty hallway, no one standing before you. You were about to slam the door in a fury, seething quietly at whoever thought it’d be a funny idea to ding-dong-ditch you at the crack of dawn – you’d have guessed it was Alex, but you’d also be shocked if he wasn’t still lying fully unconscious on the floor of Lafayette’s apartment. That was when you noticed a small box sitting at your feet.

You did a double take down the hall around you; it was still deserted. Hesitantly, you picked up the package, praying it wasn’t anthrax. (You didn’t have many enemies, but surely there was someone who wanted to murder you quietly.) You checked around you one last time before retreating into your room, throwing yourself back onto the bed. As much as you wanted to go immediately back to sleep, your curiosity had the better of you that Sunday.

You eyed the little, plain cardboard box that you’d deposited at the foot of your bed warily. Surely if it contained a bomb, there was nothing you could do about it now, anyway, so what was the harm?

You eased the flaps on the top apart, and the first thing you saw was a paper, folded up to the size of your thumb and, for whatever reason, taped onto a box even smaller than the original. You opened it and were surprised to see it’d been typed up.

Y/N–

Okay, so at least you knew you weren’t gonna find anyone fuming later on because they’d left their girlfriend’s Valentines gift by the wrong door.

I’ve never been good with words – though, I guess that’s why you’re the English major instead of me – so I’ll keep this short & sweet, much like you ;)

You rolled your eyes at that. You didn’t know who this letter-writer thought they were, but waking you up at six in the morning to call you short wasn’t what you’d call suave. (You weren’t short, anyway, and you’d stand by that until the day you died. Though, unfortunately, you may have had to stand slightly below that until the day you died – you weren’t sure you could reach.) You ignored how the last line made your pulse jump.

I think you’ll find the contents of the box fill the same role.

Yours.

That was it? Yours? Not, ‘yours, the cute stranger down the hall,’ not, ‘yours, the buff TA from Accounting Law,’ not even, ‘yours, the guy you pass in the elevator at the gym every Thursday who knows very well you’ve been eyeing him all semester.’

Just, yours.

You opened the box to find a slice of strawberry shortcake, and again, you rolled your eyes. How clever. You had to force yourself not to be endeared by who was apparently now ‘your’ mystery, but you couldn’t fight your smile at the sheer audacity.

——–———–

Predictably, you brought it up to everyone you knew within the next few days, and unfortunately, they seemed every bit as stumped as you were. At that point, you didn’t know what to do but ignore it.

So, you went on with your week, and the next Sunday, you were again awoken at first light.

Your groan this time wasn’t any less annoyed at the knock on the door; this time, the note made a jab at your dancing skills, said that ‘you still made being sloppy drunk look cute.’ You furrowed your brow. If this was someone’s way of trying to unlock your heart, this wasn’t exactly the key. However, if your being sloppy drunk was on their mind, it had to have been someone at the frat party you went to the night prior. Or, someone you passed in your building on the way back. Which narrowed it down to approximately half of campus.

Again, the letter was simply signed as 'yours.’ You didn’t know what to make of it all.

The contents of the box made you smile, though: a water bottle and a pack of Tylenol. It wasn’t exactly the height of romance, but something about the hangover care package made it feel more thoughtful yet.

You popped a Tylenol and went back to sleep. You’d be better at overanalyzing after you’d gotten at least six hours.

Those six hours turned out to be six more hours, though, and you emerged from your room just after noon. You stifled a yawn as you made your way out to the common area, still in your pajama shorts and the sweatshirt you’d pilfered from someone’s floor, to find Angelica on one of the couches eating boxed mac-and-cheese.

She was one of your oldest friends at your university; she’d been your roommate freshman and sophomore year before she ultimately elected to move in with her boyfriend. She raised an eyebrow as you entered, wearing a knowing smile that you couldn’t decipher the meaning behind.

“Hey, Ang,” you said wearily, making your way to the cupboard to pull out one of the instant ramen cups you’d kindly labeled 'Y/N ONLY.’

“Hey.” She eyed you, amusement dancing in her eyes, and when you continued to stare blankly at her, she spoke again. “Did you seriously manage to get another noise complaint today? That’s, like, the fifth this month. You’ve really been busy since I moved out, huh?”

While she looked smug, her words just had you confused. Unless it was from you snoring too loudly (which, in hindsight, was very plausible), there was no way you’d have ended up with a noise complaint that night. You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“What?” She shrugged as you put your noodles in the microwave. “Didn’t you? I mean, I saw Laurens walking away from your room this morning and just kind of assumed.”

You chuckled. “No, he was just my ride back from a party last night. Unfortunately, not one where I managed to get laid.”

“And you got back at 6 AM?” She looked surprised, and your confusion only mounted.

“No?” you said, your voice hesitant. “Wait, what are you talking about? 'Cause it’s obviously not the same thing I’m talking about.”

She shifted on the couch to face you where you stood near the microwave. “When I got back from my run this morning, I came back up to my and my John’s room–” John Church, her long-term boyfriend and inaugural junior-year roommate, “and I saw Laurens coming back from, like, right by your door. Not at three AM, or whenever it was that you got back from the frat house.”

It took you about that long to connect the dots. John at 6 AM, coming back from your room, the knock that’d woken you up bright and early – no way that could be a coincidence. Your eyes widened; you started down the hall toward the RA dorm without a second thought. “I’ll be right back,” you muttered. Angelica’s brows shot toward her hairline.

“Wait, Y/N, what about the microwave?” she called after you. You’d slipped too far into your tunnel vision to care. “Y/N, your noodles!”

You reached the end of the hallway and promptly banged on the door before you. John emerged in a matter of seconds, whether it was because he happened to be up or because of how aggressively you were trying to get in.

“Y/N?” He sounded surprised to see you. You didn’t humor him.

“Did you leave that box outside my door this morning?”

Slowly, his mask of confusion cracked, a grin adorning his lips as he leaned against the side of the doorway. “Busted.”

However, your brow knit at the immediate admission, trying to suppress a smile despite your shock. “Wait, so you left me those little… 'secret admirer’ notes?” You hesitated; he raised an eyebrow. “What… why did you–”

“Hold up, I don’t know anything about any notes,” he cut you off, holding up his hands as if to claim innocence. “Don’t shoot the messenger; I dropped those boxes off because someone asked for an assist.”

You paused, taken aback. You hoped he didn’t notice when your face visibly fell. “Wait, so if it wasn’t you…” you trailed off, pondering his words. You raised an expectant eyebrow. “Then you know who sent me those!”

His smile again graced his lips at that; he raked a hand through his hair as he chuckled. “Now you’ve really caught me,” he said, tone teasing. You could only roll your eyes.

“Who is it, then?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret admirer if I just told you!” He put a hand on his heart, his expression a caricature of scandalization, and when you glared, he chuckled. “I promise it’s not rocket science, Y/N; just figure it out.”

You scowled. “It’d be so much easier for everyone if you just told me,” you whined, and he gave you a mock pout.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he sighed, “Now that you put it like that, I guess I’ll have to tell you.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really?”

“No.”

You huffed, folding your arms and stomping your foot like a toddler, and he reached out to ruffle your hair with a laugh. You yelped as you ducked away from his hand, and his grin only grew. “You’re an absolute clown, you know that?”

He shrugged, looking as though he was entertaining the thought. “Maybe, but I’m your absolute clown.”

Something in the phrase struck you as being familiar.

——————-

Your noodles were ruined, and you spent the rest of the afternoon sulking about it. Perhaps Angelica was onto something when she said you needed to listen to her more often (though, you hadn’t quite heard the reasoning behind it). Moreover, you were growing increasingly frustrated with the secret admirer notes. After making yourself a fresh cup of noodles (and cleaning the microwave; your first cup had exploded), you spent your Sunday absentmindedly watching Netflix and overanalyzing everything you could take away from the secret admirer notes. You’d come to only a few conclusions.

1. If they were working through John, it had to be someone who lived on your floor, someone who knew you well, or someone who knew John well. That provided very little input.

2. If they’d managed to create and get the second box to you between 3 AM and 6 AM the previous night (morning, really), then it had to be someone who you went to the frat party with who also lived in your dorm – again, a fairly deep pool of prospects.

3. They felt comfortable enough with you to call you short, make fun of your dancing, and note that you couldn’t hold your alcohol. That was telling – it had to be someone you knew well who also lived in your dorm.

However, you didn’t get the chance to conduct a thorough examination of all your friends in the building; you still had three readings and a paper due the next day that you hadn’t done because you were, as your pursuer so elegantly put it, busy 'getting sloppy drunk.’ So you went through the motions – you did your work, you went to your classes the next day, and you arrived back at your dorm to the unexpected: another box.

There was a week between the first and second of them; a third already being on your figurative doorstep was unprecedented. You didn’t hesitate to open this one, and its contents immediately had you grinning: four cups of instant ramen and a note. This one wasn’t typed.

Heard I ruined your noods, so it seemed only fair to send you some of my own. I showed you mine, now you show me yours?

Yours ;)

The handwriting was immediately recognizable, and you couldn’t help but think that was the idea. You marched down to John’s room with the letter and knocked every bit as aggressively as you had before. Again, he opened it immediately.

“Y/N?” He raised an eyebrow. “Finally figure out who’s been sending you those notes?”

You stuck the letter in his face. “This is your handwriting,” you accused him. He took it from you, looked at it mildly for only a moment, and shrugged.

“Sure seems to be.”

“So you wrote this!”

“Looks like it.” His nonchalant expression had your head spinning.

“Can you stop with the vague answers for one minute?” you huffed, and he raised his eyebrows, pushing himself off of the doorframe. It appeared he could tell that this was genuinely beginning to trouble you. “I cannot deal with whatever it is you’re playing at with these.” You snatched the note back, waved it at him. “Just explain.”

A small smile was beginning to form on his lips by that point. “Well,” he began, voice soft, “Seems pretty clear to me. Both the conclusions you came breaking down my door with were apt.”

“So you wrote these, then?” He nodded, and you pursed your lips. “Which means what, exactly? What am I supposed to take from that? That you’re an incredible accomplice for whoever dreamed this up?” His smile began to grow as you began to rant, seemingly becoming more amused with each word. “That it was you leaving the packages? Because, John, I need answers, and this is really just starting to mess with my head.”

When your voice softened, your shell of anger cracking around the edges to reveal the slightest bit of vulnerability, John was hit with a pang of guilt. He hadn’t meant to mess with you. “Y'know, I thought I was being painfully obvious from the first one.”

“You… ?”

“I figured you’d open it, bring it to me, and we’d have a good laugh. Just that.” He shrugged, eyeing your stunned expression before continuing, “Maybe I just didn’t realize quite how drunk you were.”

“What d'you mean?”

“The morning I left the first note, you’d spent thirty minutes on the ride home telling me how you’d absolutely die for strawberry shortcake right then, and then you tried to shove me outta my own car when I called you a shortcake in response.” He grinned, and you just looked dumbstruck. “The second one didn’t even require any knowledge of the night before. Gotta say, I’m a little disappointed.” He sighed, falsely wistful, but cut himself off when he caught wind of your wide eyes. You were still struggling to believe his words.

John, who had spent the past three years making fun of your eating habits, chewing you out for showing up late because you went to three different drugstores to find the right bottle of $6 wine; John, who groaned every time Hercules dragged you to him, letting him know you’d been throwing up in the bathroom, but who drove you home without a second thought, always came to check on you in the morning. John was your secret admirer? The whole thing felt backwards.

“When you came to confront me yesterday, I knew I had to fess up sometime soon.” He rolled his eyes, as though exasperated with your incompetence. You were still shocked beyond a shadow of a doubt.

John was a generally caring person. It was why they gave him RA status, it was why he brought bakery to the commons area every Thursday afternoon, knowing that the professors there were notorious for Friday morning tests, it was why he kept a first aid kit stocked with everything imaginable outside his door – bandaids, Tylenol, pads, tampons, even chocolate.

He’d always been caring. His behavior toward you just felt like part of the pattern.

“Why?” you breathed, unsure of yourself. “Why’d you start leaving them?”

He considered himself, tongue in cheek. “Well, the first wasn’t meant to be quite so elusive. I spent half an hour refusing to pull over at the nearest bakery; I thought it’d be nice to bring you what you asked for when you weren’t dangerously tipsy. Honestly, didn’t even mean for it to be such a puzzle. Just a little gift.”

“But apparently, someone can’t take a hint.” You scowled as he ruffled your hair, and he just chuckled. His gaze was soft, his smile wide. “When you showed up here with the second note, I didn’t mean to deny it. But then, you sounded mildly ticked.”

“I wasn’t annoyed,” you protested mildly, cheeks burning when he raised an eyebrow.

“Anyway, here I was thinking I had more game than that, so I lied. Just a little.” He shrugged. “But then you looked so disappointed, so maybe I did have game afterall, hm?”

“Why wouldn’t you just come talk to me about it?” you asked softly, and the amusement in his gaze didn’t subside as he raised an eyebrow. Part of you struggled to believe he’d missed the way you spent the past three years looking at him. That he’d missed how, no, you weren’t an affectionate drunk – he was just the one driving you home.

Finally, he spoke. “Now, why would I do that, when I could bring you here to come talk to me about it?”

You frowned, though there was no malice behind it. “Coward,” you accused playfully, jabbing at his chest.

“Maybe.” Again he shrugged, before a wide grin split his mask of nonchalance. “But your coward.”

You huffed out a laugh, surprised by the teasing words. “My oblivious coward, apparently.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Half the campus has a thing for you, John,” you scoffed. His smile was soft, then.

“Maybe, but I don’t care about half of campus.” Tentatively, he took a step closer to you, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “I care about you.”

You bit your lip, staring back up at him hesitantly. Your heart seemed to have stopped. John’s hand fell to your cheek, cradling your face. “John?” You finally said.

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?” The words were hardly a whisper, and before you could do anything else, he was reacting, taking a final step forward to snake his arm around your waist, pull you to him as he finally pressed his lips against yours. Your hands found their way to the back of his neck. Though the kiss was chaste, no more than lips against lips, it left you breathless, chest heaving against his when you finally pulled away.

You looked surprised, and he gave you a wry smile. “That’s a yes, for the record.”

You couldn’t help your grin. “Hey, so about that note…” He raised an eyebrow, and you reached up to tug at the collar of his shirt. “What was that, about, 'I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’?” Mischief seeped into your tone, and he looked stunned, his smile one of entertained disbelief.

He didn’t even bother to respond, moving quickly backward into his dorm room, tugging you with him, and you jerked forward with a squeak. He gave you a sly grin. “Lock the door.”

#John Laurens #john laurens x reader #laurens #laurens oneshot #john laurens oneshot #john laurens one shot #laurens x reader one shot #laurens x reader #john x reader #john laurens x reader oneshot #laurens x reader oneshot

161 notes · View notes

litwitlady · 4 years ago

Text

whatever walked there, walked alone - part one

My Halloween fic which I love writing too much to abandon. Content warnings: mentions of child abuse, Alex is dead and not coming back to life, blood, emo poetry.

Michael Guerin exits the city limits and heads west. The sun is beginning to set, framing the mountains in flames of orange and red, painting the sky in purples and pinks. His phone GPS says the house is 13.3 miles from Roswell city center. A scant ten-minute drive.

A few miles later, the ironwork of the property’s fence comes into view. The house is hidden behind several large hawthorn and plum trees, creating a dense canopy that protects the mansion from the blazing desert sun.

Michael parks outside the gate and pulls a bolt cutter from the bed of his truck. The ornate ironwork is buried in English ivy. He clears the vines away and breaks through the chains locking the gate doors, swinging them open. They creak and moan as the rusty hinges strain after years of disuse.

It’s like walking into a dream. Or a nightmare. Another planet, maybe. The desert disappears and suddenly there’s thick grass beneath his boots. Flowers bloom despite the heavy tree coverage and everything green is overgrown. But the house is finally visible – the cornices crumbling, the menacing marble lions shrouded in yellowing moss.

A breeze rustles through the leaves, sending a shiver up Michael’s spine. He feels eyes on the back of his head and spins on his heels. A cat hops out of a maple tree, sending several birds flying from their perches. Michael laughs to himself and turns back towards the house.

Dead, drying leaves are scattered across the stone steps. The giant wood doors are also locked with chains. Michael makes quick work of them and pushes against the splinted oak. But the doors won’t budge. The moisture and heat have warped the wood. So, no matter how hard he pushes, there’s no give. With a sigh he climbs back down the stairs. Vows to come back the next day with the necessary tools.

And maybe not alone.

But as his boots sink back into the grass, he hears the doors open. A thick, musty scent settles in around him. When he glances over his shoulder, the doors are gaping at him like a hungry mouth ready to swallow him whole. The cat dashes past him, through the doors, and he swears he hears his name whispered from somewhere deep inside.

He swallows hard and pulls out his cell phone. But there’s no reception. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to go inside. Definitely not by himself. Wants, instead, to head back to Isobel’s and crawl inside his warm bed. Wants to forget this dilapidated old house even exists.

Michael takes several deep breaths, reclimbs the stairs. And then he forces himself to cross the threshold into the darkness.

The foyer floors are filthy. Covered in muck and grime, the black and white checkered marble barely visible. Spiderwebs crisscross from surface to surface, collecting dust and other debris he’d rather not think too much about. The windows are all curtained with heavy, velvet drapes – allowing no light to pass.

Michael runs his fingers along a gilded mirror, eyes catching on a group of picture frames still hanging from the garish floral wallpaper. He leans forward, blowing the dust from the glass. Sneezes several times. The photos show a family. Father, mother, and four boys – the youngest just a baby. In most of the pictures, the father is dressed in full military regalia. His wife pretty and unsmiling. The children with hands in pockets, devoid of that devilish charm so common to young boys.

He begins to notice a pattern as he follows the frames down the hallway. Three of the boys start to grow up – getting taller, shoulders broadening. But the youngest never grows past eight, maybe nine years old. Michael feels a sadness clutch at his heart. Wonders what happened to the little boy. Suspects it’s nothing good. And likely the reason the house has been left to rot for so long.

The cat reappears out of a hall closet. Michael startles and watches him dash towards the curving staircase, bounding up the stairs. He looks back at the front doors, making sure they are still open. The sunlight is entirely gone now. He pulls out his phone and clicks on the flashlight app. Continues further into the belly of the house.

In the kitchen, he finds the cabinet doors all removed – probably stolen by some house foraging flipper – but the bowls and plates left behind. An eight-burner stove takes up a third of the room. The gigantic commercial refrigerator another third. There are two center islands and clearly the kitchen was for catering lavish parties. Michael is unimpressed by the cold austerity of the space and is already mentally remodeling.

He putters through the cabinets and stumbles upon a collection of toddler-sized sippy cups. There are four – each with a boy’s name painted across the top. Clay, Gregory, Flint, and Alex. He reaches up and pulls the one labeled ‘Alex’ from the shelf. The cup is cracked and chipped around the rim. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck shiver, sending another chill down Michael’s spine. He drops the cup onto the floor, the crash echoing down the hallway.

Upstairs the cat screeches.

Michael hears his name whispered again.

And then the doors slam shut.

***

‘The house is haunted, Iz.’ They are at the grocery store, restocking for the week ahead.

She rolls her eyes at him while grabbing more cereal. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts, Michael. It was just the wind.’

He stares back at her like she’s stupid. ‘There’s no such thing as aliens either. And there was no fucking wind.’

Isobel, hands on hips, stops mid-aisle. ‘The place is a gothic nightmare. It got in your head and freaked you out. The sooner you sell that place the better.’

Intellectually, Michael knows she must be right. But he can’t ignore doors closing on their own and floating voices calling his name.

‘Do you know what happened to the original family? I think their name was Manes?’ He’d pulled the old deed. There wasn’t much to go on other than the name Jesse Manes. ‘I don’t remember them from when we were kids.’

She grabs a bag of rice. ‘Jesse Manes was a General in the Air Force. Served as Chief of Staff to the entire USAF when we were in high school. Really big deal. His kids all went to some military academy on the east coast.’

‘Was? Is he dead?’ He sneaks two boxes of pop-tarts into the cart.

‘Not that I know of. He was dishonorably discharged. Not too long after his youngest son died. Something about an extortion scandal.’ Isobel shrugs her shoulders and turns onto the next aisle.

‘His youngest son? The little boy – Alex.’

She narrows her eyes at him. ‘Alex Manes. Yes. But he was 28 when he died. Killed overseas. Maybe he’s your ghost.’

‘Wait – that doesn’t make sense. That house looks like it’s been abandoned for at least a decade.’ He tries to do the math in his head. Three years might lead to some broken windows and cobwebs, but not the level of decay he’d discovered. The grime on the floors alone would have taken at least twice as long. And the bannister was literally rotting.

‘Don’t know what to tell you. Happened three years ago. I was working with the General on a military fundraising event. And then, poof! He was just gone. Nothing left behind but newspaper gossip. And that house.’ She looks down at her shopping list. ‘I’m going to grab some milk – meet you at checkout.’ She gives a little wave and rolls off.

Michael leans against the row of shelves. Thinks about what Isobel’s told him. He doesn’t know why Edna May Rollings bequeathed the property to him in her will. Or all that money. Sure, he’d mowed her grass a few times – changed her oil. But the Manes property was worth well over a million dollars.

Nothing was making any sense.

Later that afternoon, Michael decides to do his own research at the town library. He pulls up article after article from the Roswell Gazette highlighting the many philanthropic endeavors of the Manes family. Jesse Manes often lauded as a hero. His sons all highly decorated military officers themselves.

In all the articles, he only finds mention of an Alex Manes once. In his obituary dated October 14, 2018. The paper mentions he’d been killed by IED while serving in Iraq. There’s a grainy, black and white photo above the obit. Captain Alexander Manes in his uniform, blank expression on his face. And it’s a good face – cheekbones for days, expressive eyes, and a full bottom lip. Michael stops for a minute to admire the handsome soldier and to lament his early demise.

He pulls out his notebook and writes down the names mentioned in the obituary. All of the survivors – mother, father, brothers, distant relatives. Surely, one of them lives within driving distance. If not, there’s always the phone or email. He intends to find some answers.

Michael leaves the library and drives to the Roswell cemetery. The plots are arranged alphabetically, for the most part. And he finds the Manes family relatively easily. Alex’s tombstone is the white marble of fallen soldiers. But there’s no inscription beyond his name or the relevant dates of birth and death. It’s odd not to see a ‘beloved son’ or ‘cherished brother’. He’s beginning to suspect the Manes family buried more than just their son three years ago.

The next day Michael heads back to the house. But this time he’s not alone. He’s accompanied by an entire cleaning crew and Isobel. Who merely intends to rifle through the family’s forgotten belongings and steal whatever trinkets catch her eye. And to tease him mercilessly about his ghost.

Michael does his best to avoid everyone. He has his own mission in mind and doesn’t want to be disturbed. The upstairs hallway leads to all the main bedrooms – master on the left and the four smaller rooms on the right. Each of the secondary bedrooms is nearly identical in shape and size. Except for last room – tiny and dark. A single bed compared to the doubles next door. He knows deep in his bones that this was Alex’s room.

A terrific sadness envelops him when he steps inside. He tries to flip the light switch, but nothing happens – the only light whatever sun fights its way through the dirty window.

Michael starts there – wiping the glass clean. He sweeps and mops the floor, dusts the baseboards, and removes the cobwebs. Opening the closet door, he finds a torn cardboard box tucked inside. Pulling back the battered flaps, he discovers several yellowing journals. Pages and pages of scribbled notes and poems and the various ramblings of a teenage boy. He takes the journals to his truck immediately, stashing them beneath his seat.

As the day stretches into night, there’s no sign of any ghosts. No weird noises. No strange whispers. Isobel has taken every mirror in the house among several crystal dishes. Most of the rooms are as spotless as they’re going to get, the smell of bleach giving him a headache. But the place is starting to feel less creepy.

After everyone else leaves, Michael takes one more trip up to Alex’s bedroom. Sits in the middle of the room and waits. For what, he’s not sure. A presence maybe. Which he knows is insane, but something or someone called his name the day before.

The sun is nearly gone. The room is dark and still. That sadness from earlier still pushes at him, but he doesn’t feel afraid. Oddly enough, he feels safe and warm. And then the floor creaks. Not just once. Over and over again. Like someone’s pacing from the window to the bed and back again.

‘Hello?’ His voice sounds scratchy, dry and nervous.

The footsteps stop. Michael’s breath catches as he strains to listen. ‘Alex? Alexander Manes?’ Something blows across the back of his neck. He swallows but stays still.

‘I’m going to bring your journals back. I promise.’ Making a ghost angry is probably a bad idea. ‘I just wanted to get to know you better.’

Nothing happens. And he feels a sinking sense of loss.

At Isobel’s later that night, Michael is curled up in his bed staring at Alex’s journals. He’s anxious about reading them. Worries that what he’ll discover is worse than anything he could have ever imagined. Worries that he’ll meet someone in these journals that he’ll come to love. Someone that he’s already lost.

The first journal is marked 2003. It’s plain black with a Further Seems Forever sticker peeling along the spine. Opening to the first page, Michael is struck by how neat the handwriting is. His own is nothing but chicken scratch. But this kid wrote in neat, tidy letters – not a smudge in sight.

July 2003

Today I am a teenager. And I missed mom for the first time in forever. I came home and dad was drinking. Started yelling at me to put his ladder back where I’d found it. But I never, ever touched his stupid ladder. That was Flint. He didn’t care. And now my ribs hurt. Happy Birthday, Alex.

I’ve only been home for two weeks, but I already want to go back to school.

Michael’s fists clench but he continues.

August 2003

Flint got his learner’s permit today. Dad is teaching him how to drive stick. Will probably even buy him a car to take back to school. I fucking hate Flint.

I wrote a poem or maybe a song that I actually like. Here it is:

‘The hallways are empty

And I am blind

Locked in this castle

Where no one is kind’

I know that’s not much. But it’s a start. Been saving up for my guitar. Greg is going to buy it for me once I have enough money.

September 2003

It’s because I’m gay. Why he beats me and no one else. I will try so hard not to be gay anymore.

Tears burn Michael’s eyes. He picks up another journal. This one gray with lots of cartoon doodles marring the cloth cover.

September 2007

Senior year has begun. The Academy finally feels bearable. No upperclassmen to avoid. My fucking dad has me flying out this weekend to interview at the Air Force Academy in Colorado. Fourth son, fourth branch of the military. None of us got a choice, but of course he saved the Air Force for me. Of fucking course.

I snuck out with Maria last week to sing at an open mic night at her mom’s bar. I’ve never felt like that before – enjoying all those eyes on me. Most times I just want to disappear. Forget I exist. There was a guy – curly hair, big hazel eyes. He was beautiful and I worked up enough to courage to talk to him, but he wouldn’t stop staring at Maria. So.

I guess someone at the Pony must have known my dad. Because he was waiting up for me when I crawled back through my bedroom window. I didn’t beg this time. Just let him do what he was going to do. Honestly, I felt like I deserved it. For thinking that guy might actually want to talk to me.

Michael stops breathing. He tries to recall a night at the Pony from fourteen years ago. But he can’t remember ever meeting Alex. He had dated Maria, briefly. Maybe it wasn’t him – maybe he wasn’t the curly-haired, hazel-eyed boy. But the possibility lingers thick in his chest.

December 2007

I’m not going home for Christmas. Even though mom has agreed to show up for appearance’s sake. A perfect fake fucking family. I won’t be missed. Dad laughed when I called and told him. Called me a coward and hung up. He won’t have his favorite punching bag and I hope that means he won’t turn his fists to someone else. Like mom.

Things with Danny haven’t progressed at all. I thought he was flirting with me at the football game, but he hasn’t talked to me since. He’s shy though – kind of like me – so I think I may still have a chance. He’s not going home either – his parents are overseas on some mission trip. Maybe I will be brave enough to kiss him. I’ve never kissed anyone and I’m already 17. Pathetic.

January 2008

Sometimes I look up at the stars

And your eyes look back at me

Filled with the fire of an exploding sun

Sometimes I look up at the stars

And there’s nothing there at all

Just empty space, hollow and undone

So, Danny is dating a townie girl. I’m always so, so stupid. But I’m not giving up on myself no matter how hard this world tries to beat me down. And it’s trying pretty damn hard.

March 2008

Dear Alex,

you are blue and black and yellow

bent and bowed like the dying myrtle tree outside that window

your pliant plentiful petals putrefying in the blades of summer grass

you are unseen and forgotten, disgraced by the midday sun

blown apart like the dandelion waste of suburban landscapes

wilted and wallowed and left without a trace of your own dignity

June 2008

My father’s hands have spent so much time taking. Splitting me open and unthreading the blood, the sweat, the tears of me. Spilling my insides and then stuffing the gore back deep in the darkest recesses of my heart.

I want hands that will take but give something back, leave something behind. Hands that will heal and stitch the splintered parts back together. Hands that will shape the dark edges of me into something bright like hope. I want hands with wings to fly me out of this nightmare.

But instead I’m going to war.

After Alex graduates the military academy, there are no more journals until 2017. Michael spends the next several hours poring over the earlier ones – meticulously kept records of a broken childhood. One abuse after another. Cracked ribs, a shattered wrist, and a never-ending deluge of bruises.

But also, so many dreams. Alex was a hopeful kid, despite the sad poetry, with music in his future. There are pages and pages of songs – the scratching down of harmonies and verses. Intricate details of chord progressions and key changes. Michael grabs his own guitar, strums through some of Alex’s notes. The songs are simple but refined. He wishes he could hear them sung with Alex’s voice.

The 2017 journal stares at Michael from his nightstand. It’s dirty and pocket-sized, bent and beaten at the edges. Caked in blood. He opens to the first page. Alex is in Iraq – the place where he dies – and Michael’s not sure he wants to read further. But he also can’t stop himself.

November 2017

The desert here is different. Hotter, I think. I am always sweating and never clean.

February 2018

There was a boy. In the carnage. Riddled with bullets. Bullets that may have been my own. I tried to feel something. I did, really. I tried.

March 2018

Only two more months. And then one war exchanged for another. Clay is getting married. I think I’d rather stay here.

The next several pages are stuck together with the dull, brown ink of dried blood. Michael can’t make out more than a word or two through the thick stains, but the entries seem longer and more rambling. The back half of the journal is empty – filled with nothing but blood splatter.

Michael pulls out his laptop. Something about the timeline feels off. Alex’s obit and his tombstone both marked his date of death as October 14, 2018. That’s months after this journal stopped. Months after whatever nightmare caused all this bleeding. He thinks briefly about calling Liz and asking her to ID whoever all this blood belonged to.

He googles ‘Alexander Manes Iraq death’ and nothing obvious pops up in the searches. But on the next page he sees a newspaper article from a Virginia paper, clicks it open. It’s from summer 2018 and includes a list of purple heart recipients. A Captain Alexander Manes among the names.

So, he made it home. Hurt but alive. Michael’s best guess is that he returned to Iraq before his death in October.

He runs several searches for Alex’s brothers. He gets a hit on a Gregory Manes. Local newspaper photo of him with several kids from a science fair. The school is near a reservation in the northwest corner of the state. He jots the information down but decides to start a little closer to home.

People in Roswell must know the Manes family. And so that’s where he’ll begin. Starting with local business owners. First thing in the morning.

#malex #malex fic #halloween fic #whatever walked there walked alone #i am reposting after my hissy fit #i like writing this #i really do #letting autumn come early this year

45 notes · View notes

wizardofahz · 5 years ago

Text

True Facts about the Kryptonian

A/N: This is based on the True Facts videos by zefrank on youtube. For those of you who are unfamiliar, that means please read this in your best parodic version of Morgan Freeman’s documentary narrator voice.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The video opens on a split screen. Supergirl soars over National City on the left side, while Superman hovers over Metropolis on the right. Near the bottom of the screen in the center are the words “True Facts” in a cursive font with “The Kryptonian” in a smaller serifed print font just below it.

Immediately the voice-over begins, Here we will explore true facts about the Kryptonian.

The Supers are replaced by a still from a CATCO LIVE feed. The headline at the bottom reads, “BREAKING NEWS: SUPERGIRL AND SUPERMAN ARE COUSINS!” A picture of Supergirl is overlaid on the left. The background is a star map with Krypton marked with a big red circle and labeled in a thick white font.

Our story begins thousands of years ago when a planet called Krypton was destroyed.

Actually, no, it doesn’t. For this to be true, imagine a speed that you can’t even imagine.

Superman reappears on the screen, fighting General Zod. Behind them, the streets of Metropolis are empty, save for a few reporters and scattered debris. In the blink of an eye, Superman disappears from one location and reappears in another using his super speed.

Now imagine a speed not even light can imagine.

The video cuts to Supergirl, speeding in front of a car to protect children crossing the street.

“But I can imagine that speed. The physics is really quite simple if you--”

“But humans can’t, and that’s the point.”

A baby in a Superman costume appears on the screen.

That is the speed at which Kryptonian bebes rocketed through space to arrive on this planet.

“Look, cute baby. Focus on that.”

Not much is known about the young Kryptonian; however, the male Kryptonian first emerges into the world wearing underwear over his pants.

Superman flies over Metropolis in his original super suit. The red underwear stands out against the mostly blue suit.

It is an interesting fashion choice by Earth standards, but that is how a Kryptonian do.

“But that’s not a Kryptonian thing.”

“Kara, shhh.”

“That’s just something that Martha--mmph.”

“I can’t hear.”

In addition to external underwear, Kryptonians also supplement their outfits with capes. Without a cape to go flappy flappy in the wind, a Kryptonian can find herself on the wrong side of aerodynamics.

Grainy surveillance footage from the stoplight cameras at an intersection shows capeless Supergirl crashing into a hill. After she re-emerges and the dirt cloud settles, a Supergirl-shaped hole remains.

Hehe. Looks like Edna Mode was wrong.

“That was one time! How did they even get that footage? Alex. Alex, please stop laughing. Alex... seriously? It’s not even that funny.”

More majestic footage of Supergirl appears, hovering in the air and almost glowing with the sun behind her.

Kryptonians derive their powers from the sun, which means they are basically plants--

Supergirl wanders through a busy fair on foot, happily munching on some pink cotton candy.

--carnivorous plants. At least they’re not stuck eating bugs and animal feces. Or maybe they would like that. Who knows. They are aliens after all.

“Ew, gross. I think I’ve accidentally eaten enough bugs when flying and super speeding at the same time, and no, thank you.”

A slow motion clip shows Superman catching a bullet in midair.

With the Kryptonians’ arrival, the smasher mantis shrimp has been demoted to second fastest puncher in the world.

Finally, someone to save us from these little psycho bastards.

“Hey, that’s mean!”

“I know. They’re so cool, right?”

“No, I mean I wouldn’t fight them. There’s nothing wrong with them.”

The screen splits into two. On the left, a smasher mantis shrimp punches a hermit crab’s shell. In the slow motion footage, the cavitation bubbles are visible, water being displaced so fast that air bubbles are formed. The bubbles collapse immediately producing light, heat, and shock waves. On the right, Supergirl claps her hands together with so much speed and power that it also produces shock waves.

Imagine the cavitation bubbles a Kryptonian could produce underwater.

“Ooh, can we try that? I mean, can you try that?”

“You know, it’s kind of tempting...”

Superman wanders across the screen. He stops and squints at something in the distance.

Kryptonians also have enchanced hearing and x-ray vision, which basically means they can see and hear everything for miles around. That is unfortunate for any Kryptonian in the vicinity of a seedy motel. The things they would be able to see and hear... dirty, dirty.

“Ew. No. I-- Ew.”

To make up for this, Kryptonians can also shoot heat beams out of their eyes. This is a convenient power to have if staring contests are important to you.

Supergirl and Non face off in a heat vision battle, torsos tilted forward, hands by their sides.

There’s no chance of the other person winning if they don’t have eyes anymore.

On the other end of the temperature spectrum, Kryptonians also have freeze breath.

Children crowd around Superman as he makes snow cones at an outdoor elementary school event.

Aww, that’s adorable. I wonder if they do ice sculptures.

“You know, if you wanted one for your wedding, I’d try.”

“Kara, Kelly and I aren’t even engaged. Chill. No pun intended.��

The female Kryptonian is stronger than the male Kryptonian--

Supergirl and Silver-Kryptonite-infected Superman battle in the streets of National City.

--and supplements her superpower arsenal with hope speeches.

Muted footage of Supergirl’s speech to the Myriad-controlled National City population plays on the screen.

Listening to a Supergirl hope speech is almost like watching feel-good animal videos on the internet.

“You really are good at them.”

Supergirl plays with puppies that she had helped deliver a few months previous. They scamper around her while their mother watches and their owner laughs with delight behind the camera.

Okay, now that’s too much. I might die from the cute.

“I miss those puppies. I should go visit them again.”

With all those powers, we are hashtag #blessed that Kryptonians have decided to be heroes.

Well, the ones that appear on Earth for more than one year anyway...

The screen fades to black.

#supergirl #kara danvers #clark kent #alex danvers #moments in the life of superfam #i pick on the mantis shrimp but that's honestly my favorite video

30 notes · View notes

creationcitystreet-em · 4 years ago

Text

His Southern Belle 1

Masterlist Full book 1 summary in the link

Chapter 1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC (face claim: Rose Leslie)

Word count: ~2450

Summary: Maddi starts her new school in Brooklyn and meets some new friends.

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: I started this fic when I was still in high school, and I have worked really hard on it since. I’m not a fan of some of my writing from earlier chapters, but I don’t want to change them until I at least finish writing the entire story. I will be updating this fic here on tumblr one chapter a day until I am caught up with where I am at on the other platforms I’ve posted it. If you’d like to read ahead of that schedule, you can check them out on from the links on my masterlist. I just also wanted to make the fic available here on tumblr with the rest of my fandom interactions, so this is the plan to do that!

Unless otherwise indicated, all date entries are from Maddi’s POV.

September 5, 1932

I stood in front of the small class while my new teacher introduced me. I was in my best knee length dress trying to make the best first impression but I quickly realized the style in my hometown was very different from that of teenagers in New York. The girls seemed to have a little more money than my family as they wore nicer clothes and styled their hair to the newest fashion. My long red curls were probably a little too messy and I didn't wear the same socks and shoes as the them. I tried not to show how uncomfortable I felt when our teacher asked me to say my name to the class. I smiled and said "My name is Madeline Bennett, but my Mama and Daddy called me Maddi." I immediately heard laughter from the students and it made me feel twice as self conscious. It must be my accent, people in Brooklyn definitely sounded different than those in Tennessee. As soon as the teacher let me sit, I chose the only empty seat next to small and skinny boy with blond hair. He smiled at me but it was not cruel like the other kids when I walked to my seat, so I gave a small smile back.

During lunch, I sat alone until I heard the sound of a boy talking in front of me, "hey new girl, you know I can show you around if you want. I know some great places we can sneak off to together." I politely declined as I could tell his intentions did not seem innocent. He continued to push "Come on, look I know a lot of people laughed at you in class, but I can keep you safe baby doll. Once you're with me, nobody will be laughing." I immediately looked back down at my food trying to ignore the group of boys as they snickered behind the nameless boy who talked to me. I could tell this was probably a trick considering they were clearly still mocking me like before, and I just wanted to be left alone. I tried to hold back tears as I thought about how much I wished I could go back home with my family. I didn't want to be in Brooklyn hundreds of miles away from the only home I ever knew. I didn't want make new friends or learn how to live with a new family I barely knew. I wanted my safe little town where everyone knew who I was and nobody would dare pick on me unless they wanted my brother going after them. I missed my brother more than I ever would have admitted to him.

Just then, two more boys came to my table and I thought it would only get worse. "Leave her alone Jason, she clearly doesn't want to talk to you right now," the smaller of the two said. I now recognized him as the boy I sat next to in class.

"Alright Rogers, what are you going to do to stop me?" It was a fair questions, the boy was half a foot smaller than Jason and clearly much skinnier than the already developing teen.

"Listen Gally, I know you can see me standing right next to Steve here so you clearly should know when to keep your mouth shut. Now the lady said no earlier so I think you should respect her wishes and take your friends and leave." Jason Gally stared at the taller boy, who looked more like a man, and finally decided to leave. I continued to remain frozen in place after everything that happened, until I saw the two that helped me start to walk away as well.

"Wait!" I called to them as I wanted to tell them I appreciated what they did. They turned around and looked at me and I gathered up all the courage I had left to keep talking despite knowing they will clearly hear my accent. "Thank you for that. I got your name, Steve, but I didn't really catch yours," I said to the taller one.

"James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky."

"Well Bucky, Steve, thank you again."

"It was no problem, Maddi right?" Steve questioned to make sure he remembered my name correctly. I was pleasantly surprised and nodded my head yes.

I took a leap of faith and suddenly asked, "would y'all like to sit with me?" They stared at me for a second and I tried to explain myself quickly, "It's just that I'm new and don't have any friends yet. You two were so kind to stand up for me and I just wanted to know if maybe you would want to sit with me." I prayed I didn't just scare the two nice people in front of me off, but then they looked at each other and sat down across the table from me. I started to smile as they began to ask me about where I was from and why I moved to Brooklyn. "I'm from Tennessee, and I moved here to live with my Aunt and Uncle. They're the only family I really have left." they stayed quiet knowing I didn't want to go too deep into that subject just yet. The two nodded and didn't push anymore about it. I was very grateful for that.

It was towards the end of lunch and Steve said "Well Maddi, I'm glad we met you. Bucky is a year older than us but we still hang out after school. Where do you live, maybe we can walk home together?" I told them the general area I moved to and they both eagerly said they lived near there. We made plans to meet after school and for a brief second I thought that maybe moving to the big city wouldn't have been as terrible as I initially thought. I wished I could be back home, but knowing that I would never get to go back, having a couple friendly people here was the best I could ask for.

September 24, 1932

“How has school been going, Maddi?” Aunt Lily asked as I ate dinner with her and Uncle Ryan.

“Alright. I made a couple friends, but I don’t really seem to fit in with the class. They dress and talk different than back home.” I played with my food a bit while I thought about how the last couple weeks have been. Steve and Bucky were definitely very nice to call friends and I liked spending time with them, but girls still gave me strange looks and boys would bother me if I wasn’t with my new companions.

“Well, our neighbors have a granddaughter on the other side of town about a year or two older than you. I’ll see if she has any extra dresses you can have,” Aunt Lily offered. I knew she and Uncle Ryan felt bad for not having enough money to spend on me, but I really didn’t mind. With their two children already grown and moved across the country, they didn’t exactly plan to pay for an extra mouth to feed. Times were hard enough as it was without unexpected expenses. I never actually met these family members before: we never had the money to travel, but I heard about them a lot.

September 30, 1932

I wore my new dress that seemed to match more with the girls at school and it made me feel a little less nervous, but I also felt sad to be giving up more and more from my life in Tennessee. I sat with Steve and Bucky at lunch like I did everyday, and we talked about frivolous things until I asked Steve what was in the book he always carried around.

“It’s a sketch pad, I like to draw,” he said shyly.

“Can I see?” I asked and he hesitantly handed me his sketch pad and I flipped through the pages in awe. Each piece of paper had beautifully drawn pictures of buildings and landscapes. He had a few with people, but one close up of a young woman and man who looked in their early 20s. “Who are they?” I curiously questioned.

“That’s my parents,” he said quietly. “It’s from a picture when they were newly married. I don’t really remember my dad, he died in the Great War.”

“I’m sorry,” I said hoping I didn’t make him feel sad as I knew how it felt to lose a parent. “I lost my ma when I was young too, not as young but still I was 5 when she got sick.”

“Is that why you moved?” Bucky asked me.

“No, I still lived with my daddy and brother, Alex, until this summer when a storm hit and they both died. I was with a friend when it hit and a tornado took down my entire house and my family inside.”

“Jeez, I’m sorry Maddi,” Steve said as I fought back a few tears thinking about what happened.

“Don’t worry about it. I was lucky to have Aunt Lily and Uncle Ryan to take me when they heard, and now I got to meet you two so that’s good I guess.” I tried to look towards the better things in situations but it was always hard.

“Well, you’re officially our friend so there’s no getting out of it now,” Bucky said with a smirk.

“Only now it’s official? What has been the last month then?” I asked with a laugh.

“A trial friendship,” Steve stated smiling.

“Yeah, just to make sure you weren’t crazy or anything” said Bucky.

“I’m glad y’all think I’m worthy of being your friend then!” I winked at them as I continued the joke. We all laughed as we finished our food and headed back to class for the day.

December 24, 1932

“The snow is so beautiful on Christmas,” I sighed as I walked through the park with Steve and Bucky like we sometimes did together.

“It sure is, but I’ve always wanted to see snow where there were no buildings in sight. Just miles of it with nothing else to mess the blanket of white up,” Steve told me as we saw children running through the already played in snow.

“That is a sight to see, but I think that's just wasted? Look at how happy all this available snow makes everyone, that’s something worth drawing.” I said this as I knew that was one of the reasons he probably liked the idea of untouched snow: to be able to draw the scene. “Draw me and Bucky!”

“What?” Bucky questioned, not sure what he had to do with this topic.

“Draw us playing in the snow,” I requested with a smile. Bucky quickly got the idea and ran towards a clean pile. He made a snowball and threw it directly at me hitting me on the shoulder. “Alright Barnes, you have it coming to you now!” and I laughed while I ran to make a snowball as well except I missed when throwing it at him. He laughed at me until I made another and hit him square in the face. I heard a chuckle from Steve and I looked over at him sitting on a nearby bench watching us and making small rough sketches in his book. “Come one Steve, put it to memory and come play with us!” He looked slightly surprised for a second until he put his book down and came over to join our snowball fight. We did this for about an hour until we sat down on the bench to rest. Steve quickly went right back to his book to continue his scene he started on. We sat in silence for a while just taking in the day.

“What are your holiday plans, Maddi?” Bucky asked.

“I’m not sure. We haven’t really talked about it. We’ll probably go to Mass tonight and I got a small present for my aunt and uncle tomorrow. I don’t really expect much of a present for myself; besides, my favorite part has always been Christmas Eve Mass. My daddy and Alex and I would go and then always visit mama after. I guess I can’t see any of them this year since their all buried in Tennessee.” I had never really thought of that until now and it quickly took away all of my joy from playing in the snow before. “They would have liked you guys,” I added before they could reply. “You're both gentlemen and passionate about what you care for.”

“They’d like Bucky,” Steve tried to clarify as he continued to draw.

“No, they’d like you both,” I told him with confidence. “Especially you, your heart is much more kind than this silly guy sitting next to me,” I laughed as I sat between them and gestured towards Bucky.

“Hey!” Bucky said with a smile. “Just because it's true doesn't mean you have to say it!” Steve just stayed quiet and had a slight blush on his face.

I put my arms around both their necks and said “thank you for making Brooklyn more bearable.”

“You did that,” Steve said as he looked at me and I smiled back at him.

December 25, 1932

There was a knock on the door and I went to answer it. When I opened the door, Steve stood there waiting and I gave him a surprised smile. “Hey,” he started. “I know today is mostly spending with family so I’ll try to be quick. I just wanted to give you your present.”

“Steve, you didn’t have to get me anything!” I began to feel bad as I had nothing to give in return.

“It’s nothing, here.” He handed me a piece of paper and I saw it was a beautiful drawing of Bucky and I in the snow from the previous day. I just stared at it for a few seconds in awe before he continued, “Sorry it isn’t that detailed, I was trying to finish as quick as I could and the shading might not be-” I cut him off by hugging him.

“I love it!” I said as he wrapped his arms back around me. “I love the art you make, it’s so good. Thank you for giving me one, it really means a lot.” We both let go and and he was redder than I had ever seen him before.

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a chuckle. We then said our goodbyes and he went back home to spend the rest of the day with his mother.

Next Chapter

2 notes · View notes

ibtk · 4 years ago

Text

Book Review: THE SEVENTH MANSION by Maryse Meijer

(Full disclosure: I received a free e-ARC for review though Edelweiss. Trigger warning for sexual assault, homophobia, violence against animals, and disturbing sexual content.)

-- 4.5 stars --

There is this person I love. And he’s not even a person.

After Xie's parents split and an environmental disaster sends his already precarious mental health spiraling, Xie and his father Erik relocate from California to an unnamed town in the rural south, in search of the proverbial fresh start.

At first, Xie is your garden-variety teenage outcast: melancholy. goth. vegan. an outsider. friendless. forgettable. Yet he's quickly "adopted" by the only other vegans in the school - girlfriends Jo and Leni, who together make up the entirety of FKK.

The group's animal rights activism slowly evolves from leafleting to direct action: the trio breaks into a local mink farm, freeing as many of its captives as they can. Xie is nabbed during the getaway, and suddenly he goes from "nobody" to "that freak who vandalized the Moore farm". Instead of silence and indifference, Xie is met by hostile sneers, gossip, and relentless bullying. He takes a leave of absence from high school, instead getting one-on-one tutoring at the local library. His parents are forced to pay restitution, and Xie's placed on probation.

Xie's only respite is nature: his burgeoning vegetable garden; the small but pristine forest behind his house; and, eventually, the mysterious light, nestled among the branches, that leads him to a tiny church - and his beloved. St. Pancratius, who was martyred in 304 A.D. and whose remains are on covert display in a one-room church in the middle of nowhere.

He traces the image with his finger. The story the same in every version: A boy on a road, refusing to lift his sword against the lamb, losing his head every time the story is told, again and again and again.

Still, all of this comes with a cost: loving nature, whether animal, vegetable, or mineral, means saying goodbye to it one day. Relationships can be messy, even when they're with clean bones. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in our own shit that we're oblivious to what our loved ones are going through. Maybe your tutor shows up to work one day piss drunk and tells you about her abortion. Or your friends drag you to a backwoods meeting of environmental activists, where one of them sexually assaults you. Or you show up to a mass protest that is even more massive than you anticipated, and find you're unable to protect yourself, let alone the 55 billion+ land animals slaughtered for food every year in the US alone (animalclock.org).

The problem is too big, even when it's one of the smaller ones. The problem is impossible.

While disturbing, Xie's theft of a skeleton is not the worst crime he'll commit in his teen years. As FKK becomes involved with a local animal rights group, and Xie's sanctuary is threatened, he careens toward an inevitable (????) collision with the outside world, which neither understands him - nor cares to. (Fuck capitalism.)

THE SEVENTH MANSION is one weird-ass book; I mean, the main character has sex with a skeleton (!). This is certainly the wildest aspect of the story, but it's not alone. For example, take the narrative structure, which has a kind of stream-of-(Xie's)-consciousness vibe. Many of the sentences are fractured, even forced, as though we're pulling them from the depth's of Xie's tortured soul. His thoughts. Are broken. Up. Like this. Conversely, there are no chapters, and so many of the paragraphs are just huge, unbroken blocks of text - almost as though Meijer is framing Xie in opposition to the larger world around him.*

I suspect that THE SEVENTH MANSION is one of those love it or hate it dealios. Personally, I loved it, even as some parts proved excruciatingly unbearable to read.

I don't know whether Meijer is vegan, but she gets so much right; sometimes it felt like she was rooting around inside my head. I went vegetarian my freshman year of college (1996, not to date myself) and vegan about 9 years later. Reading Xie was like having a mirror held up to my own depressive, anxious, vegan psyche. One thing carnists probably don't realize about walking around this world as a vegan is: it takes a ton of mental work, of suppression and dissociation, just to get through the day.

Animal suffering is omnipresent, and largely accepted. From Carl's Jr. commercials to classroom trips to the zoo; leather car seats to team lunches at non-vegan restaurants, where you'll be forced to watch your coworkers and friends devour the corpse of a once-living creature - someone's mother, brother, or child - we are constantly forced to bear witness to the oppression of animals. Worse, to pretend as though it's of no consequence: just to get along, or because doing otherwise would quickly devour your time, your prospects, your relationships. To say that it's depressing is an understatement.

Whether Xie is living through the oil spill that finally made his world "snap," or gazing into the eyes of caged mink, I was right there with him, trying not to cry. Not to break. There's so much suffering in the world; if you try to take it all in, to truly understand its scope, it will swallow you whole.

Speaking of the oil spill, which was the impetus for Xie to go vegan - Meijer's description of this moment in Xie's life brought back so many memories. When I decided to stop eating meat, I was working at a local grocery store. Every now and again, they had an employee appreciation dinner (in lieu of a raise, natch), which basically consisted of all you can eat burgers and hot dogs in the break room. Everyone would stuff their faces, taking in as many free calories as possible. Not because they were hungry, but to get as much of a leg up on our cheap ass employer as possible. The sheer gluttony and waste of it all is what finally did it for me. No one needed to eat seven hamburgers in one night; we did because we could, because not doing so would be to lose out. The working class eating the chattel, and no one eating the rich.

Point being, that's a singular moment in my life that I'll never forget. It stands out in stark relief, right alongside the deaths of my husband and furkids (six dogs and one cat down and counting). If I close my eyes, I can almost transport myself back there, white starched shirt, demo table, 7PM Friday fatigue, and all.

The last time he ate meat he was twelve years old, after the spill: Xie was Alex then. Even miles from the beach, they could smell something off; at first they thought it was the sandwiches, ham pressed hot in the pockets of Erik’s windbreaker, but the closer they got to the beach the stronger the smell became, noxious, chemical. They parked at their usual spot, yellow tape blocking access to the beach beyond. A black ribbon flat against the horizon; that was the water. No trace of blue. On the rocks below the lot a half dozen pelicans huddled together. Coated from beak to foot in oil. Don’t touch them, his father said. Someone will come wash it off. But there was no one. The black sea lapping the sand. Those bewildered eyes. He watched as one of the birds collapsed, its head twisted sideways against its folded neck. His father pulled him away. The fire on the water burned for two weeks; the beach remained black for a year. Sea turtles, dolphins, whales, gulls, crabs, otters, fish, birds rolled up by the waves in the tens of thousands. Oil on meat on sand. No stopping it. Xie got headaches, bloody noses; he was always tired, couldn’t sleep. His mother standing in the doorway, Stop playing games, you’re fine. But his father was never angry. Scared of what he saw. Xie in the dark. Unable to make it from one room to another. The people who used to go to the beach just went somewhere else. Life as usual. Slumped in the backseat as his father fed gas into the truck he suddenly couldn’t stand it. Stopped standing it. He opened the back door, started walking. Alex, his father called, but he was not Alex anymore. He poured out all the milk in the house and fed the meat to the dogs next door and rode his bike everywhere.

So yeah, our circumstances may be different, but Xie's conversion sure hit me in the feels.

Meijer also does an excellent job capturing the heartbreak and urgency of Millennials and Gen Z. As tormented as I might have been in high school, at least I had the luxury of not thinking too much about climate change - at least until Al Gore came along. Xie and his peers, on the other hand, will bear the brunt of their predecessors' unchecked greed. Nowhere is this divide more eloquently laid bare than in Jo's post-march argument with Erik (who is likely around my age):

Didn’t you see how he just folded up out there? He can’t protect himself, he won’t. You don’t know what he was like, before we came here, okay, you didn’t watch him, lying in bed day after day, ready to cut his goddamn throat because of all this shit, this constant litany of doomsday statistics, he just takes it in and he can’t—he doesn’t know what to do with it, and you want to keep shoving it in his face, when it’s—it’s enough! Staring at Jo, who stares back. Look, whatever you’re afraid of, whatever he’s afraid of, it’s already happening, okay? And he knows it, he’s living it, and he wants to do something about it. If there was some other option, some fantasyland where everything is going to be fine as long as we bury our heads in the sand, then believe me, I’d take it. But there’s not. Not for me and not for Leni and not for Xie and if you think you can protect him by denying that then you’re just—wrong. I’m sorry. She holds Erik’s gaze; he nods, the first to look away.

My gods, that scene just cuts me to the bone. As bleak as things are now, I cannot imagine going through all this - climate change, COVID-19, a Trump presidency, Democratic ineptitude/complicity, *gesturing wildly* - as an adolescent. Their elders cut them down before they even started crawling.

On a lighter note, Xie's scenes with his clueless mom and her equally clueless new husband (Jerry!) brought a(n admittedly wry) smile to my face. If I had a penny for every times this scene has played out in my life, I'd have enough cash monies to start my own animal sanctuary.

Don’t you want some vegetables, Xie? Jerry asks. I don’t eat animal products, Xie murmurs, and Jerry, confused, staring at the green beans, How is this— Butter, Xie interrupts. Butter is from milk, which is from cows, which are animals. Jerry blinks. Gosh, I didn’t even think of that. Sorry. Xie shrugs.

There's so much to obsess about here: I love Jo and Leni together, and their opposing circumstances just make the relationship so much more complex - and potentially fraught. Erik and tutor Karen (I wonder if the name choice was intentional?) are interesting supporting characters, and their relationships with Xie are so beautiful and nuanced; they both support him the best they know how.

Xie's interactions with his phantom lover are a little more confusing and difficult for me to comprehend. Perhaps P. represents Xie's inability to connect with the human world around him, or at least not as well as the more abstract, ephemeral natural world. Possibly P. is Xie's ideal human: one who would rather die than raise a finger against an animal (or one who cannot disappoint you by voicing their own opinions). Or maybe it's simpler than that, and Xie's hallucinations are just that: hallucinations. In any case, it made an already odd book absolutely bizarre, but in a good way, so I can't complain.

* This could just be because I was reading an early copy in need of further editing - but, seeing as how some formatting was already present, I think it was intentional. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3672191091

#books #book review #veganism #animal rights #Maryse Meijer #the seventh mansion #lgbtq #depression #anxiety #environment

3 notes · View notes