#and now the crush station is broken and no one knows how to repair it or if repairing it is even worth the effort

[laughinglynx]

.

[hazelhavoc]

Unexepected (Halo/Transformers Crossover)

At some point, Glint was hoping not to be caught off guard by the universe. First, a huge civil war on her planet. Then that planet dying? What more could go wrong?

She should have held her glossa!

What was it that humans said? Oh yes- she jinxed herself!

All she wanted was to find the planet that the distress beacon was coming from. It was supposed to be a quick quantum jump- but it looks like Primus has other plans for her when the jump goes haywire and she's suddenly somewhere not planned. She'd set coordinates and everything! Now she's in some unknown system, by herself, with energon reserves meant for the ones that she was going to go scout for in the local solar system of the humans.

Now she's off course and doesn't know where she is!

Being pulled in by the gravitational pull of this ring type planet? Some kind of space station but Earth looking continents on the inside!

The mini-bot can feel energon pump through her lines in panic and adrenaline, pulling up quickly to make the descent at least a twinge less violent- to keep damage to a minimum- and keep herself online. In short, the landing is rough but was as good as it could get with the disoriation of arriving somewhere unknown and the pull of gravity in the descent onto this strange ring formation.

Glint grips the edges of the array in front of her, dizzy from the adrenaline and heavy panic she felt (and is still feeling). The ringing of alarms is muffled in her audials as she forces herself to sit up and assess the damage. Resisting the urge to heave out her tank- she shakily brings up the damages of her vessel. The orbital barriers that are used for meteror showers kept most of the damage to the minimum. The thrusters are fine, but there is some large electrical isses under the ship thanks to crashing front first into the rocky terrian of this...ring.

The autobot rests her helm in her servos, shuddering as silent panic overtakes her. Wings wound tightly behind her, EM field pressed close to her frame. "I-I'm so scrapped..." She dry muses, vocal receptors weak- static heavily covering her words. Coolant builds on the edges of her optics but she sucks it up. She's been online for 9 million years, and has fought in a war for 4 million. She's a Communication's Officer, a soldier (though not fit for fighting much larger bots than her). Calm down, you can do this. Just need to check damages and try to send out a message to the Autobot's. An underlying fear of Decepticon's being here hangs in the back of her processor.

Anxiously, she gets up from her pilots seat. Luckily, she is the only one in this vessel...and it's relatively small (for her size) so it's just the right fit.

Flinching, she grabs onto the chair, steadying herself. She needs to calm down...you need to go out and check how much damage there is with your own optics. Carefully, she initiates for the landing pedes to lift the ship. There is some groaning, and the ship shifting slowly before another shudder runs through it as it stops.

That's not good...

Glint quickly scans the outside of the ship, looking for motion and the like- nothing. The femme tries not to let her paranoia control her as she worriedly runs to the entrance of the ship. Opening it up, pulling her energon pistol from her subspace just in case. Heading outside, she looks around. Green, earthly terrain...but this is not Earth obviously. With some caution, she closes her ship when she steps out and quickly trudges to the front of the ship. It's been partially lifted thanks to the pede- but it does seem broken too thanks to the rough landing. With wings still tight up her backstrut, she carefully starts to scan the smoking panels. Deciding not to go under the ship when it could fall at anytime. She needs to find something to keep it held up before she attempts repair under this vessel lest she wants to get crushed.

"I hope whatever lives here ignores the big crash...but that's unlikely. I...I need to find out where I am and a way back to Earth-" Glint talks to herself, tone still partically filled with static but she is at least a bit calmer (not by much). But this place she's landed has never been recorded by even Cybertronian explorers. If they'd ever found this, surely Cybertron would know about it- even in the ages when exploration was common in the universe.

Glint looks back, staring at the ring that curves up in the distance. There is a momentary sense of awe that fills the femme, before she shakes her helm and looks back at her ship. No, she needs to focus.

If there are natives here, she hopes they are peaceful. Humans? She doubts there is, but this is an odd ring system that has oxygen and others that sustain their life. If there is humans- she hopes that they can help her. That is highly unlikely though.

The mini-bot sighs, blue visor dimming as she starts with carefully overlooking what her scans say- and what she needs to repair- hopefully nothing to complicated. She stays on high alert, pistol magnatized to her hip in case of emergencies.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"TIRED OF K.P., DESERTS ARMY TORPEDOED, NOW WAITS FATE," Toronto Star. May 15, 1942. Page 38. === Back With Unit, Soldier Faces Civilian Court - May Return to Sea ---- SENTENCE MONDAY --- "B" Police Court at the City Hall, Magistrate McNish.

Charged with breaking into a service station at Fleet St. and Spadina Ave. May 9. a soldier pleaded not guilty.

Max Folson testified a window was found broken, a pit door smashed and the office ransacked.

P.C. George Henderson stated that at 230 a.m, when trying the door of the station, he had seen a soldier in the office. After running around the building the man ran out the front door. He arrested accused who denied being in the building. Accused was without a cap he said but in the office he found a soldier's cap.

"If I did anything of that kind, I was was not responsible. I had been drinking wine from early afternoon," said accused. "If I was in there I don't know anything about it. All I can remember is the officer arresting me."

"He had been drinking but I would not call him drunk." said P.C. Henderson when queried by the court. "There will be a conviction," said his worship.

"This man has a clean army record with one exception which needs explanation." said an officer from his unit. "Tired of cookhouse duty he deserted but only to join the merchant marine. His ship was torpedoed and he was later returned to us and he served a period of detention, We are returning him to the merchant marine. His intentions were good and he has been a good soldier."

"I will remand him until Monday for sentence," said Magistrate McNish.

Yesterday preliminary hearing of a charge of manslaughter against Hypolite Zdanek, charged with slaying Peter Mondura, began before Magistrate McNish. but a remand was found necessary and the hearing was put over until today.

Evidence yesterday was to the effect that deceased had been found apparently intoxicated, with his face covered with blood, Iying in a lane off Oxford St. Removed to Claremont Street police station as a drunk he had been set to hospital.

Prof. Dr. D. L. Robinson, who conducted the postmortem examination, stated deceased's eyes were discolored, his breast bone broken. Deceased had received a crushing blow on the abdomen which showed evidence of surgical repair. There had also be a small tear of the bladder which had not been sewn. There had been evidence of peretonitis.

"Deceased might have received these injuries if struck by an auto?" asked Frank Calloghan. defence councel. "Yes." replied Dr. Robinson. Sergeant Melntyre of Claremont Street station said deccased had been brought in as a drunk, but his blackened eyes and other facial injuries caused him to have the man taken to hospital for treatment. Returned to the station he had been placed in a cell where he complained at intervals of abdominal pain. Later he had been taken back to hospital where he subsequently died.

Mrs. B. Bednorsky, Lippincott St. testified that deceased had roomed in her home for 10 months. He had left the house at 3.30 p.m. on April 26 and was "perfectly sober at that time."

"You have been in trouble your self?" asked Mr. Callaghan.

"I don't see that has any bearing here." replied witness.

"You got eight years for killing a man with an axe?" "I didn't."

"Well you served five years at the penitentiary?" "I know in my heart whether I was guilty."

"You were convicted of the offence." I don't think I have to answer that."

"I am the one to decide that." said his worship. "Answer Mr. Callaghan."

"Yes, I was," replied witness.

At this point County Crown Atorney James McFadden informed the court that both Detective-Sergeant Munro and Pilot Officer (Dr.) Howe were ill and another remand. this time to May 22, was necessary.

Bail of $3,000 for accused was renewed.

Appearing for sentence on three charges of shopbreaking, Steve Witiuk was sentenced to two years less a day in the Ontario reformatory. Robert McDermott jointly charged and who also pleaded guilty was given one year definite and one year indefinite in the same institution.

"Witiuk, you did not live up to your probation when given a chance." said the court. "You, McDermott, did so and representations were made in your behalf and I am taking this into consideration."

DRIVER FINED $50 --- "A" Police Court, at City Hall, Magistrate Browne. Appearing in "A" police court for sentence on a charge of dangerous driving,John Verrall, alias Verrault, was fined $50 or 30 days.

P.C. Daniel Glover told the court that accused drove south on Ontario St. and made a sharp turn on Dundas St. "He stopped the car and investigating, I found that the accused was driving with only part of a steering wheel," said witness.

In registering a conviction, Magistrate Browne said: "Here you are driving a death-dealing machine. with only part of a steering wheel."

Gordon Horn pleaded guilty of stealing a bicycle. sweater and $18, the property of W. Fenn. He was remanded until May 22 for sentence.

"This boy obtained a job with Mr. Fenn as a messenger," related. Det. Charles Martin. "He was given a bicycle, sweater and orders to deliver. He collected $18 and disappeared. When I arrested him he told me that he threw the bicycle in the Don river. It was valued at $65 and has not been recovered."

TWO ARE SENTENCED ---- "C" Police Court, at the City Hall, Magistrate Prentice Noel Messier and Rosa Messier appeared before Magistrate Prentice in "C" police court for sentence on a serious charge. The accused man was sentenced to the reformatory for two years, less a day, and six months Indeterminate; the woman to one year in jail.

The convicted woman was led out of the court in a hysterical state.

[wintervalewriter]

secret crush - bucky barnes

i feel like it doesn’t follow the request 100% but i hope you still like it!

word count: 2230 warnings: one curse word

“Is everything ready?“

You look up when you hear Dr. Banner speak up. A part of the team went on a big mission, so you were expecting some repairs or technical difficulties that you would have to fix with Bruce. You were more of doing repairs and helping out Bruce than doing chemistry, although you did know your fair share of it. You would even help doctor Cho if the infirmary got a bit busy.

“Jet arriving in five minutes,“ F.R.I.D.A.Y announces, making you look up from the tools. 

All of them are neatly laid out in the same order you always put them so you could grab them without looking away from what you are working on.

“You can probably expect Bucky again.“

You raise your eyebrows, looking at Bruce while he walked around the lab. He couldn’t believe that you still didn’t notice the crush that he has on you. One time he waited for over an hour, just so you could fix up his arm. He didn’t allow anyone else to even touch it.

“If his arm needs updates or a repair, then of course! Someone has to help him.“

You didn’t mind helping Bucky out. The two of you would always just talk while working on his arm. Well, you mostly listened to what he had to say about the previous mission, considering you were very focused on trying not to mess up the arm. It is mesmerizing how it works and how it can repair small things by itself.Bruce laughs and shakes his head, standing up and wiping his hands on his pants.

“Want some tea?“

He walks towards the small station in the corner of the room. The table was filled with everything needed to make some drinks. Tony had installed it, just so we could always have something to drink without having to leave the lab.

“Jet arrived. Two heading to infirmary, one heading to lab. Mister Stark will bring his suit in for a touch-up tonight.“

You straighten your back, thanking Bruce for the cup of tea and waiting for someone to walk through the door. And once again, Bruce was right.

The one and only Bucky Barnes walks through the glass doors, holding his metal arm into his hand. You giggle, how did he manage to do that?

He huffs, sitting down at the chair across of you. You raise your eyebrows, trying to hide your laugh. You open your mouth to ask what happened, but Bucky already stops you.

“No idea. I have no idea how it happened.“

You start laughing, taking a sip of your tea before taking the arm into your hands. 

“I couldn’t get it back on,“ Bucky mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “They just didn’t connect together.

“You take the arm, placing it at his shoulder at the place where it normally connects. Normally you would hear a little click, signalling that it was now attached, but the click doesn’t come. After looking at the connecting pieces, you see what’s wrong with it. The attachment pieces had broken off and some of the wires have burned. There is also some scratches and some of the plates of his arm didn’t connect with the others anymore. 

“You took some damage, didn’t you?”

Other than his arm, he also had some scratches on his face, small bits of dried blood still stuck on his cheek.  

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to go to the infirmary with one arm,” he mumbles.

You nod, laying down the arm on the table next to you before looking through the drawers of your desk. Then you find the first aid kit, always there just in case something happened. You take the little plastic cup that was on your desk and fill it with water, taking a clean cloth and walking back to Bucky.You dip the cloth in the water, wiping away the blood on his cheek. 

“I can’t have you sitting in my lab, looking like this!” 

Bucky laughs, nodding his head while having his eyes on you. You didn’t notice, you are too busy trying to clean his face. You reach for the band aids, but only finding your favourites, covered in little flowers.

“I hope you don’t mind the flowers.”

You put the little band aid on his cheek, patting his shoulder. 

“It’s a good look!”

Bruce snorts when he sees Bucky, who now looks as red as a strawberry. How you had not noticed the enormous crush yet has surprised him. It surprises everyone on the team. Even Vision senses that the man has a crush on you.

Hours have passed and the arm was still not back on Bucky. The special lock that attaches the arm to his body is completely broken, which means that some wires needed to be reconnected. You wipe your forehead, huffing as you take another sip of your tea. It has gone cold, but you didn’t want to stand up to make a new cup. You just want to get the arm back to Bucky.Bruce had left the lab some time ago, but you didn’t want to leave until you were finished. You didn’t think it would take this long. The loud knocking on the glass walls make you jump up, dropping the screwdriver on the floor.

You look up to see Bucky, standing at the opening of the lab. He chuckles and takes the white paper bag off of the floor.

“You missed dinner.”

A smile forms on your face as you duck down to pick up the screwdriver. You tend to work past your hours, and Bucky always seems to notice. You pat the chair next to you, signalling for him to sit down. He smiles, sitting down before carefully putting down the paper bag on the table. The smell of the delicious food fills the lab as he takes out all the containers. Soon enough, the table is filled with pizza, chicken nuggets and fries. 

“You’re the best,” you mumble, your mouth full of pizza. 

You didn’t realize how hungry you were until Bucky came into the lab. The food is delicious, you notice that it is the same pizza that you would often get yourself.

“Fuck,” Bucky mumbles, making you look up.

The entire day he could only use his right arm, which worked out most of the time. But the simple task of just taking a slice of pizza seems impossible to him. You burst out laughing, taking the box of pizza from Bucky’s hand. You take a piece off of it, holding up your hand and guiding it to his mouth. He gives you a look, but still takes a bite. You smile and hand it to him, receiving a soft thank you.

“You did a big number on that arm of yours. All metal plates were loose and the entire attachment plate was broken.”

You point to the pieces that you were talking about as Bucky listened. He loves hearing you talk about your job, just as how you always listen to his stories about the missions.

“But I think I got it to work again, may I?”

Bucky nods, shrugging off the sleeve of the jacket that he had draped over his shoulders. The pins that were bended were straightened out and all the wires got put back in their place. You pick up the metal arm, carefully clicking it onto his shoulder again. You let out a happy sigh when you hear the ‘click’.The arm seems to be staying on. Bucky clenches his fist, the metal plates all lining up. He swings his arm in a full circle and looks up at you with a grin.

“Thank you so much, y/n.”

You laugh, shoving some fries in your mouth. 

“Of course, sorry that it took so long. It was more damaged than I originally thought. I’m happy it works! It only needs to be cleaned and then it’s back to normal.”

Just when Bucky opened his mouth, Tony came walking in, his suit following behind him. You had already expected him, Tony always worked on his suit and then would bring it to you to clean it up.

“Hey y/n, hey Tin Man. Could you maybe fix up my suit? Most big things have been done already, but I need it finished for tomorrow. Small mission, nothing big.“

You put your slice of pizza down, nodding at Tony. 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll have it done before tomorrow morning!“

Tony gives you a smile and a pat on your shoulder before walking out of the lab again. You huff, you kind of hoped that you would have some time off after fixing Bucky his arm, but fixing the suit is your priority right now. You see Bucky standing up, pointing at the door.

“Should I go?“

You quickly shake your head. The presence of Bucky is rather nice, and he would hopefully keep you awake through the night.

“You can stay. Only if you want to. We can hang out while I try to fix his suit.“

Bucky smiles, sitting down back on his seat before taking a sip of his drink. He likes seeing you work on projects, even if there wasn’t a lot of talking going on. When you would work on whatever it was, you were fully focussed on the object. It’s like you were in your own little world.

But he didn’t mind.

Of course he didn’t. He wanted to spend every hour of the day with you, no matter if it was for work or outside of that. 

You run your hands over your face, sighing as you look at the suit. The damages didn’t look too bad, some scratching on the outside and the helmet needed to be reattached to the body.

Bucky just sat at the dask, occasionaly handing you a chicken nugget or your drink. When working on something, you always kept to yourself, only focussing on your project. After around an hour, the helmet is back on its place and the only thing that was left was the outside. Only minor cosmetic touch-ups.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky had been thinking about one and one thing only for the last hour. He has had a crush on you ever since he had first visited the lab. His arm was severely damaged after a mission and because both Tony and Bruce were busy, you decided to take the responsibility of fixing his arm. 

Ever since then he would visit you frequently, always requesting you to help him instead of Tony, Bruce, and even professional doctors. Although you would always tell him to also go to the infirmary, he much preferred to be with you.

That is all that he wanted. 

Spending time with you is the best thing of his days, he would look forward to seeing you after missions and during team nights the two of you would always have the most fun together. And soon, Tony would have a big party again. He always found something to celebrate, and even though no one really knows what this party is for, they still agreed to go. No one would say no to a Stark Party. 

And that is what Bucky had been thinking about for the last hour and a half. Asking you out to the party. Of course you would already be there, but not with him. Not officially. 

“Would you want to go to the Stark party with me?“ He blurts out.

You look up from your project, wiping your hands on your overalls. They were already stained with paint and oil, so you didn’t mind if they got even messier. Bruce would try to convince you to get new set, but you always said it was your ‘aesthetic’ and that you didn’t want to waste a good pair of overalls.

“Hmm?“

Bucky gets even more nervous than he was before. Saying it once was already hard, but repeating it would be even harder. He forgot that you would get so consumed in your projects, he should have gotten your attention first before just blurting it out. He fiddles with his hands, his metal arm feeling colder against his normal arm.

“I just wanted to ask you something. It’s nothing, really.“

You grin, standing up from the floor. You had heard him, at least, you heard enough to understand what he asked. Poor Buck, as confident as he is on the field, is how nervous he is now. You put your hand on his head, ruffling his hair before engulfing him in a hug. He slowly returns the hug, his arms tight around you.

“Of course I want to go to the party with you, you crazy!“

Bucky lets out a relieved sigh, tightening his grip and laughing. Was he nervous for this? Wait, but more importantly-

“So you heard me the first time!“

You let out a laugh, nodding before breaking from the hug. It’s true that you normally would have to ask for someone to repeat their sentence, but not this time. No matter how distracted you look, you would always pay attention to Bucky. He wasn’t the only one with a crush, you had too. The entire team knew, except Bucky. Just how Bucky his crush was known to everyone except for you.

“So, what color tie will you be wearing?“

[comfortwriting]

Call Out My Name - F.W.

Fred Weasley X Reader imagine inspired by the song ‘Call Out My Name’ by The Weeknd.

Part 2 , Part 3

A/N: Your Feedback will be greatly appreciated! 

About: Fred is constantly in a ‘on and off’ toxic relationship and he uses the reader when he is lonely, overtime she falls in love with him but because she isn’t Fred’s girl - she has no choice but to walk away.

Themes: Heartbreak, unrequited love, sadness, longing.

Warnings: indication of smut, raw feelings of worthlessness, depression and anger.

Staring out of the train window trying to think of something to doodle in your notebook you couldn’t help but feel over the moon that you were going home for the summer, you had never felt like this before and you hated that you did - but after years of being strung along by someone and not being able to stay away from them - this feeling was bittersweet, hell, everything you had gone through was now nothing but bittersweet memories you just wanted to forget, almost like it never happened.

You fell in love with Fred slowly but the more time you spent with him you fell head over heels for him. This whole fiasco - whatever it was you had with Fred started three years ago, your first time spending the summer at The Burrow. Fred’s on and off girlfriend split up with him for the first time, Fred became withdrawn, not wanting to take part in his usual pranks or plan any new inventions with his brother George. At first, you believed that Fred wanted you around because he valued your friendship (a budding romance) and because you made him happy, but overtime you realised that this wasn’t the case at all - unfortunately you were just a stepping stone for him, someone to use when he couldn’t get what he wanted from the ‘love of his life’. 

You put your head in your hands and sighed deeply, the tears slowly pricking at your eyes, slouching in your seat you covered your house scarf (the one that Fred bought you) over your eyes, the memories flashing back to you like they happened yesterday.

We found each other I helped you out of a broken place You gave me comfort But falling for you was my mistake

Fred sat in his bed, his eyes red and puffy from all of the crying “I don’t know what to do, she doesn’t want me anymore” seeing him in such a state made your heartache, you had never seen him like this before - you were used to him bouncing around, always laughing and getting up to no good, not crying in bed too sad to be himself.

You sat on his bed and stroked his short hair that had been cut a few weeks ago “It’s going to be okay” you smiled at him softly “I know it might be too much to ask but why don’t we go for a walk? Get away from all the noise in this house, just this once.” you encouraged him.  

Fred contemplated your offer for a moment and then nodded “I can do that” he smiled, slowly getting out of bed. What started off as ‘just this once’ turned into routine - you and Fred going for stupidly long walks every morning you were at the burrow. 

Remembering the first time your hands brushed up against one another used to make the butterflies in your stomach soar but now all it does is hurt worse than before - rain now pattering down on the window.

Within months you and Fred did everything together, morning walks, quidditch in the afternoon basking in the warmth and orange glow of the sun, and then in the evenings you two would sneak downstairs whilst everyone lay asleep in bed.

“Hey Y/N” Fred whispered through the crack in the door, trying not to wake everyone up “fancy popping on one of those muggle horror movies you keep telling dad about?” 

You turned over, the landing light shining in your eyes and smirked at Fred, mirroring him “go on then.” 

Clutching your chest you could feel the pain of this memory hit you like a tonne of bricks, taking deep breaths you tried so hard to bring yourself back into the present moment... on the way home... leaving Hogwarts...but it didn’t work, like a leaf in the wind you were pushed back in relieving what you just wanted to forget.

The old and scratchy patchwork blanket sat over you and Fred, out of the corner of your eye you caught Fred glancing at you and smiling to himself. Turning to face him you asked what was so funny “nothing” he replied, yet he leaned in closer, his nose almost touching yours. Giving in, the two of you shared your first kiss and you could’ve sworn you felt sparks igniting within you. 

You brushed your fingers over your soft lonely lips reminiscing more of the memories that popped into your head as if they were being played on film. 

A few evenings later you and Fred were on the same sofa, covered by the same scratchy old patchwork blanket in the dead of night, yet this time instead this kiss lead to something much more, instead of sparks simply just igniting, burst into the biggest and most beautiful firework as you and Fred shared such an intimate moment together.

George had to admit that although he felt left out, he couldn’t deny how much happier Fred became when you were around - he started being himself again; pranking Ron and annoying Percy like it was going out of fashion.

But you had no idea that whatever you had with Fred would turn into the most intense rollercoaster ride you had ever been on.

I put you on top, I put you on top I claimed you so proud and openly

For the first time in your life you put another person before you and you deemed such an act ‘worth it’ at the time because you made mistakes out of your pure love for Fred, but you realised all you were doing was burning yourself out to keep Fred alight. Instead of getting perfect grades, you found yourself in enough detentions for everyone in your house.

In your mind Fred was yours, your boyfriend and he made you feel on top of the world and all you wanted to do was share your feelings and relationship to the world. Every Saturday morning you would be sat waiting at the Quidditch pitch to cheer on Fred, regardless whether it was a match or just practice.

You would write to your family and friends, telling them all about the soft haired troublemaker who swept you off your feet. “Looks like you’ve got another letter” George mentioned one morning over breakfast, your owl swooping up ahead delivering a reply. 

You smiled widely and nodded “Of course I do!” you giggled “My parents can’t wait to meet Fred this Christmas!”

George’s face dropped at your excitement, he cleared his throat awkwardly “I’m really sorry Y/N but did Fred tell you?” he asked, giving you a deep look of sympathy. 

You scowled and shook your head wondering what would get in the way of your perfect plans “tell me what?” 

George stayed silent for a moment but he tried his best to let you down gently “He’s back in contact with his ex, they’re working things out.”

And when times were rough, when times were rough I made sure I held you close to me

And for the second time, Fred came crying into your arms looking like he had been torn apart “She doesn’t think it’s going to work out, she said that it’s not the right time” you held him in your arms, cuddling on the sofa in the common room, rubbing his back with one hand and stroking his now long shoulder length hair with the other, you reassured him. 

“It’s going to be okay Freddie, you got yourself back on track last time and you’re capable of going it again sweetheart” you reminded him “you’ve got me and George, remember.” 

Within the months that came after, you two were inseparable once again, going to Hogsmeade on the weekends raiding Honeydukes and sharing a butterbeer or two in the Three Broomsticks but as always and like George predicted, once Fred’s girl came back into the picture, he dropped you again. 

You managed to break from your flashbacks for a moment, removing the scarf from your face. Checking your watch you had another hour or so until you would be arriving at Kings Cross Station, you slumped back down in your seat and doodled broken hearts and tears onto your open love letters to Fred, now hidden in your notebook.

So call out my name (call out my name) Call out my name when I kiss you so gently I want you to stay (I want you to stay) I want you to stay, even though you don't want me

“Well from the sounds of things you’re not in a serious relationship” you mentioned to Fred, taking off your muddy robes. George shook his head at you almost telling you off but you were both getting frustrated, the only difference is that you didn’t want to keep quiet anymore. 

“Not yet but I’m waiting for her” Fred said eagerly removing his robes too, George could feel the tension in the air and went to the common room.

“So what about us?” you asked bravely, your heart begging to hear what it wanted most. 

Allowing the last of your confidence that Fred had wiped away overtime, you walked towards him and cupped his face, kissing him softly, trying to convince him that you were the one worth waiting for but no matter what, deep down in your heart you knew Fred was thinking about her.

Fred kissed back and chuckled “us?” he flashed you a confused look “we’re the same as we’ve ever been, as we’ll always be” you felt crushed, this wasn’t the answer you were hoping for (and you now owed George all of your exploding bonbons) but you accepted your fate and left to find George so you could cry in his arms. 

“He never truly wanted me, did he?” You asked George, tears running down your cheeks. 

George shook his head “It’s always been about her Y/N, I’m sorry” you hugged George and cried into his chest whilst he held you.

“why can’t I be Fred’s girl?” 

Torturing yourself beyond repair you couldn’t stay away from Fred, no matter how hard you tried. You still found yourself supporting him at Quidditch, helping him study, you even engaged in conversation with him about his girl, how amazing she was and how happy she made him. You knew if he had the chance Fred would transform you into her if a single project came down to it.

Girl, why can't you wait? (Why can't you wait, baby?) Girl, why can't you wait 'til I fall out of love? Won't you call out my name? (Call out my name) Girl, call out my name, and I'll be on my way

Clutching your date and dancing lazily to the music you stared at Fred having the time of his life with the girl of his dreams on his arm, beaming up at him. You hoped this ball and your date would help you find a new spark and create new fireworks yet with every opportunity to do so all you did was wish for Fred, stare at him and act as if he were to realise you were the one with any coming moment - but it didn’t happen yet, it would never happen. You kept wishing over and over in your head for Fred to turn around, meet your gaze and to become blinded by your beauty when you had another admirer trying to break down your cold persona. 

I said I didn't feel nothing baby, but I lied I almost cut a piece of myself for your life Guess I was just another pit stop 'Til you made up your mind You just wasted my time

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Fred asked, taking a bite out of his toast “Mum and dad are really keen to meet her and she’s never been able to visit over the summer before and with everyone else there we just wouldn’t have the room.”

The two of you continued to walk towards the castle, George following not far behind.

Fred was now inviting his girlfriend to stay with him at the burrow this summer, something you had always done up until this very moment - this was the moment you realised that everything had been a lie, Fred never cared, he never loved you, he had just used you each and every time the love of his life got bored, only to drop you as soon as she wanted him back. 

“Yeah it’s fine, I understand completely” you lied, feeling anger, despair and insecure like you had never before “I’ll just see you at the shop once the ball gets rolling.” Earlier in the year Fred offered you a job to help out with him and George at the shop, placing your own career plan at the ministry on hold.

“Oh bugger” Fred stopped his tracks looking a bit stressed “that's another thing i forgot to mention, we won’t be needing you to help out anymore as-”

“she’s helping out instead” you cut Fred off, finally reaching your breaking point you ran away from Fred and went to your dorm, packing your trunk. 

You're on top, I put you on top I claimed you so proud and openly, babe And when times were rough, when times were rough I made sure I held you close to me

“Are you seriously running back to him after what he did?” 

“He isn’t like that! you don’t understand, you can’t judge him - you don’t even know him!”

So call out my name (call out my name, baby) So call out my name when I kiss you So gently, I want you to stay (I want you to stay) I want you to stay even though you don't want me Girl, why can't you wait? (Girl, why can't you wait 'til I) Girl, why can't you wait 'til I fall out of loving? Babe, call out my name (say call out my name, baby) Girl, call out my name, and I'll be on my way, girl I'll be on my

Jolting awake the train came to a stop, you had finally arrived at the station. Taking a deep breath you picked up your trunk and notebook, getting off the train your scarf slipped off but you were too busy trying to spot your parents to notice. This was it, no more Hogwarts, you didn’t want to look back.

Feeling faint you ran into the toilets, throwing up the last of your pumpkin juice from the ride home, you stared at yourself in the mirror, washing your hands and splashing your face.

“Why can’t I be Fred’s girl?” You asked yourself.

On my way, all the way On my way, all the way, ooh On my way, on my way, on my way On my way, on my way, on my way (On my)

Reaching the exit of the station you spotted The Weasleys, welcoming Fred’s new girlfriend into a tight hug with delighted expressions on their faces. You looked to George and he gave a sad smile, he wanted to say goodbye but even that would be too painful for you to handle; after all, you weren’t just losing Fred, you were losing George, Molly and the rest of the family you loved so much.

Before you could turn around and continue to look for your family, Fred noticed you, he stopped for a moment and waved, holding your scarf up in his hands and shaking it. 

You wanted more than anything to run to Fred and collect it but instead you didn’t wave back or smile, you shook your head and spun on your heel, acting as if he were never there at all. 

[mariibound2003]

Scotsman X Diesel 10 headcanons

(yeah, it’s probably an odd pair and y’all are probably furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, but idrc and thought they kinda complimented each other, enough talking for now, let’s hop into the headcanons!~) Before Meeting

*Before meeting, Diesel 10 had already known/heard a lot about Flying Scotsman and his greatest achievements, at first he saw him like any other steam engine and despised him just as much, but over time he gained a sort of admiration for him that he hadn’t shared with any other engine, that admiration would soon turn into a full blown crush, though ofc he wouldn’t admit it outright to anyone, but the couple of posters and newspaper clippings in his shed would tell you otherwise... *Before meeting, Scotsman had heard a few tales about Diesel 10 during his visits to Sodor, though he never fully believed them because he knew how... ‘close minded’ some of the Sodor engines could be, plus he was an open minded individual to begin with due to traveling all across the world and meeting all sorts of individuals, so unless he saw it for himself he wouldn’t fully believe the stories/rumors, he never gets a chance to find out if they are true or not until much later on, due to Diesel 10 usually locking himself away in his shed when not working... When they meet *How they met was simple, Diesel 10 had been driving around to blow off some ‘steam’ after a particularly rough meeting with the Fat Controller discussing about his shed door being broken, which was ‘put aside to be fixed later’ almost a year ago and still hadn’t been dealt with by then, that’s when he pulled up into the station where Scotsman was supposed to be meeting his brother Gordon for lunch, unfortunately Gordon was not available as he was in for repairs and wouldn’t be seeing anyone until tomorrow, Scotsman was about to head off to do something else after hearing this, but before he could get far he finally took notice of Diesel 10 on the track next to him, who was snooping on the convo he had been having with the station master... *Diesel 10 was instantly panicked as he had been spotted and feared that he had already made a bad first impression if Scotsman hadn’t already known about him before now and was prepared for him to start yelling at him, but Scotsman only seemed slightly taken aback by this, he wasn’t a stranger to having people sneak up on him and ask to take photos or to sign things- don’t ask how- so he simply laughed it off and made a few jokes about it, his eyes landing on the warship’s paintwork and gnarly claw on top of his roof, instantly recognizing these things he asks for his name and is delighted- much to Diesel 10′s surprise- to find out it was him!... *Scotsman begins talking about how he had been hearing his name around the island and had wanted to meet him, but ofc never could until now, further making Diesel 10 surprised and he even felt some blush forming on his cheeks, after all, he never thought such a fine, pristine and famous steam engine would want anything to do with a smelly, slightly broken down and scary looking diesel engine like himself, guess he was proven wrong!... *They get to talking, both deciding to head off and hang out for the rest of the day, since Diesel 10 wasn’t needed at the time and Scotsman wouldn’t have anything to do until tomorrow, despite causing a small stir amongst those who passed them by, it was going smoothly and at this point Scotsman could confirm he also had some feelings for his clawed companion, something he had questioned after knowing of the diesel’s existence for awhile, but was only comfortable admitting to it after seeing him in person to make sure the feelings were real... *overall it was a successful hangout and they got along a lot better then anyone would’ve guessed, even after Diesel 10 shamefully confessed that some of the rumors/stories were true, this didn’t change Scotsman’s feelings about him, if anything his honestly about it made his feelings grow stronger and gave him enough incentive to heavily hint at his feelings for the warship, confessing that he ‘always had a soft spot for the rougher and meaner looking engines like him’ and asked for another ‘hangout/date’ together, Diesel 10- very flusteredly- said yes to this and from that point forwards they became an item...

How they are now

*Despite getting flack from the others and being apart for long periods of time, they are quite happy with each other, while the steam engines are not all completely approving of the relationship- with the exceptions of Gordon, Percy, Thomas (kinda) and Edward- the diesels however all were very accepting and Scotsman was almost instantly welcomed by them after Diesel 10 introduced him!... *their dates together usually consist of driving around Sodor talking about what sort of shenanigans they’ve been up to while they were separated, or they get together to have lunch, sometimes Scotsman will bring back gifts and momentos from his travels for Diesel10 and sometimes the rest of the diesels at the Dieselworks. *Diesel 10 does his best to return his kindness, although he isn’t able to get gifts quite like Scotsman’s, he can at least make a mean apple pie, yes you heard that right, he knows how to bake, while sometimes he needs human assistance he can manage the kitchen on his own, Scotsman is always pleased to receive such baked goods from him and insists he makes something that he can take home to show off and enjoy when they’re apart. *Diesel 10 has offered countless times to show Scotsman how to bake/cook good food, because well... Scotsman has an interesting pallet, it’s so outrageous and appalling that it makes the most questionably appetited engines- which is most of them- gag and turn away in disgust, but Scotsman doesn’t mind/care, tho he has been banned from every kitchen within 80 miles of his location because of his crimes against food. *Scotsman is the only engine to ever make Diesel 10 get all soft and mushy and openly show of his dorkier side, despite Diesel 10 being mildly embarrassed if others are around to see it/make fun of him for it, he actually doesn’t mind the attention from Scotsman and won’t really try to stop him from doing whatever it is he was doing to make him feel this way. *they have flirting/compliment wars to see who will get all flustered first... Scotsman- being the natural flirt he is- usually wins, which is part of what makes his dear Diesel 10 a mushy mess. *if you were to catch them at the right time you might hear them singing together, as Scotsman naturally has a good singing voice and Diesel 10 is not half bad either, but he still needs a little practice, thus whenever they meet they’ll practice together. *Scotsman also helps Diesel 10 with confidence, because surprise, surprise! he has some lack in self confidence because of everything that happened in the past and the fact most people/engines outside of the Dieselworks give him dirty looks, hence why he usually hides away, but they’re working on it. *Diesel 10 now refers to Gordon as his ‘favorite brother-in-law’ and likes to antagonize him about it any chance he gets, often times coming to wherever he’s working/following him while doing express runs to do exactly that, Gordon ofc isn’t a big fan of this, but he allows it since Diesel 10 has mellowed out after meeting his brother and Scotsman seems quite happy with him, so he treats it as a minor annoyance more then anything, just like how he treats Scotsman’s ‘Little brother’ comments. *Scotsman often sleeps over at the Dieselworks whenever he’s visiting for a few days, whether it’s just for the sake of visiting or if it’s for some sort of competition on the island he is competing in. *speaking of competitions... while not always able to, Diesel 10 and some of the other diesels try to make it to see Scotsman compete, after all he’s one of them now and they do whatever they can to support him and will even hold a mini celebration with him after all is said and done, regardless if Scotsman won or not, it’s more-so an excuse for him and Diesel 10 to snuggle up next to each other and enjoy each other’s company.

[blackevermore]

        ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ Made in Kisekae 2  ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

@kippkapp @giinbean @aquaticcryptid  @cherryblossomdokis @spooky-toastsnew

x Names: I’Okai Shalon ( I-Oh-Kay  Sha-Loan ) x Nicknames: Oki (Doki) // Sha  x Age: 25 x Sexuality: Disaster Pansexual x Pronoun: He/They

x Personality: That overly jumpy and scardy cat character that has a very weird sense of confidence about the wrong things. Easily flustered when teased and bad social anxiety. King of missing soical cues and sarcastic remarks. Right over his head (Whoosp). Friendly just give him a sec to warm up to you.

         ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ Headcanons have spoliers warning  ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

x Has been working at the Pizza Plex since he was 19. Starting in the food courted but was switched over to the bowling alley.

x While stationed in the bowling alley, I’Okai had a bad habit of sneaking off in the backrooms. He had a feeling something was wrong about the place and being nosy he wishes to find out what it is.

x Great bowler and will brag about it. Try him bitch!

x Became Freddy’s personal care taker after being caught sneaking around the backrooms and unconinous when he was 22. The mangner didn’t want to fire him because Okai is a great worker but just too nosy. So By putting him with Freddy he be forced to stay put (i mean you can’t drag a giant robot along with you......riiigggghhhht)

x I’Okai can’t remember anything that happened when he was found in the back. All he knows is that his eyes are a different color and sometimes he gets a metal taste in his mouth.

x Is besties with Vivi, @cherryblossomdokis ‘s sona, and Justin and highkeys tries to get them to join him on his adventures because he is too scared to go alone but too stubborn to not go at all.

x Will legit scream the whole time but then get mad when no one else wants to keep going with him

x As Freddy’s care taker he has to make sure that Freddy is emotionally stable, report any bugs or glitches, make sure he is repainted and polished if need be, and always ready for every big show. At first I’Okai didn’t go to the shows and stayed in Freddy’s room. But now he always goes and is front row with the other care takers. 

x Scared to death of Monty. He kinda gets along with Vanessa, indifferent about Sun and Moon, will fight Rox, loves DJ Music Man and Chica.

x Has developed a weird crush on Freddy once he becomes care taker, doesn’t understand where it comes from (daddy issues are strong tonight kids). Sometimes he gets a weird feeling that his attraction to Freddy aren’t all his.

x Loves holding the giant Freddy bear in Freddy’s room. Call him Deku because he is building a collection of Freddy merch

x Sometimes he gets weird feelings of deja vu that makes him feel like he is in danger and needs to move from where he is. Most of these times it’s when he is walking past Monty’s golf course or when Monty is passing by with Justin. 

x Has noticed how weird Vanessa gets.

x During the events of the game I’Okai breaks back into the plex and runs into Freddy and Gregory and aids them up until a certain point where he gets caught by Vanny and held captive. On either good endings the duo breaks him out, when they do that can see a weird purple glow around him and he starts muttering words about how odd it feels to be “back and yet still away”. 

x I’Okai was possessed by Superstar Bonnie the night he was sneaking around in the backrooms and stubled into the repair bay and found a still glitching yet completely broken Bonnie. When he touched Bonnie they were fused together. However I’Okai’s soul was stronger and Bonnie was kept under only slipping out once and a while. 

x Freddy can sense his best friend within I’Okai and welcomes them both back.

x You can guess from here I’m shipping them HEH!!

         ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ Headcanons have spoliers warning  ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

[paullicino]

Ten Years

Taken from my Patreon.

Ten years is a long time. It’s long enough for many things to change, but also long enough for everything to remain the same.

I remember ten years ago as if it were yesterday, as if it passed by in the blink of an eye, with light and shadow, textures and taste all as familiar as ever.

A morning after. Shocked faces. A phone call. Events barely believable, yet all too real.

Ten years ago, my then partner and I were living in a top floor flat off Tottenham High Road. It was sweltering in the summer and the downstairs neighbours played dance music at four in the morning. But the views out the back bedroom window were of valleys of rooftops, sprouting television aerials and summited in the winter by the briefest dustings of snow.

The sun was for the front of the flat. The moon shone into our bedroom.

I remember that sunlight in the afternoon, sparkling through the shifting foliage of the tall trees outside. And I remember summer most of all. August.

We had a tap. A faucet. A great, overwrought thing that our landlady was obsessed with. It was the best tap ever, she said. It was large, curved and heavy, the pharaonic headdress worn atop a newly-fitted kitchen of which she was so proud. Wasn’t it exciting that we had such a good tap?

We just wanted our bed repaired. Our home wasn’t finished when we moved in and we slept on the sofa for weeks. When the mighty tap was finally installed, it was too heavy for its fitting. It teetered. Along with poorly-mounted cupboard doors with handles that prevented other cupboards from opening, its practicality was an afterthought.

The walk up Tottenham High Road took me to the only two locations I ever really visited, the supermarket and the job centre. The supermarket provided us with affordable food (though I’d watched the price of many staples almost double over five years) and the job centre provided me, an unemployed person, the money with which to buy that food.

The job centre, which was now extra special and had been rebranded Job Centre Plus, did not provide anyone the means with which they could get a job. It spent almost all of its time providing people with unemployment benefits. Most of the thousands of Tottenham residents who poured through its doors would’ve taken a job if they could’ve found one, but the listings at the centre itself were usually out of date, irrelevant or in some other way misfiled. Most employers don’t want to list their vacancies at the Job Centre Plus because they don’t want to employ the kind of people who go there.

Out of the Job Centre Plus and the supermarket, which one do you think burned that August?

I have written before about my strongest memory of the Job Centre Plus, but here it is again. It was of an old foreign woman and her daughter trying to speak to a clerk. The old woman didn’t speak English, so her daughter was attempting to explain that the woman was looking for work and thus registering as unemployed to gain unemployment benefit. The clerk was trying to explain that the woman was too old to work and should also be on disability benefit. The daughter was trying to explain that they had tried to navigate those systems and that they were obtuse and broken. Her mother just needed money. To live.

(Ten years before, in the summer of 2001, I’d first looked at the cost of moving out. I looked at rents around my Hampshire town, at the cost of housing and at the wages I needed to earn. England was expensive, I decided. It sure cost a lot just to live.)

Everyone was trying to explain everything. The job centre mostly wanted to give people their money and get rid of them, because there were many more lined up behind.

My strongest memory of the supermarket was of the man outside with no legs. He sat there panhandling in his wheelchair almost every day of the year. Britain had just launched its latest Astute-class nuclear submarine, each of which costs over one and a half billion pounds, but it was still a country where a man with no legs had to beg outside a shop.

I thought about that man long after I left Tottenham. I think about him here, now, ten years on.

My partner went abroad to see family and I spent some of the summer restarting my career as a freelance writer. I was fortunate with the connections and opportunities that I had, none of which would ever be found at a job centre, and I spent a lot of my time writing either to find work or simply for practice. I was writing on the night my street burned.

It began before dusk and I came home to find enormous police vehicles parked outside, the sort that are mobile command headquarters. Chains of armoured riot vans surged north. I heard there’d been a protest outside the police station and that a car or two had been burned. I checked the news occasionally. It didn’t have much to add.

Police vans kept coming, though all other traffic had stopped. The roads were closed, blocked by the police, and the latest news told me that petrol bombs had been thrown and a bus set alight. The reports were sparse.

The police in England are really good at responding to riots. They turn up in great swathes, on horses, in vans, or on foot and armed with batons and shields. They have all kinds of exciting equipment to help them. A year before, they’d kettled schoolchildren protesting the huge increase in university tuition fees, surrounding and slowly crushing hundreds of them in Trafalgar Square and on Westminster Bridge. Footage emerged of them beating the shit out of kids or dragging people out of wheelchairs. Here they were now in Tottenham, ready for more.

I kept trying to find news. The police had cordoned off most of the High Road, which meant the journalists that were arriving had no ability to find what was happening inside the riot. Distant footage of fires was the best most of them could provide. As I remember it now, the BBC had one van inside of the police cordon and couldn’t broadcast out because its dish had been damaged. I also have memories of a single journalist, almost in the thick of a mob, asking rioters to give them a moment to explain why they were protesting, or wondering why on earth they might want to block a BBC camera crew who were trying to film them.

What an inane question.

I found the news I wanted. I found it via Twitter and social media. And it was terrifying.

Broadcast news had described a riot not unlike any other. But the still relatively new sphere of social media was overflowing with witness statements, photographs and the kind of low-quality video that phones captured back then. People across Tottenham were panicking as they described growing crowds on the High Road burning not only vehicles, but also shops and businesses. They were breaking into commercial properties. They were looting. They were starting more fires. This had begun half a mile away from my home and it was spreading outward. The post office burned. Landmark businesses burned. Local shops burned and, with them, the flats and homes located above.

The updates kept coming and it’s almost impossible for me now to try to describe to you not only the sheer volume of panic and distress that waterfalled down my feed, but also the sense of utter hopelessness that came with it. People beyond the High Road described not just the violence spilling into their streets, the fights and the hundreds of looters, the fires and the damage, but also how there was no one who could stop this. No emergency services responded. Their phones went unanswered or the lines were jammed.

I read update after update that echoed the same, basic fact, something which I still struggle to comprehend even now, something I’d describe as barely believable: No help was coming.

But the social media updates kept coming. Looters were turning up with empty vans and loading them up with everything they could take. Buildings were being destroyed. A whole estate was being evacuated.

The news provided by the BBC and its peers remained limp and languid, so I spent all night reading these updates, discovering more nearby shops were being gutted, or how the retail park near me was looted to the point of emptiness, and I watched as even my own view out the window became broiling crowds of countless restless and angry people. I remember one man walking off into the darkness with brand new flatscreen televisions under each arm, the police vans now long gone. The night was regularly punctuated by shouts, screams, thumps and sometimes what might have been explosions. The sirens were always distant. The helicopters came and went.

I don’t know where the police cordon had gone. It felt almost as if they had given up and let Tottenham run rampant.

The sun came up and from that back bedroom window I saw smoke rising. I hadn’t slept. The news was full of irrelevant speculation and so, at five-thirty, I put on my shoes and walked the High Road. What I saw was barely believable. Sometimes I met the stunned gazes of other people doing the same, sometimes I avoided any eye contact. I have kept a diary for a long time now and this is what I recorded (slightly edited):

“This morning at about 5:30, as the sun rose, I tried to wander through Tottenham to take some pictures. It became one of the scariest walks I've ever taken.

The atmosphere was tense and unpleasant. Columns of smoke snaked upwards and the High Road and several other streets were blocked off or packed with police vehicles, many more of which were endlessly arriving, some from as far away as Kent.

The nearby retail park was littered with debris and many of its shopfronts were smashed. Groups of people, perhaps gangs, loitered everywhere. While some areas were busy with police officers, others were neglected and patrolled by hostile looking young men.

I didn't end up taking many pictures. I kept moving. Depending upon where you walk, Tottenham looks like a cross between a blitz bomb site and the mess after a chaotic festival.

Something still feels very different. Tottenham has hardly been rosy at the best of times, but today the sunshine can't seem to dispel a strange chill in the air. I myself can't stop thinking of all the homes that burned last night. It might not be immediately obvious to many people, but above a great deal of those shops set ablaze were flats, often family homes for very poor people. Many of those who had little now have less.”

A day after those first riots hit Tottenham, they went nationwide. London wasn’t done and, for a week, many major cities in England played host to their own riots. Tottenham was totally locked down, but it was far too late. The disorder had moved elsewhere.

I remember telling a colleague I worked with that I wouldn’t be finishing something that weekend. He laughed at the news and imagined it would all blow over. He was from a much wealthier background.

Then, everyone started trying to explain everything.

The BBC caught up with events the way a great-grandparent catches up with technology, fumbling and frowning. Goodness me, they said, in their middle class, broadcast-trained voices, and they joined in with the three broad lines of discussion that emerged. One asked how this could happen, one asked why this had happened, and one was about how this would never happen again, because the law would be firmer than ever, the punishments and prosecutions authoritative and absolute. The police were ready for more. They were going to get water cannons. I imagine those work particularly well on kids and wheelchairs.

There was a lot of talk about punishment, including from the Prime Minister, who decided to stop being on holiday in Tuscany only after England’s third night of rioting. I wonder if he had imagined it would all blow over.

Sometimes there was talk involving the people of Tottenham themselves, but it was more likely to be talk about them. A lot of people in Tottenham are Black and have families that trace back to the very first Windrush immigrants of the late 1940s. One Black Labour MP said it was important to talk about their experiences in London, their economic situation and their history of treatment by the police. After all, the spark that had set these riots alight was a protest outside the police headquarters, subsequent to the suspicious shooting of Mark Duggan, a Black man, something that called to mind a similarly suspicious death of a Black woman that also precipitated Tottenham’s 1985 riots.

For some people, the discussion became about how Black people had started the riots and been the chief participants. This wasn’t reflected in anything I saw either on social media or with my own eyes, in person, on the night. But nobody was stopping to ask me what I thought or what I saw.

Not long after that first riot, my partner called me to check I was okay and to ask if those barely believable things she’d seen on the news were really as bad as they seemed. They were. I rode the bus up the High Road on my way to Wood Green, then later to Walthamstow, both of which offered me temporary job centres that took the overspill from ours, thoroughly gutted by fire and then looted of all of its copper piping. The bus crept past burned-out shops and homes. I don’t know where those people have gone.

Later that year, my partner and I discovered that our income was low enough that we were eligible for housing benefit. It took us so long to try to apply for it that we moved home before any progress was made. When I found enough work to support myself, I visited the job centre to sign off, as we called it, to close my file. I asked a woman at reception what I needed to do. “Nothing,” she said, as the line behind me wound down several stories of stairs and out into the grey autumn street. “Just stop coming. Stop coming.”

Winter came and things rustled in the walls. There was a long, tall hedge along the High Road and I would look out the window to see men using it as a urinal. I only had to live in Tottenham for around a year and a half and I have good memories from that flat, but I also remember a stifling and sad place to live, from which I was lucky to move on. Tottenham was never my home and I never had to stay there, but I certainly feel that I came to get a sense of the place.

After moving out, our ex-landlady complained that we hadn’t left the oven as clean as she would’ve liked. She hiked the rent 9% while we were staying there. She never fixed anything that broke and provided excuses instead of solutions.

I found more work. I taught games and narrative for a semester at a small institution in East London. One of the things I asked my students to consider was the stories and the experiences of people who weren’t like them. I asked them to share how often they had been stopped and randomly searched by airport security. “Not just at the airport,” one student reminded me. “On the tube. On the street.”

My life continued to improve in many ways, but I still remembered the man in the wheelchair. The BBC and many other media outlets continued to talk about poverty and race, but not always to poor people or to people who weren’t white. In 2014 I wrote On Poverty and one of the most surprising responses I repeatedly received from people was “I had no idea that it was like this.” A friend of mine tried to apply for support for chronic health problems and documented her many struggles, including being required to explain exactly how many times a week she suffered from migraines (“You said it was two or three times a week. Well, is it two, or is it three?”). The news regularly reported growing homelessness, rising use of food banks and the inevitable deaths of people who weren’t just failed by broken systems, apathy and a lack of understanding, but also simply too poor to be alive.

I feel like some of the people I knew didn’t like how I kept returning to these topics. I feel, even more, that they didn’t at all understand. I remember some of these people waiving off the Brexit referendum as it approached, certain the country wouldn’t vote to amputate itself from the European Union. I don’t think they understood and I don’t think they’d seen the unhappy England that I had, both as a child and as an adult. I think they’d only seen, and been, very comfortable people.

I think these people would call themselves open-minded, progressive and keen to make the world better. I’m sure they could explain those views. At length.

If I think of those people now, I’m quite sure they are all still very comfortable, ten years on. I also think there is still a good chance that man is sat in that wheelchair outside of that supermarket, though he could also be dead by now, again simply too poor to be alive. No longer able to watch the sun sparkle through tall trees, see roofs dusted with snow or catch the moon peeping through his bedroom window.

Such things aren’t for poor people. We still get frustrated when we give them benefits or find out they own mobile phones.

---

Ten years on, Tottenham is almost a dream, a memory where the details have faded and the edges have softened. I have moved countries, had the privilege of travelling through work, enjoyed many different creative opportunities and benefited from free healthcare that has addressed difficult, long-term health issues. I have rationed my life according to a tight budget, but I’ve never had to face the overwhelming, unending hardships of others that I’ve shared neighbourhoods and postcodes with. I cannot ignore these people because they have so often been one street away, visiting the same shop or riding the same train. They are not an abstraction, they are right there, ready to tell us all about their lives.

Ten years on, Tottenham has one of the UK’s fastest-growing rates of unemployment, the latest statistic in the region’s long history of joblessness and poverty. Many of its residents, like poor people across the country, live paycheck to paycheck, at risk of financial ruin should they experience a single upheaval. Ten years on, the most reliable predictor of success and financial stability in the UK (as in many developed countries) is now considered to be the circumstances of your birth. The idea of social mobility is more irrelevant than ever, with much of your destiny decided before you are even born. Ten years on, almost a quarter of the population of the UK lives in poverty.

Ten years on, continued austerity, government apathy and cuts to social services has meant that, yes, ten years really is enough time for everything to stay the same. Without change, the problems people face become generational, systemic. Some people tell me that the 1980s were like this for certain families, regions, populations. I didn’t know. We were doing okay. Perhaps I didn’t get it, didn’t notice it, didn’t want to think about it.

Ten years on, Mark Duggan’s family filed a civil claim against the Metropolitan Police and were awarded an undisclosed sum, after his death was officially ruled a lawful killing in 2014. Lawyers for the Duggan claim commissioned this in-depth report on the shooting, which illustrated many problems with the official police version of events.

Ten years on, the UK government is trying to curtain the right to protest. It commissioned a review that concluded that the country has no systemic racism. It wants to limit the powers of the Electoral Commission and has considered conflating the concepts of whistleblowing and leaking with spying, meaning those who leak information could be treated as criminals. It is increasingly intent on punishing those who might express dissatisfaction.

And ten years on, as we all know, wages have not risen to match the rising costs of rent, food, utilities or transport. It sure costs a lot just to live.

Finally, in 2018, the UN Special Rapporteur on Poverty and Human Rights visited the United Kingdom and did speak with many of its poor. The resulting exhaustive and damning report concluded that “statistics alone cannot capture the full picture of poverty in the United Kingdom” and that “much of the glue that has held British society together since the Second World War has been deliberately removed and replaced with a harsh and uncaring ethos.” It described harsh, ill-conceived and out-of-touch support systems devised and doubled down on by a government that not only failed to understand poverty, but that couldn’t even measure it accurately. It also predicted that these things would only get worse, and without any consideration of the effect of extraordinary events, such as a global pandemic.

The government described the report as “barely believable.”

I don’t think any help is coming.

---

There’s a question that sometimes bounces around social media and it asks people this: “What radicalised you?” As if there was some moment that changed a person’s political beliefs and rearranged their perspective on the world.

Here’s the thing. I feel like my perspective is from the floor, skewed and sore after I fell between two stools, always unable to find an identity amongst wider British culture. I grew up too comfortable, too spoiled and too well-spoken to call myself working class, but I was easily alienated by schoolfriends with multiple bathrooms and university-educated parents. My interests and my sentiments aren’t supposed to be working class, but many of my life experiences and even philosophies are. I know what it’s like to memorise Shakespeare and to explain themes in Romantic-era art, as much as I know what it’s like to fight government systems that are ostensibly supposed to help, to be unable to afford your own home, to walk into a supermarket and look at staple foods you still can’t afford. You think about Descartes and then you think about which dinner provides the cheapest way to keep your body alive.

When I was a kid I remember going to friend’s houses where they were too poor to clean the carpet, or seeing them lose a parent to lung cancer, or the time someone showed me a gun hidden in their brother’s car. As an adult I wrote to my politicians to ask them what they were doing about poverty, about education, about the cost of living. I went to protests and signed petitions and supported charities both practically and financially. I suppose I was trying to articulate some of the skills I’d learned from in some situations to articulate the experiences I’d had in others. Surely you have to do something.

I both resent and appreciate aspects of both classes and I imagine I’ll never work out who I am or what I’m supposed to call myself. But I do know there are vastly different worlds and vastly different experiences within British culture and that many continue to be overlooked even when in plain sight. And it’s what I find most frustrating.

If there was one thing I learned, if not one thing that radicalised me, it wasn’t simply that poverty never goes away, it’s that it always needs to be explained. There are always, always people who don’t get it, who don’t notice it, who don’t want to think about it or who will puzzle over it from a distance as if it were some transient mirage they can never hope to touch. Those in power will continue to make decisions about poverty that they do not experience, in spite of the fact that making financially comfortable people the authority on money is like making able-bodied people the authority on wheelchair access, like making men the authority on women’s bodies, like making white people the authority on racism.

And so, ten years on, here I am again, writing about Tottenham, about class, about poverty and about ignorance, and only from a slightly different angle. I will write about these things more, not least because I’ve already started another work on these themes, but mostly because I will always need to. I don’t imagine that, during my lifetime, the explaining will ever stop. I don’t imagine that our societies will give up on punishing people for being poor in a world where it is so often simply too expensive to be alive. And I don’t imagine I will have any more patience for people who imagine it will all blow over.

I refuse to let you middle-class your way out of this.

I don’t have any solutions to these enormous and complex problems. I don’t have exhaustive lists of who exactly to blame or where precisely everything has gone wrong. But here’s what I believe: If we don’t talk about poverty, and if we don’t listen to those caught inside of it, it will never go away, and there will be infinitely more Tottenhams.

[cipher-fresh]

Just Out Of Reach

Posting on tumblr due to Discord's character limit, this one's a lot longer than my other ones. A prompt from @marlinspirkhall about how food on the holodeck doesn't exist once you step off it got me thinking. TW for violence, injury, blood, food, eating disorders I think (?? rather safe than sorry) and long-term distress. Thank you for the Federation gothic prompt!

It's fuzzy, you remember the ship leaving spacedock after repairs, and some of the anticipatory silence as the odd lack of Dominion ships greeted your rush toward the Bajoran sector to help recapture Deep Space Nine and the Bajoran wormhole. You had never been this far away from home, but you'd tried to steel yourself. The red alert had blared in your ears, and you don't remember much else. You look down. You're bleeding. You curse, and look around for medical supplies.

You're in a dark building, with debris strewn around. A force field makes it's presence known as a hurtling piece of Dominion ship tailwing is stopped in it's tracks from perhaps it's original destiny of destroying wherever you were. If there was a forcefield up, there must be an energy source. You find you had crash-landed here, as there's an escape pod near the fallen bulkheads. You saddle up with the materials from the escape pod, and hunt around for any available resources on whatever man-made, oxygenated building you'd been lucky enough to land in. You put your bag down, and take off your Starfleet outer shirt. You're still wearing the gray undershirt, and over it you tie the main shirt over the wound. You wish it had been an easier area to tie, like your lower leg, and press on. After a trek over fallen metal, everything from large carts, a whole shuttle, bulkheads and PADDs, you find the opposite wall, marked with a plaque designating it the Miyamoto, a mini-space station hardly the size of a neighborhood street. Some place, you scoff. It feels like a shadowy castle fallen into disrepair, with the flickering lights looking like the occasional sunbeam brightening it. Atmospheric, at least, if it wasn't going to comfortable. It feels as if you could almost hear sad music, accentuating just quite how dark the station was, cold and alone. The Miyamoto station echoes sadly, the destruction and carnage of Dominion and Federation ships making their final stand above the station feeling long off, although you could place it as happening mere hours ago. Continuing onward, you clear a path the best you can of the debris on the ground, in case you round this area again.

You see places that look like shops- the *Miyamoto*, as per it's informational plaque, was a station commissioned and controlled by Starfleet, but it had housed many Federation-aligned planets, that is to say, planets that hadn't joined the Federation for one reason or another, but remained in contact with it, politically or economically. Your journey around the station ends as you look back down at your outer shirt, wrapped around your torso wound, and it's too red with blood for comfort. You take an unfortunate, seething inhale, processing what this might mean. You have no other than the most basic medical supplies on your bag, and you're alone on a mini-space station with debris that was ripe to fall over and crush you at any time. Nobody else seems to have crashed near you. You're alone, on an at least semi-functioning, mini-space station. And you were determined to survive. The bleeding cut on your torso should be dealt with first. Can't look for food or set up a distress call if you're bleeding to death. You take a tricorder from the bag, and scan around for anything useful. It picks up gauze a few meters ahead of you. Better than your shirt, certainly. You navigate toward it with the tricorder's map, and it navigates you to a holodeck, you recognize from the doors. Gauze in the holodeck? You thought the violin music had been a symptom of a bleeding body and the brain processing your day, but no, the violin was louder. Getting closer to the holodeck, that made more sense. It was extremely lucky the program was still running. You walk inside. The inside is a gothic, turn-of-the-century sort of laboratory. Indeed, a holodeck character playing a violin spots you, and huffs.

"You're bleeding. Are you looking for my partner, Dr. Watson?"

You take a moment- oh, this was a Sherlock Holmes program. You doubt Dr. Watson could help you, but then you take a moment to think. Emergency Medical Holograms are just as holographic as Dr. Watson here, and they have helped millions of people. You're too tired to act, so you ask him, "Yes, I need a doctor. Can you get him?" Too much also eating at your mind to enjoy the program, Dr. Watson fixes you up in the flat. You wince at the old medical technology, and wish the two of them lived in a period of time with more current medicinal knowledge. - Wait. "Computer?" you say. "Change the time period to, uh, 22nd century. No, I mean, to today. 24th century. Keep Sherlock and Watson with me." The computer responds to your request, and you see the program change around you. You laugh at the mystery-solving duo's updated outfits for the 24th century, then look back at Dr. Watson. It's a little jarring how seamlessly they continue from the jump in time, but better that than their program stop working. Watson asks a replicator- a holographic replicator, which makes you laugh a little bit, for a dermal regenerator, and you get patched up. "Stick around for a cup of tea?" Watson asks. "Sherlock really wants to know why you broke into our flat." You consider it. You've heard jokes from non-Federation species when trying out holodecks for the first time, "Calories don't count on the holodeck!" Anything you eat here wouldn't sustain you, the minute you left the holodeck. You could activate this program so long as there was energy to the station, but food was a priority. Assuming the *Miyamoto* had been in a tussle just a few hours ago during your fly-over to Deep Space Nine, now was a crucial time to find genuine replicators before they went offline. You leave the holodeck. You see the gauze over your injury (kept for good measure) disappear as you exit the holodeck, but not the skin you'd grown back from the dermal regenerator. The gauze was holographic, but the stimulated skin cells and tissues were not. You follow the path set by rounding around the small, circular station, and tracing your steps back through the cleared path you made. Your injury healed, you could now look around and find something to eat. You follow around a downloaded map of the *Miyamoto* from the plaque's infochip, and hunt down all the replicators marked on the station. One by one, they're all broken, in pieces, or missing. Maybe the station was in poor shape to begin with. You take another trip around- at least you're getting plenty of exercise in, you halfheartedly cheer- and visit all the food shops. You raid the fridges, cabinets and cupboards, and still find nothing. Intending to not be disheartened, you sit down for a moment. Your hunger is suddenly made aware to you, your vision swirling. Not good, you decide. Your stomach hurts, and you try to remember the last time you ate. Breakfast on- on the *USS Halay*. Maybe tea with Dr. Watson wouldn't be so bad, you assure yourself. You have some food with the two of them, think of a new plan, then go back out there and find some food. Some water, while you're at it, too. You walk back, and almost trip over debris you swore you moved out of your path. You enter back to the holodeck, and smell the fresh air. You find Watson and Sherlock again, and you're offered a pastry you can't remember the name of. You eat, and have some tea, and you feel at peace. You're still directly aware of the stakes, you're stuck on a space station in the middle of nowhere, but you're at least still alive. And going from desperately hungry out there to the sweet scent of buttered pastries in here in a still-peaceful London before the Dominion invaded was a sense of home you'd missed. You sat down, and considered your optics. If you left now, you'd probably be just as hungry as before, but here, you could come up with a plan, and make the time before it worth it. You clued in the holographic Sherlock and Watson into it, without exposing to them they were holograms. Quite tricky, it was, but you were glad they got over

their suspicions and were just willing to help. You and the two problem-solvers looked over the schematics of the *Miyamoto*, and found from your walkaround of the station, the replicator at the Bolarian food shop was the least broken- it had gotten halfway to forming bread before it puttered out. Although not quite a chief engineer, this seemed to be your only option. You picked back up your supplies from the escape pod that you'd kept with you, and journey off to the replicator. You feel the distinct hunger pangs as soon as you leave, and almost regret leaving. Little matter. You'd already gone and done it, you might as well make it worthwhile. You get to the replicator, and try to recall your engineering training. Basic engineering design over necessary machines like replicators and transporters were required classes at the Academy, and you couldn't remember a thing from it. You open a hatch at the back and fiddle with some of the wires and steel EPS hubcaps, and put everything back into place. Not ever quite sure what to do, you feel a fog in your brain, you know you're putting a square peg in a round hole as you try to fix this. You screw things on and off, scan it, flip a switch. Closing the hatch, you hit it for good measure, and try replicating food again. It produces a gray slop of what could only technically be edible, organic material. You take your tricorder out and get a holo-scan of it. A moment of darkness in your vision, you fall to the ground. You're really feeling it. You hold a hand to your stomach, and close your eyes tight. It hurts, it does. You could make the feeling go away, if you just went back.

A deep breath, and you turned around. Just back for a second.

Desperate to get back to the holodeck, you're assured you can figure out the replicator's problem with the holo-imager scans. You get back inside, and feel the pleasant, clean air, and walk back inside. Ravenously, you scarf down the food given to you, and you can feel your mind finding clarity again. If you could find a way to fix the replicator while inside the holodeck, you'd be set. You could fix it there, and only be hungry from the minute you walked over to the replicator, no brain fog as you tried to fix it. Maybe engineers had "Don't fix things on an empty stomach" as a rule. If not, they should. You spend a few more hours there, going over the specs of the replicator, sitting in the nice flat. It's an amalgamation of every depiction of 221B ever put to screen, and all the books are real, wholly scripted ones. You chuckle, certainly sure only a man of fiction could read so many books, bookshelves stacked wall to wall. Many of them had frantically scribbled notes and writings in them. After some time, you fall asleep. You're woken up by Watson, telling you again that you need to wake up. You rub your eyes, and consider everything from the day previous. Hungry, stuck on a space station with no food, and surviving in the holodeck. This would be a lovely nightmare to wake up from, eh? Lovely, for the fact you're waking up, you joke. "-get out there and find something to eat or your body will starve. Please. The program-" You burst out from under the blanket on the couch. Dr. Watson looks at you. "Sherlock and I put together that you're on a holodeck. Incredible inventions, truthfully, but what is more important now is your life. You haven't eaten in how long? A human would starve after not eating for-"

"About a week. But without water is a different story. Three days, at most." Sherlock filled in. You swallowed. Wonderful. You look back at Watson. "Please, we're trying to help you. You need to head back out there." That's the last thing you want to do.

Neither of them were being helpful. "Look, we can't leave the holodeck. All we can do is-" "I don't care!" you yell. "I'll just-stay in here until I figure it out." The two exchanged looks with each other. Watson got closer to you. You feel small. Threatened. "You're Starfleet, right? You haven't even given us your name. How about you-" You lash out. "Computer, delete characters Sherlock and Watson." "Not possible." "Fine! Delete whatever you need to get rid of them." "Confirmed." the computer says. The two of them phase out of existence. You breathe heavily. You hope they won't be mad at you. "Computer, change scenery. Somewhere on Earth. As far away from Sherlock as possible." "Changing location to Dunedin, New Zealand." the computer replied. You stop, and catch your breath. You'd just- stay in here. For a while. Yeah.

The systems of the Miyamoto station degrade. The holodeck, over time, begins to lose critical imaging projectors. One corner of the holodeck shows the depressingly bare and black wall, the whole program not covering the entire room. You try not to mind. You sleep. If you could just- just learn how to fix the replicator....no. You have everything you need right in here. Everything....you need. You take an arduous breath. The holodeck doors have sealed shut. The imagers have stopped working. You're trapped inside. A lone Starfleet officer starves to death on a holodeck, over an agonizing three days, just as Sherlock predicted. The Miyamoto station is destroyed by the Breen a year later, unimportant and completely alone. If one listened closely, passing an unimportant, tiny little station, they may have heard faint music of a violin.

[starfleetimagines]

Mobile Masterlist

I figured it might be easier for my readers to find my previous imagines if I make a mobile masterlist that I update at the same time as I update my desktop one. So here it is! I’ll add to it when I post new imagines, so it should always be up to date. Some imagines are listed in multiple series if the character is found in both - like Q or Pike, for example.

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi (it’s as low as $1CAD and it’ll go towards my education funds) or check out my commissions! Please check my bio and title to see if requests are open before requesting.

Alternate Original Series/The Original Series:

Being Leonard “Bones” McCoy’s younger sister would include…

Leonard “Bones” McCoy - “Have you lost your damn mind?!”

Being Jim Kirk’s twin would include…

Jim Kirk - “I can’t explain right now, but I need you to trust me.”

Jim Kirk - “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

Leonard “Bones” McCoy - “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

Leonard “Bones” McCoy - “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Leonard “Bones” McCoy - mismatched uniforms

Leonard “Bones” McCoy - you get hurt

Leonard “Bones” McCoy - medical anxiety

Montgomery “Scotty” Scott- “That’s a promise.”

Leonard “Bones” McCoy- flirting in sickbay

Pavel Chekov - Period Cuddles

Pavel Chekov - Moving Forward

Jim Kirk - Family

Leonard “Bones” McCoy - Shore Leave

Montgomery “Scotty” Scott - Open Waters

Dating Leonard “Bones” McCoy Would Include…

Being Pavel Chekov’s Betazoid Wife Would Include…

Leonard “Bones” McCoy - Study Date

Spock and Uhura’s Wedding Would Include…

Leonard “Bones” McCoy - Dance Practice

Pavel Chekov - Set Up

The Enterprise Crew Finding Out You’re Bisexual Would Include…

Montgomery “Scotty” Scott x Jayla - Graduation

Spock and Uhura Having A Baby Would Include...

Spock - “To say that was unexpected is an understatement.”

Spock - Fireplace

Deep Space Nine:

Julian Bashir - “Cuddle me.”

Julian Bashir - “It’s almost midnight.”

Julian Bashir - “Just kiss me.”

Odo - “Are you hurt?”

Julain Bashir - “Please hold me.”

Benjamin Sisko - “How do you cope?”

Garak - “I’ll keep you warm.”

Dukat - you get hurt trying to defend him

Odo - you’re his adopted child

Miles x Keiko x Reader - Sunflowers

Julian Bashir - Insecurities

Enemies To Lovers With Odo Would Include…

Garak - Pregnant

Garak - Lulled To Sleep

Quark (platonic) - Marital Advice

Garak - “So, you like me?”

Garak - Rescue Party

Julian Bashir - Growing Family

Garak - Presents

Ezri Dax x Julian Bashir - Moving In

Julian Bashir (platonic) - Worries

Kira Nerys - Stress

Kira x Dax - Pride Month

Weyoun - “I don’t understand.”

Nog x Jake - Pleasure

Weyoun - “You’re the only one for me.” [NSFW]

Weyoun - “Please wake up.”

Enemies to Lovers With Kira Nerys Would Include...

Weyoun 6 Living on the Station Would Include...

Worf x Jadzia - “I love us.”

Weyoun - “Why did you take that shot for me?”

Cuddling With Weyoun Would Include...

Discovery:

Gabriel Lorca - “Did I stutter?”

Ash Tyler - “I need you.”

Saru - Christmas Gifts

Saru - You’re Overworked

Michael Burnham - “That was hot.”

Michael Burnham - She Saves Your Life

Saru - Confidence Boost

Christopher Pike - Longing

Christopher Pike - Longing part 2

Sylvia Tilly - Romance In Sickbay

Saru - Homesick

Ash Tyler x Michael Burnham - “Breathe with me.”

Christopher Pike - You’re In Labour

Being Saru’s First Officer and Best Friend Would Include...

Spock - “To say that was unexpected is an understatement.”

Enterprise:

Jonathan Archer - “Leave her alone.”

Malcolm Reed - you’re his sister

Trip Tucker - de-con talks

Malcolm Reed - PDA

Jonathan Archer - jefferies tube acoustics

Jonathan Archer - “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

Jonathan Archer - “For some reason, I’m attracted to you.”

Dating Jonathan Archer would include…

Malcolm Reed - “Stop talking about the past, I could be dead in a matter of hours… make me up a future.”

Being friends with Trip Tucker would include…

Jonathan Archer - “Go then, leave! See if I care!”

Malcom Reed - “Oh my god! You’re in love with them!”

Trip Tucker - you’re shy

Jonathan Archer - “I thought you were dead.”

Malcolm Reed - you’re taken hostage

Trip Tucker - sleepless nights

Malcolm Reed - “You make me feel like I’m not good enough.”

Jonathan Archer - “That’s almost exactly the opposite of what I meant.”

Being Trip Tucker's  twin would include…

Malcolm Reed - “Go then, leave! See if I care!”

Jonathan Archer - dress shopping

Jonathan Archer - pillow fights

Trip Tucker being your boss would include…

Cheering Jonathan Archer up would include…

Phlox - you avoid him

Jonathan Archer - nightmares

Helping Trip Tucker in engineering would include…

Jonathan Archer - horseback riding

Malcolm Reed - cuddles after a mission

Jonathan Archer - hideouts

Malcolm Reed - “Because I love you.”

Phlox - Trip sets you two up

Jonathan Archer - “This shuttle was roomier before I realized I’m attracted to you.”

Malcolm Reed - “Can I kiss you?”

Malcolm Reed - sexting on PADDs

Phlox - you hide an injury from him

Trip Tucker - “It was just a dream.”

Jonathan Archer - “Am I dreaming?”

Trip Tucker - “I just want you to hold me.”

Malcolm Reed - Emotional Trauma

Malcolm Reed - He Sees Your Scars

Trip Tucker - “Thank God you’re okay.”

Malcolm Reed - You’re Ill

Malcolm Reed - “I don’t fit in.”

Trip Tucker - Restless Nights

Enemies To Lovers With Malcolm Reed Would Include…

Malcolm Reed - Labouring Mission

Trip Tucker - Jealousy [NSFW]

Dating T'Pol Would Include…

Malcolm Reed - Nightmares

Trip Tucker - Tension

Malcolm Reed - Destiny

Malcolm Reed - “I’m broken.”

Malcolm x Trip - Caught [NSFW]

Shran - Blue Boy

Trip x T'Pol - New Life

Malcolm Reed - The Way I See You

Malcolm Reed - Confessions

Being Trip Tucker’s Sibling and Jonathan Archer’s Partner Would Include…

Trip Tucker - Helping Hand

Being Pregnant With Phlox’s Baby Would Include...

Malcolm Reed - Destressing [NSFW]

Jonathan Archer - Too Busy

Trip Tucker - “You can’t protect me forever.”

Malcolm Reed - Mistletoe

Picard:

Chris Rios - “Thank you for not dying.”

Elnor - Quiet Time

Strange New Worlds:

Christopher Pike - Longing

Christopher Pike - Longing part 2

Christopher Pike (platonic) - Mentor

Christopher Pike - Brink of Death

Spock - “To say that was unexpected is an understatement.”

Spock - Fireplace

The Next Generation:

Falling in love with Data would include…

Dating Data would include…

Data - “Is there a special reason as to why you’re wearing my shirt?”

Data - you tell Tasha and Deanna about your crush

Worf - “You did this for me?”

Data - pet names

Data - “You never told me you had a fucking twin.”

Jean-Luc Picard flirting with you would include…

Q loving you would include…

Being friends with Worf would include…

Jean-Luc Picard - he realizes he loves you

Data - “When I picture myself happy … it’s with you.”

Will Riker - midnight visits

Will Riker being a father figure to you would include…

Data - he protects you

Data - bathing with the emotion chip

Data - you repair him

Will Riker - cuddles

Dating Wesley Crusher would include…

Data - he teaches you how to fight

Will Riker - “I’m sorry I had to kick you out when you were possessed.”

First time with Jean-Luc Picard would include…

Data - “I think I forgot how to breathe.”

Q - “You’re so hot when angry.”

Wesley Crusher - “You said my name in your sleep.”

Data - you get caught kissing

Data - hometown trip

Data - stuck on a cold planet

Will Riker- “If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

Deanna Troi crushing on a girl would include…

Data - “Are you hurt?”

Reginald Barclay - Fencing

Reginald Barclay - Unexpected

Data - Teacher

Deanna Troi - Feeling Down

Data - First Meetings

Wesley Crusher - Hidden Talents

Being Will And Deanna’s Child Would Include…

Visiting Risa With Will Riker Would Include…

Will Riker - Confessions

Beverly and Jean-Luc’s Date Nights Would Include…

Data - First Date

Having Worf as a Father Figure Would Include…

Will Riker - All Partied Out

Data - “You must breathe.”

Will Riker - “I love you.”

Coming Out As Bisexual To Q Would Include…

Being Married to Jean-Luc Picard Would Include…

Worf - “What were you thinking?”

Data - Art Teacher

Beverly Crusher - “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Being a Scientist and Dating Q Would Include...

Data - “I suppose we would make a good couple.”

Voyager:

B'Elanna Torres - best friends

Going on a date with the Doctor would include…

Tom Paris - date night

Kathryn Janeway- “You’ve only heard his side of the story. You never asked for mine.”

Doctor - “I love you, you asshole.”

Harry Kim - “I thought you were dead.”

Being friends with Tom and Harry would include…

Chakotay - near death confessions

Icheb - you’re shy

Being Harry Kim’s twin would include…

Being shy around the doctor would include…

Q Loving You Would Include…

Doctor - “You did this for me?”

Being Icheb’s friend would include…

The doctor being jealous would include…

Tom Paris - kidnapped

Harry Kim - “This shuttle was a lot roomier before …”

Keeping the doctor company would include…

Q junior - “You’re hot. Shame about your personality.”

Chakotay - “You love me.”

Q - “You’re so hot when you’re angry.”

Harry Kim - mismatched uniforms

Dating Icheb would include…

Harry Kim - he proposes

Kathryn Janeway - you’re insecure

Icheb - first date

The Doctor - talent show

Harry Kim - “Please don’t go.”

Dating Q Junior Would Include…

Chakotay x Kathryn Janeway - Dancing The Night Away

Date Night With Chakotay Would Include…

Tom Paris - Old Flames

Dating Tuvok Would Include…

Dating Seven Of Nine Would Include…

Q Junior Being Jealous Would Include…

Harry Kim - You’re Tom’s Sister

Tom x B'Elanna - “I’m scared, all right?!”

Kathryn Janeway - Locked Up

Being Kathryn Janeway’s Kid and Living on Voyager Would Include…

Coming Out As Bisexual To Q Would Include…

Tom Paris (platonic) - Different

Seven of Nine - Exploring

The Doctor (platonic) - Aromantic

Comforting Kathryn Janeway Would Include…

Tom Paris - “You are enough.”

Cuddling With Q Would Include…

Kathryn Janeway - Here For You

Friends to Lovers With Chakotay Would Include...

Harry Kim - Avoidance

Being a Scientist and Dating Q Would Include...

[bigpandahero]

The legacy of appetence(欲望遗产 written by 此人已死  in Lofter）

the original writer :此人已死

the original link:https://ryuusuke.lofter.com/post/1cc28a98_1cb209a44

chapter 2

Salmon

 The first time Wang Yao received a call from Edward von Bok was when Ivan was busy laying wallpaper, and the overly cautious and low voice followed the electric current into Wang Yao's ears.

"Who are you?"

"Lover."

"...What about the boss?" A smart man always knows which voices to ignore.

"He's doing decoration." Wang Yao was chewing gum feeling little bored.With sticky bubbles blowing in his mouth, his voice sounded very vague.

"This is Edward. The metal paint of the original order is out of stock. The other party wants to change the brand. Be in the shop before two o'clock in the afternoon. Wish you a good day and goodbye."

The other party hung up after speaking, without even giving Wang Yao a second to say goodbye.

Neither party left a good impression on that call. And this time, Wang Yao stared at the caller's name, he had a hunch that it would not be much better than the former one.

Wang Yao didn't take the initiative to speak after answering the phone, so the person opposite seemed to perceive something and hesitated to speak.

“Where is the boss?”

Wang Yao was silent, glanced at the person who was eating in the dog pot on the open space next to the dining table.He walked up to him angrily, kicked his dog pot, and the food was scattered all over the floor.

He held the phone in the direction of Ivan, and then Edward heard a string of angry dog barks in the receiver.

This time Edward hung up directly.

It may be difficult for most people to imagine that a person will be like a dog, because for humans, walking on the ground with hands and feet is very funny and unbearable.

But Ivan, oh no, it's Los, he is a dog through and through.

It walks slowly and gracefully, and likes to rub its head on the side of your trousers to coquetry. Those purple eyes had discarded the complexity of human nature, crushed some simple kindness and gentleness, leaving you with the most sincere trust and company. It will always be your most loyal Los.

But Wang Yao didn't like it, which meant he had to take care of it, do all the housework, and sometimes even prevented it from estrus.

 What a joke, even if it had a look of human, he wouldn't have sex with a dog.

Even in just a few short hours, Wang Yao felt that he was dying.

 He is a useless person.

His hands were never flexible and powerful, he couldn’t lift heavy things as easily as Ivan who could even wring out a square rag. Walking for him was also a little inconvenient, which is the reason why he doesn't like to go out.

 When it rains, the bones of the whole body will scream in the figure with pain, and he is so annoyed that he couldn’t wait to take them out and smash them to ashes. At first, Wang Yao didn't realize that there were other personalities hidden in Ivan's body, because they were somewhat similar, and they were not quite easy to be distinguished.

July 3, 2015

 As an adult, Wang Yao and his acquaintance were not very good, worse than the vomit of a hangover.

 Wang Yao stood in the back alley of the bar to sober up. He curled his hands and feet in the cold wind and stared at the puddles on the ground in a daze. He was a bartender, but his works tasted terrible. The reason why he can still work in the bar was only because the guests like his beautiful and young face. The price is that strangers often try to get him drunk.He always gritted his teeth with ulterior motives,supporting his shaky body. .

The rough sound of door opening behind him, and he shuddered.

A drunkard stumbled out from the back door of the bar—he had light blond hair and was as pale as a ghost in the moonlight.The soles of the feet were crushing the gravel, making a disturbing sound in the dark alley,his tall body swallowed the moonlight into the shadows, and he strode towards Wang Yao with his strong fists, rude and frightening.

“Mister......”

Even after a quite long time, Wang Yao never said a whole word in front of this man.

He fell to the ground with a fist, nosebleeds running down his dry lips to his chin. The nosebleeds converged into droplets of thick plasma, burrowed into the soil and disappeared.

“Не повезло тебе, коротышка." (Unlucky for you,imp.)

The man stepped over his fallen body, chanting words of inexplicable meaning, and walked deep into the alley.

Familiar voices pierced into Wang Yao's ears, and memories of wandering around midnight for countless times appeared in his brain. Cold sweat oozes from his palms, and those dark thoughts disturbed him.

I had studied Russian for three years just to remember one of your swear words. "please wait! "

Wang Yao grabbed the stranger's trousers, half of the man's face hidden under the heavy scarf, only a pair of dark purple eyes squinted at his embarrassed body from the night sky. "Tell me your name! имя!" "Отпусти свою руку, Сука." (Let go of your hand, bitch.)

The man tapped his tongue impatiently, and easily pulled the corner of his clothes back from his weak hand.He kicked the bow tie on Wang Yao's chest with his toes flat, leaving the opponent with an indifferent back.

Damn it.

Wang Yao quickly got up and drew a broken wine bottle from the trash can. He clenched the narrow mouth of the bottle with both hands, and slammed it down at the golden head.

He was not strong enough to smash the wine bottle, but he still let the hapless guy kneel down on the ground.

“Fuck！”

The man covered the back of his head, which was bleeding. He curled up and whimpered vaguely.

He stood up swayingly, squeezing a drop or two of emotionless tears into his eyes, looking at Wang Yao in confusion.

“Are we fighting?”

Wang Yao stared at the man, threw away the wine bottle in his hand, and slammed it on the ground. He rubbed his hands, wiped his nosebleeds, and smiled pleasantly.

“Damn it!We are making love !Now,tell me your name,Russian.”

If anyone asks, Wang Yao will explain like this ---the god of love broke out of the ground and gave him a blow,  feeling like being struck by lightning.

In the early morning of the next day, the victim and the offender did not show up at the police station, but the church

They applied for a marriage license and even took a photo.

The pale picture frame froze them,there was neither smile nor hug .They were like gangsters who were about to go to jail.

At that time, Wang Yao hadn't realized that the person was not Ivan. If he knew, he would fight to death with that person in the alley,but kissing him,making the promise”I would never leave you” like a woman.

See ,what big trouble he caused himself.

Wang Yao forget to close the door when he went out to check the mailbox.Los slipped out of the door, chasing behind his ass .

The Labrador next door was playing frisbee with itself in the yard. He was really clever. Wang Yao wanted to learn how to train dogs from his owner.

The frisbee flew into Wang Yao's lawn for the twentieth time. Wang Yao was trying to snatch it from Los's mouth and return the frisbee to the poor Labrador.

"Los! Fuck, let go of your mouth!If the neighbor saw me I would be arrested to the fucking jail! Damn it!"

Los showed silver canine teeth, clutching the Frisbee tightly, squatting on the ground like a dog, and made a threatening sound in his mouth.

"Well, buy you a Frisbee! A new one! Bigger than this!" Lost reluctantly let go, and Wang Yao was finally able to get the Frisbee that had been gnawed by a dog.The Frisbee was still stained with human sleeping fluid, which turned into a shiny perverted medal on the Frisbee.

Wang Yao wanted to die.

But Los loved Wang Yao a lot.

In the corner of the bedroom, there was a large cardboard box with its name crookedly written in a pencil. It was filled with dog bones and strange sex toys, as well as socks and Wang Yao's panties that had been put in by himself.

He threw the Frisbee back into the yard next door, and then heard a dissatisfied dog barking from the other side-it must be because it was covered with the smell of Los.

Wang Yao dragged him into the house before he opened his mouth and howled in an attempt to quarrel with the Labrador.

In this regard, Mr. Braginsky knew that he had a dog in his body. Every time he changed back to his master, he would be silent for a long time.

*Discloseable information:

Edward is a man who engraved caution into his DNA, and he is the only person in the auto repair shop who knows the truth and is not afraid of Ivan. Wang Yao had met Ivan a long time ago, and he was three years younger than the opponent.

-----------------------tbc.------------------------------

[shattered-mirror-fanfic]

Took way too long but it’s here, enjoy!

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32206135/chapters/82349017

Chapter below the cut for my readers who don’t prefer Ao3

Henry walked back onto the campgrounds, books in hand with Frisk following close behind. It was close to becoming 1 o’clock to their surprise. 

“Guess we spent longer in the library than we thought, guess we gotta apologise to Toriel about being almost a half hour late home” Henry spoke, knowing he was in trouble for keeping Frisk away for so long.

“Mom most likely won’t mind if she knows that you were keeping me safe Mr. Henry” Frisk replied smiling. Henry nodded and the two entered the camp that was their temporary home.

“Hey kid, I’m gonna pop your books in your tent ok? Why don’t you got snatch us some lunch?” Henry asked. Frisk nodded and hurried over to the camps center to see if Toriel had any leftover pie for them. After Henry left Frisk’s books in their tent he made his way over to the medical tent, only to see Right Hand Man inside, sitting on a chair next to the table where a large container was, holding the fragments of their chief’s soul. 

“Hey ‘enry” The man said, in a surprisingly soft tone. Heny set the book down on the table and pulled out a chair, sitting on it a tad awkwardly with it’s back in front of him. 

“What’s up boss? Is the chief’s death really hitting that hard?” Henry questioned.

“He’s not-! No, he’s not dead.” The Right Hand Man argued. Henry frowned, knowing something was off.

“Well if he’s not dead, then how come his prized medallion is draped over the tank with his broken soul?” The white-haired man asked, tilting his head to the side.

“You shut your damned mouth or ah swear…” Right spoke with his thick australian accent adding an extra layer of intimidation. 

“Okaaay, you’re going through some stuff, I’ll let you be.” Henry quickly responded. He sat up and walked out of the tent quickly to avoid getting Right Hand Man in more of a huff, just to bump into a familiar short yellow lizard. “Oh hey Doc, sorry ‘bout that.” 

“I-it’s fine, have you seen the Right Hand Man? I meant to talk to him about your boss's soul.” She asked. 

“Mister five stages of grief is in there.” Henry answered, pointing a thumb back to the tent he was just in. “Actually, have you seen Ellie? Meant to ask her something.”

The scientist twiddled her thumbs a bit before answering. “No, but she did leave a note saying she would be back by dinner, I have no idea where she is though”

“Damnit Ellie, be more specific next time.” Henry muttered.

~~~

Ellie wasn’t too fond of her soul trait. PERSEVERANCE had the lamest magic in her opinion, DETERMINATION could bend time, BRAVERY could teleport, JUSTICE could make people tell the truth, KINDNESS could heal and make shields, PATIENCE could freeze in place to avoid damage, INTEGRITY could change gravity, but PERSEVERANCE...it could only make plans based on a few minutes of worth of events. It sounds ok at first but in practice it’s not that great. Luckily, this came in handy for plotting a surprise sneak attack against your local government camp after they killed your boss. 

The red-head was positioned behind a bush up on a short cliff only a bit away from said government camp. She pulled out her walkie talkie and leaned in.

“Hey Svensson, you got the coordinates for the government rats?” She asked, in response she got a groan.

“Yes I did, and I am still your superior, so it’s Mr. Svensson to you.” He complained on his end. 

“Well Mr. Pain in the ass, ready to beam down the rocket launcher?”

“For the third time, you aren’t getting a rocket launcher. I’m sending down Burt, Carol and a few others.”

“Man, do you not trust me with explosives?”

“Not after the ‘Me and Henry are going to rob a chuck e cheese’ incident.”

“It was fun and it was one time!” She all but shouted into the device. She turned it off and looked back at the camp. So maybe exploding it isn’t a great idea. Ellie glanced over at one of the tents that was larger than the rest, and had a large red medical cross. Bingo.

~~~

“Hey Chara, can I ask you something? Do you know what happened to Asr-” Frisk started.

“No, we don’t mention him.” Chara said, cutting them off. Frisk set down their fork on the plate. 

“Okaaay, then what about Flowey?” Frisk reiterated. 

“Didn’t he want to stay behind? I mean, he thought he wouldn’t survive out here without a soul.” 

“Well what if he was wrong Chara?”

“Don’t tell me you actually cared about that little bugger! He tried to kill you, Frisk!” 

The child sighed and stared up at their ghost companion. 

“He can change, he’s done it before, and he can do it again.”

~~~

The flower in question sat among his non-sentient copies in the beginning of the underground. Or was it the end? He didn’t know, and didn’t care. Flowey sighed, and stared up at the entrance to the underground. No one ever visited him, after all, he tried to kill everyone and steal their souls to become a god. That was only the second time. How would anyone forgive him? No one would. Why would anyone care about him though? He only hurts, it’s all he’s good for. 

No. He won’t hurt again. The golden flower promised himself this, He pondered to himself about how to get out easily. Through personal research he deemed he could only travel for five minutes under the earth before needing to pop back out for at least another minute, as well as, it was difficult staying on the side of a wall without some proper hold. Thinking, Flowey noticed a vine that had fallen some time after the barrier broke. That’ll do. 

Flowey popped down under the ground then resurfaced under the vine. He wrapped one of his own vines on it and slid up it like a snake, reaching the top in under a few minutes. He looked out at the mid afternoon sun, basking in the potential photosynthesis he would gain if he just gave up and stayed a flower forever. But no, he had to keep going. 

After scanning the area a bit he noticed a camp in the distance that took up a hidden clearing. So that's where they went. He thought to himself. But hey, the worst case scenario is that it was a human camp, but he could blend in as some of the natural buttercups that grew around the mountain. It would take a while until he got there, but he knew it would be the start of his redemption.

~~~

“Ok would you rather fight an elephant sized axolotl or a hundred axolotl sized elephants? Honestly, either would do for me.” Chara asked, smiling.

“Am I allowed to spare either? If not then an elephant sized axolotl, it would give up to get to water.” Frisk answered. Henry laughed and leaned back.

“Nah, a hundred axolotl sized elephants, that way they won’t crush you on the way to the water.” He spoke. “Plus, I ain’t a pacifist, I won’t have a burden on my shoulder.” 

“But those are innocent elephants!” Frisked shouted. 

“What if they had caused the deaths of thousands? Then would you reconsider?”

“You’re cruel sometimes Chara.” Henry chuckled. Frisk smiled and knew, maybe more humans were like the toppats, they didn’t seem that bad. 

“Gasp, I, the dead child sharing a soul with another child, is cruel.”

“Ok, ok, you two, reel it in, we’re meant to have a nice picnic, minus the food.” Frisk laughed. It was nice after most of their life living by themself as an orphan, to finally have a family. Sure, they didn’t have an exact father figure, but they had a mom in Toriel, a sibling in Chara, and now an older brother in Henry. It was everything they could ever dream of. 

“Sorry Frisk.” Chara apologized sarcastically. 

“Sorry kid, plus Chara isn’t as cruel as another demon I know.” Henry apologized, gazing at the air next to him like he was gesturing towards someone. But no, player was off minding their own weird business off somewhere that Henry didn’t care. They couldn’t do anything with Henry being there as a physical form. With this, they were most likely trying to chase a squirrel up a tree to find it’s home to (attempt to) destroy it. 

“Speaking of whom, you said you’re in a similar boat to us, yeah? Well, haven’t seen your little soul buddy, where are they?” The red ghost asked, folding their arms. “Seriously, the fact you can see me means you aren’t lying, are you just in stage one?”

“No, they just don’t like people, and people don’t like them. They also much prefer tormenting squirrels than answering questions about elephants and axolotls.” Henry addressed. Chara scrunched their face while Henry just smiled. 

That’s when the two humans felt something off, Frisk in specific heard dirt churning. Chara looked at them oddly as they weren’t sitting to feel the disturbance. That’s when a golden buttercup popped out of the ground. 

“Well, that’s not normal, or I’ve been on the orbital station for too long.” The adult said, questioning himself. That’s when the flower turned its head, showing its face.

“That damned flower got out!” 

“Nice to see you too Chara.” The flower spoke. “Anyways, Howdy! I’m Flowey, Flowey the Flower!” 

“I can tell.” Henry sarcastically responded. 

“Oh goodie goodie, the smiley trashbag comedian has a human twin.” Flowey spoke with a caustic remark, while Chara proceeded to lose their mind laughing at the realization of the similarities. “Anywho, I actually came here to say something.”

“What is it Flowey?” Frisk asked.

“Well…..” He paused. Why couldn’t he do it? He recited what he wanted to say on the way over, he knew he wanted to apologise, but the words wouldn’t form. He couldn’t say sorry, he couldn’t tell them the promise he made to himself...

He just was incapable of feeling true remorse. 

“Of course, typical unfeeling flower. Will want everyone’s attention, then goes silent. Typical.”

“Chara! That was rude!” Frisk scolded. Flowey sighed, and popped back into the ground. Maybe it wasn’t time to repair that burnt bridge.

When Flowey popped back up, he moved himself next to a large tent near the edge of the clearing (as indicated by the large trees next to the tent). Chara was right, I have no soul, I can’t feel… Thoughts like that raced through his mind, he wanted to be better, but without a soul it was useless.

He stared around for something to do when he saw a tall man, leaning against a tree with a cigarette in his hand. 

“Hey, Smokey! Y’know you’re gonna get yourself killed with that!” Flowey snarked loudly at the man. Right Hand Man looked down at the flower with a cold gaze. 

“Wow Einstein, you’ve cracked the code and can leave the simulation now, hurray.” He laughed. Flowey was not amused. Instead he slid up the tree Right was leaning on and sat on one of the low branches. “And hey, ‘anks for the concern, but ah don’t get cigarettes that have tar in ‘em. So I’m lung cancer safe.”

“Huh, didn’t know those existed, anyways, I’m Flowey!” The buttercup had returned to his normal jovial mood.

“Nice to meet ya Flowey, I’m Right Hand Man.” 

“What kind of name is that?”

“What kind of name is Flowey?”

“Touché” The two chuckled a bit, then Flowey asked the question that he completely forgot about in favor of introductions. “Say, why are you smoking in the first place?” 

“Everytime I light a new one, ah ask myself the same thing. Then I remember my best friend is dead, there’s no HOPE left for anyone, and no amount of what if’s are gonna bring him back!” RIght started before going off into a tangent and yelling to himself. 

“Hey big guy, calm down, there’s got to be some way to bring him back, yeah? Do you have his soul?” 

~~~

Honestly, Flowey didn’t expect a yes, and he especially didn’t expect it to be stuck in such disrepair. 

“Holy mother of asgore! What’d you do to him?!” He exclaimed. 

“Only managed to get ‘im in by the time he was like this.” Right answered truthfully. He put a hand on the tank, rubbing it thoughtfully while the flower starred from his new-found perch on the Right Hand Man’s shoulder. 

“Man, rough timing, eh? Anyways, do you perchance have a pot I could dip into? Soil is much more comfortable.” Flowey requested. Right sighed and kneeled down and grabbed a clay pot from under the table that had been left, he went outside and scooped a bit of dirt in before planting Flowey in it. He went back inside and set the pot next to Reginald’s soul tank before sitting onto the chair still left out from the events of earlier today.

“So, did you know that most likely if his being still exists somewhere, like the void, he would be in complete agony? I mean, I myself wouldn’t know as I have no soul, plus I’m a monster, but probably a broken soul would mean a world of pain?” The plant addressed, looking up at the top of the tent before facing the Aussie with the last point. 

“Reg is strong, he can take it, he’s been through worse.” Right replied sternly.

“I’m just saying, if you really cared, you would be working your butt off trying to get him out of this state.”

“Shut it flower boy, Ah don’t need to hear how much of a failure I am.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Flowey retorted, managing to bounce his pot closer to the tank. Two vines shot out of the pot, waving about frantically, acting like arms to demonstrate his frustration. Damn his subconscious want of misery in others, he would definitely need to work on that later. “I’m not saying you failed! I’m just saying you’re lounging around crying about your problems instead of fixing them! There’s plenty of things you could do!” 

“Well do YOU have any smart ideas? Or are ya just goin’ to be a thorn in mah side?!” The toppat argued back. Flowey stewed for a moment before spotting a leather book on the other end of the table, noticing a keyword, soul. He reached for it with a vine.

“Correction, buttercups don’t have thorns. Plus, this book here may do the trick!” He pulled the book to him with immense speed. Too immense in fact that it hit the glass of the soul preserving tank. It wobbled for a moment before tilting off the table. 

Smash!

[pendragonsandbuckleys]

Oh it felt so easy then.

My @malexsanta​ fic for @manesguerin​​, Merry Christmas Sarah!! ✨

This is the first time I’ve ever been given a prompt so I really hope I’ve done it justice. I’ve gone with the prompt ‘lost decade’ and as you may notice by the length of it, it kind of got away from me… but I really hope you like it!

[Also on AO3]

Summary: Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for? 

A look at the lost decade through Michael’s eyes.

Word Count: 21,499

❄️👽🎄💌

Ten years was a long time.

Five hundred and twenty-one weeks to be filled with laughter and tears, friends and family, old secrets and new opportunities. 

Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days to get over a stupid high school crush that was never going to last.

Michael closed the door behind him, furious at the sudden emotions raging inside him. He hadn’t heard from Alex in a long time, hadn’t see him in even longer. So why was his heart racing at the mere sight of the man he once loved.

Glancing at the many whiteboards and notepads filled with scientific scribble and spaceship blueprints reminded Michael that there was so much more than just the thin wall of the airstream keeping them apart. They’d been kidding themselves to even try to make it work. They were two different people with two different lives.

His eyes wandered to the other end of the trailer. He should have thrown out the box long ago, burnt it even.

He had been so proud of the fact that he hadn’t looked inside in months, hadn’t given in to the temptation to see Alex’s delicate penmanship and carefully chosen words. He had most of the letters committed to memory, but re-reading them after a difficult day used to help calm the chaos in his mind.

It had been a long time since he’d forced himself to forget about the box and all it contained but one look at Alex and all the feelings he’d spent months suppressing had come flooding back. The feelings of hope and happiness. Of love.

He slowly walked towards the closet and crouched down to rummage through his belongings. There were a few things piled inside but right at the bottom was what he wanted.

A simple shoebox. The writing on the front was long worn away and the lid was practically falling apart but the box itself wasn’t important. He lifted the lid and a stale scent of roses immediately filled the air. His hand brushed the dried petals to the side before hesitating above the first envelope. 

Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for?

September 2008

It started with the hubcaps.

Well, really, it all started seventy years ago when one innocent eyeliner wearing, music loving boy’s ancestors began a lifelong mission to destroy Michael’s family.

But those goddamn hubcaps. I mean, if he was going to steal anything from Kyle Valenti’s car it could have been something useful. His truck needed a new battery after all.

The thrill of the theft hadn’t quite overpowered the pain in his heart and a night in a cell, alone with his thoughts, definitely hadn’t helped the way he thought it would.

Ever since Alex had told him that he was enlisting, Michael had been acting weird around him. Getting into more and more fights, drinking and smoking and doing all he could to cause trouble, regardless of how much he could see it was hurting Alex.

And every time Alex begged him to get it together, Michael was reminded of the fact that the only person he had ever had feelings for would soon be leaving him. That Alex was choosing to leave him to follow in his father’s footsteps.

So he pushed Alex away. He got himself arrested all for the sake of self preservation which should have felt like a win but really all he had done was waste the last day he could have had with Alex.

It had been a few weeks since Alex had left for Texas for Basic Training and Michael hadn’t heard a single thing from him. Though he couldn’t blame him. Michael had made it very clear that their short lived relationship was over.

And maybe that’s really all it was meant to be. Maybe it was just some summer fling that meant nothing in the long run. Simply a way for two broken people to just breathe for five seconds.

And maybe it was stupid for him to believe it could have been anything more.

As he stared up at the starry night sky from the back of his truck he felt his phone vibrate inside his trouser pocket.

Another text from Isobel no doubt.

She had been trying to get in touch with him all evening. All week in fact. And he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it today.

After graduation she had been adamant that Michael wasn’t going to drift away from them. Not seeing each other just because they were no longer forced to share a classroom was not an option.

So she had taken to texting him. A lot. Mainly mundane things, little updates about her life like a job interview she’d managed to secure or a new boy she was possibly seeing. She’d always try to ask about what he was up to or encourage him to come over for dinner, but that was usually his cue to stop replying. A dead battery or no credit was his go to excuse but there’s no way she really believed him.

He just couldn’t face seeing her or Max, not yet. The horror of Rosa, Kate and Jasmine’s deaths and their decision to cover it up was still so fresh in his mind and any opportunity to not remember it was preferable. 

It was strange, thinking about it. That night was one of the worst nights of his life for two wildly different reasons.

A very personal, homophobic attack that left his hand crushed beyond repair and a triple murder that no one would ever know the real truth about. Not even the person responsible.

And while he just wanted to take his mind off the people involved in one of these for a little while, he never wanted to forget the person involved in the other.

He had no idea if he would ever see Alex again, but just hoped that he was okay. That he was happy. That he was safe. 

And that would have to be good enough for now.

November 2008

Michael’s truck jolted to a stop in the Wild Pony parking lot. 

It was earlier than he’d usually be here but the day drinking was a new thing he was trying. 

He’d been having regrets lately about not taking up the UNM scholarship. He was fully aware that he was more than smart enough to continue with his studies and yeah maybe the courses would be far more mundane than he’d like, but at least he could do something worthy with this life. But then every time he considered re-thinking his decision, his hopes were brought crashing back down to earth with the reminder of why he didn’t go to university in the first place.

He had slowly begun letting Max and Isobel back into his life, a coffee date here and a shopping trip there, but sometimes all the friendly conversations in the world couldn’t stop his desire to just be numb every now and then.

The excessive alcohol consumption was a recent development, but hey, a town drunk has to start at some point, right?

There was a clerk at a gas station a few miles away that had no problems turning a blind eye to his clean shaven baby face and he’d managed to get a fake ID for the more difficult purchases. Such as the Wild Pony. A typical Roswell bar without the added green alien decor. Every local knew the Wild Pony and unfortunately the Wild Pony knew him - or more importantly, his age.

Maybe he’d get lucky today and it would be a new bar tender but if not, then he’d just slip some acetone into a soft drink. That would have to do the trick for now.

It was mid afternoon so there was a decent amount of people inside, but no sign of the rowdy drunks that tended to emerge after dark. The only person working behind the bar was currently wiping down the surfaces as a pair of customers walked away with their drinks.

Michael swaggered confidently past the men at the pool table and the group of girls in the booth that he vaguely recognised from school and perched on one of the stools at the bar. “I’ll have whatever’s cheapest.”

“You got ID?” The bar tender gave him a look that just screamed I don’t have time for your bullshit, but Michael was nothing if not persistent. She walked over, arms folded neatly across her chest, cloth still gripped in one hand, and came to a stop in front of him.

The badge pinned to her denim jacket spelled out her name in thick capital letters but Michael didn’t need to read it. Everyone knew who Maria Deluca was. With her beautiful curls and disarming smile, she was a friend to almost everyone at New Roswell High.

And though she was one of Alex’s oldest friends, Michael had barely said two words to her during their many years walking the same school halls but right now she was his best chance at scoring a drink.

“C’mon Deluca, we don’t have to bother with all that.” He mustered up as much charm as he could manage as he leant forward on the bar but Maria wasn’t swayed, her face set in a clear display of annoyance.

“I told you last time, I’m not getting fired just to help fuel these little angsty life choices you’ve been making recently.”

“Your mom’s not gonna fire you for helping a friend.”

“Oh wow,” Her eyes widened, feigning surprise, “Sorry I wasn’t aware we’d become friends.”

“Well,” Michael shrugged, “Every time I come in, it’s like you’re here waiting for me, so I just thought…” 

“I’m stuck this side of the bar Guerin. I have no choice but to put up with whatever you think is going on right now.”

Michael sniggered as he raised an eyebrow. The chances of him getting drunk anytime soon were dwindling by the second but he was enjoying the banter nonetheless.

“One day. One day I’ll get you to admit how much you love seeing me.”

Maria rolled her eyes as she flipped the cloth over one shoulder. “I am glad you’re here actually.”

“Really?” 

“Yes. It means I don’t have to spend my time trying to track you down.” She rummaged through a bag sitting behind the bar before pulling out an envelope. “Someone clearly knows you well.”

Michael took it from her with a frown. One quick glance at the front confirmed that it was indeed labelled to him, only with the Wild Pony’s address neatly scripted underneath his name.

Who would be sending him a letter? Who even sent letters anymore?

He looked up to ask Maria when it had arrived but she’d already made her way over to the customers at the other end of the bar.

Without hesitation he carefully ripped it open and pulled out the piece of paper inside. Impatient as ever, his eyes immediately darted to the end of the page to see who it was from and he almost fell off the chair at the name signed at the bottom.

It had been four months since he’d seen Alex. Four month since he’d heard his beautiful voice or seen his perfect face. And yet here, in his hands, was a letter from the one person he honestly thought he’d never hear from again.

Someone on a nearby table cheered loudly and Michael was suddenly reminded of where he was. It didn’t feel right, reading Alex’s first words to him in months under the harsh neon lights of the bar so without sparing a second glance at Maria, he practically sprinted all the way to the parking lot, yanking the door open as soon as he reached his truck.

Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper and began reading.

Dear Michael,

I’ve debated writing this letter for a while now, mainly because of how we left things. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep in contact but I’ve been missing some people back in Roswell and I think I just needed to get a few things out of my head. I might not even send this letter, but if you’re reading this then I guess it means my sentimentality won out.

I’ve been thinking about how peaceful the desert is back home. How quiet it would be when we’d park the truck in the middle of nowhere and just lie under the sun for hours. It’s surprising the things you notice yourself missing when you haven’t been somewhere in a while.

There’s so many people here it feels like school all over again. I tried to distance myself from everyone in some last act of defiance, but I’ve ended up making a few friends. Honestly I think it would be impossible to get through this alone.

I’ve finished basic training now. It was harder than I thought it was going to be but I got through it and I’m onto the next phase. We get to choose the specialism ourselves so at least that’s a positive and who knows, maybe I’ll be quite good at it.

I’m going to be here for a least a few months to complete my training before I find out where I’m being assigned so I’ve included my address incase you want to write back.

Whatever it is that you decided to do with your life, I hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

P.S. I’m sorry for sending this to the Wild Pony, I hope Maria got it to you okay. I would have addressed it to ‘Michael Guerin’s Truck’, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t quite reach you.

Michael re-read the letter another three times before he could bear to take his eyes off the page.

Alex had written to him. Amongst all the training and hard work and confusion over how they’d parted, Alex had taken the time to sit down and write to him. 

It was brief and simple and Michael couldn’t stop smiling.

He fumbled trying to get his keys in the ignition before putting the truck in gear, already planning his reply, all desire to get drunk suddenly forgotten.

February 2009

“I don’t pay you to sit around doodling.” Sanders called over gruffly from under the hood of the car he was working on.

“I’ve already finished with Campbell’s jeep.” Michael replied distractedly as he continued to scribble in the notepad.

The repair had needed longer than he had expected so he was taking what he deemed as a well earned break. If the old man had a problem with it then he could go ahead and find a better mechanic. Michael didn’t earn nearly enough to put up with his attitude anyway.

Sitting under the barely put together shelter that Sanders had the audacity to call his workshop, Michael started to scrawl a reply to Alex. Letter number four had arrived just under a week ago and he had yet to come up with a response.

Again addressed to the Wild Pony, Alex had talked about the latest shenanigans of his fellow airmen and how he’d been missing his guitar lately. He never went into detail about the work he was doing but he always made sure to mention that it was going well. Michael could practically visualise him picking out the words very carefully to make sure it didn’t sound like he was boasting, but sometimes it made writing a reply hard.

He was so pleased for Alex. Every letter he received had a more and more happier tone to it and honestly, he was glad that Alex was finding his place in the Air Force. He will always hate that he signed up, but considering he was going to be a part of it for a long time, Michael was just relieved that he had settled in. 

It did mean, however, that his life felt very boring in comparison. What was he supposed to say? Hey Alex, I fixed another car today. I’ll probably be hanging out with Isobel later to spend hours listening to her moan about something before going to sleep in my truck and doing it all again tomorrow.

He was just about to jot something down when something small and hard bounced off his forehead.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Michael rubbed his head and glared at the man.

“Are you listening to me?” Sanders waved the wrench in his hand as he tried to punctuate his point.

“Obviously.”

“What did I say?”

“…words?” Michael replied innocently, throwing his hands up in defeat when Sanders looked ready to throw something else. “Alright, alright sorry, what did you want?”

“The Johnson's SUV needs its engine looking at and when you’re done with that you can change the brake pads on that pickup that came in this morning.”

“On it.” Michael gave a halfhearted salute as he grabbed the closest toolbox and headed out into the sun.

He wasn’t really in the mood to be working in the heat today but at least this way the vehicles were far enough away from Sanders that he wouldn’t have any distractions from his real task.

He’d been grabbing odd shifts at the junkyard since he was fourteen, but last month he’d finally persuaded Sanders to hire him properly. If he was to have any hope of moving out of his truck, he needed to start earning some proper money doing something he was half decent at.

He’d been trying to find a way to work this news into his letter but he couldn’t quite find the words. He didn’t want to admit to himself that it was because he was ashamed, but that’s exactly what it was. Alex was at the start of a prestigious career that would take him across the world, learning new skills and earning decent money.

Michael was a mechanic. Barely.

And he knew that Alex wouldn’t care about the difference in their jobs, he’d just be happy that Michael was a step above wasting his life. It was just so hard to fit everything he really wanted to say into one letter.

Maybe he was struggling so much with the words because he’d much rather say it in person. He hadn’t seen Alex in forever and he missed the simple act of just being with him. Of sitting in the back of the truck, shoulders touching and hands intertwined. The amount of serotonin a short handwritten note could produce was ridiculous but it in no way replaced the feel of having the real thing in front of him.

Though if Alex was feeling anything near the way he was, then maybe it didn’t matter what he wrote. The mere fact that he had replied would hopefully be enough.

April 2009

Isobel looked at him disapprovingly, switching her many bags from one hand to the other. “Really Michael? Just because you live in the desert doesn’t mean you need to actually start dressing like a cowboy.”

A shopping trip with Isobel wasn’t Michael’s first choice for a Saturday afternoon, but he’d had no good excuse to refuse as she practically dragged him to the mall.

For someone who liked to try on almost everything in a single store, Isobel had chosen what she wanted to buy pretty quickly. Now it was Michael’s turn but he honestly wasn’t sure what she expected of him. He’d been living in the same clothes for years now, he didn’t know how to do the whole shopping spree thing.

“You’re the one who wanted to buy me new clothes.”

“Yeah, because I wanted to make you look cool. Not like a nineteen year old version of the Lone Ranger.”

Michael looked in the mirror again. The black cowboy hat resting atop his head was working well with the rancher aesthetic he had going on. It hid his curls and made him look slightly older, giving him more of an edge than his baseball cap could usually muster. 

It just felt right. 

Growing up, he’d never had the chance to really figure out his own identity besides angry, rebellious orphan and going full-on cowboy felt like a good place to start. 

Besides, he looked damn good.

“You’ve already chosen the rest of my wardrobe for me Isobel. You can’t let me make one big boy decision for myself?” Michael gave her a pointed looked as he took the hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

“Fine. Just don’t show Max, he’s already started a godawful belt buckle collection, I don’t want him getting any ideas.” She happily snatched it out of his hand and strutted elegantly to the till.

He had missed these moments with Isobel. The familial feeling of her bossing him around.

No one ever talked about how easy it was to drift apart from people after high school, how the close bonds you thought you’d formed over the lunch table could so quickly disappear once you’re all thrown into the real world.

But the three of them were different. Michael, Max and Isobel, the three children found wandering the desert all those years ago. He hadn’t been able to rid himself of them then and turns out he still couldn’t now. Despite his best efforts to distance himself, they had managed to completely worm their way back into his life over the past few months and honestly he was better off for it.

Today wasn’t the first weekend outing he’d endured and it definitely wouldn’t be the last, but his heart felt a little lighter from having spent it in good company. With the bags heavy in their hands, they grabbed some food at a nearby burger place before calling it a day. He dropped Isobel home and drove to his usual night-time parking spot.

Climbing effortlessly onto the back of the truck, he looked inside the singular bag Isobel had gifted him. He’d come away with a new pair of boots, a few t-shirts and the cowboy hat. Nowhere near enough in Isobel’s opinion but after the reminder that he didn’t exactly have a closet right now she had conceded.

He shoved the bag into the corner and leant forward to pulled out the letter that had been burning a hole in his back pocket all day. He grimaced at the sight of it, with its crease down the middle and its crumpled edges. Isobel had ambushed him coming out of the Wild Pony before he’d had a chance to read it - or put it away - which meant it had been hidden in the only place available at the time.

As much as he loved her, he wasn’t quite ready to share it with her yet.

He unrolled his blanket and threw it around his shoulders, settling back against the truck before opening the envelope. He’d finally told Alex about the junkyard in his last letter and he’d been waiting to hear back for a few weeks now.

Dear Michael,

That’s amazing news about the job! You really are the best mechanic in the whole of Roswell so Sanders is lucky to have you.

You shouldn’t put yourself down though. You used to always be fixing things when I was back home (annoyingly effortlessly from what I remember) so to get paid for doing something you enjoy is kind of the dream, right?

Plus I’m sure the drivers of Roswell will be very grateful to have someone with two eyes checking their brakes are working correctly. I mean, should Sanders even be fixing cars anymore? I swear he can’t even see three inches in front of his face!

Speaking of work, I was thinking about the Emporium yesterday. Have you been inside recently? I wonder if they ever noticed the alien with its head on backwards. Still definitely your fault by the way.

I kind of miss that uniform too, even the visor. I have to wear my uniform all the time now and it’s nowhere near as comfortable. I feel like it’s becoming a part of me, like I’m never going to be able to go home after a long day and forget about everything for a while, it’s just always going to be there.

I’m sure I’ll get used it.

I think we’re being moved in a couple of weeks so I’ll give you my new address when that happens. But for now, I hope you’re okay.

Speak to you soon,

Alex.

Michael leant his head back and watched as the sun slowly began to set behind the trees.

Alex always knew how to make him feel a million different emotions at once. He felt an unfamiliar sense of pride at the praise Alex had offered but reading the boy’s words about his own work made Michael long to have him back with him, away from all the regimented days and looming risk of danger.

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning though, thinking back to the alien statue standing in the corner of the crop circle exhibit. That had been a good day. And yeah, it was definitely his fault.

He was about to put this latest letter away with the rest when an idea came to him. He grabbed the bag that Isobel had lovingly handed over and pulled out the shoebox that had been squeezed inside amongst the various clothes.

He ran his nail across the tape keeping the box sealed, breaking it easily in a single movement, and took off the lid.

He pulled out the new boots, followed by the scrunched up tissue paper intended to keep them somewhat preserved, until he was left with an empty box. It was a decent size, not too big that it would be a pain to store under the passenger seat and not too small that he would run out of space anytime soon.

He’d been keeping the letters in his glove compartment for now but it didn’t quite feel safe enough for something so precious. But this shoebox was perfect. 

He placed the letter inside before heading to the front of the truck and retrieving the rest, slotting them in neatly and closing the lid to keep them secure.

Tonight he’d sleep thinking about the last day he and Alex had shared in the UFO Emporium and as soon as the sun was up, he’d write his reply.

July 2009

Dear Alex,

You’ll never guess what happened today.

I’ve been working every shift Sanders will give me just to save up some cash and like some crazy act of luck an old airstream got dumped at the junkyard last week. It took some convincing but Sanders actually let me buy it off him!

It’s small and pretty run down but I figured it could be a fun project. I am very good with my hands, as you know.

It’s not as glamorous as a house or anything like that, but at least this way I can move out of my truck and into a place with an actual sink. Plus, I reckon I’m the smart one here. No rent to pay? Less space to clean? It’s perfect.

Do you think you’ll be able to visit Roswell soon? You’re probably working hard, getting your geek on and saving the world, but it’s been a while. A year actually, next month.

No pressure, but I look forward to the day I get to officially invite you inside my new place.

Stay safe out there.

Michael

Michael careful wrote his new address on the back, then sealed the envelope and left it by the door as a reminder to post the next time he was in town.

He hadn’t even started to unpack yet, his first priority being to share his big news. He figured that’s what he would have wanted to do if Alex was in Roswell anyway.

The airstream had been dumped a few days ago and though Michael wasn’t aware how much Sanders had paid the guy for it, he was pretty sure it must have cost more for Sanders than it had for Michael. Which was strange.

Since spending almost every day with Sanders, they had definitely worked up some form of workplace bond to some extent. Although some days, it was a wonder Michael could be bothered to engage in the conversations that were mainly a mix of complaints or disinterested grunts.

He must be rubbing off on the old man though because he had given away the airstream at a bargain.

As soon as he’d agreed it with Old Man Simmons that he could park it at Foster Ranch - along with the offer of earning his keep by working the land - he had brought all of his belongings inside and now the next task was to find a place for everything. There may not be much in the three boxes currently sitting on the bed, but they were his. They were the few things that he had been able to actually buy for himself over the past few years and really call his own.

And now that he had a home to put them in, he wanted to do it perfectly.

It felt bizarre to think about. His home. A place he could finally call his own. A place to cook and wash and sleep, safe from the cold and desert dust. The group homes and fosters parents of the past had never let him decorate his own space but now he had the opportunity to make everything his own.

And he knew exactly where to start. The clothes would go in the closet and the limited toiletries would be given their place in the bathroom. That was all obvious, another decision made for him.

But something he could choose for himself?

He picked up the shoebox and peaked inside. It had gained a few more letters since he had started filling it and they were all piled neatly in order.

Looking around, there were several places it could sit.

On the desk would make it the first thing he’d see coming home. But would therefore be the first thing Isobel and Max would go snooping through when they visited.

The drawers next to the closet would keep it safe but they were just too small for the box.

The closet itself felt too impersonal. Like he was hiding it away from himself as well as everyone else.

His eyes were drawn to the bed - his mind instantly jumping to the thought of him and Alex sharing it together - and then to the overhead compartment above it.

Lifting the latch, it popped open with a click and when Michael slid the box in, it fit perfectly. Safe, sealed and close to him where he would sleep.

Feeling happy about the very important decision, he closed the compartment.

Now, onto the rest.

November 2009

It had been a very quiet morning.

Sanders was away for a few days and he’d banned Michael from working in the junkyard without supervision after a recent accident that had pissed him off. He hadn’t meant for the hammer to hit the window of the Davis’ land rover, honest. He’d been aiming for the toolbox.

He’d get the old man to change his mind soon enough, but in the meantime what better place to spend the morning than in bed.

The recently bought sheets were soft against his bare chest as he stared up at the ceiling. The box was still tucked away in the cupboard above him, taken out frequently with every new visit from the mailman. It’s not like anyone else ever sent him post.

Alex had been getting very sappy in his letters recently, reminiscing about the previous summer. Though compared to the past year of writing, the days they had actually spent in each other’s company were few and far between.

It was practically the end of the school year when Michael had borrowed Alex’s guitar from the music room. A decision which he would never regret. And though they had barely spoken during their many years at the same school, when Alex had offered him shelter it hadn’t really mattered. They had clicked so instantly that the few months that they did manage to share felt like they spanned an eternity.

A lot of bad things happened that summer, but he’d do anything to go back just to relieve those good days again.

A knock at the door interrupted his daydream. He sat up, confused, and tried to peak through the newspaper taped to the window. He wasn’t expecting visitors and he couldn’t quite make out enough of the shape to work out who it was.

He rolled sleepily out of bed and grabbed yesterday’s pants, hopping the short distance to the door as he tried to yank them up.

Pushing the door open revealed a sight that had Michael’s breath catching in his throat.

The boy in front of him looked different. Gone was the dark eyeliner that used to frame his eyes and the nail varnish that would stand out against his skin. No more septum piercing or earring, and the chain that Michael would play with as they kissed was missing from his neck.

His hair was much shorter and so not him.

But he was here.

Alex was here. Standing in front of him. And Michael hadn’t said anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything? It was like his brain had short-circuited at the mere sight of the one person he’d been longing to see.

“Hi.” Alex nervously broke the silence, playing with the zip of his hoodie between his thumb and forefinger. “I hope you don’t mind me showing up like this.”

Mind? Did Alex really just ask that? He’d been dreaming of this moment for months now.

He also didn’t really know how to put that into words in his current state of shock, so he did the next best thing. He stepped down onto the dry ground and immediately pulled Alex into his arms. 

Alex took all of a second to reciprocate the hug as he melted against Michael’s chest.

It was cold outside, winter drawing to its peak and showing its first signs of snow, but being in Alex’s arms was the warmest he had felt in a while.

“You’re here.” Michael mumbled against Alex’s shoulder and he felt him chuckle.

“Well, I have a few days leave and I was promised an invite.” Alex replied softly.

Oh god. This was it, the official house warming personally tailored to Alex. And everything was a mess. Turns out getting a new place doesn’t stop old habits from taking hold and barely a week after he moved in there was paperwork all over the desk and clothes strewn across the bathroom floor. It hadn’t exactly gotten better since then.

Michael reluctantly broke the hug, bringing his hands down to gently link with Alex’s.

“It’s a bit of a mess.” He muttered playfully causing Alex to giggle, the enormity of the moment getting too much for him.

“I don’t mind.” 

Nodding to himself, Michael turned and led Alex into the airstream, waiting for the boy to close the door behind him before he spoke. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s…” Alex hesitated, glancing around at the cluttered desk and the half opened drawers and Michael felt so embarrassed. It looked so much worse than he remembered it being before he opened the door two minutes ago.

“I know it’s not much.” He offered grudgingly.

“No it’s…very you.” Alex said, smiling widely as he stepped closer. “I really like it.”

Really? Michael was going to ask. But it only took one look to get lost in Alex’s eyes and all words were suddenly forgotten.

Alex took another step to close the gap between them and slowly leant forward, his eyes not leaving Michael’s lips. Talking could come later, this is what they had really been missing.

It’s their smiles that touched first, excitement rushing through them making them giddy. But then as Michael’s lips parted and Alex leaned closer, it was as though time stood still. They had been waiting for this moment, longing for it for months.

Michael’s stomach fluttered at the familiar feeling of Alex’s hair under his fingertips, the soft lips against his own. He could practically feel Alex reflecting back at him every feeling of want and desperation that had occurred with every new letter and he had to half open his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

However long Alex was home for, Michael planned to make the most of every single second.

May 2010

Michael took another swig of beer as he watched the last rays of light disappear beyond the horizon. He had driven out into the desert hours ago with the strong desire to get so blackout drunk he wouldn’t be able to remember his own name.

He couldn’t do it at the Wild Pony with its many prying eyes and the airstream just felt too small tonight.  So instead, he had parked the truck at a spot that he and Alex used to frequent when they had wanted to be alone.

Alex had taken longer than usual to reply, but Michael understood - between the two of them, Alex’s duty to Uncle Sam would have to take precedence. It just made the warmth that each letter provided that much stronger.

But today’s letter was different and all the wrong feelings had taken root. Fear, sadness, loss. They were swirling around his mind and sitting on his chest and no amount of alcohol seemed to banish them.

Because for the first time since they had begun writing, the return address on the envelope had not read United States, but Afghanistan.

Michael had barely registered Alex’s words during the first read through with his imagination going into overdrive, but taking a deep breath he had sat on the bed and forced himself to focus.

I can’t really give you any details, Alex had said.

I’ll be okay, he was brave enough to promise.

But he couldn’t promise that. Not really. Michael had done his research over the past two years, frantically gathering every measly scrap of information that the search engine could offer. He had seen the number of deaths to come out of every combat zone, read the stories of those whose lives would never be the same again and had the nightmares of every worst possible outcome.

The Air Force doesn’t deploy as long as the Army, but every second that Alex was on war-torn soil increased the risk of him not making it home. It was going to happen at some point, Alex’s first overseas deployment. Michael had just really been hoping for Spain or Turkey. Not this.

He had convinced himself that he would be prepared. That he would be rational and calm and wouldn’t jump to conclusions or freak out. Clearly he was better at lying to himself than he realised.

He didn’t know why he was feeling so sorry for himself. He wasn’t the one being sent halfway across the world to dutifully serve his country. No, Michael was stuck at home, waiting for the outcome.

It was dark now, his mini camping lantern emitting the only glow of light, but he had plenty of beers to keep him going through the night. He’d reply tomorrow - or the day after once his head had cleared. But for now he just wanted to forget everything and let the world fall away.

And maybe if he was inebriated enough it would keep the nightmares at bay. 

August 2010

To anyone who asked, Michael was a stoic twenty year old who didn’t engage in something so pathetic as having emotions.

But to himself, he would reluctantly have to admit they often played a part in many of his life choices. 

Like the big choices that had been fuelled by pain and confusion, standing in the middle of the desert with his two remaining family members standing by. Or the smaller choices made in the dead of night encouraged by a sappy romantic notion he had witnessed in one of Isobel’s romcoms.

Small, but no less important.

Like the decision to fill a shoebox with dried petals to help rid it of the musty smell that often accompanied any container that had been closed for too long.

He dedicated an entire day to researching flowers, finding out how to preserve them and which ones gave off the best scent.

Hydrangeas were a strong contender. Their pastel hues of purple and blue would add a nice drop of colour to the box and they were one of the easiest flowers to preserve. But they would last less than a year and Michael didn’t want to run the risk of the petals flaking into a hundred pieces and ruining the box.

Chrysanthemums were next on the list. The drying method seemed simple enough and though the petals were fairly small, they came in a whole host of vibrant colours. They were also the official flower for mother’s day in Australia and though the country itself meant nothing to him, it would give the petals a bittersweet double meaning. A way of keeping two separate loves alive alongside each other. Everything about them seemed perfect and several nearby florists even had them in stock ready for him to collect that day but when he stumbled upon a website stating that they also symbolised death they were instantly scratched off the list.

Pansies or larkspurs or little cuttings of lavender were all possibilities but they just didn’t feel right.

He didn’t want to become a stereotypical old romantic but his mind kept wandering to the roses. The elegant petals would sit nicely atop the letters and the sweet, fresh scent would be a pleasant addition to the box. Their frequent association with all things love and romance fell alongside the lesser known connotation of secrecy and confidentiality, words that all seemed to sum up the box completely.

The drying process would take time but it would be time well spent. Not to mention the intricate symbolism linked with each soft colour would add an extra touch to the box.

Red was a given with its instant connection to love.

Pink meant grace and gratitude and though he most certainly lacked one, he was definitely filled with the other. Every letter that arrived at his door was further proof that Alex was still alive and as long as they kept coming he would be eternally grateful.

Oranges roses were the symbol of passion and enthusiasm and while you could definitely use both of those words in relation to the last time he had seen Alex, the letters felt more innocent than that.

That didn’t necessarily mean that white roses were the way to go though, with their implication of innocence and purity. Not even he could kid himself that much.

With his mind made up, he grabbed his hat and headed out to engage in a spot of criminal activity.

Was it technically a crime though to cut someone else’s flowers? I mean how could Mrs Wilson really own her rose bushes when they belonged to Mother Nature first.

He wouldn’t have even thought about taking someone else’s, but the internet had very clearly specified that home grown roses were much better than shop bought flowers and who was he to argue with that?

It was mid-morning on a Wednesday so no one was around to see him attack the hedge with some clippers. It would have been a lot easier to literally be a thief in the night, but roses were best picked before the midday sun had a chance to warm their delicate petals. Any later in the day and they would lose their fragrance, so daylight robbery was the way to go.

He snipped at the branches, grumbling as his fingers caught the sharp thorns protruding from the stems, and once he had retrieved the optimum amount of red and pink flowers he headed back to the airstream to begin the lengthy drying process.

It would take a few days but the outcome would be worth it.

February 2011

The sight of one man should not leave Michael freezing in his tracks. He was an alien for God's sake. A superior species with actual powers.

Who the hell was Jesse Manes compared to that? An old man with a limited wardrobe and receding hairline? A divorced father of four kids who hated him? A nameless soldier overshadowed by his peers?

No, Jesse Manes was a respected member of the community, known and loved by all. A loyal airman with several commendations under his belt. An intimidating man prepared to brutally disfigure the hand of a child and easily get away with it.

Why Alex would choose to follow in his footsteps he would never understand.

Michael hadn’t seen Alex’s father since the night in the toolshed. The night he ruined what, up until that point, had been a perfect day. And he destroyed so much more than Michael’s hand that night. He destroyed the memory of his and Alex’s first time together, the possibility of him using a guitar to quiet the world around him, the opportunity for a roof over his head.

He had destroyed the chance for Michael to heal and move on and gain some faith back in humanity.

And three years later, here he was across the street from Michael’s truck, sitting at the window of the Crashdown, keeping Michael frozen to his seat.

He was supposed to be meeting Max for lunch in ten minutes, but there was no way he could go inside now.

Maybe Alex’s father wouldn’t even remember him. He had only seen him one time, several years ago. He couldn’t possibly have committed Michael’s face to memory in the three minutes they had shared a space together. But then again, Michael couldn’t imagine he went around hitting kids with hammers all that often so maybe it had been a memorable night for him. 

Whether it had had impact on Jesse Manes or not, Michael still remembered it vividly.

The way the door slammed open and Alex flinched away from his touch. The quiver in Alex’s voice as Manes picked up the hammer. The sight of Alex whimpering as his father’s hand squeezed around his throat. The pain filled shout Michael could barely make out over the sound of his own bones cracking.

In shock and in agony, he vaguely recalls being thrown out of the shed and staggering to his truck, but admittedly that part was still blurry.

To this day though, he still didn’t know what happened to Alex once he’d gone. They had never really talked about that night, not properly at least. Alex had been very eager to check how his hand was healing or offer to take him to a doctor, but always reluctant to discuss what he’d endured.

In all honesty, Michael still didn’t know if Jesse had done anything to Alex but it was always his suspicion. He’d recognised the fury in the older man’s eyes to know that that anger needed an outlet and Michael’s hand probably hadn’t been enough.

His hand ached suddenly at the memory and he clenched it hard in a useless attempt to make it stop. It had been hurting a lot lately, seizing up and making it impossible to do anything.

Max had offered to heal it a number of times but he still refused. He’d tell himself that it was because of Alex. How would he explain a perfectly healed hand to the guy who had witnessed the brutality it had suffered?

But if he ever decided to admit the truth to himself, he’d accept that really it was all for self preservation. A constant reminder moulded under his skin of what humans were really like. A way of reminding him not to get too close to people, not to let them into his life.

Clearly, Alex was the exception to this rule and Michael honestly couldn’t explain why. Right from the start their connection had just been something else. Something unexplainable.

Feeling the panic starting to bubble in his chest, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He could text Max. The I’m held up at the junkyard excuse would keep him busy long enough for the police officer’s lunch break to end. He could dodge the bullet completely that way and just make it up to him tomorrow.

Or would that be like letting Jesse Manes win? What would he even be winning? There was no way that man remembered who Michael was.

Looking over to the window again, he watched as Alex’s father handed something to the waitress.

Was he really going to let his past trauma dictate where he could have lunch?

At the moment? Yes.

Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he unlocked it quickly and opened the messenger app, his thumb hovering over Max’s name but then he had an idea.

He clicked on the little notepad icon and began to type.

Alex’s latest letter arrived last week and was still awaiting a reply and what better time to write one than when you’re freaking out slightly at the sight of a man who had once attacked you.

He barely noticed the autocorrect working hard to fix his many mistakes, he just needed to get the words out.

He didn’t mention Jesse, deciding to steer clear of the man entirely and focus on the positives instead. Alex was free from his father’s harsh rules and strict parenting for the time being so there was no point wasting his words on a man he most likely didn’t want to hear about.

It was overly sentimental and he’d probably edit it massively before writing it up, but for now he impulsively typed up everything he wanted to say. Everything he would say if Alex was sitting next to him right now.

 Dear Alex,

Glad to see that you’re stateside again, it stressed me out every day you were overseas.

I’m really happy that you’ve settled in with the work you’re doing and I’ve almost come to terms with the fact that your job is going to be dangerous at times, but that still doesn’t stop me worrying about it. And even after all this time you’ve been away, it’s still weird to not have you here. 

Everything has been reminding me of you recently, which is both beautiful and horrible because at least you’re here when you’re not here. But you’re not here and I really wish you were. Like when a song by that band you like comes on the radio, or if I walk past the Emporium, or I order a milkshake at the Crashdown or even just seeing Maria at the Wild Pony.

Max was telling me the other day about this kid who reported his guitar stolen and I couldn’t help but think back to when I stole yours. Well, I say stole, I promise I really was just borrowing it. I knew it was yours though and part of me definitely wanted you to find out that I had taken it, anything to get you to notice me. The offer of somewhere to sleep was completely unexpected though and proves just what a good person you are. I took your belongings and in return you gave me shelter and I don’t think I thanked you enough for that.

You’re in every corner of this town for me Alex and I know we didn’t have long but the time that we spent together before you left were some of the best days of my life.

I miss you.

Come back soon.

Michael

As he reached the last sentence, a knock on the passenger side window made him jump.

Max, in his uniform and hat, lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave and tilted his head towards the Crashdown as if to say are you coming?

A quick final glance through the window showed no sign of Jesse Manes and Michael slowly let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

September 2011

“This is a good look for you.” Michael whispered.

“What, naked?” Alex smiled softly, peering sleepily back at him. 

Michael began to lightly trail his hand down Alex’s chest, watching Alex close his eyes at the sensation. “Naked. In my bed.”

Alex had shown up at his doorstep late last night, this time with some warning in his latest letter, and they hadn’t wasted any time. So fuelled with longing and desire, Michael couldn’t remember a second of last night where their bodies hadn’t been touching.

Looking at Alex now, with his perfect bed head and sun kissed skin, Michael wasn’t sure he was going to be able to let him leave.

He did have something important to talk to Alex about though. Something they had never really discussed that had been leaving Michael feeling very confused lately. He was twenty-one years old having the awkward teenage thought of are we together or is this just a bit of fun? Is this guy my boyfriend? Can I even say the word boyfriend without freaking him out?

“There was something I meant to talk to you about last night-” He began, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Did we actually talk at all last night?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” Alex smiled, holding his lip between his teeth. “Go on, what did you want to say?”

“You know I do have a phone, right? An actual expensive one and everything thanks to Isobel buying it for me. So you can text me, instead of spending weeks waiting for a reply.”

Alex paused for a moment. How was it best to tell Michael without looking weak? How during Basic Training one nosy guy thought it would be fun to take his unlocked phone and look through his messages. How he was terrified of being outed that day and that fear had followed him through his few years of serving. How even though his letters are technically much easier to read, the lock on the box they were kept in is so thick you would need to have a bolt cutter handy to break it. Or the key, which was kept in a very secure location.

“There’s something more…personal, about writing a letter. ” He decided to go with. “Besides, phones can get hacked.” 

“Who the hell is gonna want to hack into your phone?”

Alex shrugged with a smirk, “I’m just saying, after learning what I have in training, hacking your phone right now would be a piece of cake.”

“Right, and these hackers would want to, what? Use all our discussions about broken alien statues and nights out in the desert against us.”

“There are some terrible people out there.” The fake sincerity in Alex’s eyes as he nodded his head made Michael chuckle.

Alex pushed himself up fully in the bed, letting the sheets pool around his naked hips. He leant forward and Michael didn’t need to be asked twice to drop the subject and meet him halfway. As much as he loved last night, their slow morning kisses were even better. Soft and all smiles, filled with the gratitude that they were still sharing this moment together.

“I’m sorry I was late last night, the move this week has been busier than I expected.” Alex whispered between pecks.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad you made it. Where are you based now?”

“Maryland. Probably just for a month or so though until I get more permanent orders.”

Leaning back, Michael could see the weariness in Alex’s eyes. He knew that being in the military was a hard job - even harder if you had been forced into it - and Michael hated just how much responsibility had been put on Alex’s young shoulders.

His eyes twinkled as he got an idea, a way of lightening Alex’s load for a few hours. “You fancy going out tonight?” 

Alex’s face dropped and Michael’s heart along with it. “Like, together?”

“No, I figured we’d go to different bars and get drunk separately.” Michael replied sarcastically. 

This is not what he had expected. Alex saying no to a night out? Fine, not a problem, wouldn’t have been that surprising of an answer. Maybe he doesn’t fancy a drink, maybe he’s just not into partying anymore.

But was Alex saying no to them going out together?

“Is it because of me?” Michael could hear the anger beginning to grow in his tone but he couldn’t help it. This conversation had flipped completely out of nowhere. “When I told you about the whole drunk cowboy reputation I’ve gained, it was meant to make you laugh. Not make you ashamed of me.”

“I’m not ashamed!” Alex defensively shook his head.

“Then what is it? Cos I like doing this Alex, but I need to know what it is that we’re actually doing, where we’re going with it. Are we going anywhere with it?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say Guerin! Things are complicated right now.”

I want you to say you want to be with me! I want you to tell me you love me as much as I love you! Michael hadn’t expected for this to turn into an argument, but he was prepared to cause one if it meant getting answers.

But as he took a breath, he looked at Alex. Like properly looked at him. He had grown up so much since they’d last seen each other. He’d changed so much. But for the first time he was the one who was looking unsure about what to say.

The defensive hunch of his shoulders, the nervous look in his eyes. It reminded Michael so much of when Alex had first told him he was leaving. And those goddamn hubcaps.

This was the second time he had caused that look in Alex’s eyes and if he never saw it again it would be too soon. He still had a few days before Alex was going to leave him again and he should be making the most of them instead of pushing him away.

If Alex was unsure of what they were doing then so be it. They would have to discuss it at some point this weekend, for Michael’s own sanity more than anything, but for now he would have to let it go if it meant keeping Alex happy.

January 2012

Earth wasn’t his home.

He knew that. He’s known that since he woke up in a glowing alien pod. But it’s only through life’s lessons over the years that he’s really learnt that.

He didn’t belong here, with an inferior species that enjoyed hurting others simply because of who they were. He’d seen it happen in shops and on the street. People targeted for being different. It was such a human response and he shuddered at the thought of what it meant for them if their secret ever came out.

And who was keeping him here? Max and Isobel? Alex?

Him and Isobel were close, but she had her own life. Parents that loved her, a boyfriend she was besotted with. She didn’t need Michael hanging around, bringing her down.

His feelings on Max were like a sliding scale of rage. The other man had been acting like his father for most of his life, telling him what to do and how to live. Max says they should cover up Rosa’s death. Max says they should keep what they are a secret. Max, with his fancy job and respected standing in society. Michael didn’t need his help anymore or his pity.

And then there was Alex. The boy who made him believe there was a place for him on Earth. But now, Michael wasn’t so sure.The last time he had seen Alex in person, things hadn’t ended that great and though they’ve still been writing to each other, something had definitely changed. They had changed.

Michael reminded himself of all this as he climbed down the stairs into the junkyard’s fallout shelter.

He had discovered the hidden bunker one day after slipping away from Sanders during work hours to hunt for some more copper wire. The opening had been covered by a beaten up truck that had been sitting in the junkyard for years, he wasn’t sure if the old man even knew it was down there.

From that day on he had claimed it as his own, making sure it was covered every time he left.

His collection had started off small. A few legit pieces of alien artefact that he had stolen from the Emporium and the odd dark web purchase, but after a few stealthy ventures to the UFO crash site he had begun to discover even more fragments. Considering the people of Roswell had been obsessing over the crash since 1947, Michael was honestly surprised that not every piece of the ship had been excavated already.

Luckily for him, his latest night time search in the desert had proven successful and he had made it back to the bunker with two small glowing pieces.

Building up the secret bunker’s workshop had taken time and a few stolen supplies, but now there were tools and shelves and bulbs in the mismatched lighting decor that had thankfully already been installed.

Littering the worktops were sketches and blueprints of the measurements and calculations he had spent months working on. There were spools of tubing and a portable generator sitting on the shelf. But his prized possession resting on one of the tables was his slowly forming alien spaceship. He was pretty sure what he was building was the console, but maybe one day it would turn into the entire spacecraft.

Covered in alien symbols and shimmering to the touch, it could be his way off of this stupid planet.

Michael gently took the pieces out of his pocket and held them close to the ship. One did nothing, staying stubbornly in his palm, but the other rose into the air and delicately travelled to one of the broken sides, a faint blue glistening the surface as the sharp edges knitted together like they had never been broken. 

Placing the remaining piece on the table, Michael sighed. One day he would find all the pieces and finish this. And when that day came, there would be nothing to keep him here.

October 2012

“You’re staying whether you like it or not.” Isobel gave him a pointed look as she rummaged through the crates of decorations piled on the table in front of her. 

“Yeah Michael, it’ll be fun.” Max said enthusiastically, holding a fist under his chin and batting his eyelids. A move they had both seen Isobel pull several times when mocking her mother. 

She smacked Max on the arm, furious that he would belittle all of her hard work, before shoving a large plastic box into his chest. “The crop circle exhibit needs more bats.”

Her brother took the box with an exaggerated sigh but obliged nevertheless. He had learnt long ago that when Isobel was running things you either got on with it or got the hell out of her way. 

With one brother now busy, she moved onto the next. “Right, there’s a few banners that need putting up and then you can go get changed.”

Her demand was met with silence which worried Isobel greatly and when she glanced up from her checklist, she didn’t appreciate the confused look in Michael’s eyes. “Please tell me you have a costume. It’s Halloween Michael!”

“I didn’t exactly plan on staying, Isobel!” he retaliated. He’d been asked to come and fix the glitchy projector in the knock-off Men In Black room, not spend all night with a bunch of people he didn’t know, surrounded by dumb gimmicky aliens. “Why did you choose to have it here anyway? Isn’t it a bit degrading to us as a species?” 

“I didn’t choose it. The Emporium wanted a Halloween event and I’m just part of the committee running it.” She ticked off another item on her list, not rising to his provocation. “Now, go help Max.”

Accepting an easy defeat, Michael took the closest pile of decorations and headed to the exhibit. There were several people milling around each room of the Emporium, all engaged in one task or another. A group of middle aged women were rigorously dusting the artefact cabinets and two guys he vaguely recognised from around town were fixing lighting rigs to the ceiling. 

His heart skipped a beat as he reached the UFO room, his eyes drawn immediately to the spot where he and Alex shared their first kiss. He had been so nervous that day, tentatively grabbing the other boy’s face before he could talk himself out of it, praying that Alex wouldn’t pull away.

Through the red fabric curtains at the back of the room was the crop circle exhibit. It was completely empty of people save for Max attempting to loop a small fuzzy bat around one of the hanging lights.

Taking pity on him, Michael willed the creature to float the extra few inches and fasten itself around the wire. It had been a while since he’d used his powers in a public setting and it gave him such a rush to get away with it unseen. It was quite embarrassing really. It’s not like he was committing a crime in the middle of a police station. Unless you were looking closely, the fact that some objects floated when he was nearby was actually surprisingly easy to miss.

Max’s head immediately whipped round, eyes wide with trepidation. “Dude, what if someone walks in?”

“Chill, Deputy. We’re safe.” Michael rolled his eyes as he began to stroll around the room. He hadn’t been in here since Alex’s last day and literally nothing had changed. I mean, fair enough, there hadn’t exactly been any more alien encounters since then to add to the exhibition. But they could have put some effort in and switched things up a bit.

As he turned to speak to Max his foot caught something, but without hesitation his telekinesis acted fast to catch the alien statue mid-fall. Settling it back on its two feet with his mind, Michael chuckled to himself as he realised exactly what it was that he had knocked over. Turns out the little guy did still have his head on backwards.

It had been four years since Alex’s last day working the ticket booth, when they had sneaked inside during his lunch break to passionately kiss in the dark corners of the museum. If Michael hadn’t been so distracted that day he would have caught the alien before it had a chance to decapitate itself and ruin his make out session.

They had frantically tried to re-attach it, getting their fingers covered in the glue. But alas, as an excitable eighteen year old, Michael had been too focused on the boy he was with to notice he was putting the head on backwards.

Four years and nobody had dealt with the owl impersonating alien. The Emporium really was going downhill.

“You know, if you don’t want to stay I’ll cover for you with her majesty.” Max interrupted his thoughts as he took a banner from the pile still bunched in Michael’s arms and surveyed the room to decide where best to hang it.

“Nah, it’s alright. Can’t leave you without a wingman, can I?” Michael playfully raised an eyebrow as he dumped the pile on the floor and grabbed the other end of the banner.

“I’m serious Michael. You don’t actually have to do as she says you know.” Max grinned at him, hooking his side onto one of the picture frames hanging on the wall and watching Michael do the same.

Michael looked over at his friend. When the day began he had planned to end it in the airstream, drunk on whiskey and in bed with a beautiful stranger. But standing in front of him was his chance to do something different for a change, to spend some time with the only family he had left and maybe even remember it all in the morning.

“I know. But maybe you’re right. It could be fun.”

March 2013

So it was letters like these that made Michael feel guilty about how he’d been spending his time. Or more specifically who he’d been spending his time with.

For the first time in years he could go entire weeks without thinking of Alex once and the odd drunken hookup definitely helped to keep his mind off the boy who barely wrote to him anymore.

It had become a recurring thing for him, much to the chagrin of Isobel who vehemently disapproved of his life choices. She couldn’t understand why Michael wouldn’t want to find someone special and settle down with them. But he wouldn’t expect any less from the girl who was so head over heels in love with her boyfriend.

Isobel had Noah, and Michael?

Michael had Vicky. Last night.

They met at the Pony, as these stories often started for him, and had enjoyed a very long, very sensual night together within the small confines of the airstream.

She made him coffee in the morning, engaged in an appropriate amount of small talk, then left. A perfect night by all accounts, so why couldn’t the rest of his day be perfect too?

When the mailman loudly interrupted his work on his latest batch of sketches he had been tempted not to answer. When he immediately recognised Alex’s handwriting on the front of the envelope he had been very tempted not to open it.

One day he would stop giving in to his feelings for Alex. Today was not that day.

Dear Michael,

I saw someone die today.

I feel kind of numb right now which doesn’t seem right to me, but it’s like I can’t tell what emotion I should be feeling, so I’m just hoping that getting the words onto paper might help get them out of my head.

I don’t know whether I’m supposed to have been prepared for it or not, I mean it’s an occupational hazard that I signed up for so I should be fine, right? I’ve been in Iraq for almost two months now, on my second deployment, and yet this is the first time I’ve actually seen someone get killed right in front of me. So does that make me lucky to have gone this long without it happening?

I could have saved him. If I had just been closer, if I had gotten there quicker, he probably wouldn’t have died. But then if I was closer I probably wouldn’t be writing this right now so I guess I am the lucky one.

I hadn’t known him long but he was a good kid, always hard at work, always looking out for everyone. He was younger than me.

The guys are so quiet. Nobody knows what to do with themselves and this bit I’m strangely used to. It’s not the first time someone I know has been killed and things can’t come to a stop while we’re out here no matter the circumstances. But for a short while after something like this happens it’s like the light inside of everyone just disappears. Like we’re reminded all over again of how quickly things can change here.

We’ll be okay though, we’ll pick each other up and move on. But we’ll never forget him.

They’ll never forget his service. And I’ll never forget what I saw.

I’m sorry, it’s selfish to burden you with this but I just really needed to tell someone.

Hope everything is okay in Roswell.

Stay safe,

Alex.

And just like that Michael was drawn back into the little Alex loving bubble he had been desperately trying to pop.

Stay safe. He writes an entire letter about seeing someone die and he tells Michael to stay safe. And if that didn’t sum up Alex he didn’t know what did. Always trying to look out for other people, even if it hurts him.

Michael re-read the line about being quicker, being closer and something tightens in his chest. He could still remember how guilty Alex had felt after the incident in the toolshed all those years ago, so Michael knew exactly how much Alex would be putting his colleague’s death on his shoulders right now. And if he had been close enough to help, Michael was well aware of how willingly he would have sacrificed himself to keep his teammates safe.

He didn’t even know that Alex was in Iraq. Their communication had slowed so much recently and this entire time Michael had chalked it up to him no longer wanting to keep in contact but maybe this was why he hadn’t been writing.

It reminded him yet again of how little he really knew about Alex’s job and the things he had to face. As much as he would love it, he could hardly expect constant letters with updates of every little part of Alex’s life.

But he could support him. From the safety of his airstream where there were no bullets flying and people dying around him, he could listen to what Alex had to say no matter how long it took to arrive.

His sleeping around had been a poor attempt of cleansing Alex and the war he was fighting from his mind, but Alex would never get that luxury. Not until he was out of the Air Force and back home at least.

The fear of Alex dying was at the forefront of his thoughts once more, but maybe it was a good thing - the kind of fear that propels you forward and gives you hope that things will change. Habits were hard to break but maybe he would take Isobel’s advice and wait for his someone special to make it home.

August 2013

Friday night at the Wild Pony brought out all manner of locals. Friends reuniting after being away for months, married couples taking the time to cool off after a long week at work, the happy drunks, the racist drunks, and already at the bar being served his first drink of the evening, the lonely cowboy.

Max’s shift didn’t end for another hour, but Michael figured there wouldn’t be any harm in getting to the Pony early. He had a higher tolerance than Max anyway so it was better to get a head start.

As he was lifting his first alcohol filled glass to his lips he heard the voice of someone he hadn’t seen in five years. He barely suppressed a groan as he sneaked a glimpse to his left.

“More tequila’s please, Maria.” The man’s voice dripped with confidence.

Michael watched as he placed a tray of empty shot glasses on the bar top before leaning forward, his forearms dropping heavily onto the wood.

Maria took the tray with a smile and got to work.

“Guerin. Still in Roswell, I see.” He said casually, turning to look at Michael. 

“Valenti. Still a dick, I see.” Michael replied, giving his best fake smile.

Kyle’s brow furrowed in surprise at the attitude being directed towards him. He must have remembered Michael’s reputation from school, but he clearly hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of it half a decade later.

“How have you been?” He continued regardless, somewhat optimistic in the face of Michael’s pre-drunk demeanour. Maria unscrewed the bottle cap and Michael could see her watching them carefully as if they were the main feature of her Wild Pony nature documentary.

“Since when do you care?” Michael remarked tightly, smile still plastered on his face and when Kyle scoffed and looked away, Michael was almost disappointed. The guy from high school would have had him on his ass by now.

“Whatever.” Kyle muttered just as Maria filled the last glass. He slapped some money onto the bar, sliding it forward to meet Maria’s waiting hand and she took it gratefully, put it straight in the till.

“See you around.” He spoke to no-one in particular before leaving with the tray, though not fast enough in Michael’s opinion.

Maria rolled her eyes as she put the tequila bottle back on the shelf. “What did Kyle ever do to you?”

“Do you not remember him in high school?” Michael asked, glancing over his shoulder at where Kyle was handing out the shot glasses round the table. It wasn’t a surprise to see that he was still Mr Popular with the big group of friends.

“Oh no, I remember him. I just don’t remember you ever talking to him.”

“Didn’t have to talk to him to know he was an asshole.” Michael muttered as he downed the last of his drink.

He’d witness enough of his taunting to know exactly what kind of person Kyle Valenti was. He was the cliche jock surrounded by a constant posse of football players, using his popularity to get away with bullying innocent kids.

Nerdy kids whose fear of authority and eagerness to please everyone would be taken advantage of.

Poor kids whose worn down shoes and too small clothes would be an instant target on their backs.

Gay kids who did absolutely nothing to deserve the brunt of Kyle’s torment for so many years. Gay kids who could also pack a mean punch when it really came down to it. 

Kyle had made it his mission in high school to ruin Alex’s life and Michael would never forgive him for it. Simple as that.

“What is he even doing here anyway?”

Maria picked up the closest bottle of whiskey and refilled his glass. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed at how well she knew his drinking habits.

“He’s been travelling to visit family but now he’s back for a few weeks to see some friends before his next year of med school starts.” Maria answered easily, letting out a huff of laughter as Michael narrowed his eyes in confusion. “When you’re this side of the bar, people tell you everything…like I’m sure you’ll be doing soon enough.”

Michael smirked as he took another swig of whiskey. It burned in his chest before settling uneasily in his stomach. “You love it Deluca, don’t try and deny it.”

Taking another look behind him, Michael watched as Kyle spoke, gesturing wildly with his arms as his words held the attention of everyone circled around him. He looked no different from high school, same dark quiff styled neatly with gel, same bulging muscles on show under his tight fitting top, same punchable face.

Watching Alex take a swing at Kyle during prom had been a very proud moment for Michael - and he had barely even known Alex by that point. If he hadn’t been worried that Alex would get hurt, Michael would have gladly watched him punch Kyle for the rest of the evening.

“I think he’s changed, you know.” Maria interrupted his thoughts as she wiped down the bar top in front of him. Her bracelets jangled noisily with every movement. “College has been good for him.”

Michael watched as she ran her necklace between her fingers and went about collecting the empty beer bottles sitting at the end of the bar. “Kyle Valenti will never change.” 

Deep down a tiny part of him would admit that Maria was right. Since leaving high school everyone he’s known has changed in some way or another - normally for the better as they grow out of their ignorant, childish ways. But he just couldn’t imagine golden boy Kyle Valenti turning his life around that much. And even though one day Alex, with his heart of gold, will probably end up forgiving Kyle, Michael never would.

June 2014

“I’m just saying, if Noah expects me to take it easy with this wedding organisation, he’s got another thing coming.” Isobel spoke animatedly as the three of them walked down the street. “I am practically the unofficial Roswell party planning committee after all.”

“Isn’t a committee normally a group of people?” Max quizzed, moving out of the way for a little boy on his bike that was riding towards them.

“Not what you’re supposed to be taking from this conversation, Max.” Isobel glared at him. “I got proposed to guys!”

“Yeah, we got that from the first fifty times you told us.” Michael remarked, righting the cowboy hat that had slipped down on his head.

“Well, I’m allowed to be excited!”

Max gave his sister a fond smile. “Of course you are. But I think any more wedding talk today will literally melt Michael’s brain.”

It had been over a week since Noah had gotten down on one knee and Max and Michael had heard every possible recounting of the evening along with every guest list suggestion, every wedding hairstyle idea, even every floral arrangement possibility. As a couple, they had barely had a chance to set a date, yet Isobel was now firmly stuck in wedding planner mode.

It was Max who had put forward that the three of them meet up. It was his first day off after a busy week of shifts and it was warm out, though the suggestion to make the most of the sun was also a ploy to force Isobel to take a break from her obsessing. But unfortunately the wedding seemed to have followed them.

It didn’t really bother them though as they strolled through town, soaking up the warmth of the rays and enjoying each other’s company. Isobel was happy and in love and it was exactly what she deserved.

As they neared the end of the road, they reached the Crashdown. The cafe was a hubbub of happy, smiling customers and servers in their uniforms and antennae, but it was hard to miss the derogatory, racist words spray painted across the windows. Michael didn’t envy the poor waiter who was desperately scrubbing at them with soapy water.

Every year on the anniversary of Rosa Ortecho’s death the Crashdown was vandalised and every year it hurt more and more to witness.

Arturo Ortecho didn’t deserve the hate he got because of what happened to his daughter. He didn’t deserve for his livelihood, his home to be wrecked every year because of a choice Isobel made. A choice they all made.

After the fateful night six years ago, they had sworn to each other they would not set foot in the Crashdown again, to separate themselves from the Ortecho’s completely. But over the years, whether it be from guilt or concern, they had never been able to keep that promise.

“Let’s go in,” Max said after a moment of staring inside.

“Max-” Michael warned. He was all for keeping up appearances but today of all days they ought to be keeping a low profile when it came to the Crashdown.

“We should show our support. It’s the least we can do.” Max turned to look at him pointedly. And as much as Michael hated it, he was right. They had managed to keep the events of that night a secret for so long now. Avoiding the place once a year wasn’t really going to have as big an impact as they liked to think it would.

And being the cause of Mr Ortecho’s suffering, it was the least they could do.

Entering with a smile, they found a booth in the corner and Michael was made designated ‘seat saver’ as Max and Isobel went up to the counter. They all knew each other’s orders off by heart, but neither sibling wanted to run the risk of potentially running into Arturo alone for fear of not knowing what to say.

Michael watched as the waiter outside finished with one window and moved onto the next.

He was lucky in a way. He could go months without thinking about what they chose to do to those three girls. How they covered up the murders and framed an innocent for it. He doubted Arturo ever had the pleasure of forgetting about the death of his eldest daughter.

And now, as he tried to forget once more about certain events of that night, his mind was drawn to the other life changing incident and his worry for Alex reignited all over again. He had been able to protect Alex from his father back then, but whilst they were on two separate continents, Michael was powerless.

Not that he thought Alex needed his protection. Michael knew just how strong he was, but the job of an airman was unpredictable.

In an attempt to calm his mind, he thought back to the letter he had received yesterday and tried to recall the words it contained.

Dear Michael,

I can’t believe you managed to find work on Mr Anderson’s ranch! Or more specifically, I can’t believe he willingly hired you after the amount of trouble you caused him. I’m guessing you didn’t tell him that it was you that drove straight through his crop field or let all those horses out when we were younger? Because you know as well as I do, that man holds a grudge.

I’m glad you’re finding all this work. I used to worry that you wouldn’t realise how skilled you were so it’s nice to hear that people are actually appreciating your hard work.

I’ve spent the past week updating security measures here and the all-nighters are reminding me of high school before a math test or something. I think I actually used to go days without sleeping sometimes if I was trying to cram in revision and I honestly don’t know how I managed it back then. Teenage me was obviously a lot stronger.

There’s rumours that we could be heading back to North Dakota next month, but I’m not getting my hopes up. Germany’s not too bad, the people have been great and the food is delicious. On our down days we’ve been going to this cafe just outside of base. They have this type of iced coffee that tastes amazing and I’ve definitely had it far too much judging by the amount of teasing I get from my team every time I order it.

As nice as it is here though, it would be good to be back on home soil. I feel like I’ve been away from America for so long.

I’ll let you know if we do end up moving bases and maybe I’ll visit Roswell again soon.

Hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

Michael was pulled out of his thoughts as Max and Isobel took their seats. They were bickering about something or other and the familiarity forced all his worries to the back of his mind.

Alex would be home soon and Michael would be able to hold him in his arms and everything would be alright. And for now, he would make the most of his time with the rest of his family.

October 2014

Michael was warming himself by the fire when a car pulled up by the airstream. He had managed to find the old burn barrel at the junkyard a few months ago along with some mismatched chairs and lighting the fire had become a calming night time occurrence for him.

He brought the beer bottle to his lips and took a sip, wordlessly watching as Alex stepped out of the car and wandered over to him. He wasn’t sure why Alex was even here. The letters had been getting infrequent again, the enthusiasm dwindling, and Michael had been starting to suspect that their hearts were just no longer in it.

Alex had informed him that he was on leave for a few days and Michael had been happy, excited even. But at some point between this morning - where he had been frantically trying to calm his nerves as he tided up the place - to this evening, something had changed. He’d managed to overthink everything he’d been wanting to say to Alex for a long time now.

“Hey.” Alex smiled politely as he came to a stop by the fire. If he thought it strange that Michael hadn’t greeted him he didn’t mention it, but he did pause, hands clasped behind his back, almost waiting for permission to take a seat.

Michael took another gulp of beer, watching Alex carefully. “You can sit down you know.”

Alex didn’t need to be told twice, dropping into the seat closest to him. He looked older, the years of service catching up on him, hardening him against all that he had seen. 

“How have you been?” He asked. His voice was calm but Michael could see the wariness in his eyes. So he had noticed Michael’s rather frosty welcoming.

“Same as always.” Michael muttered, looking off into the distance.

“Are you okay-”

“What are you doing here, Alex?” Michael blurted out before he lost the nerve.

Alex’s eyes widened at the outburst, “Sorry, I thought you said I could drop by when I got back.”

“Okay fine, what are we doing here?” Michael rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, “I mean this thing we’re doing, is it real or just some hookup for when you come home?”

Alex recoiled at the accusation and Michael could feel the guilt creeping in once more at the hurt in Alex’s eyes. Okay so maybe that was a bit harsh, but there was no point dragging out this conversation for the next three days. Plus, he suspected his veins were filled more of alcohol than blood right now and when he was on a roll there was no stopping him.

“Last time you were here I tried to have this conversation with you and we got nowhere. That was years ago and we’re still dancing around it.”

“You know it’s not like that. The sex I mean. I don’t come here just to sleep with you, I come to see you.” The fire crackled loudly, the flames casting an orange glow over Alex as he spoke. “I’m sorry I haven’t been writing much lately. Your letters mean everything to me and I like doing this with you, but I just…”

“Just what?” Michael demanded. He could see Alex take a breath as he tried to word the next sentence correctly in his head.

“Anything could happen while I’m in the Air Force and I just don’t think you should pin your hopes on this.”

If Michael could stop with the tunnel vision for two seconds he would realise that Alex was trying to protect him, but all he heard was that Alex didn’t want to be with him, not properly at least. Not as his boyfriend, his partner, his other half.

Michael didn’t have an answer and Alex had no more to add.

They had barely spent five minutes in each other’s company after years apart and they’d already been rendered quiet. It isn’t how either of them had expected it to go. They sat in the uncomfortable silence, their gazes fixed on the fire but barely registering the flames licking the air. Neither wanted to make the first move.

The beautiful boy he had been in love with since they were seventeen had practically just told him that they would never be together and instead of feeling sad or desperate, Michael fell back to his default emotion. He was filled with so much anger he could practically feel it burning under his skin.

The moment he kissed Alex in the museum all those years ago he had seen the future they could have together, but now, in the cool autumn evening as he watched the tips of the flames reaching up to the sky, that dream was crumbling.

“Do you want me to go?” Alex asked faintly after a few minutes.

Yes! If you walk away now then I’ll have my final answer and it will make all of this so much easier.

“No.”

Alex had only just gotten there and as pissed off as Michael felt, the thought of him leaving again suddenly hurt like hell. “I miss you.” He whispered, struggling to make eye contact at the admission.

In his peripheral vision he could see Alex pause uneasily, almost waiting for another outburst, and when none came the airman replied with a wary smile. “Me too.”

May 2015

Another soda can went flying into the air and Max shot it down with trained precision. It almost hit Isobel on the way down who couldn’t hold back a squeal as she moved out of the way.

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here for this.” She huffed at the boys as she righted herself in the chair. Her plans for the weekend had involved shopping, TV and sleeping. It had been a long week and it was what she deserved. Instead, she was getting sand in her shoes and cans flung towards her face.

“You’re the one who said we should practice using our powers more.” Michael smirked, concentrating on the unopened can sitting on the desk inside the airstream. With barely any effort, he watched as it floated through the doorway and over towards Isobel.

“That was an excuse to get into Old Man Simmons’ head and you know it.” She narrowed his eyes at him but grabbed the can anyway. “Besides, isn’t there a more productive way to train?”

“What are you talking about? We used to do this all the time.” Max lifted the gun and signalled for Michael to throw the next can into the air.

“Yeah, when we were like seventeen. Don’t know if you noticed but we’re not kids anymore.”

“Tell me about it. Did you know Sheriff Valenti let me assist on another murder case last week. She said I’m showing potential.” 

“Bit of a morbid thing to brag about there, Deputy.” Michael grinned as he used his power to send the next can flying, trying to catch Max off guard with its speed. Max was too slow to hit it during its ascent, but before it touched the ground he had sent a bullet clean through it.

Michael whistled in amazement and clapped Max on the back. They may be adults now but hitting a target was just as exciting as when they were kids.

Isobel was less than impressed if the furrowed brow was anything to go by. She honestly couldn’t understand the desire to shoot things. “Great, you hit it. Can I go now?”

She made a point of checking the time on her phone with a sigh and Max gave Michael such a sibling look. The kind of look that clearly conveyed annoyance, irritation and the simple question of will she ever stop complaining.

“Will you lighten up Iz, it’s just a bit of fun.” Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. “Now hurry up and drink that, we’re gonna need it soon.”

He was about the throw another can when he noticed a white van driving up the path, recognising it immediately. He felt bad for the guy, having to come out to the middle of nowhere every month or so just to drop off a single letter.

He walked over to meet the mailman as he parked in front of them and gratefully took the letter passed to him through the open window.

“Who the hell is sending you mail?” Isobel leaned forward in her chair as the van drove off and Michael was worried for a second that she would get up and take it from him before he could stop her. She never did have good impulse control.

“It’s probably just junk.” He said dismissively, staring down at his name and address. He didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. He had literally never received a single letter from anyone else in his life.

He tried to plaster on his best nonchalant face as he jogged over to the airstream and prayed that the others wouldn’t ask questions. “It’s fine, I’ll check it later.”

Bypassing every surface entirely, knowing full well that if Isobel saw it on the desk she would open it, he opened the compartment above his bed. The cupboard had gotten more crowded over the years, but the shoebox still had its special little place inside. He looked down at the letter in his hand one more time, debating whether to just rip it open then and there, before sliding it on top of the box.

He’d read it later when he wasn’t busy.

September 2015

“Ahh Deluca. It’s been while.” Michael grinned as he took a seat at the bar. It was early evening on a Friday so the place was pretty packed, but luckily for him there was always a stool empty.

Maria grabbed a glass from the rack and the bottle of whiskey from behind her and began pouring. There were other servers behind the bar so she could afford to take her time conversing with this particular regular.

“Yes, surprisingly I did notice your absence from my bar recently and honestly I’m not sure who that looks worse for.”

“You. Definitely you.” Michael said dryly as he picked up the nearest coaster and began to twirl it between his fingers. “Besides if you were that desperate to see my ruggedly handsome face you wouldn’t have skipped your shift last Friday.”

“The fact that you know my shift pattern is not a good look for you Guerin.” Maria raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “Besides, I’m allowed a night off every now and then.”

“Oh yeah? To do what? Paint your nails? Have a nice little bubble bath? Some other girl related activity?”

“To see a friend actually. Because I have those.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” He muttered playfully and she moved forward to dramatically knock the coaster out of his hand.

“We had a lovely time, thank you for asking. He hasn’t been back home in ages so we decided to make a weekend of it.”

Michael froze at her words. There was really only one person she could be talking about but he asked the question anyway. “What friend is this?”

“Alex? Manes? He went to school with us. Former emo kid turned airman.” 

Michael’s mouth suddenly felt very dry and he couldn’t get his words out. He grabbed the drink that Maria had poured and took a large gulp. “Alex was here?”

“Yeah he had a few days leave so he came to see me. It was really sweet of him, I mean he’s worked hard for that time off and he could literally do anything with it but he chose to come here. I think he was missing home a bit actually.”

Michael bit his lip, almost enough to draw blood. He was suddenly filled with so much hurt he didn’t know what to do with it. “Was he okay?”

“Yeah. I think his work has been a bit tough recently but he seemed happy.” Maria smiled gently.

Seemed happy? Did that mean Alex was happy because he was home? Or because he was spending his time with someone other than Michael?

Michael was glad he was happy, of course he was glad. Alex’s happiness is all he’s ever wanted. And of course, he has a right to visit other friends, it was never Michael’s place to tell him not to. Even when he had stayed with Michael in the past, he had always made time to say hello to other friends before he had to leave again.

But this time he hadn’t even mentioned to Michael that he was coming home. Not a single word in any of the intermittent letters.

And maybe Michael was to blame. The last time they had seen each other hadn’t exactly been perfect. And recently he’d been putting off replying for weeks which Alex must have noticed. But he still always replied in the end! So that must have meant something, right? It must have proven to Alex that he still cared, that he would still want to spend time with him.

There was no way Alex could have known that he would find out. Michael had never properly mentioned the little love-hate friendship he had struck up with Maria over the years, so really Alex could never have predicted this. And that’s probably what he had wanted, to spend time in Roswell under the radar, away from Michael.

Should he be angry about this? Was he angry? Yes. He was probably being overdramatic but this seemed like the final nail in the coffin of their unspoken relationship.

Suddenly, he had the desperate urge to take his mind off everything he’d just heard so without thinking he turned to what he did best. Paying Maria half of what he owed for the drink, he locked eyes with a cute girl at the other end of the bar and eagerly slid off the stool, ready to make a night of it.

January 2016

Isobel grabbed his face and kissed him on the cheek before he could stop her. The fireworks exploding into a hundred sparks above their heads were loud, but the cheering from the mass of people crowded outside of the Pony seemed louder.

“Happy New Year!!” Isobel practically screamed in his ear before turning to plant an overly enthusiastic kiss on Noah’s lips. This was probably the most drunk he had ever seen Isobel and every second of it was brilliant.

Max clapped a hand on Michael’s back and they tapped glasses in a less enthusiastic celebration. When Michael had suggested that the four of them go to the Wild Pony for New Year’s he had expected to be shot down instantly, but now that they were here he was glad they had actually agreed.

It had been a good night. There was plenty of alcohol, loud music and he’d won several games of pool - all without using his powers! Even Deluca had seemed almost happy to see him but he put that down to the Christmas spirit she’d been radiating for the past week.

Watching the fireworks felt like such a cliche way to end it. It was perfect. The colours lit up the sky, the bright blues and pinks of the explosions reminding him of the alien console that was slowly coming together beneath the earth of the junkyard and the booms were so powerful he could practically feel them reverberating in his chest.

He had drunk far too much to be able to quite remember how he made it home, but closing the door behind him, he noticed how lonely the airstream felt after spending the evening in a crowd of people. 

He threw his hat onto the desk and his shoes into the nearest corner and dropped onto the bed with a sigh. He clenched his left fist a few times as the ache became noticeable again. Even after all these years, the cold weather still wreaked havoc with his injury, making it cramp or stiffen up at the worst times.

As he stared up at the ceiling he had an idea. A truly terrible idea. And if he was sober he would have realised that, but sensible Michael had taken a break for the night.

He rolled off the bed and stumbled the short distance to his desk. For a messy person, his supplies were surprisingly organised with the paper stacked in one draw and a few envelopes scattered in another. He grabbed the closest pen to him and tested it worked on a scrap design that he hadn’t had the heart to throw away yet.

His uneven lettering would probably give away his drunken state but he didn’t care. This was probably the most honest he would ever be with Alex so why not take advantage of that.

Dear Alex,

I guess I should wish you a happy new year.

You know we’ve never spent a new years together? I know you’re really busy in your super important job but it would have been nice for you to celebrate it at home one year. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t tell me.

I’ve been thinking about leaving Roswell. 2016 has officially begun and I’m stuck doing the same thing I’ve been doing my entire life, living in some tiny metal box and getting paid a measly amount at a job I only half show up to.

So maybe I should just leave. Get out of the town that’s filled with heaps of bad memories. Like all the shit that happened with Max and Isobel, all the stuff with your dad. Everywhere I look in this town has been tainted by bad people and bad choices.

So you know what they say, new year, new start.

I might go to Vegas and try my luck there. Or Texas. It’s not as far but at least I’d fit in. Or maybe I’ll just leave America completely! Europe sounds nice and I bet it isn’t just miles of sand.

I used to wish we could leave together. I’d save up enough money and as soon as you got out of the Air Force we’d just leave. It wouldn’t matter where, just anywhere away from this town. And we’d probably run out of money and it would be an absolute disaster but that would be okay because at least we’d be together.

I don’t think you want that though Alex, I think you’ve already moved on and that really hurts. So maybe I should just move on too.

Enjoy the new year with your boys.

Michael

Without reading it over, he folded the paper into an envelope and sealed it before he could second guess anything.

In the morning he wouldn’t remember what the letter said, but he’d post it anyway.

November 2016

Roswell always did go all out for Veterans Day. There were banners hung in every building, flags flying proudly from every window and it was as though every Roswell born member of the Armed Forces - past and present - had returned for the annual celebration. All except one.

The evening’s event was held at the drive in, organised by the one and only Isobel Evans-Bracken and that was the only reason Michael was there. To support Isobel and that’s it.

This day was hard most years. The constant reminders of Alex everywhere he’d go, the odd sighting of Jesse Manes being thanked for his service when that man was the entire reason for Alex’s absence.

He had always believed that he would get used to it the longer Alex was away. The town was very pro-military and there always seemed to be some parade or other so the constant reminders should have made him accustomed to the feelings it brought up.

But wishful thinking strikes again.

And this year seemed to be the worst of the lot.

He and Alex had hardly spoken all year and the letters he did receive sounded like Alex was just checking if he was still in Roswell more than anything else. He never quite worked out what gave the airman the impression that he would be leaving anytime soon.

To be fair though, all of his replies had been short and vague with a rather blunt tone that he couldn’t help. A small part of him knew that he was pushing Alex away and it was screaming at him, begging him to stop, but he didn’t listen. Unfortunately, when he was hurt his self preservation kicked in big time.

Grabbing another beer from the cooler, he took a seat next to Max on the back of the truck and watched as Master Sergeant Jesse Manes took to the stage to give a speech about duty and sacrifice and how those who had lost their lives had done so proudly in the service of their country.

It made him wonder if Alex would feel proud in his last moments. If the worst happened, would he be glad to die for his country or would he be afraid? Would he be filled with fear as he lay in the dirt, cold and bleeding, waiting for help that wasn’t going to arrive on time? Would he be with his team, surrounded by love and friendship and people begging him to be okay or would he be alone? 

Or maybe it would be quick. A swift bullet to the head or heart. A nice clean shot and a point to the enemy. There one minute and gone the next.

Would Alex even feel it?

Would Michael?

As the townsfolk and various uniformed men and women began clapping loudly around him, his mind was brought back to the present. Manes gave a wave to the crowd as he ended his speech and passed the microphone over to Isobel to announce the evening’s agenda.

As she listed the live music and entertainment that was in store, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on her words instead of the thoughts circling his head. He didn’t know why he still cared so much. Alex wasn’t Michael’s to protect or worry about. Not anymore.

Michael had moved on and maybe if he drunk enough tonight, his heart would finally believe that and his mind would stop reciting the latest letter that had arrived at his door.

Dear Michael,

We were shipped off to Baghdad two months ago.

I wasn’t going to tell you because I don’t want you to worry and it’s not fair for me to force this onto you when you’re off living your own life now. It’s just a lot has happened on this tour already and I’ve been getting this feeling that I should probably let you know that I’m here.

All things considered, I’m actually quite lucky that this is only my third deployment bearing in mind how many years I’ve been serving. I’ve heard stories about some people who are on tour after tour and I don’t think I’d be able to handle the never ending missions.

It turns out I must be quite good at my job though because the team I’m with requested me. They needed someone with my specialist skillset so I guess its rather flattering but it makes me think that this job is going to be harder than the others.

It’s crazy to think about how much I’ve accomplished since I first joined. Seventeen year old Alex would hate that I’m still here but I guess he didn’t know the world like I do now. I still think about him sometimes though, the rebellious kid who wore too much eyeliner.

I know I don’t say it much but I’m really grateful for the time we spent together back then. And since then. They’re some of my favourite memories.

But I’m glad you’ve found your own path in life. You have a job that you love, a place to live that you can call your own and friends and family that you can always turn to.

I hope everyone is okay back home. I hope you’re okay. 

And more than anything, I hope that you’re happy. It’s what you deserve and I’m sure one day you’ll find someone who sees that and makes you even happier.

From, 

Alex.

He hated that Alex was back there.

And he hated that the letter sounded like a goodbye.

February 2017

Dear Alex,

I know it’s taken me a while to reply. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I’ve just been thinking about everything that’s happened and I didn’t want to say something I would regret. You’d probably tell me that I was overthinking and I’d dramatically disagree of course. But you would be right.

I’ve been thinking a lot about where you are right now and all of the bad things that could happen. I’m not going to go into how many soldiers have died over there because I’m sure you know more about it than me, just make sure you’re not added to that list, okay? I haven’t acted like it recently but it worries me that you’re somewhere so dangerous, so please be careful.

I know we’ve drifted but I still care about you Alex so I need you to be okay. I’ve been distancing myself from you these past few years and I’m sorry for that. I thought you were pushing me away so I did all I could to push you away first. I know I can’t change that now but maybe it can be different going forward.

It’s been almost three years since I last saw you in person and in a weird way it feels like yesterday. Three years sounds like a long time but looking back, it’s flown past way too quickly. So much has changed since then. I see Sanders occasionally but I haven’t worked at the junkyard in years, Isobel is married, the Wild Pony has starting having open mic nights and the Crashdown has gained about ten new milkshakes.

But I suppose the one constant is that you haven’t been here. You’ve been off being an American hero and that’s such an incredible achievement. You’ve travelled to places that I will never go, accomplished things I will probably never understand and been involved in so much that I can never know about. 

I’m sure it hasn’t always been the positive experience that people make it out to be, but I’m so happy you’ve been able to make something of your life.

You’re probably on some super secret mission right now with your little carefully selected team, but if you’ve got a minute, let me know that you’re okay.

Michael

July 2017

Alex hadn't answered. Five months and four goddamn letters and Alex hadn't answered a single one. And Michael was pissed. 

Well, first he was terrified. He had made up all manner of excuses. Maybe the letters got lost in the post. Maybe Alex was too busy to reply. But the never ending weeks of radio silence soon left Michael thinking the worst.

He had scoured the news headlines for any reports of American deaths in Iraq, he checked the obituary lists for any updates and he kept an ear out for any locals discussing the untimely death of Alex Manes.

He didn’t want to find out but he needed to know the truth.

Maria hadn’t mentioned anything in the many nights he had spent drowning his sorrows at the bar, so he took that as a good sign but then again she could just be as in the dark as he was.

After a while though, when no bad news had surfaced, he accepted the sad fact that Alex had chosen not to reply.

That the man he once loved had read his letters and hadn’t cared enough to respond. That he’d read the carefully selected words that conveyed Michael’s love and gratitude and worry. That he’d held the paper in his hands, each letter more honest than the last, and had decided to leave Michael hanging.

And if it proved one thing, it’s that he was right to stop waiting for Alex. 

He had woken up that morning missing Alex desperately. Missing his face, his voice, his laugh, his words. But when, once again, no letter arrived, his anger tore through as he finally decided to face the cold hard truth that had been waiting in the back of his mind for weeks.

Their relationship had been going downhill for a long time and now the airman had clearly made the choice for the both of them. Alex had ended whatever it was they had going on and so now Michael would do the same.

That night he went to sleep, vowing to never think of Alex again, so painfully unaware that Alex, now with half a limb cruelly taken from him, had read the letters. In fact he'd read over every letter in his metal box, mourning the end of their relationship with each one. 

Waking up in the hospital bed five months ago he'd seen his future. The future filled with therapy, physio, phantom pains, decreased mobility, the constant awkwardness from other people. And he refused to burden Michael with that. His beautiful cowboy deserved so much better.

Soon the letters would stop completely and Alex would accept that because why would Michael keep trying when he was receiving nothing in return? And maybe they’ll never see each other again and maybe they’ll never reconcile, but that would be okay because at least this way, Michael would be free.

December 2017

It was two weeks until Christmas and Isobel was on his case about a present. Why do you have to make my life difficult, Michael? You’re the only person I haven’t bought for, Michael. Can you find some actual hobbies so that I know what to get you, Michael?

The queen of organisation was getting very stressed at the mere thought of having to do any last minute shopping but how would Michael tell her what he really wanted for Christmas when obtaining it was impossible?

And yeah, yeah, he said he was going to stop thinking about him. But let’s be real, that was never going to happen.

Instead he drank. A lot. And gambled and hooked up with pretty girls and committed enough petty crime to make Max consider a very early retirement.  

Anything to get his mind off Alex. But as blissful as the forgetting was in the night, it always came flooding back in the morning. Because every morning he woke up and stared at the compartment where the box was stored and every morning it reminded him of Alex. Well, no more.

Sitting on the edge of the bed as he tried to ignore the cold winter wind raging outside, he made the decision to move it. If he hid it away and promised himself that he would never look inside again then maybe, just maybe, he would finally move on.

Standing up was a choice he instantly regretted as the room spun slightly and the sun blaring in through the newspaper covered window immediately fuelled the hangover burning behind his eyes. But as soon as everything settled he wasted no time in opening the compartment and taking out the box.

His fingers were itching to lift up the lid and peek inside but that would only make it harder. Instead he clamped the sides tightly in his grip and headed straight for the closet.

It was ironic really, hiding Alex in the closet - a thought that only came to him as he was opening the door - but it was the only place in the tiny hamster cage of a home where it would be safe from prying eyes, Michael’s included. 

There were a pair of boots at the bottom alongside some old clothes Max had given him years ago and a cardboard box of blueprints, photos and spaceship pieces he had yet to take to the junkyard.

He lifted them out easily and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor next to where he was kneeling - they had been shoved in the bottom of a closet for god knows how long, they could manage a bit of manhandling.

With the space now empty, the shoebox went in first, being pushed as far into the corner as possible before he gave himself the chance to change his mind. The larger box went back in next, taking up the remaining floor space, then the boots and bag of clothes were thrown in afterwards. As long as they didn’t fall out, he didn’t care where they landed.

As he closed the door his phone rang and looking at the caller ID the timing couldn’t have been more perfect as he’d finally thought of an idea for what Isobel could buy him.

Because why spend your own money to fuel your drinking habit when someone else could do it for you.

March 2018

Michael was shocked awake by a loud thump. Sitting up too quickly, scrambling to get his brain in gear, he noticed Max standing on the other side of the cage with a large pile of files on the desk in front of him. That explains what caused the rude awakening then.

“Thanks.” He groaned, lying back down on the metal bench. His head was thumping and he was not in the mood for the conversation that was bound to follow.

“Is this gonna be a regular thing with you?” Max asked as he took a seat at the desk. The chair scraped horribly on the floor and it made Michael wince.

He stared up at the ceiling and took a few breaths before talking. He didn’t normally feel this bad after drinking but he’d forgotten to grab a bottle of acetone before heading to the Pony and it had been a long night.

“I thought you wanted to spend more time together.” He replied impudently after a moment. 

He heard Max sigh and could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“It’s not funny, Michael.”

“It’s a little funny.” He smirked, attempting to sit up again, groaning as it became clear how much his back hadn’t appreciated his drunk tank sleeping arrangements. Max didn’t even glance up at him from the file he was reading. “Right, are you gonna let me out or not?”

“Nope. Valenti’s just outside and she’ll know if I go easy on you.” 

Michael scoffed and debated just lifting the keys from the desk with his powers. Why did Max have to be such a rule-following little Deputy? It was as if Max was the mind reader of the trio though as he grabbed the keys without looking and put them straight into his pocket.

“I’m just trying to help you.” Max gave him a pointed look that Michael just wanted to punch right off his face sometimes.

“Like always…” Michael muttered under his breath.

“I’m surprised Maria hasn’t barred you yet. You cause her more trouble than it’s worth.”

“The fight wasn’t even that bad, everyone just overreacted. Besides, the other guy totally started it.”

Max shook his head as he got back to his work. Michael wasn’t lying, he hadn’t started the fight, he had just been rather eager to join in. Sometimes punching things felt good.

Max was clearly not letting him out anytime soon and it was well before noon so no-one was expecting him to be at work for a good couple of hours. He could try to negotiate his freedom but Max had this whole save Michael from himself agenda going on recently so it would probably just be a waste of breath.

Instead he could take the easy route and catch up with a bit more sleep.

June 2018

“Quick Alex, run and tell your daddy.”

Michael instantly regretted his words the second the door had closed behind him.

But he hadn’t seen Alex in four years, hadn’t heard from him in months. He had every right to be angry. Right?

Except he wasn’t angry, not really, that was just a façade he was forcing forward to help protect himself from the heartache threatening to break through. He never could stay angry at Alex for long.

Looking through the shoebox filled him with a cautious kind of hope. Just because Alex was back didn’t mean anything was going to change between them but Michael just couldn’t help it.

He sat on the floor for a while as he read over some of the letters, his legs getting cramped in the small gap between the bed and the closet. He had forgotten how happy the earlier letters were, the ones sent before Alex had had a chance to experience combat. They had both been so young back then, so unaware of how life would turn out.

Once he was finished, he left the shoebox on his desk, feeling too nostalgic to put it back in the closet but not yet ready to commit to the overhead compartment again. Thoughts of Alex followed him well into the afternoon of the next day and they didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. Twenty-four hours since Alex had been standing right in front of him and he had completely fallen for the airman all over again.

But that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let Alex in again. Not if it was just going to end the same way.

So when Alex approached him at the reunion, suggesting that he had turned his trailer into a meth lab, Michael did all he could to put the wall back up again. He was sarcastic and aggrieved and did his best to rile Alex up. You trying to hold my hand, Private?

And when he shoved past Alex he pretended to himself that it felt good.

But the heart wants what the hearts wants and all evening his eyes kept being drawn back to Alex. He barely noticed the girl at his side as he watched Alex smile politely and engage in conversation with people they had both gone to school with and when Alex ducked into a side room, he couldn’t stop his feet from following.

Watching Alex check his prosthetic broke Michael’s heart. He wanted to ask a million questions, how did it happen? When did it happen? Does it hurt? Are you okay? Alex was walking on it, albeit with a crutch, so it must have been at least a year since he was injured and Michael had been oblivious to it all. Although an entire year of unanswered letters were suddenly provided with a devastating explanation.

To lose a limb must be unimaginable, but whatever had caused it, Michael was just so glad that it hadn’t taken all of him.

He leaned against the doorway as his eyes roamed over every part of the man in front of him, taking him in completely. His beautiful face that Michael was desperate to put a smile on, his soft hair that had grown since he had last been home, the checkered shirt that looked so much more Alex than the uniform, the way he glowed under the coloured lights.

They had both been through so much this past decade but Alex was back, potentially for good this time, and Michael was about to dive headfirst into the possibility of them rekindling whatever it was they once had.

“Nostalgia’s a bitch, huh?” He spoke up, hoping beyond anything that Alex wouldn’t walk away. He allowed a gentle smile and when Alex dropped his leg to the floor and faced him properly, he felt his heartbeat quicken.

Alex took a moment to reply and when he did his face gave no hints as to whether he was happy to see Michael or not. “I thought for sure when I got back from Iraq you would be long gone.” 

“Is that what you want?” Michael avoided eye contact, suddenly not wanting to witness the moment Alex turned him away but still, he walked closer.

“We’re not kids anymore.” Alex whispered, the words catching in his throat, and still Michael kept walking. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

They were so close to each other now, barely an arm’s length away from touching and the close proximity gave Michael all the courage he needed. He drew his longing gaze away from Alex’s eyes to his soft lips and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

One moment they were two separate people and the next they were crashing together like waves that had been parted for an eternity.

Michael’s entire body tingled, the feeling of Alex’s palm on his back, Alex’s lips against his own. He was hardly aware of what his hands were doing, cupping Alex’s face and pulling him closer, hungry and intense and desperate to reclaim what they had lost. He barely breathed as the rest of the world fell away until it was just them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

His anger at Alex and his year long desire to banish any thought of him was long forgotten. He was back, he was here and Michael didn’t ever want to let go. 

As they parted, foreheads still touching, Michael couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the man in front of him, convinced that if he closed his eyes for even a second it would all disappear. The moment was so perfect, part of him felt like he was dreaming.

Their relationship over the past decade had been a complete rollercoaster but now, feeling Alex pressed against him, Michael was convinced that things would be different now.

And maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

The End.

Thank you for reading ❤️✨

[florenceandthemachine]

broken Tumblr asks part ??: in which I think I figured out that adding a read more into the asks are what breaks them.

anonymous asked:

the team makes Buck cry. send tweet.

hi anon I really am sorry if you were hoping for some hurt / comfort bc uh. this is just the hurt. xoxox

also my love, thanks, and eternal devotion to @buckleydiazs for giving it a quick beta 💖

Buck was on cloud fucking nine.

For a year—an entire year—he had been stuck in the doctors office, twice a month, while they ran test after test after his… multiple accidents. Blood tests, lung tests, flexibility tests, he had been poked like a pincushion and stretched like a rubber band, he had been through physical therapy, occupational therapy, and just regular therapy (hell, he was still in regular therapy), and now finally, finally, he was finished. 

“So, you don’t show any signs of abnormal clotting and your risk for a second pulmonary embolism is low. As far as your ankle goes, but you’ve regained full mobility, and as much as I wish I could take all the credit for that, I know you’ve been working your ass off in therapy. Congratulations, Mr. Buckley.”

He was cleared. Fully out of the woods. Clean bill of health. 

Finally, finally, after a year of hell, he could put everything—his crushed leg, his bleeding lungs, his stupid lawsuit—behind him. Finally, he could breathe easy, easier than he had in a year, and the only thing he wanted to do in the entire world was share the news with his family. 

Normally, Maddie would have been first, but he always felt bad about tying up a dispatcher when he called her at work. Her shift ended in an hour or so, though—like his normally would have, if he didn’t have his schedule switched during doctor days.

Well, if he can’t tell his sister, he can still tell his family. 

“Hey, Chim!”

Buck is all smiles as locks his Jeep, his medical release in hand, jogging easily to catch up to Chim’s retreating backside. Buck grinned as Chim turned around, raising his brow. “Hey, do you and Hen have a second? I wanted to show you both my—“

“Oooh, sorry, no can do Buckeroo. Hen’s taking her MCAT’s in two days, I have every second of her free time booked solid with studying.”

Buck faltered a little bit as they walked, raising his brow. While he really was proud of Chim for doing a full 180 so quickly—going from feeling betrayed to supporting a friend was no easy feat, and Buck knew that as well as anyone, but he also knew that a full day of studying wouldn’t do any good. 

“Come on, Chim, I’m sure she can take a break to—“

“Noooo, Buck.”

“Chim.”

“Buck, seriously. She’s been working too hard for this, and I’m not having you break up her flow. This is important to her, you get that right?”

Of course Buck got it, but…

“I’m not going to let anyone ruin this for her.”

….ruin it? He just wanted to share some good news.

He understood that Hen had to study, and that her upcoming MCATS were really important to her, but this was important to Buck; and for Chim to jump straight to that degree made his heart sink a little bit with each beat, his head traitorously whispering to him ‘what if Chim is right?’. Hen had been one of his biggest supporters as he got off of blood thinners, as he started back into his various therapies, and he had thought he returned the favor, helping her study in his free time whenever he could, and helping her take her mind off of things when she needed to as well—maybe his distractions were more harm than good, but he knew Hen well enough to know that if no one pulled her away from her work, she just wouldn’t eat, sleep, go home, any of it. Was it really that bad that Buck wanted a minute?

He felt his smile start to slip so he hitched it back up, nodding his head. “Yeah, sure, I… okay, just hit me up when you’re all done, I guess?” He said, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. It must have worked, because Chim clapped both of his arms and turned away, leaving Buck standing there for a moment before he shook himself out of it.

It was fine. Hen wanted to study, that was important. Buck tried to pump himself back up as he took the stairs to the loft two at a time, reveling in the simple act of fully rolling his ankle. He tilted his head as he heard Bobby’s voice spill out of his office, turning on his heel to his next target. Besides, Bobby sounded frustrated—some good news would do him good, or so Buck thought. 

“…no, I don’t—no, we can’t just take—wait, what? No, I will not hold!”

Buck almost laughed as he knocked on the Cap’s open door, smiling when Bobby waved him inside.

“Look, forgive me if I’m not entirely sympathetic, but when we’re down an engine, and you can’t tell us when repairs will be done—well then you’d better transfer me to someone who can!”

“Everything alright, Cap?” Buck couldn’t help but smile as Bobby strangled his phone, sighing in defeat when the plastic wouldn’t yield. 

“You know, Marty was a crook in the end, but damn, he was a good mechanic. What’s up, Buck?”

Buck winced at the reminder of the nearly would-be heist, humming thoughtfully as he waved his full release forms. “Well, this shouldn’t take long. I got back from the doctors today, and—“

Bobby’s groan cut him off, hanging his head in his free hand. “No, Buck, no. I can’t have you sick right now, and nothing good ever follows ‘doctor’.”

Buck laughed, but Bobby kept going, the stress of the day and being down an engine clearly getting to him as he continued on. “And the last time I heard “doctor” from you, it was followed by lawsuit, which—yes, I’m still holding, hello?”

Lawsuit?

What the fuck? 

Buck reeled back like he had been slapped, the smile frozen on his face even with Bobby’s clear dismissal. He was glad that he didn’t have to say anything else, at the very least, because his throat felt hot and tight and it was all he could do to stay steady as he pivoted on his heel, walking out of the office. 

He hated the fact that that was the first thing Bobby brought up, but he hated even more how much that dark cloud was still lingering over his head. If Bobby would be so candid when Buck was barely two words in to saying something, who’s to say what choice words he had about Buck when he was gone? 

The lawsuit was the worst part of his life, the biggest mistake he had made, and he couldn’t wrap his head around it being thrown in his face when he was ready to walk in and share what was the best news he had ever received. Is that… all he would have here, all he would have been able to look forward to?

He started back down the stairs, his legs acting independently of the rest of his body, a dull tingling spreading through his chest as he finally sat down. He didn’t know if there was a happy medium between cold and numb (‘shock’, his mind provided, ‘you’re in shock’), but whatever it was, he was deep into it.

God, he had honestly thought that was all behind him. How fucking stupid was he to think that he was going to be able to come back from a mistake that huge, even a year later?

“Buck?”

He could feel himself starting to panic—loathe as he was to admit it—but as per usual, Eddie was a step ahead of the game without even knowing it. Even now, just hearing Eddie take a few steps closer to him started to ease his heartbeat, and he swallowed a few times as he nodded, fighting off the headrush as he was able to breathe again.

“Hey, Buck, you good?”

“Hey, Eddie, uh…hey!” Buck stood up and wiped his hands on his pants, paperwork forgotten next to him as he tried to smile. If anything, he knew—he knew to his very core, he knew, he… he prayed Eddie would be able to share this little victory with him. “Eds, you have a second to talk?“

Buck almost swallowed his tongue as the alarm sounded through the station, his jaw clicking shut as footsteps started to come down the stairs. 

“Hey, we’ll talk later, yeah?” Eddie called, already heading to his locker. It was all Buck could do to hold it together, nodding his head as he waved them off, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when the ladder pulled out of the station.

--

Eddie may have had a good start on his day, but Buck did not. 

He had woken up, kissed Christopher goodbye as Carla brought him to school, and less than ten minutes later, he had a brown envelope in hand, with a curt “You’ve been served”.

Shannon’s will was being contested. The will that Eddie didn’t even know she had. By her father, who Eddie had only seen twice in several years of marriage. 

The will was simple enough—a few grand left to Christopher’s college fund, a small pair of earrings to her sister, and that was it. There was nothing to contest, in Eddie’s mind, but contested it was.

He looked over the paperwork twice, and it made less sense the second time around—as much as he hated to admit it, the worst part of it all was knowing that Eddie was going to be alone at work again, because Buck had another day off scheduled in the books. 

So yeah, he may have been a little grumpy as he threw a few weights around in the work room for the start of his shift.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Eddie was spiraling; he couldn’t understand how someone could be so bitter, so selfish, to try and stop a few thousand dollars from going into a college fund for their grandchild. His mood only soured as his shift went on, there were no distractions, no calls, nothing to help him pull his head out of his ass, and no one he could talk to. Chim had almost bitten his head off when he said hello to Hen that morning, Bobby was dealing with yet another broken down, tax funded nightmare, and Buck—

And Buck was here. 

“Buck?”

Eddie did an honest to god double take as he saw Buck sitting on the bench, like he had been summoned from the depths of Eddie’s mind, even though he looked like he was in a state of shock.

“Hey, Buck, you good?”

He couldn’t lie, it made his heart skip a beat when Buck smiled at him—even if he could tell that Buck’s heart wasn’t in it. 

Before he could say anything more, the alarm sounded through the house, and Eddie was about a step away from fully losing his mind. “Hey, we’ll talk later, yeah?” He said, trying to give a small smile as he started to double back to his locker.

The call, to put it mildly, had not gone well—any fire call where the main focus wasn’t the fire was bound to be troublesome. A ten year old had started a fire in a laundry room, which should have been simple enough, except it was the same laundry room that he and his brother had apparently been locked up on for months. 

Suddenly what started out as a fire call turned into fire, medics, and police, and Eddie felt his hands start to shake as he worked with Hen to revive a ten year old boy. Barely older than Christopher. It wasn’t the first time he had seen abuse face to face, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last, but something about it was working him up more than usual. He was glad his shift was almost over—the only thing he wanted to do was go home, hug his kid, and sleep.

“—ooh, Mads, they’re back, gotta go. Hey, Eddie!”

He knew he was in deep when not even hearing Buck’s voice could brighten his mood—it was all he could do to hitch a half-hearted smile onto his face as he stepped off of the spare rig.

“Good call, right? Maddie said it sounded like everyone should pull through.”

Eddie just felt himself wind up tighter as he shook his head, rolling his jaw to force himself to keep it loose. “No, Buck. It was not a good call. It was a very bad call.” Bad didn’t even begin to cover it. Eddie could still feel his heart in his throat, feel a tiny body in his arms as Hen started compressions.

He was too wrapped in his own world to notice Buck falter, clearly thrown in the conversation. “Well, hey, if you’ve got a second—“

“Come on Buck, give it a break. I just want to get the fuck out of here as soon as I can.”

Pulling his boots off, he tossed them with perhaps a bit more force than needed into his locker, missing the way that Buck’s face shuttered. “You too, huh?”

“‘You too’? The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Eddie, I just wanted to share some good news, and—“

“Well things aren’t just good or bad, Buck! Just because no one died does not make a good call, and just because things are bad right now doesn’t mean I have to be cheered up. I’m allowed to be pissed off. I’m allowed to have one fucking minute!” Eddie snapped, chucking his jacket against the hamper in the corner, jaw clenched so hard he would have been afraid of cracking a tooth if he was in his right state of mind.

“So please, tell me what is so god damned important that I can’t see my kid until you tell me.”

The moment the words left his lips, he knew it was a mistake. The only person that loved Chris as much as Eddie was Buck, and he knew that, saw that more clearly than ever as his white hot anger dulled into something more manageable. He swallowed as he turned around, and… fuck, Buck wasn’t even looking at him.

“…Buck, I—“

--

“Clean bill of health.”

Buck couldn’t bring himself to look up up as he tossed the stack of papers onto the bench, doing his absolute best to keep himself composed as he spoke, his jaw tight and brow furled. 

He had been so proud of himself for avoiding a panic attack while they were on the call. He had never gotten them before this past year, but between the earthquake, tsunami, Maddie’s kidnapping, and bomb, he had become fast friends with the crushing weight. But he had done well—he kept himself above water, so to speak, and when he called Maddie he was proud to say that his voice was almost steady, and prouder still when she congratulated him for his job well done in therapy, demanding he come over and celebrate tonight. 

Well, even if he couldn’t count on his family friends team, he could always count on Maddie. It was a small joy in the world, but right now, it felt like it was all he had.

“Officially back to 100% mobility in my crushed ankle, officially out of the woods for another clot. Did you know it would take me a year to be clear of another embolism, because I refused blood thinners? Well, I figured you might, since you’re been running calls without me, every other week for a year, while I sit in a hospital room.”

Buck finally brought himself up to meet his teammates eye as Eddie’s frustration started to give way to confusion, and that, that hurt more than anything else today. Had anyone even realized why his schedule changed every other week? Did anyone care? “And alright, like you said, it might not be that important to you all but—“

“Buck, you—“

“But it’s really fucking important to me! All I wanted to do was share the good news with the people who are supposed to be family, my team, and instead all I got was blown off, snapped at—Eddie, I mentioned the word doctor in front of Bobby and his first concern was if he had another lawsuit on his hands.”

Buck was mildly aware that he was shaking—he had never really handled stress like this well—but the bigger concern was the tightening in his throat, that sinking pressure he felt right beneath his lungs. He could handle a lot of things, but that didn’t mean he could handle crying in front of Eddie quite yet.

“It’s been a year, Eddie, and I thought things were getting better, so what gives? What did I do, what have I done to deserve being treated like this? I’m serious, please, tell me, so I can fix it!”

Buck’s voice was reaching a fevered pitch as he gestured around the locker room, feeling himself splinter as he begged, literally begged, to know what he had done—why his work had meant nothing. Would he be mortified later? Probably, but everyone had a breaking point, and Buck was realizing (belatedly) that he was past his.

“All I wanted to do today was share a victory with my team, at least share it with you, you’re supposed to be my best friend, and I—I don’t get why—“

If Buck could clearly see Eddie’s face, he might have laughed at the pale, slack jawed, panicked expression before him. As it was, though, his eyes were starting to burn, and even as he reached to rub them, his body finally gave up, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Why is everyone being so fucking mean?” 

Buck didn’t bother with another platitude as he pushed past Eddie, rubbing tear tracks off of his cheeks. He felt his face heat up as he stormed out of the firehouse, fumbling for his keys, and heaven help any member of the 118 who stood in his way. 

--

Buck was crying.

The team had made Buck cry.

Fuck, Eddie had made Buck cry. 

He just stood in the locker room as the sound of Buck’s Jeep faded into the distance, feeling his heartbeat throughout his entire body. All Buck wanted to do was share some positivity with the team, and Eddie had… eviscerated him. He bent down to pick up some of the papers Buck had left behind, his heart falling even further (as if that was possible) as he read over the paperwork.

Fuck.

“Hey, Eddie, is Buck in here? Chim said he wanted to talk to—woah, what’s wrong?”

The sweat on Eddie’s skin had cooled (hell, how long had he been standing there?) and guilt sunk heavier into his stomach as Hen walked into the locker room, with Chim trailing behind her. Eddie’s eyes were still glued to the release in his hand, barely noticing as Chim spoke, staring down at his phone. 

“Uhhh… why is Maddie telling me to camp out with one of you tonight?” he asked the room as a whole, sharing a confused glance with Hen before they both locked eyes on Eddie, who… well, who probably looked as bad as he felt.

Which, considering Eddie felt like he was about to cry himself, was saying a lot.

“We fucked up. I fucked up. I think—I think we broke Buck.”

And he had no idea how to fix it. 

[lone-survivor-six-tales]

Ain’t That A Shot in The Head Ch.7

Boone didn't know where he was heading, all he knew was he wanted to get as far away from the strip as he could. Seeing Six flinch away from him hurt worse than any bullet. The best thing he could do was leave and protect Six from the bad luck that followed him around. He had been traveling for a few hours and had reached 188 trading post. He remembered passing through here with Six on the way to New Vegas and was tempted to just continue walking until his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything since he left so abruptly. After buying some food from one of the traders, he took a seat at an empty bench until a young woman approached him with a smile.

"Hey there, mind if I take a seat?" She asked, gesturing to the other side of the bench. Boone didn't answer but nodded his head which the woman took as a yes and took a seat across from him.

"Thanks, by the way my name is Veronica. I couldn't help but remember you passed here not too long ago with a woman right? She was looking for someone and asked me about it."

Boone didn't understand why she was talking to him but let her ramble as he ate. He was thinking about stopping by Novac to collect the few things he left behind when he heard Veronica say something that caught his attention.

"So I thought I'd listen to the radio station just for a few laughs and that radio host mentioned a guy named Charon and I started thinking about if that was the guy your friend is looking for. I mean, not many people are wandering the wastes with a name like that."

"Did you say Charon?"

Veronica perked up when he spoke up and she was all too glad to repeat herself. "Yeah, your friend said he was a ghoul right? He didn't say too much when on the radio but his voice sounded similar to a ghoul's voice."

"Do you know where this radio broadcast is coming from?" Boone asked, leaving the rest of his food untouched as he stood up and collected his pack and rifle. Veronica followed suit while pointing in the direction of black mountain.

"Yeah it's coming from black mountain but that place is full of super mutants and nightkin. You'd probably have to send an army to get through them to get to the top."

Boone looked at the mountain in the distance and then back to Veronica. After a moment he dug into his bag and pulled out his bag of caps and passed them to Veronica.

"I need you to do me a favor. Do you know the way to get to New Vegas?"

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

Six stepped out of the Atomic Wrangler with a frown. While Arcade was out with Rex and Lily trying to find out what happened to Cassidy Caravans, Six and ED-E had visited almost every casino and shop in both the strip and Freeside looking for Boone. She was starting to regret listening to Arcade and waiting a while for Boone to return for his beret and sunglasses. Six was on her way to camp McCarran to see if Boone was there when she saw a woman running up the road heading in her direction.

"Oh thank goodness I was right! It's a good thing your hair is so unique or I'd probably have the hardest time looking for you." Veronica panted, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Six looked at the woman confused until she noticed the power fist on her hand.

"Hold on, you're that woman I talked to at that trading post."

Veronica nodded with a grin. "Yeah, Veronica. I ran into your friend, you know, the one with the constant frown," before she could continue Six interrupted her.

"Boone? You saw him? Where is he?" She started looking around, wondering if he had followed Veronica back.

"He's not with me, he's heading to black mountain," she pulled out a letter from her pocket and handed it to Six. "He wanted me to find you and give you this."

Six took the letter and opened it, reading through the letter. Her heart sank as she read the contents.

Six,

You know better than anyone that I'm not the best at talking about feelings but the least I can do is explain some things to you. When I was in the NCR I did things I'm not proud of. I know my hands are stained by blood that should never have been spilled. I've known for a long time now that I have bad things coming for me, for a while I forgot about it thanks to Carla. I had a similar feeling while traveling with you.

The cazador sting and what happened this morning reminded me that the longer I stay with you, the more likely you'll continue to get hurt because of me. If you're reading this then Veronica probably told you that I'm heading for black mountain. Veronica told me she heard that Charon is being held there. It's not likely I'll be able to free him but I can at least thin out the amount of super mutants there to make your job easier.

I'm sorry, I won't be able to watch your back anymore.

-Craig

"ED-E, I need you to take Veronica and find Arcade, tell him to head to black mountain and have his doctor's bag with him, we might need it.." Six checked her bag to count how many bullets she had. Luckily she bought some more ammo when she checked the gun runners shop for Boone.

"Wait, where are you going if I'm going with your eyebot?" Veronica asked as Six checked her map for the quickest route to black mountain.

"I'm going to head there now. If the super mutants haven't killed him then I'm gonna."

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

Charon rolled his eyes as he heard Tabitha walking over to the room he was locked in with Raul. As he expected, Tabitha walked in with her radio microphone, pointing the microphone at Raul who was in the middle of repairing another broken radio.

"So Raul, how does it feel that by tomorrow you will be COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY EXECUTED?!" She asked, making Charon wince when she shouted the end of her question.

"Well, it's a shame since I haven't finished repairing Dave's radio. He won't be able to listen to your show if I'm gone." Raul replied, not looking up from his work as he continued to fix the radio.

"Dave is a loyal viewer." Tabitha mumbled to herself thinking over Raul's words. "Ok, you can stay alive until Dave's radio is fixed." Tabitha announced before closing and locking the door again.

"So does this happen everyday?" Charon asked, sitting back in his chair as he watched Raul set aside the half finished radio. He knew the answer already, having been locked in the same room for long enough that Charon stopped counting.

"Yup, someone needs something repaired, I work on it, Tabitha says I can live another day and then someone else needs something repaired."

"Why haven't you tried escaping?"

"Why haven't you?"

Charon fell silent at Raul's question. He could hear Raul chuckle next to him before a bottle of alcohol was passed to him.

"I get it, it sounds easy. Pick the lock and sneak out while Tabitha is asleep. The only problem is that we'd have to climb down a mountain filled with super mutants and nightkin. I'm guessing when you were caught you ran out of bullets."

Charon shook his head, accepting the bottle and taking a sip before passing it back to Raul. "Someone got the jump on me and knocked me out. When I woke up my weapons were taken and my partner was missing."

"Ah, Alice right? The one that can shoot out a deathclaw's eye from a mile away." Raul chuckled, taking a sip before placing the bottle between them. "You sounded pretty confident that she'd find you. How can you be sure the Mojave hasn't chewed her up and spit her out?"

"It'll take more than a mountain of super mutants to stop her." Charon said with a slight smirk. There was a growl from Tabitha and Charon listened intently as a super mutant called Tabitha over the radios.

"Something's shooting us! Super mutants are being hot but we can't find who did it!"

"Well, find them and crush them!" Tabitha growled. There was a crash and Charon assumed she either hit or threw something.

"Speak of the devil and she'll appear."

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

"Where are you little human?!"

"I'll crush you like a bug."

Boone cursed, slipping between rocks as he looked for a hiding spot to reload his rifle and check the wound to his arm. While sniping a few super mutants, a nightkin had snuck over to him and almost crushed him with a rebar. He was lucky to roll away fast enough to only get hit in the arm. Unfortunately if it turned out his arm was broken, he wouldn't be able to aim his rifle.

"Found you!"

Boone ducked just as a nightkin appeared and took a swing at him, crushing the boulder that he was previously hiding behind. Boone ran as fast as he could to get some distance from the super mutants. As he slid down a slope to quickly escape another nightkin, pain shot through his foot after stepping on a bear trap which clamped down on his foot. He could hear the super mutants laughing while he cut his fingers while trying to pry open the trap.

"Nowhere to run now human." A super mutant laughed, approaching Boone with a gun pointed at him. Boone glared at the mutant as he stared down the barrel of the gun. If it was finally his time to die, he was going to die facing death head on.

What Boone wasn't expecting was the super mutant's head to explode and body collapse at his feet. The remaining super mutants scrambled to find the shooter and we're quickly dispatched one by one. Boone stood still, waiting for a gunshot to end him when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.

"Boone."

Boone looked behind him to see a familiar beret as Six crouched down to open the bear trap. Once his foot was free, luckily only bruised due to the thick leather of his boots, Boone turned to face her.

"Six."

"Don't talk to me."

Boone was surprised at how cold her voice sounded as she passed Boone a stimpak before reloading her rifle.

"We're almost to the summit, watch my back and keep an eye out for the nightkin." Six said as she started climbing up the slope Boone slid down to escape. Before he could follow her, Six tossed him his beret and sunglasses which he quickly put on before following her.

Six was silent as she quickly fought through the gangs of super mutants. Whenever a super mutant got too close to her it was quickly shot down by Boone. Once they reached the summit, Six searched through each building until she came upon a powered down Mr. Handy. Thinking it could help them take out the remaining super mutants, Six quickly fixed the programming error and rebooted the robot.

"Good afternoon ma'am! Have you seen my companion Tabitha?" The Handy asked.

"Uh, would she happen to be the one talking over the radio right now?" Six asked, gesturing to the nearby radio where Tabitha could be heard shouting.

"Oh indeed that is her! She must have been so worried when I went into standby mode. Please excuse me." The Handy quickly left the building while Six and Boone followed behind. From the last building came Tabitha who clapped her hands in joy at the sight of the robot.

"Rhonda is all better!" She cried happily as Rhonda flew over to her.

"Hello again Miss Tabitha, shall we be on our way?"

Six watched the nightkin leave with the robot before entering the building. Six made quick work of the lock on the door and opened it to find Charon and Raul sitting down and looking at the entrance. Raul looked impressed while Charon had a smirk on his face.

"Charon."

Boone was surprised when he saw Six burst into tears and drop her rifle as she ran into Charon's arms.

[seat-safety-switch]

You can’t trust the factory service manual. Yeah, it’s certainly tempting to do so, because it came from the factory. They’re the authorities. They made the car, after all. Think, though. Does the factory repair the car? No, they do not. Everything’s easy when you’ve got the car broken up into little bins at your station and all you have to do is insert bolt 59-B into captive nut 59-A in a glorious, air-conditioned, controlled-humidity, zero-rust environment. So it should come as little surprise that the factory service manuals frequently disagree with your specific mission, and indeed often with objective reality.

For awhile, we had an intrepid bunch of folks who would buy every car that came out and rip the bitch to shreds. Then they’d put it back together and tell you how you could do the same thing. Kings among men, really, although very lazy ones who would often tell you that any reasonably complicated assembly (transmissions, say) are made entirely of wizard magic and you must never, ever, attempt to penetrate their housings because it would make the book balloon to 400 pages and the publisher would shit their pants. Kings.

Nowadays, that’s all over. There’s too many different cars, they update too frequently, and everyone’s illiterate. The replacement is YouTube videos, which feature the protagonist squinting at a poorly-focused chunk of steel hovering over their head, and pointing out to make sure you never forget to remove this bolt (the one that their body is blocking in the shot) or really bad shit will happen and you won’t be able to get the subframe out. It’s no surprise that a lot of people are tempted to go back to the factory, because at least the engineers who told the technical writer what to put down were not actively on methamphetamine when they did so.

Now, I’ve never been privy to dealership training, because even the podunkiest minor-brand dealership garage in North America is not going to be convinced that I know what I am doing with a set of wrenches. However, I imagine it mostly consists of your trainer picking up the service manual and chucking it directly into a roaring fire, then turning you loose on a pre-production automobile that is later crushed to conceal all evidence that you can in fact put an M12 bolt into an M8 hole with enough ugga-duggas and get away with it for the duration of the warranty period. Come to think of it, this is probably how “book hours” are devised, too, the true documentation of the professional mechanic’s realm.

So, if you can’t get Haynes, you can’t understand YouTube, and you can’t trust the factory service manual, what do you do when you have to repair a car? Well, for me at least, you wait until the car has been out of production for multiple decades, and then develop a sort of intuitive knowledge of its construction, like a dowsing sense for the badly engineered parts of a car. This, in turn, can be accomplished by purchasing several dozen examples of the exact same car until you can conclusively determine “oh yeah, the front suspension falls off on all of them, doesn’t it?” Then, you just keep buying more cars until it doesn’t matter that the old ones are broken anymore.