#i had this little script in my back pocket for EIGHT MONTHS before i got the perfect opportunity to use it

[flowersnax]

the tower, reversed (id in alt)

“You see Orion's mech tighten its grip on its gun and widen its stance as it braces itself. If you could see inside the cockpit, you’d see a very rare sight: Orion is visibly furious. Teeth bared, eyes wide, brow furrowed. He’s almost snarling, like a guardian dog protecting its flock. His hands grip onto the controls so tightly they’re almost shaking. It’s unclear whether he says this to will his mech further than he’s ever pushed it before, or if he’s saying this to the mech opposing his, but in his anger he almost roars out “COME ON, YOU SON OF A BITCH” and fucking unloads into the mech before him, a blaze of gunfire and spent casings as mech and human become one. Orion’s bullets rip into the mech, tearing it apart. He doesn’t stop until it lies inert before him, a pile of scrap still smoldering, where a mechanized chassis once stood. His mech slouches over, as if it had been holding its breath this entire time, and the adrenaline finally left its system.”

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Two Years Later

Glancing down at the note in her hand once again, Elide clamped down on the panic bubbling in her stomach. She fisted her hand in the skirt of her velvet dress and walked more quickly. She had a keen sense that she wouldn’t want to be late this evening. 

Lorcan hadn’t been in their rooms when Elide had gotten back. Her day had been filled with meaningless, arbitrary meetings that lasted eternities. Truthfully, the only thing she had wanted to do was curl up in bed with her boyfriend for the evening and watch something they’d already seen a million times over. 

Instead, on the island in her closet, had been a white dress box, edged in black. Tied around it had been a black ribbon and the colour scheme was mirrored on the shoe bag sitting atop it. A note had been left, tucked beneath the ribbon. 

She’d unfolded it and smiled at the familiar script that read, Sweetheart, I hope you like the dress. Dinner is at eight, be in the foyer at quarter to. - L

Further ahead, at the end of the hallway, Elide could see light and hear something low and sweet. She beat back the urge to run, though she was unable to stop the smile on her face. 

The Willows was her favourite restaurant. When she was a kid, her parents would take her out for celebratory dinners and now, it held even more meaning as it was where she and Lorcan had had their first real date. They had been seated on the second floor, in the glass dome of the observatory. 

Elide paused for a moment as she reached the end. After a few calming breaths of air, she walked in. Immediately, her eyes swept the room. Lush and vibrant greenery decorated the space. All around the glass ceiling, fairy lights had been strung up like a spider’s web, all connecting in the middle. The patio doors had been opened and on the patio sat a small table. Behind it, leaned against the railing that overlooked the city, stood her boyfriend. 

Her smile grew larger somehow at the sight of him, his hair falling free down to his hips. Elide cleared her throat primly and watched as Lorcan turned. He was wearing a suit that was cut perfectly. It was black and, like usual, his white shirt was unbuttoned with no tie. “Hi,” she said, letting go of her skirt. “Don’t we look nice tonight, hmm?” 

He grinned, his eyes roving over her, “Damn, sweetheart.” Elide laughed, the delicate sound sultry and low. She all but preened under his gaze as Lorcan surveyed the gown she wore. Slightly puffed, off the shoulder sleeves circled her upper arms. The sweetheart neckline was decorated with one feather, stitched in silver, on the right side of her chest. Down to her knees, the rich black fabric clung to her curves, and then it continued into a small train. “I have good taste, don’t I?” 

She rolled her eyes and walked over to him, “What are you planning?” When Elide got close enough, she fiddled with the cuffs of his jacket. Lorcan slid his arm around her waist and pulled her near. 

“Do I need a reason to take my girl out to dinner? I’m hurt that you think I have ulterior motives, El,” he said, faking a pout. “It’s like you don’t trust me.”

“Obviously I trust you. I trust you more than anyone,” Elide told him, her tone casual but Lorcan knew how much it meant that he was her most trusted person. It meant more to him than she knew. “But you and I both know this isn’t a spontaneous, casual dinner dress. And you haven’t even told me how nice I look.” 

Lorcan laughed lowly, his eyes dipping to travel down her body again, “How tragic.” He took her hand in his and neatly spun her out. Soft, brilliant laughter spilled from her lips - painted a berry-pink only a few shades darker than her natural colour - as Lorcan did so. Elide’s cheeks were slightly flushed. 

“And?” 

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he replied quietly. There was something like awe in his gaze when Lorcan lifted his head to look at her. “Goddess divine.” 

Elide smiled, ducking her head to toy with his fingers and hide her blush. Damn him for still making her blush. “Thank you. This dress is–” 

“It’s not the dress,” Lorcan said, his tone certain. “It’s all you, Lochan.” 

Lifting her head, Elide stepped closer to him, a brow quirked, “All me, really?” She rested her free hand above his heart and was able to feel its steady beat. Almost every night, without fail, Elide fell asleep with the rhythm in her ear. The steadiness of it soothed every worry and fear she had. 

“Fuck, you bother me.” 

It took a moment for Lorcan’s words to sink in. Elide frowned when they did, her grin losing its warmth and familiarity. He could be such a fucking ass when he wanted to. “I’m bothering you right now because I look good, really? Maybe you shouldn’t have bought me this fucking dress in the first place, you bastard.” 

“What? Shit, no,” Lorcan shook his head, “no, that’s not- you aren’t bothering me, you’ve just ruined my plan.” 

“What plan?” Elide snapped, her frown fierce. 

Without thinking, Lorcan blurted out, “To ask you to marry me, El, gods-damn.” He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes downcast as he rambled, “I’ve been planning for months, you know, and I’m bothered because I’m so in love with you that I can’t wait to eat fucking dinner to propose, ok?” As if realising what he’d confessed, Lorcan’s eyes and he snapped his head up to look at his girlfriend. 

Elide’s eyes were wide too, her round lips curling to form a perfectly delicate, “Oh.” Silver glittered along her lower lash line and she smiled a small smile, “You want to marry me?” 

“‘Course I do,” Lorcan mumbled, his cheeks heating. “You’re the love of every life I could ever live.” She let out a tearful laugh and rose up to kiss him gently. Her hands rested against his chest and his own held her waist. “Is this a yes?” 

Elide smiled against his lips, pulling away slightly, “I can’t really say yes if you don’t ask me.” 

“On one knee and everything?” 

She nodded, “One knee and everything.” Lorcan narrowed his eyes in warning and took a step backwards. With a large sigh, as if it was such a hardship, Lorcan lowered himself onto a knee. The light in his eyes practically dared her to say something. “My, don’t you look nice, down on your knees for me.” 

He snorted, shaking his head, “Yeah, I think we all know how much you like me on my knees for you.” Elide gasped, smacking his shoulder with a sharp hiss of his name. That low, rumbling laughter of his vibrated through his chest, “I can’t ask if you keep getting mad at me.” 

Tears built in her eyes and she nodded, her hands clasped to her chest, “Ask then. I’ll shut up.” 

He grinned up at her as he pulled a little velvet box out of his pocket. “Don’t smile. This is serious business, love.” Elide giggled, quickly wiping her smile off her face and nodding seriously. “Sweetheart, you are… everything. My everything. Without you, I don’t think I could function. You give my life meaning and I don’t think that I’m good enough for you in the slightest, but I want to spend the rest of my life trying to be.” Lorcan smiled softly at her tears, “I love you with all that I am and my heart is yours. It’s always been yours, so,” he flipped the lid up, looking up at her through his lashes, “Elide–”

“Yes.” 

“I didn’t even ask–” 

“Yes, I’ll marry you, I want to marry you,” she said, reaching down to hold his face. Elide kneeled before him, almost crying. “Lorcan, I want to marry you.” 

“Let me ask, then, Hellas,” Lorcan teasingly chided her. “Are you going to let me ask?” 

“Yes.” Elide held her hand out, waving her fingers, “I’m waiting.” 

Lorcan laughed, a quiet sort of joy in his deep gaze, “So patient. Sweetheart?

“Yes?” 

“Will you marry me?” 

She nodded, her throat tight, “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I’ll marry you. Of course I will.” Elide leaned forward, kissing him soundly, “Yes.” Lorcan kissed her back as he wrapped an arm around her waist. She felt something cold and metal on the tip of her ring finger. Elide pulled away, hardly daring to breathe as Lorcan slid the ring down her finger. 

The gold band fit perfectly. Elide’s breath hitched lightly and she murmured, “It’s perfect.” And it was. The emerald-cut ruby’s colour was deep and rich, flanked by three smaller marquise-cut diamonds on both sides. “I love it.” 

She looked up at Lorcan, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, “I love you, forever.” Lorcan’s eyes glittered with something loving. He stood up, pulling her up off the floor. Elide loosely looped her arms around her fiancé’s neck, one hand carding through his hair. 

“And I love you,” he said softly before he pressed his lips to hers, “always.” 

Three Years Later

She stared down at the ice cube melting in her drink. Elide stirred it around, focusing on the way it plinked against the glass. 

With a short sigh, she looked up, searching out her fiancé. He was across the room, speaking with Fenrys and Ress. He looked relaxed, his hips slanted and hand in his pocket. Elide smiled softly at the sight, but didn’t move to join him. 

On the night before her wedding, Elide was feeling a bit… detached. She’d been in such a daze she hardly remembered eating, even though she’d been looking forward to the menu for weeks. For once, Lorcan was smiling and happy, calm as he spoke with their friends. How it pained her that she couldn’t find it in herself to join him. 

Elide stood up. No one noticed her slipping through the guests and into the gardens. She wandered to the fountain, the one they shared their first kiss at. It would always hold a soft spot in her heart. 

She took a seat on the edge of the iron bench and leaned against the cold backing. Elide swirled her drink, watching the way the garden lights caught on the amber liquor. She propped her elbow up on the bench and rested her chin in her palm, sighing through her nose. 

Elide gazed down at her engagement ring, twisting it around with her thumb. She smiled softly, looking up at the sky.

“I thought I’d find you out here,” came a deep voice from across the fountain. A dark figure stepped out and Elide smiled again. 

“You noticed I was gone?” 

Lorcan arched a brow as he walked towards her, a pair of glasses in one hand and an unopened bottle of scotch in the other, “Of course I did.” He sat down next to her and put the things he’d brought on the ground. “You’ve been quiet tonight, sweetheart.” Elide’s heart fluttered at the nickname-turned-term-of-endearment and she leaned into his side. “Are you alright?” 

She shrugged, putting her glass down. Lorcan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and half pulled her back into his broad frame. Elide blew out a long breath, her eyes welling. “We’re getting married tomorrow,” she whispered, tilting her head back against his chest. Fathomlessly dark eyes met hers and Lorcan toyed with the ends of her long hair. 

“I know,” he answered mildly, his face expertly neutral. It was an intimidating sight for anyone who didn’t know him, but Elide wasn’t perturbed by the resting state of his features. “But…” 

“My parents won’t be there,” Elide confessed. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. A silver raven pendant hung from a delicate silver chain and she reached up to toy with it. His eyes flicked to it as she began sliding it up and down the chain. Something softened in his face, as if he was remembering their first anniversary, when he’d presented it to her. “And I wish they were.” 

Lorcan hummed and kissed the top of her head, “I know, El. I’m sorry they can’t be here.” He pulled his arm away. Elide’s protests were ignored as he smoothly cracked the lid of the liquor bottle and poured them both a glass. When he passed hers to Elide and their fingers touched, Lorcan held onto the glass.

Elide frowned, “Hey–” His lips pressed against hers in a soothing embrace. She could feel them curl up at the corners as he smiled and she grinned too, lifting her hand to rest her fingertips on his stubbled jaw. 

It was Lorcan who pulled away first. On his lips played a small smile, one only Elide and Rowan had ever seen. “It’s ok to miss them,” he murmured, sitting up straight. 

Elide curled into her fiancé’s side and kicked her pumps off. She tucked her feet beneath herself and nodded, running the tip of her finger over the rim of the crystal scotch glass. She sniffled slightly, the tip of her nose pinching, “I know, I just- I wish they could meet you.” Her head fell back against his shoulder. “They would’ve liked you.” 

“Really? Why?” 

She rolled her eyes, turning her head to kiss the side of his neck, “Yes, really. Because you make their daughter happier than she’s ever been before.” Lorcan chuckled and slid his hand down to her hip, giving her an affectionate squeeze. With a short sigh, Elide drank from her cup and put it down. She took Lorcan’s as well, narrowing her eyes at the drops that remained, and laced her fingers through his. Elide pulled their joined hands into her lap and traced the graceful lines of his digits as she spoke, “Marrying you is… all I want right now. There’s- I want to be called your wife and to call you my husband, but I wish it had gone differently.” 

Elide could feel his heavy gaze on her as Lorcan carefully, oh so carefully, asked, “...does our story leave something to be desired?” 

She shook her head and looked up at him, tears caught in her lashes, “No. I know that you’re not proud of how we ended up like this, but I wouldn’t redo it. It’s messy and painful, yeah, but it’s ours. I could never regret something that’s ours. We've broken each other's hearts, but... you're the only person I'd let break my heart. Yours is the only heart I'd ever want to break.” Elide rested her hand on his cheek, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone, and kissed him. “I love you.” 

Lorcan moved both of his hands to the small of her back and pressed her further into him, “I love you too.” 

They stayed in the gardens for a long while, though neither noticed the time. When they finally walked back into the stately dining room, their hands entwined, workers had begun to clear the table. Elide led Lorcan past them, saying quiet thank you’s. They slipped into the hallway and were stopped by Aelin. 

“There you are! Where were you?” 

Elide looked up at Lorcan, sending him a secret look as she wrapped her free hand around his elbow. In the hand that wasn’t holding hers, Lorcan carried her shoes and the half empty bottle. “We were in the gardens. Just sitting.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes, muttering something about them being clingy. Lorcan stifled his snort and wisely did not comment on the irony of Aelin Galathynius talking about clinginess. Elide subtly pinched him as she too attempted to keep quiet. “Come on, everyone’s in the living room.” 

She turned neatly on her heels and marched down the hall. Aelin didn’t wait to see if they were following and the couple slowly followed her, not exactly jazzed about seeing other people, even if it was their family. 

Just after Aelin slipped into the room, pushing the door open for them, Lorcan stopped Elide. He leaned down, brushing his lips over her head once more, “You up for this? You know how… nosy they can get.” They all meant well, this Elide knew, but it was overwhelming at times. 

Still, she nodded, “Yes. We should spend time with them. Aelin and Ro are leaving in a couple days, Fen, too. And the twins.” As was expected, Elide and Lorcan’s sisters got on like a house on fire. He’d been right when he said Sadirah was a lot like her. 

Lorcan squeezed her hand and pushed the door open. Immediately, they were bombarded with catcalls and whistles, courtesy of Aneha and Fenrys, of course. Ress slapped his boyfriend’s chest, narrowing his deep brown eyes in warning. The smug prick just grinned lazily and pressed a lingering kiss to Ress’ rouging cheek, whispering something low that had Ress rolling his eyes. 

“Hello, lovebirds,” Aneha said, her words affected by a delicate and rolling accent. “Wherever could you have wandered off to?” 

Elide snorted and dropped Lorcan’s hand to take a seat between his sisters, “You know you love us, Nay. We’re cute.” She and Sadirah shared a look and pounced simultaneously, pulling Aneha into a suffocating hug. “Admit it. You love us.” 

Lorcan laughed under his breath and sat down on the carpet next to Rowan, their backs against the couch in front of the girls. Aneha extracted herself from the pile and pulled his head back. Lorcan hissed at the sharp movement. Aneha shushed him as she started parting his hair into three sections. 

Elide smiled at the sight and hugged Sadirah close, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Sadirah smiled and stretched her long legs over Elide’s lap. 

Elide looked around them when the conversation flowed again. She watched silently, a small smile on her face as she observed. 

A familial sense of warmth glowed in her chest as she sat, amidst her mismatched family. She heard Lorcan’s real laugh, so deep and true it made her breath hitch. Fenrys chimed in with one-liners that had the women in stitches while Ress rolled his eyes and blushed like usual. Aelin was snickering with Aneha as they mocked Lorcan and he was decidedly ignoring them in favour of talking with Rowan. 

“Are you alright, Elide?” 

She turned at Sadirah’s gentle voice. The younger woman spoke in Blackbeak. It had been a surprise when she’d revealed she was taking a Blackbeak linguistics course at university, and something that had made Elide cry. “Yes. I think I finally am.”  

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Later that night, Elide sighed. 

The bed was far too big without him. And cold. She’d reached out earlier, searching for the warm body, only to remember that they would be apart for the night. At least she had Bear, who was all too happy to make herself comfortable in Lorcan’s absence. The fluffy beast had her big head on Elide’s stomach, on top of the duvet. 

She sunk back into the soft pillows and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep. The seconds, and then minutes, ticked by, and Elide wasn’t anywhere near the sticky oblivion of slumber. 

Her phone rang. Bear lifted her head, making a low noise in her chest. “Hey, hey,” Elide said as she sat up, “it’s just my phone, bub.” She grabbed it from her nightstand and smiled at the black heart contact that flashed over her screen. Sliding the button to the right, Elide lifted the phone to her ear, “Hello.” 

A grin could be heard through Lorcan’s voice, “Hello, sweetheart. How are you?”

Elide ran her hand through Bear’s thick coat, “I’m fine. Can’t sleep, though. Are you out still?” It was an hour past midnight, so the bars and clubs would still be open. She had no doubt Fenrys had dragged them all over. “It’s late.” 

“No, we got back fifteen minutes ago. Had to make sure Fen made it back and Ro couldn’t stop trying to sing that horrid wedding song.” Lorcan paused. “Please tell me that you’ve chosen another song to walk down the aisle to.” 

She laughed, reclining once more, “Yes, I’ve another song. You haven’t grossly offended me.” 

He chuckled, the sound tinnier than usual because of the phone, “Thank the Creator for that. You can’t sleep?” 

“No, it’s too… quiet. Or cold, I don’t know.” Elide couldn’t help but feel a little pathetic. They weren’t a clingy couple, by any stretch. Both enjoyed their individualities and weren’t together all the time. For Anneith’s sake, she’d slept without him there. She frowned, not liking that she was so affected by his absence. “It’s different tonight, you know? We’re getting married tomorrow- well, today. I just… miss you.” 

Lorcan huffed a dry laugh. 

“Don’t laugh at me. I’m serious,” Elide sniffled, tears prickling her eyes. 

“El, come open the door, please? I forgot my keys.” 

Elide squealed and dropped her phone onto the mattress. She surged out of bed and dashed into the hallway, ignoring Bear’s concerned bark. She heard that deep laughter from the other side of the doors and quickly flung them open. 

Before her, Lorcan stood. At some point during his night, he had taken out his braid and his long hair was now in a messy bun at the nape of his neck. “Hey there, sweetheart.” He took a step forward, slipping his arms around her waist. 

Elide grinned and looped hers over his shoulders, “Hiya, handsome.” She rose to her tiptoes, puckered her lips, and closed her eyes. Lorcan rolled his eyes at her prim request and bent his head. His hands pulled her close as he pressed a long, languid kiss to her mouth. Elide breathed in and wrapped her arms around his head, pressing herself closer to him. 

When they pulled apart, her eyes were hazy and half-lidded. Lorcan let a small smile show and dropped one more sweet kiss to her lips, “I missed you too.” 

“You’re staying here tonight? With me?” 

His face softened and he tucked the hair that had escaped her topknot behind her ear, “I can’t sleep without you, either.” Elide could feel her cheeks darken with a smitten blush. She took his hand to lead him back into their bedroom. 

Bear hopped off the bed when she saw them come in. She loped up to Lorcan, who always indulged her. This time was no different. As Elide climbed back into bed, Lorcan bent over to scratch and pet Bear’s head, saying something quietly. 

Elide pressed her lips together to stop her grin as she watched, her heart melting slightly. “Babe, come join me, please? Bear will live if you don’t declare your adoration for her every ten minutes.” 

Lorcan faked a gasp and put his hands over Bear’s floppy ears, “How dare you. You’ll hurt her feelings!” 

She laughed, cooing, “Oh, such a softy, my mans.” 

Lorcan grinned a wicked grin and winked, “I’m hard where it counts, sweetheart.”

“Ew!” Elide cried with a wrinkle on her lips. “You perverted pig.” Lorcan laughed and nudged Bear back to her bed. He stripped to his boxers, electing to leave his clothes where he’d tossed them on the floor. Then, Lorcan joined her in bed. Elide pulled him over to her, fitting herself under his body. She liked the feeling of his weight trapping her against the mattress, like some sort of weighted blanket. 

Lorcan laid his head on the pillow next to hers. His eyes tracked hers, watching how they fell shut and how Elide fought to open them again, only for the same thing to happen. With a quiet chuckle, Lorcan lifted his head and kissed her brow, “Sleep, mahasani*.” He eased his weight off of her and turned onto his side. Lorcan gathered his fiancée in his arms, holding her close and tight. Elide sighed softly and curled her fists against his chest. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Lorcan’s heart beat faster and he whispered softly, “I love you.” 

All he got in response was a sleep-addled jumbled mumbling of similar words before they both gave into the enticing call of sleep. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

sweetheart: ten bucks says u cry when i walk down the aisle 

🖤: it insults me that you think im stupid enough to take that bet. 

🖤: stop distracting me. im trying to get ready. 

🖤: for our wedding.

sweetheart: forgive me, my heart. being without you is more than i can bear at this point. i ache for the moment i might see you once again 

🖤: i love you so much lochan 

sweetheart: hehe i love you too 

Elide smiled at the text she sent and turned her phone off. She stayed remarkably still as Aelin fixed her hair, “What are you smiling about?” 

“I’m not allowed to smile on my own wedding day?” Her tone was mirthful and dry, but her smile only grew. 

Aelin smiled as well, her bright eyes twinkling, “I’m so happy for you, love. This happiness, it’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

She bent her head, nodding as she tried to speak past the lump in his throat, “It’s like- I’ve never been this happy, you know? And I used to be scared that it would fade, but… I don’t know if it will anymore.” Tears pricked her eyes. 

The queen saw them and laughed gently before wiping them away. “Don’t cry. It’s a happy day today.” 

Elide huffed a laugh and nodded, “Yes. A very happy day.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“You’re so going to cry.” 

“Am not.” 

Sadirah laughed, “You’re so in love with her you smile when someone says her name.” 

Lorcan frowned, “I so do not.” His sisters exchanged a look and laughed again. 

Aneha flicked the tip of his nose, “Elide.” 

He tried, he swore he tried, but the corners of his lips curled up. The twins cackled and he rolled his eyes, “Oh, fuck you guys. Go sit down, my wedding’s starting now.” He shook his head at them and walked up to the altar. Fenrys was already standing there and wore a wide grin. “What do you want, Fen?” Lorcan regarded him warily. 

His friend smiled softly and his eyes slid to the crowd, no doubt looking at his boyfriend. “It’s nice to see you like this, Lor.” 

Lorcan grinned. He turned to follow Fenrys’ gaze and smirked at the sight of a smitten Ress smiling shyly up at Fenrys. “It’s nice to see you like this, too, Fen,” Lorcan said quietly. “You thinking about proposing yet?” 

Fenrys ducked his head and felt his cheeks heating, “Yeah, I am.”

“Really? That’s great, Fen.” Lorcan was about to say something else when Aelin came out and motioned for them to stand at the altar. 

Fenrys grinned, “You ready for this?” 

Lorcan rolled his shoulders to loosen them and clasped his hands in front of him. He looked down the aisle and didn’t see any of their guests. He didn’t see the lights or any of the decorations, either. He was waiting for Elide. “Yeah, I’m ready. You have the rings, right?” 

“What? No, I don’t,” Fenrys said, his brow lowering. 

Lorcan whirled on him, his sound of frustration strangled, “Fuck, are you serious? I fucking gave them to–”

Fenrys laughed loudly, his head tipped back. His eyes sparkled with mischief, “Nah, I gottem. Just a joke, Lor, calm down.” 

“You’re dead” Lorcan warned him. He resolved to end Fenrys’ life later, when the ceremony was over and Elide couldn’t be forced to testify against him. In his eyes, a promise of pain and suffering glinted in the depths of obsidian. “Count your fucking days.” 

Fenrys was still snickering when the music began. It was simple and light. Lorcan straightened, tears already lining his eyes. First, Lysandra walked down the aisle. She smiled at Lorcan when she arrived at the altar and stood on the opposite side. She and Fenrys shared a look, fondly rolling their eyes at the way Lorcan refused to look anywhere but the end of the aisle. 

His heart clenched as Elide walked out. Aelin and Rowan walked with her, but Lorcan didn’t realise they were there. He could hardly think about anything else as he watched her. She smiled up at him, her eyes welling with silver tears. Don’t cry, she mouthed with a cheeky grin. 

Lorcan laughed, the sound raspy and rough. He dragged his eyes up and down her figure, drinking in the gown she wore. The a-line skirts were romantic and graceful. Delicate butterfly and pearl appliqués cascaded down from the fitted bodice, its neckline a dainty vee made with layers of pleated tulle. The train and see-through butterfly sleeves added to the whimsy of it all, making Elide look like a forest nymph. Her hair was free and tumbled down to the small of her back in waves. 

When they arrived at the end, Lorcan walked down the steps. He held his hand out, his head bowed in reverence. Rowan and Aelin both kissed Elide’s cheeks and whispered something low to her. She nodded vaguely, her attention already shifting to Lorcan and staying. Elide reached out, putting her hand in his. 

Lorcan brushed his lips over the back of her hand and waited until she had arrived in her spot to resume his. At first, Elide tried to pay attention to the priestess who was performing the ceremony, but soon enough her eyes met Lorcan’s once more and never strayed. 

When it came time for their vows, Elide spoke first. Her words were simple and truthful. She described how her heart was no longer hers and how deeply she loved him. Tears slid slowly down his cheeks and she wiped them away, just as Lorcan did for her when it was his turn. 

Their promises, their soft soft vows needn’t be repeated. All one needed to know was that they were true and would remain so even after nobody remembered their story.

Especially then.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Far above them, trapped in the inky-blue expanse of sky, the stars twinkled. Bright laughter bubbled up from Elide’s lips as they danced, slow and sweet. The matching gold bands on their fingers clicked together with their joined hands and Elide smiled. 

Lorcan looked down at her, a brow arched expectantly. “Is there something you desire, wife?” 

“No, I have everything I want,” she told him. Elide glanced around them, smiling at their guests. She turned back to her husband and said, “Let’s go. I don’t feel like sharing you.” Elide stepped back from him and started to lead Lorcan away from the reception, not like he had any complaints. 

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” 

She gave him a weird look, “Our place. Obviously.” 

Lorcan laughed and let her continue on. He had no aversion to them ditching their wedding to be alone. They walked through the gardens to the fountain once again and Elide stepped up onto the stone lip of the base. Lorcan braced his hands around her waist, “You sure you want to be standing there? Don’t you remember what happened last time?” 

She hummed and looped her arms around his neck, “Yes, but you’ll catch me this time.” 

“Are you sure,” he teased, smoothly dipping her after he slid his hands to the small of her back. The bare back of her dress exposed the expanse of supple skin and Lorcan relished the contact. 

Elide shrieked slightly and her nails dug into his shoulders, still sharp through the layers of his navy blue suit and crisp white shirt. She laughed then, and kissed him with a smile, “You bastard.” 

Laughter rumbled through his chest and he gave into her sweet kisses, drinking in the taste of her smile. “If you fall, I will catch you. Every time.” 

She pulled away, her dark eyes searching his. Lorcan could see her tears and lifted a hand to her face, lovingly brushing them away before they could spill over. “Promise?” Elide moved her hand to his face and cupped his jaw. 

“With all that I am, sweetheart.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

*mahasani is a lakota term of affection that translates to ‘my other skin’

an: wowie 🥺 it’s all done now ! thank u to those who read and commented because i love ur comments so much. 

@mythicaitt​​ @tinywolfofeyllwe​​ @schmlip-scribble​​  @empire-of-wildfire​​@ladyverena​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​  @flora-and-fae​ @thesirenwashere​ @queenofxhearts​ @maastrash​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @cursebreaker29​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @b00kworm​ @hizqueen4life​ @silversprings98​ @amren-courtofdreams​ @minaidss​ @superspiritfestival​ @sanakapoor​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @spyofthenightcourt​  @thegoddessofyou​ @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx​ @claralady​ @januarystears​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @magicalunicorngypsy​ @elriel4life​ @sensitiveillyrian​

[9tzuyu]

the art of delicate hands – pt. i

[ wandanat. ]

College AU.

Multiple part series ;

↳ snippets of their relationship and how I perceive them.

sumary:

wanda doesn't like to talk very much, only to her brother (and sometimes her lovely redheaded girlfriend).

notes:

if anyone international is reading this, ASL is shortened for american sign language (language of the hands).

+

this is a revised and edited version from when i wrote it on ao3 in 2018.

The only person that knew was Pietro. It was her little secret, and she could only hope that no one now would find out. She knew she shouldn't be ashamed, it was nothing to be ashamed over. Unsurprisingly however, it became her biggest insecurity – years of relentless bullying ensued that.

Wanda was always anxious. When she was seven she began experiencing panic attacks. The metallic taste of blood in her mouth became familiar over time as her panic attacks worsened.

All because she was mute and didn't feel comfortable to speak to anyone, including her parents. The only person Wanda felt comfortable enough to talk to was her brother (you could say that's because they're twins).

A doctor in Sokovia mentioned to Wanda's parents that therapy may help, that it may get her to speak more than four words a week. So her parents moved her when she was 16 and hoped for the best.

Within a year and a half Wanda was able to develop a clear understanding of American Sign Language. Eight months into the move and Wanda's parents had given up on Wanda ever talking, something that she took personal. They didn't catch on to English as quick as the twins did, their native language stuck closer than expected. Pietro didn't mind learning English quickly as he wanted to fit in school, and he also didn't mind studying ASL to communicate with Wanda on a deeper level.

American high school wasn't much better than her hometown. People talked, whispered and gossiped about her in class, muttered hurtful things about her appearance and the way she carried herself; a shy, quiet, timid girl. The worst part of it was when they mocked her for using a language that was supposed to feel safe for her. Pietro always came to her rescue, shooing people away, reminding them that she's his sister. The silver haired boy had no problem fitting in, it was only when they were apart did people tease the younger brunette.

When their parents died, Wanda took the brunt of the emotional attack it had on the twins. She'd been sitting in the backseat of the car, earbuds in, with her music volume at maximum capacity. Her father had tried to tell her to turn down the music while her mother rest in the passenger seat, window down with her eyes closed. When Wanda didn't hear her father, he reached over, eyes off the road, and tapped her. The second she registered his touch a semi-truck hit her father's door. In a matter of minutes Wanda and Pietro both were left alone to fend for themselves.

Putting the blame on herself only caused her to shut down further. It took over a year for Wanda to speak to Pietro again.

But as per usual, the twins stuck together and finished high school. The only difference was that they lived in foster care, they belonged to the state, up for grabs if anyone wanted them. That came to an end six months into their stay. The foster family proposed the idea of adoption, they had no problem in taking care of the twins for the rest of the time being – or, if they wanted, every day after as well.

At twenty, Wanda and Pietro eventually both went to college and shared a house with a bundle of other people on campus. The younger sibling even found herself a girlfriend within the group, her name being Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha didn't mind at all how little Wanda talked. She was curious, of course, but even before their relationship Nat never pushed her girlfriend into anything uncomfortable. Natasha could tell Wanda always made effort though, that's what drove the brunette into allowing herself a relationship.

When the redhead would sleep, Wanda would continuously practice signing. She'd sign songs and poems, movie scripts and books, everything she possibly could to improve herself. It was a very personal, in touch form of language for her.

Wanda had been with her girlfriend a little over a year and Natasha still didn't know all the unpleasant factors that came about her life. Wanda only told her just enough to get by, and she felt immensely guilty for that. Truth was she desperately wanted to tell Natasha, she just didn't know how. She'd thought about just signing something to her and hoping she would catch on, but figured that would be too much. Anxiety spiked in her chest and in her bones, and she was tired of feeling like a liar.

With a sigh, Wanda plopped down on her bed and pulled her phone out from her back pocket. Unlocking it, she went to her text messages and scrolled to Pietro's contact. When she was sure no one else was in the house, she tapped the call button and listened to the phone ring until Pietro answered.

"You know I'm in the other room, right? You literally could've called my name." He greeted, accent heavy through the speaker.

Wanda giggled as she ran her fingers through her hair. You're safe. Speak, it's okay. She reminded herself.

"Yeah, but are you free?"

"Always."

"Can you come here? I need to ask you about something." Pietro gave out a loud, playful sigh but walked to her room, disconnecting the call on his way in. "What is it, my dear sister? What could possibly be troubling you here on this day? Is it that scruffy redhead?" He smirked arrogantly but sat down in the desk chair across from Wanda, not failing to notice how she rolled her eyes.

"She doesn't have scruffy hair and you know it. It's soft, gentle – and much less damaged than your shit show of an excuse for bleached hair."

"Whatever you say, little chaos."

Wanda groaned, "Why must you still call me that?"

"It suits you well."

There was a shared moment of silence between the two before Pietro spoke up. "What was it you wanted to ask me about?" A small frown was plastered on Wanda's face and Pietro found himself wanting to know even more now. Wanda waited another minute before finally answering. "Should I tell her? You know, about..."

A huge smile took over her brother's face. He was ecstatic that she wanted this for her girlfriend. "Of course you should! I really think she'd be interested to know more about you – y'know, since you don't ever tell her anything."

"I tell her things!" Pietro shook his head, "Does she even know your birthday?" Wanda nodded and turned herself away from him. "I just don't know how to do it. I mean it'd be kind of heavy just taking her out to dinner only to tell her my deepest, darkest secret afterwards. I'm scared she'll hate me, Pietro! And I've never even spoke. More than like, 12 sentences all at once with her!" He softened knowing how much trouble one past  had caused his little sister. "Write her a note?" He suggested, but she shook her head. "I want to tell her, not write her."

Right before he was about to speak again there was a knock at the door. The pair looked up to find Natasha standing in the doorway smiling down at the two. "Am I interrupting?"

Wanda froze while Pietro arrogantly raised his eyebrow and announced his answer. "No. We were just finished talking."

Confusion was written on Nat's face and she stood there until Wanda shook her head and muttered a small "No," giving her the signal that she could come in.

"I'll be in the other room if you need me." Pietro got up, despite Wanda's silent plea for him to stay. He gave her a thumbs up and left the room.

Natasha closed the door and laid next to Wanda, wrapping her arms around the younger woman. "You okay?" Wanda nodded in reply and Natasha knew not to push. For now she'd just keep an eye on her, reassuring her that she could talk to her if need be.

Over the next few days Wanda seemed to be doing better. She was supposed to go to a party with Nat, but opted out to study for classes instead.

"Be safe," she whispered and planted a small kiss on Natasha's lips.

Everyone else went to the same party, leaving the house to just Wanda. She sent out a group message telling everyone to text her or ring her (at the very most importance) if they needed a ride. Wanda didn't drink much anyways so she didn't mind being the designated driver of the bunch. And besides, she didn't mind having some time alone, it gave her the absence of the boys so she could study.

However, after over an hour or so of studying Wanda was beginning to feel stressed. Her nerves were building and she could feel her jaw clench.

She needed a break.

With a small sigh, she got up and connected her phone to her speaker. After scrolling and clicking on her song of choice, Wanda found herself signing the words to a Modest Mouse song.

Green eyes closed as her hands began to string along with the words of the song. It was rather fast paced, but Wanda was able to keep up fairly well thanks to years of practice. Lyrics flowed through her fingertips and in the palms of her hands, her stress levels immediately decreasing as she went on.

Unbeknownst to her, however, Natasha was standing in the doorway watching her every move. She was absolutely mesmerized by Wanda's hand motions. Her finger spelling was very fast, and Natasha was curious to know how long Wanda had known ASL.

When the song was over, Wanda stopped her music and moved herself so she could study again. She grabbed her pens, pencils and highlighters, along with her textbook while her back faced Natasha.

"I didn't know you could sign." Natasha commented. A mix of shock and uneasiness quickly took over the calm look on Wanda's face.

It wasn't until then when Tasha put two and two together. She quickly rushed over to her girlfriend, and carefully engulfed her into a hug.

"Hey, no, I think it's really cool. You don't have to worry now, your secret's safe with me." Wanda began to shake in her grasp, tears forming in her eyes. She backed out of the embrace and against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest.

"No, you're supposed to hate me, laugh at me. You're supposed to be anything but be cool with it." Natasha tilted her head, "Is that what they did to you?"

Wanda peaked out from underneath her arms, the confirmative nod sent Natasha's heart well beyond sinking. She’d never understand how people could willingly be so cruel.

"I'm here to listen, not judge." Her words softly echoed in Wanda's mind, and she watched Natasha carefully to see if she was lying. When she didn't make any remarks or snide comments, Wanda knew it was safe. Accent heavy, she began letting words slip from her mouth.

"I have really bad anxiety when it comes to talking, so I just don’t. Asl makes it easier to communicate, but growing up I was often teased for it. You’re really good at reading me without it, so I hid it from you. Guess their words still haunt me...” Wanda finished, giving Natasha a little more insight on her life.

Natasha moved closer to her girlfriend, bringing Wanda’s shaking body into her embrace. She then kissed the top of her forehead.

Wanda looked up to see Natasha thinking, her eyebrows scrunched together and she was chewing on her lip. She nudged her.

“I think it’s quite beautiful if you ask me.” Wanda cracked a smile and rest her head on Tasha’s shoulder. “Beauty comes from pain, I guess.”

But Natasha shook her head, “No, No, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Wanda nodded. She understood what Natasha was saying, she just didn’t believe it to be true when it came to herself. Nonetheless, she spoke the words, repeating the mantra so that maybe she could start to feel a belief in them.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

[the-original-b]

Archangel Chapter 11: Talent Scouting

Format: Prose / Fiction, multi-entry

Part in Series: 3 of 9 (Previous Chapter | The Beginning)

Word Count: c. 2,600

Summary: Khai pressures Krueger to contain a rapidly deteriorating state of affairs.

Krueger stepped through the glass doors of the Sixth Avenue office—dressed in a commando sweater and dark jeans with classy shoes under his pea coat—and headed towards the conference room.

Danielle straightened up behind her desk as she noticed him walk past her. “They’re waiting for you inside, Mr. Krueger,” she said.

He thanked her with a nod and proceeded down the hallway, past Khai’s old office which CJ Silvio now worked out of, and entered the conference room to join her and Everett to discuss their next steps after the events at Pharaohs a few days ago. Visible on a computer monitor at the end of the table was Hayden.

“Gentlemen, Miss Khai.” he greeted them. “Is Mr. Desmoulins joining us?”

“We’re ironing out the connection now,” Khai noted. She wore a dark suit with a white blouse and black peep toe pumps. “It’s one thing to set up a video call, but another entirely to set one up with him.”

“The man lives in military grade encryption,” Everett added. Today he wore a conservative blue suit with a pale gray shirt underneath.

“It’s how he’s stayed invisible for so long…” she added sotto voce. She tapped a few more keys on the laptop Hayden’s face was on. “Got it,” she said, turning the device toward the other men in the room. “Brandon, can you hear us now?”

“Loud and clear,” Brandon voice confirmed through the speakers.

“Perfect. In the room you can see I’m here with Mr. Krueger and Henry Everett. Also joining us via teleconference is Mr. Hayden.”

“Hey, everyone.”

“Greetings,” Hayden said. “Good to see you’re all well.” He folded his arms atop the desk he sat behind.

“Same to you, sir.” Khai said, sitting down and facing the laptop. Krueger and Everett took their places standing behind her. “Have you heard any updates from Dana and Charles?”

“No, and that’s what concerns me. Karin’s seen a steady increase in the Dragon Tears’ popularity in her territory, but she and I have been in regular contact; and Herman’s reported no problems in his area. The others have had their hands full for months, and now that I haven’t heard from them since last week the rest of us are more than a little concerned.”

“That bad?”

“It isn’t just the drugs, it’s the problems they invite. Police budgets have been slashed nationwide, and the hardest-hit cities have turned to the private sector to compensate.”

“Castle Security Solutions,” Krueger noted. “I’ve seen a news story on them the other day.”

“It’s no coincidence they’re expanding while the Dragon Tears become more popular,” Khai noted.

“Are you suggesting they’re connected, Miss Khai?” Hayden queried.

“I’m saying there may be a causality, sir; that somebody stands to profit from the expanse of one or both of the two forces choking the Partners today.”

“I agree,” Everett added. “And thanks to Krueger, I think we know who.” He looked at the monitor. “Mr. Desmoulins?”

“Special Agent Peter Cross,” Brandon said. “Born August 14th 1966, UT San Antonio class of ’88. Eight years with the FBI, then transferred to the DEA in ’96. He spent three years there, then moved to ATF. He changed hats a third time and joined the CIA in 2002, after which the records stop.”

Krueger arched his brow. “The United States Government?” He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot.

“We don’t know that for sure, but it does make sense,” Brandon mused. “If the CIA is sponsoring an effort to destroy the Partners, they’d want somebody like Cross at the tip of the spear.”

“Not their wheelhouse,” Khai commented. “That’s more the FBI’s job.”

“Also doesn’t make sense that his story stops after his start with the CIA,” Everett noted, his hand on his chin. “I get the feeling there’s more to this Peter Cross than the records show.”

“Especially since the buyer named him,” Krueger added, just loud enough for the others to hear.  He leaned on the back of a chair to Khai’s left. “Is it possible he’s changed sides, started working for another criminal organization?”

“Possible, but not likely; the only other major player in the region is the Company,” Khai said. “And after the ordeal with Osiris, they’re hardly on my radar these days.”

“Mine either,” Hayden said. He brought his knuckles to his lip as he looked away from the camera, breaking eye contact as he considered the new information. “Do we know if Cross is operating in the Tri-State?”

“I found an office in Long Island City,” Brandon said. “Registered to a Rook Capital. He’s listed as Operations Manager.”

Krueger and Khai shot each other looks.

“Then I think that’s where we should start,” Hayden concluded. “Mr. Krueger, head to the Rook Capital office tonight.” Hayden lowered his hand again. “Surveil the building and report back what you find”

“Understood,” Krueger said.

“If I may, gentlemen,” Brandon suggested, “I think I have a better idea. I wrote a script that clones a computer’s internal drive and writes it to another location. I call it the Intruder.”

“The one used at Miles Orham’s cabin?”

“The very same. I think we can use it again here, but we’ll need an access point for it to work.”

Hayden nodded. “I agree,” he said. “That is a better idea. Mr. Krueger, if you can gain entry to the office and upload Mr. Desmoulins’ program into their server room, I believe we’ll gather all the information we need.”

“I’ll get it done, Mr. Hayden,” Krueger said with a nod.

“Excellent. We’ll reconvene after we’ve made more sense of the data.” He reached for something off-camera. “Good day.” His visage disappeared immediately afterward, and the four remaining people on the conference call shared a moment of silence.

“I’ll make the needed modifications to the Intruder,” Brandon finally said. “Krueger, can you come by later today to pick up the drive?”

“Absolutely. I’ll get the address from you while I’m there as well.”

“Awesome. Let me know when you’re on the way. Mr. Everett, Liz, take care.” And just like that, Brandon Desmoulins disconnected from the conference, and Khai shut her laptop before turning to face the two other men in the room with her.

“Well,” she said.

“It sounds self-explanatory to me,” Everett said. “We plant the Intruder, wait for it to do its job, and decide our next steps after we analyze the data.”

“We might run out of time before then.”

Everett shot her an inquisitive look.

“Rook Capital… Rook, the chess piece.”

“Castle,” Everett concluded. “The private contractors?”

“Not a doubt in my mind.”

“I caught it too,” Krueger added. “It can’t be coincidence that Cross is part of their office in Queens, he has to be connected to the private contractors coming up in cities across the country.”

“All the evidence points to that,” Khai said. “And if all is as it seems then there’s no time to delay here…” She stood up from her seat, adjusting her glasses. “We have to kill him.”

“Liz,” Everett said, raising a hand to chest-level. “You’re talking about killing a possible U.S. Government agent. That’s a sure-fire way of drawing attention that we cannot afford.”

“It’s also the only way we can guarantee avoiding the same thing that’s happening to Dana and Charles right now, and to stop whatever’s brewing from destroying the whole organization…” She took a breath, placing her hands on her hips and shutting her eyes. She opened them again and met Krueger’s gaze. “Milo, go see CJ in the armory.”

“Liz,” Krueger began.

She started toward her desk at the head of the conference room, by the window overlooking Sixth Avenue. “It won’t be easy, but if you can get in and out before they know what happened, I think we can slip the noose before they get a chance to tighten it.” She took a seat and woke her desktop computer.

“Liz, I was ordered—”

“It’ll be tight, but there’s a safe house in Sunnyside, on 40th Street. You can lie low there while things settle down—”

“Liz..!” He got her attention.

Khai looked away from the monitor to face him.

“That isn’t the job,” he specified. “You heard Mr. Hayden, this is strictly an infiltration assignment.”

“I did,” she said, “but it may be too late to do anything about whatever facts we dig up by the time we analyze them all. We need to solve the problem before it becomes one.”

“And I agree with you there,” Krueger said, leaving his place at the table to approach her. “But this is different—you’re talking about having me remove a possible Federal Agent.” He stopped barely two feet from the edge of her desk, then placed his hands onto the desk top. ��A long time ago I stood right here in front of your predecessor, and promised to kill him in his sleep if he ever ordered me to do something I’m not comfortable with.”

Khai didn’t take her eyes from his, even as she leaned back into the chair and uncrossed her legs. She wasn’t even aware of the distance she tried to create between them until she blinked, realizing what she was actually feeling wasn’t shock, but fear.

“I don’t want to have to revisit that threat.” Krueger finally said. He maintained his flat tone, deadly serious. “Least of all to you… but if I have to, I will.” He straightened his posture again, looking down at her. “I was issued an order, Liz. And I don’t intend to deviate from it.” Krueger turned on his heel and headed toward the exit, his hands in his coat pockets. On his way out of the office he acknowledged Danielle again and passed through the glass doors to the elevator down to Sixth Avenue.

Everett shuffled uncomfortably after Krueger left. “That wasn’t something I should have been in the room for. Sorry, Liz.”

“No, you’re fine,” she reassured him. “Really…” She let a quiet sigh escape her lips. “You know, that’s the closest thing to a fight he and I have had in the almost two years we’ve been together… I was always nervous about that, but now I think I was scared of the wrong thing.”

Everett followed her eyes darting across the top of her desk. He noticed her reach for a pen and absentmindedly tap its point on an old post-it note. He’d seen that look on her face before, and could practically see the gears turning in her head as she worked through what must have been a problem she’d revisited and resolved dozens of times already. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she declared, trying to convince herself more than him. “Yeah, it’s just… easy to forget who he is sometimes.”

“A good-hearted man?”

Khai looked up at him and, after a brief pause, exhaled. She shut her eyes and put the pen back down, then brought her hand back up to remove her glasses and rest them by the pen. She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and first finger then pinched the bridge of her nose before allowing her hand to slide down her face to her mouth as she opened her eyes again, staring ahead blankly.

Everett looked over his shoulder to the conference table and headed over to retrieve a chair which he placed in front of Khai’s desk. “Don’t tell me,” he began, sitting down. “You’re considering ending your relationship with him; you’re listing the pros and cons in your head and trying to come up with any good reason to let him go on your own terms before you’re forced to make that choice.”

Khai quietly laughed and shook her head. “That obvious, huh?”

“You may as well be an open book,” he returned, smirking.

Khai relaxed her smile and brought both her hands together, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. She shut her eyes again and placed her face into her palms, exhaling slowly. She interlaced her fingers again, looking over her knuckles at him.

“And now, you’re realizing he’s not only the best thing to happen to the Branch, but also to you.”

Khai nodded. “I know,” she said. “And as much as I try to rationalize and poke holes in the pros, I can’t find a single reason to make it worth breaking up with him in the end.” She dropped her hands and turned her head to look him in the eye. “But I’m scared, Henry,” she admitted. “I hesitated even bringing him to the Brooklynite that night. I didn’t think I’d fall for him…” She shrugged. “But I did. A kind, charming, good-looking guy with a tragic past; I didn’t stand a chance,” she laughed. “I ignored my doubts and let myself get closer to him. No matter how many times I think I made a mistake with him, then realize I didn’t, I still feel like I’m going to screw this up somehow. And that terrifies me.”

Everett gave a half-suppressed chuckle as he considered his next words. “Forty years ago, I think I heard those same words come out of your father’s mouth when he tried to talk himself out of proposing to your mother.”

Khai laughed again. “I guess the apple plopped straight down,” she jested. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him he was the smartest person I knew. Then I chastised him for not being able to see the obvious choice,” he added with a smirk. “You inherited his brilliant mind, Liz. The two of you work through problems the same way—you consider all the approaches, all the variables, and by the time you reach your solution you realize you knew the right answer from the beginning.” He shrugged. “This is no different. I think you made your decision before we even started talking about this.”

Khai opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, but stopped herself when she realized he was right. Sure Krueger caught her off guard with his parting words, but he said what he did because of who he was and—more importantly—who he wasn’t. Khai rested her cheek in her hand as she considered Krueger, weighing his numerous good qualities against his few bad ones. She tried to justify splitting with him in light of any hypothetical and actual threats to their relationship, and a soft smile washed over her face as she realized she couldn’t.

“There’s a reason you invited him to dinner that night, Liz” Everett concluded, leaning forward. “Remember that.”

~~

Krueger headed down Sixth Avenue and crossed at 51st Street to head toward the garage where he parked his car. He slowed after he made it across the street, then sighed as he stopped in his tracks. He stood off to one side to let others pass him as he slid his hands into his coat pockets and stared absentmindedly into the sky, re-playing his meeting with Khai, Everett, Brandon, and Hayden in his head over and again as he considered the information. After a while he fished into his coat pocket to find his mobile phone. “Ich werde es bereuen,” he said to himself as he dialed the number when he found it in his list of contacts.

“Mr. Krueger!” CJ Silvio’s voice on the other end answered. “What can I do for you?”

“I need something precise and powerful.” he said. “Last-minute.”

“How powerful are we talking?”

“Hole-puncher.”

“Uh…” Silvio shuffled audibly on the other end. “I think I can put a list together. Rifles or handguns?”

“The latter. The quieter the better.”

“Oh, well that narrows it down… I’ll have to see if we have any of those left in the armory.”

“Meet me there in thirty minutes.” Krueger ended the call and headed for the garage on 51st to his car.

(Masterlist | Chapter 12)

[sugarbutterbroadway]

Call Me Dottie

Hey y’all hope you enjoy this!

There was a boy. But no, not just any boy. Blanco was around eligible boys all day and all night and well, it really raised your standards. If the copper hair peeking out from under his cap was any indication, this was one of the O'conor boys. With most of them being closer in age to his littles, they seemed to move freely through the boroughs. It was an unspoken rule, you didn’t beat on no kid, and the few fools who did had to deal with him. But him, he was older, seemed to be one of the oldest if Blanco’s eyes were on right this morning. Spot didn’t like the other boroughs flooding Brooklyn, said once you let one in they all spread like lice. He made this very clear during their yearly meetings. So whichever O'conor this was had to know, he just had to. It had to be deliberate too,a walk to Brooklyn from Queens was no Sunday stroll. So whatever balls he had to show up here, perched on the stoop of one of the apartment buildings, might’ve just earned Blanco’s respect.

Blanco walked over slowly, he didn’t want a fight. This boy was lanky, but these O'conor boys had a reputation, short tempers and quicker fists. He heard the same about their sisters too, no O'conor runs from a fight. So he made himself a little smaller, stuffed his hands in his moth bitten pockets and took his time. He did make quick work of crossing the street though, carriage drivers were getting out of control these days. The closer he got, the more he realized why their family were hot commodity. He could admit, they were kind of becoming a big name in the boroughs. He ain’t never seen as many as three siblings selling together, let alone six. It was something that hadn’t really been done before so of course it got all the talk. But now he realized the other reason, they were downright beautiful. Freckled rosy cheeks,full pink lips,and big blue eyes. Blue eyes that were now focused on him. Blue eyes that were narrowed. Pink lips pulled up in a smirk.

“I hear you Brooklyn boys are bad”he said, his voice was light, playful if you squint hard enough. “You just gonna stare or are you gonna soak me?” “What are you doin’ in Brooklyn?”Blanco asked. Instead of the usual steady baritone it was pitched just a bit higher. He bunched his hands even tighter in his pockets. The boy stood up from the stoop, and it seemed he just kept standing because his legs went on for miles. Long legs with trousers that barely reached past his knees and socks that kept falling off his calves. Blanco wasn’t short himself, he wasn’t, that was all Spot’s territory. But with this O'conor he was seeing eye to eye, or more like eye to nose. Then eyes to lips, lips that parted to show a crooked smile. Blanco’s heart raced and he quickly fixed his gaze.

“What’s your business here?”He asked, then pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“My question first,”Blanco insisted.

The boy looked at him and laughed. “If we’re goin by the rules, my question comes first” he took his cap off and ran a hand through his hair. Blanco stiffened, not only was this boy bold but he was downright indecent. Maybe he was in over his head with this one.

“I ain’t soakin you”Blanco rushed out, his face felt warm. “Alright, your turn”

“ ‘m here on pleasure”He smirked, his eyes flitted over Blanco’s face. “Now my next question, any reason you so jittery?”

“That’s not what you-why’re you here?”Blanco blurted out, “I-you know how things are, if Spot sees you he’ll-”

“So what I'm hearin is you don’t want Conlon hurting me?”He asked coyly. “I wouldn’t take you as the sweet type”

“I-I...what?”Blanco stammered, he was feeling incredibly warm now but he’d chalk that up to the afternoon sun. He was sure he was pulling a face, he always pulled faces when he was nervous, his grandmother used to tell him that all the time. The boy's lips twitched and in a matter of seconds the facade was crumbling. His eyes were filled with mirth and he was doubled over with laughter. Now Blanco was confused and a bit embarrassed because his laughter turned more than a few heads. But the funny thing was he didn’t care, not one bit. His hands were on his knees and his cheeks seemed wet with tears. Blanco couldn’t help but chuckle a bit because what was so funny?

“I-”The boy started, but laughter bubbled past his lips again and he was gone.

“What’s so funny?”Blanco asked, but his smile reached the tips of his ears.

“No!”the boy howled, wiping his eyes. His breathing was staccato and when he finally stood up his face was red. “I was trying to be hot! Ca-can I try again?”

“Absolutely not!”Blanco laughed, this was ridiculous. 

“That’s not fair!”he continued, “I was doing so well and then you looked like you shit yourself!-”

“Excuse me?-”

“-and then your eyes got all wide and I-”He let out a stuttery laugh, “-I couldn’t keep serious anymore”

Those pretty pink lips were pulled into a pout and Blanco resisted the urge to kiss it away. What the hell was wrong with him today?

“Fine fine”Blanco said, “I’m a fair man, I’ll give you your do over if you tell me why you were really in Brooklyn today”

“I said pleasure”He puffed out, “And I meant it, you’re pretty to look at”

“What”

“I saw you a few months back when you an’ conlon were in Queens”He explained, and suddenly he looked bashful. “I...I wanted to talk to you but I know how Spot is with his boys. So, I pulled some strings with the bronx-”

“You did what-”

“-and I found out where you sold”He finished, he took his cap off and ran his hand through his hair again. “I’ve been doin this for a few weeks now”

“What?”Blanco breathed, because this couldn’t be real. “How...how come I ain’t never seen you?”

“I didn’ want to be seen!”He assured, “I...last time I saw you, you was speakin and you sounded so passionate a-and smart and..I wanted to be ready when I talked to you. Made sure I had a little script and everythin”

“you...what?”He repeated.

“Throw me a bone here, Blanco”He pleaded, “Do you...you even like beaus?”His brain had short circuited for a few seconds, but it only took his smile to fall a fraction for him to jump back in action.

“Yes!”He shouted immediately, then winced sending him an apologetic look. “I-fuck, yes I do, you got me all jittery”

“Alright good”He exhaled, “So Ditsy ain’t no liar-”

“Wait”Blanco said, “You said my name”

“I did”He said slowly, “Ditsy from the bronx told me-”

“It sounds nice when you say it,”Blanco said, curling his fingers in his pocket around a piece of loose thread. “fuck, is that weird to say?”

“Weird? no”He said, smiling shyly. “Just caught me a little off guard is all. Today’s sabbath and I usually don’t cuss, seeing your rosary you shouldn’t either”

“Shit”Blanco mumbled, then shot him a withering look. “You’re right, Conlon’s a bad influence”

“I bet”He said cheekily, “you all cuss like sailors”

“We’re right by the water”Blanco shot back with a grin, “Might as well be”

“So now you’re pirates?”

“Never said that!”

-

“So you’ve been living here for how long?”He asked.

“Since I was five”Blanco said, “I came here to work, they wanted me to come back but I fell in love with the city”

“That’s how my parents felt when they moved here”He said thoughtfully, “my ma already lived here but my dad was only here for university. They fell in love and well...the rest is history”

“That’s sweet”Blanco grinned, “Don’ tell none of the boys but ‘ve always been a sucker for stories like that, the romance...y’know?”

“As long as you promise not to tell my boys”He said, “But I feel the same way, love is beautiful”

Blanco found himself lost in those sapphire eyes. “Yeah...beautiful”

-

“Sometimes I just...I miss them, y’know?”Blanco said, he grabbed the bottle out of the boy’s hand and took a swig. “I-this is really good--but like, I know that I'm doin better here than I would've been back home. I’ve almost got enough to send for my sister but my parents...”

“I can’t believe you’ve never had a soda”He teased, snatching the bottle back with a glint in his eyes of something playful. 

“But yeah, you’re doing the right thing”He said softly, they were shoulder to shoulder now. “I know I can’t understand but...what you’re doing is right”

Blanco’s eyes softened just that little bit and he nudged the boy’s shoulder“Thank you”

-

They had walked the length of Brooklyn and the boy had even fished out enough pocket change that they could split a rootbeer. It was nice, for a little while he didn’t have Spot’s angry eye on his back or littles pulling at his shirtsleeve. For once he was just Blanco, even if it was only a few hours. They stopped back in front of the apartment complex where they started, the afternoon sun had now shifted for a pink sky and a cool breeze. The days were starting to get cooler, Blanco shifted his hands into his pocket only to realize that his two fingers were sticking out. The boy looked down and bit his lip.

“If you ever find yourself in Queens”He started, then poked the two fingers, “I could mend that for you”

“You sew?”Blanco said, quirking a brow.

“My ma makes sure all her kids can sew.”he said, “With so many little ones running around, she can’t possibly do it all”

“You’ve really got eight siblings?”Blanco asked and leaned against the side of the building.

“With more on the way”He said, his face a little pinched. “Ma wants as many as the lord’ll allow, I think the lord needs to bless another family”

Blanco laughed and bumped his hip, “Maybe one day I can help take the load off” “We can’t afford to pay,”he said, his eyebrows pulled into a small furrow and he shook his head.

“You wouldn’t need to,”Blanco said. “I like kids. One day if your ma needs a break you and your sisters won’t have to do it alone”

“That’s...thank you”He said softly. “But what about your kids here?”

Blanco waved him off“Spot can handle ‘em for a day, they was his kids first before they were mine, they miss him anyways”

“Well next time i’m in Brooklyn i’ll remember to thank you” Blanco wanted to say he had already thanked him but cut himself short. This sounded like a promise.

“Well I'll count on that”Blanco said with a smile, “Next time, meet me at the bridge. I don’t need any of these boys soakin you”

“Will do”He said, the evening sky loomed over both of their heads. They knew it was time. “I should be getting back”

“I’d walk you but-”

“But your kids”He said, eyes sparkling, “I understand, kids come first”

“If i’m not at the bridge, ask around for Blanco,”Blanco said.

“Well next time you're in Queens”He said, taking a few steps forward. “Ask for Dots”

He smiled and almost took that as his leave, but turned around and flashed Blanco a shiny grin. “But you...you can call me Dottie”

Once Dottie was out of sight Blanco took that as his cue to start heading back. It took him only a few seconds to realize why his hand felt so heavy. 

That bastard had left him the rest of the bottle. 

Blanco shook his head, nothing about today made any sense, but maybe it didn’t have to make sense. Maybe this was some divine intervention to live in the moment. He paused again as he passed the cathedral, pretty pink lips and copper red hair fresh in his mind. He fiddled with the rosary around himself and smiled.

Maybe he just found himself an angel.

[tefanfics]

Changes

Chapter 4

I stood outside the restaurant for a while with my eyes on my phone screen. The message said Read underneath but there was no response yet. I slid my phone back into my pocket before starting to walk away. I figured I’d explore this side of London for a while. The rest of today was free but tomorrow would begin my move to the flat near the movie set.

I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets as I left the parking lot and crossed the street to the park. It was a pretty nice day out, though there was a small, cool breeze that came through every once in a while. I dug in my purse and found my headphones and sunglasses. I put my sunglasses on first, then started to plug them into my phone. I stopped for a second as I heard footsteps approaching quickly. I tensed a little bit before looking to see who it was.

“Didn’t wait very long, did you?” Taron asked as he finally caught up to me.

I shrugged and started walking again, looking down at my feet and seeing Taron falling in sync with me. “Figured you’d be caught up for a while,” I answered honestly. “You knew a lot more people in there than I did.”

“True,” he chuckled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his sunglasses and slid them on.

I glanced over at him. “Sunglasses aren’t much of a disguise.”

“Not at all,” he answered, looking down at me. “I thought a mask might be a bit much though.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Can’t argue that. Does it get annoying?” I asked. “The paparazzi, I mean.”

Taron stayed quiet for a moment. He seemed to be mulling over his words. “It can, yeah. I like my privacy but it comes with the job. I supposed I’m about as used to it as I could be.”

“I don’t know that I could deal with it. The thought of people constantly following me around and taking photos of me, trying to ask questions.” I shook my head quickly, a little smile on my face. “No thanks.”

“Then I’d say it’s a good thing you chose a job behind the camera.”

“Yeah… It’s still crazy that I’m here,” I murmured.

“Why is it so crazy?”

“If you had told me two months ago that I would be walking through a park in London with Taron Egerton, I would’ve told you that you were delusional and you need to see a doctor.”

At this, Taron let out loud laugh. “Is that right?”

“Yes!” I went on, now laughing from beside him. “Two months ago… It feels like a lifetime ago.” My smile began to fade as I started to think. “I don’t really want to bore you with all of that though.”

“No, no. Go on, really. This is your story. Let’s hear it then,” he said, gently nudging my arm with his own.

“It’ll probably take a while,” I warned.

“Good thing I haven’t got any other plans today then, isn’t it?”

I smiled weakly as we continued to walk. “Well… Two months ago I ended my eight year long relationship with my high school sweetheart. I thought we’d get married, have kids, the whole nine yards. Except he proposed once and called it off months later. Then every time the topic of our future came up, it was always some sort of excuse.” I paused as moments of my time with my ex played through my head. “Always that we were too young or that he wasn’t ready. He’d say my job wasn’t enough to help support that future I wanted.”

“Sounds like a prick.”

The sound that came out of my mouth was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. I looked at Taron, trying to read the expression on his face. I forced myself to look away as we continued to walk. “You’re telling me. I just finally got to the point where I knew nothing was going to happen so I told him I couldn’t do it anymore. After that I quit my job and started searching for something that was more up my alley.”

“And script supervisor was it?”

“Not exactly,” I answered with a smile. “I have a great memory and eye for detail. However I’m a writer mostly. A photographer too.”

“This is just like a stair step then.”

“Exactly. I had to get in somehow, you know?”

“Smart plan,” Taron said. We walked for a little while in silence before we reached a bench. He stepped onto the bench and sat up on the back where you normally leaned against. I sat down and pulled my legs up, crossing them in front of me. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why did you stay with him so long?”

“Hm. It was comfortable and easy. Being with someone that long makes it really hard to walk away. He loved me and I loved him but it wasn’t the same as it was in the beginning.” I shrugged again before turning on the bench and putting my back against the armrest as I looked at Taron. “I told him I was tired of waiting for him to figure out what he wanted so I could get the things I wanted. I packed my things, stayed with my parents and by pure luck, I got in contact with Matthew. And here we are…”

Taron nodded as he looked around the park. I could barely see his gaze through his sunglasses but I could tell he was taking his time before looking at me. “Sounds like you made a good call though, Rose. It almost sounds like he really didn’t know what he wanted.”

“I don’t think he did. There’s more to the story than that but that’s for another time I suppose.” I chewed my lower lip before looking back up at Taron.“The past is the past though. Now I’ve got to figure out how to be myself again.”

“Well I’d say you’re on the right track.” Taron smiled down at me before taking off his sunglasses and resting them on his leg. “It’s really brave what you’ve done. You turned your entire life upside down.”

“Thanks. I don’t know. I guess I thought that if I was going to make a change, it needed to be a big one. Evidently that meant selling a lot of my things and moving to England.” I laughed and shook my head. “I really thought I was set to spend the rest of my life with him and just settling for everything I did. Instead I’m sitting in a park in London, talking to one of my favorite actors, preparing to work on a movie set here in a few days.” I shook my head again, taking a deep breath. It felt nice to get all of these things off of my chest. It was nice that someone was actually listening to me and cared about what I had said.  That was a change that I could get used to.

“Favorite actor, huh?” He flashed a grin at me and I knew I was blushing. He chuckled and lowered himself down onto the bench beside me. “I’m flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be honestly. I say that to all the actors I meet,” I teased. I let out a small giggle as I watched the expressions change on Taron’s face. “Couldn’t resist. Sorry.”

“You’re funny. That’s cute.” He smirked and stood up, holding his hand out to me. “Come on. I’m going to show you around.”

[ava-jones]

Practice Challenge. Part 1

“Fuck him! Fuck his shitty new album! Fuck his ‘playboy’ reputation! I’m not going to lie about my life to fix a shitty situation he put himself in!” Ava screamed in the hallway a few feet down from her agents office. 

“Babe it’s not like I’m asking you to get married. Just go on a few photo-opt dates, then after Ethan’s album has been out for a few months you can quietly call it off.” Carolyn, the publicist being berated, argued. 

“That’s exactly the problem! It’s not like he’s some dude I’m actually interested in long term. I. don’t. Like. lying.” Ava huffed and leaned against the wall crossing her arms and glaring at Carolyn. 

“Don’t think of it as lying just as acting.” She tried to purswade. 

Ava just glared and chewed on the inside of her cheek as she tried to find some way to get out of this. 

“Common Ava, remember what I said to you when you were a kid, ‘sometimes you have to bend a little.’” She pressured. 

“Bend a little! I moved to Angeles! I changed my name! I rewrote Heart Full of Scars! I did your playboy magazine! I’ve done every single thing that you’ve told me too!” She screamed now getting some looks from other agents. One of them would likely let this outburst slip out soon, another ‘snobby two throwing a tantrum’ she could already see the headlines “Has Ava Jones gotten too used to the rich life? Illeans sweetheart has rotted.’ Probably something shorter but that was why Ava was not a journalist.

“You absolutely have not! You turned down the chance to speak with Scooter Burnt on his show! You barely got to the playboy thing and I had to convince you for days before you’d go! You’ve refused modeling opportunities and went against me and released ‘Do You’!” 

“And it fucking slaps! It got us 65.2 million views within 24 hours! Sometimes you’re wrong!” She yelled and turned to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Carolyn asked, running after her. 

“Home.” She huffed and put her hands in her pockets turning to take the stairs out. 

“Angeles or Sumner?” 

“Sumner!” She yelled back as Carolyn started falling behind. 

“For how long?” 

“Till you get me out of this mess!” She yelled back, turning the corner to the front door of her agents studio. Suddenly he bombarded her. 

“Please wait! Ava!” Ethan yelled chasing after her before grabbing her arm. 

She spun on him, “What! You tricked me into thinking we were friends then told the press I slept with you, why do you think I should give you another second of my time?” 

“Don’t you want to?” He asked with a raised eyebrow more than a little to calm for Ava’s anger.

“To what?” She asked, genuinely confused.

“Sleep with me?” 

Suddenly, Ethan wasn’t smiling anymore, in fact he was on the ground, a red slap mark across his face, security moving to stop Ava but hesitating, they wouldn't want to hurt Illea’s darling. 

“You whore!” Ethan yelled and lunged at her, the guards were much less hesitant with him. After all he was a has-been lunging at a will-always-be. Suddenly the door to the building swung open, the guards stopped, Ethan stood quickly and wrapped a hand around Ava’s waist. As much as she wanted to shove him off and make the sides of his face symmetrical she didn’t want to deal with even more bad press.  

He leaned down to her ear, “behave or I will fucking destroy you.” he whispered. 

“Yeah right, like you can.” She grumbled back through gritted teeth as a paparazzi tried to act hidden, wandering around like he was looking for a room as he held a camera close to his body, attempting to keep it under his bag. 

“Calm down, sweetheart. You’re the one escalating this.” He whispered as they shuffled together to the door trying to make their way out to their private parking deck. Ava quickly scanned her ID for the building and they slipped out of sight. 

As soon as the door closed behind them she shoved him off and down to the ground, “Never touch me again. I’m not the one escalating this, you’re the one who told the press I was ‘cute’ in bed, what the hell does that even mean? I am reacting. I am allowed to react to you being the shittiest person alive,” She rushed to her car and pulled away. 

She was never supposed to drive herself, just like she wasn’t supposed to hit other celebrities, or yell in hallways, or put up a fight. But lately she was feeling so tired. 

She pulled into an empty church parking lot and sat there for a moment, the air conditioning on as cold as possible, and she almost let it out. She almost let her lips quiver, she almost felt her tears pouring over, she almost called her Carolyn and pleaded for ‘out’. Out of singing, out of performances, out of autographs, out of stalkers, out of lies, out of men thinking that because she is a she in a position of power they can take it from her. Out of letting them. 

But, she didn't. She held onto her steering wheel, she popped open her glove compartment and took out a small cigarette box. Of course she would never risk hurting her voice. Instead inside was a picture of herself as a young girl with a boy. The two of them were about thirteen, they were having a picnic on a farm, drinking sparkling apple juice out of two champagne flutes, feeling so adult. Inside there was a small swatch of fabric. She held it closed and breathed it in, and the warmth took over and she was okay. 

She picked up her phone and called one of her top numbers, “Hey Ms. Rosado! I’m coming home for a while tonight. Do you mind if I swing by the house?” 

“Of course not! You know you’re welcome any time, baby.” The now elderly woman eased. 

****************************************************************

Sumner was always Ava’s heaven. It’s where she wasn’t Ava Jones at all. She was Avery Jacoby. Her family was from very rural Sumner. There were about 800 people in her town, mostly fours and lower. Her family had been fours for years until she bought their way into the two castes. The Rosado’s were a family of sevens who worked on their poultry farm. Angeles was loud, full of screaming cars, and people. All she had to hear at home was the chickens and cows. She pulled up on the dirt road which led not to her house, but to the Rosados. It had been un-lived in for the last six years. 

Untouched, Ms. Rosado couldn’t be in it anymore so she had moved in with Ava’s family. She couldn’t stand the silence, where her little boy had once run around with Ava, playing monsters vs heroes. Hearing Michael play guitar along with Ava’s singing. It made her think of his body, falling to the ground, the final seizure taking him at fifteen, it lasted for eight minutes before he passed on. 

Ava laid down in his childhood bed. Her best friend, her soul mate's bed. His smell surrounded her as she looked up at the stars painted on his ceiling, “Mike.” She called out softly covering her eyes with her arm. She knew he couldn't see her. She didn’t believe in all that “they’re watching from above shit. Why would he waste his time in heaven on that. 

“I don’t want this anymore.” She breathed out. 

“But I’m not giving up on us. We said it, we were gonna make it one day, you’re the asshole who made me promise I wouldn’t give up no matter what. Well now what? I’ve made it I think, but there always seems to be more to do. When is it enough? I need you to tell me. Why were you so shitty with your deathbed wishes. What does it even mean? Make it to your debut album? Check. Make it to your first sold out concert? Check! Have billions of fans worldwide? Done and done. But now what do you want me to become a triple threat take on acting and modeling? Do you want me to keep performing? I did all this for you after all! Pretty rude of you to leave me hanging here!” 

“Well do you still like singing?” She shot up at the response. Not from some magical ghost but from her younger sister, Katy.

“What are you doing here?” She asked defensively about her sister's eavesdropping. 

“Aitana said you were stopping by. I figured you needed saving before you turned into-” she paused and gestured to her sister, a crying mess in a child’s bed, “-that.” 

She paused for a moment and sat down next to her, “you know, we’d never want for money again. You’ve made enough for us and ms. Rosado to live like kings for the rest of our lives. Probably your kids too and grandkids. You don’t have to keep doing this, that is, if you don’t like it.” 

Ava sighed looking back up to the painted night sky, “I love singing, I’ll always love singing.” She mumbled. 

“But?”

“But, I hate the performing, I hate being watched, I hate being told who to date, who to talk to, what to wear, what I’m permitted to eat, how much to work out, scripted for in interviews.” 

Katy made a dramatic gasp, “Scripted? You? I thought you just really loved Nike shoes all the sudden.” she joked. 

Ava couldn’t help but laugh and lightly hit her arm. “You bitch, I worked hard to deliver those lines.” She grinned ear to ear. Being apart from Katy was one of the worst things about being in Angeles. 

“Seriously though, you look like shit. You don’t seem happy anymore. You know he wouldn’t want this. He didn’t care about fame he just thought it was what you wanted and wanted you to be happy. Clearly, you’re not, so quit.” She sighed before standing up. “It’s simple, just stop working.” She stood up. 

“You didn’t know him like I did.” Ava mumbled looking down at her hands, knowing her sister was right, but also remembering his eyes and how they lit up dreaming about their future together. 

“Whatever, I’m not going to argue with you about that. Mama’s making stew for dinner, we have to get back before she gives it to the pigs.”

*******************************************************************************************

A few weeks passed on missed calls, then a few months of avoided visits. The press panicked for a moment that Ava hadn’t been literally seen in awhile, but Carolyn released a statement that she was taking a vacation, fortunately for them the present is planned in the past so Carolyn had plenty of unreleased photos to put out, and even a few unreleased songs which she had previously called, “garbage” but was turning to in desperation.

Ava felt clean. She felt safe in the hills of Sumner, the sun healed her, her family was close, and the world was quiet. Until the letter came, then Katy was screaming. 

“Our selection letters came!” 

“Our what came?” I asked munching on my bowl of corn flakes. 

“Selection, duh- oh right you’re doing that “off the grid or social media cleanse.’” She said doing air quotes.

“How very Angeles of you.” My mom chimed in. 

“I’m not trying to be hip, I'm just taking a break!” I defended myself. 

“Well- to fill you in, Prince Arin is holding a selection! I thought he never would since he and that chick seemed so close to getting married. They were even engaged three months ago.” She gushed. The cereal fell off my spoon, 

“Months?” 

Katy looked confused for a moment, “Yeah months, not every mourns for years.” 

“Yeah no. No way in hell is he over that. He’s looking for a royal rebound.” I chuckled and went back to my food. 

“So you’re not going to apply?” 

“No I’m not going to apply, and you shouldn’t either. You’ll get your heart broken joining that.” 

“Well maybe I’m not going in it for my heart.” She replied. 

“What? Have I not been giving you enough money?” 

“More like there aren’t enough men in this town. I’m itching to have some fun.” She complained. 

“And I’m out!” Our mom said rushing off as Katy began to complain about how dry her sex life had been lately. 

“Well, I’m taking the drive to the post office this afternoon. Decide if you want to join by then.” 

“I’ve decided, no thanks.” 

A few hours later Ava sat in bed reading one of her old favorite books, she was enjoying some peace until her phone was buzzing over and over again in her drawer. She would shut it off but it was a burner phone that Carolyn had given her. It was an ‘when you want to get off the grid but I still need to reach you for an emergency phone.’ She groaned and pulled it out, 

“You better be dying.” 

“No but I’m going to put you in your grave if you don’t come back here and participate in the selection.” 

“Nope sorry I told you, I’m home until I say so. If that’s all I’ll see you someda-”

“I’ll let you out of your contract with Rainbow Companion Records!” Ava bit her bottom lip. RCR had signed her when she was just fifteen. She didn’t know better so she agreed to a 10 year lease with them. Getting out would really help her quit.

“Why would you do that?” She asked, there would be no advantage for Carolyn. Everyone was playing a game with each other at this level and she needed to know her angle. 

“You’re not going to quit. I’ve known you for years, you’ll take a break but ultimately come back. People like yo- like us are simple, we need the attention. After a while you’ll ask them to take you back. I know you’re too stubborn to accept that that’s what will happen, so you’ll agree to this because you want to ‘quit’ right now. It’s happened to so many of my clients.” She explained being shockingly transparent. 

“You really don’t know me at all.” She mumbled and thought for a moment. She was afraid, afraid that what Carolyn said was true. That she’d miss all that noise. But if it wasn’t she’d finally be free.” 

“What if I don’t get in?” Ava asked, needing to know the details. 

“Sweetheart, if you want it you’re as good as already in. I know people.”

“Okay I’ll do it.” 

“Great! I’ll send someone over in three days to fill out your appli-” She shut the phone. ‘No way in hell someone is doing that for me.’ 

“Katy! Do you have my letter?” She yelled in the hallway. 

*******************************************************

Just like that, Angeles flew in and popped my bubble. "We've hired some good photographers and journalists to wait at the airport. Just smile and say you're excited. I've also got some new sponsors for you, RCR really fucked me over on those negotiations so we need a bit more big billion bucks." Carolyn said as Aileen, my makeup artist, worked on lining my lips. 

Carolyn pulled a paper out of her purse and handed it over to her, mostly it was a list of brands with a few lines they wanted her to say, nothing unusual. She normally put up a fight over promotional work but if it was her ticket to a life without lying and screaming, she’d take it. 

“Now I set up the studio for that song that you sent me. It’s going to be a hit! We’ll release it a few hours before the selected announcements come out so the popularity boost from being announced on national television will bring everyone, even people who aren’t your fans, to your new video.” She explained. 

As soon as Ava’s jet landed in Angeles it was back to her old life. Back to the quick interview, “I was taking a break to be with family but I’m back now better than ever.” with a few ads thrown in there for the money. 

The night of the announcement she laid in the bath. She normally hated how alone she was in her Angeles apartment, but being able to bathe in peace was a nice perk. She pulled up the count down for her own video and waited. She didn’t like to watch them until they were released. In the past she had tried to help with the editing process but she was apparently too much of a backseat driver. She just had to trust that Jack knew her vision and would stick to it. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyFiWkmkexI

She had decided to write this mostly due to her pure rage at Ethan, her director went a little off though making it into a whole scheming theme but overall she was satisfied. Next she switched to the channel with the selected announcement and waited. One named caught her eye ‘Emily Rose White’. She groaned and pulled up her phone, 

“You told her I was joining?”

“No that must have been actual luck, or she just wants to compete.” Carolyn responded. 

**************************************************

[thepulta]

“Faaaaaaaire?”

Westlie jumped in her seat and whirled towards the screeching. There was a child loitering around the front arches of the library, casually kicking the carpet. It had to be what, eight? No older than ten?

“Faaaaaairee?”

She smashed her hip jumping out of the chair and nearly tripped over her skirt. Westlie strung out several whispered curses and made a flying tackle in the lobby, clamping a hand over the child’s mouth just as it inhaled for another screech. “You’re in a library you little shit! Jesus, don’t scream.”

“ ‘ah can talk as loud as ‘ah want!” The little goblin raised the letter with one arm and fucking punted her shin as hard as its little legs could. Westlie squeaked in pain and shot a glance around the rest of the library. The struggle was being watched by several students.

“God damn it, just give me that.”

“Pay me!”

“Jesus Christ, I paid in advance.” Westlie fished in her pocket and found a penny with some lint. She shoved it forward. “Don’t spend it all on candy.”

The urchin had the nerve to blow raspberries in the middle of the library entrance. It tossed the letter at her - Westlie snatched it midair - and raced away. There were a few polite coughs around the room and some less polite snickering. Westlie’s face burned as red as her hair as she slipped back to her seat.

She opened the note, laying it out flat so she could read it and straighten her desk at the same time. It was written in the same neat, pointed script she remembered from London. Fitzroy did not write unnecessarily.

.

Welcome to Port Prosper, Miss Faire. I’m glad to hear you arrived safely, and I apologize for The Pyrrhus’ tardiness. I hope you spent a comfortable evening at The Shroom.

The crew is currently loading a shipment of hours, which will most likely take the rest of the afternoon. I’ve decided to give them the night off since our passenger hasn’t arrived, which of course, extends to you as well. If you desire, you can meet us on the dock, port 2, at 8am tomorrow morning after another night at The Shroom or this evening at 5pm simply to get acquainted. You may also feel free to sleep on board the Pyrrhus, although it’s unlikely anyone else will be aboard the ship.

The next port of order will be the Eleutheria Transport Relay whenever our passenger arrives.

              Your Captain,

               Fitzroy

.

Funny, the Eleutheria Relay was the one place she hadn’t obsessively practiced navigating to. Westlie resisted the urge to open her books back up and pour over the seasonal wind speeds, trying to weigh her options for the night. She didn’t particularly feel like spending the night alone on board a ship she didn’t know. Then again, she could be at risk of looking tardy. Fitzroy had given her the option though, and it seemed like everyone else would be doing the same. Westlie puffed out a breath and folded the note back up, taking the opportunity to glance around the library. The students from earlier had gone back to their work, bent diligently over thick dictionaries and maps. The place was quite lovely, not as big as the one in London, but close. The entrance was grand and domed, with three wings to the right, left, and front. Books lined the walls of the bottom floors with desks lined towards the entrance. Three spiral staircases granted access to each of the three upper levels with bookcases where one could look down upon the massive (Surface-made, Westlie knew) Pakistani rug at the entrance. The walls were white, blue, and gold; there were a lot of Tuscan columns. ...a lot of them. The architect’s dreams must have been supported by Tuscan columns.

Westlie shelved her maps, absently drifting to another section and running her fingers over the titles. Flora and Fauna of Northeast Albion, A-N. Pteridophyta (Ferns and Horsetails) and their relatives in the southern areas of the Reach: a biologist’s memoirs. Edible varieties of fungi, 5th Edition. Geography and Biology of the Prosper Mountains, Revised and Selected by the Author with Illustrations. She selected that one. That was probably the reason for the gravity abnomaly around the island’s southern tip. Not that the biology of the mountain would help with that, but she was still killing time.

She took the book back to her seat, fanning the pages as she got settled. It opened to several depictions of the mountains around Port Prosper, lovingly illustrationed with several different angles. Gravity... gravity... Westlie yawned as she scanned through the pages, scribbling notes every so often as she found something useful. It ended up being mostly plants with a brief foray into naturalism about the shape of the mountains compared to others in the Reach (fairly large, minus Lustrum’s positive menagerie of peaks and valleys) while having nothing about the gravitational pull. At least she knew the abnomaly existed. Westlie shut the book and glanced up at the clock. 4pm. Well, she’d done enough for one day, hadn’t she?

Port Prosper was in the throes of dusk as she stepped out of the library. People thronged the streets, bustling to and from factories. It reminded her of London. Westlie slipped between the crowds, greeting a peddler and trading pennies for several hotbuns. She munched on one as she made her way back to the hotel, absentmindedly browsing the shop windows. The styles here were slightly different. A little higher on the ankle, a little wider in the hip, a little smaller in the chest. Westlie peered at one jacket with an upright collar. It buttoned down the front like her vest, but it had sleeves and the the collar was enticing. ...it was also a lovely shade of burgundy.

... it was ‘a night off’, wasn’t it?

Westlie slipped inside the shop and waffled over the decision for several minutes before finally giving the shopkeep the sovereigns. The jacket fit like a glove and did a fairly good job of matching her hair. Westlie felt like glowing as she walked down the street, dodging pedestrians and occasionally running children. Her time was her own; there was no sister, no Arthur, no Mary to reign her back. No judgement.

She’d wasted so much time, hadn’t she. A memory of Morgan popped up, unbidden, per usual - and in a bar, also per usual. Westlie had had one of her abysmal days; something about missing deadlines. There’d been a lot of screaming; a lot of accusations. She remembered not even wanting to drink, just huddling in the corner as Morgan sat there with her. They’d been older teens at that point, maybe. “You know,” Morgan had hesitated. “You could come with me on my next trip. You don’t have to stay here.”

“Father would murder me.”

Morgan had hesitated again. “... we don’t have to come back.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Westlie snorted, because it did seem ridiculous. “I have to work. I can’t just fuck off.”

They sat there in silence for a long time. Morgan finally leaned over and curled on her shoulder. It wasn’t a hug, but something akin to it and possibly more meaningful in their affectionless world. She’d let out a soft sigh as they huddled together. “...you’re so unhappy, Wes.”

They hadn’t said anything for the rest of the evening.

Westlie had forgotten about that whole encounter until now and there was a deep, sudden pang of longing for the weight of her sister on her shoulder. She let it settle, heavy in her heart. There was always the possibility they could bump into each other at a port. Morgan travelled voraciously. It was all she did, honestly. Westlie wasn’t sure if she did it to put a small dent in Arthur’s enormous sums of cash, to escape London and that horrid house, or just because she loved travelling and mischief. Regardless, from eighteen years onward she did all three things quite well. When she came home, it was a daily coin flip until she’d leave again. Westlie came to expect a note on her dresser with the lump sum of travel money taken, an address (occasionally), and some form of cheery goodbye. Sometimes, it was in person, like the last time she’d seen her a few months ago.

Westlie’d been woken up at 2am by a knock at the window to find Morgan sitting on her carpetbag in the garden. She remembered thinking it was a distinctly Morgan way to leave town at 2am. She kept throwing pebbles until Westlie opened the window. “Goodbye, Wes! I took a few thousand sovereigns this time!”

Westlie remembered making a rude gesture, half-asleep. ...Annoying but not surprising. Morgan just laughed.

“Don’t tell, but I packed that box of sunlight from the shop too.”

Westlie’s eyes shot open. “That- Fuck, Morgan, that’s expensive!”

“Don’t worry about it! It’ll all take care of itself.”

“You’re going to get robbed blind by some asshole carting around a fucking box of sunlight- What the fuck- What do you even need it for? You’re such a dipshit. Why do I have to deal with this? You know those take months to get in. Goddamn it, Morgan.” Westlie considered grabbing the rope and taking the box back but in the time it’d take to tie it Morgan would absolutely be gone. That was probably why she hadn’t said goodbye normally in the first place. Fucking sneaky.

“Shhh, shh shh shh~” Morgan spun around and blew her a kiss. “Westlie, you worry too much.”

“I worry for both of us. Fucking give me that sunlight. Father’s going to skin you alive when you get back.” Westlie hung halfway out the window, debating if it was worth jumping and squashing the fuck out of the little kleptomaniac.

Morgan gasped in pretend horror. “Oh, I forgot, I have thousands of sovereigns and I won’t be back for months.” Her mouth turned up into a cheeky grin. “Westlie please, you know me better than that. The old bastard won’t remember a thing.”

“I’ll remember!”

“You love me though~” Morgan grabbed her carpetbag and blew Westlie another kiss. “I’ll see you later! Sorry I left so soon. Don’t miss me too much.”

“Morgan!”

Morgan slipped into the darkness with practiced ease, and Westlie glimpsed a cheerful goodbye hand wave before she disappeared into the shadows. Saucy prick.

Westlie remembered going back to bed pissed as hell she’d have to pick up the pieces from stolen sunlight no less. Jesus Christ, there was embezzlement and then there was that. She did remember going to sleep after that and opening up the shop in the morning, but the memory grew a bit fuzzy. Westlie scowled at the irony because she’d tried to forget about it to save her blood pressure, regardless of the outcome she couldn’t quite remember. God, Morgan did the dumbest shit. 

Westlie was not going to miss that.

Even with the memories she was still more relaxed than usual as she approached The Humble Shroom. A few skyfarers milled about now after arriving from various ports, footmen moving boxes in and out of the lobby. Westlie took a moment to appreciate the soft touches of civilization they put on display. A rug, a lamp that had probably lived a former life in a grandmother’s cabinet; several crystal sconces on the wall that flickered appealingly. The rooms were off to the right, but there was a soft concerto playing off in the corner from the left where a doorway opened into another room. A bar? Probably where breakfast had been offered earlier. There were more skyfarers milling in and out. Westlie hesitated. She didn’t feel like going to her room and studying, but she didn’t want to stay out and about either. She didn’t need to drink, just... people watch. Tea would be nice.

The bar was excellent for her chosen past time; there were faces from all walks of life. A few stovepipe hats huddled in the corner while miscellaneous groups of suits - with patches or tears and without - circled about at random. There were three shelves of drinks, the aromas of mushroom wine and hard liquor circling about; a waiter handed off a plate of steaming something that smelled delicious. Westlie took a seat in the back and ordered tea, pulling out a piece of paper to work on navigating to the relay. It was far, but it wasn’t that far; a few days to a week or so. There was a bit of tricky gravity somewhere in the region and she tapped the pencil on her lips, staring up at the ceiling as she struggled to recall the numbers.

Someone cleared their throat nearby and she blinked, jerked back to reality. “Hello-?”

Jesus Christ it was Fitzroy.

He looked the slightest bit more worn with a bit of coal dust on his jacket, but otherwise quite the same and unmistakable. “Good evening, Miss Faire. You look well.”

“Thank you. You... you too.” ... she could die on the spot, or she could just die later after she made a complete fool of herself. Or she could have a normal conversation like a normal person. Westlie cleared her throat and folded up the paper while Fitzroy made a questioning motion to the chair across from her. “Yes, please, feel free- have a seat.”

He sat down and crossed his legs, pulling out a pipe from his pocket and taking his time stuffing it. After a good long minute he put up his hand to flag a waiter and glanced at her. “Would you like something.”

“No- ah, thank you. I have tea on the way.”

“Excellent.” His face betrayed nothing if that was the right or wrong answer. “Is that a 1890 Elegant on the shelf? I’ll take a small glass of that, please.”

There was heavy silence until the waiter brought both the tea and mushroom wine. Fitzroy lit his pipe and the smoke puffed lazily, adding to the rich scents around them. Instead of handing it off like the wine, the waiter chose to pour the tea himself. (He did not pour it the way Westlie liked it; she could already tell it’d been seeped too hot and it gave off the slightly acidic odor of a burned teabag. She held her tongue and comforted herself that the bitterness would keep her insides awake as she worked.) Fitzroy took a sip of his wine and savored it. Westlie did not enjoy the tea but she kept her face neutral.

When he placed his drink back down he faced her, dark eyes scrutizing. “I assume you received my note earlier?”

“Yes, sir. About an hour ago, I think.”

“I know the rest of the crew has divided themselves up across the city, so it was a good choice to stay put for the night.”

Westlie couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just nodded.

“As far as introductions go, you’ll meet them all tomorrow. I recently accepted another applicant as Navigator, an Owen West. I understand he’s been a reliable skyfarer for some time. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” Westlie hadn’t. “He seems a bit shakey, but capable. I’ve known the rest of the crew for significantly longer. Marion is quite the ingenious engineer; Selmer is relable and loyal to a fault. Elijah is the kind of man who should be into politics but makes an excellent signaller instead.” He chuckled at a private joke and took another sip, re-crossing his legs and focsing on her. “I can’t speak for Owen, but the others were needling me about you.” There was a thin, not unkind, but not wholely trusting smile and Westlie could very clearly see the impression her interview left on him. “I was going to simply wait until morning, Miss Faire, but if you pardon me for noticing, you are not quite the same person I met in London and I know very little except your father is the kind of man I rarely associate myself with.”

Westlie took another sip of bitter tea, purposefully scalding her tongue as she tried to think. She drew on the remains of her evening, the calm purposefulness as she walked from the library back to the hotel. Why not be honest? She met his eyes and they were supicious, wary, but not unkind. He was being honest in his observations, and she wasn’t the same person in London. “I ran away.” That seemed the most straightforward, blunt way she could put it. Westlie sat the tea cup back in its saucer, half wondering if she was required to give more information. Fitzroy didn’t say anything. She tried to collect her thoughts. ‘I couldn’t take it anymore’ didn’t seem like the best phrase to describe it. Neither was ‘I’m nobody’, or ‘I don’t know who I am’, even though that was absolutely the truth.

Westlie hated sweet tea. She forgot, put two sugar cubes in her half-drunk cup and stirred it.

“Were you working on the Eleutheria Relay route?” Fitzroy broke into her thoughts and Westlie met his gaze again, briefly.

“Oh, before you came. Yes, actually.” She dug into her pocket and handed over the sheet of paper. Fitzroy browsed it. The look wasn’t quite like the interview; there was no judgement, just thoughtful acknowledgement. He was trying to distract her - he was actually quite good at that. Westlie stored that information in the back of her mind.

“You mapped this from Tratinson, didn’t you?”

How-?

“There’s a small abnomaly about three leagues in.” Fitzroy placed the paper on the table and pointed out the column of numbers halfway down. “Tratinson ignores it, because he considers abnomalies smaller than .5 newts to be immaterial. However, it’s enough to increase speed and throw off the trajectory of your second curve here.” He pointed to another set of numbers. “It’s never a big issue because the pull is small enough it doesn’t run you into any islands, but still. I have to look at the book, but Richards takes more of the northern abnomalies into consideration despite his occasional miscalculations.”

Westlie felt a deep flare of respect feed the hunger inside her. She could learn from him. She opened her mouth, couldn’t find which questions to ask, and settled on looking deeply appreciative. “Thank you.”

Fitzroy bobbed his head and took another drink. “It comes with experience.” He paused. “You were obviously well-trained.”

An image of her father brushed across her mind and Westlie’s hatred for the man flared deeply and uncontrollably. “I received a 102 on my piloting exam.” (For the fourth time, because Arthur kept forcing her to retake it, even though she passed the first exam without problems.) “And charting courses is... a hobby.” (It was an obsession. Definitely an obsession, probably unhealthy; kept her from losing her mind after hours of numbers in the ledgers.) “It helps me stay focused.”

She took another sip of tea and nearly spat it out. The sugar made it completely undrinkable. Westlie settled on refilling the cup until near overflowing, hoping between the bitterness and the hot substitute she could scald her tongue and ignore it some more. Between all of it she felt a minute, calmer spark of anger and she grabbed onto it, meeting Fitzroy’s eyes. “I was a navigator on one of my father’s ships. I think that’s what he planned for me to do until he realized I couldn’t take his commands mid-voyage and I wouldn’t save half a crate of supplies by driving through a shitload of scrive-spinsters.” Westlie reigned herself in. “After several instances like that, I worked in the shop instead for a... significant amount of time until I decided that... didn’t suit me.”

She glanced at Fitzroy and his face was blasé, but attentive.

“I won’t let you down.” Westlie remembered her stupid fucking mantra from the morning before and it just felt like something needed to be said. “I know I’m... quiet, and I know...” she hesitated, because it was a bitter pill. “I know my father. Nobody knows him better than I do. I can’t help where I came from, but I want to learn.” Please. She hoped it went unspoken. “And I learn quickly.”

Fitzroy finished his drink and there was the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “You have the job, Miss Faire.”

“Well I-” Westlie moved to take a sip of tea, remembered the saccharine taste in her mouth already and thought better of it. “-You asked,” she tested the waters with a hint of a dry look. “Sir.”

“And I am grateful I know more about you than when we started.” Fitzroy stood up to take his leave, pulling out several coins for the wine. “For the record, Miss Faire, I don’t question your abilities. Anyone who can chart a course by memory under the duress you were under deserves second attention. However, I feel an understanding between us that your father’s company does not require nor, if I may be so forward, deserve special attention, is in order.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Westlie interjected, before she realized what the hell she said.

Another barely visible hint of a smile played on Fitzroy’s lips. “Well my drink is done, but it appears we are firmly in agreement. If you have time after getting settled tomorrow, I might be available to discuss the Richards and Geralt maps if that suits you.” He made a brief bob of the head. “Goodnight, Miss Faire.”

Westlie stared at his back and then at her incredibly shitty tea as he walked away, finally downing the rest of the cup in one disgusting shot and pouring herself something vaguely more palpatable. She slumped back in her seat. That... went well. Tentatively? Possibly? Jesus she needed to go to bed. Getting tea was supposed to be relaxing, and- gods this was shit. Westlie resisted the primal angry urge to dump all of the tea on the ground, dance on the ashes, and refuse to pay; instead she put down coins for her tab and slipped out of the room, trying to decide if Arthur or Fitzroy was more dangerous when angry.

-=-

In her room that night, Westlie dreamed about something peaceful. She woke up after midnight but she couldn’t remember it, just... something about flowers, something about returns. There was a subtle longing for a name, a face; it itched at her mind, making her sleepily tousle her curls. Fucking dreams. Westlie yawned, pulled the pillow closer, and fell into a now deep, dreamless sleep and the feeling was gone in the morning.

-=-

Selmer was a beast of a man. Owen looked horribly nervous. Marion looked... chipper. Elijah looked like he could murder someone in his sleep but probably wouldn’t because he was the nicest of all of them. He’d tipped his hat a bit as Westlie arrived, discerning something as she searched for Fitzroy and headed for the small group of people on the dock around him. That was probably what Fitzroy meant about his alternate self in politics; that was a niche skill. She joined the group, lurking a bit on the outer edges as Fitzroy muttered into a clipboard. After several minutes of writing and scribbling he looked up, unemotionally scanned each of their faces, and made several more notes. It seemed like a lifetime before he put it away.

“Westlie Faire, your crewmates:” Fitzroy nodded to each punctually. “Selmer Gallway, Marion Gascoigne, Elijah Fry, Owen West. Feel free to chat a bit to each other before boarding. I need to submit these reports to the Ministry.”

Westlie felt a rush of euphoria that she wasn’t submitting the reports. Jesus Christ she was free. Fitzroy walked away towards shore and everyone eyed her silently, expecting her to say something. “... Hello.”

Selmer looked like he was going to explode after another five seconds of silence. “‘s a bright day gov’nr! You from around these parts?” He grinned, and he showed all his teeth, flashing a blinding giddy white.

“Ah, from London, actually. I assume you are as well.”

“O’aye, but I packed me bags a long time ago. ‘ah followed Marion on board. A capt’n always needs ah good shov’lah. An a wrench!” He hip-checked Marion and she rolled her eyes.

“Right, right. Well, welcome aboard, Faire.” Marion gave her a little casual unofficial salute. “The Pyrrhus is a great engine! I know you’ll love her. Have you been aboard any others?”

Westlie hesitated, “I ah- some Bediveres.”

Marion’s eyes gleamed. “Now there’s ships! Nothing’s better than the Pyrrhus, obviously, since I’ve helped make our own improvements, but ahh, the Bediveres are gorgeous. Have you driven them? I hear their handling is a little rough around the edges since one of the steam propulsion gaskets blocks the radius grav hinges.”

Westlie had heard about radius hinges exactly once when she and Morgan were shit-faced drunk in a pub on Elinore St. and an equally drunk engineer following Morgan around started bitching about radius hinges and Altanis locomotives for a full hour before they all passed out. She remembered absolutely nothing of that conversation. “I uh- I have driven one.” I was seventeen; please don’t ask about turning radii. “I do remember how fast it was.”

Elijah patted Marion on the shoulder as she opened her mouth to ask more questions. “I’m sure there’ll be time to show her the improvements once she’s settled. Speaking of which-” he gestured a bit into the ship. “The crew’s quarters are to your right from the hatch. Would you like some tea?”

“I would, actually, yes please.” Westlie gave a brief little nod to Owen as she passed by, following Elijah gratefully, and Owen nodded back, his face grave but not unkind or unwelcome; he’d just seen a bit too much. She knew that look.

When she stepped through the hatch, the Pyrrhus itself smelled of hours and cinnamon. It wasn’t a heavy scent, just enough she noticed. The air was wet though, steamy, like Marion had been warming up the engine earlier. There was thin wood panelling on the sides of the walls, polished to a soft sheen through multiple scratches. (Four claws had been dragged down the wood with deep, deep indents at one point.) It was all very orderly though. The crew obviously took great care with their upkeep; the same with their quarters. It was neatly swept, no cobwebs, electric sconces lining the far wall between the bunks. Elijah motioned to the bed at the end of the row where her trunk was sitting, to the right this time, right against the hull; it was opposite the engine, so was probably at least in port, the quietest end of the ship. Westlie glanced around at the bare walls, wondering absently if she could fit them with shelves like the other engine had.

“None of us care to decorate,” Elijah offered helpfully, reading her mind. “But I’m sure Fitzroy wouldn’t mind. I’m-” he gestured at the door, “-going to make that tea if you’ll excuse me.” He stepped back, spinning around for a moment in the doorway. “Oh the passenger should be here soon, Selmer just carried in her trunk. We don’t know her name yet, but she’s sleeping in the Captain’s Quarters, across from the hall.”

“Oh, excellent.” Westlie had no idea what to do with her hands. What did a first mate do with their hands? She settled for a curt nod of the head. “Thank you, Elijah. That helps.”

His lanky frame disappeared from the doorway, and Westlie took a breath as she opened her trunk. Everything was there (of course it was there; she’d just re-packed it forty minutes before) so she closed it and sat down on the bed. A deep sting of fear hit her as she looked around; the casual, not-quite perfect orderliness of the bunks. Selmer’s? messy pillow. Either Elijah or Owen, they both seemed like good candidates, had repurposed a crate by their bedside and stacked several dozen books on top of it. There were a few more bunks but they seemed untouched. Marion must have moved her quarters somewhere else - which was eccentric actually. Westlie vaguely mused if Fitzroy would let her sleep in the map room. Did they have a map room? They probably had a map room.

She puffed out a breath and looked around the room once more, trying to memorize the small details. The iron bedframes bolted to the floor (advantage: no creaking) the wooden floors fitting snugly against iron walls, the four bare walls curving into an iron ceiling. A soft breeze whispered around the hull and Westlie had a feeling she would get some very nice whistles in the middle of the night being right in the corner. That was alright. This was ‘home’ now, wasn’t it? It was what it was.

A deep pang of not-quite-loneliness, not-quite-sadness hit her and Westlie pushed up her chin a little. No emotions allowed now. She was done here; it was time to work.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself, brushing off her skirt and heading out of the room.

The very first thing she learned on her own was that the Pyrrhus echoed, deeply. The metal walls carried sound; literally carried, where if you leaned in close you could probably see the tiny vibrations of the sheet metal. No whispers were safe. There was the hiss of the kettle in what she assumed was the mess quarters  and a roaring, boisterous laugh from Selmer. There were quick footsteps above her - possibly Owen.

“She’s very quiet,” Marion said from the kitchen, and a jar rattled with crackers or some sort of foodstuff. “Do you think she’s alright?”

“Juz giv’ ‘er time to settle in; Willy was pre’y quiet too,” there was a vigorous thump on the table. “Tea man!”

“Gods, you’re so impatient. It’s not ready.”

“You bloody know, Mar’on, you need to make ‘lijah a little thingamabobber that’ll heat the tea up twice as fast. Hook it up to the engine all fancy-like-”

Westlie hesitated at the open doorway to the mess hall, wondering if she should knock to announce her presence, but it absolutely was not necessary as she was almost blown over by the force of Selmer’s, “OI GOV’NAH.” He thumped the table again. “’e got apples, an we got ‘ese kipper snacks and if ‘lijah ever finishs that ‘ere bloody tea ‘e’s got some ought lovely black. Captain says ‘s from India but I think i’ tastes the same as London’s. Once ‘e finishes you can be the judge.”

Marion smiled and patted the table (in a much, much softer, friendly way). “Westlie, right?” she nodded. “We didn’t have breakfast earlier - or Selmer did-”

“But ‘ah’m always down for second breakfast.”

Elijah visibly, almost audibly rolled his eyes.

“-but we were going to have something if you’d like to join us.”

Westlie sat down closest to the door a little grateful for the offer so she didn’t have to figure out where to place herself. “Tea and a few snacks would be lovely, thank you.”

The conversation fell silent with just the hum of the kettle and Selmer tapping the table and fidgeting. Westlie vaguely wondered in the uncomfortable quiet if she was too attuned to it. There was a lot to be said in silence. Selmer very clearly did not think the same way. Finally he leaned forward. “Yous ‘ear the Captian was thinking about a new gun?”

“He did mention it to Owen the other day.” The kettle finally whistled and Elijah moved to pour. “We don’t encounter problems too much though. Is it worth it?”

“Eh, it won’t be too hard to install. Can’t hurt to have a nice bit of firepower now, can it?” Marion took her mug and sipped it gratefully, even though it’d barely seeped. “Absolutely worth it. Thanks, Elijah.”

“Thank you,” Westlie took her mug and settled back, letting the warmth flow through her hands as Elijah handed the next mug off to Selmer. There was a much more comfortable pause as they sipped, Selmer grabbing kipper snacks from the bowl in the middle of the table and tossing them tournament-style into his mouth. He crunched loudly. Westlie wasn’t sure why she wasn’t annoyed at his behavior. He was the spitting image of some of the skyfarers in Morgan’s bars; loud, obnoxious, bustling, but there was a sweet cheerfulness too. Maybe she just needed to be around someone that relaxed right now.

A knock at the hatch startled all of them.

Selmer bounced up, “I got it,” and he was out before anyone could put down their mugs. The hatch opened, and there was an unintelligible, questioning voice. “Oi yas, right this way, gov. I’ll carry in your cargo don’t bother with it. Step right this way.”

“Should we...?” Westlie made a vague gesture to the door. “Help...?”

Marion shook her head with a quick smile. “Selmer’s got it. He likes to feel busy.”

The room was significantly quieter after Selmer left and nobody felt like breaking it. Westlie considered asking where they’d been before London, but it seemed like such an empty question. Or any tales; maybe there’d be something useful. Fitzroy did say they’d been on the longest. For some reason she couldn’t quite muster up the words. The silence was comfortable at least though, Marion seemed to see she didn’t feel like talking and Elijah seemed comfortable with the silence as well. They listened to the footsteps reverberate about the Pyrrhus until Selmer hollared down the hallway. “Cap’ains back!”

Marion offered for Westlie’s tea mug and she handed it over, a few sips left. She tossed them in the sink before going through a back door into what Westlie assumed was the engine room. The cab. Fitzroy said they’d be taking off after the passenger arrived. She nodded once to Elijah before heading out and to the side, climbing up the tight stairwell on her left to the second floor of the Pyrrhus.

Owen was already inside the cab, a few maps spread over the table in the middle of the room, steam hissing from a pressure gasket. He glanced up as she walked in, smiled, and then refocused on whatever he was doing. Numbers, it looked like. Westlie hesitated before pulling the scrap of paper she’d been working on the night before out. “I ah- I did some crunching last night if you want to use this.”

Owen glanced up and blinked. “Oh... Oh, Tratinson. That’ll help actually, thank you.” He took the sheet and Westlie was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room again.

It was a lovely cab. There were some references and maps in small bookshelves in the back, the familiar panels for navigating in the front. The Pyrrhus had bronze handles, steel interworkings with pipes of steam and cables welded to the sides of the cab, leading to the nav panel. The top was slightly domed with curved, arching blue windows for less drag, riveted along all their edges. It was somewhat soothing, Westlie mused, looking at the world through blue-tinted glasses rather than red ones. All the Bediveres had rose or yellow tinted glass. Something about looking more professional and yellow light being bad for your skin; turned the crew sallow.

There were footsteps up the stairs and she somehow picked out Fitzroy’s step in the hall, firm, patient, cat-like. He nodded to her and Owen as he entered the cab. “Everything ready? The cargo is on board. Adelia is settled.”

Westlie instinctively looked for the pressure valve, noting it’d only been a few minutes since the engine grumbled to life under her feet. “Almost. 50 psi to full capacity, sir.”

Fitzroy nodded acknowledgement, checked a pocketwatch, and went through the backdoor, letting a burning blast of steam and soot into the cab. His voice was almost drowned out. “MARION, NEW RECORD TO 250.”

There was a barely intelligible cheer from somewhere in the engine room which Westlie had to assume were Selmer and Marion. She found herself smiling a little as Fitzroy shut the door, brushing off his collar. “She’s done excellent work,” he informed Owen and Westlie without looking at either of them. He browsed the numbers on the table, checking the maps. ���Mm, this looks good too. Pressure update?”

Westlie glanced again. “285, sir.”

“Close enough. Owen, take us out, please.”

Owen was already at the controls. They lifted with a lurch, the engine giving an angry hiss as the locomotive released steam from below. Westlie turned and stared out the window, resisting the urge to press her nose against the glass as they rose above Port Prosper. The library shown in the distance, the morning glinting off the glass in the dome with the mountains stretching beyond that, little plants dotting the slopes. Homes cuddled about the city, painted in red, grey, yellow, blue; Prospans weren’t picky. They grew ever more dotted and sparce further from the center, farms drawing lines in the landscape. The wind picked up as they rose higher.

Owen pushed the engine forward and Westlie felt the whisper of the breeze as it brushed the windows. Through the blue tint it was all so very alive, and it felt like... like being in love. Westlie had no idea how to confirm the feeling, but her heart squeezed and the rest of the world fell away. It was so beautiful. This was what she wanted. The love ached like a new happy fire in her chest and she embraced it, pulled it tight around her. It was easier to handle than her anger since it just glowed without burning, with a soft tender warmth. There was no action to it either, no demands, just a deep well of peace. She was never going to let this go, she swore quietly as Port Prosper faded away. She would die before she stopped traveling with the wind, watching these islands pass by, blessed by the soft glow of the fungi along their edges. She’d worked hard and she’d gotten so lucky. So very, very lucky. She would make every single second count. Damn the man who tried to take it from her.

[anonymous-girl37]

Here is my story.

Most stories tend to start with things being normal, however, for this one, it is honestly a clusterfuck of bullshit with a little bit of normalcy thrown in to give me the illusion of stability. Even when I was only nine, I remember fun and family activities were never really with just her and us- it was always with somebody else there to motivate her. I sort of had to raise Katie and Kylie on my own at some points. She took care of us technically speaking; she didn’t starve us or anything, she just wasn’t available for the emotional side of being a parent. The parts that kids grow up to remember, unfortunately for us.

One of the best examples of her neglectful care for us was around that time... Me being around age… eight? Nine? It all blurs together at some points, but the point is I was young.

My mom always takes naps, they last a whole ten minutes sometimes, but she’s always tired, maybe she’s sick. Whenever she’s sleeping, she says I get to play house with my sisters and pretend I’m the mom. My favorite is when she drives to the store for candy for us because then I make the rules for extra long. I get to make them lunch and play outside. Sometimes she lets me read them stories before their nap time, which is mommy’s relaxing time, so I get the whole rest of the house to myself. I get to make all the rules, dad never lets me do that. He doesn’t know, mommy said it’s our secret. I hate when she doesn’t get her naps in because then she’s grumpy. She went away for a whole week and she hasn’t taken a nap or been grumpy since she got back, maybe the doctors did surgery and fixed her. She’s even taking us to the park while dad’s at work tomorrow.

It’s been a week now, mommy was going to take us swimming but she said her head hurt too much, and the next day we were supposed to play in the woods but she needed to take a nap, and it was almost time for dinner when she woke up. Dad couldn’t know she was napping again, or he’d make her go away for a long time she said. She tells me I’m a good secret keeper. Maybe tomorrow she will let us go swimming.

Mommy’s been back home for two weeks and her medicine already stopped working, I wish it worked for longer cause I miss when mommy was fun. Mommy loves when I play house with my little sisters, but sometimes I get tired of it. I have to listen to her anyway. She’s better than dad because she doesn’t have any stupid rules. All dad ever does is work, we only get to play with him for a little bit after work and on the weekends.

It wasn’t something that stopped, her shitty “parenting” if you can even call it that, never improved. I was 12 years old popping Klonopin like candy, with her permission of course. Not only was she okay with me taking drugs, but she also fueled my addiction with her prescription. At least she was generous with her pills, however, she had plenty enough to share. She got a script of 90 a month from one doctor and 60 a month from another. She was good at pretending to have illnesses for drugs, and trust me, it’s extremely escalated since then. I don’t know who else she gave them away to, but when she ran out she always found a way to get more. Pills were more important to her than us having new clothes, and undergarments. She cared more about pills than saving money to do fun stuff with my sisters and me. She only ever wanted to be high, and she was so good at hiding it. She had our whole family fooled for years. She lived and still does live a life of lies. She sucks the life out of everyone she’s near. She sucked the life out of me. She had me becoming friends with kids who dealt drugs, It was a messy situation all around, I hung around people much older than me, I did drugs with men almost twice my age, however, usually Nicole was around for that part. At least she didn’t leave me alone with strange men, before the age of 13, I guess that was the cut-off. She decided I was mature enough, old enough, to hang out with men 8 years older than me. Luckily I had someone to protect me. Anthony tried to at least, to help me become my best. He wasn’t much better off than me in regards to a mother and he had a terrible drug problem. We experienced the same things in different ways. It felt like everything I went through, he did before me. Our lives were nowhere near identical. He grew up with his grandfather who fucked him out of his childhood, quite literally. I was addicted to Xanax, but that was nowhere near strong enough for his need to forget. Heroin was his kryptonite, he couldn’t get enough of it, but no matter how high he was, or how dope sick he was because he couldn’t find any, he made sure I was okay, he told me he loved me. Every day, that was the first thing I would hear him say. Our entire lives were straight ahead of us. He was poetic and artistic, and everything he said to me sounded like a quote from a book. He wanted his story heard, and he wanted me to be the one to hear it. It feels like I’m now responsible for telling the world. He never wanted anyone to know him, just who he was. He wasn’t all happy, and nice, he was a total asshole sometimes, I’m not sure that he was even aware. The love we had was one I’ll never forget though.

I’ve dropped my bottle and there’s broken glass on the ground now. I guess that’s what I get for being lost in these thoughts. It cut my leg but I can’t feel it. The glass reminds me of him. It reminds me of the night all of us got drunk and they were smashing glass bottles on the concrete. He screams “whoever runs through it gets $20 and this” as he’s holding a ½ empty bottle of rum. And some other guy told him he’d give home $100.00 to do it. So he runs through the things, falls, and has glass stuck from his feet to his knees. I’ll never forget that smell, blood, and vodka. I spent damn near two hours pulling glass out of his legs and feet and bandaging them up.

July Summer 2017

Today had to have been the best day of my life. Anthony took me to our spot, and we talked for hours, about nothing and everything, as always. We’re getting sober together. We’re going to do it. We promised. Today marks 1 day clean. Weed is an exception because fuck quitting that. I would do anything to make this man happy. I’ve known for a long time that he loves me, but today made me realize how much I truly love him too. I’m happy with him. My life is chaotic right now, but he’s my calm. He’s my peace. I can’t wait for the day we never have to leave each other again.

August 11 summer 2017

We’ve been sober for a month today. I want to go to this back to school party but Anthony is being a little bitch about it. I’ll convince him to go.

August 12 summer 2017

He died. On purpose. I made him go to the party and he overdosed. I thought he was just drunk. We cuddled on the porch swing until he fell over into my lap. He laid in my lap for 20 minutes before I knew. He had no pulse. He left a note in my back pocket. I can’t bring myself to look at it. I want to get rid of it.

My god damn room is a mess. Today marks 3 years since I lost the love of my life. I'm already drunk and it’s only 10 a.m. and of course, I, the drug addict, would take pills on a day like today. He would be so disappointed, but it’s finally come the time I read his suicide note, it’s finally the day, I’ve worked up the courage, I can do it. I need to do it. I must lock my door again, I can’t have another interruption. The door could’ve become unlocked. It’s locked, I’ve re-locked it twice now. I never imagined sitting on my bed, reading his note, his last words, whilst I’m a high and drunk mess. You’ll have that though, one of the greatest things Nicole ever taught me was to mask my feelings with drugs. I owe it to him. To read his last words. His voice still deserves to be heard.

Katrina,

I’m so sorry. I can’t keep doing this. I still kneel in the shower, and put my face down, letting the water puddle in my hands as if they could grow big enough to protect me from myself. The pain hits me randomly, it’s like I know I have lungs and I must be able to breathe, but I can’t, the air refuses to come. To this day, I get flashbacks, and I hate the feeling. It’s not normal. These are things you can’t forget. You want to rot because it’s better than being beat than being hurt. I have trouble believing anyone when they tell me they love me, but it’s easier with you. You told me I was your happiness and I gave you butterflies. My depression, my struggle, and my addiction gave you the determination to fight to make me happy. I’m sorry, but things are getting bad again. I should have never begun putting you through my pain. I don’t want help, I don’t want you to kill yourself fighting to save me, and I know you would if I didn’t stop you. You may not see it, and I doubt you will agree, but I’m doing what’s best. You have given me the greatest possible love, you have so much going for you, and you’re still so full of life, don’t lose that. Stay clean for me. I can’t fight anymore. Maybe that makes me a coward, but being a coward to the world is better than the pain that never leaves me, I’m tired of living in my hell. My eyes are full of tears writing this, and I can barely read. I owe my temporary feelings of joy to you. Anyone who knows me knows that if someone out there was going to save me, it would have been you. I can’t go on showering you in my pain, I can see the hurt in your eyes when you look at me. I hurt you because I’m so hurt I don’t know how to breathe anymore. If I die tonight, know that it’s for the best. Know that I haven’t truly been alive in a long time, that’s if I ever was at all. Don’t ruin yourself over me. Tell yourself what we had wasn’t real. Repeat to yourself that I never really loved you until you believe it. I treated you like a project, I manipulated you. Fool yourself into hating me. Because you’re going to see me in every single person. You’ll see some piece of me In everyone you meet. I know you, you’re going to look for me, whether you know you are or not, you’re going to seek me. If all of the words you said were true, you’re never going to give up looking for someone like me, you won’t find him. Find someone better. Find someone who fulfills you. You deserve a man who gives you the world even when he is falling apart. You deserve a love that doesn’t end, I want you to have those feelings again. I’m begging you not to look for me, I’m gone. I’m sorry that you’re never going to stop seeing pieces of me. Look for the good qualities, but I’m sure you’ll find the bad ones too. You’ll find my sense of humor in every funny movie, and all the chick flicks will remind you of our love. You’ll find my eyes in the face of a stranger and you’ll see my smile on little kids playing at the park. I’ll always be here for you whether I’m physically present or not. I was never sober. I told you I was because I knew if I got you started I could live with myself for leaving.

In reading this I thought I’d feel relieved, possibly ready to let the last of him go. But now I’m lost, more so than before. Now I’m angry, not with him, but with the world. You can’t hate someone for killing themselves, but you can hate the world for making them do it. You can hate the god or goddess or gods or goddesses you do or don’t believe in for letting it happen. I want to hate him, but I can’t because he’s not here, he took away my power to hate him, and so now I hate everything else. I hate everyone else. He wasn’t lying when he said I would see him in everyone. I see his good qualities somewhere in everyone, I see his bad qualities in every bad person but, I see him in everyone. It’s like when he died he became the universe, the universe swallowed him whole and he left a part of him in everyone. He picked who got his best qualities as if he knew I would find them. I do see his smile on the little kids playing at the park. I see his eyes in the only other man I’ve ever truly loved, they’re not the same, but the feelings in them are similar. I find his humor in every comedy. Sometimes I think maybe what he said was true, that he’d always be there for me whether physically present or not, because sometimes, on some of my worst days, I feel him. For just a minute, I can let myself pretend he isn’t gone. I can let myself pretend he never left this earth. Then my whole world comes crashing right back down. He swore to me he was sober. He promised. I think he only lied so I would be okay. I resent him for telling me to hate him. Because I can’t hate him, I want to so badly, but It’s impossible. Any pain he put me through was nothing compared to how he felt.

That's enough about him for now, as we're going to have to re-open that discussion later. Peach vodka sounds fantastic right now, I'll have a whipped pinnacle and peach smoothie. I could not have possibly made it any stronger than it is. Thank god for mind-altering substances, because quite frankly, I would be dead without them.

Nicole, if you're reading this, how did you do what you did? How were you content with yourself in the way you raised my sisters and me? Did you plan it all, or did you just go with the flow and lie when necessary? You never left a bruise, hell, you never even hit us. You scarred us permanently though, my sisters may not see it yet, but I do. Instead of giving us scars that would heal physically and show your crimes, you gave us invisible ones. The ones that people will deny us having for the rest of our lives. The ones that will always haunt us when we see you. You gave us scars that we can't get covered up with a pretty tattoo. You may not have hurt them as badly as me, but they don't deserve your games. I don't want them to experience even half of what I did.

Her games have left me empty, shallow, broken, and confused. I'm not confused about what she did or who she is, I'm confused about why. Why wasn't I good enough to deserve her love and compassion? What did I do so wrong? Why was I the one chosen to take on her role and try to fix my own life, and protect myself from someone who was supposed to protect and love me? I was forced to grow up so she could go backward. She wanted to live vicariously through me as if she wanted to become me. Everything I did, she did too. All the drugs I did, she just had to try, sometimes do them with me. Nothing was too far for her. She never told my dad though, "don't let your father find out" she would constantly imbed that into my head, it got to the point where I had become two people. One for my mother and one for my father. I remember breaking down one day, crying to myself because I felt like no one knew me and I didn't know who I was, and it was at that moment that I lost my sense of self. I'll probably never know who I am, or why. I have no clue who I want to be. I don't know how to become someone for myself, I've learned to feel as if I must adapt to everyone else.

Nicole told me everything and I mean everything. You may think, "oh that's not so bad, she's being open." Perhaps there are some things you should never tell your children. Some people should never be parents.

She loved to tell me how she was going to be so lost and sad when her "babies"(children all over the age of 10) leave her(by this she meant to grow up and go to school). How she liked sleeping around with all kinds of different men because it was fun and she was good at manipulating them. She told me about her sexual experiences and I wish she wouldn't have sometimes. She told me all kinds of things about her sex life, even asked for my commentary on the experience. Then later she changed many of her stories and said she was raped which had made me feel responsible if that's what had happened because I knew so maybe I should have known. She told me about the men she was dating and even introduced me to some, made sure I knew them well. Her 38-year-old boyfriend talked dirty to me, and the 36-year-old boyfriend did drugs with me, while we were living with him. He was a big mess, but not abusive. However, as soon as she got tired of him she claimed he beat her. She claimed he was abusive so that everyone would pity her. But, she was a liar. He never hurt her. I would have seen it, I would have known. Once again, she had made me question my entire life.

I know about everyone she hates though there aren't many. Now whether it was authentic or a horrible attempt at making me feel sympathy for her, I truly didn't know. I hate knowing everything and having been forced to be her diary, being forced to let her live through me, but she changed me to be what her idea of a kid was. It wasn't a kid at all. She refused to fix any of her problems, no matter how hard I tried to help her, she just wanted to be responsibility-free forever, and I got in the way of that, so she made me her excuse to act like a child. She forced herself to puke and bragged about it. Talking about how much weight she could lose and how quickly. It gave me my sort of eating disorder of feeling strong or like I achieved something by how much I was able to puke up. Still to this day, it's some stupid competition in my head. Drugs are her favorite, they were then too. At Least then it was just Benzos, weed, and hallucinogens. I was the only one who knew, that was stressful, keeping that secret. She constantly made me be someone I wasn't, and she forced me to be someone else for my dad. But I never did know who I was. There was "party secret keeper" me and there was "the most innocent child to exist" me, but I never knew who "me" was without being forced to put on an act one way or another.

chapter 3: The worst of you.

You broke my heart, but I should have known it was coming. It was too often that I looked into your pretty green-blue ocean eyes just to find them glazed over in a drug-induced haze. The last month with you made up for the years of torture. The torture of not knowing where you were or who you were with. Watching you burst into nothing but rage because you couldn’t find your next fix. I never wanted anything but to save you. And when you offered to be sober so long as I was, of course, I took you upon it. I thought you meant it, though I always had my doubts. 3 am is when most of our story was told. You called me every morning at 3, without a doubt, I could always expect that.

July 21st, 2017.

Time 3:00 am

I wake up in your arms and lay there silently as I’m sure you dream peaceful dreams that match the calm state of your face, I still see the shadow of mental exhaustion under your eyes. I breathe slowly, as to not disrupt your sweet dreams. I love you.

July 22nd, 2017

Time 3:00 am

You open your beautiful ocean blue-green eyes to start the beginning of your new adventure. Our fingers intertwined, our eyes locked as if we couldn’t look away. I couldn't ask for a better feeling. I love you.

July 23rd, 2017

Time 3:00 am

The scent of chocolate fills the room. It happens to be your favorite drink, surprisingly, hot chocolate, a drink no one would expect someone like you to like. A half-smile spreads across your face, the smile that tells me at this moment you’re happy. I love you.

July 24th, 2017

Time 3:00 am

I hold you close, but maybe not close enough, feeling the warmth and comfort of your body against mine made me happy though. You make me feel complete. I love you.

July 25th, 2017

Time 3:00 am

You wake me up with a small forehead kiss. You seem to be happy today. That makes me smile. I love you.

July 26th, 2017

Time 3:00 am

The ring sits perfectly on my finger. With it, I promise you I’ll be okay, and I’ll follow our dreams. You have to leave soon, but I don't want you to leave. I never do. I love you.

August 5th, 2017

Time 3:00 am

You're restlessly tossing and turning, I’m sure you haven't slept yet, you’re still withdrawing. I lean over and put my arm across you and place my body against yours. I worry because I wake up to the sound of you crying every time we sleep together. I try to pull you into me and you rest your head on my chest and quietly sob, pretending you’re just sleeping so I won’t notice. You’re stuck in this terrible life. I’m sorry. I love you.

August 6th, 2017

Time 3:00 am

Laying on the couch. I could see you staring at the wall, I felt you caressing my hand, softly. You kiss my cheek softly and then give me a warm smile. I see the pain in your eyes. It shatters my soul more every single second I look at you. You have to leave again soon. I want you to stay with me. I love you.

August 7th, 2017

Time 3:00 am

You look like you've been crying for hours. I'm afraid you’re not okay again. I know you won’t tell me. I love you

August 8th, 2017

Time 3:00 am

you tell me that you don't want to get out of bed today. You tell me that you love me and that you're gonna be okay. I should know better but I believe you because I want to. I love you.

August 9th, 2017

Time 3:00 am

You look like you’re on drugs again, but you won’t tell me that. Your face is pale and you’re always shivering. I love you.

August 10th, 2017

Time 3:00 am

I have yet to see you smile. You look at me over video chat and I know that you're fighting it, you can’t wait to congratulate me on one month of sobriety, and I can’t wait to congratulate you. In-person. Your kisses are always soft but lately, they have a chill to them. The warmth from you has disappeared, I’m worried that you want drugs again. You told me “I’ll always be here for you whether I’m physically present or not.” That makes me feel better. Maybe a party will cheer you up, I have a surprise planned for you tonight. I love you.

August 11, 2017

Time 6:00 am

You died at 1:53 am

I tried to wake you up but you don't stir. The party went silent. The pain in my chest is excruciating. I shook you and your rubber-banded bag fell to the floor. I hugged you harder as if it could bring you back. There is nothing I could do but cry. 15 minutes later I dialed 9-1-1 but I couldn’t speak, I cried so hard that no sound could even come out anymore. The sobs were so quiet they were loud. The ambulance got there, they put you on a stretcher. At first, I refused to let go of you, holding onto your hand, hugging your body with mine as if I could give you the life in me. It was so cold. D.O.A. I love you... The bed feels empty with you gone. The couch feels too big without you next to me. And the porch swing looks like a grave. I can’t go to the party house anymore. My hands feel cold without yours in them. I cried all night. The tears stopped coming out after a while, but I still sobbed. Your scent fills my nose and I cry more. I could have saved you. I'm empty without you. I should have known better. Your last words haunt me. I’m not sober anymore, I’m sorry. The note you left, I don’t think I can ever read it. I love you.

August 3rd, 2018

Time 3:00 am

I had a dream about you. You looked so happy, your wings matched your darkness. But Seeing your smile, your real one, made me feel good, so good that you are no longer only a dark spot in my memory.

August 5th, 2018

Time 3:00 am

I made your favorite, hot chocolate, and a bacon peanut butter sandwich. I wish you had a grave, but they turned you to ash and put you god knows where. Even though you aren't here, the universe still reminds me of you. Even though I know you won't be waking up this time. I love you.

August 10th, 2018

Time 3:00 am

I went to our spot today. I cried when I got home, I hurt so bad. I miss you more than anything. I love you. It's almost been a year.

August 11th, 2018

Time 3:00 am

The first anniversary of losing you. I refuse to accept that you’re gone. Just tell me you’re coming for me. Tell me you’re in some 3rd world country just hiding out like we always talked about, and you’re gonna come find me when I’m 18. I want this to all be a bad dream.

August 12th, 2018

Time 3:00 am

It's getting too hard to sleep. I slept in one of your t-shirts. It smelled just like your favorite cologne. I held it just like I would have held you. I love you. I miss you.

August 13th, 2018

Time 3:00 am

Your mom called to make sure I was okay, your parents are back in New England now. They miss you, it hurt to hear her cry. I guess she did love you in her way. I love you.

August 14th, 2018

Time 3:00 am

I'm going crazy without you. This isn’t allowed to be real. I miss you. I miss your smell. I want you back. I love you.

August 15th, 2018

Time 3:00 am

I visited our spot again yesterday. Remember what you told me? “I’ll always be here for you whether I’m physically present or not”. Those words haunt me, you spoke them the day before left me forever. I should have known. I wish I knew. Maybe then I could have saved you. I love you.

August 16th, 2018

Time 3:00 am

I can't stand being without you anymore. I love you.

August 11th, 2019

Time 3:00 am

It’s been two years. I miss you more than I ever thought was humanly possible. Please come back. I think I’m in love again. It scares me, but I know you’d like him.

August 12th, 2019

Time 3:00 am

No one gets that you weren’t the best thing in the universe, that you were an asshole sometimes, you weren’t always a good person. But you were good. You made life something more than it was and you showed me who I could be. You showed me who I am, in your own fucked up way that included you dying. And for that, I owe you.

August 3rd, 2020

Time 3:00 am

I've finally read the note you left me. I read it over and over. I’m crying so much writing this I can’t even see. Come back. I miss you. I love you.

August 5th, 2020

Time 3:00 am

Why did you have to go and do that? This all must be a fucking joke. I love you.

August 8th, 2020

Time 3:00 am

The day that marks 3 years since you left me is coming up quickly. I don’t want it to come. I don’t want it to happen. I don’t want to accept this. I miss our talks at our spot. I love you.

August 11th, 2020

Time 1:53 am

It’s been 3 years. Today is terrible. Come back. I love you.

I guess your anger is just as much a part of your story as your love. You loved me, that much everyone who knew you knew, but you had a funny way of showing it sometimes. The drugs clouded your memory, or at least you wanted me to think they did. Like the time you shot at someone who stole off of you. Your excuse was being high, but not until you knew how much it scared me. I’m not sure what you thought would happen had you shot him, but I don’t think you cared regardless. Maybe you always knew what you were doing, and you were too tired to control yourself. No matter what, a part of me will always be infatuated with you and a piece of my heart will always belong to you. Our story is one I can never forget, but as time goes on I see more flaws, I find more wrongdoings, and I learn to love you less.

Chapter 4

How have we gotten to this point? I woke up today in a great mood, but of course, Nicole couldn’t allow that. It’s been months since I spoke to her, but she’s pinned my best friend and his mother against me. She and her so-called husband say I told them I was going to turn them in. My best friend who deals drugs, and his mother who condones it and takes part. I know what you’re thinking, why the fuck are you, friends, with these people? Quite frankly, I don’t know, I guess I always have been. My best friend, Aaron, was the first guy I ever had a crush on. He was the only person who showed up to my 13th birthday party and he never did me wrong. He took my weed virginity, and he stuck up for me. He didn’t let kids bully me, though they sure tried. He didn’t back down, sometimes it felt like he was the only person on my side. If it weren’t for him my middle school experience would not have been nearly as mediocre as it was. At some points in life, he was all I had, and still, to this day, I can go to him with whatever and he does his best to help. Though, ever since Nicole started her bullshit and I told the police about her abuse, she has been trying to sway him to take her side. She’s good at doing that, she knows how to manipulate just about anyone. She had our entire family fooled for years, had them convinced she wasn’t a terrible person or on drugs.

I guess now is a good time to bring up Josh, the man who took my virginity, if you want to put it that nicely. By that I mean the 19-year-old who forcibly had sex with 13-year-old me, whilst I was high on pills in Victoria’s closet. Victoria was my BFF, we did everything together, mostly drugs. Sometimes random friends of friends would stay at her house, and one time we made a huge mistake. I still remember the feeling, being dragged from bed and onto the ground, through the closet doors. I can still hear how loud the sliding door shut. I remember how it felt, my clothes being ripped off of me, sloppily and just good enough for him to get to where he wanted. He clasped his hand around my throat to keep me pinned down as if I wasn’t already paralyzed by the pills he offered me. Surely I took them, I was too high to know better. I didn’t feel anything, but that was the torture of it. I knew what was happening, and I was unable to stop it. My body was motionless, but he got off on it. His evil grin and cold eyes are permanently ingrained in my brain, I’ll never forget his face because that’s all I could look at. I’ll never forget it because I’m forced to remember. Good thing I never felt it, I’m sure that would be a whole other nightmare. I’m sure you’re wondering how this relates to Nicole, but let me tell you, I told her about the invasion of my body, and she doubted me. I told her what happened and she told me I was wrong. She told me I wasn’t that high, I could have stopped it if I didn’t want it. She told me I wanted it. I the 13-year-old, of course, believed my mom, only to figure out it was sexual assault 2 years later. Nicole of course did absolutely nothing, as per usual. She could have saved me that night. I called her, I wanted to go home because I didn’t feel safe and I thought I was too high, she came and saw me, she told all the people there I was fine, even went as far as saying I was faking it. Maybe she’s the reason I got raped that night, maybe he took my silence as consent because he thought I was sober. Maybe he was rough because he thought my silence meant I liked it. Maybe I only imagined saying stop, perhaps it never came out of my mouth. Or perhaps my pleas to stop convinced him to continue. How could I know anyways? I was in a drug-fueled haze, maybe I remember wrong and I never said stop. I guess that’s the downfall of getting high, you never know what happened. Everything is foggy and the details are blurry. It’s like trying to remember a dream after you wake up, you wonder what happened and the longer you’re awake the blurrier the memory gets. The longer you’re sober, the blurrier your high adventures become. Just because I’ve been thinking about this long enough to write it down, anxiety is jolting through my veins. It starts at the back of my throat, pushing its way up from the inside out, a sting that becomes so much more. The line between what is fear and what is real is becoming blurrier by the second. It feels as if my words are stuck in my throat, stopping me from screaming, from letting my feelings out. This is my brain's way of telling me my words aren’t worth much right now, quite frankly it’s not wrong. He tore my soul to pieces as my pleas ran through his mind as “convince me” “keep going” “I like it”. I can still see his cold, hungry eyes in my dreams sometimes. Imagining his face sends shivers down my spine as I continually play what he did to me over and over again as if something could change the more I think into it. He broke me, crushed my being, my soul, and outright stole my voice. I can’t possibly continue to look at myself in disgust over this man, because it is he who should rot, not me. I’m worth more than becoming the perfect victim, I choose to be a victor. Sometimes I don't think I can do it, my motivation is wanting to be further in life than anyone who has ever hurt me, and I'm already there.

Chapter 5: The Man Who Loved Me Once

The man who loved me once, the one who broke my heart into pieces. Leo tore me to pieces, but I thought I was in love with him. It took a month in a psychiatric facility to conclude that he never loved me. I was 15 with a 21-year-old man. He convinced me it was okay along with Nicole constantly praising me for it. “Damn haha you are just like me”

February 3rd, 2018

I told him to stop, I told him no. I told him I didn't want to do this. I begged and pleaded but that meant nothing to him. He didn't stop, he didn't understand “no”, my begs and pleads for him to stop rang through his ears as “convince me”. His right hand roamed my body, It made me shiver. His left hand went between covering my mouth to shut me up, and pushing me back up against the brick wall. He kissed my lips roughly to silence me, pushing me hard against the wall. His fingers scratched into my skin, making me squirm. I couldn't move much though, the pills he put in my drink prevented me from doing that, what a lovely redo of the last man who hurt me. This one at least did not do it with people around, though it was dark, we were in a public place. He called me baby girl and told me "I am going to fuck you so good". I showered 3 times today, and no one questioned it. I did not eat anything for a few days, and no one questioned it. Maybe you did not mean to hurt me, maybe you thought I liked it. I still love you.

February 27th, 2018

He hit me today, it's not the first time. Hell, it is not even the second or third time, honestly, I have lost count. He loves me. He apologized and then we cuddled and watched a movie. He will change, I know I can fix him. He never means to hurt me. He is a good man and people do not want to try to understand. I have to cover the bruises, good thing it is winter and I can wear a hoodie every day. He makes me sad but he does not mean it. He loves me and I know it.

March 15th, 2018

Today he took me to meet his parents. I had to lie and say I was 18. I pretended I was in college. He made me. He just did not want his parents to give him shit like they always do. He said it was fine that we had an age difference. I trust him, I would do anything for him. I love him.

March 28th, 2018

Today he tried to drown me. It was my fault. I remember passing out and waking up with no clothes. I guess he put them in the dryer because they were wet. He wasn't himself when he did it, I am sure there is just something going on mentally. I can fix him. I can help him. I know he loves me. I know he can get help, I want to help him.

April 3, 2018

I saw him today, our visit was cut short because Nicole wanted me to come home. She knows about him and me, she just missed me because I have been at friends’ houses and with Leo all week. He was pretty mean today, he grabbed me by the throat and I am beginning to think that he needs more help than I can give him. My throat is sore and it is bruised on the side. I will have to wear my hair down. He loves me so much that the pain is worth it. I do not want to lose him. The way he strokes my hair and holds me, while he is apologizing after he has done something that harmed me is so sweet. I love it when he buys me flowers and sometimes he is good for a while. The pain is worth it for the love.

April 8th, 2018

He raped me. He put a glass bottle inside of me, and my vagina bled. He got me drunk, and we started making out, then he fucked me, relentlessly, roughly. He bruised me. In between my legs. My dad picked me up, it was the worst experience of my life. I still love him and I do not want to anymore. I am being punished for it because Nicole will not tell my dad she knew everything. I am being punished for being raped. I am broken. I need help.

April 24th, 2018

I spent nearly a month in a psychiatric facility, it has helped me a lot. My roommate was awesome. I had a nurse in there, a youngish, beautiful, and kind African American woman, she is the reason I am still alive. I am so grateful to have met that woman and another one of the therapists there. It has helped me so incredibly much. I hate that I am still being punished for being raped because I was not, not allowed there. I had permission. I did not do anything without my mom's permission, yet she and my dad punished me for being raped. As in it was my fault. As if I did it to myself. How was I supposed to know any better with Nicole telling me it was okay? I have grown to hate my dad, I make sure he knows it and I feel no remorse for what I say. He sucks and I wish I was just with my mom. I still love Leo, but he never loved me, except once.

I have grown so much since then. I used to think so highly of Nicole. I thought it was awesome to have a mom that helps you sneak around and break rules. I thought so highly of her and I wanted to be exactly like her. I wanted to smoke and drink and be high all of the time because I thought it was so cool. I thought it was normal at that. I just could not realize that she was no good. My dad was the only one who wanted what was best for me, and still to this day he does. He was the one who saw how poorly I was doing and made an effort towards getting me better. He did not even know half of it and from the time he found out and forward, he gave me all of the acceptance and care and love I needed. I regret ever being so mean to him. I know you are wondering what the hell I said to him, so I will make a list.

-I hate you

-You are a terrible dad

-I will never speak to you again

-You are the reason I am so messed up

-I never want to see you again, you suck and I fucking hate you, don't you dare tell me to watch my mouth, you don't get to tell me what to do because you aren't my dad anymore {then I called him by his first name}

-I do not want you in my life

I hate myself for the things I said to my dad. He is one of the kindest, most caring, and genuinely good human beings I know. He does everything he can to make sure my sisters and I can have what we want. He has a job therefore a steady income. He gets us any reasonable thing we want. I am so lucky to have a dad like him because not everyone gets a good dad, I love my dad. He and I finally have an amazing father, daughter relationship and I feel so much better. I wish I never said those hurtful awful things to him, I wish that Nicole never ingrained my brain with lies about him making him seem bad. Now my sisters are saying very similar but even meaner hurtful things to my dad. He does so well for them and they hate him because Nicole is good at brainwashing.

Dad, if you are reading this, I want you to know, it was never your fault for anything that happened. You could not have known, Nicole manipulates well. I love you and you are an awesome dad.

My mind is in a muddle. I can not seem to think straight for some reason. Nicole manipulated me so much I question my trauma. she told my dad and me that I faked being raped so I would not be in trouble. When I went to the party, she said it was real for a while, until it was no longer convenient for her to use. "My poor baby, I feel so bad seeing my daughter shower 5 times a day". Then when it was not getting her attention anymore, she said I was lying.

I wish I knew what to do with the thoughts that are flooding my brain right now. Once you become happy, and you come to be at peace with yourself, you can be okay. However, your demons stick with you forever. Once an addict, always an addict, but that does not make you a bad person. It shows how strong you are when you get sober. Your demons follow you, but you can restrain them, you can imprison them and throw them into the back of your brain. That alone makes you a survivor. Being a victim of rape and having PTSD is just the same. It is hard to suppress the memories, and it is even harder to work through them, but it is possible, I know it is because I am doing it. Your demons follow you, you have to realize that they do not own you.

Nicole is part of the reason I am mentally ill. I hate her for that. I hate her for many things. I wish her the worst. However, I am not going to let her win. I do not hate her, I hate what she did, I hate the way she groomed me into her idea of a good daughter. I hate how she manipulated me into believing my dad was no good, and he drank too much and he ignored us on the weekends for shooting/hunting. I regret not letting my dad have a relationship with me for years. She is not winning this one. I hate everything she did, but I will leave it to someone else to hate her because I am sure other people do.

I have always been in love with Leo, but as time passes by, I realize that nothing he did was good or okay. He was only ever "nice" to manipulate me. I wish I had known then what I know now. I am slowly getting over him and trying to ignore the intrusive thoughts about him. He was like a drug, and I got addicted.

My current boyfriend is amazing, and I could not have asked for someone better.

Chapter 6: This Is Today

Hypomania can be nice, I was hypomanic for like a month, keyword fucking “was”. I’d like to clear the misconception that mania means you’re happy, it doesn’t. I can’t be confrontational right now because no matter what it’s about I’m approaching it like a fight even if you’re approaching it like a discussion. It’s one hell of a fucking high and if you’ve ever done hard drugs you know that it’s usually not good the whole time you’re on a binge after a week or so. You know it’s more intense the more you do and the less you can function. Mania is such an intense thing that it makes you feel like you are on drugs when you aren’t, and as someone who used to do a lot of them, that’s scary, because it brings back so many memories, and for me, that fuels the mania more, it is just feeding the fire. Okay, so imagine like a 2-month long drug binge or drinking (alcohol) binge with the given random withdrawals and mood swings, The comedowns, and the intense parts where you think you’re on top of the world and life could not possibly get better.. Okay? Now imagine having no control over when you feel like you’re coming down when you feel high or drunk when you feel hungover when you are high or drunk at all. Imagine 24/7 constant torture of not knowing what’s next. Don’t fucking romanticize mania, don’t romanticize this. Here I am, in my bathtub, with a bottle of cheap vodka that tastes more like the smell of hand sanitizer than any alcohol at all, and I’m on 2 bars of Xanax (I was coming up on a year sober). Here I am, hot water pouring onto my trembling body in hope that it will ease my trembling, it feels like I’ve been in here for days and it’s only been hours, yet all of my tears are gone. I’ve drained myself of tears and I can’t seem to cry anymore. It's just a dull sob, heavy breathing, shaky hands, a blotchy face, and a trembling body. You think my symptoms would be numbed but I feel like they’re more lifelike now. I feel trapped within them, as if they own me, just like he owned me. I wish I could say he never did but for a while there I was stuck in his abyss. I haven’t slept in way too fucking long. Yes, I am on meds, no they are not working. I’m talking to my psychiatrist as soon as I can. Last night and these past few hours(it’s 3:48 a.m.) have been terrible, I’ve been up talking and pacing and shaking and crying all night in utter paranoia full of what I'm self-aware enough to know are only delusions, going from laughter to crying excessively to panic attacks that feel like the end of the world, to pouring my heart out to a girl I’ve been friends with for a week and telling her all of my trauma(shout out to you dude thank you) to trying to buy fucking animals(specifically a monkey) off of the Internet. Even though I only collectively have $6.00. Mania is embarrassing yourself publicly or even just within your household and not fucking remembering what you did or how you did it or why. Mania is bad life choices and excessive cleaning and exhaustion and impulsivity, for example: “wanna get drunk” yeah I’m drunk rn but sure why not. “Wanna have sex?” Yeah okay “ I don’t have a condom” that’s cool just pull out or don’t I don’t care. Mania is hurting the people you love because they can see how lost you are and how broken you are and how you can’t see that you need help. Mania is researching, stalking, fucking obsessively trying to find your abuser/rapist on the internet because you’re curious as to how he’s doing. Mania is trying to convince everyone around you that you’re fine because you want to be fine because you don’t want it to happen again until you’re so not fine you can’t avoid it anymore. Sometimes you just get stuck in fucking mania and you can’t get out. Sometimes you get hypomanic and start a book then as it progresses into mania you write more and more *cough* me *cough*.

Life has never exactly been easy, and I’ve always had difficulties concluding that nothing that’s happened is my fault, and truly it is not. However, blaming myself has always been easier than blaming everyone else. In complete honesty, Nicole ruined so much of my life and damaged my psyche. The way I view the world will never be innocent, my innocence is gone and I’m not sure I could get it back if I tried to. How much of my life would have been different had I not been an addict? What if Nicole never was abusive? What if I was never raped? What if I did fewer drugs? What if I never told my dad about Nicole? I could go on with the questions, but that probably won’t get us anywhere. It’s funny to think of who I could have become. Maybe I would be a sheltered little bitch with no sense of humor or sense of self. Maybe I would still to this day be a drug addict. The what if’s don’t matter, because they are simply that, what if’s. They don’t mean anything, but my past means everything. I don’t hold grudges against anyone for anything, I try not to hate, but I do strongly dislike Nicole. I do wish she wasn’t such a raging bitch. I wish she could just stop being a piece of shit. I wish my life wasn’t destroyed, yet I am beyond thankful for how beautifully broken I am.

I'll have such loud intrusive thoughts that they feel like voices. It's like there are two people in my head sometimes 3 or 4, constantly talking over one other, and then me trying to get them to stop long enough for me to hear myself think. I will also have snippets of words, phrases, phantom sounds, or music. I begin to hear whole words, phrases, even random sounds, and parts of songs. Sometimes I don’t even know the songs. “Just shut up, no one likes you”

“do it anyway, don’t be a pussy”

“they’ll think you’re crazy, be careful who you tell”

“secret secret secret”

“stop thinking about him”

“don’t stop thinking about it”

I’m sure the thoughts, the voices I’m hearing don’t sound all that terrible, but they are. You’re probably wondering why I let them bother me.

Just imagine constantly hearing the same things over and over and over and instead of letting the voice become a redundant muttering, it becomes more meaningful every time you hear it. They become more hurtful. They become louder with every waking breath. This form of existence is painful. The world wants me to be the same thing I want to be, but I don’t know if this is even me.

I struggle a lot with that. It makes me feel like I led two lives and honestly you’re one of the only people who heard about a lot of my “high adventures” I’ll call them, and I do apologize for telling you about me doing drugs and stuff, you were too young to be hearing about that(you aren’t too young now). However, because I am an addict I’ve made a lot of mistakes. And I did drugs to cope with my existence and how secret I had to keep anything that had to do with Nicole.

The voices in my head won’t shut up. They scream and yell, and go in circles taking turns talking, seeing who can be the loudest. My head is constantly racing. There is constantly something going on in my head. I just want it all to stop. The only things to drown them out are drugs. Maybe I will start taking benzos again, that calmed them last time.

[ladyhistorypod]

Episode 1: The Pilot Pilot

Sources:

Amelia Earhart

Children’s Museum Indianapolis

NASA

The New Yorker

Time Magazine

History Channel

National Geographic

NBC News

The Night Witches

History Channel

Museum of Flight

History Collection

“The Very Few” – Guardian article

Jackie Cochran

National Aviation Hall of Fame

PBS

Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum

Digital Trends

Further Reading: Jackie Cochran: An Autobiography & Jackie Cochran: Pilot in the Fastest Lane

Click below for the transcript!

Haley: You’re trying to force my wisdom out of me that’s not gonna work well. Lexi: She’s trying to force us to become Chicago improv-ers (Alana laughing) Haley: Yeah Lexi (laughing): This is her dream. Alana’s dream is not to do improv but to be a podcaster like a Chicago improv-er Alana (laughing, quietly): Actually, yeah Haley: It’s so funny cuz she was just like I wrote the script and I was like… script? Lexi: There’s a script? We have a script? Haley: I act now? (Alana laughing) I barely read. (Lexi laughing) Like after that doing the trailer this is gonna be bananas for when I’m – when I’m reading my notes Lexi: Archaeologists don’t read. Archaeologists can’t read. Alana: Archaeologists don’t read. Lexi: We can’t read. Haley: I also realized Lexi just picks like the best sounding… whatever Lexi: The best sounding banter and then I put in the intro music INTRO MUSIC Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History: the good, the bad, and the ugly ladies you missed in history class. I’m here with Lexi. Lexi, what are you reading? Lexi: The instructions on how to turn off this Zoom call because I need to get outta here. (Alana and Haley laughing) Alana: I’m also in the same virtual space as Haley. Haley, what are you eating? Haley: I had some chips and yogurt earlier. Lexi: Together? Alana: Chips and yogurt? Haley: Yeah. That’s like a REAL Persian thing. We can get into that… Oh, the stunned faces, I shouldn’t have– I should’ve lied. (Lexi and Alana laughing) Haley: I should’ve lied okay, I’m eating burgers and fries. I’m eating mac n cheese. Insert whatever. Alana: and I’m Alana and I use 150% of the garlic a recipe calls for. Haley: (making airplane sounds) Lexi:  What sound does an airplane make? Alana (quietly): I don’t even remember Haley: (repeats airplane sound) (Lexi laughing) Alana: You guys it’s been so long since I’ve been on an airplane I don’t even remember what noise airplanes make. Lexi: What’s your favorite airplane food? Alana: My favorite airplane food? Um… sometimes when you fly Southwest they give you Oreos Lexi: What? That’s incredible. Haley: I like bringing my own snacks. Like I’ve gone pro. Like I’ve even brought a thermos with mac and cheese in it that’s like still warm so then I can just like snack on the plane. Alana: How do you get that through security? Haley: It’s food it’s not liquid Alana: What kind of cheese do you have that’s not liquid? Haley: Like mac n cheese is like– Lexi: The cheese isn’t liquid Haley: Yeah Lexi: Unless you’re getting like Kraft fake cheese Haley: No, I do like– Lexi: Can you hear my brother screaming in the background of this banter? Alana: No Haley: Whatever. No like I do like Annie’s white shell mac n cheese in my dino thermos… Haley: No I get stopped almost every time to the point where my parents have made fun of me that I just get stopped so now I'm just… Alana: You’re on some list Haley: They’re gonna look through my bag anyway might as well… Lexi: You probably are on a list. Haley: … be like this is my mac and cheese. Lexi: Your name is the same name as some criminal. Like… (laughing) oopsy poopsies Haley: That’s like my cousin’s name he’s like same terrorist or some terrorist like has the same name as his and he's gotten stopped before one time was like with thirty of us and I was like well. Alana: That happened to my uncle when he was eight. They were going into… they were going into Israel and they stopped him and they were like we're gonna ask him a question like he’s on the same– this terrorist list like it's the same name. Lexi: I was detained at the airport in Israel. Kind of. Alana: Jesus, Lexi what did you do?!. Lexi: So I was with a group, I was coming back from a dig… In case you don't know we're all archaeologists I feel like I've made that joke already. Haley: Oh yeah wait shouldn’t we intro like who we are though. Lexi: Sure. Well. Let me tell my story first. Alana: Haley I'm going to kick you off the podcast. Haley (quietly): No you’re not Lexi: I was getting I was leaving the excavation… And with people from a different school but the most of the people on the dig were from my school but only I was leaving with the people from the other school and so when I got to the airport the nice Israeli woman asked if I was with those people and I said no I'm not with them because I went to a different school but then when they got through they said they were with me and they caught us in our lie and so they detained for three hours. Haley: That's why you got detained?! Lexi: Yes. Haley: I got detained for looking like me and having my name. Lexi: We all have our different qualities. Alana: I have never been detained at an airport. They make me so nervous Haley: Well whoopty freakin’ doo Alana: Hashtag white privilege. My white privilege is I've never been detained at an airport. Oh that's not true I mean it's kind of true but my dad... we were coming back from Costa Rica and they have those like passport they scan your face and they scan your passports on our way back into LA. And my DAD, who, Lexi leave this in so that I can call him out in front of the whole world he made a face at the passport scanning machine and it gave him a big X over his face and I flipped my shit I freaked the fuck out. Haley: I've gotten like five of those Xes. Alana: Cuz like it doesn't match I was so scared everyone else got matched and I was like what is gonna happen? Airports already make me so nervous in general and yes we didn’t like have a flight to catch or anything cuz we were home but like… Lexi: Airports are nerve-wracking. They’re very anxiety-inducing. Alana: So much anxiety… anyway. Lexi:  And the food's always bad. Alana: In airports? Lexi: In the airport, yes. Haley: That's why I bring my own food I bring so many snacks I should honestly have a different pouch for snacks at this point with how many snacks I bring. Lexi: The only thing I consume in airports is Starbucks. Alana: Yeah Starbucks quality tends to like stay normal in airports because it's already like meh… don't leave that in I don't want my Starbucks overlords to come for me. Lexi: These lady pilots didn't get Starbucks. Alana: No they didn't get Starbucks. Who wants to go first? Lexi: Who wants to tell us about a lady? (Dead Air) Alana: I love this dead air. I love that we're not on radio so there's not gonna be any dead air thanks Lexi. Lexi: I might put in dead air. Just to– Just to… Alana: Just to put that in? Lexi: You know what's dead air? (Dead air) Lexi: Do you know what’s dead air? Haley: The route that Amelia Earhart was supposed to fly over. Lexi: I was going to say all of these lady pilots. Alana: Are yours dead? Because I don't think all of mine are dead yet. Lexi: Mine is dead and Haley’s might be dead or might be an alien from space we don't really know. Haley: We get into that. Alana: No but if she’s an alien from space we don't know their like lifespans Haley: Guys, don't steal my thunder I’m gonna get into all that. Lexi: Alright. So are you going first with your– would you like to take the dead air– take the dead air away. Haley: I'll jump right in. So obviously, someone had to cover Amelia Earhart and I'm like a dumbass like I'm just gonna put it out there. I am– I still need some working on in the brain area and when I was little like my brain works in strange ways and you’ll learn about this as we go on with this podcast and even I think you two don't even understand how my brain works exactly but I'll remember things just in the pockets of my brain folds from like when I was a small child. When I was like learning about Amelia Earhart in like the elementary school days for like women's history month I spelled her name as air A-I-R. and heart H-E-A-R-T. And that's– Alana (quietly): Love that for you Haley: Absolutely not how you spell her name. It’s E-A-R-H-R-T. Alana: A-R-T. Haley: A-R-T. Lexi: Still can’t spell it. Haley: Still can’t spell it... (Alana laughing) Haley: While looking at the words on my screen. And I typed it in like my child version way into my Word doc and it wasn't coming out and I was just looking at it like why isn't this working for me. Googled it, got like air heart sign like all this astrology stuff like not Amelia so I just typed in airheart because I was on a roll with myself. Regardless, her nickname is Lady Lindy so I’m gonna call her Lady Lindy for this, because it’s Lady History I can’t not. So I wanna preface this that I– because with work and finishing up a summer course I had like about a day and a half to write these notes. And all my sources are decent like they're not– I didn't have time to like read a whole book of hers like she has many biographies and such and like different documentaries. But I used like children's museums, NASA, the New Yorker, History Channel, National Geographic so nothing out of the ordinary of good research. But there are so many conflicting dates and information that I almost thought I was being punked somehow. So there might be loopholes where you’re like “Haley, you have to be a decent researcher and fill this in” and I'm just leaving it out because I don't want to say anything completely wrong so I'm using like the facts that came up on like at least three of the sites. Nothing from Wikipedia is going to be on here I'll leave that one be. I’ll mention Wikipedia at one point but like it wasn't a hardcore source. Well, for Lady Lindy born in Kansas on July 24th 1894 planes were not yet invented for her flying needs yet and I'm gonna make a preface because I was looking at– I love looking at like the blogs people write because for Amelia Earhart there are just so many enthusiasts, so many people still blogging about her. Lexi: Conspiracy theorists. Haley: Don't worry I got you covered we're gonna go into three different like theories about her death and everything. Alana: I think I saw that on Buzzfeed Unsolved. (Lexi laughing) Alana: They do Amelia Earhart on Buzzfeed Unsolved. Haley: It's truly everywhere I don't know– I can't remember what it's from, but I kind of have to do like a step back and just think if this person knew what type of plane she was flying and not like a mega Delta or like Alaska plane like this was like an old plane that could only go like a few hundred feet off the ground. So I just wanna like bring that up here from the beginning like these aren't gonna be the planes that we were just talking about that we hop on to go visit each other. Because like there are some bloggers where I’m like you know some of the conspiracy stuff but the actual facts? This is– this is not good. No bueno. She first saw a plane at a state fair when she was about ten years old, but didn't start flying for like another ten-ish years around like 1920-1921. Alana: I don't think they let ten year olds fly. (Lexi laughing) Haley: Yeah absolutely not, but she was very fascinated from like that point that was like she was the plane girl. You know how we have horse girls? She was plane girl. (Lexi laughing) Haley: When she was able to start flying in like 1920/1921 she was the sixteenth woman to receive a pilot's license… so like wow well done. So she's not known for being like the first pilot which I saw often. People are like this is the first female pilot. No. Like because once you have your pilot’s license you're a pilot in like my book. And I guess like you could be just a female and just be like this is my plane now I'm gonna press the button and go zoom. Lexi: Do you need a license to be a pilot? Like if I’m in a plane and I’m flying it, aren’t I a pilot? Alana (quietly): Oh my god. Haley: So, she's training a lot and she's really into it and her popularity keeps growing because she just keeps trying to get into different organizations especially for female flyers. And on June 17th 1928, she departed from Newfoundland. (And let me just do a preface to the universe if I do not pronounce something right, kindly call me out on it) Which is a large island off of, like, off the North Americas near Canada so up north from us with pilots Bill and Slim. Those are their nicknames, but it's Wilmer Schultz and Louis Gordon. So she was with Bill and Slim. There she became the first woman to fly across the Atlantic and she later, like right after, soon after became the first woman and second person to fly across the Atlantic alone. Lexi: Alone. Haley: Alone. So I couldn't find any definitive research but for her– the flight that she's known for like going around the globe which, I will absolutely talk about, I don't know what alone means for these planes because when she went around the world she was with another guy. Like she was a pilot but then there'd be a navigator so theoretically there are two people. Lexi: I think it’s without a co pilot so you don't get a break. Haley: Yeah. Lexi: I think when– based on my lady who we’ll get into I think anything that says solo it doesn't mean no one else was in the plane– it might mean that but it means no one else piloted while you were piloting. Like you didn’t go take a nap. Haley: Yeah so like when we say alone, at least for Lexi and my human, there is usually a navigator so it's not her just chilling out in the plane. Lexi: Cuz they didn't have the fancy machines. Haley: Exactly. And her navigators are predominantly male. Or at least the two that they talked to. Lexi: Juicy. Haley: Yeah so it's not like a full on lady ship flying through the air. Lexi: Lady ship flying through the air! Haley: After this flight especially where she flies across on her own, she's just mega popular. This is where her name really becomes a household name, she probably gets the nicknames Lady Lindy, she calls herself A. E. as her own nickname. And I'm gonna just go on my own little tangent of some of the cool things and like… just tidbits about her that I found out from honestly the Children’s Museum of Indianapolis which I was like… alright here we go. The first thing is when I found out that there is the navigator I didn't realize what the navigator was. I thought like what Lexi said like it's the copilot but no. So she had to stay awake for all these trips. And I was like wait how did you do that because like I can't do that I really thought the navigator was a co pilot and you just get kind of like the… for academic papers you have the co authors but there's like the first author and the second author and you usually remember the first guy's name. But no she's flying the whole time. She didn't like coffee or tea like any like those caffeinated drinks. So she would use smelling salts to stay awake. They still have like one of the like little tiny glass bottles of smelling salts in their collection and I'm like… okay. That like creeps me out I feel like that's a little sketchy but like and probably not healthy but I'm not a medical professional so I'm not gonna give you advice. Alana: Cocaine! (Lexi laughing) Haley: That's the thing I tried seeing like they were– in the collection and just like with what I was saying smelling salts, it didn't say what the smelling salts were… and I wanna know what it is. Lexi: Yeah, you know like when a lady faints when a lady... a lady faints you give her the smelling salts. Haley: Like 1930s smelling salts has to be mixed with something weird because we were still in the place like Coke still had cocaine. Alana: Laced with cocaine!! Haley: Okay yeah and then– Alana: I mean, we're not a hundred percent sure that it's cocaine. Lexi: That was just– yeah. Alana: That's just us being funny I don't wanna get sued. We don't know that it's cocaine! Haley: I love that now we have to preface that we're just crazy people. So the other thing that I found that this was kind of like “Oh, I should have known this” or like “this makes sense” is that you know how she has like the iconic goggles and leather cap? She hated those things. At least the goggles, she hated wearing them that's why most of the pictures she's not wearing them and it's like our drawings, depictions us reproducing something of Amelia Earhart has the goggles. But she would put them on right before the runway and then take them off immediately at landing because like you had to wear them with the dinky planes that they had. But she still was like I'm not about it. But however what she did like was just fashion in general. She did even have like she went on to create like her own clothing line that was actually advertised in Vogue, and I'm trying to find like a copy of it. I’ll keep you all updated but yes she was part of the international organization of women's pilots. I think she even like helped create it, but it's called the Ninety Nine and it's a non profit that provided networking, mentoring, and flight scholarships or opportunities for other women and out of this they kind of have like their own like clothing line for pilots because obviously it was a male profession, for the most part. She was like the sixteenth person to get a flying license. So they kind of like created their own uniform and had their own uniform to sell. Vogue picked it up and I thought that was also really cool because she's predominantly known for flying solo across the Atlantic and attempting going around the globe which she dies in. Like she– all the things like if you just see like or at least what I did for my Google search just typing in her name all the first things will say like her death something about her death which I'm actually gonna go into right now. So her flight was in a Lockheed Electra 10 E., and her navigator was Fred Noonan. No idea, I had no idea this was a thing. She had a navigator so she wasn't alone in this. And this was their second time attempting, or at least Amelia’s second time attempting. The first time she tried taking off from California but crashed into Honolulu. This was gonna be like even longer. I think there's like one guy who did this before… I have his name even. Wiley Post had flown around the world in seven days and he was like the first aviator to accomplish this. So she was going to be like the second person but the first woman to do this and hers was gonna be even longer because she was predominantly gonna take the equator and just like go around the equator… belly of the Earth. But she didn't make it. They lost contact around like July 2nd. I think she had like seven thousand miles left. Like she was like almost there like they had like she was on this journey for a while and then there was a day of just them not having contact and this is where we also get this whole story on like what the line of events whatever that saying is… the happenings of her life get a little hairy. Like this is where like Nat Geo had one thing to say, Time magazine had another, a quick YouTube from like a documentary had like the third thing to say. But basically on July 2nd she lost contact. We really don't know what happened after that. It's not like the last contact is “we're headed for the Pacific Ocean.” So that has opened up to years and ongoing research like still happening research on what happened to her. I made an arbitrary list for these three conspiracy theories on most likely to least likely. Most likely is that she just crashed into the Pacific Ocean and the plane’s somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. Like we're not gonna find it. If the people going back to the Pacific Ocean to try to find her they have– like you have to recognize, one, the ocean is so deep like we have not really gotten to the bottom of the ocean yet and two with just the waves and how this plane could have crashed, it could have moved thousands of miles in any sort of direction. So when I was kind of like reading some of these searches and like are you giving enough like leeway? Like us knowing like archaeology and stuff like with the radar and like all the things trying to find something it might not be there. I think we all know this. You look at these maps, we see a fuzzy dot, it might not be what we're looking for. So like a lot of these people are like oh I saw this dot on this one map, or like this shadow… I'm gonna go look there and it's like no don't do that. That's like all the enthusiasts. I already said she had trouble communicating, but we do have like radio logs and it seems that they were near an island but they couldn't see it and that they were running low on gas. So that's why I think like okay if you can't see an island and you're running low on gas and you're having like radio problems there's probably another thing happening with the plane. Like that always has like a chain reaction like nothing is just gonna be like one little blip it's just gonna all explode in your face like a big cherry pie. That's also… so that's like the first thing is just clear cut fell into the Pacific Ocean. The second one, I'm gonna butcher this– this Nikumaroro castaway. So both the places I'm gonna talk about in this next, like, little conspiracy theory are in the Pacific Ocean. So this investigation comes from the– or mainly comes from the international group for historic aircraft recovery. So they think that Earhart and Noonan landed their plane on one of these islands when they couldn't find Howland Island. So, like, just imagine in the Pacific Ocean a cluster of islands close enough that– I guess you can– if you can't fly to one you can fly to the other. I'm not a hundred percent sure how it all works out. I am not a pilot, but on, like, Google Maps when I tried to find these things. They're not, like, super close together, but I guess they're close enough in pilot speak? I don't know. We could do a whole series on just Amelia Earhart honestly with all her conspiracy theories. Because like one person was like maybe it's not this island it's another island this exact same story but on a different island in the Pacific Ocean it's like sure. But these guys think they had actually like they were cooking with gas, because they think they found bits of the plane. So they said that this island had to have been on like a low tide so making it slightly bigger and allowing this like reef along like the surface to be exposed and the reef must've been like in a good enough space, area, whatever you must have to land the plane. So they think she was able to send some radio transmission, but the plane was largely intact as they were landing on this; it wasn't like a complete crash landing. They think she survived at least until like the radio cut off because they think like when the radio cut off like she was still– like there's something that made them think “oh, the radio didn't cut off because she was dead,” and like the radio was continuing to transmit but no one was answering. They think she just like her and Noonan would probably just like deplane the plane, as this was an aluminium plane, it was really hot. Like outside, even going through the air so like landing they probably just like walked away… got more on the island to see the sights, see where they were that they were just crash landed in this area. They also noted that this island was colonized by the British Empire very soon after her plane must have gone down so we're gonna say around I think it was like 1938 to 1940 where the British colonized, and we know how colonizers are. Not swell. And colonists were reported finding airplane parts, which could have possibly come from her plane. Like they’re airplane parts from that time period and in 1940, Gerald Gallagher, the colonial administrator, discovered thirteen bones buried near the remains of a… I wrote “vampire”...  Okay no sorry. He found thirteen bones like in this secluded area near the shore and the remnants of two shoes– a man's and a woman's– as well as a box that once held a sextant and that is the tool that kind of looks like a kaleidoscope thing that you can measure like angular distances… I’m using my hand but obviously with a podcast you can't see it, Google it, they’re cool. All the bones were shipped off to Fiji where they were measured and apparently those bones were lost. We can't go back– like I worked for a forensic anthropologist once upon a time, so like that wouldn’t make it to me like I couldn’t just be like “Hey let's get these bones now” and with that so the bones must've been like you can use a foot bone and like measure and get stature. I couldn't figure out like I couldn't find anywhere like I wanted to see like what type of bones because theoretically you could use your little tiny bones like the metatarsals and stuff but really you want to use like your femur or humerus like one of your long bones because when you measure it you can say like how long your arm was, how long your whole body was. And that's how you get like stature and you can also see from those bones better how old a person was from like when you're born your bones are a bunch of bones, like they're not fully intact and as you get older your bones kind of callous over and also as you get older and older and older your bones show the wear and tear of it. Lexi: Also if her or Noonan had any specific childhood injuries… Haley: Exactly so yeah even though it's like thirteen bones, thirteen bones can still tell you, but the type of bone– like you can learn way more from a femur, broken, again let's use like the tarsals… like a broken tarsal. A broken femur versus a broken tarsal I'm gonna go for the femur. Alana: That's a leg bone versus a toe bone. Haley: Yeah, sorry. Alana: We're gonna probably end up being a little bit elitist about our… about our knowledge because we’re archaeologists but we're gonna do our best! We're gonna try not to! Haley: Okay, so imagine having your big leg bone and like a tiny foot bone. You're gonna want the big leg bone because that'll give you more surface to just analyze everything and that's basically when teaching, and Lexi took that class too, when learning how to do the precise measurements they're using the longer– long bones. I also love how they just like in a lot of them where it’s like they're lost they didn't say how they were lost, where they were lost, because they could have been lost in Fiji, coming back to the site, going to another like place to be measured and analyzed. Also I want to know like I guess this is like the 1940s if they were gonna do any like soil testing or like what they did. Lexi: They gave those bones a good Christian burial and called it quits. Haley: I– I wanna know so much. I wanna know so much because like hopefully it would be like different now, but I don't– actually I don't think so. Things still happen in the archaeology world. The researchers that did take the measurements said that it could have come from a woman of Amelia Earhart's size and build, but I wanna know if they thought like all thirteen were female or male bones because male and female bones are different. That's not like– it's like I hate when everyone says like “we're all the same on the inside” and it's like your bones are so unique… like yes on the inside we all have bones and organs but like– Alana: Haley, this is our first episode, you’re gonna get us canceled. Haley: Okay fine. We're all the same on the inside. We all have bones. (Alana laughing) Lexi: Haley’s a… scientist. Alana: She’s a scientist. Haley: No we’re all– Lexi: She’s not a TERF, just so everyone knows. She’s just talking about bones. Haley: I’m just talking about bones, I'm not a turd. I’m just talking about the bones. Lexi: I said TERF not turd, but okay! Alana: Same thing! Same thing! Haley: Okay. So. Scientifically I– I don’t know where this came from– the researcher just saying that– Alana, laughing: Wait, wait. I think Lexi and I need a sec to recover. (Lexi and Alana laughing) Lexi: Okay go ahead. Haley: Now people what the enthusiasts really took that to mean was “That’s Amelia!” but no. Like they didn’t have– and now they’re lost so there’s no way of doing DNA, and like I’m sure we don’t have anything to like, compare. Because for DNA, you can take DNA from something, but you need another sample to compare it to. Same with bones like X-rays? If like Amelia Earhart had an X-ray or like what Lexi said earlier, a noted childhood injury, then yeah. Sure. That is like more definitive but right now they were basing it off measurements. Also saying like yes this is a Caucasian woman's bone which… unless you really had, like, the face is… It's still very iffy very like… just a whole can of worms. They're basically saying this could be the size of Amelia Earhart which was an average sized woman. Another expedition later in the eighties, so now we're jumping like a bunch of years. They said like they found a bunch of artifacts from the 1930s… again, colonizers were going in. So them saying like “oh we found white people things on this like island in the Pacific from the 1930s” is kind of like, I'm rolling my eyes a little bit. There are currently doing excavations with dogs, and this one guy, his name's Fred, he’s an archaeologist with National Geographic Society said “No other technology is more sophisticated than the dogs.” They have a higher rate of success identifying things in the ground like than ground penetrating radar. He also said that these like dogs can sniff remains as deep as nine feet down and as old as a thousand five hundred years. Lexi: For real?! Haley: Yeah. Alana: Oh my god. We should get some of them on Dún Ailinne. Lexi: Let’s get some dig dogs! Alana: Dig dogs! Yeah. Lexi: Let’s go… get some dig dogs. Haley: I really hope it's like the hounds with the long ears like from Fox and the Hound. They have the sniffer noses. But I don't know. So that's where it got– that second conspiracy kind of ends. No more real updates. The last one is the one that's like it's not that it's not bananas, but it's bananas at the same time. (Alana laughing) Haley: I didn't know this one. I knew about the bones on like the random island, and I knew about her just like taking a dive into the Pacific. This is her landing on Marshall Island and it's somewhat– some people call it the Marshall Island Conspiracy. So instead of continuing on their path and looking for that island in the Pacific, they went north to a Japanese controlled island. And then they were taken hostage by the Japanese. And presumably if they were taken hostage by the Japanese they were thought to be U. S. spies and Lexi’s face is already like “what is happening” no Lexi this gets even wilder. Lexi: I thought “wacky” meant aliens but this is even wackier. (Alana laughing) Haley: We get to a point where it's kind of like spooky aliens. The conspiracy is on the basis that she landed in Japan and she was either taken hostage in Japan or just like they live their lives in Japan. I don't know why not being like “Hey I'm Amelia Earhart” but PTSD and like… that stuff is a thing. So, sure. Now we split off into one group saying if they are with the hostages or they had to like crash land they were killed or eventually killed. Another theory is that she made it back to the U. S. under an assumed name. So Amelia turned into Irene Craigmile and then married a guy named Guy Bolan and died in New Jersey in 1982. Guys. I. This gal Irene has her own Wikipedia page. I told you Wikipedia was gonna come into this. Lexi: What does she think about this? Haley: So she– there was even like a lawsuit for her; saying that she wasn't Amelia– you can all look at this Wikipedia page. It has a picture of her and people are like “she looks like an older Amelia.” And yeah, sure they have some resemblance but like… people can look like each other. And like she would also like– my quick read of this was that she was saying she's not Amelia Earhart. On her Wikipedia they have like her parents’ names, where she was born… And like there is a lawsuit for one point five million million dollars because she was like– I believe she was screaming at the top of her lungs “I'm not Amelia” and like this is like damaging to her reputation and she came up when I like tried looking at like if I could obtain some of her biographies or documentaries easily enough her name came up in those. Like she's truly– people truly think she was Amelia Earhart and got back to the US. So another guy– so this is going like off this– he was a retired Air Force colonel from Hawaii and he is quoted saying if she couldn't find Howland plan B was to cut off communication and head for the Marshall Islands and ditch her plane there. And this is around like 2003, so we already had like the past conspiracy theory where they found their bones and like they found plane parts. So this is a totally different island so who's right there? I don’t know. We still don't know. And one enthusiast named Dick Spink– yes that is his name– ran with this quote and started collecting stories from people on the Marshall Islands just to be like “did this girl show up” like what happened to this girl. And we've gotten quotes like she landed at Nellie... our uncles, aunts, our parents, and our grandparents knew that she landed there. People are saying she was here and he even spent like his own money. He spent like fifty thousand dollars to get proof of this and I watched like a clip of the documentary and this was from the History Channel and I believe you can find… I saw that you could pay for it and maybe it's on YouTube, but it's a documentary, Amelia Earhart: The Lost Evidence came out in 2017. There's like a pre-World War Two archival photo and they've circled like a girl that looks like Amelia Earhart and they’re like “this is Amelia” what I like to think like this could potentially be Amelia Earhart and like Noonan. I think yeah they kind of look like them but it's like it's not a photo that we take with our phone. It is a old photo that's like very blurry and sepia tone. TBH, doesn't fly with me but it's just hysterical to me honestly that people are like “that’s Amelia.” People saying “oh yeah she was at our island” and a lot of evidence is very unclear where I don't even wanna like bring it up because I just it's not the cost of well this is not not sometimes nonsense like one person was like “Amelia Earhart’s still alive” and it's like…  no she's definitely dead she’d be like I think 117 by now? It's been eighty years since the supposed crash. This theory specifically I think that is truly divided but not many responses are coming from academics. I just like I notice out of all the theories it's this theory that has the least academics and the most enthusiasts so… Alana: That doesn't usually bode well. Haley: She was declared dead after two years of her disappearance. So people like have said she's died and it's in like so it would be 1939 I believe it was like January first or January second just how the law works. And her husband, George Putnam, who’s an author, publisher, and explorer– or was he died. And she wrote to him “Please know I am quite aware of the hazards. I want to do it because I want to do it. Women must try to do things as men have tried. When they fail their failure must be a challenge to others.” Which… is true. So many people wanted to be Amelia and like she’s still an icon in lady history like we're doing it right now. So I actually saw a really cool like a Covid mask with her face on it and like a airplane which I thought was nifty. Lexi: I love the conspiracies man that was really… Alana: Love the conspiracies. I definitely heard about that on Buzzfeed Unsolved that the bones are missing which I didn’t know. Haley: That like once the bones are missing I was like well… and I did see like people being like “let's test the–” like “if only the bones weren’t lost you could test the DNA!” Look at all like that shady parts of like bone history where it's like we can look at the face and it's like no they just had thirteen bones like face isn’t just one bone that they'd be counting as separate bones and the other stuff where like yes she landed in the Pacific Ocean. Not much is coming from Noonan though, her navigator. It's all about her which is pretty cool honestly for a lady podcast. Who’s up next? Alana: I'll go next because talking about the Night Witches, Night Witches. Just kidding, we don't, that's I. P. don't sue us. The Night Witches were an all female air regiment in World War Two in the… in Russia in the Soviet Union which I learned in my research that Russians call it The Great Patriotic War so that’s something fun Lexi: Okay. Alright. Okay. That’s juicy. Alana: That’s juicy. So this all female air regiment was started by a woman named Marina Raskova or the Soviet Amelia Earhart. That's like her fun little nickname. I did learn about this story from Drunk History. So obviously since we're gonna be talking about the Soviet Union during World War Two I just want to say: Stalin is a bad dude. The only good thing that Stalin ever did was fight Nazis. And that's like that one Onion it's like the Onion or some other like comedy news article and the headline just said “oh no the worst person you know just made a good point.” Lexi: Mm. Yes. Alana: That's how I feel about Stalin. There’s a Guardian article that I'll get to a little bit later and it interviews some of these Night Witches and they call Nazis fascists and I'm like oh honey I got some bad news for you. I got some bad news for you. Haley: Wait hold up so you're saying like... Alana: I’m saying that Stalin is a fascist. Haley: No no I know but like he didn't like he said a no no to the Nazis, so like the people who are like “Nazis are chill” you're worse than Stalin is that really where you want to like, the hill you want to die on? Is being worse than Stalin? Lexi: That's what she said? I don’t think that’s what she said. Alana: I don’t think that’s what I said. Lexi: I think she just said the Night Witches don't like fascists, but the guy they loved was a fascist. Alana: Was also a fascist. Haley: I thought you were going– my brain just went straight to… from Stalin not liking Nazis to these girls potentially not liking Nazis and I had to be like hold up. Are you saying they’re like worse than– Lexi: I don't think, I don't think Stalin liked Nazis and I don't think these women liked Nazis. Haley: People shouldn’t like Nazis. Alana: We’re gonna go on the record, we're gonna say people shouldn't like Nazis. So, I did learn about the story from Drunk History season six episode fourteen, I'm gonna reference that a couple times, the storyteller is Jess McKenna and it's very funny but that's it because they're not sponsoring us. So the Night Witches were started by Marina Raskova. She was a navigator in the Red Army so like we were saying there's someone in the plane who like tells you where to go and what to do but who isn't flying for realsies and that was what Marina did and we are on a first name basis because we're tight, we're best friends and she definitely one hundred percent has not been dead since 1943. That's just we're just tight we’re close me and her ghost. Not– just kidding. So women were barred from combat in the Red Army and for a lot of modern history. Haley: Go over what the Red Army is. Alana: The Red Army is what the army was called in the USSR that's like what they call their army was the Red Army because communism. And so the women were really only allowed slowly into the army because Russia was taking devastating, crushing, horrible losses. And Marina was getting letters from civilian women who wanted to help and they were like “Marina you're so cool you're amazing because you're fighting and we wish that we could fight” because they are losing their husbands their fathers their brothers their sons. So she goes to Stalin and says “Hey, Joseph can I… I’m like, here can I please start some all female air regiments… maybe.” And Stalin says yes. One of the articles I read implied that he maybe only said yes because he was attracted to her and, yeah, that article was written by a man. But she gets this dispensation and she gets all of these women to come in and be pilots. But now that they're in the army they're facing some sexism as is kind of to be expected tragically, tragically to be expected. They're facing sexual harassment which I mean it's still a problem in the year 2020, like nothing changes. It should but it doesn't. But more systemically they have the worst they just have bad equipment. They're getting hand me down uniforms from male soldiers that are way too big so they're like stuffing boots with socks and like everything is super baggy. But let's talk about their planes because that's what we're here for the planes, we’re here for pilots. They're flying training planes. Polikarpov PO-2 biplanes. They’re twenty years old. They’re crop dusters. They have no cockpit protection and they can't go high enough, which you wouldn't want them to because they don't have any cockpit protection. They have to fly at night because they can't go high enough to be out of view. And also, news flash, this is something fun that people might not know, this is just a fun fact. Fun fact: Russia is cold. Lexi: I had no idea. Alana: Yeah so these women are getting frostbite. And if you touch the plane it's like so cold that it'll burn your hand. You know what I mean? Haley: So like, opposite of Amelia's problem. Alana: Yeah, opposite of Amelia’s problem, exactly. So they’re just like the worst planes ever and they don’t go that high. Like normal equipment radar, radio, fucking parachutes are too heavy for these horrible planes, so they don't have parachutes until 1943. And they can only carry two bombs, each plane can only carry two bombs at a time and they have one under each wing. And so they're going back and forth from their little safety where they store the bombs they're going back to safety and then across enemy lines. And they're dropping bombs and they’re coming back and get more bombs they're going back and just like back and forth back and forth eighteen times a night. But these women are so dope and so good at everything that this is how they get the name Night Witches. It comes from the German Nacht Hexen which means night witches and the planes are too small and too quiet to show up on radar or sonar. But the sound of them coming sounds like a sweeping. (Lexi and Haley make general noises of understanding) Alana: So it’s like… their planes are brooms, women are riding them... they’re witches. Haley: Right. Alana: But these slow planes end up being kind of a blessing or like a silver lining, sort of, because the fast planes can't go slow enough to shoot them down. Because aerodynamics. Period. Like, that's why big planes need big long runways because they gotta build up enough speed so they don't fall out of the sky. But these slow planes can’t go fast, obviously, duh. News flash, fun fact: slow planes can't go fast. Fast planes can't go slow. and so it's super difficult for them to like– for the Nazi planes to attack the Night Witches’ planes because they can't like keep pace with them, even though they're slower. This 588th air regiment, which is the Night Witches, they're so badass and they're so prolific and they're killing so many Nazis that anyone who shoots down a Night Witch gets the Iron Cross which is the highest honor in the Nazi army. All you gotta do is shoot one down and you get the Iron Cross so– Haley: That’s like zero to sixty right there. Alana: It's zero to sixty. So we're gonna talk about real fast just like the women themselves besides how dope and cool they are. They have twelve commandments, and the first one is “be proud that you are a woman.” I cannot find the other eleven. I have no idea what the other eleven are. Lexi: Do the other ones matter if the first one’s that good. Alana: I guess not. This is the gender divide in my sources as well, as the ones that men wrote were like “look they're doing all this all these like womanly things” like they would embroider and wear eyeliner and that kind of fun stuff. But women like Marina, who would look at them and who wrote that and would say be proud that you're a woman because you're doing this crazy stuff you're killing all these Nazis and you're also doing it as a woman so you’re double the badass. It's like they said that Grace Kelly could do anything Fred Astaire could do but backwards and in high heels. Have you heard that before? Haley: No, I haven't heard that one. Alana: That's- it's how awesome Grace Kelly was. Haley: Ok. Alana: Like she was Fred Astaire, but better. Haley: I love it. Alana: One of the… I'm gonna talk about Raisa Surnachevskaya who flew while she was four months pregnant. She was up in a plane, shooting down Nazis, four months pregnant. So that’s pretty dope. Haley: Alrighty then. Alana: And there was this camaraderie between these women especially Raisa Surnachevskaya (as I said) and Tamara Pamyatnykh and in this Guardian article from 2001 which is very, it’s so from 2001. Tamara is reminiscing about it and how she took out two bombers before being shot down and she's worried that she hadn't done enough that night and is so wo– like she is remembering looking down from the ground thinking that she left Raisa, her “wingman”– her words– her wingman all alone in the sky to fight Nazis and that was very moving to me. I would be worried if I left either of you up in the sky to fight Nazis I’d feel bad too. (Lexi and Haley laughing) Alana: I would. The author of that made a point to say, like he's praising these women and then he's like “today's tw–” because they were young, like young women going to fight and he’s like “today's twenty one year olds wear nightclub clothes to work” and I was like did you really have to do that. Lexi: K. bro. Alana: Okay, brah. I was like did- did a woman write this. No, a woman did not write it and I was like hmm. Lexi: [sarcasm audible] And there definitely aren't women in the military in any country in. Alana: In any country in the world. Lexi: There definitely aren't. Anywhere. Alana: All men. Lexi: Yeah, they’re all men now since there is no big war. Alana: [laughs] Since there’s no big war. Lexi: Since big war over women go home back house. Alana: [laughing] Um... Lexi: Wear night club clothes work. Alana: Oh - Yeah wear nightclub clothes work. So just some statistics there are four hundred women in the 588th night bomber regiment. They flew thirty thousand missions and dropped twenty three thousand tons of bombs and they were the most decorated unit in the Red Army and here's where- do you guys wanna like real fast guess how this story ends. Lexi: They were decommissioned when the war ended. Alana: They were disbanded six months after World War Two ended. Haley: There we go. Alana: And they were not allowed in the victory parades because- Haley: Yup. Alana: - their planes were too slow. Haley: That tracks. Lexi: Yup, that makes sense. Alana: So that's fun. Lexi: Big war over, go back house. Alana: [laughs] War over, go back house. And they didn't and then the USSR like collapsed and one of the women who is living in like Latvia I think is not allowed to wear her, her like military medals because of how– Lexi: Oh because she’s a veteran of the USSR but then they left the USSR. Alana: Because she's not a citizen of Latvia and she’s not a citizen of the USSR. Like she's a citizen of the USSR. Lexi: Right. Alana It is really tragic to read about. And this guy was like twenty one year olds today wear nightclub clothes to work. I'm like well some of them work at nightclubs so shut up. Um and that made me real, real mad. To read that article. But it’s important. Lexi: But you learned about the cool women. Even if it was- Alana: I did learn about the cool women and I learned about how much they liked each other. Uh it made me feel really good. That they were like, yeah. Lexi: Sisterhood. Alana: Women supporting women. Lexi: The sisterhood of the flying - Haley: pants. Lexi: brooms. The flying pants. Alana: The flying pants. The sisterhood of the shitty airplane. Lexi: [laughs] Yes! The sisterhood of the shitty airplane. Haley: The little airplane that could. Alana: Little airplane that could, exactly. Lexi: That would make a great anime. Alana: That would make a great anime. Haley: Right Lex you wanna roll us of or Alana do you have more of your story? Alana: No I'm good. Lexi: So the reason that I knew that the story of your, your group of women ended with them being decommissioned is because I have the American equivalent story to your story. Alana: Gasp Haley: We just went full circle. Lexi: Let me tell ya. Alana: Full circle we did it. We did segues you guys. Lexi: We did it. So did you guys know that before there was ever a man on the moon there was a woman who wanted to go to space. Alana: That makes sense. Haley: That tracks. Alana: I did not know that but that makes sense. Lexi: I'm gonna tell you her story. Jacquelyn Cochran was born with the name Bessie Lee Pittman in nineteen 1906 in Pensacola, Florida which is one of my favorite city names to say so I'm very happy that's where she was born I find Pensacola to be a very funny word and she was the youngest of five children. Her father worked as a millwright so they traveled around Florida he built mills to mill things and later in life Jackie would claim that she was adopted and raised in poverty but in reality this was her biological family and while they weren't rich they lived a pretty average life and there was always food on the table and they always had like what they needed to survive a very average life for people in the early nineteen hundreds and in 1920 when she was just fourteen she married Robert Cochran who was how she got the Cochran name and the couple had one child who was named Jack and he died really young so when Jackie decided to leave Robert she adopted the name Jacqueline Cochran so she kept her married name and she used the name Jacqueline to honor her son who passed away really on. And she left Robert because she was like not about being a young wife and she moved to New York City where she was able to land a job working at Saks Fifth Avenue which at the time was like the thing to do department stores were brand new. Haley: Oh yeah. Lexi:. . . like it was awesome to be there and she became a hairdresser and stylist and she was doing cosmetic work at Saks Fifth Avenue which at the time was like the glamorous job and. . . Haley: This is giving me some Marvelous Mrs Maisel vibes. Lexi: Yeah exactly. Alana: I was just gonna say that. Lexi: Like if you were a young hot woman this was the job for you so um, while she was working in New York, Jackie met the man who would become her second husband Floyd Bostwick Odlum and Floyd was a CEO. He was at the time one of the richest man in the world -like- some sources say he was in the top ten richest man and he offered to help her start a beauty business under her own name and she was like that's a great idea I love beauty stuff but at the time he was still married to another woman so they had to put a hold on that project until he can get a divorce. Also while working in New York Jackie became enamored with aviation and she saw a plane and her friend was like do you want to go in the plane I'll put you on the plane and so she started taking flying lessons in the 1930s at Roosevelt airfield which is located on Long Island so super close to where she was working in New York. She started to fly and she earned her commercial pilot's license with just two years of flight experience and you do have to log a lot of hours to get your commercial pilot's license so she must've flown a lot in those two years. And in 1936 Floyd finally left his poo poo first wife and married Jackie and they founded a cosmetics line and because of her new found obsession with flight they called the cosmetics line Wings to Beauty. Haley: I love that. Lexi: Hoping to capitalize on Jackie's unique position as a female aviator Jackie went on a promotional tour and she flew across the country to promote her new beauty products and since it was a -like- airplane themed thing they thought you know that'll be that'll be cool. Alana: Winged eyeliner. Lexi: Yeah and because her husband- Alana: We’ve come full circle. Lexi: I know, I know. And as her husband was so influential and stuff he was even able to get celebrities like Marilyn Monroe to like wear her lipstick to like promote it. So you would think this is just some cute girl who has a plane, a cute rich girl with planes and cosmetics but the truth is Jackie was a badass. Haley: Of course. Alana: I already thought she was a badass. She truly contains multitudes. Lexi: She does. So while she was like an icon of the beauty industry what truly makes her story so interesting is this dichotomy that not only was she like a beauty icon and an aviator but she was like one of the best pilots of all time. In 1937 Jackie set the world's women speed record in flight so she flew the fastest a woman had ever flown in a plane in 1937 that same year Jackie was the only woman to compete in the Bendix race, Bendix race I might be saying that wrong but it was a famous race for planes, plane racing the competitors flew from Burbank to Cleveland nonstop and the fastest time was the winner. She was not the first woman ever to fly the Bendix Ameila Earhart actually flew it two years earlier but the difference is Amelia got fifth place when she flew in 1935, the second year Jackie flew which is 1938 she won. She was the fastest person, she beat the man in the race and that that race was really not accepting to women it was very hard for women to get in it, so was a big deal that a woman had beaten up on the man in the race and then she set a transcontinental speed record and broke barriers by setting new altitude records, so she flew higher than men had flown in a lot of places. So prior to the United States joining the war effort in World War two, Jackie didn't want to just sit on her butt. She was really upset about what was happening in Europe and she knew she wanted to do something. So American companies were building aircrafts to supply the British military with planes and so Jackie joined an organization with a bunch of other aviators that was called Wings for Britain not to be confused with Wings to Beauty and it was an organization for a elite American pilots who flew newly constructed military aircrafts to Britain to support the war effort and by participating in this organization Jackie actually became the first woman to fly a bomber plane across the Atlantic Ocean, because she had to get it to Britain. Speaker 1: And um that was just the beginning of Jackie's participation the war effort she got really devoted to it and she became really passionate about it, so while she was in Britain she helped the Royal Air Force recruit qualified female pilots from the United States to participate in their Air Transport Auxiliary which it was a group, an organization, that ferried items. So they didn't drop bombs, they were non combat, but they carried supplies so they would carry supplies to the army or the airforce or like carry things from one place- point A to point B. And she basically helped them recruit American women because America was not yet involved in the war and she was actually given the rank of Flight Captain in the British Air Transport Auxiliary, a rank that's actually called into the position of Major in the U. S. Air Force because she was so active in recruiting and training women while she was there. And in 1939 Jackie wrote a letter to the White House back in the US and she addressed it to the First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt because she knew that a fellow woman would listen to her she didn't think if she sent it to Mr Roosevelt it would get read. She knew Eleanor would read it, because she probably heard of her beauty products and she probably knew that she was this famous aviatrix and so she sent it to Eleanor and... Alana: Aviatrix is one of my favorite words. Lexi: I know it’s a good word. Alana: You like Pensacola, I’m like aviatrix. Lexi: An aviatrix born in Pensacola. Um so she proposed starting an American version of this auxiliary, an American Army Air Force auxiliary of women who were non combat pilots and Jackie argued that women can complete all of the non combat aviation jobs, thus freeing up more male pilots for direct combat as America became more involved in the war. So you know what we're about to get a war where a lot of guys are going to die, a lot of bomber planes are going to go down, and you might need women who are already trained pilots to come in and help you because it takes a long time to learn how to fly a plane. And there are all these women who are flying planes already. So this organization would be the American equivalent of that auxiliary in Britain and at the time the army like not the Air Force army which at the time the army and Air Force America were one thing but the Air Force was like under the army branch so the army itself had started the WAC, which is the women's army auxiliary corps program and it gave non combat jobs to women so they could work in the army army not the air force part of the army and Jackie felt it was possible to expand that to the people in the air so from the land to the air they could include the auxiliary for women so despite the shortage of qualified men who are pilots there was hesitation to Jackie's proposal from leaders in the U. S. military they were like we can’t have women flying planes. And so Lt. General Henry H. Arnold whose nickname was haps which is the lamest nickname I've ever heard. Alana: It’s like, it’s like um, in your yearbook have a great summer hags. Lexi: HAGS. Um so he asked Jackie to find out how many female pilots there were and to recruit and take American women to Britain and observe the auxiliary that was there and then use that information that her in those women could gain to possibly found their own American group. It was like I don't want to test this here but if you keep bringing women over to America er it's over to Britain which she was already doing if that goes well, maybe I'll let you approve doing that in America. So then in 1943 which was 4 years after she came up with this idea the WASPS were born and I would just like to say that the WASPS is the coolest name and the fact that we don't have that name in our military anymore especially for pilots because wasps fly. It's really sad so WASPS stands for women's airforce service pilots and this was a group where Jackie was the director and another female pilot named Lovelace was like the co director she's also really famous really popular so if you're interested in female pilots, check her out, but basically in this role Jackie supervised the training of hundreds of female pilots and they became part of World War 2 effort. They transported items, they never saw combat, they were not as dope as the Night Witches. And first service during World War 2 Jackie earned a Distinguished Service Medal, which at the time many women did not earn these types of honors it was a really big deal that she earned that award and the WASPS were disbanded after the war ended. And Jackie was hired as a magazine reporter. She just moved on with her life what somewhere else and the WASPs were never to be seen again, and to be fair now women can become pilots in the modern Air Force but it is a little sad that we don't have anything called the WASPS anymore. Haley: Are there any other like acro-names? Names for- Lexi: Yes. It’s in WACS, the WASPS, and the WAVEs. The WACS in the army, the WAVES in the Navy and the WASPS are the airforce, during uh World War II. Haley: Uh, WAVEs like the ocean. Lexi: YES. If you don't know a lot about women's participation in World War 2, I have recently become a nerd about it - mainly because the names are good and the recruitment posters are even better. I would have probably signed up, just from the propaganda. Alana: Just from the propaganda no Lexi! Lexi: So yes, so she became a magazine reporter. She traveled the world and the purpose of her going around was to document like post war life like how were different parts of the world adjusting to post war life. She was even at like the Nuremburg trials and stuff. Like she was really involved in post war were to break down. And she actually became the first non-Japanese woman to set foot on Japanese soil after the end of World War 2. Which is like pretty crazy. She just flew in there, landed, got off the plane. Um in 1948 Jackie joined the Air Force Reserve. She was one of the first women to actually technically become a member of the Air Force by serving in the reserves because technically the WASPs were an auxiliary. And she remained a member until 1970, so majority of her life she was in the reserves in case there would ever be another war effort she would need to participate in, she wanted to be ready to go, ready for battle. And during this part of her flying career she actually attained the rank of Colonel which is like a really high rank in military systems, so she was very well renowned and regarded. And Jackie was the first woman to break the sound barrier on 5/18/1953 she flew 652 miles per hour to break the sound barrier. They called her the supersonic lady in the news articles which is pretty cool. Alana: That’s the nickname. Lexi: In the 1960s Jackie wanted to go further than the sky. She wanted to go to space. And she became a financial sponsor of the women's Mercury program. There'd been a man's mercury program which had basically been a program to test people to see if they would make good astronauts and so the doctor that did that was like women would be really good in space why don't I test them. So the Mercury program was intended to train women to become astronauts and the belief was that women would make great astronauts because they were on average smaller so they were less weight and less height and they usually consumes less water, food and oxygen then men apparently. I didn't know that I thought I, I think I eat a lot but you know what now I think about it maybe my brother eats more than me so I guess it’s good. Alana: That's the same logic that they're using like they're talking about the first manned like manned mission to Mars is possibly going to be all women because they take up less space and don't come as much. Haley: Because we’re tiny. Lexi: They’re a littler people, but not really. Alana: It’s true. Lexi: I mean on average we are shorter so that's why. So Jackie was really frustrated because the the male doctor who is doing the testing for Mercury. Of course, it was a male doctor. He had really strict age requirements. He wanted the women to be like in their twenties - very young, very fit and he would not allow married women or single mothers to participate so if you were married or had children you could not participate in this program. And Jackie was married and 50 and so she was a little teed off because the whole reason that her and her husband were drowning money into this is because she was going to become the first woman in space. Yes- she was in her fifties, she was married, she technically did not qualify, but she convinced the doctor to let her participate in the test along with the 19 other women. So they selected 20 people total including Jackie and the tests were really intense. They had icy water shot at their face to induce vertigo. Haley: Ugh. Lexi: They Were put in deprivation tanks to disturb their sensory functions and see what would happen when they were like deprived of all their senses. Alana: Now that's like at like a health fad craze. Haley: Yeah. Lexi: That's true, that's true I've seen people do it. Rhett and Link did it on their show. Haley: Are those like the salts pods, cause I've done the salts pods where its like they- Lexi: I don’t know..They put you on a thing and close the lid and you can't- Haley: Yeah yeah so I’ve kinda done that where it's like I’ve done one where it's a salty as the dead sea, so you float, and you're in like the pod and it's completely dark and you just like float there. The only light is like the one green light so you know like where the button is if you're like anin sos mode but it's supposed to release like toxins like because your body is kind of just letting itself go in a sense. Alana: Everything releases toxins. Haley: Yeah. Alana: Cleanse your soul, clean it. Haley: I honestly- Alana: Your soul is dirty. Haley: I felt like high or like lighter. It felt really weird afterwards. It was not like it's not an experience I want to do again. Lexi: Yeah I mean these women did not like it and Jackie did not pass the test. 13 pilots did pass. So they had 20 female pilots to start, 13 passed, 7 were not selected, Jackie being one. Haley: How pissed was she? Lexi: There are there are like- There is evidence to suggest that she like screamed and flipped out. There like first hand accounts from other female pilots who were there that like she was like cursing out the doctor but he told her she had underlying heart conditions that she didn't know she had and that she should probably stop flying all together which is like you don't tell someone that when that's their life you know. So they called these pilots that Mercury 13 and they were going to be- stop being pilots and become astronauts. So most of these women, they quit their jobs they told their families I'm heading out they were going to move to Florida where the training base for astronauts was at the time and this at this point NASA not yet- it was like not yet completely in charge. The Air Force is actually doing most of the astronaut training and then later it would go under NASA does not make sense so the Air Force was highly involved in this so these women were going to go to where the Air Force's training astronauts. A week before they were supposed to leave, the program was canceled and the women were told not to report for training. And the 13 women never made it to space. There are cute little pictures of them as old ladies from like 20 years ago where they're like we almost when into space.Uwu. And it's so sad because these women were supposed to be the first woman in space. So Jackie spent the rest of her life advocating her belief that women were fit for space and that women made sense as astronauts. Unfortunately, Jackie passed away in August 1980, which is a little less than 3 years before Sally Ride was sent into space, so she never saw a woman go to space. Even though that was like her life, life dream. Alana: Cartoon frowny face. Frowny face emoji. I love- I love that story because I feel like we could talk about her for a zillion other episodes like we could talk about her for women in business, we can talk about her for like women in combat obviously like women in space… What was the other thing? Women in journalism for that thing… Haley: And fashion! Lexi: Women who have been to Japan… Alana: She just seems really cool. I like her. That was a good story. Lexi: Women from Pensacola Florida… Alana: Women from Pensacola Florida… Lexi: Haley’s yawning you wanna hit ‘em with an outro Haley: Yeah. Alana: Are you ready? Haley: Yeah. Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram @ladyhistorypod. Our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on ladyhistorypod.tumblr.com. If you like the show leave us a review or tell your friends and if you don't like the show keep it to yourself. Alana: Our logo is by Alexia Ibarra you can find her on Instagram and Twitter at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me, GarageBand and Amelia Earhart. Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us and we will not see you but you will hear us next time on Lady History. OUTRO MUSIC Haley: Next week on lady history we're talking about pirates, Lexi and Alana: Yaaaaaargh Haley: So get your eye patches ready. Alana: Oh my god.

[captain-mcdavid]

(pt.1) (pt.2) 

smut: yes | no 

word count: 9.1k (double whoops)

warnings: swearing, angst, smut, unprotected sex, *age difference (disclaimer: this is fiction, i am in no way suggesting that these are colton’s preferences. if you are uncomfortable with a slight age difference, the one in this story is 6 years, then this is probably not a good piece for you.)

Sitting on the couch with puffy eyes and a large bowl of ice cream is not the usual way you choose to spend your Sundays, but right now this was really the only thing you wanted to do, so here you were, stuffing spoonfuls in your face while flicking through the romance section on Netflix. 

Lauren had insisted on coming over after you told her about your seven am escape from Colton’s apartment before he woke up. She brought all your favorites, and you were starting to feel a little bit better already.

You’ve just decided on Pretty Woman, and you’re waiting for Lauren to come back with the popcorn when the doorbell rings. She yells to you that she’ll get it, and you don’t really think anything of it until she’s staring at you with a panicked look in her eyes. 

The way that she says your name is more than enough information, and you know exactly who’s on the other side of your front door. Lauren is asking questions, but all of them are jumbled in your head, and you can’t really hear her clearly. 

It takes you about two minutes to actually get up off the couch, and another two minutes to make it to the door still standing. 

“Colton-” You start but he cuts you off.

“You said what you needed to last night. Now it’s my turn, just listen, okay?”

His words are sharp and fast, and you’re scared for what he has to say but you nod despite that. 

“I know that you’re mad at me, and I know that you feel like I’ve been using you, and I’m sorry, that was never my intention.” He starts, out of breath and then eases into his words. He had to have rehearsed this. “I know that you think we should end this, but I can’t do that.”

You’re about to jump in, tell him that it’s what’s best, but he stops you again. “I think about you every second of every day. The last eight months without seeing you, or hearing your voice... It was torture. I love you way too much to just get over you.” Now he looks like he’s debating going off script, and you see the shift, the mental rip of the speech.

“I think that the worst- I don’t know, it’s, fuck. Like, the hardest part of this- for me, has been that...” His gaze drops while he stutters over his words and you can tell he’s nervous to open up. “I don’t know, neither of us did anything wrong... We didn’t lie, or cheat, I left still loving you.”

His words are coming from the heart now, and you can see his struggle. All you want to do is take his hand and hold it while he talks, but you’re so out of it you can’t actually bring yourself to do it.

His voice drops a decibel for his next sentence, the change in pitch making it resonate even more. “I’m not about to do that again. I can’t live with that kind of ending.”

The dramatic pause while he pulls an envelope out of his back pocket is almost enough for you to guess what exactly is in there, and your stomach drops.

“Colton,” His name leaves your mouth as a small plea not to do what you know he’s going to.

“I leave for St Louis in three days.” When he says it your stomach drops even further. “I want you to come see me, so this is for you. It leaves in a week.” He holds out the ticket but you’re so shocked that you’re frozen in place. “Please just consider it,” He begs, and you finally convince yourself to move, taking the paper from his hand.

He takes a step backward like he’s about to leave, but then he stops like he’s reconsidering, sighing he speaks so lowly that you almost don’t hear it.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet.”

.....

They were the words he said to you the night you came to his hotel room. They were the words that convinced you to stay then, and they’re the words that convince you to go now.

You’re really not sure why you’re doing this... Why Colton wanted you to come. Was this a detachment trip? Or a getting back together trip?

You hate the way your heart literally flutters thinking about the latter. You’ve gotten your hopes up with him before, so you tell yourself you’re not going to do it again. You’re nineteen, he’s twenty five. No matter how much you love each other nothing will change that. This is a detachment trip. You can’t be together. This is the last time.

You’re pulling your suitcase off of the baggage belt, and for the third time since you got on the plane, you start to regret your decision. But Lauren literally would have put you on the plane herself if you hadn’t talked yourself into it, so you’d be here either way. But this is the last time.

The last time.

You’re saying it over and over again in your head, walking with one final door between the two of you now, your suitcase strolling behind you as you push open the doors from customs. Your eyes scan the crowd, and of course you spot him easily.

His blonde head is sticking up far above everyone else’s, and you can’t help the smile that overtakes your face when you see the bright grin he wears.

When you get to him he pulls you into a hug, but it feels unusual, his arms are stiff, but you can’t blame him after your last meeting. The only contact you guys had had from the last time you’d seen one another, was three short text messages.

You’d sent him a “see you soon ✈️” to let him know you’d made your decision, and he’d simply replied with a heart. Texting you a day later to say “8:45, I’ll pick you up.”

When you pull back you can see his eyes drop down to your mouth, and you can tell he wants to kiss you, but instead he opts to press his lips to your forehead, playing it safe.

You allow yourself to falter for the quickest second though, because if this is your final hello, you don’t want it to be safe. Slinging your arms around his neck to tug him down, you meet him halfway, standing up on your toes to press your lips to his.

He relaxes the moment you do this, arms tightening around your waist to lift you off the ground. Wrapping your legs around his torso is too much for an airport, but you do it anyway, trying to pretend you’re in your own little world.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” He whispers, dipping his head into your neck. You nod in response while he sets you back down, pulling your carry on bag off of your shoulder and onto his own. You’d argue but it won’t go anywhere, so you let him take both your bags and lead you to his truck.

He opens the door for you, and puts your bags in the back just like the gentlemen he is, and you can’t help but smile when he climbs in beside you, wearing the biggest grin. Reaching over to take your hand he leaves them connected and resting in your lap.

Throughout the drive he makes little comments about places, pointing out the window at restaurants he likes or places he’s visited. At one point he pulls your hands up, pressing his lips to the back of your hand while he talks, and you’re trying not to smile so big that it almost hurts.

“This is where we’re going after the first game on Friday,” He announces, nodding his head to a fancy looking restaurant with glass windows. “We’ll go with a few of the boys.”

He says it like it’s no big deal but your heart feels like it’s about to stop at the thought of it. You’re meeting his friends? You’re going to a game? “Huh?” You manage to mumble, and he grins, sensing your surprise.

“That okay?” He asks, and of course it’s not, but you nod anyway.

Colton pulls into the parking garage of an expensive looking apartment building, pulling into a spot before cutting the engine.

You’re starting to feel a little overwhelmed, so you stay in your seat while he goes around to open your door and pull out your things. Stumbling out of the car finally, you’re looking around in awe of the stairwell to the lobby because it’s nicer than the entirety of your house in Edmonton. And it’s a damn stairwell!

The lobby of the building looks like Caesars palace, and your head is turning frantically, looking at all the decor while still trying to keep up with Colton. Once you’re in the elevator, which of course, is super nice, you glare at Colton. “Where the hell do you live? And why isn’t your place in Saint this nice?” You ask, referring to his hometown.

“Kendra and Kennedy picked it,” He laughs, widening his eyes at you while he ducks out of the elevator. “Wait until you see the actual apartment,”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t in love with the place. It was spacious, modern, and Colton at the same time. Hockey memorabilia and family pictures on the shelves, a noticeable color scheme. He definitely didn’t do this.

“Kennedy and Kendra do the interior design too?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“They asked a professional.” He says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t wanna hear it, okay?” He interrupts before you can say anything. “I already get enough heat from the guys.”

“I love it Colton.”

He looks at you for a second like he’s worried you might be kidding, but then he grins a little and takes your hand, tugging you closer to him so he can lean down to press his lips to yours. Letting his arms wrap you up is the easiest thing because he feels so familiar and so good, and the transition from your current position to the next is so easy that you barely even notice until you’ve been lifted off the ground. Colton walks easily to the couch, sitting relatively smoothly even with the drop.

His wandering hands squeeze your ass through your jeans, while his lips fall down to your neck. You don’t quite realize exactly where this is going until your heart isn’t the only thing throbbing anymore.

As nice as it is you can’t fully enjoy it, because you know what’s gonna happen, what has to happen. Thinking about it leaves you feeling like you’re going to throw up, and that makes it really easy to side step his advances. Abruptly you stand from his lap, and he looks like a child who just had a toy taken away. “I’m really tired,” You tell him. Lie.

“Oh shit yeah,” He mumbles, getting to his feet. “Sorry.” You know he genuinely means it and you feel so guilty you almost want to suck his dick to make up for it. He is so sweet. “I’ll bring your bags up, and you can get settled. Then we’ll go to bed,”

We.

Fuck. How did it not occur to you that you’d be sleeping in the same bed? God, this trip is going to be torture. The thought of enduring a night next to him when you’re already turned on is making you want to end things now, but instead of turning around to walk out the door, you nod carefully.

You spend the next twenty minutes going through your night time routine, trying not to think about how Colton will be sleeping right next to you. Probably not wearing a shirt. Just picturing it is making you want to slide a hand into your panties. 

Taking a minute to splash cold water on your face, you emerge from the bathroom, trying to avoid looking at Colton altogether. You pretend to be busy, scrolling through Instagram, unable to get through a single sentence because you can feel him coming up behind you.

“These are cute,” There’s definitely a smirk on his face as he runs his fingers over the lace trim on your flamingo sleep shorts.

“Thanks,” You smile awkwardly, crawling onto the bed to get away from him. That’s when you finally catch a glimpse of his attire, or lack there of.

Fuck this.

He’s looking drool worthy with no shirt on, and of course, grey sweatpants. Was this a planned attack? Cause it was certainly starting to feel like it.

He crawls in next to you, and your heart skips a beat when he lays his arm out, nodding his head for you to come closer. It’s your favorite way to sleep, tucked into his side, his arm acting as your pillow. He looks way too comfortable to decline so even though you shouldn’t, you fold yourself into his him, laying your top arm on his torso.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Lips press into your hair, his hand coming to rest on top of your own. “I’m really glad you’re here,”

And despite everything that you know is coming, at this moment, you are too. 

.....

The next five days breeze past, and you and Colton fall back into your rhythm so easily it’s almost like it’s scripted. Everything is the same, and it feels like this is how it’s supposed to be, which is why it kills you to know that it’s not. 

Almost every part of being here with him is easy. Almost. 

Sidestepping his sexual advances is the very hard part. You’re still not exactly sure why he asked you to come here, but you’re pretty sure it wasn’t just for sex. However, it seems like he thought that sex would be a bonus because he hasn’t stopped trying to get you into bed. 

You’re elbows deep in a sink of distraction dishes when Colton comes home from practice. Their first preseason game is tonight, and you’re going. You turn and take a quick look, forcing yourself to turn back around when he lifts his arm to scratch the back of his neck. His bicep flexes in an all too sensual way and you’re reminded instantly of the heat pooling in between your legs.

“Hey,” He mumbles putting his phone down on the counter. “You don’t have to do those, you know.” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. His hand lingers on your waist as he by passes you, and you try to squirm out of his hold without being too noticeable.

“I don’t mind, I want to help out.” You scrub the plate in your hand harder, fully aware of the fact that it’s completely clean. It’s one of the last two dishes in the sink and if you finish then you might actually have to talk to him, and that’ll only make matters worse.

In your peripheral vision you see him take a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a sip of it while settling against the counter. You know he’s watching you, and suddenly your skin is getting really hot.

His staring continues, and so does your unnecessary scrubbing. When he starts to walk closer, you start to scrub harder and Colton chuckles, large hands covering your hips again. “I think it’s clean, Y/N.”

When he slides a hand up to your neck you release a shaky breath, squeezing your eyes shut while he sweeps the hair from the area. “Just making sure,”

Colton presses a kiss below your ear while you rinse the plate and it slips out of your hand, clattering into the other clean dishes.

“I really like watching you in my kitchen,” He whispers, “Is that sexist?”

“Totally,” You whisper back, unable to help the way that you instinctively lean back into him. God this is impossible.

“Sorry,” He laughs, warm breath fanning over your neck. “Seeing you here, comfortable, I don’t know there’s just something so sexy about it.”

You tighten your grip on the bowl in the sink, the hot water making you feel even more feverish. His lips press against your skin again, hands pulling your hips back into him. It’s obvious what he wants, and you know you shouldn’t let it go any farther so you make a weak attempt to stop him.

“Colton, my-my hands are wet.”

“Just your hands?”

His response is so quick you can’t help but laugh. “I don’t think it happens that fast,” You reply, loving the way that he nudges your head to the side with his, dragging his teeth across your skin.

Colton snorts, biting your earlobe, and you turn at his sarcastic noise, raising your brows at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He raises his hands and you slap at his chest, leaving a wet spot on his grey shirt.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You repeat, trying to get to the base of his thoughts. “That snort! That was obviously a sarcastic snort.”

Colton laughs, a hand catching on your wrist to try and pull you into him. And man, you just wanna let him too, but now you’re thinking that you’re onto something. Plus this could possibly prolong the process, and give you some time to gain back your will power. “I know it doesn’t happen that fast, I was just- I mean you were obviously already turned on,” The way he says it so innocently almost makes you miss it completely.

How did he know?!

“Wha- I am n- no! What?” You’re struggling to find words now, trying to deny- what was apparently quite clearly- the truth.

The wide smile on his lips has your face turning an embarrassing shade of red, and he raises his brows at you, shaking his head slightly. “O-kay.”

“Yeah.” You finalize, making a face before turning back to the sink. Dipping your hands back into the water, in a mocking tone a quick you give him a quick, “O-kay.”

You think that you’re done, that you’ve actually managed to side step one of his attempts to get you into bed, but then there’s a sharp sting on your ass and you flip around, scowling at the smirking blonde.

“Tell me what’s got you so worked up,” He insists, the stupid grin still handsome as ever. He twists the tea towel again, winding up for another snap, but you lunge forward to grab it. “Is it my post practice glow?” He wiggles his brows at you and you roll your eyes.

“I’m not worked up.” You say back, matter of factly.

“Sure,” He draws it out, making sure that you can hear the sarcasm.

He watches you intently- obviously finding the whole situation rather amusing- as you twist the fabric and let it fly. It hits his arm and he laughs, barely flinching. “Y/N, we’ve had sex like twenty times. I know what it looks like when you’re turned on.”

“Oh please!” You argue, when did he get so cocky? He couldn’t possibly know just from looking at you when you were turned on.

But then again he was pretty spot on right now. Fuck.

“You’re projecting, Colton.” You try to tread backwards, tossing the towel on the counter, sinking your hands back into the soapy water. “Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so worked up?”

Silence ensues and you wait eagerly for his response, knowing full well that you have not side stepped his advances, and you are most definitely going to end up with your panties around your ankles. Doesn’t mean you’re not going to be difficult about it though.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” He finally says.

“That and your ass looks fucking incredible in those leggings.” He continues, and you squeal when he lands a hard slap on the area. It’s kind of infuriating the way that it only turns you on more. You’re practically throbbing and all he’s done is make witty comments and slap your butt.

His large hand travels up, pressuring the middle of your back hard enough that you fold, bending with the gasp underneath his touch. You’re about to mumble something about your hair getting on the dish water, but when you make no movements his hands are right back on your butt and you roll your eyes.

He slaps it again and you huff, chuckling and standing up stand straight. “Chill,” You mutter, pushing back against him only to pull forward so he’s further away.

The space doesn’t last long though, he’s crowding you up against the counter again seconds later and you try your best to look busy, scrubbing at the bowl in the sink. “You’re playing hard to get.”

“I’m not playing-“ You’re quickly silenced by him flipping you around and planting his lips on yours. He licks into your mouth immediately and despite the soap and water dripping off your hands, you tangle your wet fingers into his hair.

Yeah you’re done.

You say over and over again that you’re going to stop this, but over and over you put yourself in compromising positions. Like being in St Louis. Staying at his apartment. Any smart person would have ripped up the damn plane ticket.

You would swear to anybody that giving up this boy was harder than kicking a drug habit. He was a drug habit. And right now you were dying for another hit.

Kissing him ignited this insatiable hunger in you. You could never have just the minimum with him and it was extremely dangerous.

Things would be so much easier if you could feel this way with someone else, but when he tightens his grip on your hips you’re reminded that you never will. Colton has ruined other men for you.

You’re in your head, and it’s like he can tell. He lightly tugs your hair, tilting your neck to the side so he can put his lips on the skin there, and suddenly every previous thought has disappeared. You’ve only got one thing on your mind now.

One of his hands sneaks forward, slipping underneath the waist band of your panties and leggings shamelessly fast. He’s not doddling around, his fingers dip straight into your slit and you pant out a breathy moan, trying to egg him on.

But then he sinks his teeth in particularly hard at one point and you shriek, jolting away temporarily. The smirk he steps back with is so smug you feel your cheeks heat up instantly.

“Yup, definitely not just your hands.” He laughs.

And then he just fucking walks away.

You look on stunned as he sucks the fingers into his mouth, rounding the corner into the living room. You shake your head, trying to figure out if all that actually just happened.

You slip off the counter, following his trail to find him sitting on the couch, putting his feet up and flicking through shows on Netflix.

“You can not just do that,” You blurt out. There’s no going back from here, you’re not thinking with your brain anymore.

“Do what?” He asks, innocently, eyes glued to the screen. He’s holding back a triumphant smile and you really just wanna suck him off until that smirk disappears.

“You know what!” You cry back, folding your arms across your chest. You should go back into the kitchen, finish the dishes and pretend nothing happened, cause that’s what you’ve been doing for the past four days, but the dull ache coming from your core can’t be ignored after what just happened. She’s had a taste and now she needs a lot more.

“What you’ve been doing to me since you got here?”

For the first time you’re thinking about how he must be feeling, being practically shut out for the last few days. So this was payback then. You ignore his comment, striding over to the couch to stand in front of the TV, “Colton I swear,” You try to sound bold but judging from the growing grin on his face, you sound anything but.

“I thought you weren’t turned on,” He chirps, and you clench your fists, trying to refrain from punching him.

“If you don’t do something about this, I will.”

“Mm,” He hums, finally making eye contact. “Can I watch?”

Your mouth drops open in surprise, shocked by this new side to Colton that you didn't know existed. He raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for a response but you’ve come up empty.

“I mean I’m happy to help,” He starts, “If you admit you lied and ask nicely.”

You scoff at his words, seriously considering alternate options that didn’t involve making his ego any bigger. But all you have is your hand, and Colton’s worked much better than yours did. And fuck, why is this turning you on even more? “Really, Colton?”

He holds a hand out for you to step closer, so narrowing your eyes at him, you do. Once you’re close enough, he’s sweeping your legs from underneath you, dropping you onto your back on the couch. Once the shock settles and you feel his fingers dipping beneath your waist band, you breath out a sigh of relief.

But the feeling doesn’t last long cause all he does is peck your hipbone over the clothing, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

“I’ll spend like an hour down here, just say please,” He sings, pecking your stomach.

His words send shock waves straight to your core, and you groan at him.

“I’m not- You-,” You start, but at this point you can’t say anything other than the first words that come to your mind. “Who are you right now?”

Colton chuckles in response, sitting up from his position, you scramble to the other side of the couch, hoping the distance will mute some of the lust, but of course, nothing. “You’re so cute,” Colton smiles.

The words tumble out before you can stop them, completely contrasting his statement. “Oh go fuck yourself!”

“Woah!” Colton laughs, “I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I’m thinking a lot worse right now,” You fire back, leaning against the armrest. He just raises his eyebrows, silently challenging you.

Staring at him sitting there, you’re thinking of all the different ways you could get off without him, but none of them sound even half as good as his mouth looks. “I really hate you right now.”

You have to decide what’s more important. Keeping the distance and denying the sex for purposes of detachment, or eliminating all the distance and asking him to fuck you senseless.

Your brain is telling you not to give in. Finish the dishes and find another way to spend your time. But your hormones are asking why you haven’t jumped his bones already. And after four days of bottled up horniness, your pussy is talking way louder than your brain is.

So with a loud groan you hit your head against the couch cushions, “Fine. You win. I lied about being horny, can you please get me off?”

And now he just looks amused, and the small chuckle he lets out is enough to tinge your cheeks red with embarrassment. He tosses the remote somewhere, and grips your ankle, yanking you back to his side of the couch. He takes his time, slowly eyeing you up and down as he scales the furniture until you’re eye to eye. “Took you long enough,”

You’re about to make a smart ass comment back, but Colton vetoes that but pressing his lips heatedly to yours. His shirt comes off quickly, and so does yours, neither of you wanting to waste any time now.

Eagerly you push the waist band of your leggings down, waiting until Colton pulls them all the way off. His lips break from yours, falling all the way down to your thighs. He sucks a hickey onto skin there, before running his thumb down your covered slit. You see his eyes widen, and if you weren’t embarrassed before, you sure are now.

“You’re soaked,” He observes, “I can feel you through your panties.”

“I’ve been like this for days,” You admit, jerking under his touch.

“Fuck, why didn’t you- I could have like,” His words fall off as he pulls your underwear down your legs. “You’re stubborn as hell,” He mutters, and then finally his mouth is on you. His tongue ghosts over your clit and you grip onto his hair, arching your back.

One of his hands slides down, lifting your leg over his shoulder. He sucks hard on your clit and you involuntarily jerk, your heel pushing uncomfortably into his back. He flinches but doesn’t stop, pushing your hips down, until your muscles relax. “Colt,” You mumble, a wandering hand grabbing with no purchase against the couch. 

He draws circles around your clit before pushing his tongue flat to the nub, and you gasp, egging him on. Your eyes are clouding over, shoulders tensing, if he keeps this up, you’ll be done in seconds.

You feel his fingers intertwine with your free hand, and you squeeze hard, enjoying the sensations of his scruff on your thighs. His arm under your leg slides higher, resting under your ass so your back is lifted off the couch, the angle makes it easier for you to effectively grind onto his mouth, and from the squeeze he gives your ass you assume he wants you to, so you roll your hips gently onto his mouth, moaning when he groans into your core. “Oh my god, Colton,” You say breathily, grinding onto his face again. Your grip on his hair is tightening, and your hips are moving faster. At this point you’re pretty sure you’re suffocating him but his tongue is so enthusiastic you can’t be bothered to care.

The roll of your hips combined with him sucking harshly at your clit has your orgasm building quickly. Another flick of his tongue against your clit sends you right over the edge, and you try to stifle your scream as best as you can, jerking around on the couch as Colton’s mouth relaxes. He draws slow circles around your clit, and your muscles slowly start to let go. But then his hand slips from yours, and he’s sinking two fingers easily into your core.

You jolt up on the couch, but Colton’s arm is there to hold you down. “You like that?” He asks, pushing his fingers in again. You feel them moving inside of you, rubbing at your walls and spreading you out. 

“Mm, Colt,” You murmur, jerking and holding his wrist to you when he rubs against your g spot. “Right there,” You tell him, feeling like you’re getting close to your high again so quickly.

“Yeah?” His voice is raspy, and you whine when his fingers slip from you, missing the stretch already. You’re not left wanting for long though, because he slowly pushes three fingers in, grunting when you clench around him. “Fuck,” He mumbles. He’s eyeing you taking his fingers like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and all you want to do is kiss the lip that he’s currently holding in between his teeth.

“Colton,” You whine reaching down for his wrist, “Please fuck me,”

“I’m not done yet,” He fires back, your hold on him being easily broken by a particularly hard brush of his fingers against your walls. 

“Holy- unf,” Your body tenses around him, thighs trying to close when he presses his thumb hard onto your clit. You’re already sensitive so one touch has you cumming almost instantly. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He murmurs, fingers slipping from your dripping cunt. It’s almost instinct for you to open your mouth, wrapping your lips around his digits to taste yourself. 

His hand comes in with more pressure than usual this time, his palm holding your jaw shut. You moan around his fingers while he supports himself with a knee so that he can slide out of his shorts, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him, but you want him. 

His cock springs free, and he slides it through your folds, teasing your entrance a little before pushing in slowly. It takes him what feels like forever to bottom out, but the stretch is so good you feel like you could cry.

His other hand comes to pull your leg up, resting right on the back of your thigh above your knee so that your calf hangs over his arm. He’s effectively pinned you down now with the pressure on your leg and on your jaw, but you’re not even sure you’d be able to move if you wanted to. 

“You feel so good,” Colton is rolling his hips against yours hard and fast, your moans coming out as nothing but vibrations against his fingers. Your eyes clamp shut when you feel another orgasm building, because at this point, you have no control over yourself anymore, and you feel like you might actually pass out. Your walls are involuntarily clenching around him, making him let out a throaty groan. 

“Come on hun, cum for me,” He fucks into you harder if that’s even possible, fingers pushing down on your tongue to stifle the scream that bursts out when you cum again. 

You’re honestly about to lose count of the amount of orgasms you’ve had, or are going to have, because Colton hasn’t finished yet, and the rolling of his hips against yours doesn’t seem to be slowing down. 

Your body shudders as he continues to pound into you. One of your hands clasps onto his wrist, the other scrambling to find anything to hold onto as you feel yourself climbing the hill to another orgasm really quickly. 

You’re so sensitive that the twitch of his cock inside you is enough to send you into your fourth orgasm, tears spilling out of your eyes. Your body feels limp, and you’re so blissed out when Colton pulls his fingers from your mouth that you can’t even talk, let alone push him away when he relocates to between your thighs. 

His tongue is gentle, lapping up all the cum that is at this point spilling out of you. When he flicks over your clit, your body is jerking again, and you have enough strength momentarily to try and push him away from your body, but your attempts are weak, and within no time you’re cumming for the fifth time. 

You’re not even sure how long it takes you to stop panting, and you think you might actually have fallen asleep for a hot second, but Colton is shifting in behind you, pushing the sweaty hair away from your face. 

“How- was that,” When you actually find the energy to speak, it’s not even clearly. “Five?” You manage to get out.

“Five for five days.” Colton snickers, pressing his lips to your hot cheeks. “Sex is part of my pregame routine, just so you know. As of now.” 

You’re so tired you really can’t find it in you to dwell on the fact that he’s putting you into his future plans, so you shut your eyes. “One or two will do next time,” 

And then you’re asleep. 

.....

Tugging at the blues ball cap on your head you look around to take in your sourroundings again. You’re trying not to look too uncomfortable but you can’t imagine you’re doing too good at it. Being in the friends and family box for your first ever NHL game wasn’t something you’d expected, and you definitely weren’t prepared for the questions you were about to get.

When you see a brunette doing a double take you know they’re about to start. “This is a new face,” She chirps, coming to sit beside you. You put on a smile, one that says I’m totally not about to pee myself from nerves. “Y/N?” She asks, before you can say anything.

“Uh- yeah.” You nod, holding out a hand. “Hi,”

She takes it with a smile, making you feel a little less nerdy for starting with a handshake. “I’m Francesca. Patrick’s fiancé. Colton told him you’d be here, you’re from Edmonton?”

You nod again, feeling like an idiot for not knowing who she’s talking about.

“That’s where Patrick used to play. We loved it there,”

That’s when it hits you, Patrick Maroon. Oilers winger during their playoff run. “I had a Maroon t-shirt,” You blurt, chuckling after you realize what you’ve said to make it seem like you’re not just nervous mumbling. “We loved him too.”

She smiles at this, placing a gentle hand on your own for a second as a thank you. “You’re wearing a different color tonight then, a little strange?”

“Definitely,” You answer, starting to feel a little bit more comfortable. “I told him there was no way he was getting me into a jersey. A hat is as far as it’s going.”

You fall into easy conversation with Francesca throughout the game, walking around the concourse during intermissions, talking about home and other things. When the game is over and she’s showing you over to the waiting area, you’re really hoping that she’s one of the couples coming out later with you. Even though she’s not actually from there, she still reminds you a little bit of home, which is really nice when everything is so unfamiliar.

“There’s a group going for dinner, are you coming?” You ask hopefully.

She furrows her eyebrows, “Um, I don’t think so. But I’ll be here next game, so I’ll see you then right?”

You’re not actually sure if she will, cause you have no idea if you’ll still be here, but you nod anyway, feeling a little disappointed. She hugs you goodbye when she sees Patrick and you’re left alone, all the nerves coming back just as easily as they went away.

Waiting here is literally going to give you a nervous twitch because you feel so extremely out of place. Then there’s shock and confusion because all of the sudden there’s some rando kissing your cheek.

Only when you turn around, it’s not a stranger, it’s a very familiar six foot six blonde guy.

“Security!” You call with a grin, making him snort.

“Very funny,” He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you. “I could take them anyway,”

You glance up at his confident smirk with a raised brow. “Hm, pretty cocky there for someone who’s only had two fights. Pretty sure you lost both also,”

“Wow she’s whitty today!” Colton laughs, “You know if you’re just gonna chirp me now I might just leave you here.”

“I only know two people in St Louis, I can’t be on my own.” You sarcastically reply.

“Who’s the other?” Colton asks curiously and you grin.

“Other? The two I was talking about were Francesca and her dog, Bernie. But now I guess there’s three if you’re counting the weirdo that just came up beh-“

“Okay okay,” He interrupts with a contagious smile. You break into a fit of giggles and wrap your arms around him.

“My best insults are wasted on you, it’s a tragedy.” You sigh, resting your chin on his chest while you look up at him. “I should be out there on the ice, throwing shade.”

“Christ,” He rubs a hand over his face to try and hide the smile. “Something tells me you wouldn’t last long out there.” You try to look hurt but he just shakes his head. “What are you, like five two?”

“No!” You burst, giving him a gentle shove, then opting for a firmer one when it does literally nothing. “I’m five four.”

“Oh sorry,” He replies sarcastically, “That’s so tall, you’ll do great against Chara.”

“Look who’s chirping now,” You grumble, trying to resist his affections as he effectively pulls you back into him.

“Lets go,” He chuckles, tugging you towards the door. You follow in tow as he leads you through hallways to the garage. The whole ride to the restaurant Colton is rubbing his massive hand up and down on your leg, and you wish it was doing something to calm your nerves, but it really wasn’t.

“No singing for me today?” He asks, squeezing your leg lightly while you shake your head. “Don’t be nervous,” He whispers, pulling into a spot in front of the fancy place.

“Shit,” You mumble, swiping the ball cap off your head. Colton looks on, amused while you frantically run your hands through your hair, trying to mute the undeniable hat line.

Your heart is beating fast and all you’re thinking about is how much you really don’t want to do this, but you follow him into the restaurant anyway, trying your best to not look so frigid.

There’s a series of barks and nicknames hollered at Colton when you make it to the table, your eyes scanning the expensive looking alcohol that you wouldn’t be able to have. Here anyway.

“Hey boys,” He starts, “This is Y/N.” You give a small wave while all the eyes scan over you.

“Oh, we’ve met!” One announces, and you furrow your brows.

Some of the others stare blatantly for longer than needed and you shift onto your other leg uncomfortably. They look confused, and you feel even worse than you did at the arena.

“I don’t think so, Fabbs.” Colton chuckles awkwardly.

“Yeah totally,” He insists. “You’re the kindergarten teacher, me and Eddy came out with you and Colt for your twenty fifth, yeah?” He tries to explain himself and you start to feel a little sick to your stomach, but you shake your head.

“No- uh,” Colton stutters and everything feels extremely tense for a second. “That- She wasn’t, that was someone else.” He finally gets out.

“Oh, sorry. You guys just looked really similar.” The guy apologizes while the guy beside him hits him on the shoulder, as if to say ‘dude, shut up.’

Well this was a great start. Turns out his friends have met you, or at least the twenty five year old version of you. Colton slides into the booth and you sit beside him, a good foot away.

“Y/N, that’s Robby,” Colton starts, and he waves sheepishly, obviously feeling guilty for his earlier comments. “That’s Joel, and Vince, and the other Robbie.”

“We actually have met.” The other Robbie starts, and you tense up, waiting for the next story about another one of your look alike’s. How old would this one be?

“The hotel in Edmonton, right? I saw you when you came to visit.”

It takes you a minute to realize that you actually have met him, very briefly. He was the one who knocked on Colton’s door for you. “Oh yeah!” You chirp, feeling a little relieved.

“Do you want a drink?” He asks, motioning to one of the many bottles and pre pored shots on the table.

Perfect. Just what you need to make the situation better. Calling attention to the fact that you’re a minor and can’t have alcohol. Even though you’re really feeling like you need it. “No thanks,”

You’re really hoping they’ll just drop it, but of course they don’t. “Aw, why not? Not even just a little one?”

“No that’s okay, I’m really good.”

“What are you, a minor or something?” Robby laughs, and the rest of the boys join in, until they see no amusement whatsoever on your face.

“Not in Canada I’m not!” You offer with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. They chuckle awkwardly and you cringe, this literally could not be going worse. You swear you can hear crickets for a minute and you’re seriously considering trying to drown yourself in the sink in the bathroom when Joel pipes up.

“So are you guys...?” He starts, but waits for one of you to finish the sentence.

“Yeah...” Colton is about to answer, but you can tell he’s not totally sure what to say, so you decide to help out.

“Just friends.” The table goes silent and once again the tenseness has returned. At this rate it’s going to be literally impossible to get through the night sober, so you reach for one of the pre pored shots murmuring a “Fuck it,” Before downing it quickly.

The boys cheer and you smile elegantly, doing a sitting bow. It takes a little while for normal conversation to start, but with another shot and sips (or gulps) of Colton’s drink you’re starting to feel a little looser.

When you have your third, you’re not even thinking about your older look alike anymore.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Colton suggests, and you glare at him. He laughs a little, trying to seem like it was an innocent suggestion when you both know it wasn’t. “You’re little, the alcohol hits you hard.”

“Little?” You take note of the word right away, and you know that’s not how he meant it but there’s been so many cracks about your age tonight that you’re taking everything the wrong way.

“Y/N,” He starts, quietly. But you don’t really wanna hear it, you’re not ready to play nice after learning about the teacher, so you stand quickly.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” You tell him as you turn. You’re a little drunk and all you wanna do is go home. At this point you’re really just feeling like you need some time to process everything you’ve learned.

He tried to date someone who looked like you. Someone who looked like you, but was older. His age. He tried to replace you.

And it hurt. Walking away from him hurt, seeing him with Rachel hurt, but this was probably the worst of them. This actually made you mad.

While you’re dwelling on your anger you’re reminded of what Colton said when he asked you to come here, about why it was so hard to leave, because neither of you did anything to hurt the other.

But now he had. Even if it wasn’t intentionally.

You really should go home. Sober up so you can think about this rationally, but that option isn’t really available, and all you can feel right now is anger.

When you leave the bathroom, you’re greeted with a wave from Vince as he stands at the bar. “Hey, do you want anything?”

Standing here with Vince for a while sounds much better than going back to the table so you nod and stand beside him. “Maybe a rum and coke?”

He flags down the bartender to ask, and you thank him with a smile. “So you’re from Edmonton?” He asks and you nod.

“Ah, another Canadian. I’m from Ontario.”

“Oh awesome!” You start, and you’re really only intending to make casual conversation at first, it’s innocent, but when he glances behind you, you know he’s looking at the table, and you know Colton is watching. Now you’re not feeling so innocent. Might as well trying on make him mad too.“Where in Ontario?” You ask, intentionally quieter so that he has to lean in to hear you. When he moves closer you put a hand on his arm and repeat your question.

“I’m from Peterborough but I live in Toronto in the off season.” He answers. Stepping closer you really hope Colton is still watching.

“Oh, I’m visiting Toronto in the summer with a friend. We’ve never been,”

“Well it’s nice there, I think you’ll like it,” His body language is the complete opposite of yours, and you know that he’s very aware of Colton’s eyes on the two of you.

“Well if you’re there maybe you could show us around?” You take it up a notch, pulling out your phone to give it to him.

Vince furrows his eyebrows at you, but starts typing anyway. “Colton is pissed,” He pauses, eyes wandering behind you while he gives you your phone back. “But you know that already right?”

You felt powerful before, but after Vince’s call out you just feel desperate. Taking your drink from the bartender you nod carefully.

“He’s coming over here,” Vince gulps, “I’m gonna get throttled at practice tomorrow.”

“Sorry,” You murmur, tipping your glass back to get as much courage as you can before Colton drags your ass out of here.

A hand wraps around your waist and you tense, taking a deep breath in. “Ready to go?”

“No-“ You start, but Colton interrupts.

“I am.”

Sighing you put on a fake smile. “Bye Vince!”

Colton gives him a pat on the shoulder before steering you back to the table. You give a wave, saying bye to the rest of the guys on your way out. As soon as you’re out the door you swipe Colton’s hand off of you, picking up your pace so that you’re in front of him.

At this point you’re so overwhelmed with emotions that you feel like you can burst into tears. You’re embarrassed, and upset and you just want to scream.

You slam the car door behind you and Colton starts the engine. He seems much more calm then you are at this point. You bite your tongue the entire drive back to his apartment, thinking over things to say but deciding that none of them are good enough. You’re just so mad at him.

When his door shuts behind you both, you turn on him, watching while he goes into the kitchen. He pours a glass of water, placing it onto the island, pushing it towards you.

You ignore his gesture, hating the way he can’t even look at you. “Tonight went well, yeah?” You say sarcastically.

“Could’ve been better, if you didn’t decide to flirt with one of my teammates.” He says, level headed. Why is he still so calm?

“Oh right, cause that’s what did it in right?” You scoff. “Who were they talking about, Colton? Who was the teacher?” You pause, waiting for him to talk again but he doesn’t.

“A replacement? I’m too young so you find someone who looks just like me but older?” He turns away from you at this point, so you keep going, adding more fuel to the fire. “That’s pretty fucked up. But I should have expected this. Nothing has changed since last time, you still don’t think of me any differently, I’m just some little girl naive enough to hop into bed with you, right?” Your own words have brought you to tears, and you swipe under your eyes before he notices.

But still, nothing.

“I’m sorry that I did that with Vince, but hey, this will make it easier right? At least now you’re mad at me.”

He grips the counter, back muscles tense as you wait for a response. When it becomes obvious he’s not gonna say anything your anger boils over.

“So I think I’m gonna go.” Shaking your head you fiddle with your fingers, “Home,” You add quietly, clarifying your intentions to hop on the next flight to Edmonton. “You obviously don’t want me here anymore.”

This time your words receive a way different reaction. One you’ve never seen from Colton before.

It all happens so fast that you’re not sure it actually does happen until the yelling begins. He grabs a fork that’s sitting on the counter, and then he throws it hard towards the sink. It makes a loud clang against the backsplash before rattling into the sink. “I’m fucking trying! Don’t you get that?”

Now it’s you who isn’t responding, you’re shocked into silence at his sudden outburst.  

“This entire week I’ve been trying, I brought you here, I’ve took you to my game, you met my friends! I don’t understand what more you want! We’ve been acting like a couple, but we’re not one, you made that clear. You are the one that’s throwing up roadblocks. I was the one who had an issue with your age at the beginning, and I’m sorry for that, but I got over it. You’re the one who hasn’t.” He pauses, out of breath shaking his head. “I have been trying so hard  to keep you in my life, but you keep walking out and blaming it on me. So stop acting like I’m the one pushing you out the door, because we both know I have never done that.” He looks at you, face flushed with anger, and his eyes soften slightly when he sees the tears fall. You always hated yelling. He knew that.

When he speaks again his voice softens, but it still holds just as much hostility. “The hotel in Edmonton? You walked out. The party? You walked out. And you’re trying to again. But I’m done feeling responsible for every break up. I just- I can’t-” His voice cracks at the end and he holds up a hand, before letting it drop to his side, defeated.

“Colton,” You stutter out, tears flowing freely down your face, but you’ve come up blank the rest of the way.

“I’m just done.”

The words come out, and the glass of water beside him is thrown carelessly across the room. It hits the wall beside you, shattering everywhere, the pieces littering the floor around you. When it breaks its like something inside you does too. Your eyes meet and it’s like every single time you’ve said goodbye to him hits you at once. You thought things felt over all those other times, but now you’re realizing the finality of his words. He’s done.

The emotion in his eyes is too much to handle, so you break the gaze, biting your lip to hold in the sobs that are constricting your breathing.

There are so many things you want to say to him. You want to change his mind, you want to apologize, but you can’t even form a coherent thought at the moment.

Colton moves in your peripheral vision. You think he’s about to leave, and you literally feel a sharp pain in your chest at the thought. Until you hear his shoes crunching in the shards of glass. He doesn’t say anything, he just gently lifts you into his arms, carrying you away from the glass surrounding you. It hurts your heart to know that even though he’s so mad he’s still trying to protect you.

You can’t even bring yourself to tell him that you just want to stay like this, you don’t want him to let you go but you don’t even feel like you deserve to. You’ve never felt more like a child with him until now, when he sets you down on the counter and peels your limbs off of him like a father leaving an upset toddler.

It’s so hard to watch him walk away, to watch him turn his back on you. Sucking in a deep breath you want to say something to stop him, but you’re too late. The front door shuts behind him.  Watching him get further and further from you, you know now exactly how he felt every single time you were the one walking out. You understand now why he’s done.

[afjakwritesarchive]

usuk fic?? much angst??? soulmate au where everything you write on your wrist goes on your soulmates??????????? and maybe alfred is blind? so he cant see anything written there much less reply? so arthur thinks he aint got no soulmate? jgbshajhygvshuytb i love your writingg hhhhh i read all your usuk fanfics in like a day

Title: you were right here all the time (i was blind)Pairing: USUKWords: 3,114AU: Human/SoulmateGenre: Romance/AngstSummary: Arthur grows up believing he has no soulmate. Then he runs into him in a grocery store.A/N: Wow! I can’t believe it’s been over a month since my last post! I changed the prompt a little, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Title taken from OK GO’s Skyscrapers. !!! TW for mentions of self harm and alcoholism !!!

Arthur was six years old the first time he saw his father’s neat handwriting appear seemingly by magic upon the back of his mother’s pale, freckled hand.

“Mum, what’s that?” He asked, forest green eyes peering curiously at her hand.

Alice’s eyes–the same sparkling green as Arthur’s–flitted downward and a soft, fond smile stretched across her slim face. “Your father’s making a grocery list,” she said gently, watching as the words appeared letter-by-letter upon the milky white skin of her hand.

Milk, tomatoes, butter, tea, spaghetti noodles.

Alice smiled and reached into her pocket, extracting a pen. Don’t forget bread, she added in her loopy cursive script. Arthur watched in wide-eyed fascination as more words appeared below hers, again in his father’s handwriting. Right. Love you. 

I love you too, wrote Alice in return before raising her eyes to her son’s face and giggling at the starstruck expression he wore. 

“Mum, are you and dad magic?!” Asked Arthur excitedly. 

Alice’s giggle turned into a full-on laugh. She reached out, resting her ink-covered hand over Arthur’s shoulder and smiling broadly at him. “No, sweetheart, although I believe there’s a certain magic about your father and I share. We’re soulmates.”

“Soulmates?” Arthur echoed curiously. He’d heard the word more times than he could count, but he’d never fully understood its meaning.

“Yes. When people are meant to be together, they can communicate in a way they can’t with others. Whatever your soulmate writes on themselves will appear on you, and vice versa. Your father and I are soulmates, which is why we can write back and forth to each other.”

“When can you start writing to your soulmate?”

“Well, you have to know how to write first. Your father wrote to me for the first time when I was only two–he’s six years older than me, so it took me a while before I could write back. But once I could we wrote to each other every day.”

Arthur peered down at his mother’s other hand, which was empty of words, and then down to his own pale palm. “Do I have a soulmate?”

“Of course,” she said. “Everyone does, either platonic or romantic.”

“Can I write to them?”

“Yes, if you want,” she said, smiling gently. 

Arthur reached for the pen and put it to his arm, writing the words Hello soulmate in the messy script of a six-year-old. His mother grinned and moved her hand from his shoulder to his head, ruffling his pale blond hair affectionately. 

“We’ll have to wait for them to respond now.”

“How long will it take?” Arthur questioned. 

“That’s up to them,” Alice replied gently. 

Arthur never got a response. 

As the years wore on, Arthur wrote to his soulmate daily. When he was nine and still hadn’t received a response, his mother assured him that there was nothing to worry about. Perhaps he was older than his his soulmate, she suggested, like she and his father. His soulmate may not have been able to write back yet; or, perhaps, they weren’t even born yet. 

When Arthur was twelve and still hadn’t received a response, his father patted him on the back and told him that sometimes people got nervous about responding. He had felt strange about replying to Arthur’s mother at times, he said, because she was so much younger than him and wanted to talk about their relationship. Perhaps Arthur’s soulmate could tell that he was much younger and felt uncomfortable writing back, too. 

When Arthur was fourteen, Arthur shed the first of many tears over his absent soulmate. His best friend, Francis, rested his ink-covered palm over Arthur’s blank one and promised Arthur that his soulmate was out there. That night, Arthur put a pen to his arm and wrote please, please be out there. 

When Arthur was seventeen, he accepted the fact that he had no perfect match. That night he took something much sharper than a pen to his wrist. 

When Arthur was twenty-eight, he started writing to his soulmate again. He knew, realistically, that he didn’t have one; he’d long since come to terms with the fact that he was one of those extraordinarily rare individuals who had no ideally-suited match. In his teenage years, the knowledge that he was destined to be alone had resulted in more nights with his fingers clasped around a bottle or a blade than he could count, but he’d long since cleaned up his act. Knowing that he would never have something 99% of the population had–especially when that something was so beautiful–was painful, of course, but he wasn’t entirely alone. 

There were people with awful soulmates, people whose soulmates were abusers. There were people whose soulmates were dead or dying. There were people who disliked their soulmates or had fallen out of love with them; it wasn’t uncommon for married soulmates to get divorced and re-marry someone outside of their match these days, although some still considered it taboo. 

Arthur could accept that, he thought. He could be happy falling in love with someone outside of a match, if he ever found them. After all, love was what one made it; if two people really loved each other, they could make it work no matter the odds. At least, that was what his friends and family had told him. Arthur didn’t know if he was totally sold on the idea of “true love” yet. How could he be, when the universe was clearly trying to tell him that it couldn’t happen for him? 

Nonetheless, he’d started to write on himself again as a way to cope. It was nice to write to his soulmate, even if he knew that he was writing to a person who didn’t exist. He covered himself from elbow to wrist, thigh to ankle, in ink. He wrote about his hopes and dreams, his fears, his day, anything and everything that came to him. He liked the idea of his soulmate reading his words and being comforted by them, although he knew it was impossible. 

Today, Arthur jotted a grocery list down on the heel of his palm the way he’d seen his father do all those years ago. He even signed it with an I love you, and imagined his soulmate taking up a pen the way his mother had and writing a soft, I love you too in return.  

The walk to the supermarket was a calm and easy one. The sun was low in the sky, the world awash with its golden light. It was warm enough that Arthur didn’t even bother with a jacket, and he’d rolled his jumper up to the elbows. It used to embarrass him, having all of the ink he covered himself in on display, but now he rather enjoyed how normal it made him feel. People would walk by and smile, complimenting him on how sweet he and his soulmate were for writing so much to each other, and Arthur would get to pretend, if only for a moment, that there was someone out there writing back to him. 

Arthur entered the supermarket, scooping up a basket on his way in. He walked slowly through the aisles, taking his time to find what he needed. He’d stopped and was reaching out to grab some tea when an older woman approached with a smile, patting his shoulder. “You and your soulmate are so sweet, writing to each other like that,” she said, eyes glittering with sincere happiness.

Arthur smiled softly down at her, “thank you, miss.”

“It’s adorable that you write to each other even though you’re together now, too. People must compliment the two of you all the time!” 

Arthur’s thick brows furrowed and he blinked, confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what you mean. I haven’t met my soulmate yet,” he lied, because it was easier than explaining that he was pathetic enough to write to someone who didn’t exist. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, dear. I saw a man with arms covered like yours in the next aisle over and assumed he was with you because the handwriting looked similar. I’m sorry to bother you, then!” She chuckled, patting his shoulder lightly before turning and walking off. 

Arthur paused, watching her leave with widened eyes. There couldn’t… She couldn’t have seen… No. It was impossible. Arthur didn’t have a soulmate; it was just a coincidence, surely. There were other people who wrote a lot to each other; it wasn’t as if he was the only one with ink-covered arms. There was no use getting his hopes over nothing. 

And yet, Arthur felt his heart beating faster in his chest, and a feeling eh couldn’t place had settled over him. It was something like longing, something urging him to investigate, to seek out this man. But why? Surely he had no soulmate, so why work himself up? His soulmate wouldn’t had gone all these years without ever writing back to him… Would they? 

Before Arthur could stop himself, he was turning on his heel and rushing into the next aisle. It was empty, aside from two tall, blond men standing side-by-side at the opposite end. They were nearly identical in appearance; twins, most likely. One had a pair of round glasses and was scanning the shelf while the other had his back to Arthur and was speaking animatedly, arms moving wildly as he spoke. Sure enough, in his sky blue t-shirt, his ink-covered arms were clearly visible. Arthur was standing too far away to make out any of the words or the handwriting, but something about the sight made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Self-conscious, Arthur rolled down the sleeves of his deep green jumper to hide his writing. His heart was racing and he didn’t know why. He tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter what was written on the man’s arms because he had no soulmate, but he couldn’t make himself walk away. In fact, his feet began to carry him forward, toward the two pair of men, until he was approaching the one with his back turned. 

“Excuse me,” he said. The man with his back turned jumped, startled, and whirled around. His twin placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay, Al,” said the one with round glasses before meeting Arthur’s gaze over his brother’s shoulder and smiling politely. “Hello,” he greeted, obviously confused by the stranger who had approached. 

“Hi,” Arthur said, shifting his weight from foot to foot and feeling incredibly foolish. “I couldn’t help but to notice your arms. I-I just think it’s so sweet, how much you and your soulmate write to each other,” he said, parroting the words of the woman from before. He couldn’t bring himself to look down and scan the man’s arms, nor could he bring himself to look up into the man’s face, so instead he settled for looking past him to his twin. 

“Oh,” said the man–Al, as his twin had called him–sheepishly. “Thanks! I guess they write to me a lot. I think it’s sweet too!” 

“They sure write a lot,” his twin added with a smile, “Alfred already had words on him when he was born.”

Arthur still hadn’t brought himself to look into the man’s face or at his arms. “Is that so? That must have been quite the surprise for your parents. Would you mind if I…?” Arthur trailed off, freckled cheeks flushing awkwardly.

“Oh! Sure!” The man exclaimed, raising an arm slightly. “I’m Alfred, by the way, and that’s Matthew.”

Arthur barely had the sense to give Alfred his name in return, already reaching out to take Alfred’s arm in his hand. He’d hardly taken a glance at his the man’s arm when he paled, his familiar script unmistakable to him. He glanced down and caught sight of the shopping list he’d written less than an hour ago on Alfred’s palm. The sight of his “I love you” on Alfred’s tan hand made his heart ache. 

“What’s wrong?” Matthew asked, seeming to realize that something was off based on the ghost like paleness of Arthur’s face. 

“I-I…” Arthur trailed off and slowly released Alfred’s arm. He was still reeling from the shock of what was happening, but he managed to pull up one of his sleeves to reveal the identical writing along his arm. Not once had he looked into Alfred’s face, unable to meet the man’s eyes knowing what he knew. So he had a soulmate after all, and somehow it was still painful. Arthur had hoped and prayed for this for years, and yet now that it was happening all he could feel was pain. Obviously Alfred didn’t want him–why else would he have never responded? 

Matthew’s eyes flickered from Alfred’s arm to Arthur’s and back. His jaw fell open. “Oh my god,” he gasped. 

“What? Mattie, what’s wrong?” Alfred asked, as if he were entirely oblivious to the entire encounter. Arthur felt a bit of rage flare up within him at that; how could Alfred act so unaware? How could his soulmate be someone so cruel? 

“Al, you–This is–your arms match! This is your soulmate!” Matthew cried, still gaping.

“What?!” Alfred cried incredulously, his voice taking on a sweet, sing-song quality out of excitement. “Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you! You said it was Arthur, right? That’s such a cute name. I love your accent too! I-I can’t believe you’re here, oh my god, I wanna know everything! You’re from England, right? How old are you? What are your hobbies? What do you–”

“Al, give him a chance to breathe!” Matthew cut in hurriedly, seeming to note the distress written across Arthur’s handsome face. 

Despite Alfred’s obvious enthusiasm, Arthur was incredibly confused and more than a little angry. How could he act so excited and happy as if he hadn’t left Arthur alone and thinking he didn’t have a soulmate for most of his life? Rage was burning hot within him, forcing its way out of his body in the form of hot tears that gathered in the corner of his virescent eyes. Arthur finally gathered the courage to raise his head and look into his soulmate’s face for the first time, fixing him with a heated glare. 

Alfred was grinning widely, his smile by far the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen. His eyes were a gorgeous, striking blue with flecks of gold and his thick lashes made them look even larger than they were. Excitement was clear in his expression, and yet there was something slightly off. Alfred wasn’t looking into Arthur’s face and rather at the top of his head, perhaps a little past him. 

“Why did you never write back?” Arthur demanded, ignoring his soulmate’s confusing behavior. “I spent all this time thinking I had no one! I wrote to you every single night for years, begging you to respond to me! I-I thought I was destined to be alone forever, and you let me! How could you?!” He asked, immediately turning on his heel and making to run. 

“Wait!” Matthew cried, pushing past Alfred to grab Arthur by the wrist. Arthur stopped, astonished, and whipped around to glare at him. 

“Why the hell are you defending him?! Let go of me!” Arthur yanked his wrist out of Matthew’s strong hand, punctuating his action with a string of loud curse words.

“I’m blind!” Alfred suddenly shouted over Arthur, taking a few steps forward until his shoulder bumped against Matthew’s. “I’m so sorry, I-I know I must have hurt you, but I swear I didn’t mean to! Sometimes Mattie read them to me, but I could never respond because I don’t write very well. Please, please don’t go,” he begged, and Arthur noted with rapidly growing horror that tears had appeared in the corners of Alfred’s eyes too. 

“You’re blind,” Arthur said, a stab of guilt cutting through him as he spoke. “Oh my god, you’re blind.” 

Alfred’s cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “I promise I didn’t mean to make you feel alone, and I understand if you’re still angry, but… Please don’t go.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Arthur asked, shaking his head rapidly. Tears were springing to his eyes again, but this time they were from relief. “Oh my god, I’m such an arse. I can’t believe I just yelled at you for being blind.”

“It’s okay,” Alfred said, a bit of laughter escaping him, “you’re kind of a hothead, aren’t you?” 

Arthur’s cheeks flooded with heat, still feeling extremely guilty for his outburst. “Again, I apologize. If you’d give me a chance, I’d love to make a better second impression,” he said, and flashed a sheepishly apologetic smile at Matthew, who was watching the scene unfold.

Alfred beamed, his eyes still looking a little past Arthur. “Dude, I’m just glad you still want me,” he laughed. “You sounded pretty angry there for a second.”

Arthur couldn’t help but to laugh a little, years of hurt seeming to melt away within seconds when faced with Alfred’s carefree smile. “Of course I do.” 

“In that case, would you mind if I felt your face? Nothing creepy, it’s just to get a sense of what you look like.” 

“Of course,” Arthur said. Alfred raised his hands and Arthur took them gently in his own, guiding them to his face. 

“You’re short,” Alfred said with a startled laugh. “Have I been looking past you this whole time?” 

“It’s alright,” Arthur said, flushing when the American’s warm palms came to rest on his cheeks. Slowly, gently, Alfred’s hands moved across his face; when his thumb brushed along Arthur’s lips, he let out a little hum of appreciation that had Arthur going cherry red. 

“You have soft skin,” Alfred mused. “What color?”

Arthur was half-tempted to lie, if only to make himself seem more attractive, but he knew that wouldn’t be fair. “Pale as a ghost and covered in freckles,” he sighed, resigned to his fate. 

“Cute,” Alfred replied. “What color are your eyes?” He asked as he brushed his thumb gently along Arthur’s thick lashes.

“Green,” Arthur supplied. 

“You’re really handsome.”

Arthur flushed. “Thank you. You are, too.”

Alfred’s smile widened. “Really?”

“Of course,” Arthur said, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his voice. “You’re gorgeous.”

Alfred’s cheeks went delightfully red and he opened his mouth to say something back, only to stall when his fingers ran across Arthur’s thick eyebrows. “Holy shit, your eyebrows are huge!” He exclaimed loudly, still with a happy smile stuck upon his face.

Arthur was so lovestruck, he couldn’t even find it in him to be mad.

[takingcourage]

Additions: Part 2

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 3,700

Summary: During their first morning at home, the kids start settling in and Jaime and Arden get their first taste of parenting.  

Note: Based on my drafting and outlining, I anticipate that this series will be 6 full parts (give or take one) and a brief epilogue. I should be able to post at least an update a week from here on out -- hopefully more, if editing and polishing go smoothly. 

I also wanted to include a quick note about content. As the story progresses and you get to know more about the kids, you’ll see that they’ve experienced a fair share of difficulties. Although I ultimately want this series to be a hopeful and uplifting read, I also don’t want to be naive in the way I deal with their upbringing. If you have any concerns about the way I’ve portrayed any elements of this story, please tell me. I’d much rather correct my mistakes than make a further mess of things. 

Anyway, happy reading! 

June, 2027

Arden woke early, not quite believing that she’d actually slept through the night. As she consulted the phone on her nightstand, she felt Jaime stir at her side. When his imploring hand reached out to caress her hip, she flipped over to face him. 

“It isn’t even daylight,” he urged, voice thick from sleep. “We could go back to sleep.” 

She snuggled up to him, cool nose nuzzling his shoulder. “I don’t want them to get up before we do. And I forgot to ask last night if they like pancakes.” 

He chuckled and lowered his face to kiss her hairline. “They’ll be here next Saturday too.” 

Arden’s fingers teased the patch of hair on his chest, her voice growing quiet at the intimation. “But you know how important it is for us to be consistent. It’s their first full day here and I want to start things off right. Plus, it’s tradition.”

Jaime buried his face in her hair, his lips providing assurances before he ever gave voice to them. “We’ll start plenty of new traditions as a family of five. If they don’t like pancakes, we’ll find other routines to get into.” 

Wiggling even closer, she basked in the remnant of sleep warmth that lingered between their sheets. On any other day, she’d have been tempted to stay there until some outside force pulled them both from bed, but she was far too full of thoughts on this morning to lose herself in such amusements. 

“And I can almost guarantee that they’ll like pancakes.” 

She giggled into his ribs. “Probably so. All right, I’m getting up now.” With a slight groan, she pushed herself away and left the bed. Entering the bathroom, she heard the telltale rustle of blankets as her husband joined her. 

“It may be a little early to start on breakfast, but we can go drink some coffee while we wait for them to get up,” he suggested, bypassing her at the double-wide vanity. 

“It’s never too early for coffee.” 

Jaime shook his head and stepped into the shower with a grin. “I’m enabling your addiction, aren’t I?”

She cocked a brow, but didn’t dignify the comment with further response. Instead, Arden made her way to the dresser and set about choosing an outfit for the morning. The options were still sitting at the foot of their bed when Jaime emerged from the shower, hair dripping onto her bare skin as he leaned over her to take a look. 

“I didn’t figure this part out before,” she admitted, rotating her face so she could see him. “Do I put on lounge pants or real clothes? I want them to know that we’re down-to-earth, but I don’t want to look like a slob. We’re supposed to “model good choices” and all of that.” 

He hugged her tightly, and though she squirmed automatically against the loose droplets of water that transferred to her skin, it didn’t take long for her to relax into his continued touch.

“You’ll be modeling good choices no matter what, babe. Before you know it, you’ll be back to work and long gone by this time most mornings. Besides, I think our Saturdays now are for lounging around and enjoying family time.” 

“Okay.” 

Arden took the advice gratefully, slipping her jeans back onto the shelf in her closet. She pulled on the drawstring sweatpants she’d selected, subconsciously checking to make sure they hadn’t gotten too wrinkly in the days they’d spent sitting in her drawer. 

“Ready?” came his quiet question minutes later. 

“Can I have a kiss first?”

He gave in, and the easy motion bolstered her strength. “We’ve got this, Arden.”

The relative darkness of the house meant that they had to navigate by memory. As they crept down the stairs, Arden had to suppress the feeling that they were some strange variety of burglar -- tiptoeing and avoiding all excess noise in their own home. On reaching the kitchen, Jaime flipped on a single light and withdrew the bag of grounds from the cupboard.

No sooner had Arden turned on the sink to fill the pot than footsteps creaked on the stairs. Their daughter appeared in the kitchen doorway moments later.

“Morning, Sophia.” Jaime gave her a welcoming smile as he folded back the top of the package of coffee. 

“Good morning,” Arden echoed, briefly taking in the girl’s appearance.

“Good morning,” came the tentative response. One hand raised to brush the neatly-parted hair behind her ear. The other slipped into the pocket of her jeans. 

Why am I so awkward? Just say “good morning” back like a normal person. 

The errant thought wrenched Arden’s heart, and she nearly dropped the pot of water balanced between her hands. Trying not to stare at the girl before her, she shifted it to the counter. She’d just decided to offer the child some coffee when Sophia spoke again.  

“Sorry,” she breathed, so cautiously that the words were almost a whimper. “I’m really bad at sleeping in new places and I woke up super early. I can go back to my room if that’s what you want.” 

Exchanging a quick glance with Jaime, Arden took a step toward the doorway. “Only if you want to. We weren’t sure what time you were used to eating breakfast, so we thought we’d come down and start with some coffee until you were all awake. Do you want some? We’d love to have you join us, even if you don’t want any.” 

In the months leading up to the placement, Arden had expected that interactions with their children would come as naturally her interactions with guests on the show – that all the right words would fall from her tongue at all of the right times. In the past eight years, she’d grown accustomed to the easy confidence she felt with her on-set persona. 

Her parent persona seemed incredibly stilted by contrast. Talking with her daughter was more like rehashing a script than anything genuine. She could practically feel herself checking off the familiar reminders. 

Be nurturing. When possible, let the child make decisions for herself. Include the child in normal family routines. 

Swallowing hard, she wondered how long it would take before she stopped second guessing her responses to everything. 

Sophia offered the shadow of a smile, tugging her hand from her pocket with no small degree of difficulty. “I like coffee.”

Arden’s brows scrunched. “Do you like it black?”

The girl couldn’t hide her impulse of disgust at the question, mouth souring at the thought of the bitter liquid. “Ugh, no.” Seeming to catch herself, she amended, “I can’t drink it like that.”

“Oh, good,” Arden sighed with relief. “Neither can I.” With renewed purpose, she opened the fridge and searched for the various bottles of creamer she knew resided on the shelves. Finding them, she ushered Sophia over for a look. “Do any of these sound good?”

Sophia squinted at the bottles she indicated, lifting her hand again to confirm that the hair was still tucked behind her ear. 

Arden gave her space, careful not to stare when it was so clear that she wasn’t ready to meet her eyes. 

But avoiding her face was hard. Those features had been seared on her memory for the better part of the past year. Seeing them before her now, she was struck by how notably they’d changed since September’s filming. The clear skin that she’d had in the initial video was now marked with a smattering of acne across her hairline, and her round cheeks had hollowed considerably over the course of the school year. 

She’s hardly a child at all, Arden realized with a sense of alarm. We’re going to have a teenager in the house in less than a year. I don’t think we’ve spent time around teenagers since we were teenagers. What have we done? There’s so much research I’ll have to do for–

As her thoughts began to spiral, Sophia’s voice dragged her out of the vortex. 

“Ca– May I try the hazelnut?”

Still trying to settle her mind, Arden retrieved the creamer she’d requested, along with the gallon of milk for herself. “If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to try any of the others.” She knew the response was delayed, but at least it felt better than not saying anything at all. “I like to switch things up now and then, so I usually have a few to choose from. Jaime doesn’t like anything in his at all,” she offered conspiratorially, placing the of bottles on the counter. “It’s gross, but he refuses to drink it any way other than black.” 

Jaime jumped in to defend himself, and soon the three of them were seated around the dining room table, mugs in hand. 

By the time the boys surfaced more than an hour later, they were just starting in on their second pot. 

“Ew, yuck,” Will announced on entering. “Coffee is dis-cuss-ting.” The word was drawn out, lisped over a pair of missing incisors. 

Alex elbowed him and traded a look with his sister. 

Jaime topped off Arden’s mug and passed her the sugar jar knowingly. “Well, we’ve got plenty of coffee if you happen to change your mind.” 

“I won’t,” Will promised, still rubbing his injured side. Taking a large step away from his brother, he found the empty seat at Sophia’s side. 

“How about you, Alex? Coffee?”

The boy’s tangled mop of hair shook vigorously. 

“All right. What about pancakes?” Jaime offered instead. 

I told you they’d want them, he told Arden when a round of nods circled the room.

“I can help make pancakes,” Sophia volunteered, pushing her empty coffee mug to the center of the table. 

“That’d be great,” Jaime agreed. “Do you like them with blueberries?”

Sophia looked at her brothers, discomfort evident in her puzzled expression. “I’m not sure. I don’t think we’ve had them like that before.” 

“I don’t like raisins,” Will chimed in. 

Arden’s face must have displayed her confusion at the younger boy’s admission. 

“We ate a lot of raisins with our last foster family,” Sophia offered by way of explanation. “He didn’t like them.”

Alex grumbled something under his breath. 

Sophia shot a warning gaze as she passed by his chair. “As long as they’re not raisin pancakes, we should be fine.” She stepped through the archway and stood attentively. 

“I’ll make some both ways, just so we’re safe.” Jaime retrieved a mixing bowl from the cabinet, then set about gathering dry ingredients. 

“You’re the one making them?” Their daughter’s voice cracked with the question. “I mean, I don’t mean that in a rude way. I just thought she was going to…” The girl’s wide eyes scanned the back he’d turned to her. He’s a nice guy. I’ll be okay. 

Arden felt like the wind had been knocked out of her as she watched the scene unfold. She knew a fair bit of Sophia’s history, and she’d picked up a handful of nonverbal cues when they’d visited the kids before, but no proof was as stark as what she was seeing and hearing this morning. 

A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. The thought of Jaime being anything other than trustworthy was ridiculous. Anyone who’d known him longer than thirty seconds could tell he was a man of impeccable character. Sophia was probably safer in the kitchen with him than she could be with any other person in the world. 

But she doesn’t know that, Arden reasoned. She’s been hurt before and trust takes a long time to build. 

Resolved, but somewhat deflated, she passed the threshold. 

Sophia visibly relaxed at her presence. 

“Do you want to get the eggs from the fridge?” Arden asked with a reassuring smile. “How many do we need, Jaime?”

“Today? Let’s start with three and see where that gets us. I haven’t made this many in a long time. It’ll take a while to cook them all,” he chattered on amiably. 

Arden caught Will’s restless squirming from the corner of her eye. “Do you boys want to go and play for a while or stay in here and wait with us?” The idea of keeping all three of them entertained between now and breakfast was a little daunting. 

“Can I take Opie for a walk?”

“Sure!” she replied instinctively. 

Panic flared across her consciousness as she realized her mistake. I can’t just leave Sophia alone with Jaime. And I’m not letting a seven-year-old go walking through the neighborhood by himself. 

Unless Alex wanted to stay and help too, splitting up was probably a terrible idea. 

Please volunteer to help, please volunteer to help. 

Alex continued staring at the grain of the table, fiddling with the collar of his pajama shirt.

Jaime met her eyes across the room. His quizzical brow quickly cleared in understanding. “Alex, would you mind helping too? I’ve got a perfect job for you.”  

It looked for a moment as though he was going to grumble at the request, but his face soon reset and he marched into the kitchen without complaint. Sophia’s calm demeanor assured her that they’d made the right decision. 

Thank you, she mouthed over the back of the boy’s head. Jaime smiled his response. 

Turning her attention to their youngest, she found him already petting the dog in the hallway. “I’ve got the leash here. Do you want to put it on?” 

Will’s bright eyes lit at the suggestion. 

Arden passed the cord over, watching closely as he clipped it onto Opie’s collar.  “He likes you,” she informed him with absolute certainty. “And he’s going to be so excited to have someone new to take him on walks.” 

The boy beamed at her, tongue visible in the spaces between his missing teeth.  She’d once thought that Jaime was the only person on earth whose smiles could stop her heart, but she recognized the distinct patter in her chest. For entirely different reasons, this child already had her wrapped around his finger. 

She was stirred from her musings by the sensation of a small face rubbing against her shin. Jinx strolled by, pausing momentarily to sniff the length of leash that dangled on the floor. 

“Can Jinx come for a walk too?”

Arden giggled, catching the cat’s derisive tail flicking even if she didn’t hear her thoughts. “I don’t think she’d like it very much. She really just wants to sleep and look out the window these days.” 

“Is she old?”

“She’s older than Opie is.” 

“Can we get a new cat for her to play with?”

“Maybe someday,” she answered noncommittally. Saying no to this boy was going to be an incredible test of willpower. 

With a quick wave toward the kitchen, they were ready to go. The morning had hardly started, and Arden already felt that at least one potential crisis had been averted. Repeating Jaime’s earlier affirmation, she followed Will out onto the lawn. 

We’ve got this. 

_____

July, 2027

Arden was’t sure when she’d been more relieved to pull into the garage and put her car in park. All she’d been able to think about since leaving was getting back to their kids, and the view of silhouettes through the front window had made her impatience all the more palpable. 

She practically flew through the adjoining door and into house. 

This was the first day that they’d needed her dad and stepmom to help fill in the gaps between schedules, and she’d be lying if she said that the arrangement had left her feeling easy. She had nothing against either one of them, but guilt had been gnawing constantly for the two hours she’d been gone. 

These were their kids. Their responsibility. Turning those duties over to others -- even family -- filled her with trepidation. 

“Mommy!” Will leapt from the couch before she’d even fully made it through the entryway. 

“Hey, guys!” she returned his enthusiasm, pulling him tight for a hug. His arms lingered at her waist a little longer than necessary, but she couldn’t help reveling in the affectionate show. Knowing that her desire to see him was reciprocated was extremely gratifying. When she glanced up, Alex’s eyes were on her.

Traitor. 

Her mouth ran dry at the older boy’s thought. It wasn’t the first time she’d been privy to hints that he was uncomfortable with Will’s quick attachment, but it was easily the most incriminating thing she’d overheard in the five weeks they’d spent together. 

“How’s your day been?” she asked Will, trying to push Alex’s response from her mind. 

“Good. Knock knock.”

“Oh, I love my welcome-home jokes.” With a cheesy grin, she set down her work satchel and gave the boy her full attention. “Okay, ready. Who’s there?”

Will’s features danced with excitement, the excess energy coming out as tiny shuffling steps across the hardwood floor. “Lettuce.” 

With a giggle, Arden complied. “Lettuce who?”

“Lettuce in, we’re cold out here!” Having recited the punchline, he gave a triumphant hop into the air.

She treated him to a breathy laugh, catching her father’s smile out of the corner of her eye. “That’s a good one.” Stretching out a calming hand to grasp his elbow, she asked, “Where’d you learn it?”

Will pointed to Harry, still seated on the couch with a pile of books on the cushion next to him. 

“He’s been reading them to me for the past hour,” Harry confirmed. “This one has a whole section in this one about vegetables.” His dubious look was reflected in his tone.  

“Oh yeah! There’s one about radishes! Can I tell it?”

Although she continued to engage with Will’s babbling, Arden’s eyes drifted to the other child in the room. Alex was still scribbling away in his sketchpad, the papers angled close to his chest so that no one could see the resulting artwork. 

What is it that’s going on in that head of yours? she wondered, feeling the faint furrow of her brow. But no answering thoughts met her question.

Bringing her conversation with Will to a close, she wandered into the dining room to find her daughter and stepmother engaged in one of Julie’s trademark pastimes. 

Jewelry making had always struck Arden as a remarkably fiddly way to fill one’s hours, but she couldn’t help admiring the strand Sophia was stringing together from the colorful array of seed beads strewn across the table in bags. 

She sat across from the table’s two occupants, eyes glazing at the repetitive motion of Sophia’s nimble fingers. “Those look amazing,” she said, considering the small assortment of bracelets and necklaces piled on the other side of the table. “Do you mind if I look?”

Sophia’s eyes met hers momentarily as she shrugged. “Go for it.” 

Arden looped a finger through a prominent chain and pulled the collection toward her. 

“Julie told me I could use her beads to make some back-to-school jewelry,” she explained, keeping a tight hold on the end of the wire as she searched for the next bead in sequence. “Do you want me to make something for you too?”

Arden’s breath hitched at the suggestion, and her response came slowly. “I would love that. You remember that dress you helped me pick out at the mall last week?” At the girl’s nod, she continued. “I’d been thinking about pairing it with a necklace that has some deeper greens…maybe some blue in there too? I’ll leave it up to you.”

With an approving smile, the other woman entered the conversation. “I’ve got lots of beads in those colors. If there aren’t any here that you like, I’ve got plenty more at home.”

“Thanks, Julie,” Arden expressed gratefully. “And thanks again for coming over this afternoon. You really helped us out.”

“We’re happy to do it anytime.” She selected a pair of pliers from the tools before her and cinched the clasp on her bracelet. “How was your interview?” she asked as she draped the piece over her wrist. 

Rolling a bead between her fingers, Arden considered the question. “I think it went well. We’ll have to match what this new group said against the rest of our records, but I we may have finally found the missing link.”

“It always sounds so much like you’re doing detective work.” 

“Sometimes it feels that way too,” she admitted with a half smile. “I just like to get to the bottom of a good story.” 

“You certainly have a knack for it.” Bracelet donned, she rose from the chair. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

Seizing the opportunity, Arden shifted to the end of the table nearest her daughter. “Speaking of getting to the bottom of things, can I ask you something?”

Curious eyes glanced at her before returning to project between her hands. “What?”

“Alex seems like he’s in a weird mood today. Do you know if everything’s okay?”

Sophia reached for a new bag of beads, her forehead scrunching in contemplation. “He’s always like this at the end of summer. I think he’s just upset that he has to go back to school soon. He hates it.” 

“Do you think there’s anything we can do to make him feel better about it?”

“Eh, not really.” 

“Is there something specific about it that he hates?”

Raising her shoulders slightly, Sophia answered, “He hates homework and classes...kinda everything, really.” 

 “Okay.” Arden relaxed against the back of the chair. “We’ll see what we can do about homework and classes and...everything, then.” After a pause, she added her thanks. 

“Welcome.” Holding the strand to the light of the window, she took a better look at the work she’d done. Apparently satisfied, she placed another bead before sharing her thoughts further. “I don’t get it, but he really does hate everything to do with school.” 

Arden had seen comments to that effect in Alex’s case file, but hearing it from Sophia’s lips was still unsettling. Based on his behavior and the thought she’d overheard before, she was starting to have the sneaking suspicion that his agitation was being caused by something more than just school. 

She wasn’t going to stop investigating until she knew just what that something was. 

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (Part 14)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.

Rating: Mature 

A/N: I feel like I ended the last chapter on a cliffhanger? Hopefully this resolves that :D

AO3: Beginning | Current 

Tumblr:  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic​ @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615@mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook@skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian

“I love you.”

For a moment, he’s not sure that he actually heard the words she said, the planes flying overhead and the sound of a car beeping behind them drowning her voice out, but the more he thinks about it, the clearer they become.

She loves him. Emma loves him.

He’s loved her for weeks, months even, and he knew that she cared for him, hoped that she’d love him one day too, but he never would have imagined her telling him now, telling him this soon. He never would have imagined her telling him when he’s pretty sure she’s about to get a ticket for him not getting out of the car quickly enough. That’s going to be quite a fine.

But then again, Emma’s never done anything conventionally, and he thinks maybe this makes more sense than any other way she possibly could have told him.

She loves him.

Bloody hell, he loves her.

Before he even says the words back, he’s cupping her cheeks and pulling her toward him, feeling the soft warmth of her lips on his and hoping that he never has to let go. But then there’s another blare of the horn, and he pulls back, quickly slanting his lips over hers once, twice, three times, until he can’t anymore, until he knows that he has to go.

“I love you, Emma,” he speaks against her lips, staring directly into the depths of her eyes and hoping that she understands just how much he means the words. “I love you so damn much.”

“Yeah?” she smiles, her lips quickly brushing his with the movement.

“Absolutely. I don’t – bloody hell,” he groans when there’s a knock at the window, wishing for all of the world that he didn’t have to leave right now, wishing he could stay here. “I love you. I’m so, so sorry that I have to go. I’ll call you when I land okay? We’ll talk. I promise.”

“Okay, okay,” she sighs, nodding her head against his and pulling him closer for one last long, lingering kiss. “I love you.”

There’s another knock at the door, an airport attendant standing at the window with her lips stretched into a straight line, and he rolls his eyes, smiling at Emma before letting her go and opening the door.

“Sir, you can’t stay here – ”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Let me get my stuff, and we’ll get out of everyone’s way.” He reaches into the backseat, grabbing his suitcase and pulling it out before waving to Emma, not really sure what else he can do to say goodbye at this point. He doesn’t want to say goodbye. “Bye, my love.”

“Bye, KJ.”

She gives him a small wave, likely matching the meekness of her smile, before he’s closing the door and she’s putting the bug in drive, looking behind her to make sure the road is clear so that she’s driving off into traffic, the yellow disappearing from sight quickly all the while he knows that he absolutely cannot be standing on this sidewalk when he needs to go through security.

Bloody hell. Emma loves him.

And he has to leave.

-/-

The flight feels like one of the longest of his life, but for the first three hours of it, he does absolutely nothing but sit in his seat messing with the watch Emma gave him on Saturday. He could tell she was nervous about her gifts, like she was setting herself up to have to live up to some kind of expectation, but he didn’t expect anything of her, not when it came to something as simple a birthday gift. Her company and the impromptu cake were enough. But she’s gotten him this watch, one that he can wear while he’s working out without worrying about the sweat, as well as a few books she’d found about navigating by the stars. He mentioned it one night a few weeks ago, and she must have done some research into them. He plans on reading them sometime this weekend. The weather is supposed to be nice. He might take the Jolly out and relax. He hasn’t been back on it since he took Emma out and she teased him about the name.

She’d also told him about her past the night, more than just the foster homes, and he’d shared with her the same things that make him feel vulnerable, that still haunt him today.

They’ll have to go out again sometime this summer and have conversations that are a little less serious.

Hopefully she’ll take some of her vacation days before her work quarter is up, and she’ll get to come for more than a weekend. Or maybe she’ll take some, and he can fly back to Boston and not have to deal with her being at work. They tried to talk out their schedules, but it’s difficult to plan in advance when she doesn’t know when is the best time for her to take time off, and he’s still waiting on confirmation of when he has press obligations for Highland Waters or meetings.

Maybe Emma was right this morning. Maybe he should have been freaking out about how they’re going to do this, but he can’t get into the headspace of this long-distance thing being too hard. He just can’t. So he tried not to let Emma. He tried not let her become negative or freak out when they have this good thing going for them. They absolutely have to have this.

But bloody hell, all he wants right now is for this plane to turn around so he can tell her he loves her while making love to her. That’s simply not possible.

He wishes it was.

He eventually gets it together, opening up his laptop and pulling up the email Robin sent him with the information on the Highland Waters reshoots. He’s got to be back at the studio at four, so he’ll have just enough time to go home and shower and make sure that his house is still in place before driving to the studio. From the email, he’s pretty sure they’re reshooting more than one scene, his script on the lengthy side, and he’s got to get his hair and makeup done since his face is supposed to be covered in stitches here.

Bloody production issues.

The flight does eventually land, and he grabs his bag out of the overhead bin before shuffling off the plane and out into the crowds of LAX. He immediately pulls out his phone, pressing down on Emma’s contact name, but she doesn’t answer and it goes to her voicemail, the message he’s familiar with playing in his ear. When he checks the time, he sees that it’s four back in Boston. She’s probably just busy with work.

Emma: In a meeting. I’ll call you later.

Emma: Your flight okay?

Killian: It was fine. Pay attention to your meeting, love.

So he stuffs his phone back in his pocket and heads out the exit to his car, pulling on his sunglasses and covering his face with his hand when he passes the exit, trying to avoid the photographers that are always there whenever he lands. He wonders if they ever go home, if they ever leave this place, but he really doesn’t care, ignoring the shouts and rushing through so that he can be in his car and be away from it all. He loves his job, loves that he gets to do what he does for a living, loves that he gets to be someone else for a little while, but he hates the fact that it means people think they have a right to his private life.

But if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s that he doesn’t like to let the media define how he lives too much of his life. Yes, he’s careful about where he goes, but he’s not going to hide away, not going to stay locked away like he’s in some tower. That’s part of the reason he went ahead and posted the picture of Emma on Instagram. For one, he wanted to. He doesn’t use it too often, not more than the occasional update, but if he’s going to have to share parts of his life with the world, he can at least choose what he wants to share.

And he can share it before other people do and he’s suddenly being bombarded with questions and emails, Robin having to deal with the headache that is the calls he always gets whenever Killian is seen with a different woman. God, last year he went out to eat with Elsa when she pregnant, and that was a disaster. Elsa found it hysterical, but he had to explain that he was with his brother’s wife…who was pregnant with Liam’s child.

(“Killian Jones seen with pregnant girlfriend. Will he acknowledge his love child?”)

Yeah, Rob is definitely going to kill him when he sees him. He’s sure he’s been getting hell from the past two weeks.

When he gets home, the house is stuffy, dust having collected on some of the shelves, and he shakes his head think of how Will must have literally just come in and watered his plants instead of cleaning anything up. He should have just hired someone. But what’s done is done, and after dusting the shelves and wiping them down, making sure that all of his plants are alive and not wilting, he hurries upstairs to take a shower, letting the water wash away both the feel of the plane and the smell of Emma’s perfume that’s been on the collar of his shirt this entire time.

It’s ridiculous how much he misses her when it’s only been eight or so hours, but he has to stuff it down and get ready to go back to work.

Before he forgets, he texts both Elsa and Liam that he’s home, making sure not to let them think he died in a plane crash like he’d apparently done when he landed in Boston. He’s not going to let that happen again.

-/-

When he walks into the hair and makeup trailer, this one not nearly as busy and crowded as it was when the show was filming, he immediately settles down into the chair, letting Kendall do her magic on his face to make him look like he was just beaten up a few days ago. He thanks her when he’s finished before quickly changing into the wardrobe they’ve left for him and walking across the lot to the studio where about half of the crew is ambling around getting ready.

“Hello, love,” he smiles when he sees his costar Isabelle, accepting her hug before quickly pulling back. “I kind of figured I wouldn’t have to see you again until press.”

“Right?” she laughs, rolling her eyes before fixing the loose strands of her blonde hair that are falling from her bun. “I figured we wouldn’t have reshoots after, you know, the entire extra week of reshoots. But that’s showbiz, doll.”

He chuckles. Her fake old Hollywood accident is far too accurate. “How was your time with your sister?”

“Good, good,” she sighs, looking down at her nails and flicking something off of her dress. “I basically just crashed in her guest room and ate all of her food.” Isabella nudges his shoulder, a teasing smile on her face, and he knows what’s coming before she even speaks. “Did you have fun with your girlfriend?”

He feels the blush rise on his cheeks before he shakes his head and reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “Aye, though our time together sounds oddly similar to yours with your sister, which only worries me a tad.”

“Yeah, well, I’m guessing you guys had a bit more fun than we did. You should bring her to the premiere event. I hate that I missed her when she came to visit set.”

“I’ll have to ask if she can make it or not. We’ve kind of got to pick and choose our dates because of her work. But I’ll see if I can convince her to come out here for it.” “Good.”

They’re called to set then, and it only takes a few hours to get everything reshot, the lights continuously adjusted so that the scenes don’t get messed up again. It’s like slipping back into a rhythm he’s been used to for years, letting his own personality fall away so that he can be someone else, if only for a moment. But this character, Ezra, is one he relates to on a personal level. Things with him are complicated and far from straight forward, even if they’ve calmed in recent months. Frankly, Ezra’s been through hell, but he’s working his way out on the other side. If it’s motivated by love, well, then he sees nothing wrong with that.

He gets to go home around ten, loading up in his car and driving back to his house, actually getting to relax and sit down on his bed without having anywhere to go…except for his meeting in the morning. Bloody hell, he’s got to prepare for the contract negotiations tomorrow, but honestly, his body is still functioning in the eastern time zone so it’s past one in the morning.

Shit. He didn’t get to call Emma.

He didn’t even check his phone. He didn’t have it with him while he was filming, and when he finished, he grabbed his belongings and walked straight off of the lot so he could head home. How the hell could he have forgotten?

Emma: Are you free to talk?

Emma: I wish TSA would let you bring food with you because I went to the gym and then came home and kept eating your cake since it’s just sitting in my fridge.

Emma: I’m exhausted, so I’m going to go to bed. Hope filming is going well. xx

Killian: I’m sorry I missed you. Have a good day at work tomorrow! xx

He feels awful, but this is his life, their life. There are going to be times when they miss each other because of their jobs, but things will go back to normal tomorrow. He’s only busy in the morning, so they should be able to talk. This morning feels like it was days ago when it was really only hours, so he has to remind himself of that. They’ve talked today. They’ve seen each other today. He’s not falling behind.

-/-

“So this is what we’re willing to offer you,” John tells him, sliding a piece of paper over the conference table so he and Robin can look at it. “We have some room for negotiation on your proceeds from the gross, since we know that’s a selling point for you.”

“Bloody hell,” Robin mutters underneath his breath, quiet enough for only Killian to hear.

“What?”

Robin points to the number listed at the bottom of the page, but really all Killian can see is the filming location of Switzerland and the four months that he’ll be there. That’s exactly why he didn’t want to take this. It’s a good script, a good film, but it’s not what he wants, not right now.

“You have to take this, mate.”

He quickly glances over at John and all of the other executives in the room. They’re all watching he and Robin like all of them are hawks and the two of them are prey. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the way that his spine shivers, but mostly he knows that he just can’t take this. He’s known he couldn’t for a while, but it was never a flat out no. It was always a maybe.

It’s a no now.

“I can’t, Rob. I can’t leave my home for that long.”

“You’ve done it before.” “Aye, but,” he looks over at all of the people watching them, “can you all excuse us for a minute?”

Every single one of them nods before getting up and leaving the room, like a mass exodus of gray suits and red ties. He idly wonders if that’s the uniform here or if they all simply dress the same.

“So you really, actually don’t want to take this?” Robin asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, the wheels of the chair making him roll back the slightest bit. “You love the script, it’s good money, and I’m sorry, but if I could live in Switzerland for four months, I’d take that any day of the week.”

“Roland has school, Rob. You couldn’t just up and leave.”

“Yeah, but I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you. You could go. You don’t have a kid.”

“I have a life, though. Liam, Elsa, Aiden. They’re all here. And Emma. It’s already complicated enough just being on the opposite side of the country. What the hell would it be like if I was in an entirely different country?”

“Ah,” Robin sighs, his lips ticking up into the smallest of smiles. “I don’t know why I didn’t think about the fact that you’re currently smitten.”

“Why do you sound like you’re out of the fifties?”

“Because I’m a time traveler. Obviously.” He rolls his eyes at Robin’s teasing before looking down and checking his watch, seeing how much time has passed. “Seriously, though. I’m sure Emma would support you in this.”

“I know she would support me in this, but I’d be leaving at the end of October. I’d miss her birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, pretty much every major holiday in the year. Not to mention how I’d miss every day, all of the small moments. I just,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair before covering his eyes with his hands and rubbing the heels into his cheeks, “I can’t do it, Rob. I can’t leave her like that.”

“I hate to say it, but what if you break up? You’ll have missed this opportunity.”

“Honestly, if we break up, the absolute last thing I’m going to be thinking about is how I didn’t film this movie.”

“So no Yours Truly?”

“No Yours Truly. We’ll have to look for projects here, okay?” “Whatever you want.” Robin twists in his chair to look outside the glass windows where everyone is still staring. “You want to talk about the gift Roland is making you for your birthday and make them sweat it out a little bit?”

He smiles. “Absolutely.”

-/-

“Happy birthday,” Emma hums into the phone right after he answers her call, his eyes still adjusting to the sunlight streaming through his curtains. He’d fallen asleep late last night after going for a late-night run, and he didn’t set an alarm, figuring he didn’t have any pressing matter to wake up for anyway.

“Thank you,” he yawns, reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes even as he slides down the mattress and tugs his comforter up his body.

“Did you seriously just wake up?”

“No,” he lies even though he knows she won’t believe him.

“Liar. You sound exactly like you do when you wake up. And the yawn didn’t help.”

“Yeah, well, my sleep schedule is all over the place. I’m hoping to get it back to normal soon. Are you at lunch?”

“I am eating lunch, yeah,” she answers, the sound of a container opening in the background. “I made the lemon pepper chicken you left the recipe for, and I’m hiding out from Kathryn in my office so I didn’t go to the breakroom or my spot outside.”

“Why are you hiding out from Kathryn, love?”

“She’s just got a stick up her ass today. Nothing anyone does is good enough, and since she hates me for some reason, I always get the little snide comments that are rude but just vague enough that she’s technically not doing anything wrong.”

“Sneaky.”

“Exactly,” she sighs, humming into the phone again. “This is good, by the way. I won’t be surprised if I get salmonella, but it’s good.”

“You cannot possibly be that bad at cooking.”

“Try me.”

“I’d rather not,” he laughs, rolling over in bed and resting on his side while he puts her on speaker so he can reply to some of the texts that are coming in. “What are you doing today besides avoiding people with sticks up their arse and hopefully avoiding salmonella?”

“Work, the gym, and then I’m going to have an exciting night doing laundry.”

“Are you now a member of the Jersey Shore?”

“I’m pretty sure their phrase had tanning in there. And definitely not work. What about you? How does one ring in being thirty-three?”

“With his family, his manager and his son, and everyone’s favorite friend Will. I think the only thing about the plans that’s changed is that Anna’s husband isn’t coming.” “Why?”

“His project at work is running late or something. But he doesn’t talk much anyways. Between Anna and Elsa being together, none of us really get a word in.” “Well, I bet you guys will have a good time. When are you heading over there?”

“Around noon. Liam’s at work, but I’m going to spend the day with El and Aiden. And Anna, though I’ve been told I’m not allowed to ask about the cake she’s making.”

“Ooh, mystery and intrigue.”

“Aye, I guess you could call it that.”

“Well,” Emma begins, dragging out the word, “keep me updated, okay? I mean, I don’t need a play by play of every word said. That would be ridiculous.” “Completely,” he laughs.

“But I just want to know that you have a good day, KJ. Or at least that it’s more exciting than me doing laundry will be.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Swan. Laundry is the absolutely best way to spend a night.”

She snickers on the other end of the line, the sound basically music to his ears, and it’s the most awake he’s been for this entire conversation, having given up on responding to texts just to focus on Emma. The line goes silent, and he’s so tempted to tell her that he loves her. But they haven’t said the words since he was in Boston two days ago, so honestly, he’s not sure what to do. It wasn’t just a one-time thing, a slip of the tongue. She told him she loved him twice, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm her.

It’s that thought that makes him chuckle under his breath. Relationships are ridiculous sometimes. They’re simple and yet entirely complex, and he wonders just how much time people spend wondering what to say and what not to say.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Us.”

“Explain?” Emma asks, her voice incredulous.

“It’s nothing. It’s nothing, I promise. I just…I love you is all.”

Her breath hitches, but he doesn’t worry about having pushed things too far. “I love you, too. I don’t understand what you’re laughing at, but I love you.”

He can’t even begin to describe how relieved he is to hear the words. “Good. I’ll try to explain all of my craziness later.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

After he lets Emma go, her lunch hour ending so that she has to go to work, he goes about his normal day…or at least what he thinks he remembers his normal days being. It’s been over four months since he hasn’t been working, so it’s odd for him to leisurely get out of bed and shower, spending however much time he wants letting the warm water hit his skin as he scrubs his hair and washes his body. So he takes his time trimming his scruff and brushing his teeth, heading downstairs in only a robe as he makes himself breakfast. He needs to go grocery shopping or at least order them online to be delivered at some point.

But he’s got enough to make himself an omelet and some coffee, enjoying his breakfast on the back porch so that he can watch the waves roll in as some of his neighbors walk along the shoreline. All of the chill of the spring is fading as May begins, but there’s still a pleasurable ocean breeze blowing up to him, the smell of salt invading his senses. He’s missed this, missed his home, and as much as he truly did not want to leave Boston, he missed home.

If there were a way to combine his home and Emma’s he would, but it’s far too soon to be thinking about any of that.

Right?

Shaking himself out of that thought, he finishes his breakfast and makes his way back inside to get dressed to head over to Elsa’s. He hasn’t seen her in a few weeks, Anna in even longer, so he really should spend as much time with them as he can. Maybe he’ll take them out to eat lunch tomorrow as well.

When he pulls up to their house, he lets himself in, quietly shutting the side door behind him. The first thing he hears is Anna’s voice, the high volume of it probably makes its way everywhere. Seriously, the girl can talk, and she can talk loudly. Not that he minds. He finds her to be a breath of fresh air, someone who exudes positivity all of the time. Seriously, she could be in a burning building and still be talking about how it’s a positive thing.

“No, seriously, Els, that actually happened.”

“Anna, that just doesn’t seem like a real thing.”

“But it is,” Anna groans. He bets she’s rolling her eyes, but he’s currently standing in the archway of the living room with her facing the other way. “I swear to you that a guy called me and asked if I’d be willing to make him a customized costume for some kind of monster where the tail was his…you know.” “You’re an adult who is married. You can say the word.”

“His penis, Els. He wanted me to make him a costume that was tailored around his penis. This is why I should just stick to working for TV shows.” He can’t stop himself from snorting, and that’s when two heads quickly turn his way, the both of them smiling after the shock wears off. “Jones,” Anna squeaks, scrambling up from the couch and running toward him, wrapping him up in a hug that pushes him back from the impact, “happy birthday, dude.”

“Thank you, love,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing tightly before letting go. “So tell me where I can get whatever this bloke was requesting. I think I’d like one of those.”

“Gross,” Elsa complains, sticking her tongue out for a moment, “that is…that is not something I ever want to imagine about you.”

“We’ve talked about this, Elsa. If I have to live with the knowledge that you’ve slept and procreated with my brother, you sometimes have to live with the unfortunate knowledge that I am, indeed, a man.”

“Yeah, whatever. Happy birthday, Killian.” She hugs him, squeezing far less tightly than her sister did. “Nice to see you again. I feel like it’s been forever.”

“Wait. Where have you been? I thought you finished shooting that show?”

“Killian is in loooove,” Elsa teases, and his face immediately goes red. He’s a grown man, thirty-three years old, and he should not be embarrassed by a little teasing from his sister-in-law.

Anna’s lips open and close over and over again, her eyes shooting back and forth between he and Elsa. “You’re lying.”

“I am not. Killian has a girlfriend.”

“No, does he really, Els?” Anna squeals, her voice so high pitched that his eardrums might have burst. “I thought he was taking a vow of monkhood of something.”

“I did too,” Elsa tells Anna, and Killian cuts her a glance to shut the hell up, not that it’ll ever work out. He’s feeling pretty called out by his family right now. “He stopped dating altogether, like a year and a half ago, and before that it was always one date, nothing more. So this one is shocking. I want to meet her. I feel like no one has met her and she’s one of those fake Canadian girlfriends or something.”

“Hey, you talked to her on the phone!”

“But I didn’t see her!”

“You commented on my picture!”

“Which didn’t show her face.”

“That is highly suspicious, Jones.”

“It is not,” he huffs, wondering why the hell he’s being so defensive over this when they’re obviously teasing him. “I can promise you she’s real.”

“Wait. So you’re really in love, Killian?” Anna asks, her eyes bugging out. He can practically feel the energy radiating off of her. “Why does no one tell me anything? What’s her name? Where’s she from? Is she pretty? Of course she’s pretty. Is she nice? Of course she’s nice. What am I thinking? Why isn’t she here? I feel like your girlfriend should be here. Unless she really isn’t real. Which would be a pretty elaborate thing when I’m sure you could find yourself a real girlfriend.”

He chuckles at Anna, her ability to always seem like she’s eaten a box of cupcakes and be on a sugar high uncanny. How she and Elsa are genetically related is sometimes a mystery to him.

“Calm down, Anna,” he laughs, making his way into the living room and sitting down on the couch, stretching out his legs while they join him. “Her name is Emma. She’s bloody beautiful and just as kind. And she’s not here because she lives in Boston, and I told her not to spend money or time on a ticket when I just left her place on Monday morning, though I do wish I hadn’t said those words right about now.”

“Can’t you just pay for her a plane ticket to spend the weekend?”

“Aye, but she doesn’t want me to, which I get. She likes to have her say and be financially independent, but maybe one day I’ll convince her to let me buy her a ticket. It might have to be in the cargo hold, but whatever works. And she’s coming next weekend, too.”

“Well, I want you to tell me all about her since no one ever tells me anything.” She glances at Elsa there who just shrugs. “And next time she comes for, like, more than a day because I know you guys will just use that to have sex, let me know and I’ll fly in.”

His face heats again. The woman won’t say the word penis, but she’ll easily tell him that she knows that he’s just going to have sex with his girlfriend when she visits. She’s not wrong, but it seems like a bit of an odd discrepancy for her. Maybe talking about the man’s penis costume (or would it be a cock frock?) has freed up her speech.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I think we may have to ease her into you, Anna.”

“Hey,” Anna groans, reaching over and slapping his shoulder, “I am very friendly.” “Too friendly sometimes,” Elsa laughs. “But yeah, I want to meet her. You say she’s coming next weekend?”

“Yeah, but we really only get Saturday. She won’t get in until around eleven, and she’ll be exhausted with the time change. And then she’ll have to leave early Sunday afternoon. The bloody flight and airport time is awful. But I can ask if she wants to meet you and Liam, Elsa.”

“Oh shit, I bet she is not going to want to meet Liam.”

“Eh,” he groans, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “I’m pretty sure she’s ready to yell at him and have the whole thing be over with.”

“Oooh, what happened with Liam? Why does your girlfriend…Emma want to yell at him? I feel like that has to be an interesting story.”

“I’ll tell you later because I heard I was going to have lots of good cake.”

-/-

“I kid you not,” Liam laughs, his rum sloshing around in its glass while he moves his hands with every word, “when Killian was seven he truly did refuse to wear a shirt.”

“This is really not your most embarrassing story, Liam. And shirts are overrated.”

“Oh, well, this is because I haven’t gotten to the best part of the story, little brother.”

“Younger. Bloody hell. It’s younger.”

“Not today it’s not. You’re old now.”

“Says the man who is thirty-eight.”

“Anyways,” Will says, obviously annoyed, “let’s get on with the story. You guys always talk far too long.”

“So Mum and I would always have to trick him into wearing a shirt to school. But one day, Mum gets called to the school because Killian apparently ripped off his shirt and was wearing it around his head as he took his math quiz.”

“Oh God,” he groans as he feels his cheeks flush. He remembers that. He wishes he could forget, but he does remember that. “Why do you insist on these stories?”

“I could tell everyone about the first time I caught you with a girl.”

“And let’s talk about the shirt thing,” he laughs, wishing to change the subject to anything but that. “If I remember correctly, we compromised by letting me wear button downs and only doing a few of the buttons.”

“Oi, is that why I’m always stuck staring at your chest hair?”

He waggles his eyebrows, reaching down and popping a button open. “Jealous, Will?”

“Of the bear on your chest? Absolutely not.”

“I think chest hair can be sexy,” Elsa swoons, reaching over and placing her hand on Liam’s chest.

The entire room groans, every one of them not wanting to see the way Elsa and Liam are looking at each other, especially since they haven’t even eaten cake yet. Robin was letting Roland run around to get out all of his energy, even though the sugar definitely won’t do anything but hype him up all over again.

“Okay, okay,” Elsa sighs, getting up from the couch and wiping down her jeans, “I’m going to go put Aiden to bed. Why don’t you get everyone more drinks, darling? And then we can feed Killian and Roland that cake?”

“Finally,” Roland yells from the corner of the room, getting up and running toward the couch so quickly that he topples over the side and lands on Will’s lap. “I have been waiting my entire life for cake.”

“Me too, Rol.” Will pats him on the back before pulling him up and resting him on his knee. “We’ve got to sing Happy Birthday to Uncle Killian really loudly, though, okay? Loud enough that he hears you with his old man ears?”

“So much for getting treated nicely on my birthday.”

Anna pats his knee. “Maybe next year, Jones.”

He’s honestly relieved that Anna stopped calling him baby Jones because while she may not have realized it, when she typed it out as BJ, all anyone could think of was blowjob. Ah, to be so innocent and yet not at the same time.

In the time that it takes to get his cake out and light the thirty three individual candles (at Anna’s insistence), Elsa’s back downstairs from putting Aiden to bed. So all of his friends and family sing, Roland and Will singing the loudest like the pair that they are, and he blows out his candles before eating cake. Honestly, this is too much for him, all of the birthday celebrations and well wishes. They never had much growing up so these days weren’t big celebrations no matter how much his mum tried, and then the days went away completely when he was in the foster system. But in the past decade, it’s always been big celebrations. Though, lately, he’s toned things down a bit, only celebrating with those closest to him.

Maybe he simply feels odd because this isn’t his only birthday celebration this year. He did one with Emma, now this one, and it all feels like a bit much. But he knows that these people love him, so he doesn’t complain or make a fuss. He simply eats his cake (which is his mum’s recipe so Elsa must have helped Anna make it) and opens his presents, thankful that his life has turned out pretty okay.

Wonderful. His life is wonderful.

“What’d you wish for?” Roland asks, crawling up onto Killian’s knee while he works on his second piece.

“If I tell you, my wish doesn’t come true. That’s how you told me it worked, Rol.”

“But I want to know.”

He hums, chuckling under his breath the slightest bit. Six-year-olds are such fickle creatures. “Okay, but you have to keep it a secret, yeah?”

He sticks out his pinkie, twisting it with Roland’s in their secret promise.

“I wished to be happy.”

“That’s boring. You should have wished for a new car or something.”

He laughs as Roland gets up off of his lap and walks away, going to sit with his dad. Before he can even scoop up another piece of cake with his fork, Liam sits down next to him, wrapping his arm around the back of the couch.

“That was a lame wish. You definitely should have wished for a new car.”

“Oi, my car is fine, and wishing to be happy is a completely respectable wish.”

Liam nudges his shoulder while his lips stretch into a smile. “I’m messing with you. It was a very mature thing to say. Though, I’m about, eh, ninety nine percent sure that your wish was for your girlfriend to be here.”

“Technically, I didn’t wish for anything. Yeah, I want Emma to be here, but all the while we were singing and cutting the cake, I was thinking about Mum. And you. All of us really and how she’d try to make our birthdays as special as possible.” “She was the best,” Liam sighs, resting his head against the back of the couch. “And she’d be damn proud of you.”

“You too, Liam. She’d be proud of you for your job, for your family, for raising me.”

“Aye, thanks. I just wish she could be here, you know?”

“Aiden has her eyes,” he says, thinking of the blue. He and Liam both have blue yes, but they’re light. His mum’s eyes were dark, almost black. They were beautiful. “It’s strange how things like that happen.”

“I mean, basic genetics. I feel like you definitely should have learned that at school.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tease you. After all, what else are brothers for?”

[hopelessromantic1352]

You Are My Muse - Chapter 1

Hey everyone! I decided to do a multi-chapter series on Thomas Hunt x Stephanie (MC for Red Carpet Diaries) This is chapter one and I have no idea how many chapters there will be, but I hope you all like it! A little background: Thomas was in Venice for two months shooting for his new movie, Enveloped Love, starring Apricott Persimmon and Matt Rodriguez. You will all find out the reason for Thomas hiring Apricott eventually, so bear with me! Again, feedback would be awesome!! I decided to write this series in 1st person and this chapter is pretty long!!

A shrill ringing jolts me awake. I groan as I pick my phone up.

"Hello?" My voice was hoarse.

"Hello, Ms. Park."

I stopped rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Thomas?" I had to admit it was good to hear his smooth voice again, even though it was five o'clock in the morning. "Do you have any idea what time it is here?"

A moment passes before I hear him clear his throat.

"I believe Idaho is just an hour ahead of California."

My eyes shot open. Now I'm wide awake.

"You're back in the country? When? Why didn't you tell me?" I bit my bottom lip, oh how I miss him.

"I just got back last night around midnight. I need your assistance with my female lead in Enveloped Love. She is having...a difficult time grasping what I want from her and I was hoping you'd give her advice." I hear him sigh before he says anything else. "I would also like to see you, Stephanie, I have been quite lonely these past two months."

I smile, "I miss you too, Thomas. And I would love to help Apricott, since she and I can coexist, it might not be impossible for me to give her advice. Plus, I kind of know how the director wants things." I smirk, I can picture his signature eye roll. I missed his eye roll.

"Good to know. When will you be back?"

"I'll catch a flight out tonight." I was now out of bed starting to pack my things.

"I'll retrieve you from the airport, no matter what time you get in. I want to see you."

"Sounds good, see you soon Thomas." I bite my bottom lip again.

"Until then, Stephanie."

"Bye." I smile as I hang up the phone and return to packing.

***

I arrived at LAX at eight o'clock. I pull my phone out and quickly text Thomas that I just got off the plane.

"Meet you at the baggage claim."

His simple text makes my heart start racing, I can't believe how much I missed him.

I quicken my pace, follow the signs to baggage claim and see a tall, impeccably dressed man, with black hair standing in front of me. He was looking at his phone, obviously frustrated because his eyebrows were furrowed and he had a slight frown on his lips. I slow my pace, just so I can observe Thomas for a little while longer. His signature stubble and famous jawline stick out to me, and then he looks up.

Our eyes meet and I can't help the tears I feel stinging my eyes. He smiles, widely, and I laugh, feeling tears falling down my cheeks. I slide my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and start jogging towards him.

We meet somewhere in the middle and he wraps me in a hug. My arms tighten around his waist and I bury my face in the crook of his neck.

"Hi Stephanie." I felt his breath on my neck.

"Thomas, I missed you so much."

I pull back just enough to capture his lips with mine. The kiss was full of longing and passion. We both pull back, smiling at each other. I didn't care if people saw us and I didn't care what they thought of our blatant display of affection.

"We have a lot to catch up on." He smirks, "Would you like to stay at my house tonight, I can fix us something to eat and we can catch up."

"Absolutely." I gave him a blinding smile and headed to pick up my bag off the carousel.

After we picked up my suitcase, Thomas escorted me to his car and we drove to his house.

I hadn't been to his house for two months and I missed our time together behind those walls. Late night discussions regarding any movie that we happened to think of, morning breakfasts at his island counter top with one of his expensive white shirts half-buttoned draped over my shoulders. I even helped him make revisions to his newest film's script. Enveloped Love wasn't anything like The Last Duchess but still, thanks Thomas, had an extraordinary script. The movie was about a con woman who gets caught by the FBI but, to get a reduced sentence, becomes a confidential informant. I begged Thomas to let me star in it, but he decided that it would be best for my career if we didn't work together back to back on projects. As much as I hated to say it, he was right, the press would have a field day, accusing me of using Thomas to get jobs and to further my career. But, the media didn't scare me. I wanted that role and I didn't care what the press thought of me. Unfortunately, Thomas wouldn't go for it.

He did allow me to help him revise the script and he gave me tips about directing. Each morning I woke up in his arms, was a new adventure that took place inside his house. An adventure that taught me new things about Hollywood and new things about the man that I found extremely fascinating.

His modern dark colored two story house was dimly lit as we pulled into his driveway. When we stepped inside, I felt like I was at home again. His house oozed, him. It was impeccably decorated, simple yet elegant.

I let out a content sigh and smiled subconsciously.

After he locks his door he turns to me, eyebrow quirked up. "Hmm?"

"It feels good to be back." I walk over to him and place my hands on his chest. "It feels good to be, with you again."

He smiles lightly, his eyes darken a shade. "I missed you. Very much." His arms encircle my waist and pulls me to him.

Our bodies were flush with each other as he kissed me. He bites my bottom lip gently and his hands travel down my back until they rest at my hips. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him impossibly closer. I nip his bottom lip and he groans lightly.

"You are incorrigible." His voice is hoarse and his breathing is labored.

I look up at his tousled hair, down to his furrowed eyebrows and I eventually lock onto his eyes.

I reach up and smooth out the wrinkle in between his brows. His lips quirk upwards slightly.

"You, sir, are lucky you don't have permanent wrinkles." I trail my finger down the bridge of his nose and end on his lips. "Still, you are extremely handsome."

I see him blush and he pulls away from me slightly, covering his mouth with his hand, coughing lightly.

I smile. I love it when he gets flustered and shy.

"Yes, well," he coughs once more. "I find you extremely attractive as well."

I giggle, "You're so cute when get all flustered and shy."

There's the eye roll. Yep, I missed that.

I grab his tie and pull him back to me. As soon as our lips met again, I realized something. I love this man. The man, that on paper, was completely wrong for me. Too old, too established, we shouldn't work. On paper, he's too serious and critical, I'm too naive and easy going. We should be at complete odds with each other, but instead we work great together and we balance each other out. In the short time we've been together, he's taught me to enjoy the finer things; scotch, crooner-age music (which by the way I'm completely obsessed with), and high end everything.

I've taught him to loosen up every once in awhile and to just go with it. He seems to enjoy it, while I enjoy everything he's taught me so far.

We pull apart, breathless once again, and I rest my forehead against his.

"Thomas, I-" His eyes seem to bore into my soul. It's like he is trying to decipher what I'm going to say before I say it. "I love you."

His eyes widen and he goes stiff. I start to shrink away from him. Maybe I said it too soon, maybe he wasn't ready to hear it yet. Does he even feel the same?

I try to pull away from him, and I tear my eyes away from his scrutinizing gaze, but he pulls me back.

"Stephanie, you--you astound me." I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

I feel his hand under my chin. He gently makes me look at him, straight in the eyes.

"I love you too." His eyes were sincere and I felt all my nerves dissipate almost as quickly as they hit me.

He kisses me with everything as if he's trying to prove to me how much he cares. I feel my back hit the door. His lips ravish mine and I enjoy every minute of it. I feel him pick me up, my legs wrap around his waist and my arms tighten around his neck.

His mouth trails down to my neck, nipping and sucking on my exposed skin.

"Thomas," I say breathlessly and tangle a hand in his hair.

He groans when I tug on his hair gently. He starts walking us towards his room, never taking his lips off of my neck. Somehow we made it to his room without breaking anything or hurting ourselves.

He gently laid me down on the bed and grinned devilishly.

What followed was the best night of my life, so far.

***

The next morning I woke up to an empty bed. I open my eyes and squint at the light shining through his window. I rub my eyes and stretch, but pause just as I was about to slide out of his king size bed.

"Why exactly is Miss Persimmon quitting?"

Thomas' voice was coming from his office just a few doors down the hall.

"Does she understand that we have a contract?"

Uh oh. I slide out of his bed as quietly as possible and quickly walk to his closet to pluck one his shirts off of a hanger. I button the shirt halfway and start walking to his office.

His hair is tousled, he doesn't have a shirt on and he has maroon pajama bottoms on. He looks very agitated.

I lean on the doorway into his office, his back is to me, so I just wait for him to see me or to finish his phone call.

"I gave her a chance after the whole blow up with the media, does she not understand--"

He rubs his temples with his free hand. The person on the other end of the line actually had the audacity to interrupt Thomas Hunt.

That person has some nerve.

"It is not my fault she doesn't understand what I want for this movie, I have explained to her multiple times but she refuses to work on it."

He lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Understood, tell her good luck for me."

Although his words were encouraging, his voice was straight venom.

He hangs up the call and drops his phone on his desk, which he was now leaning against. He puts his head in his hands and lets out a frustrated groan.

"Rough morning?"

He jumps slightly, and turns to look at me.

He nods, "I suppose I may need a new female lead."

I feel excitement bubbling up inside of me.

"Any front runners?" I smirk, hoping I'm the only actress on his list.

"Stephanie, you know that I don't feel comfortable putting you in a situation where your career will be criticized and put in jeopardy." He is standing now, facing me.

"Thomas, my career is criticized and put in jeopardy every single time my face is in the media at all, no matter what." I walk to him, taking confident steps as I face him. "I don't care what the press thinks, I want this role. Not because of you personally but rather you as a professional. You are amazing to work with, you're literally a genius when it comes to directing and working on scripts. Plus, you've got Matt for the male lead, Holly as the screenwriter, Addison on wardrobe and Chris Winters producing! I mean that's literally the dream team for a movie, I just want to be a part of it."

He looks at me thoughtfully.

"Please Thomas, I want this role so bad. I know that I'll be fine." I give him my best puppy eyes and place my hands on his chest, rubbing my thumbs back and forth.

"I don't have many options right now. I suppose since time is of the essence, you are my new Alexis Lively." He brushes a strand of my curly, dirty blond hair behind my ear. "I never doubted that you would be the best Alexis, but I had to make the best decision for your career."

"Thomas, I love that you want to protect me, but I think I can handle myself with the media." I say this with absolute conviction, showing him that I really want this role, no matter what.

He nods. His hand reaches up to cup my cheek and I nuzzle into his hand. "Then, I suppose, we have a deal."

I smile and kiss him sweetly. "Thank you."

[choicesfanficanonymous]

You Are My Muse - Chapter 1 (Thomas Hunt X MC)

Hey everyone! I decided to do a multi-chapter series on Thomas Hunt x Stephanie (MC for Red Carpet Diaries) This is chapter one and I have no idea how many chapters there will be, but I hope you all like it! A little background: Thomas was in Venice for two months shooting for his new movie, Enveloped Love, starring Apricott Persimmon and Matt Rodriguez. You will all find out the reason for Thomas hiring Apricott eventually, so bear with me! Again, feedback would be awesome!! I decided to write this series in 1st person and this chapter is pretty long!!

***

A shrill ringing jolts me awake. I groan as I pick my phone up.

“Hello?” My voice was hoarse.

“Hello, Ms. Park.”

I stopped rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“Thomas?” I had to admit it was good to hear his smooth voice again, even though it was five o'clock in the morning. “Do you have any idea what time it is here?”

A moment passes before I hear him clear his throat.

“I believe Idaho is just an hour ahead of California.”

My eyes shot open. Now I’m wide awake.

“You’re back in the country? When? Why didn’t you tell me?” I bit my bottom lip, oh how I miss him.

“I just got back last night around midnight. I need your assistance with my female lead in Enveloped Love. She is having…a difficult time grasping what I want from her and I was hoping you’d give her advice.” I hear him sigh before he says anything else. “I would also like to see you, Stephanie, I have been quite lonely these past two months.”

I smile, “I miss you too, Thomas. And I would love to help Apricott, since she and I can coexist, it might not be impossible for me to give her advice. Plus, I kind of know how the director wants things.” I smirk, I can picture his signature eye roll. I missed his eye roll.

“Good to know. When will you be back?”

“I’ll catch a flight out tonight.” I was now out of bed starting to pack my things.

“I’ll retrieve you from the airport, no matter what time you get in. I want to see you.”

“Sounds good, see you soon Thomas.” I bite my bottom lip again.

“Until then, Stephanie.”

“Bye.” I smile as I hang up the phone and return to packing.

***

I arrived at LAX at eight o'clock. I pull my phone out and quickly text Thomas that I just got off the plane.

“Meet you at the baggage claim.”

His simple text makes my heart start racing, I can’t believe how much I missed him.

I quicken my pace, follow the signs to baggage claim and see a tall, impeccably dressed man, with black hair standing in front of me. He was looking at his phone, obviously frustrated because his eyebrows were furrowed and he had a slight frown on his lips. I slow my pace, just so I can observe Thomas for a little while longer. His signature stubble and famous jawline stick out to me, and then he looks up.

Our eyes meet and I can’t help the tears I feel stinging my eyes. He smiles, widely, and I laugh, feeling tears falling down my cheeks. I slide my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and start jogging towards him.

We meet somewhere in the middle and he wraps me in a hug. My arms tighten around his waist and I bury my face in the crook of his neck.

“Hi Stephanie.” I felt his breath on my neck.

“Thomas, I missed you so much.”

I pull back just enough to capture his lips with mine. The kiss was full of longing and passion. We both pull back, smiling at each other. I didn’t care if people saw us and I didn’t care what they thought of our blatant display of affection.

“We have a lot to catch up on.” He smirks, “Would you like to stay at my house tonight, I can fix us something to eat and we can catch up.”

“Absolutely.” I gave him a blinding smile and headed to pick up my bag off the carousel.

After we picked up my suitcase, Thomas escorted me to his car and we drove to his house.

I hadn’t been to his house for two months and I missed our time together behind those walls. Late night discussions regarding any movie that we happened to think of, morning breakfasts at his island countertop with one of his expensive white shirts half-buttoned draped over my shoulders. I even helped him make revisions to his newest film’s script. Enveloped Love wasn’t anything like The Last Duchess but still, thanks Thomas, had an extraordinary script. The movie was about a con woman who gets caught by the FBI but, to get a reduced sentence, becomes a confidential informant. I begged Thomas to let me star in it, but he decided that it would be best for my career if we didn’t work together back to back on projects. As much as I hated to say it, he was right, the press would have a field day, accusing me of using Thomas to get jobs and to further my career. But, the media didn’t scare me. I wanted that role and I didn’t care what the press thought of me. Unfortunately, Thomas wouldn’t go for it.

He did allow me to help him revise the script and he gave me tips about directing. Each morning I woke up in his arms, was a new adventure that took place inside his house. An adventure that taught me new things about Hollywood and new things about the man that I found extremely fascinating.

His modern dark colored two story house was dimly lit as we pulled into his driveway. When we stepped inside, I felt like I was at home again. His house oozed, him. It was impeccably decorated, simple yet elegant.

I let out a content sigh and smiled subconsciously.

After he locks his door he turns to me, eyebrow quirked up. “Hmm?”

“It feels good to be back.” I walk over to him and place my hands on his chest. “It feels good to be, with you again.”

He smiles lightly, his eyes darken a shade. “I missed you. Very much.” His arms encircle my waist and pulls me to him.

Our bodies were flush with each other as he kissed me. He bites my bottom lip gently and his hands travel down my back until they rest at my hips. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him impossibly closer. I nip his bottom lip and he groans lightly.

“You are incorrigable.” His voice is hoarse and his breathing is labored.

I look up at his touseled hair, down to his furrowed eyebrows and I eventually lock onto his eyes.

I reach up and smooth out the wrinkle in between his brows. His lips quirk upwards slightly.

“You, sir, are lucky you don’t have permanent wrinkles.” I trail my finger down the bridge of his nose and end on his lips. “Still, you are extremely handsome.”

I see him blush and he pulls away from me slightly, covering his mouth with his hand, coughing lightly.

I smile. I love it when he gets flustered and shy.

“Yes, well,” he coughs once more. “I find you extremely attractive as well.”

I giggle, “You’re so cute when get all flustered and shy.”

There’s the eye roll. Yep, I missed that.

I grab his tie and pull him back to me. As soon as our lips met again, I realized something. I love this man. The man, that on paper, was completely wrong for me. Too old, too established, we shouldn’t work. On paper, he’s too serious and critical, I’m too naive and easy going. We should be at complete odds with each other, but instead we work great together and we balance each other out. In the short time we’ve been together, he’s taught me to enjoy the finer things; scotch, crooner-age music (which by the way I’m completey obsessed with), and high end everything.

I’ve taught him to loosen up every once in awhile and to just go with it. He seems to enjoy it, while I enjoy everything he’s taught me so far.

We pull apart, breathless once again, and I rest my forehead against his.

“Thomas, I-” His eyes seem to bore into my soul. It’s like he is trying to decipher what I’m going to say before I say it. “I love you.”

His eyes widen and he goes stiff. I start to shrink away from him. Maybe I said it too soon, maybe he wasn’t ready to hear it yet. Does he even feel the same?

I try to pull away from him, and I tear my eyes away from his scrutinizing gaze, but he pulls me back.

“Stephanie, you–you astound me.” I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

I feel his hand under my chin. He gently makes me look at him, straight in the eyes.

“I love you too.” His eyes were sincere and I felt all my nerves dissipate almost as quickly as they hit me.

He kisses me with everything as if he’s trying to prove to me how much he cares. I feel my back hit the door. His lips ravish mine and I enjoy every minute of it. I feel him pick me up, my legs wrap around his waist and my arms tighten around his neck.

His mouth trails down to my neck, nipping and sucking on my exposed skin.

“Thomas,” I say breathlessly and tangle a hand in his hair.

He groans when I tug on his hair gently. He starts walking us towards his room, never taking his lips off of my neck. Somehow we made it to his room without breaking anything or hurting ourselves.

He gently laid me down on the bed and grinned devilishly.

What followed was the best night of my life, so far.

***

The next morning I woke up to an empty bed. I open my eyes and squint at the light shining through his window. I rub my eyes and stretch, but pause just as I was about to slide out of his king size bed.

“Why exactly is Miss Persimmon quitting?”

Thomas’ voice was coming from his office just a few doors down the hall.

“Does she understand that we have a contract?”

Uh oh. I slide out of his bed as quietly as possible and quickly walk to his closet to pluck one his shirts off of a hanger. I button the shirt halfway and start walking to his office.

His hair is touseled, he doesn’t have a shirt on and he has maroon pajama bottoms on. He looks very agitated.

I lean on the doorway into his office, his back is to me, so I just wait for him to see me or to finish his phone call.

“I gave her a chance after the whole blow up with the media, does she not understand–”

He rubs his temples with his free hand. The person on the other end of the line actually had the audacity to interrupt Thomas Hunt.

That person has some nerve.

“It is not my fault she doesn’t understand what I want for this movie, I have explained to her multiple times but she refuses to work on it.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Understood, tell her good luck for me.”

Although his words were encouraging, his voice was straight venom.

He hangs up the call and drops his phone on his desk, which he was now leaning against. He puts his head in his hands and lets out a frustrated groan.

“Rough morning?”

He jumps slightly, and turns to look at me.

He nods, “I suppose I may need a new female lead.”

I feel excitement bubbling up inside of me.

“Any front runners?” I smirk, hoping I’m the only actress on his list.

“Stephanie, you know that I don’t feel comfortable putting you in a situation where your career will be criticized and put in jeopardy.” He is standing now, facing me.

“Thomas, my career is criticized and put in jeopardy every single time my face is in the media at all, no matter what.” I walk to him, taking confident steps as I face him. “I don’t care what the press thinks, I want this role. Not because of you personally but rather you as a professional. You are amazing to work with, you’re literally a genius when it comes to directing and working on scripts. Plus, you’ve got Matt for the male lead, Holly as the screenwriter, Addison on wardrobe and Chris Winters producing! I mean that’s literally the dream team for a movie, I just want to be a part of it.”

He looks at me thoughtfully.

“Please Thomas, I want this role so bad. I know that I’ll be fine.” I give him my best puppy eyes and place my hands on his chest, rubbing my thumbs back and forth.

“I don’t have many options right now. I suppose since time is of the essence, you are my new Alexis Lively.” He brushes a strand of my curly, dirty blond hair behind my ear. “I never doubted that you would be the best Alexis, but I had to make the best decision for your career.”

“Thomas, I love that you want to protect me, but I think I can handle myself with the media.” I say this with absolute conviction, showing him that I really want this role, no matter what.

He nods. His hand reaches up to cup my cheek and I nuzzle into his hand. “Then, I suppose, we have a deal.”

I smile and kiss him sweetly. “Thank you.”