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pastelwitchling · 4 years

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Brother in Arms Chapters: 1/2

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It was past midnight at the Pony when Alex got the call.

Michael was at the counter, coming in and out of Isobel and Maria’s conversation as he scanned the bar, looking for one particular man who said he’d try to come in late. Because they did that now. Offhandedly mention whether or not they were likely to see each other. It was a nice change of pace.

Michael straightened in his seat when he saw Alex finally come in, his hair windswept, his shoulders scrunched against the cold outside. He caught his eyes, and Alex smiled softly, weaving through the crowd towards him.

“Hi,” Michael said.

“Hey,” Alex murmured, his cheeks and nose red from the cold. They held each other’s gaze for several long seconds before Alex looked down, tugging off his scarf. Progress.

Michael cleared his throat and adjusted himself slightly on his chair, subtly scooting closer to Alex, to get a whiff of his vanilla scent, to feel the roughness of his jeans against his own. Alex seemed to notice and he turned slightly so that his left knee just barely grazed Michael’s.

Michael began to smile until he noticed the slight tension in Alex’s shoulders, the pinch of his brows, the pensive purse of his lips.

He looked back over his shoulder at Isobel and Maria, and when he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard, said, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said on a sigh. “Just feel a little off, don’t know why.”

“Maybe you’re just tired from work?”

Alex hummed, unconvinced. “Maybe.”

For the next half-hour, Michael tried getting Alex to smile in earnest. He kept close to him, listening to his day and telling him all about his own. He pretended to swoon (absolutely not actually swooning on the inside) when Alex mentioned his team following his orders, and made a sexual innuendo about Alex’s commands and authority. At one point, he even got a laugh from Alex that made his heart flutter in an embarrassing way that he swore never to mention aloud to anyone.

Michael was sure he looked like a lovesick idiot, smiling at Alex like he did when they were seventeen and he had managed to make the emo kid giggle, but he didn’t care. Moments like these, when they got to just be happy to have each other, weren’t as common as Michael wanted them to be. Some words were still too hard to say, and some confessions still stuck in Michael’s throat, keeping him frozen when he longed more than anything to cling to Alex and never let him go.

But if he’d known the kind of call Alex would get in the next few minutes, he would’ve held on and kept him on that stool, kept him from picking up. He would’ve taken him to the airstream, and they would’ve gotten lost in each other’s touch, a night they probably wouldn’t have talked about the next morning, if only to give him one more night of peace.

But how could he have predicted, when Alex’s phone had rung, the way Alex’s smile would dim at the sight of the caller on the screen? The way panic would cross his expression, however trained he was to hide it? The way his jaw would clench and he’d mutter an excuse under his breath to take his call outside? How could Michael have predicted coming out onto the Wild Pony’s back porch to see Alex sitting on the front step, numbly writing out a date and address in Nashville?

“Okay, Katie,” he said into his phone. “Yeah. . . . Eleven. . . . Mm.”

Michael heard crying on the other end of the line. Alex listened silently, staring at the address he’d written, mindlessly underlining it over and over, the pen tearing into the paper. Alex didn’t seem to notice.

Michael heard muffled voices, Alex responded with, “I’m going right now. I’ll see you in the morning,” and he hung up.

Michael swallowed. “Alex?”

Alex didn’t looked around at him. “Air Force buddy,” he said, and sniffled. “That was his sister.”

Michael’s shoulders fell. There was only one reason Alex’s military buddy’s family would be calling. He came to sit down beside him.

“Private –”

“I need to pack,” he said, standing. His eyes were dry, his tone calculating. “Get some things ready.” He was already typing something on his phone, and Michael followed to find a list of flights to Nashville.

“O-Okay,” Michael tried. “I can drive you –”

“If anybody asks, can you just tell them I’ll be out of town for a few days?” he said, eyes on his phone, his other hand stuffing the piece of paper into his pocket.

“Uh – yeah, but, Alex –”

“Thanks, Guerin,” he said, climbing into his car. Michael’s mouth hung open on a silent sentence as Alex drove away.

It was a freezing late morning in Nashville, as if even the weather was lamenting the loss of a great man. Alex sat a few chairs down from Katie and her mother, both pairs of blue eyes filled with tears. The sun caught off Katie’s blonde hair, turning it gold, just as Scott’s used to be.

Scott had joined the military a week before Alex had. He had been a ball of light and energy the day he’d arrived, catching Alex’s eyes with a smile and sticking by his side ever since. Alex, who had wanted to keep his head down and get the work done, to rise in ranks with the sole purpose of defeating those who thought they could beat him down, was taken hostage by this man’s piercing blue eyes and his kind voice.

“You and me, Manes,” he’d said that first night, taking the bed beside Alex’s, “we’re brothers.”

“I don’t need another brother,” Alex had murmured, glad for the dark that hid his blush.

Scott had smiled. “Then I’ll be more.”

And he had been. It felt strange to go through the months of basics, feeling like part of him was missing unless Scott was there. This blond, disastrous, one-man hurricane had been the same way; always a little more out of control, always a little easier to slip up, always scolded more by the sergeant unless Alex was there to reel him in. He’d been, in every way, Alex’s opposite. As they had lain on their stomachs one night, Alex had told him as much.

“Which makes it all the more incredible how much we connect,” Scott had said. He’d had a fondness in his eyes then that Alex had pretended not to notice. “That’s us, Manes, just like I’d said we’d be. More.”

When Alex had left, they’d kept in touch as much as they were able. A call here, a letter there. Neither of them ever feeling like they were separated at all. No “I miss you”s, just ventures relayed and heartaches confessed.

“Next time I see you, I’ll have a word with that cowboy of yours,” Scott had told him on their last discreet phone call. Alex had laughed and asked him when that visit would come.

“Soon,” Scott had promised. “I’ll come running home to you, brother.”

As Alex watched them lower the black coffin into the ground, those words echoed on repeat in his head. Scott’s team stood, saluting as the bugle played and Alex heard faint sniffles and cries behind him, all turned to background noise.

It felt wrong. Knowing a force of nature like Scott Mason rested in a wooden box, the American flag folded and handed to his mother who clung to it now as if it was her son himself. Alex didn’t take his eyes off the coffin until it was thoroughly buried. People around him began to disperse, but Alex sat there, his fingers quickly growing numb with the cold.

He buried his chin deeper into his scarf, Scott’s laugh in his ears. He would be returning to Roswell in a few hours.

Would that be okay, Scott? he thought, hoping his friend could read his thoughts as he always managed to do, and answer him. If I left?

He had yet to shed a tear, and felt a strange tingling in his chest, like something was building up to be released but couldn’t quite make it through the surface. He wondered if he should stop by his buddy’s favorite burger place around the street before he left, get a double cheeseburger with fries, and dip them in a milkshake.

“Try it,” he’d encouraged him on their first leave. “You’ll thank me.”

Alex blew a tiny breath, a white cloud forming before his face. He muttered, “Thanks, brother.”

“Alex,” someone gasped, “what’d you do?”

Alex looked up, blinking out of his thoughts. He realized almost everyone around them had gone, and Katie stood next to him now, her blue eyes looking down with worry. He followed her gaze and saw that he’d carved into the back of his hand with his thumb, a faint line of blood trickling down the torn skin.

“Oh,” he said. He wiped his hand against his jacket as he stood. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Katie searched his face. Her lower lip trembled as she opened her mouth. “I –” she cleared her throat. “I can’t imagine what he meant to you.”

Alex nodded. It’s not real, he thought. Scott’s fine. He’s not the kind of man who dies. I’m just having a nightmare. I’ll wake up, and my brother will be fine.

Still, even as he thought so, he said, “Your brother loved you, Katie.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she sniffled as she roughly wiped her face. “He loved you, too.”

Alex held out his arms, and Katie fell in against him, hugging his waist tightly enough to bruise. Alex only wished he could feel any of it.

There was to be a reception. Alex had insisted he would help take care of things while Scott’s mother, Ashley, tried to relax. She’d been frighteningly quiet since Alex had arrived two days ago, but Katie assured him that she spent the nights crying.

“She’s letting it out,” she assured him. “Wears herself out half the time. I just don’t think she’s really processed it yet, but she’s getting there.”

Hours later, after guests had gone, Alex found himself sitting amongst Scott’s immediate family. His mother and sister, his uncles and aunts and a few of his first cousins who were able to fly back into town on short notice.

An untouched cup of wine sat in front of Alex on the table as his family laughed through their tears, recounting stories about Scott, memories of him as a kid, funny letters he’d send back so that none of them would ever worry about him.

“He was a good man,” his uncle said gruffly, keeping his head down to hide his glistening eyes.

Alex nodded, his heart still tingling strangely, not quite letting him breathe. “He was a hero,” he said, and was met with nods and “Hear Hear!”s and more tears. Alex wished he could cry. Why couldn’t he cry?

“I remember when he brought you home, Alex,” Ashley said hoarsely, her smile faint. “I was so sure we were going to get some big news.”

Katie scoffed half-heartedly, leaning her chin on her palm. “Mom made Scott’s favorite ribs and chocolate cupcakes. She was so proud he finally found someone. Then Scott told us you were just his friend, and she kept huffing through dinner.”

The corner of Alex’s lips quirked up. “Sorry.”

Ashley grasped Alex’s arm and gave it a tight squeeze. “Far as I’m concerned, sweetheart, you were the only one Scott ever really loved. I felt it in my bones.” Her smiled faded, and her chuckles turned to sobs. Her forehead came to rest on Alex’s shoulder, and he put a hand on her head, keeping her steady against him.

The rest of the group dissolved into sniffles for the next hour. When Ashley had worn herself out and fallen asleep on the couch, Alex stood and grabbed his jacket.

“You have a flight back to Roswell already?” Katie asked, stretching.

He nodded. “I need to get back.”

She managed a smirk. “To your cowboy?”

He scoffed. “Anything else Scott told you?”

“Just that you never wanted to go back to Roswell during your leaves,” she said. “Said you didn’t think anyone would care. You still think that?”

Alex considered it, and it gave him a headache. He exhaled a soft chuckle. “I can’t think of much right now.”

Her eyes were kind. “I understand.” She heaved a groan that cracked at the end. “Is it bad that I kind of want to fast forward to next year? When all of this is just a bad memory?”

“No,” Alex said, pulling her in for another hug. He sighed against the top of her head. “It’s not bad at all.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Alex,” she whispered into his shoulder. “You’re family, too.”

A lump lodged itself in Alex’s throat. Try as he might, he couldn’t swallow it down. He said nothing as he held Katie tighter.

Michael, Gregory, and Flint met Alex at his house the day he came back to Roswell. Michael sat on the back of his truck as Gregory and Flint leaned against Gregory’s car. Flint’s arms were crossed, Gregory was checking his phone for calls, and Michael was pretending not to be nervous about Alex as he’d been days ago. He tapped his finger on the trunk bench, remembering that morning days ago when he’d come to Alex’s doorstep at the crack of dawn to offer a trip to the airport, and found the airman had already gone.

He had no idea what to expect now. Isobel, Liz, and Maria had wanted to come see him, too, but Gregory had told them that it was better they not crowd him. Michael had gotten to come along for sheer insistence that he wouldn’t leave until he got to see Alex was safe and back in Roswell.

“You heard from him since he got off the plane?” Flint asked at some point.

“No,” was all Gregory said, and the brothers fell silent again. There seemed to be a weight that Michael couldn’t grasp, couldn’t touch and felt pushed down by anyway.

A familiar car rounding the corner into the driveway yanked Michael from his thoughts. He came down from the bench, putting it up as he kept his eyes on Alex behind the steering wheel. He couldn’t discern his expression, even as he parked, opened his door, and pulled out his suitcase.

“Hey,” Michael said, trying to keep his voice light. He was the only one to speak.

Alex managed a press of his lips, his eyes spacing out almost at once. Michael held out his hand for his suitcase, and Alex seemed to realize too late that it had been taken from him. He touched Michael’s arm in thanks.

Gregory and Flint seemed to know what to do better than Michael did, which apparently wasn’t much. Gregory patted Alex’s back with a sigh while Flint stayed behind them. Michael didn’t understand why until they’d gotten to the porch, Alex fishing for his keys, and his eyes suddenly fluttered. He swayed and Flint readily caught his arm, steadying him as if he’d been expecting it.

Michael opened his mouth in a gasp, but Flint shook his head minutely. Don’t talk about it, he seemed to be saying. He won’t be able to answer you.

Michael hesitated, fighting against every fiber of his being that longed to carry Alex inside himself so that he didn’t have to take another step on his own.

Flint released Alex as soon as he was on his feet again, and Alex opened the door and walked on inside as if nothing had happened. Michael stayed close and set the suitcase beside Alex’s couch as he took a seat. Flint went to open the windows, letting in the light, while Gregory said he would go make them some tea.

Michael sat down beside Alex, but Alex was staring into the distance, unseeing, his brows pinched slightly. Michael wanted to trace the path down the bridge of his nose, hoping it would ease whatever storm was raging in his head, but didn’t dare touch him.

Flint leaned against the wall, looking out the window as rustling sounded from the kitchen. When Michael risked speaking again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you hungry? I – I can go get you something.”

But Alex was already shaking his head, waking with a deep inhale. “No, no, thanks, Guerin.”

Flint tilted his head. “If you want him to stay here, Alex, I can go grab –”

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” Alex said, and went back to staring at nothing.

Flint nodded, unsurprised. “Yeah.”

Gregory came back a few minutes later, holding a tray of four mugs.

“Thanks,” Michael muttered as he handed him one. Alex hugged his with his hands.

“Hey, hey,” Flint said, setting his cup down and gently prying Alex’s fingers from around the steaming ceramic. “You’ll burn yourself, brother.”

“Hm? Oh.”

Gregory sat down in the armchair across from the couch. He rested his elbows on his thighs, tapping a finger against his own mug. A few minutes of silence, then –

“Alex,” he said, “do you want to . . . talk about –”

“No,” Alex said at once. “I don’t, I – I can’t.” He didn’t seem angry or upset. Just tired. There was a numbness to his expression that almost scared Michael.

He hesitated, then put a hand on Alex’s back. Then he dared to rub soothing circles, letting his eyes roam the airman, reassuring himself that Alex was okay. That was when he saw the line of dried blood on the back of his hand, his skin carved into and torn.

“Alex,” he breathed, holding up his hand. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Alex muttered, his brows furrowed as if just now remembering that this injury was here. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Michael gaped. “You did this to yourself?”

Flint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Leave it alone, Guerin.”

“Manes –”

“He’s fine,” Gregory said, his voice calm and intent. “It’s fine.”

Michael wanted to argue, to demand if they were crazy, if they weren’t seeing what Michael was seeing. But Alex just let his hand fall from Michael’s and patted his shoulder consolingly as if he was the one that had lost a friend. And Michael’s words caught in his throat.

Alex’s head fell back. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as he heaved a deep breath. “I . . . uh . . .” he sniffled, “you guys should go. I know you have work, I don’t want to keep you.”

Michael frowned. “Alex . . .”

He thought Gregory and Flint would definitely argue, that they’d refuse to leave their brother like this, but Gregory asked, “And you? You sure you don’t want one of us to get you something from the Crashdown?”

Alex shook his head. “No, I’m just gonna . . . head to bed. I’m tired after the plane.”

Flint nodded. “Okay. You have our numbers.”

“I know.”

“What? No,” Michael said, moving closer to Alex on the couch. “I’m staying here.”

“Guerin,” Alex said. “I already told you, I’m –”

“You’re not fine,” Michael nearly yelled.

“Guerin –” Gregory tried.

“He carved into his own skin! I’m staying!”

“Okay,” Flint said, nudging his chin at the door. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

Alex watched, only half-there, as Michael stood and followed Flint, hesitant to leave his airman at all.

The second the door closed, Michael demanded, “He’s not okay.”

“No kidding,” Flint frowned, a lot quieter than Michael was. “His brother just died, how do you think he’s doing?”

He smirked humorlessly. “And you two just wanna leave him. Let him fend for himself. After all this time, you still don’t care about what happens to him, do you?”

Flint tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Who do you think Alex is? Some defenseless kid? You do realize he’s an Air Force Captain, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Big tough military man, I get it.”

“No,” Flint said easily. “You don’t.” He pressed a finger to Michael’s chest. “Don’t pretend you know what losing a brother-in-arms is like, especially for someone like Alex. Someone like us. You have no idea the kind of weight that’s on our shoulders.”

Michael faltered. He licked his lips. “All the more reason,” he said, “to stay with him.”

Flint considered Michael, and began to chuckle. “Wow,” he said. “You really think that little of him?”

Michael frowned. “He hurt himself.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Flint said, like that was supposed to be a reassurance. “You have no idea what he’s going through, but Greg and I do.”

“But this guy –”

“Yeah,” he sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. “Looks like this one was important. But he learned to live with it a long time ago. He’s not as broken as you think he is.”

Michael couldn’t let it go so easily. He remembered too well a conversation he and Alex had had months ago, in his bunker.

“I need to believe in a reason to stay.” What if this was it? The last straw? What if Alex was on a countdown?

He swallowed. “I’m going back inside.”

Flint grabbed his arm. Michael glared at him, but he was unrelenting. “Listen to me. I know you care about him –”

“I love him,” Michael said fiercely. Flint’s gaze didn’t waver. Always as prepared for battle as Alex.

When he spoke next, his words were quieter, but no less commanding. “Then let him breathe. I know Alex doesn’t always say what he means, but he means this. That captain in there is so much stronger than you think he is.”

Michael glared. “I know Alex is strong.”

To his surprise, Flint’s gaze slightly softened. He shook his head, as if Michael had completely missed the point. “That’s not what I just said, Guerin.”

Alex woke at twilight to find he’d fallen asleep on his couch, his clothes and prosthetic still on. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and rubbed his eyes. He looked around, the pale light behind the blinds casting the house into dark shadows.

He shouldn’t have, but Alex lied back down, staring at the ceiling with one hand covering the other on his stomach. He heard nothing but his own breathing, and then not even that.

“Hey, Manes, have you ever been in love?”

Alex closed his eyes against the memory, and immediately, his mind filled with images of himself and Scott laying on opposite sides of his bed, staring at another ceiling.

He forced himself up again, furiously scrubbing his face. He sat there a second longer, staring at nothing and thinking of a mess of things, from what time he had to wake up tomorrow to errands he had to calls and texts and emails he probably had to answer –

“Guerin,” he called faintly, and was answered with silence. His shoulders fell. Oh yeah . . . He had asked them to leave. He knew it was for the best, there wasn’t really anything he thought he could say to any of them, but just saying Michael’s name brought him a slight peace that he couldn’t explain and which vanished as quickly as it came when Alex couldn’t find him. That had happened a lot in the past decade.

Scott’s smile came back to him. “That the cowboy I should be jealous of?”

Alex exhaled shakily, and pushed past the memory. He changed into his sweats, took his prosthetic off, and curled up in bed. He lay awake under the covers for several minutes that felt like hours, cramming a million other things into his mind to force out the one thought that he knew he couldn’t handle right now, and eventually, the darkness had mercy on him, and sleep took over.

Michael wanted to be useful. He’d spent the past two days wandering the junkyard, finding things to do that didn’t really need doing, if only to keep moving. He may have broken down several cars and driven Sanders crazy, but he was losing his mind.

At one point, he’d snapped, gotten in his truck, and made it halfway to Alex’s house before he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road and hit his forehead against the steering wheel.

“That captain in there is so much stronger than you think he is.”

“I know Alex is strong.”

“That’s not what I just said, Guerin.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “What does that mean?” he growled through grit teeth. Michael knew who Alex was, what he was. What did that matter?

Michael all but slammed the gearshift back again, and turned a corner to the Project Shepherd bunker instead. If he couldn’t take care of Alex, he could at least get through some of the files they had waiting there, look into a few leads so Alex didn’t feel like he had to himself.

The last thing Michael had been expecting when he’d pulled up to the hidden entrance was to find a familiar car parked there already. His heart leapt into his throat, and he almost stepped out of the truck without turning it off.

He wrenched the door open, and came down the stairs to find the white lights already on. Alex was at the far end of the bunker, typing at a computer. Michael stopped, staring.

Alex glanced up and gave him a quick, small smile. He was surrounded with open files, more than half of them marked. He shrugged a shoulder. “They gave me a week leave,” he said. “Figured I’d get something done.”

Michael didn’t know where to start. Are you any better? Have you slept? Did you want me to stay?

In the end, he managed a quirk of his lips and a light, “Don’t you military men ever rest?” He pulled up a chair next to Alex. “Oh, wait, don’t tell me. ‘I don’t know what rest means, Guerin. I can go for weeks, Guerin. I don’t actually need to be on leave, Guerin.’”

He smiled, but Alex did not seem amused, his eyes unmoving from the screen. “No,” he said simply. “I definitely need it. Way I’m feeling, I might just end up shooting anybody in a uniform.”

Michael faltered. Alex’s tone was light, but something in his eyes darkened, something frightening that Michael wasn’t used to seeing on his airman’s face. He hesitated, then, because he wanted to do something and didn’t know what, he reached out and covered Alex’s hand with his own.

Alex didn’t smile or look at Michael. Instead, he turned his hand over in Michael’s and gripped his fingers so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Michael tilted his head, trying to discern his thoughts. “Alex?”

He blinked. “Hm?”

“About . . . uh . . . that Mason guy –”

“Shh, shhh,” he shook his head, his eyes shut tight. “We don’t have to talk about that, I don’t want to talk about that.”

Michael stared. If he wasn’t so aware of Alex’s every move, of every inch of the airman’s skin that touched his own, he might’ve missed the way Alex’s fingers slightly trembled in his. But he was, so he didn’t.

He swallowed and nodded. He pulled Alex’s head in towards his with his other hand, and kissed his forehead.

“Okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

Alex’s grip did not loosen, his eyes did not open, his breathing did not calm for two whole minutes. Michael raised his other hand to rest between Alex’s shoulder blades, running up and down his spine, turning his nose into Alex’s hair and inhaling his scent.

Alex turned his head slightly so that Michael’s lips hovered above his. Michael’s eyes fell to Alex’s mouth, his own falling open. He could feel Alex’s hot breath against his bottom lip. His own breathing quickened as he thought about fitting his mouth against Alex’s, tasting his tongue, running a hand up his shirt and feeling his naked skin as he hadn’t gotten to do in over a year.

Michael wanted to be useful, and Alex always seemed able to breathe better when they were together. Maybe this would be useful. That, and Michael just really, really wanted it.

Somehow, as he always did, Alex was able to read his mind. His dark, hooded eyes looked up at Michael through long lashes. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You want to help me feel better, Guerin?”

Michael’s eyes fluttered as he nodded, entranced. He leaned in, their mouths open. His breathing turned more and more ragged as the soft press of Alex’s lips against his own filled his gut with a fire. It had been too long since he’d gotten to touch.

Against Michael’s lips, Alex whispered, “Then help me,” and slowly closed their mouths in a kiss.

Michael’s eyes fell shut and a moan escaped his lips as he kissed Alex again, then again. He reached up, taking Alex’s face in his hands as he tilted his head, devouring his mouth.

“Baby,” he breathed against Alex’s lips between kisses, unable and unwilling to keep it in.

Alex whimpered at the nickname, and the sound spurred Michael on. Alex took Michael’s wrists, as if silently begging him not to leave. As if Michael would ever go anywhere.

“I,” Alex managed, “I want more. Touch me, Guerin.”

Michael looked at Alex then. His expression was filled with lust, his lips kiss-swollen, making Michael’s cock twitch in his jeans. He bit his lower lip, kissed Alex again, and nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, let’s get back to the airstream –”

But Alex was already shaking his head, moving out of his chair. He worked on the buttons of his jeans, and without any hesitation at all, pushed them and his underwear down, revealing his half-hard length. Michael’s mouth fell open, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, imagining the taste of Alex on his tongue.

“Now,” he panted. “I want you now.”

Alex climbed onto Michael’s lap, his naked, smooth, hairy skin against the hard fabric of Michael’s jeans. Michael was fully hard now as his hands slowly rose up Alex’s thighs, reveling in the touch of his warm skin and imagining his body against his own. Then Alex undid the first two buttons of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the ground. He was now completely naked as he straddled Michael, down to his toes. Michael was sure he would die.

Alex took Michael’s face in his hands, crashing their mouths together. He moaned against Michael’s lips as he grinded into his hardened, clothed cock.

“C’mon,” he breathed, his nimble fingers working on Michael’s belt. “Take them off. I want you to fuck me hard.”

“Alex,” Michael groaned, and in one rough tug, managed to tear off his belt. He pushed his pants and underwear down, releasing himself. As soon as his cock rubbed against Alex’s, his eyes rolled back into his head and he all but screamed.

“I’m ready,” Alex said between hard, wet, open kisses. He ran a hand up Michael’s stomach, his chest, scratching through the trail of hair and digging his nails into Michael’s nipples. “Please, Guerin. Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Michael breathed. “Yeah.” And he did as he’d fantasized doing for the past year. He aligned his cock to Alex’s hole with one hand, his other coming around to grab Alex’s ass, feeling his soft skin in his hands.

Alex choked on a scream as Michael took him in all the way, his hands gripping Michael’s face tightly against his neck where Michael got to bite and suck and lick and kiss as much as he wanted. When the airman was ready, Michael thrusted softly, not wanting to hurt him.

But Alex pressed his lips against Michael’s ear and commanded, “Harder, baby. I want to feel you for days.”

The thought was enough to erase all other from Michael’s mind, and he wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist, his other still gripping Alex’s cheek as he thrusted up hard, Alex coming down just as roughly, as eagerly.

Alex came a split second before Michael, and only through Michael’s sheer force of will that Alex enjoy it for as long as possible that he managed to keep himself from letting go in those first few seconds. They breathed heavily into the small space between them, and Michael leaned in, taking Alex’s lips in long, lazy kisses.

Alex was still running a hand through Michael’s curls, making his eyes flutter. When their breaths evened and Alex’s movements slowed, Michael looked up to find his airman staring at his chest, his brows pinched together slightly. His eyes were unfocused.

Michael felt a fear he’d almost forgotten about climb into his throat now. He swallowed it down, and put his fingers under Alex’s chin, lifting his gaze.

“Hey,” he whispered, moving his hand to cup Alex’s jaw, his thumb caressing his cheek. “Look at me, baby. Look at me, I’m right here.”

“Um,” Alex said and cleared his throat, closing his eyes as if trying to wake himself from his haze. His fists laid curled against Michael’s chest. He brought his head down, his forehead against Michael’s chin as he exhaled shakily. He looked around. “My clothes, I –”

“I’ve got ‘em,” Michael said immediately, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. He’d wanted to stay with Alex like this, naked and holding each other, a little longer. Instead, he used his powers to bring Alex’s clothes right up to him.

But before he got dressed, Alex curled in against Michael, pressing his nose to Michael’s cheek, his lips brushing the cowboy’s jaw. Michael wrapped his arms around him, taking his chance to press light kisses to Alex’s bare shoulder.

Alex seemed to need a second to straighten his spine and brace himself before he grabbed his clothes from midair and pulled them on. He gently moved off Michael so that he could do the same, and when they were both dressed, Michael grabbed a file, not knowing what else to do. He kept glancing at Alex who was staring at his computer screen, his fist against his lips as he seemed too distracted to keep doing whatever he was doing.

Finally, Michael couldn’t take it anymore, and he said, “Tell me what to do.”

He knew he sounded desperate, his demand more of a plea, but he didn’t care. Because Alex wasn’t acting like Alex, and he was breaking, but he wasn’t breaking, and it was all very scary and not where Michael wanted his airman to be.

Alex frowned. “Do?”

“To fix this,” he said, and winced at how stupid it sounded. But he couldn’t stop himself. “O-Or make it . . . I don’t know, easier. Tell me what I have to do, I’ll do anything, Alex.”

Alex’s look was unreadable as Michael held his gaze. Then something shifted, something turned sadder, and suddenly, it was Alex who held Michael. “I feel like there’s a hole in my chest, Michael. And it’ll never heal.” His lips quirked in a soft, helpless smile. “And there’s no fixing that.”

Michael watched, speechless and unable to do anything as Alex closed his laptop with a sigh, put his hands in his pockets, and made his way out of the bunker.

Alex finished scrubbing down his counter, and looked up, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. The kitchen, like his living room, bedroom, guestroom, and bathrooms, was spotless. The sky outside the window was pitch black, the wind still rustling through the empty branches and the yellow, dead grass. The world still turning, and not turning at all.

Alex’s phone on the table behind him buzzed, the screen lighting with new messages. Alex picked it up, scanning the texts. Flint said he would meet him at the Pony tomorrow night after they were both done at the base for drinks, Gregory said he’d be bringing over lunch so they could eat together, Clay left him a voicemail, telling him to call when he had the chance. It was Liz and Maria who asked if he was okay, if he needed them to come over right away.

Alex asked them not to. His brothers hadn’t asked if he was okay. He was grateful; he didn’t have an answer right now. He felt like he never might.

“Miss me already, Manes?”

Alex shut his eyes. The edges of his phone dug into his palms. The last phone call he and Scott had had, what had they said? He didn’t remember the exact conversation. Shouldn’t he have remembered?

But no. There was a moment from their last meeting that stuck in his mind.

“Start counting down, brother,” Scott had told him, a whispered eagerness in his voice. “I’m coming to Roswell next. You just tell me who I need to beat up.”

“What’re you coming here for?” Alex had said. “I’ll come see you wherever you want. Just pick anywhere else.”

“No,” Scott had said more softly. “No more running, Manes.”

“A drive,” Alex said, hoping the sound of a voice, even if it was his own, would keep the memories at bay. “I need a drive.”

The drive wasn’t helping. Alex had the window open, the icy wind biting his face and burning his eyes. Alex’s hands were clenched painfully tight around the steering wheel, his fingers numb with cold. His jaw was clenched, that small trickling in his chest turned to painful hammering now.

Scott’s letters. I’ll never get them again. His secret phone calls. That phone will never ring now. And he had been planning to come to Roswell. I should’ve brought him sooner. All the days on leave, I should’ve brought him. Roswell would’ve been better with him here.

“I should’ve brought him,” Alex said, his words breaking in his own ears.

Alex clenched his jaw, and pressed harder on the gas pedal. Scott would never see Roswell now, would never meet his friends, or know Michael. Places Alex could’ve taken him, the stars he could’ve shown him. They were brighter in Roswell than anywhere else in the world. And now his brother would never see them.

Headlights. Alex saw a pair of headlights far ahead, the large truck driving, for some reason, on the wrong lane. Or was Alex on the wrong one? It didn’t matter. He didn’t move. The gas pedal was on the floor of the car now.

As the truck neared, the headlights growing larger, brighter, the thought kept coming to Alex; if he could see Scott again, if all the pain and loss would finally end, it would all be okay. That was what he wanted, right? To stop the pain?

BEEP BEEEEEEP!

“No more running, Manes.”

Alex gasped, the realization of what he was doing hitting him like an explosion, and he wrenched the steering wheel aside at the last second. The car slowly came to a stop as the angry trucker’s honks faded into the distance behind him.

Alex’s trembling hands fell off the steering wheel as he slumped in his seat. Tears streamed down his face, his own ragged breathing like thunder in his ears in the silence around him.

He didn’t want to do this alone. Not this time. His hands still shaking, Alex turned the ignition back on.

Michael couldn’t sleep. He’d been tossing in his bed the past several hours before he’d given up on the idea of resting, and he went down to his bunker to tinker instead. He kept running into dead ends there, too.

When he’d tried and failed to solve a calculated projection for the eighth time, he’d had enough. His mind was flooded with thoughts of Alex, his dark eyes, his quiet words, his naked body and the way he’d curled against Michael, eager to stay close.

Michael let the pen fall from his hands. He needed to go to the Pony. Maybe he could get really drunk and forget that, somewhere in his house, Alex was probably locking himself out of his own mind, breaking apart and unwilling to let anyone near him. Because that was what it meant to be a military captain, right? Weather the storm alone? Prove that you were tougher than everyone else? Alex just didn’t need anybody because he’d been through so much worse, was that it?

The thought had him shaking. He pulled his shirt over his head as soon as he’d made it up the ladder. He thought he’d throw any somewhat clean clothes on and go drown his sorrows in a glass . . . then a car pulled up into the junkyard.

The low beams dimmed as the driver’s door opened. It was Alex. The lights turned off, and the moonlight revealed his tear-streaked face, his lower lip trembling, his chest rising and falling as if he could barely breathe. And Michael could see and think of nothing and no one else.

A sob escaped Alex’s lips, and Michael exhaled sharply before running to him. They met in the middle, Alex’s arms around Michael’s shoulders as he cried into the crook of his neck. Michael held him tightly enough that it should’ve hurt, but he didn’t care. He brought a hand up Alex’s neck to rest in the soft strands of his hair, his body trembling. Michael held him tighter.

“I’m right here,” Michael whispered into his neck. “I’m right here, baby.”

Alex wept as Michael had never heard before, his nails clawing into Michael’s back. Michael closed his eyes, reveling in the sting. Because it meant Alex was here, with him, safe and far away from what had taken his brother-in-arms.

“I – I want to see him,” Alex cried. “Just one more time, I want to see him.”

“Shh,” Michael said, rubbing his back soothingly. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Alex buried his face against Michael’s skin, the sounds of his cries in the dark, silent night shattering Michael’s heart, one crack at a time.

In seconds, Michael had the bonfire started. Long after Alex had turned silent, Michael swaying them left and right, he led the airman to a chair and let him soak in the flames. He had his elbows rested on his thighs when Michael came back out, after hurriedly shoving a shirt on, and handed him a bottle.

Alex took it with a murmur of thanks and downed half of it in one gulp. Michael pulled his chair closer and sat down next to him. And he waited.

After a long while of staring into the fire, the gold and orange flames reflected in his dark eyes, Alex quietly said, “I never know what to say. When this happens.” He shook his head. “It’s a repeat, but none of them are the same. You know? Scott wasn’t . . .” he faltered, and closed his eyes, exhaling shakily.

His eyes glistened and he wiped the back of his hand against his nose before he went on, “They’re not lumped in together, you know? I remember each of their faces, I remember everything. And I felt it, I – I felt it coming. I know you don’t think it’s possible, but I did. Because he was part of me, I felt it.”

Michael swallowed. “He sounded special.”

Alex’s eyes filled with tears that fell before he could stop them. “He was so good. So brave.” He huffed a sad chuckle. “You would’ve liked him. I mean –” another sniffle “—he hit on me all the time, so I don’t think you would’ve loved him, but . . . you would’ve really liked him, Guerin.” He shook his head. “I should’ve introduced you, I should’ve done so much more for him.”

Michael reached over, gripping Alex’s forearm. “Hey. That’s not on you.”

Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, it is, Guerin. You live with that. Knowing that your family’s on a time limit that’s usually a lot shorter than most people’s. And when it comes, all you can think of is the time you wasted. You don’t know what the good side is anymore, and eventually, they all become enemies because they all kept you apart.”

He huffed, ducking his head as another tear fell. “It’s . . .”

“A lot of weight to carry,” Michael finished, remembering Flint’s words. How much Alex had on his shoulders . . .

And suddenly, as Michael watched this beautiful man, carrying himself only by the memories of the people that had become a part of his heart, by the love he had for this family he’d created for himself, he realized how far apart he and Alex actually were.

He leaned in as a tear rolled down Alex’s cheek, as he was too weary to wipe it away. Michael kissed it, and Alex looked up.

“You’re so . . . grown up,” he whispered. “Tell me what to do. Please, Alex, tell me what to do.” Tell me what to do to keep you.

Alex’s considered him. Then he tugged at Michael’s arm until Michael was against him. Alex rested his head against his shoulder. “Just let me touch you,” he breathed, “for a little longer.”

Michael wrapped Alex in his arms and held him tightly, one hand going up and down his arm, his other hand sliding into his hair. Alex’s hand came up Michael’s chest, as if eager to feel under his shirt, to have that skin-on-skin contact that reassured them like little else did.

“Let me keep you,” Michael whispered into Alex’s hair.

Alex turned his face into Michael’s shoulder. His grip tightened on the cowboy’s body, and for a second, Michael thought he would say yes. Then –

“I should get back.”

Michael’s face fell. “I – I take it back,” he said quickly, “I just want you to stay the night –”

But Alex kissed his jaw softly, then the corner of his mouth, then his lips, effectively silencing him.

When he pulled back, he was cupping Michael’s cheek. “I have work tomorrow,” he said. “All my things are back at the house. Okay?”

Michael nodded, and kissed Alex one more time before letting him up. “I’ll drive you,” he said.

Alex managed a smile. “My car’s here.”

“Then we’ll go in yours.”

“Then you’ll be stuck with me.”

“Yes, please,” Michael breathed, taking hold of Alex’s waist again.

Alex huffed a laugh which quickly turned to a cry. He turned away, covering his face with one hand. When he looked up again, his smile was weak and his eyes were rimmed red.

“I – uh – think I just need to be alone.”

Michael wished he could be angry, frustrated. But instead, all he felt was fear. Alex didn’t seem stubborn to him anymore, just . . . far away. Why? What had changed?

“Hey,” Alex said softly, and pulled him in for another kiss. “I’ll be back. I need you, too.”

Michael swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he whispered. But I have no idea how to help you. I don’t even think I know who you are.

“Alex, I . . .” I love you. He’d almost said it. He’d wanted to. But Alex was heartbroken and lost, and that wasn’t what he needed to hear right now. Instead, Michael pulled Alex in one more time, kissing him hungrily.

“I’d do anything for you,” he panted against his lips when they pulled apart again.

Alex nodded, his forehead pressed against Michael’s, and he roughly wiped at his eyes with his forearm before he turned to leave. Michael watched him walk away, already freezing at the loss of his touch. What was wrong with him? What was it that felt so off this time?

“Because he was part of me, I felt it.”

Was that what this was? No, it was different. Michael couldn’t begin to list the ways, but it was different. Alex gave him a soft smile before he climbed into the driver’s seat and disappeared.

The man that made music and smiled blushingly whenever Michael kissed him, and the man that held the world on his shoulders, always one crack away from shattering completely. They’d always been the same to Michael, but something had changed now.

He had once confessed that he couldn’t get used to seeing Alex in his uniform. At the time, he’d played it off as a joke, though something in his heart had stung at the image. And he’d never understood why. Now he did.

“He’s mine,” he said before he could help himself. The silence of the night threatened to engulf him, to keep him quiet. Alex, after all, belonged to a different world. He had a life and identity outside of Roswell, outside of Project Shepherd and music and aliens that had no place for a temperamental, telekinetic cowboy.

Michael didn’t care. He didn’t know where he fit in with all of this, and the painful thudding of his heart served to betray his true fears of never being allowed to belong to the airman, but he didn’t care.

“He’s mine,” he kept repeating, hoping that the words would be enough to make it real. “Alex belongs with me. He’s mine.”

***

I’m exhausted! I might be sharing an IG with y’all soon for my writing/reading. Just in case anyone would like to follow something like that 💖

#michael guerin #alex manes #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tw: self harm #tw: brief suicidal thoughts #malex angst #malex fluff #michael vlamis #tyler blackburn

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thegoodprincess · 3 years

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Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together | KTH Ch. 2

Author: thegoodprincess

Pairing: Kim Taehyung | Original Female Character

Genre: romance, fantasy, action, forbidden love, human KTH | angel of death OC, supernatural au

Word Count: 2.1k [series, ongoing]

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of violence [a stabbing occurs]

Summary: After admiring a handsome boy from afar, an Angel of Death reluctantly rescues him from his own demise. As a result of going against her better judgment she inadvertently invites him into her world.

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(I recommend listening to this song while reading)

Together We are Apart, but Apart We Are Together

Chapter 2. Fate

“Fate has a funny way of intervening in people’s lives.” ― Katie Ashley

It was a few months later in the dead of winter when I was walking near the Han River. Due to the icy temperatures the river was partially frozen. The ground surrounding it was coated in a fresh blanket of snow that came down earlier in the day. A chilly breeze nipped at the tender flesh of my cheek, causing an involuntary shiver to rake down my spine.

Sighing out my condensed breath formed a cloud that mingled with the crisp air. I glanced up at the sky. Overhead the pale moon glowed bright, illuminating the night sky against the backdrop of countless glittery stars. Looking around I stood alone admiring the the way the shadows created by the city lights flitted across the pavement. It was quiet, not eerily so, but in a way that emphasized the bare stillness of wintertime. Most people were at home presumably getting ready to go to sleep as it was fairly late.

I was waiting for my next patron to arrive: a man who was going to be murdered during a robbery gone wrong. This was a common occurrence for me. I was one of many angels of death. I was not a malevolent force. I did not decide who lived and who died, and how the act itself was carried out. I simply collected the souls of the fallen and escorted them to the afterlife.

It was bittersweet condoling the newly deceased once they realized their predicament. I would allow them to say their last goodbyes to loved ones and others they deemed fit before they departed into the light. But it was harrowing having to witness death first hand and being strictly forbid from interfering.

I had seen countless people perish a variety of ways. I had seen it all from natural deaths having to do with diseases or natural processes like aging, to accidental deaths like car fatalities. Suicides and homicides were some of the worst. While death was inevitable, loss of life done by the hands of oneself or by another wasn’t. There always lied a choice, humans just choose to be masters of their own and sometimes other’s destinies.

While I was a creation of purity, I had been become well acquainted with grief. It was almost as if I was stuck in an endless cycle; each time the metaphorical wound was healed it was being habitually ripped open. In the grand scheme of things it was woefully the one major downside of the duty. Tonight would be no different. I would again begrudgingly be a bystander to yet another fateful demise.

As if on cue an older man adorn in designer clothing came into view, walking cautiously with shifting eyes assessing his surroundings. His shoulders were tensed and his pace was quick as he shuffled across the sidewalk. He looked genuinely frightened as if he was paranoid that someone was following him, and I guess he wasn’t wrong.

Then seemingly from the shadows a man wearing a black ski mask and gloves appeared from behind some foliage. He snuck up and roughly grabbed the older gentleman from behind with gloved hands, startling him.

The two men fought for a short while until the masked man managed to get his forearm around the older gentleman’s neck. He began to strangle him. However, I don’t think the masked man’s intent was to maliciously murder him. Rather he was meaning to strangle the older man to the point of him passing out. This would ensure that the masked man could steal his wallet without the risk of being followed and potentially caught.

But nevertheless, the masked man exerted lethal pressure for way longer than necessary to the elder’s neck. The older man’s knees began to buckle and his struggling became less erratic. Regardless of the older gentleman involuntarily becoming compliant, the masked man had yet to let up his hold on him. The older gentleman’s arms dangled limply at his sides. He was dying.

Just then a third party came into view. I was bewildered as I wasn’t expecting anyone else to show up. A young man with a bag slung over his shoulder was inching closer and closer, until his face came into view. He seemed vaguely familiar, the distance between us was making it hard to distinguish certain features.

Then almost instantly I recognized him. It was the boy whose face I had found to be bewitching. He was indelibly engrained into my memory. While I had stopped secretly hoping to catch a serendipitous glimpse of him when I was out, there hadn’t been a day that went by where I didn’t wonder what he was doing, who he was with, or if he even frequented the same places.

He still looked the same dressed smartly in a white turtleneck, tan trousers, wool trench coat, and tartan print scarf. It was apparent that the overcast winter weather had subtly lightened his complexion by a few shades. The only significant difference about him was his hair. His once dark locks had been dyed to a golden blonde hue. In addition to the new color, the parting of his hair now showcased his entire forehead.

Regardless of the butterflies that had erupted in my abdomen from seeing him again, the feeling dissipated all too soon as my stomach sunk. There had never been a greater time where I wished he hadn’t show up, especially considering the circumstances of this situation.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

My veins ran cold, as if the very ice water of the river before us, coursed through them. Every hair on the back of my neck rose on end. I silently prayed he would turn around back in the direction he came from and not involved himself. But I was sorely mistaken. He stopped in his tracks, witnessing the killing of the elder. Swiftly dropping his bag, he ran over to help.

What ensued caused me to let out an audible gasp. The boy threw a hard punch and was able to stun the masked man momentarily, as the criminal fell to the ground. Assuming the masked man to be knocked out, the boy then attempted to help the older man who fell to his knees gasping for breath. Crouching down, the boy pulled out his phone to call for an ambulance. But his attempt was short lived.

Rising from his place on the ground a bit disoriented, the robber fumbled around in his front coat pocket and hastily pulled out a small pistol rashly pointing it at the pair with a quivering hand. The older gentleman cowered low behind the younger boy, almost as if he was using him as a shield. The boy’s arms immediately came up to surrender, remaining perfectly still. The gunman agitated at the boy’s heroics fixed his aim directly to the boy’s chest. He was purposely planning to deliver a fatal shot to his heart. All to quickly the gun shot’s sound reverberated off the concrete. I could only watch in horror.

In that moment the world seemed to turn upside down. My mind was reeling. I felt dizzy, bile crept up into my throat while all I felt was I was my heart slamming against my ribcage. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the bullet exited the barrel of the gun. Naturally the boy screwed his eyes shut while he tensed his entire body, bracing himself for the inevitable impact. A second later he flinched backwards.

Shortly after the deafening crack of the bullet penetrated my eardrums, I squinted my eyes to check where the boy had been shot. To my relief the middle of his chest was still intact, but a bright red substance began to slowly spread from his shoulder region and seep down into the area where his heart lay beating. The gunman had indeed missed his intended target, and instead shot clean through the boy’s left shoulder. The boy’s facial expression twisted into a state of confusion, shocked at what had just occurred. I assumed the adrenaline numbed his senses, altering his frame of mind.

The older gentlemen looked like he wanted to help but he remained unmoving still afraid to come out from behind the boy. The gunman tried to shoot again but to some miracle his trigger jammed. Seeing this as an opportunity to escape, the older man quickly abandoned the boy, scurrying off without looking back. But the boy was too weak to follow, he remained holding his shoulder nearly doubled over. The pain was beginning to set in.

In an effort to make due with the boy, the gunman reached into his interior coat pocket to withdraw his hand holding an odd black object. It was revealed to be a switchblade when he subtlety flicked his wrist and the blade sprung out. Since the older man escaped on the boy’s behalf, the masked man felt it was only fair the boy be robbed instead. The boy assessing the situation held out one of his hands as if to plead for mercy. A pained grimace painted his pretty face.

Then I saw the boy’s lips begin to move. The two appeared to be exchanging words. I felt petrified, so I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Their voices came out distorted, sounding more like unintelligible mumbles than any actual language. It was as though they were talking underwater.

In a last ditch attempt to save himself from further harm, I saw the boy slowly reach into his back pocket with his good hand and pull out his wallet. He dangled the wallet in front him to show the criminal before he chucked it into the snow at the criminal’s feet, hoping this would satisfy the man.

The man hastily grabbed the wallet off the ground and excitedly opened it to reveal its contents. But his smile soon faltered, boiling anger brewing in his eyes instead.

Originally it seemed he didn’t intended to stab the boy after already shooting him in a fit of blind rage, the knife was just the extra assurance he needed to intimidate the boy into cooperating. But the boy stuck his nose in business that didn’t concern him and ultimately costed the masked man.

Not only did the boy escalate the situation and cause the victim he purposely targeted to get away, but the masked man wasted time and energy grappling with the boy which increased the likelihood of him being seen and or arrested by the authorities. He went through all that troublesome effort and for what? Some chump change he could have easily pickpocketed off someone on the subway. He was throughly pissed.

The criminal was going to teach the boy a lesson. Taking the measly amount of bills out, he hurled what remained of the wallet back into the snow. He stalked closer to the boy ready to attack with a sadistic smirk.

Slowly the boy began taking small steps backwards subconsciously putting distance between him and the impending danger. Unfortunately he was unknowingly inching closer to the water.

But all hell broke loose when the boy accidentally slipped on some dangerously slick ice that caused him to lose his balance. He then clumsily stumbled backwards and plunged into the frigid water of the river, breaking through the ice in the process.

The gunman realizing the gravity of the situation, almost instantly snapped out of his aggressive trance-like state and stood there with a blank expression. It was then that he began to visibly panic, nervously looking around to see if anyone else had witnessed what had just happened. He apprehensively neared the edge of the river and looked as though he was debating whether to help the boy or not. But he knew if he did, it would only further incriminate him.

Deciding to conceal his involvement in tonight’s events, he plucked the jammed gun and wallet from the snow and hurriedly planted the two respective items by the river’s edge.

The gunman made it appear as though the boy had committed suicide by first shooting himself and then falling into the river. He subsequently raked his feet sloppily over the snow in a back and forth motion to disguise his shoe prints. Once he was pleased enough with his work, he bolted off fleeing the scene.

Quickly wrenching myself from my deep stupor, I rushed over without taking a second to assess the severity of my actions and immediately jumped in to rescue the boy.

#taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #taehyung x oc #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts army #bts supernatural au #taehyung

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ratsketches · 4 years

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You’ll have to excuse my language lol but I wanted to get some more thoughts written out from my experience so far with tlou2 before I forget and carry on with the game

Holy fucking shit, this game is literally incredible - seriously, the acting, the visuals, and so on! Everything is insane! Sure, the story isn’t 100% and the game definitely has some stuff it could have done better but it does a ton of stuff so damn well

Yeah I haven’t gotten to the Abby part yet and my opinion could totally change on the game when I do but goddamn even if the rest ends up being garbage, holy fuck everything up until this point has been phenomenal

Seriously big fucking shoutout to Ashley because holy hell this is her best performance by far - she’s literally a powerhouse in this game and so are a ton of the cast no matter how big or small their roles are, but she by far steals the show big time

I fucking adore Jesse, Dina and Ellie as a trio, I’m so damn happy they made them such close friends and it was so nice to see how much they care for each other - as soon as Jesse found out Ellie was pregnant they were on the same page and they just want the best for Dina

Jesse could have been a total dick after he found out Dina was pregnant and everything but he was literally such a sweetheart and helped Ellie however he could

Dina is so damn good too - she’s really smart, funny and so, so soft with Ellie, they love each other so damn much, every scene with them broke me (especially that scene with them on the sofa before Ellie leaves where she’s like “hey babe”)

And hohhhhly fuck dude that scene with Ellie shaking and beaten up with Dina cleaning her back - honestly broke my heart, they’re so damn sweet with each other

I love Jesse being so damn loving and supportive of them too, he could have been such a cliche asshole ex boyfriend but he couldn’t have been anything further from it

All the Joel flashbacks were so damn good too - honestly made me sob harder and harder with each one

Even with seeing all the leaks that came out, seeing everything come together with the acting and the music and everything gives it such a different feel

Seriously can’t get over how incredible the acting and facial capture is, this game honestly feels like nothing I’ve played before - the story I’ve seen before sure but holy fuck the whole experience together is something else entirely

Honestly that scene with Ellie finding out the truth from Joel broke me, Ashley is literally incredible with her performance of this character and I didn’t realise just how much depth and how much more alive and real they could make all of these characters feel until I played this game

I definitely still have my worries about what I will think when I play as Abby and how things will go from here but holy fuck I’m just reeling from how damn good this game has been up to this point

Also? The stalkers? Fuck them. Seriously holy hell they’re terrifying - I’d rather take on an army of bloaters / shamblers than do that room full of them again

The facial capture is so damn impressive - it’s so easy to mess it up and go into the uncanny valley with motion capture but not once did the characters not look and feel like real people

Sure, I guess they look slightly stylised in a way but they do so many extreme expressions that would otherwise look weird and creepy in an game, but in this they look so natural and there’s so many little subtle changes in the faces that it’s so hard not to see them as people

I’m a game dev and holy bonkers dude, seeing everything in this game blew my mind and brought back why I wanted to work in this industry - I was in a really dark place for a long while, wondering if it was even worth trying to keep going with a career and everything but this game brought it all back and reminded me why I wanted to get into this field in the first place

The sound design and music is so damn good too - honestly not really too surprised though because both Gustavo’s work in general and in the first game, and Mac’s work on mr robot are so damn good so I knew the soundtrack would slap as soon as they announced who was working on it

The combat is so damn fun - I don’t really know if they fully get the player to not want to attack enemies and dogs and stuff and I still don’t really mind killing whoever I have to in a level, but I definitely think having them talk to each other and call out their names helps to make the game feel more alive and grounded - same goes for the violence and stuff

I still can’t get over just how much Joel and Ellie care for each other too - Joel tries so damn hard to connect with Ellie by actually listening to her rambling on about space and comic books and stuff - genuinely interested in what she has to say and even after she finds out what he did, she can’t fully hate him. They still talk to each other and they still do movie nights and stuff. Even if their relationship is fractured after what happened, they still care so damn much for each other and it breaks my heart.

Even if you’re not a fan of the story, you have to admit there’s so many tiny details and love put into so much of this game and that cannot be commended enough

I think I still have some critiques for sure, but the more I’ve actually seen of this game and the more I’ve explored and spent time diving into the world and seeing everything they’ve put on the table, the more I’ve come to appreciate it and what it’s done

Like I said, this could all do a complete 180 after Seattle day three and after I play as Abby but goddamm even if the rest ends up sucking, everything up until this point has made me love the game

Honestly the rep with Ellie and Dina feels unreal, it feels surreal to see wlw characters in a big budget AAA game getting this much focus and love put into their relationship - it could have done so many bad cliches (and yeah I definitely have issues with how it ends but at the end time it feels open ended enough that all hope isn’t lost with their relationship).

They love each other so damn much I honestly can’t see them going back together or something. It will take time and a lot of recovery and growth but I genuinely feel that Ellie would just be so damn tired of everything and she’d just want to settle down and live a regular life.

She’d probably go back to Jackson or somewhere near and just try to recover as much as she can, helping the towns people as much as she can and stuff. Dina and her would likely be rocky at first but fuck dude I seriously can’t see them not working through things together and gradually becoming a family again - they love each other so damn much throughout the whole game I just can’t see Dina flat out never seeing Ellie again because it would be the total opposite of their characters and the relationship that had been built up through the whole game.

Still going to try and properly put my thoughts on the game together once I’m done but I’m trying to take as much time as I can with this game - taking breaks and writing down notes and thinking on what I’ve seen and played (along with discussing it with my sister’s bf who’s been playing it at the same time as me). Every time we make a good chunk of progress we’ve sat down and talked about how we felt about it and stuff and so far we’re really enjoying it.

He definitely has hopes for what will happen at the end of the game and he hasn’t seen any of the leaks, but he can be real critical about games and he’s having a blast with this one - he definitely has some issues with the game like me, but honestly we’re really enjoying it so far! Going to keep going for the rest of the night / week until I finish it and then I’ll try and gather all my thoughts.

I definitely think the ending doesn’t really sit right with me from what I’ve heard, but I want to experience everything for myself first before I make any final judgements on it.

I will say though, I hope Abby comes to realise how much she fucked up with what she did. Ellie and Abby are following very similar paths to each other and I still keep thinking back to Abby’s face in the scene where she killed Joel. Idk maybe I was just imagining it but I swear as soon as she saw Ellie, she looked horrified, or at the very least like she’d gone “oh shit, I’ve just done exactly what Joel did to me”.

I could be wrong and they just let Abby feel no remorse or whatever for what he did but honestly I feel like that would be so much weaker than her actually coming to regret her decision.

Djjdjd idk I’ve literally just finished Seattle day two and I can’t 100% remember everything right now because my mind’s scrambling after all that but holy smokes this has been one wild ride for sure so far!

I have seen some of the leaks and heard some things online about what happens after this that has got me nervous and like I said, my opinion could completely flip but hooooooo man this has definitely been wild either way

I definitely want to rewatch/replay the game again some time after I finish my first playthrough because I’m almost certain there will be things I overlooked and issues I’ve glossed over but for now I’m really liking the game

#tlou #the last of us #tlou2 #the last of us 2 #the last of us 2 spoilers #the last of us ii spoilers #the last of us part two spoilers #the last of us part ii spoilers #tlou 2 spoilers #tlou2 spoilers

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

Text

Fairy Contentious || Morgan and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Downtown PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: There’s nothing awkward about finding a dead body between sometimes friends

Try as she might, Morgan still missed her humanity from time to time. Zombie personhood was alright, more than alright on some days, but in the heat of July, she missed the sweat on her back, the tanning and freckling of her skin, and the sharp, palpable comfort of a dive into cold water. She missed dollar soft serve from Whataburger. She missed spiked slushies. She missed having more of the world to share in. Lately it seemed like death had taken more than just her heartbeat, but was eating away at the world she had left too. There was Bea, and the human her sisters had sacrificed to bring her back. There were all those guards at the Ring and the woman whose body had turned shallow and empty beneath her hands. There was Erin and whatever she was getting up to her head in. There was the mummified pixie at the carnival. And then there were all the people she knew, people she loved better than most others, with blood on their hands. Was there any escaping it? Morgan turned down another block downtown, thinking more of her momentum than what shops she was nearby, aching for a burn, for something outside of herself to remember life being good and free and in her reach. What she saw instead was Kaden. Morgan stopped in her tracks and locked eyes with him. This is what she got for using binary words in her thoughts, wasn’t it? Morgan’s hand lifted in a hesitant wave.

This whole ordeal with Regan was more than taking its toll on Kaden. Maybe less the ordeal and more the lack of sleep that came with it. Closing his eyes brought nothing but worse case scenarios and for the most part, when he tried, he still couldn’t find sleep. Not to mention, the less he slept, the more hours in the day he had to try and find her. He’d searched plenty around her place and that had been a bust. So had the locator spell. So had all the hunters in town. So many leads and nothing concrete. Wandering the town was as good an attempt as anything else. Granted, he had no idea how long he’d been walking by now, if he had even seen her at all or if he was even paying attention anymore. He was so lost in thought he nearly ran into someone. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not meaning it. As he shuffled out of the way, he saw Morgan just behind them. Of course. “Hey,” he said flatly. Even if he’d wanted to convey any emotion, he couldn’t pull out any energy to display them. Funny he ran into a zombie while he felt something like the walking dead. At least what he assumed it felt like. Pretty numb, a lot of pain. He wanted to make a biting comment or five but he was just too tired to find any worth saying. “You good?” was all he could manage to say.

Morgan couldn’t remember the last time ‘you good’ hadn’t been a loaded question. She folded her arms over herself, fiddling with her sleeves as she tried to come up with an answer. She still didn’t feel completely right after what happened at the Ring. She would do it all again, but the weight of death was different than the weight of the retribution she doled out from time to time. “I’m fine,” she said at last. “You?” It was pretty obvious that he wasn’t doing so hot. There were shadows around his eyes thick as a ditch and a wasted, hangdog look, sunken and tired. “Looks like it’s been a heck of a time.” Normally she would have asked if she could do anything to help, but the words caught in her throat.

“I’m fine.” The words spilled from Kaden’s lips before he had a second to think about his answer. He was really fucking far from fine but he really didn’t want to explain it. Least of all to her. With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair, pushing the mess out of his way. Of course she caught onto him quick. “Haven’t slept much this week. That’s all.” Sure, that was true, but he was holding back the real reason. Part of him wanted to get this over with, but he also wanted to know if she was ever going to fucking acknowledge what had happened in the woods the other day. What had really happened, not the fairytale ending bullshit version she was harboring. Right. Doubtful. He should just fuck this and walk away, cut his losses. He needed to find Regan. This was just a waste of time. Then again… Putain. He sure as shit didn’t want Morgan’s help right now. But it was selfish and stupid not to get all hands on deck at the moment. “Regan’s missing. And also about the size of a pixie.”

It took all of Morgan’s willpower not to snort with laughter. This was a real pickle for Kaden and his distress was real. Also, there was a chance that Thumbel-Regan would come out of this traumatized in ways your average licensed therapist wouldn’t know how to cope with. But Stars, a tinkerbell sized medical examiner? Did she have a tiny lab coat? Or a tiny turtleneck? Morgan couldn’t help but snigger in the back of her throat. Mad as she was with Kaden, it wasn’t enough to kill the image in her head. “That uh, does sound like a wee problem, yeah,” she said, working her face into a more serious expression. “Do you know, uh, if she can fly? You guys didn’t happen to work out a hand clapping signal by any chance?” She cleared her throat. The universe was offering her a gift and she definitely didn’t want to turn it away. “Where have you looked so far? Maybe we could try by the butcher? Or the farmer’s market? Maybe she’s following her death spidey senses.”

Kaden rolled his eyes the second he caught that all too familiar look. The one that meant biting back laughter. He saw it on Blanche’s face enough the other day to recognize it. Granted, Morgan was doing a better job at reeling it in than pipsqueak had. It was annoying as shit all the same. “Fucking hilarious. Yup. It was fucking hilarious. Less so now when birds and squirrels are trying to eat her. But fine. Whatever, Morgan. Guess you only care when zombies are in danger.” He’d had no intention of actually mentioning the incident with whats-her-name the zombie but it sure fucking spilled out anyway. “Are you going to fucking help or are you going to keep making--” Before he could finish snipping at her, she brought up some decent suggestions. “I don’t know where I looked anymore. I just keep watching the ground. She can hover a bit so I guess I should look everywhere.” He rubbed his face. He was so stressed and so fucking tired, he wanted to just collapse into it, but he was determined to not give up. He could stop when Regan was safe. “I’ll look there. Fine.”

Morgan’s grin faded. “Seriously? I help save your ass in a diner, tell you what I am, help you with your denial girlfriend, and you think I only care about myself? Or my species? Is that a real thing or do you really just not get what it might’ve been like to see you cut into a woman just like me like she was a rabid animal? After, may I remind you, I pulled her off you, told you to run, and let me handle it.” It was like they hadn’t seen even close to the same thing. Like they hadn’t even been in the same place. Morgan shook her head. Kaden could be incredibly decent, often enough that she bristled uncomfortably at her initial distaste for him and the fear, the bitterness, she still held in some shrunken part of her. But this was not one of those times. This was the kind of moment that made her wonder why she didn’t just plant that bitterness and let it grow over everything else. Still, she straightened herself up as tall as her tiny body would allow and pointed in the direction. “You wouldn’t find a cheese fry if I jammed it up your nose with that much sleep deprivation. I’ll help clear that area with you.”

Kaden ground his teeth as he held back a comment about a good chunk of that sounding like self preservation. Whether that was true or not, he didn’t have the fucking energy. He was not going to waste what he had left on her. Until she kept going. “I cut into her like a rabid animal because that's what she was!” he said, reeling back to face her. “She was gone! There was nothing left! She was going to kill me! It nearly did! A few times! And you did not have it handled! If I ran, what the fuck was to stop her from killing whatever human walked by next? Or do you even care?!” So much for not wasting his breath. One thing he could say was the anger jolted him with energy. Mostly he just wanted to use it to punch something. Or storm off. But it didn’t seem like it was going to work because she was insisting on following him. “I told you I’m fine. But if you want to come I can’t stop you. Public fucking place.” That wasn’t quite true, he could stop her. Just not in any way that was remotely acceptable.

Morgan had turned to lead the way but no. That would just be way too easy and make too much sense. She clenched her fists at her sides. There were things that mattered more than this. Hypothetically, these things included Thumbel-Regan. But Kaden’s words cut into her fresh, reminding Morgan what had been so awful about that day beyond Ashley’s ruined body. “She was just starving. And I was trying to help both of you, dumbass. If you didn’t have your head so far up your arsenal, you might’ve figured that out.” She stormed ahead of him, fists clenched, and started for the butcher’s. This was a mistake; she should’ve just stayed home.

“She was just starving?! There’s no just starving from zombies. Starving gets humans killed.” Kaden continued as he followed after her. He really couldn’t figure out what about this was so hard for her to understand. Even if she did have noble goddamn intentions, she didn’t have it handled. That zombie was going to kill someone, even if it wasn’t him. “And you met her before, right? Seems like she didn’t want your fucking help.” He was considering telling her the same right now. But she wasn’t wrong about him being exhausted. Maybe not about the rest of it, but she had that much correct. He was ready to collapse. He almost wanted to ask if they were there yet.

“Of course that’s all you care about,” Morgan grumbled. She kept walking, fists clenched, trying not to think about how right Kaden was about the last part. Ashley had been lucid when she ran away from her and Rio. All those animals wouldn’t have lasted very long, but enough for her to do...something. She could have dug up a fresh body from the cemetery if she was desperate, or pounced on a deer. The smell from the woods was intoxicating sometimes, it would have been impossible to miss. So why had she been back at square one so soon. You shouldn’t have done that, that’s what she’d told Morgan. But Kaden couldn’t know that, right? Morgan pressed on ahead, crossing the next block, when she caught the smell. Death. Still soft, ripe death. Morgan came to a stop. They were still downtown, what was she smelling, some unlucky bird? “Wait.” she said. “Maybe…” Regan would be pulled to it too if she was nearby, right? “Do you smell that?” She looked around them, feeling a familiar sharp twist in her stomach. It couldn’t be too far.

“Oh, not dying? Other people not fucking dying? Right. What a fucking terrible thing to care about.” All of Kaden’s hopes for an apology were shot to hell. Not that he was holding out too much to begin with. Why the fuck she wanted to spend so much time defending a monster, he didn’t understand. Sure, she was a zombie, too, but not like that. And if she had tried to help earlier and failed… He had to wonder how many other people were in danger or if this had happened before. How many times had someone pitied a zombie only for them to slip back and take a human life? Was it only a matter of time until that was Morgan? Fuck. Not what he wanted on his mind right now. He stared ahead as he followed her. The scent hit him before he saw anything. That was death and decay alright. No mistaking it. “Of course I smell that. Hard to miss.” Especially with human senses, he thought. Still, there was no denying that carcasses and cadavers were siren songs to a banshee, in a way. “You can sense death, too, right? Not the same way but you know,” he asked as she guided them towards the source of the stench.

“We’re people too,” Morgan grumbled. But of course Kaden wouldn’t see it that way. Maybe Deirdre had been right all those months ago. Maybe telling Kaden she died really had been stupid. She couldn’t help but smirk dryly at his question. “If you mean sense it the way I used to be able to sense fried chicken and waffles from two blocks away, then yeah, sure.” It wasn’t the same kind of comforting, soul-pulling call she understood the banshee death pull to be. A dead body called to Morgan’s insides like it wanted to devour everything she was and claim her for itself. Ravaged, held, and erased into a relief that came from no intelligence whatsoever. Morgan salivated as she turned down an alley and peeked around a dumpster, a common enough spot for finding felled birds and-- “No. Fuck...fuck, no, no…” She turned around and started to walk right back out the alley, clutching her stomach, but she couldn’t get the sight out of her head. The scales on the girl’s arms were scraped raw and crusted with blood from the mangled mess where her hands were supposed to be. And her face...her face was a ruin of burns and iron. Morgan had only been able to tell from her hair that it hadn’t been Mina. Morgan clamped a hand over her mouth, grimacing as her insides reached back for the body. She sank to the ground and dumped the contents of her bag, trembling. She had a snack in there somewhere to keep from eating roadkill in public, but she couldn’t make her fingers work the tupperware lid. She couldn’t stop seeing that girl. She had one eye, overexposed from her melted lids and staring up pitifully, dead and empty towards the street, towards the river that might’ve been her home. Morgan’s eyes filled with tears, too thick to see through, and let everything in her hands fall.

Kaden’s stomach churned at the thought of comparing decomposing flesh to food. And the combination of chicken and waffles. There was no reason any of those things should go together. That’s not what churned his stomach when they turned the corner. There was no mistaking that was a dead body sprawled out in front of them. It was strange to find one downtown and without Regan nearby, at that. Unless, she was. He paused to listen for any small screams or calls out to him. But he heard nothing but Morgan’s muttering as she turned away. Kaden stayed in place, finally allowing what was in front of him to really sink in. That wasn’t a human body, it was something else. Inhuman, the scales alone gave it away. His mouth pulled into a thin line as he assessed the situation. He looked for webbed fingers but couldn’t find her hands. The slits on the side of her neck were still easy enough to see. “A nix,” he said. A very mangled, very tormented nix at that. He crouched down to get a better look. Marks where iron instruments had surely burned into her, lacerations covering her body, and it looked like whoever did this had tried to split her legs again. It was hard to say how long the body had been there, not too long if he had to guess. Still, it was cold, it’s not like they’d missed the moment by mere minutes or anything. His cold assessment of the facts were easier to process, they were there, unchanging. What it all meant, how he felt about it, that was harder. Something he didn’t want to touch. The sound of something hitting the pavement made his head jerk back to see Morgan again. She’d dropped.. tupperware? Odd. “You alight?” he asked as he stood and turned to face her.

Morgan was gritting her teeth, trying to hold her body still. Snacking usually helped, gave her appetite something to fixate on, but she wasn’t usually this upset when she passed death during her every-day life. She tried breathing, maybe that would be a good distraction. “Need...food,” she said. “She’s...I can’t...after what she’s been through...I can’t…” Couldn’t destroy her any further. Couldn’t treat her like stuff. There was nothing natural about what was left of her body, nothing balanced about a death like that. Tortured, butchered for parts, left with the garbage to be...what? Ignored? Mistaken for someone’s film class final? Morgan sat back, banging her head against the side of the building. That wasn’t doing much good. “Can you open it? It’s not human, I just need…” Some relief. To not feel herself wanting for the soft candy of her insides. Stars, it was probably sweeter than anything she’d had yet too… And if she hadn’t been brutalized, Morgan wouldn’t have been able to imagine them with half as much detail. She grimaced and dug her shaking hands into her knees. “Just do it, just open it!”

It took a few seconds for the pieces to click together as Kaden watched her. Shit. Dead body. Zombie. Even after arguing with her back and forth about zombie rights and how often she took sheer glee in reminding him of what she was, he sometimes still forgot. Had to wonder if it was on purpose. Likely was. “You can’t what?” His brow furrowed as she explained further. Shit. He had to go over there. Open the container for her. He took a deep, shaky breath as he steeled himself to follow through on her request. There wasn’t much out there that scared Kaden. Truly scared him. Being bit or turned by anything undead was one of them. But he had to trust his friend. Bolting and running sounded easier, even in a dead end alleyway. Still, he walked forward and reached out for the tupperware, hand shaking as he pulled it towards him. He fumbled for a second as he tried to rip the lid open. This was fine. They’d both be fine. This was probably unwarranted fear. He held the container out to her for her, trying his fucking best not to look at what was in there. Even if it wasn’t human, he didn't want to know.

Morgan took the tupperware and shoved her dead flesh salad into her mouth by the handful. The flesh slid down her throat easily, offering its subtle flavor between the bits of diced brain. Her stomach settled and with the animal rage in her stomach had settled down more into an agitated grumble, she could make more room for what she’d seen, for trying to figure out what to do. They couldn’t just leave her there with the garbage, right? Then again, they couldn’t exactly call this in to the police. Regan was the size of a pixie and the number of incorrect to dehumanizing conclusions she might manage to come to were enough to make Morgan feel sick all over again. She couldn’t take her home, at least not by herself. She barely had the restraint to walk away and keep herself from making a meal out of her body. Morgan tried to breathe, tried to make each bite last longer. Distraction, that was the thing. As long as she could distract her body, she could be okay. “Thank you,” she said at last. “You didn’t manage to...I don’t know...notice if she had any stuff with her, did you?”

Kaden let out the breath he hadn’t intended to hold as she ate the contents of the container. It was fine. She had control. They’d be fine. There was no need for this to turn into-- It was fine. Kaden rolled his shoulders back and shook off any of the nerves he had before, like he could will his pulse back to a normal, steady rhythm. If only it were that simple. The distraction she offered to everything going on was more than welcome. “Any stuff? Uh, no. Not sure. I didn’t check.” He walked back over to the body and it all hit him again. Different this time. The more he saw it, the harder it was to just focus on facts. His mind tried to piece things together, make connections, as much as he wished it wouldn’t. He bend down and tried to feel around her clothes where there might be pockets, something left behind. It made him feel less like a hunter or even a cop and more like a petty thief. His stomach sank like a pit as the reality of this hit him a little deeper. This was a dead nix. Yes. He knew that. And on another level, what was this? A dead fae. Alright. But what did that mean? It meant someone killed a fae. Didn’t just murder them, no. Tortured them. Her. Putain. He was jumping to conclusions, there was no way to say this was a hunter who did it, but it was hard not to wonder. And if it was a hunter, that likely meant that it was a warden. And if it was a warden and they were nearby. And if Regan was nearby. And if they found her before he d-- Kaden realized he was sitting on the ground next to the body no longer searching it, just trying to keep the world from collapsing in on him as his breath quickened, shallow and ineffective. Calm. He had to be calm. He had to think clearly if he wanted to help or be useful or fucking anything. Why couldn’t he do that?

Morgan waited. And waited. She couldn’t remember what the nix had been wearing, it had to be something right? Maybe she at least had a wallet stuffed in her back pocket, something to give her a name, that could help them treat her like a person again. Then again she wasn’t, not anymore. The person was gone, this was just her remains, her body, her story. That wasn’t the same, but it wasn’t nothing. It deserved some dignity, some small, stupid scrap of respect. Morgan chewed slowly. “Kaden?” She called. “Kaden--? What did you find?”

Morgan’s voice snapped Kaden out of his panic. A little. It was still a bit of a struggle to keep getting air into his lungs. But he needed it to reply. “Nothing,” he managed to push out between shallow breaths. “Nothing yet.” Okay. Alright. If there was a warden nearby he’d deal with it. Later. Right now he was examining the body. Like any of this mattered. Come to think of it, why was he doing this? Because she asked. Right. But why? How was this going to help them find Regan. This was just a dead fae, what did it matt-- A thought creeped into his head. One he had to push away. Desperately. He couldn’t even imagine that right now. This wasn’t Regan. It wasn’t even a banshee. The body in front of him, she didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Finding his hopefully still alive fae girlfriend, that’s what mattered. But he had a sinking feeling if he didn’t try, Morgan would. To likely disastrous results. Alright. Looting the fucking body it was. He checked around for a purse or some shit like that, nothing. Front pockets of what was left of her shorts, also nothing. Fuck. He’d have to turn over the body. No time like the present. He swallowed back any disgust and pushed it over. There wasn’t a whole lot of solid flesh or scales left, like it was picked clean after a good bit of flesh burned off. He expected to find more of the same, may even more decay on the other side of the corpse. Shockingly enough, there was something in her back pocket still there. A phone. With a wallet attached to the case, one of those small things that held cards. He figured there wasn’t going to be much more useful than that. There wasn’t much else to identify her by anyway. “Uh got this,” he said once he walked back to Morgan, holding out the phone to her.

Morgan took the phone and flipped through the cards attached. She didn’t know much about hacking electronic passwords, that was more of a Winston thing. But she had a student ID from the university. Not another one of her students, thank god, but she was practically the same as them. Morgan pulled it out and passed it to Kaden. “Meet Coraline Adams. Would-be class of ‘23 at UMWC. Liked the Little Mermaid, maybe ironically--” she passed over one of her credit cards, which had a much faded sticker of princess Ariel in the corner, “And had a really nice phone. That’s it, that’s all that’s left of her.” She worried the slice of eyeball she was still chewing on as she spoke. This was so pitiful, practically nothing. At least with Emma there had been a funeral, there had been things to do, there was the sad copy of her stories consigned at the local book store. But Emma had been human. Coraline wasn’t. “Do you know who might’ve done this?” She asked quietly. “Someone who’s capable of treating some poor college kid like this? For being fae?”

Kaden crossed his arms as Morgan went through the fae’s things. This was a far cry from any normal post hunt sort of moment. Or any time he came across a dead body on a hunt. If it wasn’t human, it got left behind, at best it was there to help inform them who or what had been there. Had to say, he kind of preferred that right about now. But this wasn’t a hunt. At least, not like that. Kaden shook his head at her question. “I don’t know any wardens in town, no.” He really should. Given, well, everything. But something about having to be two faced to colleagues sounded hard. Or shitty. Something like that. “I mean, can’t say for sure that it was-- But if I had to guess.”

“Yeah, well, they do make it their business to do a double-take at anyone with an Irish accent and cut down whoever makes their killer instincts go off,” Morgan said bitterly. “No matter how young they are, no matter how wrong it is. They see someone spooky and suddenly they don’t get to be a person anymore. I kinda figured that much out too. We don’t even know if this girl has a family who’s missing her right now, but it’s just another day at the hunter office.” She held out her hand to have the cards back. Suddenly, she didn’t like the idea of Kaden getting to hang onto them. “We can’t just leave her body there. Well, I can’t, but I also can’t get too close without...you know. But she shouldn’t have to stay there.”

Kaden let out a huff and shook his head. “Well then. Good to know how you really feel.” Why was it every time they were around each other lately, he questioned why he considered her a friend at all. He couldn’t even begin to figure out what he was feeling about any of this, but he could feel the anger over her comments. And the exhaustion settling back in. The rest, well, he didn’t know what that was. He considered not taking the cards back. Fuck her, if he was just some mindless killer, why give them to him? Whatever, he took them, put them into his pocket. Which in hindsight, not a great idea. Regan may not be around just yet but he’d have to dispose of them before the medical examiner was back in full swing. Which, speaking of, the body. “We can’t. We can report it. Send her to the morgue. Not that Rickers or Regan will find the cause of death but it’s an option.” A shitty option. “Otherwise, we can burn it.” It was the safest option, really. One she probably didn’t like. “No matter what, we can’t do anything now. In broad daylight. Unless we’re involving the law.” Which didn’t sound like a great plan. But it was all he could figure.

“Is there something else I should be feeling about this too?” Morgan asked. She finally brought her eyes up to meet his. She’d never had the best control of her expressions at the best of times when she was alive, you would’ve thought dying might make it worse. But the face she showed Kaden was slack and impassive. Maybe it was the emotional exhaustion, maybe she was getting too used to this, but Morgan managed to stuff everything down. She wanted to dare him to tell her something different. To come up with one reason to justify any of this. “At least stash her for me, so she doesn’t wind up in a landfill. I’ll figure the rest out myself. You probably shouldn’t be too involved anyways with...everything you’ve got going on.” His job with the police department for one thing. His girlfriend for another.

“No, fine. Just jump to whatever conclusions you want. Can’t stop you. Every hunter’s a mindless killer with no fucking reason for any action they take. Of course.” Kaden was so sick of this kind of conversation. How it never ever seemed to sink in for any bleeding hearts seemingly ever. It wasn’t that he thought what happened there was okay. He didn’t. Torture wasn’t hunting. Neither was collecting trophies. Hell, he was pretty fucking wary of wardens himself as of late. But that didn’t give her the right to paint it all with a broad fucking stroke. Right to his fucking face, no less. That wasn’t the point now. “I’ll come back for her. Later. I’ll cover her up for right now. That’s the best I can do.”

“Can we put our bullshit aside for just five seconds, Kaden? This is not about Ashley, this is about a girl almost Blanche’s age whose remains are currently by a dumpster. I would take care of this myself if my stupid zombie body wouldn’t treat what’s left of her like a freaking happy meal, but them’s the breaks.” Morgan felt herself somehow getting more tired and more angry at once. She stopped, clenching and unclenching her hands and sighed. “Forget it. You have a tiny girlfriend who is definitely not in this area, otherwise she would be trying to perform an autopsy with a stick. You have a nice job you shouldn’t be risking, and you have no idea why I’m actually upset so just...give me her stuff and I’ll handle this. I’m sorry you got dragged in, but you can go now.”

“And I wasn’t fucking talking about Ashely either. But fine.” Kaden took the cards and phone back out of his pocket and tossed them at Morgan to catch. Fuck her. She didn’t know him at all or anything going on his head. Clearly. Apparently not breaking down right then and there or calling her out for her own words meant he had zero capacity for emotions. Whatever. It was always the same. “Right. Call me if you need something killed. Cause I’m sure that’s all you think I do. If you see Regan let me know.” He turned and walked out of the alley and back towards the city center. He wasn’t sure if he had it in him to stay focused on the actual reason he was there in the first place, but with a new threat of a warden wandering around, he’d have to fucking try.

#wickedswriting #writing #chatzy #morbeckmoreproblems #morgan #Fairy Contentious

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can (30/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I am not a fan of the fact that there are only 10 chapters left. Like, not at all. Where did all of this time go? How are we at this point in the story? I feel like I was just writing it!

Anyway, it seems fitting that this chapter posts in a week where a lot of us have gone home to see family because Killian is going home with Emma to meet Ruth😘 Thanks to you all for being you and thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading these words for me and checking my facts!

Found on AO3: beginning | current

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-/-

“Did you know that it’s Friday the thirteenth and a full moon?”

“Thank you, Alec Trebek.”

“No, seriously. That’s what it says on my phone.”

“Love, I know the date.”

“But did you know about the moon thing?”

“I did,” Killian sighs, picking his suitcase up off of the security belt and placing it on the ground while Emma grabs her sneakers. “I read about it the other day, and I am prepared for all of the haunted werewolves to come out to play.”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs before she plops herself down on a bench to tie her shoes.

It’s a little past four thirty in the morning, and JFK is nearly empty of anyone who isn’t traveling in some kind of suit. He and Emma are surrounded by people in black blazers and tailored trousers only traveling with a sleek black suitcase and their briefcase. He and Emma, meanwhile, are both in joggers with t-shirts on (Emma has on his Vandy sweatshirt over hers) and their hair tucked underneath baseball caps.

Emma got in from Detroit late last night, only taking five minutes to kiss him hello and take a quick shower before collapsing on his bed on top of the covers. The only flight they could get so last minute that wasn’t an exuberant amount of money is at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, so Killian insisted that she just stay at his place last night so that they could leave from the same place and save time. Considering they woke up ten minutes before their Uber arrived and could barely brush their teeth before they left, that didn’t exactly work in the whole saving time department.

It doesn’t help that Emma has pretty much been deadweight this entire morning until she started to wake up right before they went through security.

He, on the other hand, is wide awake. Nervous jitters run through his body, his stomach twisting in knots, and for someone who doesn’t get nervous for many things other than baseball, Killian is pretty much a wreck when it comes to meeting Emma’s family. Ruth is the last one, the final piece of the puzzle, and as intimidating as David was to meet, his mother might outrank her.

Killian both wants to spend the entire weekend sucking up to her and thanking her for taking Emma in and giving her the love she’s never had but has always deserved, but that could prove to be a bit much.

Then again, if Ruth hadn’t taken Emma in thirteen years ago, Emma would have never met David. If Emma hadn’t met David, David would have never taken her to the baseball game that truly allowed Emma to fall in love with sports. And if Emma hadn’t done that, he doubts she’d have ever gotten into broadcasting and found her passion there that makes her so damn happy.

The two of them also would never have met, and that thought sends a shiver down his spine.

It’s funny how such little things can change absolutely everything.

Everything.

So, yeah, Killian is most definitely a little nervous to meet Ruth.

“You want to go find some coffee, Swan?” Killian asks Emma as he props his foot up to tie his own sneaker. “I think the two of us are in some desperate need of caffeine.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll be able to find a coffee shop in an airport. There are never any coffee places here.”

“I don’t appreciate all of this sarcasm so early this morning.”

She pokes his stomach. “You’re the one who woke me up.”

“We’re going home to meet your family.”

“I don’t see your point.”

“You should.”

“Well,” Emma huffs, standing up and pulling up her pants so that he sees a flash of tanned skin on her stomach, “you should. Onto coffee we go.”

They both grab onto their bags and start walking down the terminal, passing gate after gate and store after store, but everything is black with the lights turned off and bars pulled over the stores. Nothing is open, not even the convenience stores, and the moment Emma realizes this, she stops walking and buries her face in his shoulder.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“There are vending machines,” he soothes. “I think they have coffee.”

“But it’s gross coffee,” she wines before wrapping her arms around his stomach. At first, Killian thinks that she’s being affectionate, but then he realizes that she’s using him so that she doesn’t have to stand on her own. He’s not sure he minds either way. “I need real coffee, and I need it in an IV.”

“Okay, Lorelai Gilmore.”

Emma laughs into his shoulder, the vibrations working through his shoulder. “You’re learning. I’m so proud, babe.”

“I might have watched an episode or two.”

Emma’s head pops up then, the bill of her cap hitting him in the chin. “When?”

“While you were gone. It was on Netflix, and it just kind of happened.”

“Good choice, twenty-nine. Good choice.” Emma’s lips brush against the corner of his jaw, and he tugs her a little closer as his hand runs up and down her back while she presses up on her toes to make contact with his lips. “I need a diet coke or something, and then when the stores open, I’m buying the biggest damn cup of coffee in this entire airport.”

“Whatever your heart desires.”

-/-

The flight is only an hour and a half, Emma sleeps the entire time despite them getting her the biggest damn cup of coffee in the airport right before they boarded, and Killian spends his time answering emails before closing out the app so that he won’t see anything else work-related for this entire weekend. It’s a conscious decision, one he’s happy to make, and it’s almost refreshing to know that he doesn’t have anything to worry about for at least a few days.

Well, anything to worry about except for Ruth Nolan and making sure that he can impress her.

-/-

The taxi they get from the airport takes them directly to Ruth’s house, so Emma doesn’t get much time to show him around, only pointing out a few landmarks. They pass the minor league baseball stadium here, the Portland Sea Dogs, and Emma tells him that she’s never actually been despite having such easy access. She was too caught up in everything having to do with New York and getting there that she never really thought about it. He teases her and tells her they’ll have to go to a game, but Emma turns him down by saying that she needs a break from baseball.

He does too.

So that’ll probably be knocked off the itinerary that Killian is sure Mary Margaret has made. Luckily, though, she and David won’t be here until early evening since they both had to be at work and school for half a day, so they’re pretty much free to do whatever they want with Ruth today.

He’s still slightly reeling from his injury and their fight and everything that came from that. He’s not angry or upset, but this is all still such an adjustment. He should be playing. He shouldn’t be here, but it’s his own damn fault that he is. He screwed up on so many levels, and owning up to it all has been a tough pill to swallow.

Hurting the people he loved nearly killed him, and he doesn’t want anyone to hurt because of him ever again.

In the blink of a bleary eye, they’re pulling up to a quaint two-story Victorian home with brown and white details and bright green bushes lining the brick-paved walkway to the front door. It’s a home, undoubtedly, one much the same as all of the ones in the city and yet entirely different in that he can see vibrant green grass and flushed trees that spread out all over the neighborhood. It reminds him of growing up in Ohio, even if they were not the ones to have the spaciously fenced-in backyard, and a little fluttering of his heart takes place as Killian takes it all in.

He’s always kind of wanted a place like this – away from everything.

“So, this is the place?”

“This is the place.”

“It’s nice.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought so.” Emma hikes her bag up a little higher on her shoulder and turns to look at him, trepidation written across her face. “We can still turn around if you want to. There are hotels around here.”

“We’re going inside, love.” He leans down and quickly brushes his lips over hers. She tastes strongly of coffee just from the little taste that he got. He’d like to kiss her more, to have the privacy of the hotel so he can show her just how much he’s missed her the past few days of her being gone, but they’re not doing that. “Besides, I believe I just saw Ruth peeking her head through the window looking at us, so it’s too late to turn around now.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, “I guess it is.”

Emma steps forward and begins moving up the path, Killian following right behind her, and Emma barely gets a chance to knock on the door before it’s swinging open and Ruth is lunging forward to practically smother Emma with a hug.

Damn. Ruth Nolan is a force of nature.

Then again, she was already for being a single mom most of her life and still taking in foster children, especially one as stubborn as Emma. He can’t even begin to imagine.

He fully intends on finding out this weekend. There are a million questions running around in his mind.

“Oh,” Ruth coos, shaking Emma in her embrace. A dog escapes the front door and comes to sniff at Killian’s feet. This must be Wilby. “I have missed you so much. I think I’m going to have to move to New York so I can see you more often. Do you have room in that apartment of yours?”

“Only if the couch is comfortable for you.”

“I think it may kill my back.”

“No, it’ll definitely kill your back. I have no doubt. It kills my back. Killian’s couch is super comfortable, though.”

“Well, I hardly know the man. I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to sleep over in his apartment.”

“Who cares about proper, love?” Killian teases. “I would be remiss to not let a beautiful woman sleep over at my apartment.”

The words slip out of his mouth before he’s able to stop them, and he immediately regrets them. Ruth may not be Emma’s mom, the title something that Emma still struggles with no matter how much she loves Ruth, but she’s very much a mother figure. Yet here he is spewing words that pretty much scream in her face that he doesn’t care about proper and has been fucking Emma for months now. What a smooth start.

The pit in his stomach becomes a heavy, solid weight, one that’s going to have him breaking the wood of the wraparound front porch.

Shit.

But then Ruth is leaning her head back in laughter, her eyes shining brightly as her hair falls off of her shoulders, and that weight lessens a little bit.

“I’m not much of one for proper either,” Ruth says with laughter still on her lips. She releases Emma and steps toward him, wrapping him in a hug as well, even if this one isn’t quite as smothering. It likely helps that he’s larger than Emma. “Hello, sweetie. SoSo, you’re the infamous Killian Jones I’ve been hearing about?”

“From Emma?”

“No, my grandson. He loves you. I think he was probably more devastated about your arm than Emma was.”

“How did you know I was devastated?”

Ruth pulls back from him to look at Emma. “Intuition told me that you’d be upset over the fact that your boyfriend is injured. Mary Margaret gave me all of the other details.”

Emma’s eyes roll. “Of course she did.”

“You know she can’t keep a secret.”

Killian looks over to Emma to see what she’s got to say, thinking that this first meeting is going rather smoothly, but then Ruth’s eyes are snapping back to him and looking him up and down in a way that has him feeling rather naked under her scrutiny.

Obviously, it was wishful thinking for him to assume he was quite out of the woods.

“You’re much more handsome in person than on TV.”

“Thanks,” Killian laughs awkwardly as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I, uh, appreciate that.”

Emma looks over to him with raised brows that are pinched together, probably wondering when he turned into a stumbling fool instead of someone who can charm anyone, and all he can do is shrug is shoulders at her. She shrugs back before squatting down on the porch to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet, Ruth?” Emma asks, obviously trying to save him. “We’ve had coffee but not food, and we’d love to take you out to breakfast.”

Ruth waves her away. “Nonsense. I’ll cook breakfast for all of us.”

“You really don’t have to do that, Mrs. Nolan.”

She smiles at him. “It’s Ruth, and yes I do. I hear you’re quite the baker, so you can help.”

“Well, who told you that?”

“Mary Margaret. She’s where I get all of my information, don’t you know? Emma and David don’t give me nearly enough.”

“You know, Ruth,” Killian smiles, “I have heard a little bit about the two of them not sharing a lot of information. You practically have to drag it out of them. I would never do such a thing as keeping secrets.”

Emma scoffs but there’s that loving, playful smile. “Too soon, twenty-nine. Too soon.”

Ruth guides them inside and sends Emma off to take their bags to her old room. Killian raises his brow in question to make sure it’s okay for them to share a room, and Emma simply rolls her eyes before taking both of their bags up the stairs while Ruth ushers him into the living room.

It’s just as homey as the outside. Everything is covered in warm colors from the deep brown of the leather couch to the inviting green of the wall. Two windows sit on either side of the stone fireplace where the television is mounted, and that’s when Killian spots the myriad of picture frames on the mantel, as well as on the bookshelf in the corner of the room.

This is exactly what he’s been so excited about.

(Besides getting to spend a weekend away with Emma where she spent the last of her teenager years.)

There are a few photos of David as a child, ones of him alone and then ones of him with both of his parents. Most of them, however, everyone is a tad bit older. Killian knows that it’s so Emma can be included in all of the photos, and his heart swells a bit at the thought of Ruth being that thoughtful so that Emma doesn’t have to feel left out in any way.

A picture of David, Mary Margaret, and Emma sits in the middle of the mantle. David and Mary Margaret look much the same, if not younger than they look now, but with different hairstyles. Killian makes a mental note to tease David about his shoulder-length hair. Emma, though, is definitely a teenager here. Her face is rounder, far less angled, and he can see the tepidness of her smile as she leans into David in the picture.

“Are you looking at how cute I am?” Emma questions as she walks into the room.

Killian turns to look at her and at the shy smile on her face now, and he opens up his arm to let her walk into him so that her arm can wrap around his back while her head rests on his shoulder.

“How old are you here, love?”

“Um, that’s a question I don’t know the answer to.”

“Sixteen,” Ruth supplies, and Killian doesn’t miss the way she’s smiling at the two of them standing there. “That’s from Thanksgiving. Emma still wasn’t too sure about us.”

“I’m still not.”

Killian squeezes her hip. “Liar.”

“Nope, I’m serious. You’ve only just met Ruth, so I don’t think you can judge her character yet.”

“Oh no, darling, I can. She’s promised to tell me stories about you while we cook breakfast, and that’s good enough for me to love her forever.”

Emma groans and dips her head down. “Just let me sulk, and I’ll come to the kitchen when breakfast is ready.”

“Just like when you were a teenager,” Ruth teases.

The morning is mostly spent in the kitchen where they eat waffles and bacon, which is definitely not on his diet but he’s not playing right now anyways, and he gets to listen to Ruth tease Emma all about what she was like as a teenager. Emma’s cheeks are painted red, the embarrassment very clearly there, but she takes it like a champ and smiles and laughs along even when Ruth tells a story about Emma nearly breaking her arm while trying to sneak back into the house after meeting a guy who she wasn’t supposed to be meeting.

“Not my finest moment,” Emma admits as she bites into a piece of bacon. “And definitely not my finest boyfriend.”

The stories continue, and as the day passes on, Killian’s stomach hurts from all of the laughter. Everything about his time here just seems so…perfect. And he knows that there is no such thing as perfect, but the crisp breeze of the air with the sunshine filtering through the leaves of the trees tells him otherwise as the two of them help Ruth with some of her yardwork. Of course, he hasn’t done yardwork in over a decade, so he’s a little rusty. Ruth and Emma make sure to point that out to him every time he cuts a shrub in the wrong way or manages to screw up turning on the lawnmower.

It was complicated, okay?

And Killian definitely wasn’t aware that this is how they’d be spending the first part of their afternoon. It was not at all mentioned in Emma’s pitch of asking him to come here.

Not that he would have ever said no to helping. It’s good to feel useful when he’s been feeling a little useless lately no matter how well he thinks that he’s handling his injury layoff.

It’s decidedly different than the first time around. It likely helps that the injury isn’t as serious and that Killian knows that the end of it is in sight, even if there’s still bits of uncertainty that no one can answer and predict for him. Yet, it also has everything to do with the fact that the people closest to him know exactly what’s going on instead of him letting it all fester inside of him. Honesty is the better policy this time, even if his hand was the slightest bit forced.

Watching Emma easily guide him through Old Port with a beatific smile on her face may help as well.

No, it definitely helps.

She’s such a force of light in his life, even if she doesn’t like admitting that sometimes, but the fact almost seems reinforced after having been apart from her and facing the thoughts of what his life may be like without her in it outside of being someone who he works with.

Frankly, it would be kind of dim. She’s integrated herself so easily into every aspect of his daily routine, and while at first, he thought it really only had to do with her clothes in his closet and her shampoo bottles littering his shower, it’s more in the way that he’ll be sitting with Elsa and look over to see her texting Emma or the way that whenever he wakes up in the morning and she’s not in bed with him, his first thought is to check his phone for a text from her. It’s ridiculous and yet also…not.

She annoys him more than anything or anyone in the world, but he also loves her more than anything. It’s easy in a way that it’s never been before, and Killian wonders if this feeling of fluttering deep in his belly is what he was missing in the past.

They grab a late lunch at a quaint little seafood place, one he can tell is family-owned simply from the atmosphere, and instead of sitting inside, they settle down at one of the umbrella-covered tables outside so that they can have a view of the ocean with the salt-water breeze wafting over them.

He’s missed the water.

Of course, he’s been around it living in Manhattan and traveling to several places around the country that are surrounded by water. Hell, he’s even been back in it in the three years since the accident with Liam. But it’s been a long damn time since he’s sat and simply enjoyed getting to spend time near the water.

During the off-season, he and Emma are going somewhere that’s surrounded by water for at least a week, and they’re not going to let any outside distractions get to them. It’s making plans for the future, and that’s all that he wants right now.

(Some would call it baseball mating season, and while he doesn’t plan on them reproducing anytime soon, they can sure as hell practice.)

They get a call that David and Mary Margaret are nearly there when Emma is showing him some of the lighthouses while using a ridiculous voice that she calls her “tour guide” voice, so they quickly gather their things and start walking back to Ruth’s car since she absolutely cannot wait to see the rest of her family and refuses to have them be at her house before she can get back to her house.

David and Mary Margaret get there first because they are apparently the fastest drivers on the planet today.

And Leo practically tackles Ruth in all of his ten-year-old glory when he sees her.

That’s how Addy and Lucy are with Elsa’s parents too, and Killian imagines that being a grandparent is a hell of a lot of fun since you aren’t in charge of molding a little person into a functioning human being. You just have to give them candy and all of the things their parents don’t want them to have.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks Ruth does.

(That’s what he does as an uncle and wishes his mom could have done as a grandmother.)

They all eat takeout dinner together from an Italian place that Emma and David swear by, and while it’s certainly not the best thing he’s ever had to eat, it’s pretty damn good. Then again, he’s had so much to eat today that his stomach very well may explode soon. He’ll have to get up and go for a jog in the morning.

But right now, it’s a little past ten at night, he’s been up for over eighteen hours, and all he really wants is to sleep. His body is dragging enough that he imagines he’ll have no trouble falling into a slumber as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He’s wrong.

Because then he sees Emma’s teenage bedroom and sees just how empty it is. It’s absolutely nothing like her apartment in New York full of throw pillows and blankets and every artificial plant known to man with a colorful paintings above her headboard. Everything here is rather…beige.

Emma walks out of the bathroom where she’s been getting ready for bed, and he watches as she rubs lotion up and down her hands and her forearms. “Why that glum look on your face? Are you still trying to figure out better ways to argue with David over soccer? Because that dinner conversation is long over. I thought Leo was going to climb on top of the table and start beating on his chest or something equally ridiculous.”

“Hm, no,” Killian chuckles, opening his knees so that Emma can step into them and his hands can find their spots on her waist, warm flesh against his fingertips.

“Then what?”

He blinks up at her, not entirely sure if now is the right time to ask, but then he sees the glint of his mom’s ring falling against Emma’s chest and is reassured in who he is to Emma. “I can’t help but notice that your room here is not quite as colorful as your room at home.”

Emma sighs, and he squeezes her hip in response so that she looks down at him and smile. “It’s kind of a stupid reason. You don’t want to hear about it.”

“I’d love to know more of your beginnings, Swan.”

“Haven’t you heard enough about them today?”

“There is never enough information, love.”

She smiles and reaches to push his hair back off of his head, her hands a magic touch as they move through the strands there. “I’m not a sentimental person. Or, I wasn’t.” Her right hand leaves his hair to find the chain around her neck. Killian’s heart stutters at that movement. “And I never trusted that I was going to stay in one place for very long, so if I had the chance to decorate my room, I didn’t. I kept everything I owned in a little box that was always ready to go.”

His heart may actually break for Emma in this moment, the sad reality of what she’s telling him something that’s hard for him to take in. He can’t imagine what it must be like for her to have lived that way.

“I think this place worked out for you, though.”

“Yeah, it did.” She smiles again, but Killian can see the twinge of sadness in the corners of her lips. “You sure you still want to know about these beginnings of mine when they’re a little bit sad?”

“Like I’ve said before, love, we make quite the team, sad backstories and all. I do, however, think that you need a little something on these walls of yours.”

“I think all of the home décor stores may be closed.”

Killian winks. “Well, I think I’ll just have to get a little creative then.”

His hand slides around her back to squeeze her ass before he’s pushing Emma back from him and getting up from the bed to walk out the door. Everything is darkened with the lights turned off, and since he doesn’t want to wake up everyone else in the house, he uses the flashlight on his phone and quietly walks down the stairs to find his way to the kitchen where he knows there were sheets of paper in the printer as well as a few pens in a cup right behind it. Emma is on his heels, questioning what the hell it is he’s doing, but he doesn’t tell her until he’s grabbing the paper and a thick blue marker.

“What are you doing?” Emma hisses.

“I’m making you some artwork for your wall.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s endearing.”

“You say that about every weird thing that you do.”

“Because the weird things are endearing,” he corrects, looking back at her and smiling. “What kind of drawing do you want? I’m pretty talented, if I do say so myself, but it’s been awhile since I’ve drawn anything.”

“Just…do whatever you want. I’m going to fix myself a hot chocolate. Do you want one?”

“Does Ruth have any tea?”

“I’m going to make you the hot chocolate. It’s better than tea.”

Killian rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t protest as he starts sketching out what he can remember of the view of the lighthouse today. It’s rough, definitely not his best work, but considering his original plan was simply going to be writing her name out, it’ll have to do for quick work.

Strange things happen when he’s far past tired.

“Milady,” Killian sighs, picking up the paper as well as a bit of tape before walking the few steps toward Emma as she sits on a barstool at the island with two cups of hot chocolate, her mug piled up with whipped cream and sprinkles of cinnamon, “I present to you your artwork for your wall.”

Emma’s eyes glance over it before glancing up at him with a slight smile on her face. “You’ve got to sign it.”

He taps the corner of the paper where he’s scribbled in his number. “Already done.”

“Ah,” Emma laughs, “how could I have missed that?”

“You were distracted by the beauty of the picture.”

“Exactly.” Emma presses up over the countertop and leans forward to quickly brush her lips over Killian’s, and while a part of him wants to deepen it, he doesn’t want to get carried awhile while here. “Thank you. That is very sweet of you to do.”

“Endearing, right?”

“Sure.” She shakes her head and slides his mug over to him so that he can have some of his hot chocolate. “I hope today hasn’t scarred you for life, especially since you still have to survive tomorrow.”

“It’s been fun, Swan. I’ve been…I think it’s gotten me majorly out of my own head. I needed that. And I liked getting to see you be so happy. My only complaint is that I’m under strict instructions not to make your bed squeak. I don’t like that rule.”

Emma reaches over to slap his shoulder, but he moves it out of the way quick enough that she doesn’t get it. It also causes a slight twinge in his shoulder that reminds him that he needs an ice pack for tonight. He hasn’t gotten to put ice on it all day. So, he turns toward the fridge and opens up the freezer, grabbing one of Ruth’s ice packs, and placing it on top of his shoulder before turning back to Emma whose fingers are tracing over the drawing.

Emotion lodges in his throat again, something that’s been happening quite a lot tonight, and it’s what propels him forward to step behind Emma’s back and wrap his arms around her stomach before resting his chin on top of her head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Emma,” he promises, meaning every word. “Not unless you tell me to go. So, you can plan on hanging paintings and making plans and keeping little trinkets in more places than a box. I love you more than I know how to tell you. That’s not going to change.”

Emma audibly sighs, something that he feels under the palms of his hands, before leaning back into Killian and simply staying in that spot so that he can breathe her in.

“I love you,” she breathes out as her head tilts up so that her lips can move across the underside of his jaw. “Let’s take the hot chocolate upstairs and go to bed.”

“And your picture?”

“Yeah, that too.”

-/-

Killian’s arm tingles, the feeling nearly gone, when he wakes up in the morning and finds Emma’s body pressed around it. This isn’t how they fell asleep, not even close, and he’ll probably never have use of his arm again. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, and he flexes his fingers a bit before nuzzling his nose into the back of Emma’s head in an attempt to get to go back to sleep.

They were up until maybe two in the morning talking, sleep never really coming to either of them no matter how much they both wanted it, and judging from the dim light coming through the blinds on the window, it’s still early yet.

He desperately needs coffee. He’s probably not going to be able to go back to sleep, and he desperately needs coffee.

Slowly, Killian begins to extract his arm from Emma’s grip, stopping when she flinches, and after several careful minutes, he’s able to quietly get off the bed and step out of the room, leaving her door cracked so as not to make any kind of noise. He walks down the hallway and uses the guest bathroom before walking down the stairs and wandering to the kitchen in search of coffee.

To his surprise, David is already there sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop open and a cup of coffee sitting next to him, the smell wafting toward Killian.

“Hey,” Killian greets. David nearly jumps out of his chair and knocks everything over, and Killian can’t help but laugh at the shock on his face. “Did you really not hear me coming down the stairs?”

“I, uh, I – ” David is stuttering, obviously at a loss for words, and Killian can’t quite figure out what’s going on. He doesn’t think Dave is usually this flustered in the mornings. “I wasn’t expecting you or Emma to be up this early.”

Killian shakes out his arm, still trying to wake it up. “Believe me. I wish I wasn’t up. Do you always work this early in the morning on a Saturday?”

“No, I don’t, but my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with emails this morning, so I came downstairs to see so it wouldn’t wake Mary Margaret up.”

“Ah, I turned off my emails this weekend for that exact reason.”

“You probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“What’s that, mate?” David coughs in response, and Killian steps forward to the table and sits down across from David, confusion running through him as his stomach twists and turns. “Seriously. What?”

David can’t look at him, not really, and that doesn’t help calm any of Killian’s nerves as he tries to figure out what in the world is going on with him this morning.

“I didn’t know this was happening, I swear. I’d have stopped it if I got one whiff of it, but there’s been an article.”

“An article?”

David turns his computer around, and Killian reads a headline that he’s always expected to see and yet has always hoped to avoid.

The Truth Behind Killian Jones: A Story Told by His Father.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, his eyes taking in the picture of his father that’s plastered on the screen. Killian hasn’t seen him in years, actual years, and yet he looks exactly the same. “What kind of shit is this?”

“It gets worse.”

“How could it possibly get worse?”

“Look at the journalist.”

Killian’s eyes glance toward the screen again, his gaze finding more words he didn’t want to see.

Walsh Osborne.

As in Emma’s ex, Walsh Osborne who she still works with at ESPN. Though, this article is decidedly not on ESPN’s website.

Holy fucking shit.

Killian’s got to go back to bed. This isn’t real. This is all some kind of messed up nightmare that he’s experiencing, and soon, he’ll wake up and none of it will be real. And yet Killian keeps scrolling through the article, skipping the words to instead look at pictures of himself that Killian hasn’t seen in years. His father shouldn’t have these pictures. Liam should have all of them. And yet, somehow, he doesn’t.

Childhood pictures are nothing, though, at least for right now, when at the bottom of the article are pictures of Killian and Emma standing in the airport yesterday with Emma’s arms wrapped around his waist as well as a picture of them kissing in his car from who knows when. Then there’s one that he knows is from the hallways of Yankee stadium in what was supposed to be a private room.

“Everyone knows about you and Emma,” David tells him.

This is too much. It’s all too much, and he doesn’t know how to handle the reappearance of his father and the very public reveal of his private relationship.

Fuck.

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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queenofbaws · 5 years

Text

UD: (not at) all according to plan

Rating: T (Language, blood) Word count: 3,854 Summary: Sam missed a little more than she anticipated when she went to take that bath during the annual Blackwood Winter Getaway. Well...shit. A little look at what could’ve happened if Josh’s plan didn’t quite, uh, work the way he’d intended. Author’s note: Look. All I have to say is that @clumsybookworm18 tagged me in THIS AMAZING POST by @sammygiddings-mainblog, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. So...you know I had to write something for it. That’s just how it GOES. ---

There was something magical about the lodge’s tub—Sam had always been of that opinion, and despite the rocky start, tonight was no exception. Sure, the rest of the lodge was still horrifically cold…and dark…and maybe kinda spooky, but she was wrapped up in layers of cozy clothes, hair damp and fingers pruny, and life felt just peachy.

She made her way down the stairs with a pleased little sigh, having spotted a few familiar shapes in the great room. “You guys have gotta try a hot bath this weekend. I swear, it…” Her voice trailed off slowly. Uncertainly.

She’d expected to find the others sipping cocoa and laughing over Emily and Jess’s earlier catfight, and uh... Well, it appeared she was mistaken in that assumption.

There was no cocoa. There was no laughter. No, all she walked into was a cold-ass room with three supremely unhappy people sitting on the couch.

“…oh, I missed something,” she muttered to herself. Quickly, Sam tried to take inventory of the situation: There was Josh all by his lonesome on one side of the L-shaped sectional, grimacing down at the floor; there were Chris and Ash, sitting on the other end of the couch, angled so that they could glare daggers at him while giving him the widest possible berth, both of their faces—

Oh holy shit.

“What happened?!” Her feet sent her reeling forward with great, lurching steps, kneeling in front of Ashley to get a better look at the massive, gnarly bruise blooming there. “Ash, oh my G—wait. Wait.” It was only then that she was able to fully process the bruising on Chris’s face. They looked like they’d been on the losing end of some kind of brawl, but…but shit, that didn’t make sense for a whole slew of reasons, really. “What happened?!” she asked again, feeling a wave of frenzy threaten to bubble over.

The strangest part of the whole thing—if there could be only one—was how calm the two of them seemed. Mad? Oh sure they were mad, maybe even furious, but it was the scary, quiet kind of anger that bided its time until just the right moment.

Ashley turned just so, speaking to her though keeping her eyes firmly on Josh. “Huh! That’s a really interesting question, Sam. What happened? Hmm…what happened…well, it’s a funny story.” She sat with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded resolutely across her chest, fingers drumming against the sleeve of her hoodie. “I’ve got just…the worst headache right now. Shocker. I know. But because of this headache, I’m actually having a little trouble remembering what the three of us have been up to while you were in the tub.” There was something worrying about her tone; it was jerky and jagged in a way that made Sam think of an overstretched rubber band right before it snapped. “Hey Chris?” Ashley asked, voice suddenly bright—saccharine. “Do you remember what happened while Sam was upstairs?”

The anger in Chris’s expression was more…complicated than Ash’s. It was there, but so were a lot of other things: confusion, apprehension, exhaustion, betrayal. It was hard to place, and God help her, Sam was beginning to wonder whether she actually wanted to know what had gone on between them. “Strangest thing, Ash, my head hurts real bad too, all of a sudden. Crazy how that happens.” He raised his eyebrows and immediately winced, sucking in a hard breath through his teeth as he reached up to tenderly pat at his bruising. “I bet Josh remembers.”

“Yeah, know what? I bet he does! Hey Josh? Why don’t you explain, Josh? Why don’t you tell Sam what happened, Josh?”

Sam looked from one to the other to the other, the poster child of confusion. When her eyes fell on Josh again, the corners of his mouth tried to turn up into something resembling a sheepish smile.

It didn’t work.

Not by a long shot.

“Sooo…” he began, speaking slowly in that special way of his—the way that suggested he was flying by the seat of his pants. “I may have made some, uh…let’s just say ‘questionable decisions,’ tonight.”

Though she couldn’t describe how, both Ash’s and Chris’s postures changed in her periphery.

Josh’s mangled smile became a wince. “Okay, that was admittedly a bit of an oversimplification.”

She looked between them again. The puzzle pieces were starting to click into place, but…the picture wasn’t making sense in her head. “Did you hit them?!” she asked, perfectly aghast; her eyes flicked to the others for confirmation. Lo and behold, there it was. “Josh!”

“Can I maybe give some context, here, Sammy?”

“Context?! You punched them and you think I want context?!”

“I can admit some mistakes were made.”

What could she do but stand there and sputter? This was…this was too much. It was like somewhere during the course of her bath, she’d relaxed her way into a parallel dimension—one where shit didn’t make any sense. She resisted the urge to pinch herself; if she was having some batshit dream, she’d wake up eventually and laugh it off, but if this was real…she almost didn’t want to know.

“Mistakes?!” Ashley’s voice went shrill with fury. “I’m gonna have a black eye tomorrow!”

Josh defensively held his hands up. “To be fair—to be fair!—I wasn’t aiming for your eyes. I really, genuinely thought Cochise woulda been the first one through the door, so…yeah, I went a little high.”

“You still punched her! I—yo—fu—and me!” Chris pointed at his own face before wincing again.

His grimace resurfaced, a sad simulacrum of his usual grin. “I…look. I already said I was sorry about that shit, okay? But you both just like…charged the door, and that didn’t really give me time to get the gas ready—”

That did it. Sam found her voice again. “Gas?!” Neither Chris nor Ash seemed taken aback by that, and God, she didn’t like what that meant for the rest of the story. “What gas?!”

He turned back to her, gesturing vaguely. “So I had this tank of—”

“Who cares?!”

Chris had the wherewithal to reach over, not unlike a parent, his arm keeping Ashley from launching herself across the couch at Josh. It couldn’t have taken too much effort (she did, after all, weigh all of a hundred pounds soaking wet), but for a second, it really seemed she was going to throw him off of her. Now, whether that was due to some surge of adrenaline-fueled strength or Chris only holding his arm out for show…well, Sam couldn’t tell.

Ashley’s face was so red by that point that it bordered on purple, the usual pout of her lower lip threatening to become a snarl. “You chained me to a frigging torture rack in the shed!”

Those were…words.

She definitely recognized them as…words.

But put together in that order? Nope. Nope, didn’t compute. Sam couldn’t find it in herself to sit down despite the weakness in her knees; the idea of putting herself physically between the three of them was hardly an appealing thought. “Wait. Wait! Ju-just wait, okay?” She took to pacing instead, fingers knotting themselves into the sleeves of her sweatshirt as her numb legs carried her around the great room in wide, sloping circles. Finally, she whirled back towards Ashley. “What about the shed?”

“Th-th-this maniac—” she began, showing no sign of settling back down, “Socks me, knocks me out, then frigging drags me outside into the shed, where he chains me to a wall and tries to slice me in half with an industrial saw!”

Huffing, Josh crossed his arms and sank deeper into his side of the couch, shaking his head all the while. “Notice how she says ‘tries,’ okay? I didn’t actually do it.”

“Dude, shut up,” Chris snapped.

Sam finished another circuit around the great room, desperately trying to connect all the dots Ashley was throwing her way. “You what?!”

“I wake up and it’s dark. Then suddenly, there are all these lights, and I’m in the shed,” as though her head was on a swivel, Ashley’s face snapped back to Josh, “Chained. To. A. Wall.” His only response was a slight shrug. “And I look around and there’s Josh! Chained up next to me, only guess what? No he wasn’t!”

“Sure convinced you, though,” Josh muttered under his breath.

“All of a sudden, there’s this huge, terrifying, rusty old saw blade, and it’s going a million miles an hour, and it’s coming at me.” Her lower lip quivered for a moment, and Sam was positive Ashley was about to start sobbing…but the moment passed. Even from that distance, she could see her arms and legs trembling with what must’ve been nearly lethal levels of leftover adrenaline. “And I think I’m going to die, and next thing I know, Josh’s stupid body is still next to me, but his freaking head is gone, and then he’s standing next to me and he’s like, grabbing at me—”

She held her hands up to stop her. “What do you mean his head was gone?”

The look Chris leveled at her was not one she’d ever seen on his face before. It was the long-suffering stare of a Wal-Mart cashier on Black Friday, warning her before he even opened his mouth that he had seen things, and the worst was yet to come. “This motherfucker went and made a goddamn piñata and stuffed it with fake guts. Then dressed it up in his clothes. You know, like normal people do!”

When she whirled, wide-eyed, to Josh, he actually had the audacity to roll his eyes. “The guts weren’t fake.”

“Wow.” She wouldn’t call the noise Chris made a laugh, per se, but it was close enough. “Wow, man, just…wow! Really? That’s what you care about right now?”

“I didn’t go through all the time and effort of special ordering all those pigs—you know what? No, it’s fine. They were fake. Whatever.”

Sam didn’t have time to process any of that before Ashley was talking again. “So there I am, literally hanging from a wall! And there’s this literal saw! Trying to slice through me! And Chris is on the other side of the wall because Josh locked all the doors! So I’m next to a headless, uh, uh, uh—”

“Human-sized Gusher.” The visual was horrendous. Chris didn’t seem to take any joy in that artful description, sort of cementing the gravity of the situation in her head; if Chris wasn’t laughing at his own jokes, shit had absolutely hit the fan.

Ashley just kept going, “I can’t pull myself up, so this idiot’s just like, pushing my legs away from it and over it so that I don’t literally get sliced in half! And he just keeps screaming, ‘Turn it off! Turn it off!’ Only surprise!” Before any of them could react, she’d grabbed a coaster off the table and hurled it at Josh’s head as hard as she could. It was only through some kind of miracle that he managed to dodge it. “Chris can’t turn it off, because he doesn’t know how it works, because they don’t make user manuals for bootleg medieval murder machines!”

“But did you die, though?” Josh shot back, his tone the petulant snap of a sibling about to be tattled on. “Did you die, Ash? No. You didn’t. So maybe—”

“Oh my G—I’m going to kill him.” She said it to Chris, lowering her voice dangerously. “I’m going to wring his neck with my bare hands.”

“Big talk coming from the girl who almost sobbed cuz a Ouija board was talking to her…”

Chris’s head snapped up in Josh’s direction again. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Fuck me? Fuck me?” Josh narrowed his eyes. “No, know what? Fuck you! Fuck you, man, you were gonna pick Ash over me! You were gonna just let me die!”

“Yeah.” The admission seemed to startle him. Though she had absolutely no idea what Josh had meant by ‘picking’ Ash, Sam watched the realization dawn in Chris’s eyes, jolting him like an arc of electricity. He sat up straighter, staring at Josh with a newfound surge of outrage, hands bunching into fists on his knees. “Yeah! I was! And honestly? Honestly, Josh? Feeling like I made the right call on that one!”

“Man, go to Hell. Some friend you turned out to be!”

Sam, ever the mediator, threw her hands out to her sides. “Stop! Everyone just…just stop, okay? Obviously we’re all…” she paused, doing everything in her power to avoid making eye contact with any of them. “…upset. And tired. And confused.” That last one was, admittedly, mostly for her. There was a soft, unimportant sound as she dropped her hands to her sides again, fingers brushing the fabric of her sweatshirt. She exhaled a heavy breath, scrambling to collect her thoughts before saying anything else.

A minute of silence passed in the room, stretched and made syrupy by the cold, feeling like its own lifetime.

When she found it in herself to look back to the couch, she could see things had (mostly) cooled down: Josh had resumed his earlier pose, arms folded and eyes down; Chris had leaned over and seemed to be muttering something under his breath to Ash; and in turn, Ashley sat listening to him, nodding occasionally while keeping her watchful gaze on Josh. It wasn’t ideal, obviously, but it was better.

God help her.

“Josh.” She had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to control her expression when he turned his sad, angry eyes on her. “Any other…” she sighed through her nose, “…booby traps you need to warn us about?”

He considered her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Not up here.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means stay out of the basements and you’ll be a-okay, buckaroo.”

Chris and Ash frowned in unison, both looking to one another before turning to Josh’s side of the couch. “Basements?” Chris asked. “Like…plural?”

With an unaffected sniff, Josh shrugged. “Yeah, plot twist, I know.”

Sam ignored that line of questioning for the time being. “But there’s nothing up here? Nothing at all?”

“Nothing at all, Sammy,” he repeated, albeit stiffly. Josh continued to glower at the floor for a second or two…then something in posture shifted, softened, gave way completely, and he dropped his head into his hands. His shoulders slumped inwards, a pathetic, eerily juvenile attempt at protecting himself.

She was still too far away to tell for sure, but…Sam thought maybe, just maybe, she could see him shaking in much the same way Ashley had been.

When he spoke up again, his voice was strained and strange, sounding thick in the back of his throat. “The saw wasn’t supposed to go that way. That wasn’t how I built it, something must’ve…I didn’t…I wasn’t gonna hurt you guys. I wasn’t. I just wanted to…fuck…” A crack shattered his voice into a weak warble. “I just wanted to fucking scare you! That was it! And yeah, I wanted it to be bad—real bad, like badbadbad—but I wouldn’t hurt you…I wouldn’t have let you die!” Ashley hardly seemed moved. She only crossed her arms tighter, her forehead wrinkling with an emotion Sam couldn’t begin to parse. If their story was true (and jokesters though they were, she had very little reason to doubt that it was), she thought it was going to take more than an apology to smooth things over with Ashley. A fruit basket, at least.

“I just…” And oh, it was hard hear Josh like that, but harder still to see the three of them in that state, so detached from their usual nerdy, goofy selves. “I wanted you to get it, okay? To know what Hannah felt last year, to know how shitty it all was, and—”

A scream rent the air, bringing an abrupt end to whatever else Josh had wanted to say.

For the first time since they’d arrived that night, the four of them moved as a unit, whirling around to look towards the front door.

A clatter, a choked gasp, and Emily appeared in the great room, tripping over snow-slick boots in her hurry. Sam saw what was about to happen and lunged forward, managing to catch her right as she began to topple; Emily clung to her as though she was the only thing keeping her from sinking into the hardwood.

She heard Chris and Ash get up from the couch more than she saw them, the cushions groaning quietly against the backdrop of Emily’s frantic sobbing.

“Hey,” Sam tried, contorting herself to meet Emily’s eyes. “Hey, hey Em, hey…it’s okay! You’re okay, you’re okay!”

“No I’m not!” She made as though she was going to shove herself away from Sam, but only succeeded in falling further against her, chest heaving and pulse pounding so heavily that she felt like a windup toy chugging its last.

Before she could ask what she’d meant by that, Sam felt a pressure at her shoulder blade. Turning, she saw Ashley looking pale and grim—more so than usual, that was. She stared at Emily, her brow furrowed, and it only took a curt nod from her for Sam to realize what was wrong.

The fabric of Emily’s jacket had been torn away to reveal a raw, bloody wound on her shoulder, already made horribly discolored by the cold.

“Em,” Sam breathed.

But she pulled in a drowning woman’s breath, chest rattling with the effort, and finally—finally—looked up to her. “Monster,” she coughed out, her eyes wide, pupils pinpricks even in the half-light. “There’s some kind of fucking monster out there!” The words spilled from her like vomit. “We need to go, we have to go, it’s going to get me, it’s going to—”

“Emily…” That time it was Ashley who chimed in, speaking with the tiny, uncertain voice Sam was more accustomed to. “There’s no monster. It’s just a really, really shitty prank Josh is pulling on us.”

Josh, for his part, hadn’t gotten up from the couch. He watched the scene with a detached expression. To Sam, it sort of seemed like he was attempting a particularly tricky math problem in his head. “I…didn’t do anything like that,” he said, oddly thoughtful.

Ashley spun around to shoot him a fiery glare, but Emily only sobbed harder.

“This isn’t fucking Josh! There’s a monster out there and it—I th—” She collapsed against Sam again, her face dripping with tears and sweat and thawing snow. “It got Matt!”

Sam looked to Ashley…then Chris…and then Josh. Each of them looked more confused than the last. She didn’t like that. No, she didn’t like that one bit.

Josh’s asshattery aside, something was…fuck. Something was wrong, here.

Still, she knew from experience that panicking was as good as lying down and dying. She took a deep breath in, steadied herself, and tightened her grip on Emily’s arms.

“Matt?” Belated though it was, the realization hit Chris all at once. “What do you mean, it g—”

There was a distant BANG! that brought them to attention, Emily shrieking and reaching up to cover her head and face with her hands. The rest of them stared at each other, heads cocked and bodies tense like deer sensing danger, eyes darting every which way to try and place the sound until…

“The basement.” There was still a watery edge to Josh’s voice that made him sound as though he was dealing with one hell of a cold. “That’s…” his eyes narrowed in bafflement, “…that’s the fucking basement.” He did get off the couch then, showing no sign of noticing the way both of his ‘best friends’ pulled back to avoid him as he made his way to the staircase, peering down into the darkness of the first floor landing. “Who the fuck went into the base—”

He didn’t have time to finish.

Great, clomping footsteps pounding their way up the stairs, Emily and Ashley screaming when a tall, broad figure lurched up the steps and into the moonlit room with the rest of them.

“Mike?!”

The shape of him didn’t make sense at first. He was slumped, panting, his face and arms streaked with grime and dust and…blood. Oh God, there was so much blood. Sam’s eyes followed the worst of it, trailing down his left arm, where it became thick and black, and, and, and…

“Shit, dude,” Chris said slowly, sounding dazed, “What happened to your fingers?”

Sam found herself pushed away out of nowhere, Emily dashing over to the stairs to throw her arms around Mike instead. She was too confused for her feelings to be hurt.

There wasn’t any confusion on Mike’s face, though, just the mournful resignation of a man facing his own execution. His right arm, seemingly unhurt, moved to circle Emily’s middle, but he leveled his gaze at the rest of them. “Jessica,” he started…then stopped. He screwed his eyes shut, seeming to struggle with something internally, and tried again. “Jessica is dead.” It came out horrendously flat, matter-of-fact.

The sky was blue. The snow was falling. The lodge was cold. And Jessica was dead.

They stared at him.

Time went syrupy again, stretching seconds out into hours.

Sam blinked. “What.”

She couldn’t tear herself away from the sight of Mike and Emily, him with his missing fingers, her with what sure looked to be a gaping bite wound on her arm, but even so, she had to figure Chris and Ash had once more rounded on Josh.

“I didn’t do that,” he said, though something just under the surface of his atonal drone suggested he was creeping frighteningly close to panic, himself. “I did not do that.”

A rustle of fabric as though one of them (probably Chris) shoved him. “How are we supposed to believe that?!”

For the third time, they were startled by a jarringly loud sound. Only that time around, there was no mistaking what they were hearing.

Someone was knocking on the door. The side door. The door they were mere feet from.

All give of them went silent as the knocking grew louder, more intense…but never frantic. Never afraid. Even Emily’s fearful crying tapered off into quiet hiccupping as she clutched at Mike’s arm. But none of them moved.

None of them moved a fucking muscle.

Slowly—so slowly—Sam turned to Josh, the tendons of her neck creaking with the effort.

He tore his eyes away from the door only long enough to look at her. “Spoiler alert, Sammy,” he said with that same peculiarly distant quality in his voice. “I’m not doing that either.”

And he was right. It obviously couldn’t have been him out there, pounding at the door.

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice felt so tiny that she couldn’t tell whether or not she’d actually spoken aloud. “That’s the problem.” Whatever had happened to the others, it hadn’t been Josh pulling the strings.

The knocking continued.

#until dawn #sam giddings #josh washington #chris hartley #ashley brown #emily davis #mike munroe #literally i have not been able to get this post out of my head #as soon as i saw it i was just like 'i need to WRITE THIS'#i am so late to the until dawn party - i know this #i have. so much ground to make up #op if you dont wanna be tagged just let me know! i will totes understand - just wanted to give credit where credit is due! :)

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prettytoxicrevolver · 6 years

Text

Meet | Corbyn Besson

Requested? Yup! I hope you like it anon! Sorry it took so long to come out

Warnings? Swearing

Word Count: 1,990

“I miss you.” You whine sadly over the phone to your best friend Corbyn. “We’ve never met though.” Corbyn counteracts. “Your fans miss you and they’ve never met you. Does that not count?” You point out and you can hear his smile in the response. “Okay fine you’re right.” You and Corbyn had been best friends for years. You had met on Twitter when you were trying to find new artists to listen to and your followers suggested Corbyns music. You had found him on Twitter and started following him. He followed you back almost instantly and you were shocked when you found out he had a fair following of people for his music covers on YouTube. After binge watching them for the entire night, you DM’d him to tell him you thought he was amazing. Thus a friendship was born. “I still can’t believe you live a state away from me and we still haven’t met.” You continue. “Well you’re always busy with work and I’m always touring with the band so.” He was right, you two hadn’t met because your lives were constantly hectic. Even if you had been friends for five years. You simply couldn’t find the time. “Yeah yeah.” You respond and Corbyn laughs lightly. “I’ll talk to you later?” “Sounds good.” You relax back into your couch after hanging up the phone and sigh. You wanted nothing more than to finally be able to hug your best friend and hangout. It sucked being so close yet so far. Suddenly, an idea pops into your head and you spring up from the couch. You grab your phone, dialing another one of your friends numbers and wait while it rings. “Hey (y/n)!” Daniel greets you. Even though you’ve never met Corbyn, you still were close friends with his band mates. “Are you with Corbyn?” You ask. “Nah. What’s up?” He responds. “I wanna surprise Corbyn when you guys are on break and I need your help.” “I’m in.” Together, you and Daniel figure out the perfect plan. Daniel will fly over to you and together you’ll drive up to Virginia. Once there, you’ll get to Corbyns house and Daniel will keep his family busy while you surprise him. After hanging up with (y/n), I collapse onto one of the couches in the back of the bus. Jack throws down the game controller and turns towards me. “What’s up?” He asks knowing something was wrong. “Nothing I just wanna see (y/n) but since we’re both so busy we don’t have time.” “What about Christmas break?” Jack asks like it’s a no brainer. “She’s out of school and you can drive down and visit her. I’ll come with too.” “You are a genius.” The boys plan that on the day they fly home, Jack would accompany Corbyn to Virginia. Once landed, they’ll head straight to (y/n)’s house to surprise her. It was only a week away till Daniel would fly out to you and you were beyond excited. On top of meeting your best friend in the entire world you got to meet Daniel, the other closest friend you’ve ever had. And, Corbyn had no idea the two of you would be meeting soon. “How long are you home for?” You ask him during your daily FaceTime call. “About a month.” He responds. “Same here. I’m excited to relax and spend time with my family and friends.” “Me too. It’s gonna be great.” After talking for a little longer, the two of you hang up and you call Daniel. You two finish up your plan, Daniel said he would fly in on the 20th and you two would drive up the 21st. After staying for a couple of days, you would drive back home and Daniel would head home for the holidays. Corbyn and Jack had it all figured out. They would head to Corbyns late on the 20th and drive down to (y/n)’s on the 21st. Corbyn was beyond ecstatic to finally meet his best friend. He honestly couldn’t wait any longer. Today was the day. In an hour you would meet one of your best friends and tomorrow you would meet Corbyn. Everything was going perfectly. As you stand in baggage claim, nervously awaiting the arrival of your best friend you can’t help but smile. You look around excitedly just as you get a text from Daniel saying he was almost there. “(y/n)!!” You hear a familiar voice call your name. You whip around to see Daniel and you immediately bound straight for him. You end up tackling him in a hug that sends you both to the ground, laughing your asses off. You carefully untangle yourselves from each other before standing up and giving each other a proper hug. “I can’t believe it!” You yell into his ear and smile when you hear his heartwarming laugh. “Believe it! Now are you ready to meet your best friend tomorrow?” “Like you wouldn’t believe.” After grabbing Daniels luggage, the two of you head to your car and back home. The entire way there, you catch up on everything you’ve missed and go over the plan one more time. “Shit.” You curse when you realize Corbyn is calling you. You quickly silence Daniel and answer. “Hey!” You greet him. “What’s up?” “Nothing much I just landed and wanted to say hi. How are you?” “Good! Me and Ari were just about to watch a movie.” You blurt our the first thing that comes to your mind. You hated lying to your best friend but it was for the greater good. “I didn’t know you guys were hanging out.” “Yeah I figured why not since we haven’t seen each other in awhile.” You say shrugging your shoulders even though he can’t see you. You two talk for a little while longer before hanging up and Daniel let’s out a sigh of relief. Even though you were excited for the surprise tomorrow it was a lot of work keeping a huge secret from your best friend. “(y/n)!!! Get up you meet Corbyn today!” Daniel yells loudly while shaking your shoulder. You groan and turn on your back to face him. “It’s too early.” Even though you were absolutely ecstatic to meet Corbyn today, mornings were never your strong suit. “I have coffee.” He says holding up your Starbucks order. “Suddenly I’m awake.” You say sitting up straight in bed and grabbing the drink from Daniels hand. He moves from your bed and starts walking out the door with the reminder that you’re leaving in ten minutes. After quickly getting dressed and downing your Starbucks, you and Daniel finally head off in your car to Corbyn. The drive was a good four hours but it felt like minutes to you. You were beyond excited that you couldn’t even form it into words anymore. “We’re here!!!” Daniel exclaims loudly when you pull into Corbyns driveway. Your heart starts to beat a million miles per hour. Your hands shake as Daniel puts the car in park and you reach for the door handle. Daniel decides to head up first and you follow closely behind. You wanted to pop out and surprise Corbyn when he comes down and answers the door and wait to see his shocked face. However, when Daniel opens the door, Corbyns sister Ashley appears. “Daniel? What are you doing here?” She says. She then spots you and her face lights up. “(y/n)?!? What are you doing here?” “I’m here to surprise Corbyn.” You say peeking your head up behind Daniels shoulder. “Oh shit.” She says and your smile turns into a frown. “Corbyns not here.” She explains and now you were extremely confused. “I thought he flew back yesterday.” “I think you should call him. He should explain it himself.” You exchange looks with Daniel who shrugs his shoulders in response, just as confused as you are. “Jack wake up!!” Corbyn calls out to his best friend. Today was the day Corbyn would finally meet (y/n) and he couldn’t wait another second to get driving. “Five more minutes.” Jack whines and rolls over. “I have breakfast ready downstairs and you can eat it in the car so get dressed we’re leaving in ten!” The drive to (y/n)’s house would be about four hours and Corbyn was so hopped up on excitement he was ready to run the miles to her house himself. Thankfully Jack was able to reel him in enough to calm him down and get them on the road. “Are we almost there?” Corbyn asked for the millionth time that day. “Well,” Jack trails off smiling. He then pulls into your driveway and parks towards your front door. Corbyn hops out of the car and in seconds is already standing on your doorstep. When he rings the bell, he bounces on the balls of his feet waiting anxiously for you. However when the door opens, your moms friendly face answers and Corbyn is thrown into confusion. “Hey Mrs. (y/l/n).” Corbyn greets. “Is (y/n) home?” “Corbyn! Oh it’s so nice to meet you.” She says giving him a quick hug and gesturing for him and Jack to come inside. “Wait, I thought (y/n) was driving up to see you today?” “What?” Jack and Corbyn ask in sync. “Oh no. You might want to call her.” “Hey C!” You greet when you see Corbyns familiar smile on FaceTime. “Hey!” He responds. “Random question: where are you right now?” “I was just about to ask you the same thing.” You say looking at Daniel who gives you a confused look. “Well, funny story, me and Jack are actually at your house right now.” “What???” You and Daniel yell in sync. “Me and Daniel are at your house right now.” You continue and laugh loudly as realization of the situation washes over you. “Oh my god.” “I swear the universe is out to get me.” You joke. “The universe may not always play fair, but at least it’s got a hell of a sense of humor.” Corbyn responds and you smile. “Okay uh do you want us to drive back down there?” “No no.” Corbyn says and gestures for Jack to follow him back to the car. “We’ll be there soon.” After hanging up, you turn towards Daniel and the two of you laugh hysterically. Figures the one day you want to surprise Corbyn he tries to do the same. The two of you wait a very slow four hours for Jack and Corbyn to get back to his house. While you wait, you and Daniel talk and tell each other stories to pass the time. Just as you’re in the middle of telling Daniel a story about you and your best friend getting detention for a month in high school, you hear a car pull into the driveway. You’re on your feet in seconds and when you see the passenger side door open you let out an excited squeal. Just as Corbyn gets out and takes one step, you’re bounding straight for him. You end up running and literally jumping straight into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist while his arms hold you up. You hold him as tight as possible and you’re almost certain he can probably hear your heart beating. “You’re real!!!” You scream out in happiness. “You’re real!! And you’re here and we’re together and you’re real!!!” You keep repeating over and over and you can hear Corbyns laugh. Corbyn finally sets you down and you take his hands and hold them out in front of you as you look him up and down. “You’re real!” You whisper once more and he flashes an award winning smile at you. You two hug once more and you’ve decided that this is truly one of the best moments of your entire life.

#corbyn besson #daniel seavey #jack avery #jonah marais #zach herron #why dont we #why dont we music #corbyn besson imagine #daniel seavey imagine #jack avery imagine #jonah marais imagine #zach herron imagine #why dont we imagine #imagine #bravebesson

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tinknevertalks · 6 years

Note

Teslen + Superhero / Supervillain AU?

This is way longer than three sentences. Am I sorry? Not really. XD Little Can be construed as a bit angsty (references Ashley’s death). The worst bit was trying to figure out their superhero/villain names. XD I am so bad at naming things! Anyways, I hope you enjoy. :)

They’re standing on the precipice of something huge, something monumental, but it’s not right, in any sense of the word, and the feeling makes Nikola reel as he takes small, cautious steps towards her. “What are you doing?” he calls, stopping as she turns, tears running like streams down her cheeks (highlighting her lack of mask, an unusual decision for someone usually so discreet), a small device in her hand. “This isn’t you.”

She shakes her head, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t… can’t….”

Holding up his hands as he walks nearer, he keeps his voice soft, gentle, knowing his opposite needed stopping. “You’re Aeterna, you keep going.”

Her eyes, bright blue, flash with horrific rage. “They killed her, Lux! They killed her!” She holds her head high, her usual ponytail loose, making little whispy patterns on her skin as he steps ever closer, watching her break. “How can I keep going?”

“Would she want you to do this?” he asks softly, almost within arms reach.

Aeterna’s face crumples, those stormy eyes that usually had Nikola hypnotised still brimming with tears as he takes her hand with the device. She shakes her head slowly, her body shaking as the grief overtakes her. “They killed my daughter. They… they kidnapped her and killed her.”

“Aer–” He pauses, and reconsiders his words. “Helen, this,” he squeezes her hand holding the device, “won’t bring her back.”

“But I can be with her,” she explains, pain evident in every syllable she utters. “Nothing else, no one else, matters, without her.”

“What about your protégé? Your team?” He closes his other hand around her other. “Are you really going to let me win after all these years?”

She snorts a laugh, but it’s hysteria, grief.

“This isn’t you,” he murmurs, finally taking the small black box, dropping it in his jacket pocket.

“And this isn’t you, Nikola,” she murmurs back, voice thickening with everything she felt.

“How…?”

She shrugs, looking away as she says, “No one else calls me Helen like that.”

He doesn’t reply, looking down at their joined hands.

“Haven’t you a world to conquer?” she finally asks, her tears slowing.

“Had to save it first,” he replies, winking. “Funny how I need it in one piece for all my plans of conquest.” He squeezes her hands, and she looks at him again. He can’t help it, “Would you like to be queen of all I survey?”

She rolls her eyes, and Nikola breathes a silent sigh of relief. She will be fine.

“You know, I think I prefer Lux to Nikola,” she tells him. “Nikola knows me far too well.” She winks, and moves her hands so she can properly hold his.

“You think–” She kisses his cheek, and words escape him.

“Thank you,” she says, with one last squeeze of her hands, before letting go. “Go cause some mayhem.”

And so he does. The Cabal doesn’t know what hits them.

A few months later, when she foils his plans again, she smiles as they banter, and as he’s sitting, waiting for the police car to take him away, she whispers, “Aeterna likes stopping Lux, but I much prefer talking to Nikola.”

“Just talking?” he asks, slightly disgusted at his own hopeful tone.

She just winks, smiles, and melts into the crowd.

#ask meme answer #teslen #sanctuary #au #superheroes #rachel writes fanfic #viennainspringtime

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fandomflail · 7 years

Text

title: Recognition (5/8)

rating: M

summary: Soulmate trope AU. Set in a world where humans and elves coexist.

a/n: If you’re still reading, let me know.

Past Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) or AO3

CHAPTER 5

They’d fucked (made love, Killian had corrected her in that annoying way of his) three more times that first night, with one impressive session lasting a good hour as they’d edged each other into orgasms she’d probably never be able to recreate.

Then she’d all but kicked him out, telling him she needed time.

* * *

Henry watched her as if she was a particularly difficult game level he couldn’t figure out. He had surprised her by the complete lack of questions and curiosity about what had happened after he returned from the Jefferson’s house that weekend.

Emma wanted to ask what it was exactly, that Jefferson had told her son, but was too much of a coward to actually do so. Especially because she’d then have to explain things she didn’t want to.

Instead, she endured three mornings of him looking at her funny before he left for school, his eyes alternating between his breakfast and his cell, the newest communicator money could buy. She didn’t often spoil Henry, but when she did… well.

Still, he was beginning to grate on her nerves, the way he kept looking at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. So much so, that on the fourth day since she had shut the door in Killian’s face, Emma snapped.

“Okay, what is going on with you?”

“Nothing is going on with me,” Henry answered, without even raising his head to look at her.

“Hey, I am talking to you.”

“Nothing.is.going.on,” he enunciated slowly and clearly, looking her straight in the eye. His irritation belied his words, and she bit down her own irritation.

“You still talking to that Violet girl, is that what’s going on here?” she goaded.

“No. I don’t even like her.”

“Uhuh.”

“I don’t! And you’re one to talk!”

Ah, there it is, she thought smugly.

“Oh? What’s that mean kid?”

He glared at her in such a familiar way that her chest ached at how much of her mannerisms he’d picked up in two short years.

“Nothing.”

“Henry, come on,” she tried.

He slammed his spoon on the table, pushing his chair back as he stood abruptly. Emma was alarmed at the sudden glistening in his eyes, as his face twisted in anger.

“You just going to keep ignoring the fact that you have a soulmate?!”

“Seriously, kid, no offense but—

“I’m going to grow old, and you’re going to watch me die, and you’re GOING TO BE ALONE AND SAD,” he yelled, and then, to her utmost and complete horror, broke down sobbing at the breakfast table.

She gaped, before she rushed to his side. Emma hugged him tightly to her chest as she rocked him as if he was a toddler.

“Oh Henry,” she said, tears springing forth to her eyes as his cries didn’t abate.

“I know you told me you had a hard life and I remember when you adopted me you said you needed to learn to love,” he said between sobs, “but you really didn’t need to learn it mum, you always knew. Why won’t you be happy?”

“Henry, I am happy,” she said earnestly, wiping her tears in his hair.

“But you’re elvish, and I’m not, and I don’t want you to be alone. Why can’t you be happy with Killian? He really wants to try.”

Still reeling from the words I’ll grow old and you’ll watch me die, it took her a few moments to realize what he’d said.

“How do you know what he wants?”

Her suspicions, (and Henry’s guilt) became apparent when his crying choked, coming to a silent end even as he remained tightly within her arms.

“Henry?”

“Isn’t it obvious that it’s something a soulmate would want?” he said as an attempt of explanation. She wasn’t buying it.

“Has he contacted you?” she asked incredulously, wanting to track down Killian just so she could kill him for overstepping.

Just then, the communicator he’d left on the table vibrated.

Oh, you’ve got to be joking, she thought.

“Henry Swan! Is that him right now? Is that who you’ve been messaging?”

Pulling away and hastily wiping his tears, “He sent only one, at first, and told me you wouldn’t appreciate him talking to me about five times before he finally caved.”

“He’s right.”

If some part of her was surprised at Henry’s loyalty in defending Killian, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she glared at her son.

With a sigh, he pulled his communicator, and scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled quite a bit more, before landing to what she assumed was the first ever message.

“Here,” he said, thrusting it to her face.

Mae g'ovannen, young Mr. Swan. This is Killian, the elf prince who spoke to your mother at the ball. You have a very loyal friend by the name of Gracie. She wanted to know, on your behalf, (actually it was more of a warning, to be sure) whether the kingdom would call your mother away to learn the elvish way, thus separating you. I am happy to inform you that your life, the two of you, will go on absolutely uninterrupted. However, should you ever find yourself in an emergency, you may reach me personally anytime. Humbly yours, Killian Aearinön.

Her eyes drifted below to the other messages, but Henry snatched the device before she could see more than the next message of him asking Killian if he really was her soulmate.

To be sure, Killian’s message was masterfully done. Perfectly diplomatic, bordering on polite concern, but strategic in bypassing her objection in exchanging any details.

“This is not cool, Henry.”

“If I had Recognized, would you want me to run away from my chance at happiness?”

“I’d want you to do whatever makes you happy.”

“And does ignoring this make you happy?” he challenged.

“Things are never that simple. You don’t just Recognize, and boom, happy ending! The world, love doesn’t work that way, okay. He’s the prince, he’s 300 years old, there is so, so much more going on than just hormones or whatever Recognition is.”

“Ah, so you’re scared,” he taunted.

Emma watched him, marveling on some plane, how he adopted her techniques and turned them on her. He was smart, but he was also a teenager, who still saw things in shades of black and white, rather than the shades of grey that made the world.

“You’re going to be late to school.”

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, so she cut him off.

“School. You’re going to be late for it, and this topic is off the table. School, now.”

He gaped at her, shut his mouth, eyes storming as he said, “Fine! Fine, I don’t know why I bothered.”

Emma sighed loudly as he grabbed his things and left, slamming the door shut behind him. Maybe she could have handled it better, but maybe Henry was also blossoming into a teenager with mood swings so she’d probably not win either way.

Great.

* * *

“You’ve been really weird,” Ashley, her soft-spoken co-worker told her during lunch.

Emma did her best not to roll her eyes as she bit into a slice of pizza. “How so?”

“I don’t know. Something’s different. Did you lighten your hair or something? Get a Glitter injection?”

“Do I seriously look like one of those wanna-be’s who think looking elvish is a fashion trend?”

“Well no, otherwise you’d start with surgery on your ears. Oh my gosh, that was not meant as an insult!”

Thank heavens for rounded ears, the true invisibility cloak of elvish heritage, she thought sardonically.

“I don’t know what’s weird, except I started this new detox,” she lied. As predicted, Ashley, the self-proclaimed connoisseur of all things healthy, practically lit up in excitement.

“No wonder your skin is radiant, you’re finally eating vegetables!” and then proceeded to launch into the benefits of every vegetable known to both elf and humankind.

* * *

There was no longer the itching, need to rip her skin off and roll around in sandpaper. In fact, she was still coasting from the high of Killian’s administrations, how he’d taken time to learn her body and likes in the one night they’d spent together.

She couldn’t deny the ache in her chest though, the one that told her in the short time of talking and fucking, she’d revealed more of herself than to anyone, and instead of pity or judgement, he’d simply reciprocated with tales of his own life, tales of neglect despite being an elven prince, the deception and political intrigue that had cost him centuries of his life.

It was easy to ignore; what wasn’t, was Henry’s baleful stares and increased frequency of messaging when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. She debated against saying anything to him, knowing it would only make him rebel more. She wondered if Henry was just looking for a male figure to talk to; he wasn’t particularly close to Jefferson, and he didn’t have much friends besides Gracie. Killian was an odd choice - she wasn’t even sure if he’d met him, but Emma knew why he chose to build a relationship with him.

It’s what made her do it, as much as her stomach turned to ash as she did. She moved as stealthily as she could while Henry took his infamously long showers (and did her damnedest not to think about that).

She was in his communicator within 2 minutes, and pulled the ID, valiantly avoiding reading the messages. This was bad enough as it was. This, this she could sort-of explain away.

Reading his messages? That was not something Henry would forgive easily. She copied the ID, and took care to place his communicator the way she found it.

In her own room, she bit her lip as she contemplated how to go about it.

Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to my son behind my back? she typed, then deleted before she could hit send.

WHO gave you the right to think you could just talk to Henry?

She deleted that too.

What exactly, do you think you’re doing talking to a boy you’ve never even met?

That, Emma mused, was threatening enough, without outright attacking him, and taking into account Henry’s own tenacity at getting answers when he wanted them.

With a deep breath, she sent it.

She expected an answer immediately, and was disappointed when she received none. It seemed, unlike Henry and herself, Killian wasn’t glued to his communicator.

His answer came after dinner. Henry had retreated to his room to finish his school work (or message Gracie or Violet, or maybe both, who knew, these days).

I was wondering when you’d get around to chewing me out.

And not the good kind, a second message followed almost immediately.

For a 300 year old elf, his inability to tamper his brassy language was appalling. She rolled her eyes.

You didn’t answer the question, she replied.

Who says I haven’t met Henry? was his answer, which made her hackles raise immediately.

She enabled talk.

He picked up on the first ring.

“You sought him out?” she said, containing her yell, but it was a close thing.

“Mae g'ovannen to you too, Swan,” surprising her by the use of her surname, “yes, I’ve been doing fine if a little bereft, thank you so much for inquiring.”

“You went behind my back and saw my son?!” she hissed.

“I’m not one to tittle-tattle, but for the sake of clarity, it was your boy and his friend who sought me. And before you get mad at him, they were accompanied by an adult.”

“Let me guess,” she said dryly, “Jefferson.”

“The one and same. The lovely Gracie needed to use the library for her work,” he explained, in a tone that told Emma he believed them as much as she did, “and she seemed to know that I was to be there meeting the Head of the B.E.A.S.T. That is the Bureau of Elvish Awareness and Species Theory.”

Emma snorted, “That’s a rather unfortunate name.”

“Ah, never let it be said that the elves of old didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“Fine. So why are you continuing to talk to my son?”

“Well,” and here he faltered slightly, giving Emma the distinct impression that he was finding the combination of words least likely to offend her, “that is, I think, a great question, Swan. Such a good question a mother could ask her son for some quality bonding time.”

“Cut the crap.”

“You may think I’m joking, but I really am quite serious about you asking him. The boy is lonely.”

“He’s got—“

“You, and Gracie, yes” he interrupted her, “but there are things he wants to talk to that he can’t with the two of you, and he was under the impression that he would be seeing more of me—“

“I hope you corrected him about that! He doesn’t need more people in his life disappointing him.”

“I… okay, I’m going to not ask about that backstory right now, and I did tell him that well, whatever becomes of us, this, it’s up to you as much as it’s up to me.”

“This isn’t becoming anything.”

Killian’s sigh was loud. “Really?”

That one word was infused with so much sarcasm that Emma rolled her eyes.

“Emma,” Killian said, when she remained silent, “I told you, I’m willing to wait. I’m willing to be patient. I cannot possibly understand what you must be going through - but I want to help. If you wish to seek your parents, there are ways. I have resources. If you simply want to learn about what being an elf means to you, I want to help. You don’t have to do this alone, Emma.”

His tone was so earnest and sincere that it almost brought tears to her eyes. She was grateful she hadn't enabled the hologram function, not sure what she’d do if she had to see him say that with those wide eyes and gentle look.

“Thank you,” she said, voice coming out in a choked whisper.

“It is customary for Noble Elves to invite elvish children to tea, to honor them and make sure they grow knowing who they are and their history. Children rearing is a community effort here. My point is, I was about to extend an invitation to Gracie for next weekend. Considering you’ve missed out on this tradition, and considering Henry would be loathe to miss out, perhaps you could join us.”

“Next week?” she repeated.

“Saturday, Noble Embassy of Alamané, 1600.”

“I’ll think about.”

“I’ll tell Gracie to be discreet about it while you do.”

“Thank you, Killian.”

* * *

On Isilya, the first day of the week, he sent her the official invite. It was beautiful; made from dried leaf and twine, written in aurum ink in flowing script inviting them to tea.

Not that she could be sure exactly, what it said, considering it was written in completely in Elvish. It started with Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn, which she knew meant a star shines upon our hour of meeting, but that was far as she got. She had sent him back a message that simply said ??????????????? and he had translated it for her.

What had truly caught her attention, however, was the signature. It was signed by Killian, and she would deny it to her grave that upon seeing his graceful signature, she had lifted the invite to her nose to breathe in a possibility of his scent.

The day after, Aldúya, he sent her a message about dress codes (that he didn’t actually care about, but protocols). That sparked a long conversation about clothes and fashion in general, surprising her by how they both seemed partial to mushroom-leather jackets.

The next day, and the one after, there just seemed to be something that needed to be said to one another. Something to talk about. Some observation that needed to be shared. If Emma was being honest with herself, she would’ve admitted that it felt good sharing things from her day and life with him. If she was being honest, she would’ve admitted that she looked forward to his messages and holograms, often feeling a twinge of disappointment when it was someone else.

If she was being honest, she’d have admitted that the idea of seeing him again made her aflutter with anticipation and nerves. Luckily for her, she didn’t have to admit anything to anyone, much less herself. Besides, she had Henry’s nervous energy to focus on.

“Do I need to shave?” Henry asked her, staring seriously at his jaw in the mirror.

Emma squashed her laughter, though she couldn’t stop her lips from twitching. “Oh Henry, no, not yet, kid.”

Oh gods, puberty was fast approaching.

please track tag ‘cs ff recognition’ for future updates:

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#cs ff #cs fic #cs recognition #cs soulmate au #cs au

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pretendpapi · 5 years

Text

No Apologies for Queer White Tears

By Faith Cheltenham

Delivered as a keynote address to the 2016 BlaQOUT Conference at UC Riverside on April 9th, 2016.

White tears is a term that has a startling effect on white folks. Developed over time to describe the phenomenon of white people being upset at the very act of discussing race, it’s evolved into a funny yet, extremely effective way to describe white people’s discomfort in discussing the very racism they perpetuate. One of the earliest articles available online about white tears written by a person of color is the 2007 College Student Affairs Journal article “When White Women Cry: How White Women’s Tears Oppress Women of Color” by Mamta Motwani Accapadi. In the article, Accapadi describes a case study of a white woman bursting into tears when being pressed by a woman of color about diversity resources at the college that employs them both. Instead of working on the issues affecting students, the case study states that the rest of the meeting was spent consoling the white woman about her white tears. So it’s white tears I immediately thought of last July, as I sat talking to Kathryn Snyder about white folks interrupting Black people to tell us about their own racism, when what do you know? A young Tearful White Woman (let’s call her TWW for short) interrupts us to ask, “Can we talk? Just talk as people? About race?” Her friends tried to pull her back and whisper in her ear but TWW was inebriated and loudly whispered back “No! I get to ask! I get to ask!” I told her, “You can ask, but I am not required to answer you.”See, I’d never met this particular TWW before, and neither had Kathryn Snyder, an amazing Black bi+ queer organizer everyone should know (that’s her on the right with the triangle earrings). We were all of us, tearful white people included, at the 2015 Netroots Nation convention in Phoenix, back in July where a whole bunch of Black folks experienced a whole bunch of racism. You know, like they do most months.The kind of racism where white liberals you’ve never met before are suddenly touching your face without asking in their best petting paternalism, or the kind where you repeatedly turn a corner to find a Black girl sobbing but surrounded in love by other Black people. #YouOKSis? It was the kind of space where Black people were openly targeted, in this case mostly by Bernie Sanders supporters who were reeling from recent reports that Sanders wasn’t scoring well with Black voters. Shit was going down, so it made sense that many white people would immediately turn to any Black person they could find to assuage their white guilt, express their privilege and stump for their candidate too. Like “Black voters” were a product to obtain, instead of listen to, and to harp on, instead of hear from.An older, respected white LGBT advocate invited a number of LGBT people of color to his suite party and made it clear that people of color were welcome. So me and Kathryn showed up, and with a bunch of other people proceeded to have a great time. At one point we went on an excursion looking for supplies, and the elevator was really slow. As we waited, the full elevators would open and we would pose in different forms, much like we used to do when I was a young’un at UCLA. Once when the door opened, I saw a few Black women I had seen before but not yet talked to. I called out, “Hey now, we’re up in Rm 512 if you want to hang with some queer people of color and some Black folks!” The women locked eyes on me, and that moment happened, the one where they were no longer surrounded by oppressive whiteness, discomfort, tone policing, and silencing. The moment when you’re not thinking at all about white tears? You know, the moment when you’re free?#BlackLivesMatter co-founder Patrisse Cullors, Ferguson BLM activist Ashley Yates, and #NN15 QPOC Caucus co-organizers Faith Cheltenham, Eyad Alkurabi, Sommer Foster and Daniel Villarreal at Netroots Nation 2015. Photo Credit: Faith CheltenhamThe Black women in the elevator called back to us, “We’ll come back up” and we decided to skip going back downstairs. We went back to the suite and chilled, and Kathryn and I started talking about our Netroots Nation experience so far, in particular the ability of white folks to interrupt her at every moment to “talk about race” or tell her what Bernie Sanders had done for Black folks (#BernieSoBlack has more details). I was just telling her some of the things that had unfolded for me when I got a tap on the shoulder from the aforementioned Tearful White Woman. Even after I expressed that it wasn’t my responsibility to educate this tearful white woman, she persisted. Kathryn raised an eyebrow at me and I decided that TWW did need to know something from me after all. As I finished a custom hand roll, I looked up from licking the paper and said, “Listen to me OK? This is really important.” TWW nodded bravely, visibly squaring herself for a barrage of statements she really needed to hear, but I only had one. “I want you to imagine that every time you walk up to Black folks and interrupt their conversation, you are interrupting a conversation about Black folks being interrupted by white people.” As she opened her mouth to reply, I held up my hand and went all “you shall not pass”. Stoic, I handed her my most recent hand roll. “Listen”, I said gently, “that’s all I got for right now, but you take this with my best wishes. Goodbye.” Her friends dragged her out my space and one stayed behind. Kathryn raised another eyebrow, and I sighed. TWW’s friend quickly said, “Listen, I am SO SORRY her white privilege got all over you when you were just hanging out. We were on the elevator just now and she became convinced you were talking to her and telling her to come to room 512. We told her you were talking to the other women of color and told her about the need for safe space in oppressive white spaces, but she’s really new to social justice.”I had tears of laughter in my eyes, at the ridiculousness of those white folks who ALWAYS insist that EVERYTHING in Black lives is REALLY all about them. And I had hope, simply because of the friend who had stuck behind to quickly explain, apologize, and make right. So I thanked TWW’s friend and wished them all a good night. As they walked away, Kathryn and I burst out into big ass belly laughs because sometimes racism IS good for a laugh. Faith Cheltenham in the San Luis Obispo Telegram-Tribune, age 9. Photo Credit: Faith CheltenhamWhite tears wasn’t a term I knew when I was in middle school and organized my first protest against my school’s “Jungle Fever” ball. See, I grew up in white town, white county, very white USA. My hometown of San Luis Obispo, California prided itself on its “slo-ness” in all things, from the ban on drive thru’s to its slow to evolve racial sensibilities. From a very early age, I withstood taunts of “Aunt Jemima”, pulls on my braids intended to show my “real hair”, and insults from students and teachers alike, with the favorite being “Buckwheat” due to my hair’s tendency to stand up so straight you’d think my follicles themselves were stressed. My daily school experience was of avoiding the kids who threw rocks at me only to come back from recess to fight with my teachers about their racist views. By the time I was in high school I was writing about my experiences of race, inspired by Nikki Giovanni, Richard Wright, James Baldwin, Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison. I won an honorable mention from a USA Today writing racial justice content as a high school freshman and kept writing, hoping to create an invisible ring of protection that would keep my hope (and self) alive. I battled race at school, but when I went home, I didn’t go home to a Black home that welcomed me, but to a biracial one ruled by a mentally unstable, racist, biphobic and homophobic white Pentecostal pastor. At home I faced abuse of a different kind, most of which I kept secret for many years until taking a hammer to my own wall of silence. And at home too, I protested. I protested and called the police. I protested and called CPS. I protested and called for help, and when I couldn’t get it, I called RAINN, a hotline that helped me find a teen homeless shelter to stay in until I could feel safe at home again. These are the experiences of so many Black people: the loss of safety at home and abroad in their everyday lives, all-the-while experiencing the colonization of our bodies, appropriations of our culture, and the fragility of white people who refuse to dismantle their own supremacy in a world where it’s far too difficult to tell the difference between the GOP and the KKK. My background led me to raise my voice consistently for those unheard, and those kept at the margins. I’ve done that with blogging, writing, slam poetry, reality show appearances, stand-up comedy, and Black and bisexual community organizing. Everywhere I go I’ve been standing up for oppressed people, because before I knew the words and the mechanism for my own oppression, I knew the feeling. I knew the feeling of crying alone, desperate to end my own life because I couldn’t take another adult yelling the N word at me at 9 years old. I knew the feeling of being patted down and frequently profiled by police because that’s what walking down the street in San Luis Obispo, CA any damn day entailed. I knew what it was like to be raped because a boy thought he knew what a big breasted Black ten year old girl like me wanted. I have always known what it is like to be treated as a second class citizen in comparison to my peers. Still, racism can always find new ways to surprise you.Photo of #TheBlackPanel at #LGBTMEDIA16 handouts with a love note from ForHarriet.com’s Ashleigh Shackelford. Photo Credit: Faith CheltenhamRecently, I re-experienced the phenomenon of gaslighting racism which Black LGBT YA author Craig Gidney defines as a situation "where (mostly) (some) white people will twist themselves into logic pretzels to deny racism, even when it is obvious."We were about to begin #TheBlackPanel at #LGBTMedia16, an annual gathering of LGBTQ journalists, bloggers and media professionals. Our panel featured a rising star in discussions of race, New York Times columnist Charles Blow, alongside NBCNews.com contributor Danielle Moodie-Mills, and Vox.com’s Race and Identities editor Michelle Garcia. The panel was developed by myself, Sharif Durhams of the WashingtonPost.com and Matt Foreman of the Haas Foundation with the support of Bil Browning, founder of bilerico.com. We were the 2nd panel to go and as we gathered to get everyone settled, I turned around to find a wonderfully styled white woman invading my personal space to whisper to me how beautiful Charles Blow was and how much she loved him and could she have her picture right now, before everyone else because she was such a fan. Since we literally were about to start the panel, I asked her to wait and sit down so we could get started, which she did. As we began the panel and started having a really good and profound conversation, from the podium I noticed a rise in concerning behavior from the wonderfully styled white woman (we can call her WSWW for short). After the panel had begun, she got up and walked over to the panel table and put her phone down to tape. After a few minutes, she began to look concerned for her phone and she began to quietly crawl forward. The whole time I’m watching her, like WTF, are you literally crawling slowly forward towards our panel? And she kept crawling closer and closer. I admit it, at that point all I saw was WHITE PEOPLE. I was furious with the general lack of respect and disregard for the panelists and for myself as a moderator. When, from the moderator’s podium, I asked her to take her seat because I found it distracting, instead of nodding and moving back to her seat she began to argue with me about why it wasn’t a big deal for her to be there, and why I should just let it go and why it’s OK to tape things because “look, we have a celebrity”. In those statements, I felt a disregard for my own work and a general slight to my own experience as a journalist and a person who’s worked with high profile institutions like the White House or Sarah Ferguson, The Duchess of York, a woman I’m proud to call a mentor. While it seemed like such a small thing, coupled with her previous invasion of personal space and her comments on her love for beautiful Black men, it just read racist and real racist at that. However, it won’t surprise you that the only support I felt in that room for my desire to stay on topic was from my fellow Black girl queers. As I struggled to “keep my eyebrows on”, I thought about Black writer and The Nightly Show contributor’s Franchesca Ramsey’s run in with white queer women at The Sundance Film Festival and I took strength from looking Ashleigh Shackelford right in the face as she raised her eyebrows at Charles Blow for his apologies to the white woman of behalf of me, the Black woman who invited him to speak on the panel. In those moments of racial microaggressions, and in the moment when white tears threaten the ability for Black people to even discuss race, we all lose. All the LGBT people of color in attendance at #LGBTMedia16. Photo Credit: Cathy Renna/TargetCueI believe I pulled it together, and we were able to continue a meaningful conversation that multiple people later remarked being deeply impressed by during the public feedback session. As we ended the convening, I tapped WSWW on the shoulder and asked if we could speak. We went off to the side and had a difficult conversation, certainly for both of us. She, like myself, is bisexual and had been deeply influenced by Charles Blow’s discussions of sexual fluidity. She told me others had apologized to her for my “crazy” response to her being a fan girl, and she said she was worried for me since I had humiliated myself by bullying her. Image of crying Peter Parker with caption, “White Boy Tears / I’m Offended Your Offended At that, a smile broke across my face, and I will never forget telling her “That’s OK, because you’re going to your grave having told a Black woman that she humiliated herself when she responded to your racism.” WSWW blanched at that, and swallowed hard when I followed up with a tearfully stated, “I call you racist to your face, and name your actions as racist”. As she teared up, she asked me how it could be racist just to bring her phone up to the panel. And I took her through the sequence of events from my perspective, and I asked her if she realized she had touched me, or if she realized she was in my space, attempting to lean across my body to reach Charles Blow, when we’d never even met before. Her eyes went WIDE, and she said, “Oh, my gosh. I totally invaded your space and I didn’t even think about it.” We talked about her “Black friends” in Oklahoma, and I told her that having Black friends doesn’t mean you’re actually invested in the movement for Black lives. We talked about her “love of Black people” and how that can be misconstrued into fetishization if one isn’t careful, especially when you begin crawling towards them with puppy dog eyes during a panel about race in America. We began to laugh with each other and I realized I really liked her even though I didn’t think she’d ever had the opportunity to learn how to respect a Black person like me, and culturally exchange with them instead of culturally appropriate from them. Image from Paying an Unfair Price: The Financial Penalty for LGBT People of Color report by the Movement Advancement Project.That’s a responsibility, I feel should be left squarely at the feet of a lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer community that’s doggedly refused to dialogue about race in favor of reinventing racism in new flavors. I had to wonder if WSWW had been influenced at all by the #LGBTMEDIA16 keynote address the night before that found gay legend and filmmaker John Waters telling jokes about Freddie Gray’s broken back alongside Bill Cosby rape stories. In a rare move, the convening had asked the attendees to refrain from taking photos or video of John Water’s “address”, which was probably for the best, as I feel like someone could have lost their job just for listening to the atrocities that dropped from Waters’ mouth like little white nuggets of gay racism. Experiencing that, even briefly since I walked out early, was a form of racial trauma visited upon the people of color in the space, and for what? Since you’re gay and white, you’ve been hurt and can hurt people too? Since you’re a white gay man, you know what it’s like to fear police so Freddie Gray’s broken vertebrae is a good punchline when you’re feeling salty? Since you’re a white LGBTQ person, you have no problem stepping into photos where people of color are already posed together, with nary a thought as to whether they want you in the photo too? Since you’re a white lesbian, you’re a “sister” to Black women? Since you’re queer, you can culturally appropriate Black culture with a “SLAY!” or “YASSSSS QUEEN!” or “GIRL, GET IT!”? The six openly LGBT U.S. ambassadors, all white, all gay and all cis. Photo Credit: WashingtonPost.com/ (Blake Bergen/GLIFAA) Oh no, I think not!!! I call that racist too, and long past time for an end. It’s time for all people of color to see some basic levels of respect in the LGBTQIA community for who they are. So that means no more “Namaste!”, and it means dropping the “No Blacks, No Asians” from your dating profile. It means fighting just as hard for clean water for Native people as it does for the residents of Flint, MI, and shouting #Not1More to amplify the fight of Latinx immigrants. It means fighting #pinkwashing in all it's forms and it ABSOLUTELY means acknowledging the existence of dozens of cultural experiences and peoples still fighting to be heard. It also means that LGBT orgs should quit touting the numbers of people of color on staff, until the management reflects those colors too. When all the coordinators, service providers, and facility people are of color and all the management is white, it still looks like a plantation in my book! #GayMediaSoWhite that LGBT publishers shouldn't bother counting the magazine covers with people of color on them, if they aren't also counting the number of people of color on staff writing and editing in them. Until the day comes that the rainbow really reflects all of us, I will stand up against racism in LGBTQIA communities with whatever tools I have at my disposal. I will keep telling myself, and telling you too, that it is OK to cry, and BE MAD. We should be mad that our community does not support us! It is OK to protest white LGBT people, in fact one might argue it is our duty as their fellow queer, bi+ and trans* community members. We must do what needs to be done to find some respect for our voices and our bodies, and make clear that the LGBTQIA community is one that supports freedom for everyone, and not just for some.

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babylon-bitch · 7 years

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Just Friends ~ Looking Back On Memories (part 46)

Harper White is best friends with Luke Hemmings, they always have been. Not only is she friends with the rockstar, but with the rest of 5 Seconds Of Summer, as well as a really nice girl named Erika.

Harper has a few secrets, she can play all the instruments the boys play and many more. It’s a talent she has kept hidden, only very few people know.

What will happen to the six teens, wondering around the world together?

***

The airport is bursting with life, sleepy, busy, cranky, bored, uncomfortable, and happy people; somthing I can’t seem to feel anymore.

It’s pitch black outside, the lights inside this building remind of school, and I’ve been waiting for someone to pick me up for an hour. So with that, I’m not in the best mood and I’ve got a sore bum.

I’ve got week off from university, and my parents insisted that I come home for the week. I’d rather not, and instead forget everything around me by playing/creating music or going out to parties. Not sitting on my arse all week, looking at everything and being reminded of the memories of him.

He’s not even here, I haven’t talked to him in ages, let alone seen him, yet he’s controlling me and making my life hell, just by being him.

I haven’t spoken to Michael, Ashton, Calum, Erika or Maddie in ages, and I kinda miss them. In a way, I’m greatful I’m not in contact with them, I’d just get reminders of all these memories that I couldn’t handle. Plus, if I talked to any of the boys, they’d transfer everything I’d say, to Luke, and I don’t want anything to do with him.

Luke’s stopped talking to me, the last text I got from him was a day after we talked on the phone. I couldn’t be anymore greatful for that, I can finally get on with my life without looking back anymore. Most of my memories include Luke, most of them are good, and I sometimes have to remind myself that he’s not in my life anymore, then it all hits me harder than the last time.

I don’t think it’s ever gonna be possible for me to not think about him at least 500 times a day. He was such a big part of my life, so to not have someone have this big chunk of my heart is excruciating emotional pain. He never gave it back though, he tore it up and stomped on it, then expected me to either mend the shards myself or think I’ll be fine without that key piece.

I’m constantly bearing this heavy feeling in my chest, and I haven’t lost it ever since we were on that damn trampoline back in Australia.

“Harper?” Someone questions behind me.

Whipping my head around and see a girl who is around 14 or 15.

“Oh, hey.” I plaster on a fake smile.

“Hi! I’m such a huge fan, and I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, because it’s really early.” She apologises.

“It’s fine.” I chuckle.

“Can I get a picture?” She asks.

“Of course.” I agree and bend down slightly to get to her level.

I put on a fake ass smile and wait for her to take the picture. The only times I’ve smiled recently is when I think back on memories of Luke and I, but I usually end up crying after that, or when I’m watching tv or somthing.

“Thank you so much, I love you and Erika so much, even though I’m a little sad that you don’t actually make videos together anymore.” She sighs.

“Yeah me too, maybe we can make a video soon.” I shrug.

“That would make my year! Please you have to.” She begs.

“I’ll see what I can sort out.” I wink.

“I saw Luke’s post, and I’m so sorry. You guys were utter goals for many of us, it was such a shock to all of us.” She says.

“It was kinda a shock to me too, but it’s in the past and it had to happen.” You tell her.

“I should get going, my parents are probably expecting me, love you!” She grins and I wave at her with a small smile.

I wish I could brush all this off as easy as I brushed that off.

Sighing and turning around, making my way outside to get some fresh air. You would’ve thought that my Mum or at least someone would remember what time my flight comes in, but no, I had to call and text my Mum and my Dad multiple times to come pick me up.

I still don’t get why I have to be here, Angus and Josh don’t have to, so why me?

Sitting on my suitcase and rolling back and forth to find some kind of amusement. I can’t go on my phone or I’ll end up crying or just be in a really fowl mood. I had to hide the Twitter app, because that’s where I follow most fan accounts and post more.

It’s been so hard seeing his name everywhere, seeing pictures of him everywhere, being sent things about him, it feels like I’m poking a bruise every time I see these things.

I haven’t tweeted, posted anything on Instagram for weeks, I’ve posted videos on YouTube, but I haven’t dared to look at the comments.

Seeing the familiar short woman walk towards me with a big smile and sympathetic eyes.

“I’m so sorry we forgot what time your flight was, we thought it was tomorrow at 2:15 in the morning.” She apologises and pulls me into a hug.

“I slept a lot on the plane anyway so I’m not that tired.” I shrug.

“Again, sorry.”

“Where’s dad?” I ask.

“He’s still in bed.” She chuckles.

“It is 3:30, can you blame him?”

“True.” She nods and helps me put my suitcase in the back.

“Thanks.” I mutter and walk towards the passenger seat.

“How have you been?” She asks as she turns the engine on.

“Fine.” I say what I’ve rehearsed for the past couple months.

“So, your birthday is coming up soon…” She trails off.

“Oh shit, yeah.” I realise.

Am I really gonna be 19 in a few days?

“Got any plans?” She asks.

“No, I’m going back home the day after so I don’t wanna do anything too crazy.” I tell her.

“Okay, what do you want?” She questions.

Happiness? Self-esteem? Confidence? Mental stability?

“I don’t know, Mum.” I shrug.

“Well have a think about it, you’ve only got a few days.”

“Can I have an Ashley Purdy?” I ask.

***

“But I’m trying too hard again.” I sing. “Wait, no, get out of my head.” I scold myself.

Do you know how hard it is not to sing such great songs? I’ve had to delete all of their songs from my playlist, but somtimese I put a daily mix on and their songs come on and I can’t stop myself from not listening just to hear his voice again.

“Hey, Harper, I just got a load of film developed from the past couple of years, including some disposable cameras from your room, so if you want to have a look at them, they’re in a box in the living room.” My mum walks into my room.

“Uh okay, are there any pictures of, uhm, Luke?” I ask with a shaky voice.

“There’s a few, he’s been part of your life for a long time, there’s bound to be a few, love.” She sympathetically smiles.

I nod and stand up, I can’t let him do this to me for all of my life.

Walking into the lounge and being hit with nostalgia, but I try to reel myself away from getting sucked into those memories making me feel like it’s real but it’s just a false reality.

Who am I kidding? I’m about to look at a load of pictures from the past few years, I’m gonna choke on the nostalgia.

Standing over the box, I already get faced by his stupid gorgeous face.

“What? Gonna break my heart again? You’ve already done it, so how hard could it be to do it again?” I spit at the picture.

“What am I doing with my life? I’m talking to a damn picture of my ex boyfriend.” I bitterly chuckle at myself.

“You have no idea how much I wanna rip you to shreds but then stick you together again.”

“I really have to let you go.” I sigh and pick up a stack of pictures.

“The oldest ones are at the front and they go back to when you were 15 or 16.” My mum calls from the kitchen.

I nod, even though she can’t see me, and put the stack back, grabbing a stack from the front.

This looks like when I was 16, when I was at one of my lowest points, and to be honest, I’m walking along that edge of falling down a very deep, dark hole, whilst the Jaws theme tune plays, and it’s gonna take a really long time to climb out again.

I wouldn’t say I’m depressed, I haven’t given myself time to get there, I’ve just busied myself away from that sticky situation, but saying that, I might of fallen in that hole a long time ago, I just haven’t noticed, and I’ve mistaken this heavy feeling in my chest for heartbreak, not depression.

I even hate that damn fucking word.

Going through a few photos, they are just of my family or of the cat, then skimming past a few until I find some of me, not to sound vain or anything.

“Oh my god, I haven’t seen this in ages.” I chuckle.

It’s a picture of Michael, Luke, and I, we’re all wearing these funny sunglasses, paint and pen on our faces, have customized shirts on and are in mid laugh. I think it was some fundraiser thing at school. I vividly remember drawing a dick on Michael’s cheek.

Taking a picture of the photo on my phone, which may not be very wise to do for the long run, but I don’t care much right now.

“Remember this photo?” I ask my mum with a smile when she walks past.

“Oh my God yeah, it took ages to get that paint and pen off your bodies.” She laughs.

“Luke and I spent about 2 hours in the bathroom scrubbing each others faces.” I smile at the memory. The first genuine smile in a while.

I have to post this, I need to share it with someone. Revealing the app again, not daring to read anything, but just clicking the small circle in the corner and attaching the picture, with the caption: ultimate throw back 😂.

Not tagging either of them, just posting it, not expecting anything to come out of it, it’s just a picture after all.

Putting my phone down after I posted it on instagram too and going back to the pictures.

One of me and Erika, we were at a party or something and Ashton brought a camera out, so we took some pictures together, nothing too special about it, but we looked happy, despite me being so down that whole time.

After skipping a few, just of me and the boys and just Erika at the time, or of the boys alone. I go through a stacks or two, before I get to when I was 17, that was quite a good year, I had a budding relationship with Luke and made some good memories with even better people.

Picking up a new stack and leaning back on the sofa. Straight off the bat, I’m faced with a heart breaking picture of me and Luke. Luke’s looking at the camera whilst I’m looking at him, I’m not sure if I was waiting to see what he was doing or if was just looking at him randomly, but you can literally see the love in my eyes. We weren’t even dating then, we were still just friends.

Putting that to the back, then looking at the next one, it’s just of Luke, very candid, he is playing guitar, looking very determined/concentrated. It’s very Luke.

The one after that is another one of Luke and I, if I can remember correctly, I think we were at Calum’s house for a party in celebration for something. I’m pressed up against the wall, Luke’s forearm is above my head on the wall, his whole body is inches away from mine, and we’ve both got smirks on our faces. We’d probably had a bit to drink and were flirting a little.

If only they knew what would happen to them.

Putting that to the back again and a small smile grows on my face when I see the one next to it. Luke and I are standing somewhere I don’t recognise, and our arms are wrapped around each other, Luke’s kissing my cheek but you can see he is smiling into it, he is holding my chin, and I’ve got a big smile going on.

Aw, so naive.

After a while of going through stacks of pictures, I didn’t know how big of a lump was in my throat when my Dad said hello to me.

I’ve early finished going through the age of 17, I’ve just put back a stack from halloween and a little after that.

Pulling out a new bunch, and my breathing hitches as I see the first one. It’s from the time we went to Dubai, where it all started; where all this mess started. The Sun is setting, the clouds are all pink, Luke’s standing beind me while I’m standing in front of him, and he’s kissing my head as I’m taking a picture of the sky for my Instagram.

I think the only person who knows that Luke was doing that to me whilst that picture was taken is the person who is behind the camera.

Going through a couple more, until I find another one of Luke and I. I remember this moment vividly, Luke is standing next to me, but facing me and he just whispered something in my ear, it was a stupid dirty joke that I can’t remember, then he laughed when I finally got it, and placed his hands on my stomach and back, pulling me closer towards him. Suddenly someone came up towards us, I think it was my Mum, and she said ‘cheese’ as Luke kissed my cheek, so he quickly whipped his head towards the camera, having a big grin on his face.

Looking at a few more until I realise I’m crying, seeing a few droplets splash onto the picture of Luke and I, he’s looking at me whilst I’m looking at the camera, you can see the love in his eyes.

If he loved me so much, why did he throw my heart away as if it didn’t matter to him?

Luke’s P.O.V.

“Has anyone seen Harper’s Twitter?” Calum breaks the silence.

“No?” I question.

“Go have a look.” He gestures.

I give him a sceptical glance before typing in her all too familiar username into Twitter, clicking on her profile and wait for it to load for a few seconds- the internet is shit here.

My breathing stops and a smile makes it’s way onto my face.

“Awww, I remember that.” I chuckle.

“I’m looking good.” Michael laughs.

“Nice hair, Mike.” Calum says.

“Where?” Ashton speaks up and I show him my phone. “Aw, look at these three cuties.” He cooes.

“Shut up.” Michael and I say in unison.

“Where was Calum?” Ashton asks.

“I’m not sure, but he definitely wasn’t there that day.” I shrug.

“It took me ages to get that shit off, how long did it take for you guys to get it off?” Michael questions.

“It took us hours, we were in her bathroom for hours, just scrubbing each others faces, arms, and legs. I think the process would’ve sped up if we weren’t together, half the time we were just messing around.” I laugh at the memory.

“Didn’t Harper draw a dick on my face?” Michael asks.

“Probably.” I smile.

I’m not sure when the last time I properly smiled and laughed was- probably when I was with her. It feels so good to feel happiness again, even better because she caused it, but it also feels bad because she’s no longer with me, and I can’t relive these memories with her.

That was one of my favourite things to do with her; relive memories. We have so many together, that there’s endless amounts of hours that could be spent reliving these memories.

I think that plays a big part in why this hurts so much, I’ve known her my whole life, I’ve got far too many memories of her for me to be okay with that.

***

“Oooooh, Australian air!” Michael excitedly says and runs off.

“What a child.” Ashton shakes his head.

“Yeah.” I agree.

“Hey, if you weren’t so sad, you’d be with him, most likely in front of him.” Calum points out.

“Shut up.” I mutter and go on my phone.

We’ve come back to Australia for a few days for a mini break. We’re all a little homesick I think, so it will do us all good, and to refresh our minds.

“Luke!” My mum grins and pulls me into a motherly hug.

“Mum!” I mock and wrap my arms around her shoulders.

“How have you been?” She asks pulling me back, keeping her hands on my arms.

“Alright.” I dismiss and she looks at me sympathetically.

“You have to deal with this at some point, Luke. You can’t just keep brushing it under the rug.” She tells me.

“I know mum, can we just go home? I’m tired.”

“Whatever, come on.” She gestures with a nod.

“Bye guys, I’ll see you later or something.” I say the boys and they all wave with a small smile.

We walk away from the airport, and head back towards the place where it all started.

We’ve been in the car for a while now, I’ve just had my headphones in the majority of the time.

“How does it feel to be back home again?” My mum asks as we turn into our road.

“Uhh,” I pause as we are coming up to Harper’s house, looking at her window, the sun shining in, making an orange tinge light it all up. Her car is still the on the driveway, I remember the times we would drive around if we were bored or couldn’t sleep, and just play really loud music, singing along together, we’d usually drive to a fast food place, and eat, talking about whatever comes to mind. I must be imagining it, but I could’ve sworn I just saw her or someone very similar walk past the window.

I really need to sleep.

“Luke?” My mum interrupts my thoughts.

“Oh yeah, uh, it feels good to be here again.” I nod.

“It’s her birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?” She points out.

“Yep.” I say and look at my lap.

“Are you gonna wish a happy birthday?” She gingerly asks.

“Probably not, uh, yeah, probably not.”

“What’s the worst that can happen, Luke?” She questions as she pulls into our house.

“I can’t do it Mum, I can’t bring myself to do it.” I dismiss and slam the car door behind me, before making my way to my room.

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ouraidengray4 · 6 years

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7 Steps to Take to Be Nicer to the Most Important Person in Your Life

Why even try. Nobody cares about you.

This thought crosses my mind at least once a day, thanks to my struggle with negative self-talk. And if you're also someone who consistently makes mean comments to yourself, you're far from alone. Thoughts like "Oh, you're so stupid" or "You're too fat to wear that" are prime examples of the way many of us talk to ourselves every day.

"Negative self-talk can be hugely impactful on your daily life," says psychologist Ashley Hampton, Ph.D. "Our thoughts influence our feelings and then our behaviors. This can lead to negative behaviors, like isolation, lack of motivation, and a desire not to engage in activities that bring you happiness."

Beyond adding to depression and isolation, negative thoughts can lead to physical changes. A 2015 study found that adolescents who viewed themselves as overweight, even though their body weight was in the normal range, were more likely to become obese later in life. Now, thinking "I'm fat" once or twice will not make you heavy one day, but the study showed a direct connection between negative thoughts and a negative outcome.

(And let's note that I'm not saying that being overweight is negative, I'm saying it was the negative scenario for those participants. Be whatever weight you want!)

Negative self-talk promotes a cycle of self-fulfilling prophecies and prevents you from seeing the bright side. Most of us have probably felt its effects before. When you tell yourself, "I'm going to do terribly in the job interview. I'm awful. Oh, God, let's prepare for this disaster," you're setting yourself up to do a terrible job when the interview actually happens. We think we'll do badly, which makes us perform badly, which makes us think we'll do badly again next time.

But instead of getting stuck in this cyclone of sadness, you can change the way you talk to yourself. It's not always easy, but coaches, counselors, and psychologists have some tips on how to turn your Negative Nelly voice into a Pollyanna of Peace.

1. Check Yourself

"Building an awareness of your negative self-talk and recognizing every time you are giving yourself a negative message is the first step of minimizing its impact," says life coach Shefali Raina. When you're used to being crappy to yourself, you might not even notice how negative your thoughts are.

Raina recommends tracking your negative thoughts for two weeks. Simply write down every time you say something mean to yourself. Maybe you'll have a couple lines on a page or a whole journal full of hate. Either way, by recognizing the negativity, you're making a good step toward changing it.