#just hoping to graduate and get the hell out of Oklahoma

[yearning-butch]

Sometimes I can’t tell when my fears are just intrusive thoughts made worse by anxiety and overthinking versus reality

[fireylesbianhell]

This World Won't Ever Forget Us

javid AU chapter two electric boogaloo. we get some perspective switch-up. this probably isn't similar to my usual means of writing, and it's not beta'd at all. I'm still working on getting a grasp of these characters, I apologize if they're ooc.

this one took me to hell and back. anyways, ill bitch more in the tags, you may now eat your lukewarm microwave meal of a chapter

as always, inspired by "Bite The Bullet" on ao3

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David Jacobs was a smart guy, this was an undisputed fact. Ask his Mother, Father, Sister, or Brother.

Ask his few drifting 'friends', that, are honestly more like 'odd Acquaintances' or 'pitiful classmates'. Ask any of his proud teachers who liked having a nice boy and star pupil or the begrudging teachers that let who they saw as a smartass and some 'waking mouth' go by with flying colors in their class. 

So, if you were to say, ask David Jacobs why he was in a car, going 45 down a highway, hoping, prayin’ that the law wasn’t on their ass, he would simply stare in your face like you were a madman. 

Yet, he was the madman in question.

Hearing the car rev again before slowing down, he turned to his fellow escapee. 

He looked about his age, give or take possibly a year or two, but he could tell that he didn’t seem the type to have a ‘Just Graduated’ mentality after having just watched him let loose in the rickety old car down the highway after beating up someone for him in an alleyway.  

“So…” He started slowly, holding onto his cap that still threatened to fall off his head despite the acceleration of the car being slowed. 

“If you’re about to ask if we have any form of a plan, sugar, you’re shit out of luck.” He said exasperatedly. Dave shut his mouth quickly after that. That was, indeed his question- but there was a bit more to it. 

“Actually- er, I wanted to know your name.” He said, probably sounding just as exasperated himself as a look of guilty shock briefly traveled on the driver’s face. 

“...Jack, um, Kelly. Jack Kelly.” He said, slowly, as if clashing with himself out whether to entrust the information to David. 

“David Jacobs, but you already knew most of that.” He said, to clear the air a bit. The car was fully slowed down now, and he let go of his cap. 

They sat again in a bit of awkward stillness before David decided that, if he were likely gonna be spending a little while with this guy, he would bite the bullet, and get to know him. 

“So, erm..where did you grow up?”

“Rowena, Texas.” He replied flatly. 

“Texas? That’s…nice. Why in the hell did you leave Texas for Oklahoma? This place is the worst, y’know.” 

“Wasn’t no choice. ‘Pa had to pack it up from Texas due to our farm going up in price he couldn't keep up with. Stopped up here for a bit and then I got myself arrested.”

And that, made David’s heart stop a bit. 

Run away with a stranger? Bad. Run away with someone who has a criminal record? To, kindly put it, he was fucked. 

“Um…wow…” he said hesitantly. 

He watched Jack deflate a bit. “It was petty theft. A bicycle- I was 13.” He said, still wearing that shunned expression yet not sounding remorseful one bit. 

This did help Dave’s conscious, if not just a tad. He nodded and said, 

“So, no plan, a record consisting of…bike theft, and a car.” 

“Stolen car, a gun in the back, and only one destination before I was bound to drop off the face Oklahomama…” Jack rambled out, gripping down the steering wheel, before blinking a moment and sighing. 

“Before, you of course,” he said with a near wistful glace if Dave had to truly describe it. Wistful, Scared, And the same blink-and-you-miss-it 'oh, god I'm fucked' look in his eyes. 

And if David took note of his rather pretty slightly multi-colored brown-green eyes, that was just for him to know, thank you very much.

David stared back. He was in a car- a stolen car, his brain helpfully supplied to him- with a criminal and a gun, on the run, running where? 

He kept that thought aside- he was too busy still looking at an extremely stressed-out-looking Jack starting to babble on once more. 

“I tried- to tell ya, I mean. I promise i-i ain’t no crook. Just- trying to get out, like you.” He paused, looking guiltily again before starting up 

“I can drive you back. Back to your house, or, hell even that scum stunk diner if you don’t feel safe or nothin-” 

Jack Kelly couldn't continue, as he was busier suddenly attempting not to crash a car at the moment- 

due to the fact that David Jacobs was currently kissing him. 

Jack wasn’t an expert in anything romantic. 

He had one ‘girlfriend’ on a nearby farm once, when he was nine, and a few here-and-there crushes. It took one crisis in juvenile detention to take a realizing that, he liked boys just as much as he did gals- he didn't express it too much less someone like his Ma, from those few fragmented memories he had of the woman who left him, who spent every open minute on about God hatin’ the ‘Queers’ and may take it in their head to try and hurt him for it. 

Jack knew he had a little thing for the boy who ran away with him in his stolen car, and, to have this boy kissing him like his life depended on it was a real eye-opener, especially while you're supposed to be driving.

Eventually, as if they both remembered humans do need to breathe, and broke apart, Jack's eyes darting to the open road ahead of them and making a sharp turn to the side of the road. 

David’s eyes widened as if it had just hit him what he’d done. 

Dave started to panic, internally- he just kissed him! Just like that! He didn't pull away sure but- maybe he was shocked? Angry? Maybe he was about to yell at Dave for not asking or he probably didn’t even like guys at all oh god-

Dave’s worries were paused by Jack kissing him this time. 

Oh- well, that was a whole lot better than what he initially expected to happen. 

Jack pulled them apart and then, sighed, oh so dramatically, that David couldn’t help but laugh himself. 

“So..." he started, that exasperation back mixed with a meekness David expected seeing in watching his younger Brother trying to ask a girl out to a dance. Dave simply smiled, giving Jack a patient smile 

Jack paused, looking up again. he gained his confidence once more, if only for a second. 

"We don’t know each other still anyways, but Davey Jacobs, will you go wherever the hell with me despite my vast and likely growing criminal record?"

If you asked David Jacobs’ parents, siblings, acquaintances, and teachers. or anyone who ‘knew’ him, they would tell you he was obviously smart enough to say hell no. 

“I Will.”

—————–––—————––

Stepping into the shittest motel he’d ever seen, Dave was really starting to feel the romance. And now the lack of adrenaline that’s been fueling his life-changing choices.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“It’s not perfect, I know- but, once I get another job done, we’re gonna be in the finest homes wherever we wanna be.” He grinned- that grin could bring David’s mind from its encyclopedic likes to nothing in an instant, yet somehow make him want to write the sappiest most romantic stuff he could ever dream of. 

Dave nodded and let him talk to the clerk, requesting the one-bedroom and getting by with an odd look, and thankfully nothing else. The man didn’t seem an uptight kind, god knows what happens here at his motel, and by the looks of the place, David was sure that two guys who may be queer were the least of his concerns. 

He and Jack made their retreat up, and when they got there Dave Collapsed backward onto the bed while Jack dropped a few things to the little shoddily built wood table beside them. 

Dave looked up seeing the car keys, Jack's handgun, and a few papers on top of an open map. 

“What’s that?” He asked, scooting over to see a few things marked down on the map half-covered by newspaper clippings and addresses, and a few notes in piss-poor handwriting from odd names like "Race" and "Specs" 

“Places I need to be or have scouted out.” He said stoically, before smiling and grabbing his hand suddenly. 

Jack pulled him over and put a pencil in Davey's hand and wrapped his arms around his shoulders with a giddy little smile. 

“Well? Anywhere you want babe. The world is ours the second I get those jobs done and then some. Any Job, Home, Earnin' you can think of.” he smiled, taking a step back and letting Davey have full control now. 

This was new. 

David Jacobs could finally help call the shots. Be dangerous, Be wild, and kill off that clean-cut plastic mold of a person he had to be, the person that drove him to the madness that got him to jump in that car this morning.

Ever since he was a kid there was almost always something he had to take care of. He had to help his father out constantly after the accident and relies on Dave to help him with his job. If Sara was unable to help their mother, Dave could do it with no problem. keep up with the chores, do the schoolwork, and help with his parent's work and his sister's work. 

Then in school, his intellectual ability was immediately turned against him by others. Got a project with David Jacobs? Oh, then you basically don't have to do anything at all! Let brainiac handle it. 

Then, Mom & Dad have Les, and David Jacobs becomes the babysitter, helper, worker, cheat sheet, and everything else in between. Every minute of his life became doing things for and taking care of other people. 

And now, Tall, Dark, Handsome swoops into his life, and Jack Kelly gives him freedom. 

He looked up at Jack with one of the most genuine expressions of happiness he’d ever felt on himself before and looked back down at the map. 

He too wanted to see it all, and by god, He & Jack were gonna. 

But David Jacobs was a smart guy, who knew they had to start small. 

He circled a little theatre right outside Oklahoma City, a nice rich place his family traveled to once. 

He had an ally there. 

[creativeashproductions]

When the Pain Ends // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Breaking up with your boyfriend ends with your broken hand, a broken heart and a trip to Canada. Getting out of Oklahoma for comfort of your younger brother Owen brings you into contact with a sweet Canadian.

Warnings: Swearing, hospital, cheating boyfriend, angst and bit of fluff

Words: 3.1k

Requested: No.

A/N: Tidbit of info is that I am a university student. I had last week off and I’m six minutes into my History Zoom Lecture. Here’s a little fic.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The scowl glued on your face as you waited in the ER for the results from the x-ray you had gotten back from minutes ago. A bag of ice on the swollen knuckles of your right hand still splattered in drops of blood. The same blood as the small drops on your shirt as well. If that didn’t put a scowl on your face, it was the next issue.

The reason for your visit to the ER was in bed next over complaining as a nurse checked his face. His eyes meeting yours in a blend of guilt, regret and fear almost. You couldn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to meet his eyes.

Let’s backtrack a little for a short history.

The summer after graduation, you had met a guy on the beach playing volleyball in need of another player. You joined, and then you fell for the guy just as he did for you. For the last three years, you were now twenty-one years old. Parker had been a really good guy. Until yesterday.

“Babe!” Parker sounded congested with the bandages held up his nose. He had been fighting the nurse to come to your side.

“Don’t call me that!” You hissed glaring at the tall boy with the auburn hair colour that had once been your favourite colour.

“C’mon it was a mistake-Ow!” Parker whined at the nurse applied more pressure as she cast a sympathetic glance at you. A small smile of thanks passed to the nurse who had maybe pressed a little no hard on Parker’s nose.

Your eyes rolled at the drama that was Parker when it came to injuries that had been his entire fault, to be frank. Your fist meeting his face? His fault for cheating. What did he expect? A congratulations? Screw that.

“Say anything else I swear I’ll hit the other ball.” You glared at the boy sending him to a fit, shaking fear of stupidity.

The beach was filled up with teens and adults with children on the nice weekend day out of the loud city. Originally you hadn’t been able to join Parker with your mutual friends, but something else had spurred you there. Instead of having the weekly movie night via FaceTime with your younger brother, you had other plans. A particular video sent by Parker’s best friend and his cousin too had brought you here. Livvy had grown close in the three-year relationship you had with her cousin.

Your fury filled gaze flickered around the beach and the grass in the large opening area of the waterfront. Finally, your eyes found Parker sitting with Livvy on the blanket on the grass with Steve. Livvy was the first to see with marching through the people spreading like a curtain from the angry girl.

“Hey, Parker!” You shouted at your boyfriend in a conversation with your other two friends. Parker’s smile grew just before it falters at your expression.

“Hey, Babe,” Parker spoke, climbing to his full five-foot-ten stature. Livvy’s smile pulled up in an amused smirk while Steve looked more confused.

“How was your weekend at your sick Granny’s house?” You came to a stop a foot away from him. Arms crossed just under your chest his thick eyebrows furrowed together.

“Uh…it was okay. She’s feeling better.” Parker nodded to himself tilting his head to the side, “It was-“

“I hope she better. Her treatment must have been incredible.” You replied, unfurling your arms to grab the phone from your back pocket.

Parker grew more confused, “What?”

“The doctor sure knew what he was doing. The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The whistle you made after your statement sounded, but you grew more satisfied with the circle of people behind you.

“Oh.” Steve choked, raising one fist to press against his mouth. By now Livvy had started recording on her phone.

Livvy and Parker may be cousins, but she loathed cheaters when it was the cause of her parents’ divorce. Parker’s lips parted as he paled. The click of the glass screen brought up a video of Parker and a brunette in a hot tub.

“Ba-“

“Fucking look at your actions.” You hissed stepping even closer, “Was it worth it? Jeopardizing a relationship with someone you share years of memories with? Years of love and trust? All for thirty seconds of fun? We both know you tend to…get too excited.”

“Oh shit,” Steve spoke, shifting his gaze between you and Parker like he was a bobblehead of Einstein. The very bobblehead that you had laughed giving Steve with his obsession over the legendary scientist.

“It just happened. I still love you. I just needed a- “Parker stumbled back bringing his hands to his face, “OW! You broke my nose!”

“Ouch.” You hissed shaking your aching hand coated in some blood that splattered your shirt from shaking the hand.

“What the hell! You bit…holy fuck!” Parker screamed as your foot came up between his spread legs, nailing his left nut. He collapsed onto the grass, struggling to hold his bleeding broke nose and his nuts.

“That’s what you get asshole.” You shouted, turning to Livvy, “Can you take me to the hospital?”

“Parker drove, I’ll drive you both there. Steve can keep you two from fighting.” Livvy spoke, ending the video to shove everything in the oversized beach bag.

Now it was hours later as per usual in most hospitals elongating the time you were forced to spend with your now ex-boyfriend. Livvy and Steve had gone home a while back. Parker continued trying to fix the unrepairable damage he had done.

“Y-“

“That’s it!” You exclaimed jumping down from the bed to storm over to Parker. You made a few steps before arms encircled your waist.

“Okay, Slugger.” The gritty voice of your father spoke tugging you as far away from your ex-boyfriend as possible, “As much I want to kill him, I think you broke his pretty-boy face enough.”

The anger drained from your body as you slumped against your dad anguish set in with a tsunami of hurt. Time melted as you broke in your father’s arm; missing the doctor giving information. Your hand was fitted with a cast, and next thing you were aware of it was in the car.

“You bruised hits nuts. Broke his nose.” Dad nonchalantly spoke, turning the steering wheel as he exited the hospital parking lot. He didn’t bother making small talk as he let you be quiet on the drive home.

You didn’t know what hurt more, the heartache or your broken hand stabilized in the brace. The clearing of a throat had your attention is drawn to the house you had grown up no doubt holding your upset mother.

“She’s not that mad.” Dad quietly spoke, handing your phone that had died during the time in the ER. You shot him a look at the inaccuracy of his statement because you both know she was angry.

“Her daughter just spent hours in a hospital with a dead phone. We both know she probably thought I was dead in a ditch.” You deadpanned as you both walked up to the door of the home in Norman, Oklahoma.

The door opened before you could reach for it, and a flurry of blonde hair attacked you in a hug. Your mother hugged then leaned away to scan your features. Catching the dried tear stains paired with the red-rimmed eyes.

“Sweetheart.” Dinah spoke, raising her hands to wipe the tears from your face only causing more to fall, “What’s wrong?”

“Parker cheated on me.” You mumbled melting into her arms in another round of tears, breaking your parents’ hearts.

Meanwhile in Vancouver, Canada

Owen loved his job and the people he had met, but he missed the weekly movie nights with his older sister. The Joyner siblings had gotten down pat a system of sync to have the same movie playing at the same time on FaceTime. Imagine his surprise when he got a text apologizing.

Virtual movie night postponed. It put him in a slump that greatly concerned his roommate at the decrease of excitement. Even the next day, he was sad like a kicked puppy.

“Bro? You good?” Charlie asked from his place in the kitchen, scanning his emails on his computer. Owen barely made his eyes, “Wasn’t movie night with your sister yesterday?”

Owen nodded, “Yeah she-“

As Owen had gone to explain his phone had dinged with a concerning message from his mother.

Mom: Have you heard from Y/N? She hasn’t come home.

Owen swiped out of the conversation to the most used one with you shared with him to send a mass of messages. All not even coming up as read by you. It was his stipulation that you had it one for his safe of mind.

“C’mon you little shit,” Owen grumbled, pressing your contact to call. It didn’t even ring, “Dead cell.”

Charlie’s full attention shifted to the younger guy sitting on their couch in the apartment they used during filming. As Owen started pacing, Charlie was over quick as a bunny to offer comfort to him. The boys had grown so close, with Jeremy too, that they knew how to help the other.

“Owen, you need to tell me what’s going on.” Charlie soothed the blonde with his eyes pleading with the teenager.

“My parents haven’t talked to my sister. She didn’t go home.” Owen admitted scratching at his chest when his chest tightened. The other immediately finding his pulse on his neck to ensure he still had a pulse.

“Oh shit.” Charlie retorted, tapping his foot on the hardwood floor trying to find the right words to help his friend.

For the next hour, the boys kept in contact with Owen’s family and checking your social media in shifts as they filmed. It was a slow day when Owen’s phone finally rang with his mother’s contact once more.

“Mom, did you find her?” Owen asked, picking at the skin on his lips pacing as he had all day. The level of anxiety had been perfect for the scene he had filmed as Alex.

“Yeah. Look, Owen, she needs to get out of Oklahoma. Do you have room for her?” Dinah asked her son periodically glancing in the living room at the lifeless young woman.

“Yeah. We have an extra room.” Owen supplied squeezing the phone in his grip, “How is she? What happened?”

“I’m letting her settle before I ask any questions, but her flight is in a bit. It was either you take her in, or we pay for a hotel room. Oh! I got this lego-“

“I have to get back to filming. I’ll call you tonight.” Owen told his mother as his thumb hit the record circle on his phone. Kenny waving him over to film a scene with Booboo that would be the last before heading home.

The over the counter pain pill went down with a swig of water in the airport waiting for Owen and his roommate. Owen had messaged you that he would pick you up on the way from the set in perfect timing.

“Y/N!” Owen cheered catching sight of your form hunched forward on the bench you had miraculously found empty. Your blank eyes seeing the blue of your younger brother.

Owen’s eyes widened in shock, “What the hell happened to your hand?”

Noncommittal, the girl walked by her brother with her luggage in the mission to get to the car. All you wanted was to burst into years under your blankets until the world turned again, when birds sang, and the word wasn’t painted in dull colours.

Just as it had during the ride from the hospital to the house, it was dead silent in the car with the barest sound of music. Owen and Charlie had been having a conversation with expressions with the tension in the backseat stifling.

“This is our place.” Charlie spoke, opening the apartment door with a flourish for the girl and her luggage. Your eyes scanned the modest apartment with minimal mess compared to the tornado devastation of Owen’s Oklahoma room.

“Okay.” You replied, watching as Owen rolled the luggage to the room you would use for the few weeks you would be here.

Once showered, dressed and settled, you retreated to the couch to watch a film with the two boys. Your mind fluttered between Beca’s blow out with her father and Jesse to the city of Norman. As if thinking of Parker manifested something your phone buzzed with notifications.

@/livvyjo: Go, girl! [video]

@/malia134: Parker goes down like the bitch he is!!!

@/notsteverogers: I got a front-row seat to the fight.

Those three comments on Livvy’s video had more support than hate plus the video itself was hilarious. It caught the entire confrontation from greeting the cheater to being pulled away to spend the ten minutes in the same car. The car you had hooked up in the backseat of in the years you dated him.

 “-The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The pure anger on your expression amused you.

“What are you watching?” Owen inquired from the couch he watched the movie from. It made up for the lack of a film last night.

“A girl punching her bag of shit ex-boyfriend. She almost ripped his face off in the hospital.” You softly replied with your thumb double-tapping Livvy’s post.

Charlie’s attention shifted from the pool mashup with the Barden Bellas to the pride evident in your tone. It was the first time he had heard you laugh during the few hours he had been in your presence.

“What movie?”

“Oh, you know Parker’s Dicked Down Adventures. Filmed free with an iPhone.” You spoke sliding down to sit flush to Charlie to show the video you refreshed.

Owen’s mouth opened, “He cheated on you? How stupid is he??”

“You have a mean right hook.” Charlie supplied replaying the video for the third time with a weird feeling in his gut. The confidence stirred a body warming heat in the Canadian actor unlike anything else he had felt before.

“Dad taught me.” You replied, slouching down in the plush couch with a tiny smiling, “The nurse heard what happened. She put excessive pressure for his actions. I overheard his diagnosis; nasty bruised testicle and a broken nose.”

Both boys winced at the description. Owen ditching Charlie’s side to sit beside you, leaving you in the middle of the boys.

“I almost attacked him before Dad dragged me out of the room.” You recounted snuggling into your younger brother’s side.

“Where are my keys?” Owen questioned his roommate, “We need them to drive to the airport. I need to kill the ass that hurt my sister.”

Your deft fingers grasped Owen’s wrist when he went to get up because, in all honesty, he probably would book a flight. He wouldn’t go through with the plan to physically hurt Parker, but Owen had a wicked tongue for insults.

You spent one month in Vancouver with your brother and his castmates from helping Maddie with her homework. Movie nights with Owen changed to include Charlie too. Shopping trips with Sav and Tori. Baking with Jadah. You became family with them.

All good things come to an end. You had settled back in Norman with brighter plans that didn’t involve relying on men. Movie nights still happened with the boys, but things got hectic. Virtual movie nights shifted to texting Charlie and calls.

“Hey dork.” Charlie spoke walking down the street in Vancouver to the restaurant he was meeting the cast at. His lips pulled back in a massive grin, hearing your voice.

“Hey Char!” You enthusiastically spoke, walking out of the building with more pep in your step at the voice of the man, “What’s up?”

“On my way for food with everyone. How are you feeling?” Charlie asked, rubbing his fingertips on the dark denim pants. The sound of your voice brightening up his day more than he thought possible.

“Ooh. I should let you go, huh?” You questioned shifting to hold the phone between your shoulder and chin. Fingers unlocked the new car you had bought with the money you had saved.

A nice change of money from selling the jewellery, clothes and other miscellaneous gifts Parker had given you. The necklace he gave you that once belonged to his grandmother had been given back to him. Other than that you had no interaction with the ass.

“I’d rather talk to you.” Charlie admitted biting his lip in concentration, “I have a question.”

“Okay. What’s your question?” You questioned as your phone connected to your car—Charlie’s voice coming through the car speakers.

“Filming is almost over. Do you have plans for New Years? I’d like you to see you again.”

His words set a flutter of butterflies moving in your stomach at his nervous confidence striking the new information. The change in your friendship had been felt on his side as well and while you usually would think one-month post cheating wasn’t long enough. Something about Charlie felt comfortable as if everything had been preparing to fall for him.

“I could fly-“

“I’d like to see where you grew up. Your favourite places and where you went to school. I want to know the little things that made you who you are.” Charlie spoke coming to a stop outside the restaurant, waiting for your answer.

Owen’s eyes pulled from his debate with Sacha and Jeremy to the nervous Canadian biting his lip outside the window. By the expression on his face, Owen couldn’t guess who he was talking about. It was the smile that had been appearing on Charlie’s face for the last two weeks you had been staying with them.

Charlie had fallen for Owen’s big sister, and he couldn’t think of anyone better. The bond between you and Charlie had been natural and magical to watch. It was kinda gross seeing his best friend and sister having heart eyes with each other. Yet, Owen had never liked Parker, but he loved the idea of having Charlie as a brother.

“Y-yeah. Of course, you can Char.” The flattering blush heated up your skin at the turn in the convo—a grin splitting on the two individuals with more than three thousand kilometres between them.

“Cool. I should join the cast. I’ll text you later.”

“Bye, Charlie.” You whispered to the boy looking out the window noticing something she had been oblivious to.

The world had regained the colour, the birds sang again, and the world turned once more. All because a boy helped her heal.

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[crimsonrae]

Bear and Birdie

Chapter One

Summary: AU Howard only ever had Birdie to confide in as a child and Steve only ever had Bucky. So, what happens when more than just a supersoldier serum connects these people? Told in a collection of one-shots and flashbacks, rating subject to change.

Bucky BarnesxOFC

Rating: Mature

A/N: Okay I have this posted on FF and haven’t updated it in a... long time, but I’m going to post here and hope I find inspiration to finish their story, because they live in my mind and I love them.

Chapter One

1935 Brooklyn, New York

It was quiet.

But...it wasn't the world is just silent right now quiet. It was heavy, just shy of tangible.

James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky to his friends, frowned at the silence unsure why the quiet unsettled him that morning. The sun drifted through the cloudy windows of Saint Catherine's Lost Home for Boys in a hazy laziness that only seemed to add to the heavy silence of the lobby. It was almost oppressive. He bit back a sigh as he turned his attention to the paperwork he needed to fill out, lightly twirling a pen through his fingers as he read.

Official release documents – at eighteen-years-old James Barnes could no longer and would no longer be considered a ward of the great state of New York.

Bucky had known this day would come, had known he would have to say goodbye to the only stable home he ever had. He had thought he would feel angry about this day or maybe sad. He had thought he would feel something more than a slight dread and muted indifference. Maybe it was the fact that he knew the orphanage could never be a true home, a place to come back to when life became too much as he grew older. Hell, when he had arrived he hadn't intended to stay as long as he had, it was just…it was just the world seemed to have other plans for him.

If he was being completely honest with himself, the orphanage had stopped being home over a year ago. Maybe that was why he felt so indifferent to this whole process.

The lack of funding that Saint Cat's had received in the past few years had caused Bucky to ease away from the system long before it was ready to release him. The parish fought for every penny to feed and dress the growing number of children under its care. Yet, he hadn't felt right taking those meals and clothes when he knew he could take care of himself. He had spent his spare time working odd shifts down at the docks and at various diners in the area. Whatever work he could find he would take. He probably would have dropped out of school, if not for his entirely too lecture-friendly best friend - Steve Rogers would drag him off to class whenever necessary. James smirked, he had graduate by the skin of his teeth and he knew it. School was for the smart cats like Steve, not dumb bastards like him.

Not dumb bastards like him.

The paperwork seemed to glare up at him in stark black and white confirmation of that thought. James sighed resignedly, not entirely sure where his head was at as he finally lifted his hand to scrawl messily across the bottom of the page.

It was official now – he was no longer a lost boy, only a lost man. He snorted quietly, somehow that seemed far worse.

A muffled cough disturbed the oppressive silence and made Bucky blink up from his release papers directly into the sad green eyes of Sister Madeleine. He had forgotten she had been waiting for him to finish. The old Sister seemed to fade into the framework of the lobby. Always a part of the structure, but infinitely her own. Bucky pushed a small smile to his lips as he handed her the papers. Neither seemed to want to disturb the odd silence of the lobby as they waited for the other to speak. They didn't have to – the sound of shallow steps and a light grunt caught their ears as they turned toward the hallway entrance. Bucky nearly rolled his eyes.

"Stevie, what're you doing?" James sighed tiredly as he watched his best friend trudge into the lobby of the orphanage carrying a duffel that was almost as big as him.

The shorter blonde sent James a pointed look that said he shouldn't be surprised. In truth, Bucky wasn't. He had half-expected Steve to show up at the boarding house with a room key already in hand. In their almost decade long friendship and adopted brotherhood there wasn't much that Steve Rogers could do that Bucky didn't see coming, "You didn't seriously think I would stay here with Richie Long and Herman Dutt, did you?"

Bucky didn't even blink at the mention of Steve's long time tormentors, knowing it was a smokescreen. He merely quirked a brow, "And here I thought you three had made nice."

Steve snorted, "There's making nice and then there's being friendly, Buck." He paused as he ruffled through his coat to pull out paperwork that looked suspiciously like the documents that Bucky had just signed before handing them over to Sister Madeleine, "Sides, it's not like I'd be staying here much longer."

Bucky frowned as Steve glanced at him with a sly smile and certain spark in his blue eyes. Steve had at least another ten months before his release papers would need to be signed. He pursed his lips in question when the light bulb finally went on, "You got it. You got the scholarship."

Steve nodded almost shyly and Bucky just about crowed. Somehow, Steve had managed to graduate a year early with Bucky. James hadn't questioned it. He knew how determined his best friend could be and that he was smart enough to understand all the extra work. But the scholarship to Columbia...The scholarship had been a goal of Steve's since they had started high school. Bucky knew it had to do with a promise Steve had made to his mother before she passed...but Columbia.

Suddenly, leaving Saint Cat's didn't seem as unsettling. He grinned widely at his friend as he snatched his duffel up from the ground. Once again forgetting Sister Madeleine's presence as he nudged Steve in the shoulder, "This calls for a celebration. Let's go get some breakfast down at Mel's."

"We can't afford Mel's." Steve stated dryly as he followed Bucky's lead, unable to keep his small prideful smile from his lips.

Bucky just chuckled, "I think Cassie is working this morning. She'll get us something. We're celebrating Stevie. Man, you just got into Columbia. You'll be rubbing elbows with the blue-bloods soon enough."

"God, I hope not." Steve muttered amused. He tried not to shake his head at Bucky's excitement. He hadn't even been that happy when he received his acceptance letter, but it was good to see that smile. He hadn't seen Bucky smile at much lately. Swallowing tightly as the duo stepped outside he reached into the side of his bag and pulled out an envelope, "Here."

James frowned curiously as he took the wrinkled envelope. There wasn't paper inside. The contents too bulky and hard in his grasp, "What's this?"

But even as he asked, his fingers were prying open the flap to let loose two brass keys. He knew these keys. Steve almost fidgeted in place as he met Bucky's sharp gaze, "Aunt Mabel never sold Mom's apartment... just packed up and headed home to Oklahoma after...well after. And we need a place, so."

"Stevie..." Bucky started, unsure what he wanted to say, but knowing he should say something. Sarah Rogers had died in her apartment after a long drawn out battle with a sickness that he could barely understand. He couldn't see Steve living there...not after everything, "We can find another place."

"Like where, Buck? The boarding house you've been going to?" Steve pushed stodgily, "A roof is a roof, right? I can deal."

"The boarding house ain't so bad." Bucky murmured tiredly, because he couldn't quiet see Steve living there either.

Steve shrugged, he wouldn't admit that he didn't want to live in his mom's old run down box of an apartment, but he also wasn't ready to sell it yet. He hadn't even finished going through her things and she had passed over two years ago, "The apartment ain't so bad either, jerk."

James had a few reservations about that statement, but he wouldn't fight about it with Steve. Not now, maybe not ever. Instead he rolled his eyes and slung his arm around Steve's shoulder, "So, how long have you known about the scholarship, ya punk?"

"A week."

"A week? You didn't tell me for a week? You really are a punk, you know that?"

Steve snickered, "I think you'll get over it."

"Nah, we have a week worth of celebration to do now." Bucky said boastfully as he pushed his thoughts and Steve's away from Sarah Rogers.

Steve nearly rolled his eyes as he held in a groan. He had a week of Bucky trying to drag him out to a club or with a girl now. It wasn't the worst fate in the world, but he was sure it would be the most exhausting. The two sniped at each other as they walked. Their feet automatically moving where they needed.

The duo made it halfway to Mel's Diner when Steve snorted and nudged his friend, "Hey Buck?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy Birthday."

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1935 Kingston, New York

It was an unbearably hot morning. The sun seemed to be reminding the world that it was a giant ball of burning gas. Well maybe not the world, but the heat was definitely making its presence known to the small group segregated in a cemetery just outside of Kingston. Elena Turner stifled a sigh as she tried not to tug at the sleeves of her mourning dress. The satiny material didn't breathe and was beginning to cling to her skin…she wished the preacher would talk faster, this farce of a funeral needed to be over. She felt her cousin shift uncomfortably next to her and knew that he too was becoming impatient. She couldn't help, but turn to look at him. His eyes were glazed red and glaring miserably at the wooden coffin perched before them. He had foregone any pretense at being composed and was pulling clumsily at his collar.

Elena supposed it was for the best, Howard was supposed to be playing the role of the grieving son. She doubted that anyone, but herself and a few servants, knew that his pallid complexion and bloodshot eyes were the result from a night of drinking in celebration, rather than crying in sorrow. He was beyond hungover and the strange heat was doing nothing to make him better. She only hoped that he wouldn't do something incredibly…stupid.

"Stop fidgeting." Elena warned quietly, "There are more than enough people staring at you."

"I think I'm going to throw up." Howard murmured uneasily as he continued to pull at his collar. He could care less about the people watching him. He had spent the past week in a wild state of relief, shock and horror and it was almost over. As soon as the coffin was in the ground, he could move on.

"Please don't." Elena said with a small grimace, "I told you not to drink so much last night."

He rolled his eyes and instantly regretted it as the sensation of a million needles pierced his skull, "How was I supposed to know it would be such a wretched morning? Isn't it supposed to rain at funerals?...God, I'm dying."

"You're not dying, you big baby. Besides, I think the world is rather happy that your father is no longer in it, I know I am." Elena muttered lightly as she watched the preacher finally close his bible and step back from the coffin to let the gravediggers have access.

Howard nearly cried in relief at the sight of the slightly grungy men, "Give me a break. The only person mourning daddy dearest is your mother."

As if the woman in question could hear his words from across the aisle of folding chairs, Vitoria Turner, sister of Howard Stark Senior, let out an awful screeching sob. Elena was sure the entire congregation cringed at the sound as she tried to hold back a groan of disgust. She could see her older brother, Fergus, quickly coming to her mother's aid with a handkerchief. It wasn't even eleven in the morning and already the day was too long.

"Think she'll still be crying when she finds out that father left her out of his will?" Her cousin murmured amusedly as he watched the spectacle his aunt was making.

"Yes, except then the tears will be real." Elena muttered dryly as she turned her attention back to the lowering of the casket. She honestly didn't want to think about her mother receiving that news. The woman was intolerable on a good day; on a bad day, Vitoria Turner could make Satan cry, "Can I stay with you when that happens?"

Howard sent her a sympathetic look, "Do you even have to ask, Birdie? You're always welcome in my home." He tugged at his collar again, "My God, what is with this heat? It's barely even May. I swear this is my father's doing. He's making sure I'm miserable even when he's gone."

"Don't say that!" Elena whispered harshly as she went pale at the thought of her uncle still having any influence on the world.

She sensed Howard's sharp eyes studying her and suddenly felt her stomach roll with silent shame. He hadn't been the only one to have a tumultuous week. She had been bouncing between the same emotions he had, the only difference was that Elena knew they would not be able to move on as easily as her cousin seemed to think. Her eyes drifted back towards the rectangular hole in the ground, and suddenly, her dress wasn't the only thing unable to breathe. What had she done?

As if he knew what she was thinking, Howard quickly grasped her hand and squeezed her fingers. Her blue gaze quickly snapped to him, but all Howard could do was shake his head. Don't fall apart now, he was silently trying to tell her. Not yet.

"Where's that flask you snatched this morning?" He whispered instead, no longer meeting her stare. If he had, then he would have seen the exasperated disbelief that sparked in her blue orbs.

"I'm not giving you anymore alcohol."

Howard bit back a smile as he heard the annoyance coating her voice. However, he hadn't been asking for the flask for himself to use, but for her. Elena could use a little alcohol to calm her nerves. He turned to explain this to her, but was only able to get his mouth open when another resounding screech was heard from the other side of the aisle as the mourners began to stand for final farewells.

Elena glared at him, "If I have to deal with my mother sober, then so do you."

Howard wisely kept his mouth shut and stood to receive the forming line of condolence wishes. Suddenly, he wished she had given him the flask. In a perfect world, he would not have had to arrange a funeral at the age of sixteen. His eyes drifted toward the now lowered casket that had induced Elena's minor panic moments before, but then he should not have killed his father either. His hands went clammy and the headache he had been nursing all morning seemed to become even more unbearable. He just needed to get past today. A moment later, he felt Elena come to his side. Her hand lightly tapped his elbow to let him know that she was there if he needed her. He smiled gratefully at her.

"Uncle Leo is here." Elena whispered as he began to shake hands, "He'll take us back to the house once we're done here."

Howard nodded his understanding as he spared another glance toward his father's grave. As he glanced back at the mourners, he caught Elena's gaze. A look of grim understanding passed between them.

No one could know.

Next Chapter

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[thelifeoftuan]

Fit

I don’t really like to show my body, but I’ve been feeling pretty good, so here. 😁

So ever since I graduated from residency and moved out of Oklahoma to New York, I’ve been attempting to stick to a healthier lifestyle. I really wanted to do something good for myself and help myself feel better. I feel like there’s this horrible expectation that guys (especially gay guys) have to fit into this mold of constant gym time and flexing their muscles to prove their attractiveness, and I honestly think that’s kinda been a blight to the community. I’ve never been a superficial person and never felt obligated to fit into such a--dare I say it--stereotype. I will be honest, though, seeing pictures after pictures of all these--admittedly, hot, haha!--shirtless dudes everywhere, especially since moving to New York City, I’ve tricked myself into feeling pretty inadequate a few times. But that’s the thing. Who’s the judge of our worth and adequacy? I’d like to think the true judge is ourselves, not other people. We’re the ones who have to power to figure out where we fit, and we shouldn’t let other people take that away from us. And so I tell myself that whatever I journey I choose, it’s by my own accord and for my own benefit. Everyone is different. Everyone has their different priorities and aspects that are important to them. Nonetheless, everyone should love their body, regardless of size, shape, or color. Forcing ourselves to fit into some unrealistic expectation leads us to not love our bodies. But if we love our body enough to know we can make improvements so that we can be a better fit for ourselves, that’s really where the true power is. That’s always been my belief, and I stick to it. During medical school and residency, I definitely felt like my health could have been better. Sitting in class and studying all day, skipping meals due to stress, losing sleep due to stress, and a constant sedentary lifestyle did not make me feel all that great. I was depressed a lot (granted my low activity level was not the main culprit, but it did not help), I felt sluggish a lot of the time, and I felt like I aged pretty quickly during those years of training as result of my mismanagement of my health. But I made it through. Still alive and kicking. And now I’m living pretty a pretty good life here in a new city that I love. And when I landed here, I told myself that my health and happiness were going to be the top priorities. So I made a plan for myself and vowed to stick to it to the best of my ability, while also giving myself a bit of wiggle room, ‘cause that’s just the nature of my job to be unpredictable at times and put crimps in my plans. But I gotta say, I’ve stuck to my plan pretty well so far. I went to the gym four times a week, even when I was exhausted after work or when I got home pretty late in the evening. Even when I got home at around 10:45 p.m., I’d rush my ass to the gym before they locked the doors at 11:00 p.m. Haha! I’ve been sticking to a pretty healthy diet, which is completely out of the norm for me, as I’ve never really done that before. Greek yogurt for breakfast, turkey sandwich for lunch, granola bar for a mid-day snack, and chicken, rice, and broccoli for dinner. Those are now my staple meals, and I actually don’t mind them at all. I thought I would, but I actually kinda like the constant routine. It makes cooking pretty simple. And I’ve been drinking water over anything else, and if you know me, that’s hella abnormal. Hahaha! I can’t even remember the last time I drank Dr Pepper (gasp). These days, I only treat myself to a soda (Dr Pepper is rare to find at restaurants in New York City) on the occasion I go out. And even then, I find myself really sticking to water, which honestly, I’m pretty proud of, ‘cause ya boy loves his carbonated sugary beverages. Haha! I stick to this healthy diet during the week, and then on the weekends, I treat myself to the wonderful New York City eats, because what the hell is the damn point of living here if I’m not going to enjoy all the delicious food, right? I don’t worry about macros or counting calories (Buddha forbid I ever start, ‘cause I feel like that’s just asking for unintentional weight loss, knowing my track record with math). I don’t have cheat days. If there are days during the week where I’ve had a rough day and want to indulge in some ice cream or order fast food or take-out, I’ll do it. My goal was never really to restrict myself or adhere to a stringent program. My goal was just to feel healthier, better, and happier. And sometimes, ya boy needs a pint of ice cream to make those things happen. Haha! Then the pandemic hit and the gym in my building closed down and has yet to open. And for a good number of weeks, my ass was handed to me by the pandemic with having to work constantly and trying to save as many sick people as I could during the peak of the pandemic in New York. And during that time, I definitely let my health and wellness fall to the wayside and ended up focusing all my energy on taking care of my patients. And I definitely felt like I had backtracked a little bit during that time. But then after things calmed down in New York City, I told myself that I would get back to it and refocus my energy on my health, because that was what was important to me. I didn’t wanna spend money on any gym equipment, ‘cause ya boy’s still very, very poor. And with the hope that, eventually, it would be safe to go back to the gym again some time in the near future, I didn’t wanna make any sort of unnecessary investment. So I got myself a yoga mat, downloaded this HIIT/body-weight training app that did not require any equipment, and allotted a little 4x4 space between my bed and dresser where I would work out four times a week. And after 6 months of lots of sweat (like, my god, I’ve never sweat so much before!), all sorts of different types of push-ups, ab exercises, supermans, and effing burpee-squat-jumps (whoever invented these should be tried for crimes against humanity), I’m still sticking with it and I’m pretty proud of myself with how far I’ve gotten. I definitely have been feeling so much better these days. Working out actually has become one of the things I look forward to. Elle Woods was right about them endorphins. Haha! And the incremental improvements I’ve been seeing are always a plus. I mean, I’m not at thirsty thot twunk physique level (😂🤦🏻‍♂️) by any means, but that was never really the goal. Regardless, I’m pretty proud of myself. My chest isn’t completely flat anymore, my arms are starting to show some definition, and I see some abs coming in, hahaha! Most importantly, though, I’m happy with the way I feel, and I think that alone speaks volumes more than any physical gains can. And I think that’s what I really want to say with this post. Forget societal expectations and pressures. Forget the magazines and posters and instagram peeps. Forget the stereotypes and stigmas. This year has been hard enough, and we shouldn’t subject ourselves to forcing our bodies to fit into these spots where we’re not comfortable. I don’t think that’s where our happiness lies. We ourselves need to discover where we fit, and that’s part of the journey. So here’s to all of us sticking to our own individual journeys and finding our own individual wellness! Be fit. Be healthy. Be happy. And be free.

[astraastro]

Music for Thoughts?

Summary: Virgil's mom bought him a ukulele and he's been playing the same song over and over again, but this song makes him think of the past. Although he hates the feeling of isolation again... (Part of this head-cannon )

TW: VERBAL ABUSE, DRUG ABUSE, PHYSICAL FIGHTINGS, PHYSICAL ABUSE, RIDING WITH TRUCKERS, FEELING OF ISOLATION, crying, cursing, abandonment, and anything else i missed please let me know right away

You can have the toaster and the PC, or even my Timothy green DVD...

Sometimes Virgil wonders if breaking up songs can be similar to family problems.

I'll let you have the couch and the TV, hang on to the jacket that you bought for me...

He thinks back when he left his mom. He left his favorite movies, his couch, most of his clothes, and even his graduation cap he decorated.

I don't really care you can keep the things we used to share

Honestly all he cared about was his sweatshirts he bought himself for Christmas.

But what did you do with my heart?

Thankfully he did get it back, but his mom also bought him a ukulele that he's been playing one song over and over again.

What did you do with my heart?

It was a repeat of him playing the song over and over that his fingers were hurting and cramping up. He just can't stop thinking about what he and his mom went through all those years.

No more fireworks, no more compass

He thought about the time when he and his mom left for the first time to Florida. He was in 8th grade at the time but didn't know what was going on. All he knew was that his dad moved out and he lived with his brother, along with his mom.

At the time Declan was doing drugs and wasn't very nice to any of them.

You didn't leave a single butterfly in my stomach

What made them leave was the fact that when one of his family friends came over, his brother made a big scene in front of them. Beating his mom while Declan's boyfriend held onto her and his other friend was also helping him.

Virgil was to shocked to move because he was standing in front of his friends seeing this go down right. In. Front. Of. Him.

Just only two feet away they were doing that. Right in front of him! In front of him!!

He didn't remember crying or holding his breath until his family friend's mom grabbed his shoulder and brought him in a hug.

What the hell was happening?...

You took my spyglass--

Virgil shook his head from his thoughts as he began strumming again, only to think of what happened afterwards.

No knowin' what lies ahead

His mom took both of them to a shelter in town first until she made them leave and start heading to Florida.

Originally Virgil was from a small town in New Mexico called Farmington, and Florida was over a thousand miles away.

He remembered being scared when his mom and him hitchhiked to the edge of town. They caught a ride with a trucker at a gas station and that trucker was more than willing to take them to the city of Albuquerque.

'Took my warmth at night,

Ever since then they had rode with truckers or stayed at truck stops for the night to sleep. He really missed having a warm bed along with fresh food. He was only 13 and he was already in hell.

But left a dent in my bed...

During the time Virgil separated his emotions and became detached from reality. Anytime he thought about his family (his dad and brother) he'd immediately forget everything and just become detached.

I dont really care you can keep the things we used to share.

Virgil even remembered that he also left his extended family and friends at the time. On the road with truckers all he could think of was his friends. How much he missed them. How much he wishes to belong somewhere again. He missed home...

What did you do with my heart?

Eventually they did stop at Oklahoma to try and possibly start there to at least get some money. They just couldn't stay in any shelters because every single shelter there were only for people who were addicted to something. It was stupid but he didn't care.

You've stripped me of my pride, that for the best

They did stay with a Mexican family who were more than willing to help them out and gave them the spare room. They were only supposed to stay there for a week...

But a week turned into two which eventually turned into three and four.

But you've also deprived me of a full nights rest, so no more dreams...

His mom got a job and saved $1,000. He though that was for them, but then he forgot about...him...

He forgot to mention that his mom was in "love" with a random stranger on the internet who was in the "military" and "needed" money.

At the time he didn't care that his mom carelessly gave away the $1000 to a total stranger who claims to love him. He just felt numb during the whole time and just went with his mom anywhere.

And I can't collect my though cuz their still with you

His mom and him did leave because they over stayed their welcome. What was most upsetting from this, was that it was Christmas Eve.

The Mexican family dropped them off at the edge of Oklahoma city and abandoned them. They were off again riding with truckers. They made it all the way to South Carolina where they got stuck at a truck stop on Christmas day.

Virgil didn't know what was devastating, the thought that his family celebrating Christmas without him, or that his Christmas is in a store with his mom sleeping on a bench next to him.

I wouldn't take it back even though I feel sore

Virgil shook his thoughts again as he realized tears were steaming down his face. He never thought back to these memories because when he does he feels the emotions he didn't feel during then.

I meant when I said what's mine is yours, but I need to know now that we're apart

He was crying as he was playing.

He hated this feeling...

Feeling of Isolation, loneliness, confusion, and just over depressed all over again.

What did you do to my heart....

But he didn't know how to stop.

_

A/N: hey so I hope you enjoyed and if you have any questions, feel free to ask or comment, and if you want to be tagged just ask ^-^

Taglist: @stop-it-anxiety

[go4blood]

can we be seventeen?

It is finally time. Broadway!Michael. Heathers. Best friends to lovers. U know how we do. sorry I’m on mobile and can’t do the read more feature 😔

4k words

—

High School was the time of your life. You spent everyday after school with your best friend in the theatre. You two had many starring roles together, such as Tracy and Link in Hairspray, Sally Bowles and Cliff Bradshaw from Cabaret, and so many more. You two decided you both wanted to take on broadway. That being said, you bought an apartment together- a tiny one that is- in New York City. It was your 2nd month in New York. You loved it more than anything, but you were a starving artist. You had a few commercial roles and did some work in some short films, but you wanted to be on stage. You wanted people applauding you every night. You both wanted that.

But it’s hard to get on broadway. Broadway isn’t something easy to achieve.

The door to your apartment opened and interrupted your thoughts.

“Y/N! The restaurant was super busy today, so I think I got enough tip money to get the WiFi back on.” Michael walked through the door, car keys in hand, wearing a white button shirt with a black tie, along with black dress pants. Michael worked at a fancy Italian restaurant in the heart of New York City that only rich people can afford. He absolutely hated working there. It was far from his dream, but they had to pay the bills somehow. You worked at a coffee house yourself, and most of the time your money went towards bills and necessities only. And people hardly ever tip.

“Thank God! I’ve missed Netflix so much.” He laughed and you grinned, collapsing beside him on the couch. Michael was a great roommate. He always paid his share of everything, and he kept the living area clean. His room is another story, but at least you didn’t have to always see his room.

“I found our next audition! I forgot to tell you, when I was driving to work I saw that Heathers is currently being casted for broadway!”

You sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder, “I’m beginning to think we should’ve stayed home, it’s so hard to make it out here in New York…”

He scoffed, looking at you in your eyes, “Is my best friend, Y/N L/N, the one who forced me to audition for Oklahoma our freshman year, giving up? Come on now, that’s not the Y/N I know! Come on, auditions are tomorrow morning, it’s worth a shot.”

You pondered for a moment, thinking of the possibilities. This is what you came to New York for, after all. Maybe it was worth a shot.

“Fine, we’ll go. Just don’t get your hopes up…”

“I won’t, I promise. Now… I assume we’re having ramen again?”

“You know it.”

—

You sat beside Michael and looked around at who was at the audition. You could already tell that type casting would come into play, which made you nervous. You weren’t sure if you fit into any of these roles. What if you were wasting your time? You’d be lucky if you got to be a chorus member. Michael looked up from the paperwork as if he could sense how nervous you were.

“Relax, Y/N. You’ve been this way since High School! I remember auditions for Hairspray; you nearly had a panic attack the day of callbacks. And you rocked it! What are you scared of?”

“Failure, Michael.” You frowned and looked at him. He sighed, looking into your eyes.

“My best friend has never been a failure. Don’t even begin to think you’re a failure! Every good actor and actress struggled before succeeding.” He gave you a reassuring smile, and weight lifted off of your shoulders. Maybe he was right. In fact, he was right. You have to fall before you fly sometimes.

“Thank you, Michael.” You smiled as he smiled back at you. You wouldn’t wanna be struggling with anyone else.

A woman who seemed to be the director interrupted your thoughts, “Good morning everyone, welcome to the audition for Heathers. Shall we begin?” Everyone silently nodded, and the director cleared her throat, “the numbers my assistant gave to you when you walked in will now come into play… let’s start with #1. Come on up.”

You froze. You were #1. No pressure, right? You got up from your seat and walked up onto the stage, ready to perform the provided audition material. All of the girls were using audition material for the part of Veronica, the lead female part. No pressure.

You introduced yourself briefly and began, projecting with purpose, “My parents wanted to move me into high school out of the sixth grade, but we decided to chuck the idea because I’d have trouble making friends, blah, blah, blah. Now blah, blah, blah is all I ever do. I use my grand IQ to decide what color lip gloss to wear in the morning and how to hit three keggers before curfew… Betty Finn was a true friend and I sold her out for a bunch of Swatch dogs and Diet Coke heads. Killing Heather would be like offing the wicked witch of the west… wait east. West! God! I sound like a fucking psycho….Dear Diary: Heather told me she teaches people “real life.” She said, real life sucks losers dry. You want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly. I said, so, you teach people how to spread their wings and fly? She said, yes. I said, you’re beautiful.”

You emphasized certain things and changed tone when you felt it was needed. You wanted this so bad. But this wasn’t it! This was a musical, so you had to sing. You looked at the music provided for you and cued the piano player to begin playing. The song you were told to sing was “Fight For Me”. You sang each note with purpose. You wanted this more than anything. Before you knew it, you were done with your audition, and you sat back down in the audience beside Michael. He mouthed ‘good job’ to you, smiling. Before he knew it, it was his turn to audition.

The men auditioning read material for JD, the leading male part. You looked over what Michael had to perform, and the monologue was quite intense.

He cleared his throat and began with an intense tone of voice, “Can't believe you did it! I was teasing. I loved you! Sure, I was coming up here to kill you... First I was gonna try and get you back with my amazing petition. It's a shame you can't see what our fellow students really signed. Listen ‘We, students at Westerburg High will die. Today. Our buring bodies will be the ultimate protest to a society that degrades us. Fuck you all!’ It's not very subtle, but neither is blowing up a whole school, now is it? Talk about your suicide pacts, eh? When our school blows up tomorrow, it's gonna be the kind of thing that affects a whole generation! It'll be the Woodstock for the 80's! Damn it Veronica! We could have roasted marshmallows together!”

He was so talented. You would be damned if he didn’t get a role in this production. He then finished out his audition with the song “Meant To Be Yours”. He did amazing. He always put his all into his auditions. You were proud to be his friend. He walked off stage after he finished, and you both left.

—

As each day passed you absolutely could not stop thinking about callbacks. You were so anxious about whether you were gonna get one or not. You at least hoped Michael would get one so he could live out his dream if you couldn’t.

With each latte you made at work all that was on your mind was the possibility of getting a callback. At one point, you couldn’t even remember how to make an iced americano. They said they’d call you no matter what to let you know, which made you even more anxious. And everyday Michael came home from work all he talked about was callbacks and how bad he wanted this opportunity.

“I know you’ll make it, Michael. I mean come on, you’re extremely talented and you knocked that audition out of the park!”

“I did mediocre at best! You’re the one who’s gonna make it. You’re gonna be amazing in that cast. I’d rather you get it than me.”

You laid your head on his shoulder, looking up into his eyes, “You mean that, Mikey?”

“Would I lie to you? No. I wouldn’t. You’re amazing.”

—

You ran into Michael’s room after your shift at the coffee shop, shaking him awake, “I just got a callback during my shift! I get another audition tomorrow!”

“I got one too! While you were gone! We got callbacks!”

You two jumped up onto Michael’s bed and jumped in celebration. You were unbelievably happy.

“Well you know what that means… it’s a special occasion!” Michael ran to the kitchen and you followed behind him. He pulled out the boxed wine from the cabinet and got the plastic wine glasses out too.

The boxed wine was a tradition in your friendship. When you were casted in Hairspray sophomore year, he got his older friend to get it for him. It was cheap and lasted a while, so it was his number one choice. After high school graduation he brought it to your house after your grad party. And when you moved into the apartment, you had Dominos and boxed wine. It had a special place in your heart.

You put some wine in your cup and clinked your glass with his. Maybe it was finally time.

“Now let’s get wine drunk at 2 in the afternoon, shall we?” He smirked at you and you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing damn well he was a lightweight. It was gonna be a long day. Michael got up and connected his phone to the Bluetooth speaker, playing one of his playlists and taking your free hand in his.

“Michael what the hell are you doing?”

“Dancing! Duh!” He downed his wine glass and spun you around, laughing loudly.

You shook your head, putting down your glass and joining him, despite your lack of dance ability.

“You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only… how old are we again? Who knows!” Michael was so carefree, and seeing him have no care in the world always warmed your heart.

“Hey Michael?”

“Yeah Y/N?”

“I knew I moved to New York with the right person.

—

You and Michael woke up extremely early the next morning for callbacks. The callback went well in your opinion, and Michael seemed to feel good about his as well. But after your callback it was back to the minimum wage job with less than mediocre tips. You had to wait a whole week until you’d find out if the callback resulted in you getting a role. It was gonna be the longest week of your life. As everyday passed and you made countless lattes and iced coffees all you thought of was your callback. It invaded your mind at every second of the day. No callback had stressed you out as much as this one. This one wasn’t some high school production from back home. This could be your big break for crying out loud! This was the most stress you had ever felt in your life.

When the day finally came around you and Michael waited around the apartment with phone in hand all day. The phone call you two were about to get would decide your futures. You paced around the living room, unable to stand still. Finally, Michael’s phone was the first to ring. He immediately picked up, sitting on the couch while biting his nails nervously.

“Hello? Yes this is him… yes I would. Thanks so much… alright goodbye.” He hung up, a solemn look on his face. You felt like you already knew what he was gonna say.

He then broke out into a grin, hugging you, “You’re looking at broadways new Jason Dean!”

You smacked his chest, gasping, “how dare you worry me like that, Michael!” You laughed, returning his hug happily. Shortly after, your phone also rang.

You answered, with a shaky voice, “Hello? Yes this is she… okay, yes I would, okay… thank you, goodbye.”

You were shocked. You looked at Michael, eyes dilated and full of disbelief, “I got the part… I-I’m Veronica…”

“No way! I get to lead with my best friend? This is amazing! We did it!” He hugged you, lifting you off of the ground.

You felt larger than life. You finally got to live out your dream. You were absolutely thrilled.

—

The first rehearsal was mainly just line running and song singing without much blocking and a brief dance rehearsal. Broadway was quite a shell shock. Rehearsals were triple the length of high school rehearsals, and dances were taught by actual choreographers, not the schools dance team coach. It was extremely different. It worried you- what if you couldn’t handle it? As you read lines your mind was in a whirlwind, and Michael could tell.

The director told everyone to take a 15 minute break, and you immediately broke down into a rant of how stressed you were to Michael.

“What if I’m not good enough for this? I’ve gotten so many notes from the director on things to do differently and it’s only day 1! I just wanna be the best I can be, I’m not usually cast into this type of role! I’m never usually a cocky or sassy type of character, I’m not good enough for this-“

Michael interrupted you during your extremely long rant, “Y/N! You’re doing great, it’s literally the first day. Everyone’s getting a lot of notes. You are fine. You always get in your head in the first week of rehearsals. You’re so talented and you deserve this, just calm down. Come on, smell the flowers, blow out the candles. Smell the flowers, blow out the candles. You’ve got this! I wouldn’t wanna plot revenge with anybody else, Veronica.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. He always knew what to say in these situations.

“You’re not the only one getting notes ya know? You always panic, it worries me.” You frowned, you never meant to worry him. It was just the way you were. You were always hypercritical of yourself, and it got worse as you got older. It wasn’t all your fault though.

“You know why, Michael. My parents never came to any of the shows… I fought to please them, thinking maybe they’d come one of the nights of the show. They never did. They ruined my self esteem.” At that point you were just venting, and you felt bad after the realization. You quickly stopped talking, walking back on stage keeping your eyes glued to the floor.

The director loudly interrupted your thoughts with a loud clap, “Okay everyone, we’re gonna do the number for Meant To Be Yours, so get on up here, Michael.”

Michael quickly got up on the stage, flipping through his script to the right page. You had a few lines before he started singing, so you took your place behind the “closet door”.

Michael cleared his throat, putting on his angsty evil teen voice, “Knock! Knock! Sorry for coming in through the window. Dreadful etiquette, I know!” This part seemed to be written just for him. He was so good at being the odd guy.

You got out of your thoughts, replying with your line to his remark through the closet door set piece, “Get out of my house!”

Michael scoffed, jiggling the door knob and continuing on with the scene, “Hiding in the closet? Come on, unlock the door! Come out and get dressed, you’re my date to the pep rally tonight!” He then began singing the song, yelling through the door at certain parts. You had to admit, it felt like he was actually your psychotic boyfriend. He really knew what he was doing.

You were interrupted by him singing/yelling the next part of the song, “Veronica! Open the—open the door, please Veronica, open the door…” he finished the song, letting out an exasperated breath.

“So, um, any notes? To make it better…”

The director had a look of shock on her face, but good shock though. She looked at her notepad, and then looked up, “This is an amazing start, you’re making great character decisions. I think when you sing through the door you could act more desperate for her to come out, maybe beat on the door, not just yell through it. Maybe we could give you a prop? Like a gun? We’ll see. Other than that, it’s really great. Good job.”

Michael nodded, thanking her and walking down the stairs of the stage.

“Alright, y/n! We’re gonna do the opening scene, the dear diary one. Do what you think is right and I’ll give notes, as per usual. Alright?”

You nodded, sitting at the plastic table that would soon be a lunch table once the actual set was set up.

You mimed a notebook in front of you, taking a deep breath, “September 1st, 1989. Dear Diary:

I believe I'm a good person. You know, I think that there's good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of senior year! And uh... I look around at these kids that I've known all my life and I ask myself—what happened?” This then transitioned to you singing Beautiful. You only got through half of the song due to how much blocking was needed for this number in particular.

The director read off of her notes, “Alright, Y/N, so all I really have is that I want you to be more confident. I gave you this part for a reason, I believe in you. Just breathe, okay?”

You nodded, thanking her and walking off stage. You grabbed your bag and left to the subway with Michael.

“I told you you were doing good! You just need to believe in yourself, ya dingus.” He ruffled your hair and you blushed, nodding slowly.

“Michael, I think you’re the most talented person I know.”

“Well then you obviously haven’t met yourself.”

—

After what felt like a billion rehearsals, which was really just 2 months of rehearsals, costume day finally came! The best and worst day. A lot of things can go wrong. But a lot of the time, costume day is great.

You had one costume for the whole show, which you were secretly grateful for. Quick changes just stressed you out. Your costume was a grey pleated skirt that hit your mid thigh, blue knee high socks, a white blouse, and a blue blazer to go over the blouse. The director wanted everyone to be used to performing in their costumes, so you’d be rehearsing with them for the next 2 weeks until opening night.

Michael wore all black attire. His costume included a black t shirt, a black trench coat, black jeans, and clunky black boots. In all honesty, he did not look approachable. But at the same time, he intrigued you even more. With each rehearsal, you were thinking about Michael a lot more than usual, and in a different way than usual.

Were you attracted to your best friend?

Oh god. This could not be happening.

You knew way too much about him. His mother practically adopted you as her own. It would be so awkward if your feelings shined through. Your mind was racing, everything made sense.

When he would cup your cheek in one of your scenes and would immediately blush, when he would call you nicknames in your scenes and you broke into a huge grin, it was because you liked him as more than a friend.

“Y/N! How do ya like my costume?” Michael did a twirl and bowed, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Wow what a handsome teen psychopath you are, Michael.” He laughed, muttering a thank you.

“Um, you look nice in yours. Much less psycho looking, 10 out of 10.”

You laughed, twirling to show him the whole costume, “Why thank you, JD. How kind of you.”

He smiled at you, looking in your eyes for a little while.

He quickly got out of his trance, looking around awkwardly, “Um, well, let’s take our promotional photos then shall we?”

You nodded, following him to where the photographer was.

“We’re definitely getting drunk tonight, I need a breather.”

—

You and Michael were in the living room, playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo Switch whole drinking, you guessed it, boxed wine. You were both extremely drunk, laughing at every little thing.

“Did you seriously just hit me with a blue shell!?”

Michael laughed, “Sorry! I can't accept losing to you, princess.” His voice had a tinge of sarcasm, which was far from surprising.

You pouted, desperately trying to get your number one spot back. But to your defeat, Michael took your spot at the last minute and got first place.

“How dare you!”

He laughed as you tackled him on the couch, resulting in a slight spill of both of your glasses as the coffee table shook.

“Sorry babe, I won fair and square.” His tone had a slight bit of flirtiness to it. Blushing at the nickname, you got up and got yourself more to drink.

“Alright, I lost, what do you want your prize to be? I buy your lunch tomorrow? It’s done.”

“I don’t need anything… let’s just chill now, yeah?”

You nodded, sitting beside him on the couch and laying your head on his shoulder.

“Y/N, you know I wouldn’t wanna be anyone else’s costar, right?”

“Michael, you tell me that everyday.”

“Well, it’s true. God, I’m tired of pretending,” he sat up, looking you straight in the eyes, “I came with you to New York not just to pursue acting. I came here because I care about you more than anything. You make everyday a little better. I was in such a bad place before we met freshman year. I literally love you so much.”

“Yeah I love you too-“

“No Y/N! I’m in love with you! When we do our scenes together I can’t help but think about us being together! I can’t help but imagine me affectionately cupping your cheek and kissing you outside of the show. I can’t help that I actually think I’m meant to be yours! And no, this is not the alcohol talking. I’ve always felt this way. I felt this way when we were in every other show together! I want to shout from the rooftops that I love you!” He gripped your waist and kissed you deeply, pulling you onto his waist.

His kiss was intoxicating. You didn’t know how bad you wanted this. You finally realized that he was who you wanted all along.

“You may be set out to kill the whole school so we can be together, but I love you too, Michael.”

—

Opening night you were warming up in your dressing room when a knock came at your door. The stage manager gave you your 20 minute warning, while also handing you a large arrangement of roses.

“Who are these from? No one I know is coming to see me tonight…” You looked at the notecard that came with it, and it all made sense.

My dearest Veronica,

I’m glad I get to share the stage with raw talent tonight. And you I guess (Just kidding). Break a leg, and let’s fake some deaths tonight! I love you.

- JD

You never felt more in love.

—

Taglist!!

@i-calumhood @angelbabylu

[devaunjue]

Miss. Corona, The Thief.

It’s my senior year of college. The year where I am supposed to have fun, celebrate my achievements, and enjoy the friendships I’ve made over the years before we head our separate ways. But thanks to Mrs. Corona, I am sitting in the house with no social life. A lot have been stolen; all of the “lasts” have been taken from me and I don't know that I’ll ever have a true since of accomplishment. No, “last day of class.” No “last final.” No “last mental breakdown the night before an assignment is due.” No saying, the last “goodbye” to my framily as we head out to change the world. No cap and gown pictures. No graduation. No celebration. And guess what? No 2020 Spring Break.  Here’s how that went:

My friends and I booked a trip to Vegas well before, we met Miss. Corona. This would be my first time to go to Vegas so I was super stoked, especially considering the drip was a day after my last cheer competition ever (which by the way, it was stolen from me too🙄)! 

Fast-forward, we’re in the airport and Miss. Corona is now the talk of the world. The plane is getting ready to board and we are weighing  our option. Get on the plane or go home? Some Friends call their parents and ask for advice, and one friend (the economics major) says “as young, healthy people, it is our job to keep the economy moving in times like these.” Can’t argue with that! 🤷🏾‍♂️ We got our asses on the plane.

All started out well. We got to our hotel late in the evening, Got some food/drinks and chilled. 

The next day was perfect too. We explored and shopped that morning:

We hottubed in the afternoon:

And when evening came around, we were ready to live our best young adult lives. Vegas was dead because Miss. Corana stole everyone else’s plans. But she wasn’t stoping is that night. McKenzie (the blond) and I (the black😂) were sad about our last cheer/Pom competition being cancelled and we just wanted to drown our sorrows away. Thankfully, we found a karaoke bar and sang our hearts out.

Wait. That’s not us. This is us:

Even though my mic had a shortage, as you can tell, The Oklahomies were the crowd favorite! We killed that shit!

The next day is when all hell broke lose. The governor said that all Vegas casinos would have to close by midnight, thus closing the whole city. Our resort anounced they were shutting down so We frantically bought new tickets to get back home the next day, hoping we wouldn’t get stuck in Vegas

With the tickets secured, we still had all evening to explore. The Saint Patties Day festivities were cancelled but we still wanted to enjoy what little time we had left. Plus I didn’t get to show off my best drip:

It was another fun night on the strip with just me and the girls. Vegas was a ghost town that night. Nothing was open and what was open, would soon close. I had fun though. We ate deep dish pizza and drank... a lot. It wasn’t what we expected but it was definitely what we needed.

Early the next morning, we get all packed and Uber back to the airport. I think it was then when the severity of Mrs. Corana hit us. In the back of our minds, we all knew we shouldn’t have gone. But we were all mourning, and spent money we couldn’t get back. Plus we were all young. Reason had no chance. Early on we vowed not to post any of our picture so people wouldn’t Judge us. Only a small group of people on our Private Snapchat new the shenanigans we got into. We got back to Oklahoma like:

I get that this is very serious and the precautions are necessary. I agree but I’m allowed to be angry. I’m tired of people trying to lessen our emotions about this. We worked damn hard for things we’ll never get to experience. I’ll never get to say goodbye to a lot of my friends. I’ll always carry a feeling of missing out. AND I didn’t even get to fully enjoy my spring break. The “best year of my life,” was stolen from me. And there’s no way to get it back. I have every right to be mad.

So with all due respect,

FUCK YOU MISS. CORONA. You thief.

Love,

Guncle Pastor Jay

[choices-betch]

Lost on You (Mona x MC): Chapter II

Book: Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance Pairing: Mona x MC Warnings: Just cursing. Chapter Description: Mona and Lexi come face to face with the realities of past and present. Notes: I feel like this story is going to be longer than 4 parts, but I have commitment issues so I’m not going to sell my soul to specifics. It’ll be as long as it is lol thank you to all who liked/commented/reblogged my other stories! It’s so validating and drives me to want to write more❤️ let me know if you want to be tagged for future chapters!

Tags:  @maxwellsquidsuit @scarlet-letter-a0114 @whoinvitedalx @zoe6111 @pauclaws

Chapter Song: oh my god - Ida Maria

Chapter II: The only thing to do was go

Lexi laid in bed, staring at her closet...the one housing the yet to be opened mystery gift. It’d been two weeks and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, but some part of her was afraid to open it. She had been plagued by all the possibilities from the moment she thought she saw a glimpse of Mona at her graduation, but it was impossible. Then she came home to the gift, and it created a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. She didn’t know why; she’d been waiting years for Mona to do some sort of grand gesture, but a bigger part of her was scared about finding that it wasn’t from her. Realistically, how in the hell would she have gotten a gift and handwritten tag from prison? So instead, she avoided.

With a sigh, she threw her covers off and headed to the shower. After getting ready for the day (and another few glances at the gift), she grabbed her belongings and headed out the door, unsure of where she was going but knowing she needed to be away from the reminders that plagued her. She wandered aimlessly down the streets, lost in thought.

It had been a weird two weeks. She’d had positives, of course; graduating, spending some time with her Dad and Riya (who had to do a same day trip due to work). But she’d also slept with a complete stranger then ghosted in the middle of the night to have a complete meltdown, gotten repeatedly, deliriously drunk alone and swiped right on one too many people she regretted in the mornings, and, as always, she was broke and still unemployed. Only now she didn’t have the excuse of being a student.

As Lexi’s existential pondering continued, she ended up downtown, heading into a coffee shop. After six years of an intensive combined law degree program plus volunteer work, she was fairly certain her insides functioned solely on caffeine at this point. She ordered her usual and headed over to the bar to wait, still distracted by questions of when her life became so complicated again. For years things had been slow, predictable. Boring, Lexi mused internally, her brows furrowing. She was beginning to sense a theme of self-destruction when the waters were too calm that hadn’t emerged in years.

Lexi’s name was called at the counter and she grabbed her drink, thanking the barista with a small smile. Right as she turned toward the exit, she came face to face with none other than Jordan.

God, she thought internally as she stared at Jordan wide-eyed, unsure of how to react. Could this day get any worse?

—-

Mona leaned against a tall magnolia tree, scrolling idly through her phone. She looked up every so often, both ensuring she was safely hidden and to give her a good line of vision, but she’d been standing there for at least twenty minutes and was restless.

“This is stupid,” she grunted to herself with a sigh, putting her phone away and folding her arms across her chest. Why was she even here? When she was about to be released she told herself she wasn’t looking back, and that included Lexi. But then she got that stupid letter which forced her to acknowledge that she had hadn’t let go, and that was infuriating. Mona prided herself on not getting attached, on being able to cut out and start over on a whim, and out of nowhere a stupid 18 year old girl messed it all up.

Mona snapped into focus as she saw said stupid 18 year old girl walking down the street, except now she was an educated, 24 year old woman. And still damn gorgeous, Mona mused. Her eyes followed Lexi’s path until there was a safe enough distance to tail her, then Mona set off in the same direction. Mona was fully aware of the creep factor in her behavior, but she justified it by telling herself she was just making sure she was safe; that she was happy. Whatever that meant, at least.

Mona continued walking behind her, growing increasingly irritated at the lack of awareness Lexi had of her surroundings. Mona could have easily grabbed her on so many corners and nobody would have been the wiser, but Lexi always was far too trusting of others’ intentions and naively confident in her ability to defend herself.

As Lexi approached a coffee shop, Mona stood a few stores down, debating on risking being seen in the coffee shop. After Lexi didn’t come out for almost ten minutes, she thought fuck it and gathered her hair, pulled her hood over her head and placed shades on her face before walking in. Thankfully it was moderately full, so she stood out less. Mona ordered an espresso under another alias, scanning the room for Lexi’s face. She found her sitting at a table with another woman, her eyebrows furrowed just slightly as she chewed on the corner of her lip.

Mona grabbed her coffee and sat at a table in the back corner, blowing on it as she watched the profiles of the two women across the shop. Mona had to laugh at herself. It was almost comical how she continued to allow herself to get in giant messes despite spending her every waking moment not getting involved with anything that wouldn’t directly benefit her. And yet here she was. Former her would have risen from the dead to kick her ass.

Mona continued observing and narrowed her eyes, watching Lexi laugh with a bashful look, tucking her hair behind her ear. She remembered that look. It was a look Lexi frequently got around her. Mona frowned; what the hell was she doing? Who had she turned into that she was following a kind-of-ex around in an effort to “check up”? When the hell did she start giving a shit? Thoroughly irritated, Mona grabbed her espresso and hastily exited the shop, pulling off her hood as she got outside and made her way literally anywhere else but there.

—-

Lexi sat across from Jordan at a table in the cafe, wondering why of all places did she have to walk into this coffee shop. She didn’t want to do this now, or ever really, but she supposed she owed Jordan this much.

“So..” Lexi started, fumbling with her cup as a distraction.

“So…” Jordan repeated, “wanna tell me why you bailed?”

“Not really,” Lexi stated bluntly, her eyes widening as she realized she said that out loud. “Sorry...it’s just…”

“Complicated?”

Lexi grimaced and shrugged slightly. “Kind of.”

“Well, lucky for you I am the queen of complicated, so I probably have a solution to your problem.”

Lexi smirked against her will, chewing on her lip and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she contemplated the offer. She hadn’t been able to talk to anyone about it, really. Riya didn’t ever fully understand the complexities of her actions back then, nor the impact of the relationships she formed. It was an unspoken rule that she didn’t speak to her dad about it after she wasn’t needed anymore.

“Were you the secret love child of a handsome Romanian prince and a commoner mother and therefore your ideas of love are completely fucked?”

Lexi stared at Jordan in confusion then snorted in laughter, covering her mouth. “How many cheesy romance novels have you read in your life?”

“I had to suffer through my mother’s recollection of her Norah Roberts books,” she joked. “Nah but seriously, what’s the deal?”

Lexi started to reply when a flash of black caught her eye. Her stomach and face fell simultaneously, her immediate thought wandering to Mona. She had absolutely no reason to think that could possibly be her, but something in her gut…

“Lexi? You okay?”

Lexi shook herself out of her thoughts and immediately began grabbing her things. “Yeah...yeah, sorry, I...I have to go. I’m so sorry. I’ll...I’ll talk to you later, I swear.”

Lexi ran out of the coffee shop, leaving a bewildered Jordan behind. She looked around frantically, panic building in her chest. What the hell is wrong with me? She walked briskly to the corner of the street, looking every which way again for a figure in black to no end. Lexi snarled in frustration, startling a few people passing her at the corner. She ran her hands down her face and focused on her breathing to gain composure, then headed back home. Clearly she was not meant to be out today.

—-

Mona had no idea where she was headed when she left the coffee shop in a hissy fit, but eventually she stopped walking and caught her breath, scowling at how out of shape she was. TV always made prison look so much more active.

With a heavy sigh she once again questioned what in the goddamn hell she was doing. She came all the way to Oklahoma to see Lexi graduate, cryptically left a gift on her doorstep, tailed her on and off for weeks, and now what? She was just going to take off because six years later Lexi wasn’t spending every waking moment thinking of her? That’s what Mona wanted, right? For Lexi to forget her?

Mona scoffed and shook her head at herself, then pulled up directions to Lexi’s address. She was acting like a little bitch, and Mona did not bitch out of things. With a new determination she headed toward Lexi’s place, hoping she’d beat her there.

As luck would have it, Mona did beat her there. She perched on Lexi’s doorstep and scrolled through her phone for distraction. Mona never was one for patience, but she was sick of having loose ends.

It didn’t take long for footsteps to approach. Lexi was distracted with her keys, not paying attention to her surroundings, as usual.

“How did you survive 24 years without falling into a manhole?” Mona blurted before rolling her eyes at herself. Real fucking smooth. Lexi dropped her keys and looked up, startled, then the color slowly drained from her face. “Jesus,” Mona muttered, standing up and dusting off her pants. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Haven’t I?” Lexi whispered hoarsely, staring at Mona in shock. How was this possible? Had Lexi gone full on psychotic? Was this a hallucination? Lexi rushed forward without thinking and stomped on Mona’s foot roughly, causing Mona to curse loudly.

“The fuck was that for? Goddamn,” Mona hissed, nursing her foot.

“Making sure I wasn’t going crazy…” Lexi trailed off, the shock of seeing Mona in front of her not having worn off enough to realize the hysteria of her actions.

“I think that ship has sailed, sweetheart,” Mona snorted, still grimacing in pain. “You planning on letting me in? I think I need to elevate my foot thanks to you.”

Lexi stared at her, baffled. Was she serious? For weeks Lexi had thought she was completely losing it, seeing glimpses of what she thought was only her subconscious desires in random places, and now she shows up like nothing? Like the last six years hadn’t happened?

Lexi picked up her keys, still stunned, and unlocked her door, leaving it open behind her as she headed toward her couch and sank down. Mona followed suit, closing the door behind her and sitting a safe distance from Lexi on the couch. Mona took in her surroundings, immediately spotting multiple familiar drawings displayed around the space. If she were a good person she wouldn’t have felt some sort of pride in that, but she never was one for taking the moral high road.

“What are you doing here?” Lexi asked, breaking the silence.

Mona paused, taking a deep breath. “Honestly? Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Mona?”

“Ooh, when’d you get a potty mouth?” Mona teased with a wink. “Hot.”

Lexi’s eyes flashed and Mona smirked, lifting her hands up in a peace offering. She sighed heavily,

“I don’t know, okay? I got your letter and...I guess I just wanted to make sure I didn’t get shot for nothing and you hadn’t ruined your life. Again.”

Lexi gave her a dubious look. “And you couldn’t have done that in a response to the hundreds of letters I sent?”

“Writing isn’t really my forte,” Mona replied with a shrug.

“But leaving unidentified boxes on people's’ doorstep is.”

“Ah yeah, how’d you like it?” Mona inquired with a grin.

“I didn’t open it!” Lexi screeched, throwing her hands in the air. She felt like she was completely losing her mind.

“Well that’s rude,” Mona teased, leaning back. Lexi stared at her wild eyed.

“It’s absolutely infuriating that you’re so calm. You know that, right?”

Mona shrugged. “It’s a special talent.”

Lexi’s nostrils flared as her jaw clenched in anger. If ever she had wanted to smack someone into the next century...

Mona looked away and covered her mouth by pretending to scratch under her nose to avoid further triggering Lexi. She was really trying here, but it was difficult to take her seriously when her face looked like that.

“What do you want me to say, Lexi?” Mona sighed. “I didn’t come here to rehash history—“

“Then why. did. you. come. here.” Lexi interrupted, gaze intense. Mona stared back at her, all traces of humor gone from her face.

“I told you, I wanted to see that I didn’t go to prison for nothing,” Mona replied through gritted teeth. Clearly Lexi didn’t lose her annoying persistence over the years.

“Bull,” Lexi retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Be honest or get out.”

“Because I still give a shit, okay?” Mona yelled, her face screwed up into a scowl. “Though I’m really questioning why at this point in time.”

“Why now?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I’ve spent the last six years of my life writing to a ghost, Mona. I’ve gotten nothing from you, and I’ve just been...stuck for years, and then you show up and want to chat it up like it’s nothing? I don’t understand you!” 

After a tense moment of silence, Mona responded quietly. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for, Lexi. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m here now.”

Lexi didn’t know how much time had passed since she got home; it could have been ten minutes or three hours, but she was exhausted. Mona took Lexi’s silence as her cue to leave; she wasn’t going to grovel. She said what she came to say, saw what she needed to see, and that was that. She stood up, running her hands up and down her thighs to get some feeling back in them before turning to stare at Lexi intently.

“Look, do what you want with the gift. Keep it, burn it, use it to wipe your ass. I don’t care. Talk to me, or don’t. But stop straddling the lines for once. Make a decision. You have to take a chance on something eventually.”

With that, Mona dropped a slip of paper on the couch - unbeknownst to Lexi - and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Lexi sat curled up on the couch in a daze, losing track of time as she got lost in her thoughts. What had Mona meant? Lexi reflected on the last six years of her life, trying to connect the dots; trying to see how many chances she had missed out on, how many times she had held herself back for one reason or another, and she came to the sudden realization that Mona was right. Even after all these years, Lexi still couldn’t figure out what she wanted; always stuck between the past and present, what she knew and what she wanted but never fully invested in anything.

Lexi stood and started toward her bed, but a flash of white in her peripheral caused her to do a double take. A scrap of paper laid where Mona sat. Lexi eyed it for a moment before curiosity got the best of her. She walked to the couch and grabbed it, unfolding it cautiously to find what she assumed to be the name and address of a bar scribbled inside.

Lexi bunched the paper in her hands, standing still for a moment before walking to her closet. She took a deep breath before grabbing the box from the shelf. She sat on her couch and slowly took the lid off, her breath catching as she looked at the contents. She pulled it out, her fingers running down the plastic protecting the cover of a first edition print of On The Road by Jack Kerouac. Her eyes welled with tears and she closed them, memories flooding back to her.

“God‍‍, do you ever do anything outside of school?” Mona said with exasperation as she entered the game room in the garage, plopping down on the couch next to Lexi and eyeing Lexi’s book. “I mean, aside from jacking luxury cars.”

Lexi rolled her eyes and smirked. “This is purely for fun, rest assured.”

“Nerd,” Mona teased, throwing her feet up on the arm of the couch and resting her head on Lexi’s lap. Lexi paused, blinking at her a few times as Mona grinned in response.

“Uh...do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Mona quipped, settling in further. “Hey, you’re pretty comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Lexi replied sarcastically and rolled her eyes, as if her heart wasn’t beating double time at the contact. Comfortable silence ensued as Lexi went back to reading, Mona still resting her head on Lexi’s lap as she stared at the ceiling.

“Why that book for pleasure?” Mona questioned. Lexi sighed softly, thanking for a moment before shrugging.

“I guess...freedom? I don’t know. I felt trapped for so long. Like I had no idea what I was doing or what my life was supposed to be about. It was nice to escape...to think about exploring what life has to offer, being spontaneous, careless...”

“More careless than being involved in a street gang?” Mona retorted with a raised brow. Lexi flicked Mona’s hair teasingly, earning her a scowl in response. Silence enveloped the room once again and Mona closed her eyes as Lexi went back to reading. Mona hesitated a moment, second guessing self-disclosure as she always did, but maybe she wasn’t as safe as she thought.

“It’s one of my favorites, too.”

Lexi held the book to her chest for a moment before placing the book back inside the box and setting it on her coffee table. She jumped up, walked determinedly to her closet and began grabbing clothes; she was going to be spontaneous and carefree without reservation for once.

[shiftyskip]

Robert Van Klinken

The real Robert Van Klinken 

While he is a really minor character in the show, he’s still a part of Easy. Everyone’s important to remember, especially the boys who didn’t come home. 

Robert Van Klinken was born October 31, 1919 in Loomis, Washington to Walter and Cora. His grandfather immigrated from Holland to the USA in the late 1880s. It is reported that he still spoke a bit of Dutch, even overseas. His family moved from their town in Loomis to a town called Twisp in the early 1920s. He had a sister named Susan, called Susie. She was a bit younger than he was. When Robert was around 15 years old, his mother had another son, Gene. 

Robert was a country boy, who loved hunting and fishing. His parents became tenant apple orchardists. They never owned their own farm because they were very poor. Even though they were very poor, they never went without food. His sister was also described as spoiled. She even had her own horse. But even when she was spoiled, her and Robert never fought.

Robert graduated from Liberty Bell High School in 1939. His sister graduated the next year and almost immediately got married to Robert’s good friend Johnny Klinkert. They had a son together, named Walter (called Walt). After graduation, Robert began work as a diesel mechanic. He also worked some in logging. Robert was said to be “a good natured young man who dated a lot and dreamed of getting married someday.” 

When the war started, Robert was in his mid twenties. He believed that he was too old to go to war. at the time, he was working with a defense industry company in Alaska. The job would’ve kept him out of the war. Robert was registered for the draft on July 1, 1941 and was drafted soon. Robert wrote, saying “Uncle Sam sure played a dirty truck on me when he put me in the army. I signed a contract with Deims Drake Company for 1 year to work as a mechanic in Kodiak Alaska at $450 a month. I bought a ticket for $87 on the steamship Yukon and $40 of clothes and was all ready to sail. Just about 15 hours before I was to leave, the Army called. If I’d got to Kodiak they would have given me a deferment as it was an air base for the Navy.”

(I HAVE NO VAN KLINKEN GIFS FIGHT ME)

Robert sent many letters home to his parents, Susie and her husband Johnny. In his first letter to Johnny, he stated he was trying out ot be a paratrooper. He got in, and became a member of Easy Company. A month later, Robert wrote to him in September of 1942, from Camp Toccoa. Which he wrote, “Toccoa has a reputation for making Supermen, and it’s not wrong.” In another letter to his parents, he wrote, “This is the best and toughest outfit in the army. It beats the regular army and the navy. It’s like the Marine parachute troops. The definition of a paratrooper is a soldier who lands in hell in a parachute and runs the devil away with his own fork.”

The harsh training under lovely, lovely Sobel didn’t seem to bother Robert. HE ACTUALLY ENJOYED THE WORK OUTS. He wrote, “Boy I sure feel swell. Nothing to worry about, and got a swell bunch of fellows in our barracks.” Winters wrote that along with Pat Christenson, Lipton, Carson, and Rainer, Robert scored among the highest in the physical competition. 

Robert, as previously stated, really, really liked dating. So in one letter, he wrote, “All the girls want to do is sit at home or go to church. I had a home cooked meal last Sunday at my girlfriend’s place. Boy it sure was good.” In another letter to his sister’s family and his dog (Sleepy), he wrote, “What do you think of the snapshot of my lady friend? She is going to be madder than hell at me because I didn’t go to see her and go to church. I sho cain’t figure out these Southern folks. All they want to do is go to church.” He later wrote to Susie and Johnny about a girlfriend he was serious about, “I am going to my girlfriend’s house in New Orleans. I might get married, but I won’t say for sure...We haven’t made up our minds yet, we might wait till after I get out of the Army. I figure it’s better that way...There’s also a darned good chance of me not coming back.” (cue me ugly crying)

He signed most of his letters : “So long, Bob”. 

Robert made his last jump Christmas Day. He states that after getting their wings, they were going to have a feast. Robert enjoyed all of his jumps. He said that 80% of jumping is guts. 

Robert was head over heels in love with his girlfriend, Joyce. (Trust me, I don’t know if all these women are the same women...) He wrote, “I am the happiest man in the U.S. The little lady is going to wait for me to get out of the Army. She is a girl any man could be proud of...maybe you think I am a damned fool for going with a girl that has been married. I don’t care what you or any of my relatives think about it. Al that matters is that we have each other....We both cried when I got in the plane in Oklahoma City...When I got over the camp...I jumped out and said, “Joyce, this one is for you.”...I am so darned happy that nothing can hurt me.”

(Source: @alexpenkala, thank you for sending me this photo and the link with it!! Here is the link: https://ww2gravestone.com/people/van-klinken-robert/amp/)

Sadly, Robert’s happiness wouldn’t last long. Walter, Robert’s father, died in early 1943. Robert received an furlough back home. He got an extension to stay a bit longer with his family. 

Apparently Robert liked guitars. He wrote in one letter, “I bought another guitar the other day...It sure is a honey.” He even signed this letter with a nickname, Rip.

He wrote in February, after arriving back with Easy, “How did Sleepy act when I left? Hope he didn’t feel too lonesome. The poor little rascal. Walt is sure a sweet little guy. I sure wish I was back home and had a cute little fellow like him to take care of....I have to write on to my “old lady” tonight. She only wrote 11 letters to me while I was on furlough.” 

1943 was not a good year for Robert. By the time April came around, Joyce had broken up with him. She had met another guy and left Robert for him. But even with all this, Bob’s letters were always happy. He wrote this about the break-up, “Well it looks like I got “outranked” by a 1st lieutenant from Fort Sill, Oklahoma. She figures the duration is too long to wait. Anyways, it’s all over and it makes no difference. As Johnnie Rogers says, “I can get more women than a passenger train can haul.”

There were a few occasions that Robert wrote about him and his fellow Easy Company members went out and had wild drinking parties. One time, he and all of first platoon got drunk. They all received punishment for their drunken actions and had to sleep outside. Another time he claims that after he and Skinny Sisk came out of the hospital together, they were drunk for three days. He also got into a bar fight. Some civilian pulled a knife on a “one of the boys”, so Robert and a few men from the 506th and 505th Airborne “cleaned out the joint.” Robert was punished with a fine of $20 and 3 weeks restrictions, with K.P. duty. He also had to buy a new shirt after ruining his.

Robert has health problems in late 1943. He was up for a medical discharge, but received a 10-day furlough that he spent hitch hiking. After the furlough, he continued going to the hospital everyday. When his health cleared up, he was reinstated to Easy.

Soon after, they were headed across the sea to England. Sobel wrote to Johnny, with the famous letter:

(THIS IS NOT THE REAL LETTER. This is from Marcus Brotherton’s quoting Sobel’s letter. AGAIN NOT THE ORIGINAL I AM JUST LAZY)

Aldbourne and training left no time to write letters for Robert.

Robert jumped on D-Day, June 6, 1944. He and other Easy men eat the cookies and cake sent by his family right before they entered the planes. He survived the jump but was injured some point after the jump. He got a piece of shrapnel stuck in his arm, what he called “a flesh wound”, and was sent back to England to recover. He wrote that being in the hospital was worse than fighting. “You get to thinking about your buddies you lost over there and you can’t do anything about it.”

Still interested in the women, Robert wrote home about Phyllis, a woman from home. But he stated it didn’t matter that he hadn’t heard from her in a while, since he had too much to worry about over there. He also said “there will be lots of girls left in the states when I get back.” That was his last letter home.

(This is the transcribed version of Robert’s letter. Again: NOT ORIGINAL)

Ten days after this letter was written, Robert jumped into Holland.

Robert fought to Nuenen on September 20, 1944. In most accounts, once in Nuenen, he was hit by a machine gun burst as he tried to run forward to attack the Germans with a bazooka. He was killed instantly.

But according to Pat Christenson, after Robert’s death, Robert didn’t die that way. Pat writes, “The last house had an open field next to it. I parted the foliage of the hedge that separated the field from the house. I just have been spotted by a German machine gunner. Before he could fire, I pushed through the hedge and dropped into a ditch just on the other side. Robert Van Klinken, one of my riflemen, was following me closely. [Van Klinken] must’ve peered through the same opening as I had, just as the German machine gunner depressed the trigger. Van Klinken was hit with three bullets.”

Christenson grabbed Robert and pulled him through the hedge. Robert was still alive, but he was dying. Robert had been hit in the groin and twice in the chest. The men had to temporarily leave him behind to take cover from a German tank, they retreated behind the house. Christenson attempted to get Robert back to the safety of the house, but the Germans fired upon them every time they made a move towards Van Klinken. Finally, Private Longo, the medic of first platoon, walked over to Robert “as if the war had ceased”, picked him up, and carried him. Robert was still alive, but his face was ashen and Christenson knew he’d be dead soon.

Robert’s death would have a lasting affect on Christenson.

The telegraph home to Johnny on October 9, 1944 (19 days after Robert had been killed), read: “The secretary of war desires me to express his deep regret that your brother-in-law Pvt. Robert Van Klinken was killer in action of the 20th of September in Holland. Letter following. Ulio-adj. General”

October 11, the letter arrived, still addressed to Johnny. It restated the facts that Robert had been killed, with no further details. It ended with: “I know the sorrow this message has brought you, and it is my hope that I’m the time of knowledge of his heroic service to his country, even unto death, may be sustaining comfort to you. I extend to you my deepest sympathy.”

A telegram was also sent to Robert’s uncle Herbert that informed Herbert to tell Robert’s mother. The telegraph, not the letter, to his mother. A letter was sent to Robert’s father, but his father had passed away already, informing him that Robert had been awarded the Purple Heart posthumously for his actions.

On April 13, 1945 Captain Himes, a chaplain with the 506th PIR, wrote to Cora, Robert’s mother. The letter read: “I believe I can answer some of your questions...Robert was killed while voluntarily acting as a scout locating enemy positions during an attack. He was given a Christian burial in Holland. You asked for some names of his friends. I can give you these, Sgt. Denver Randleman, Pvt. William Wingett...He was a fine soldier, and an expert rifle shot, and was aggressive and brave in action.”

One final letter was sent to his mother, four years later to tell her that Robert’s remains had been interred at the US Military Cemetery in Holland. To this day, that’s where he remains.

Robert did not have an official funeral back in the USA. His grave marker in Twisp says the wrong year, marking his death as 1943 instead of 1944.

Susie took his death hard for several years. She felt a lot of resentment for 45 years after his death. One day her daughter Cora found Susie crying, worried, she asked her what was wrong. Susie replied, “Today is the day I finally have forgiveness in my heart.”

Susie always wanted to visit her brother’s grave. Sadly, Susie never did. But her granddaughter Gariann and a friend backpacked across Europe. Gariann asked her Grandma if there’s anything she wanted her to do in Europe. Susie told her, “Tell him we love him and haven’t forgotten.”

A neighbor, a young boy at the time, of Robert’s family was affected by Robert’s death, his name was Chuck Borg. He later joined the army. Years later, he was in Holland when he stumbled upon the cross bearing Robert’s name. When Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose was published, he saw the name again. He was later adopted into the Van Klinken family after reaching out to them. When he returned to Twisp, he created the Robert Van Klinken Memorial Scholarshop at Liberty Bell High School in Twisp, Robert’s school. The scholarship rewards hardworking, adventurous country boys like Robert with college money.

Robert’s grand-grand-nephew J.R. Matkins even got to attend an Easy Company reunion along with his family.

Gariann says, “...our family will always love him. He’ll always be very much alive in our hearts.”

[mcmansionhell]

50 States of McMansion Hell: Franklin County, Ohio

Hello Friends! Finally, our Ohio house! Luckily for you, this house is one of those time-capsule houses I wrote about in my last post. Even though the time-capsule period was from the 1990s, judging by the exterior they were trying for something around the 1490s.

This lovely 4 bedroom 2.5 bathroom house was built in 1987. It topples out at around 4,500 square feet and can be all yours for around $590,000 USD. 

Without further ado:

Junior Attorney Foyer

To this day, I have no idea what, if anything, is above this front entrance. I can only assume that whatever it is, it’s rarely used. 

Dining Room

Apparently the “soft colonialist” look was in. (Also, I have no idea why the text is resizing to be so small). 

Kitchen

A child knows no fear greater than accidentally triggering the garbage disposal when surreptitiously seeking out a midnight snack.

Dining Room 2??

Re: Sconces: something something about Dionysus. 

Living Room

The prom photo is the only one from the series in which Michael is absent (they broke up, dramatically, at the prom.) 

Extremely Good Sunroom

1 Like = 1 Respect

Master Bedroom

Full Disclosure: I have never seen any version of The Real Housewives, but somehow I fully believe that they’d all be really into this color.

Master Bathroom

No amount of silk flowers and potpourri will ever make this bathroom not smell like wet feet. 

Bedroom 2

I WANTED THE SPOTTED CARPET SO BADLY and HERE I AM getting my DIVINE RETRIBUTION. Also, does that ceiling look like marble-patterned wallpaper or is it just the light? I hope it’s just the light.

Reject Bedroom

That photo feels like I’ve stumbled upon something I shouldn’t have. Does anyone else hear distant sirens growing ever-more close???

Wreck Room

The best part of being priced out of an area is moving to a new area that’s currently undergoing the same process at the nefarious hands of...your graduate school. (Going to graduate school continues to be a major self-own for me.)

Anyways, now it’s time for our favorite part of the post:

Rear Exterior

Here I am rating pools like some kind of authority when the last pool I’ve been in is the pool of shower water up to my ankles caused by a stubbornly draino-resistant tub shower. 

Anyways, folks, that’s it for Ohio! Be sure to join me for another edition of Looking Around and for next week’s Oklahoma McMansion! 

Now for the Announcements Section!

HEY FOLKS! IT’S MY BIRTHDAY THIS FRIDAY!

Here are a few things you can do if you want to celebrate with me!

Sign the Petition to Save the AT&T Building!!: http://bit.ly/SaveATandT

Make a donation to DoCoMoMo US, the organization leading the fight to preserve important landmarks of Modernist and Postmodernist architecture: https://www.z2systems.com/np/clients/docomomous/donation.jsp

Consider supporting me on Patreon! I’ve started posting a GOOD HOUSE built since 1980 from the area where I picked this week’s McMansion as bonus content!

If you’re feeling particularly nice, you can view my book wishlist here: http://a.co/j5LNE0R

Copyright Disclaimer: All photographs are used in this post under fair use for the purposes of education, satire, and parody, consistent with 17 USC §107. Manipulated photos are considered derivative work and are Copyright © 2017 McMansion Hell. Please email kate@mcmansionhell.com before using these images on another site. (am v chill about this)

[spartanguard]

you belong among the wildflowers

Summary: Emma Swan's life has been far from easy. Neither has Killian Jones'. Through a handful of meetings, a couple tattoos, and some fantastic music, maybe they'll find a happy ending. (CS Modern AU heavily inspired by the music of Tom Petty) | Rated GA, 7k | tw: minor mentions of alcoholism

a/n: HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, HOLLI!!! aka @mryddinwilt​ I started planning this AU quite a while ago, in honor of our shared love of “Wildflowers”, but then it kind of spiraled when I sat down to write last Monday only to learn of Tom Petty’s passing. So this is kind of double duty as your bday present and an ode to one of my all-time favorite musicians.

thank you to @shipsxahoy and @optomisticgirl for looking at this!

Hope your day was amazing, Holli, and hope you enjoy this! Thank you for always being an encouraging, awesome person!! <3

“You belong among the wildflowers...you belong somewhere you feel free.”

She wasn’t sure when she first heard the song. It must have been on the radio when Emma was a kid, in one foster home or another. The memory was fuzzy, but the sentiment was clear: that she deserved to be happy one day, and to have love and peace.

Those all seemed like things well out of reach for a 16-year-old runaway orphan, but it was a nice thought. And a wildflower was as good as anything else to get a tattoo of, especially when the main goal in getting a tattoo was more just getting one out of rebellion than wanting it to carry any specific symbolism. Who knew, though? Maybe she’d eventually get that.

At least, that was what she told herself as the needle stung the skin inside her wrist. She liked to think she was tough, and she’d certainly been hit harder, but—ow. Oh well, it was probably due punishment for using a fake ID to get it in the first place.

On the other side of the dingy parlor was a guy who couldn’t be more than couple years older than her—fresh out of high school, probably, since it was early summer—also wincing through the work being done on his forearm. But when he realized she was staring, he sent a sly grin and a wink her way, making her blush. What? He was cute, even if his “beard” was patchy stubble at best and doing nothing to mature his babyish features.

He left halfway through hers being done, but was smoking against the building outside once she finished, with a guitar case propped against the wall next to him.

“Want one?” he offered, holding the pack out to her; she didn’t realize she’d been staring again. She also had never smoked before, but—eh, what the hell? She strode forward and, as expertly as she could manage, slid one out of the box and held it between her fingers like she’d seen done so many times. He deftly flicked his lighter and she lit the cigarette, then brought it to her lips and inhaled...and then sputtered and coughed once the smoke hit her lungs, which was received with a deep chuckle.

“First one?” he teased, blue eyes laughing. Her response was continued coughing. “Well, you never forget your first.” She glared. “Don’t breathe so deep,” he offered, his accented voice turning gentle.

Once she’d regained her faculties, she tried it again, doing as he said. She wasn’t a fan but it was definitely better.

“There you go, love,” he cheered, sounding almost proud.

“Not your love,” she threw back.

“Fair enough.” She joined him against the wall and they settled into an easy silence. He didn’t have to say anything for her to get the sense that they had more in common than being freshly tatted; the fact that he was alone, too, spoke volumes.

But then she nearly jumped when he introduced himself. “Name’s Killian; Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan.”

“Suits you.”

“What does?”

“Swan.”

“What does that mean?” Maybe things were better when he was quiet; this boy had no idea how to talk to girls, did he?

“It means you’re feisty and I’d rather not piss you off.” Well, okay; actually, that was probably the best complement she’d ever received. “Is that your tattoo? A swan?”

Oh, right—people asked what tattoos meant. Better get used to that. “Uh, no—it’s a flower,” she blurted out, shoving her wrist toward him and showing off the fresh ink. “It’s...well, it’s pretty, and it’s...a reminder, I guess.”

“Of what?” He was genuinely curious.

“That even though I’ve had a rough start, I can still have a happy life.”

He smiled at her, cutting dimples into his round, boyish cheeks. “That’s awfully brave, lass.”

She just shrugged; maybe it was, but if she gave up hope, what kind of life would she have? Unused to such praise, she turned the attention back to him. “What’s yours?”

He held out his arm, showing off the intricate heart design, deep red against his lightly tanned skin.

“That’s gorgeous,” she muttered, suddenly feeling self-conscious of her colorless outline. “What's it mean? Are you in lo-ove?” she sing-songed—a well-used defense mechanism that she had a feeling he’d see right through.

“No, not yet,” he brushed off with a laugh. “But someday. Just like you, I have hope.”

She scoffed. “You really think anyone will love people like us?”

“Even the losers get lucky sometimes.”

They spent the rest of the night burning through the pack of cigarettes and wandering the backstreets of Boston, chatting under the light of the full moon. He was from England, originally, but he and his brother ended up in the states with a distant relative after their parents were gone. He’d just graduated high school and was headed west, just like her, but he was chasing a dream, just he and his acoustic. She just wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Let me know if you end up in Portland,” she told him once they’d found their way to the bus terminal. Funny that her last night in Boston was when she’d make her first real friend.

“Will do. Take care, Swan,” he goodbyed with a salute, boarding his L.A.-bound coach.

She waved him off, watching as his bus faded into the dark and silently promising to try.

“The last three days the rain was unstoppable. It was always cold, no sunshine.”

“Sounds about right,” Emma muttered to herself as she putted around the record store. More like last year, for her. As good as it was to finally be out of jail, she was quickly learning that not many places were eager to hire an 18-year-old ex-con with barely even a GED. Thank goodness there was a homeless shelter nearby, but the beds there sucked even worse than her prison cot and what she wouldn’t give for something just a little plush to sink her still-aching body into. Though, she supposed, that ranked pretty low on her current list of problems.

She’d just come back from yet another unsuccessful interview—who knew McDonald’s was so picky?—and had a stack of even more applications in her backpack to fill out and return. But her spirit was just a little bit more shattered after her shit morning, so she popped into the music shop to see if that could perk her up a bit. Plus, it was air conditioned, which automatically made it better than the Arizona oven outside.

She browsed the used vinyl, skimming titles both familiar and unfamiliar as someone sang and played somewhere in the store. Honestly, that was the main reason she’d stuck around; she certainly couldn’t afford to buy anything, but the free show was already helping her mood. And it was hard to feel unmotivated when that song was playing.

“There's something good waitin' down this road. I'm pickin' up whatever is mine. Yeah runnin' down a dream…”

She was halfway ready to pull out a pen and start filling out all those forms right there in the middle of the store, but then she realized that there was something oddly familiar about that voice. Cautiously, she followed the power cords toward the back of the shop, where a makeshift performance venue was set up.

And there he was, after all this time. Killian Jones.

He looked a little bit more worn, just like she probably did; the scraggly beard had filled in some; his dark hair was just as much a mess as it had been a couple years ago, and that tattoo was teasing her from under the rolled-up sleeve of a plaid shirt while he played his guitar. More than a few times, she’d wondered if he’d had any success. Phoenix was a far cry from Los Angeles, but hey, he was performing—and performing well.

She hung out near the back of the small crowd, just watching him pour his heart into his instrument and the microphone. The audience was bobbing along and tapping their feet to the familiar tune, and his acoustic rendition and soulful voice made it all the more endearing.

And then the song ended, he thanked the crowd, and they dispersed as he packed up his things. A few people slipped him some tips, and he flashed that dimpled smile that made her own mouth tick up at the corner. It was good seeing him happy, even if the odds were high he’d long forgotten her. Out of curiosity, she wondered if he had.

She carefully made her way to him. “Hey.”

He stood straight up at her voice, then slowly turned toward her, a grin forming on his face. “Swan?”

That answered that question. “Killian,” she answered with a small smile.

“Bloody hell.” To her surprise, he engulfed her in a hug, but quickly, she returned it. “How’ve you been, love? I’m sorry I never made it to Portland, but here you are and...wow. Do you want to get coffee?”

She was nearly whiplashed from the warm reception; she hadn’t been expecting that. “Uh,” she stammered, not sure how to approach the money thing.

“My treat,” he quickly added enthusiastically.

“Okay.”

They settled into a corner table of a quiet little cafe, and before he could ask her about the last two years, she quickly focused on him: “So, are you a rock star yet?”

He snorted. “Hardly. Only had enough bus fare to get me to Oklahoma, so I’ve been picking my way across the country ever since. But I’ve been playing bars and shops all the time, saving up. Actually, I’m catching a train to L.A. tomorrow. Care to join?” he offered with a wink.

“I wish,” she answered, laughing. “Looks like I’m stuck here for a bit.”

“Oh?” He seeemed genuinely disappointed. “Fancy job here?”

“I’d take any job, actually. I...I just got out of prison.”

“Oh. I see.” To his credit, he didn’t try to put any distance between them, like most people would. Actually, he was almost annoyingly in her space; if it was anyone else, she’d be the one backing away, but Killian’s presence was unusually calming. And, for some reason, she felt compelled to spill the whole thing.

“Yeah, I, uh, met a guy in Portland, and he got me in trouble. Set me up for the stuff he did. He ran off, I got caught. Ended up in jail for a year. Had a kid. So, here I am, a year later. Just giving it another go, I guess.”

“Wait—back up; you had a kid?”

Oh. She curled in on herself a bit; she hadn’t meant to say that part. “Yeah. Found out while I was in there. He’s...I put him up for adoption. No one wants a teenage jailbird for a mom.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand, turning it over to find her tattoo. As he rubbed it with his thumb, he said, “A couple of years ago, I met a fiery young lass who told me that even though she had a rough start, she still had hope for a happy life.” She averted her eyes, studying the floor instead; it had been a long time since she’d given that tattoo thought, going so far as to cover it with marker while in jail. Things had been pretty bleak then and weren’t looking much better. “Hope is a powerful thing, Emma; don’t tell me you’ve lost yours.”

“Hard not to.”

“Don’t, Emma. You deserve it.” She finally glanced up, and the resolve in his blue eyes was nearly intimidating. Slowly, she nodded, though she still wasn’t sure she believed it.

She nodded at his forearm. “What about you? Found your true love yet?”

He chuckled. “Not yet. But I’m sure they’re out there.”

“I hope you find them, Killian.”

“I hope you find your happy ending, too, Swan.”

Again, they spent the night together, wandering around Phoenix, him smoking and her not (she’d learned her lesson there), until they ended up outside the train station.

“Look me up if you ever end up in L.A., alright? I’ll be the one playing the Viper Room.”

She wanted to laugh, but he was so confident. “I will. Good luck, Killian.”

“You too, Emma.”

They embraced before he boarded the train, and she waved until it was a speck in the distance, before heading back to the shelter with a bit more determination than she’d had the night before.

“Well, the moon sank as the wind blew and the street lights slowly died…”

Man, what a night. It was 11 o’clock, but she was too keyed up to hit the sack, despite everything that had happened already. And the thought of heading back to the just-slightly-nicer-than-a-fleabag motel she was staying in quickly made her decide that if she was stuck in Nashville, she may as well enjoy it.

The nice thing about the town was that there was music and life everywhere, with no signs of dying anytime soon. She had her pick of the bars, and it only mattered what kind of music she was in the mood for.

The more famous venues were all packed, but there were plenty of holes-in-the-wall and dives to grab a drink and a show. A cozy little place stood out to her, and pleasing, upbeat, classic-sounding rock was escaping the open door. She gave her skintight dress a quick tug down (ugh, this thing loved to ride up); flashed her legal, 22-year-old ID at the bouncer (not that he was looking at it); and headed into the smoky, hazy bar.

The band onstage was good, and so was the whiskey. It was nice to just be able to chill for a moment; she hadn’t been able to do much of that with her new job. Not at night, especially. Spying a few plush couches toward the back of the place, she got a refill and headed back, hoping to put her feet up for a bit and maybe even kick off these impractical heels.

The eyes of just about every man in the bar landed on her as she passed through, but she’d gotten pretty used to ignoring that by now. Until one pair did a double take and called out for her.

“Emma?”

She stopped—no way it was him. His Facebook page hadn’t said anything about Nashville—did it?

“Swan, is that you?”

But clearly, her memory was unreliable, because she turned and there he was: Killian Jones, rockstar. Well, almost rockstar, but he certainly looked the part in his skinny jeans, black t-shirt, and—“Are you wearing eyeliner?”

“Good to see you, too,” he teased before wrapping her up in a hug, then stepping back and giving her a once over. “I’m going to guess you didn’t just get out of jail this time.”

“Nope,” she answered, laughing. “Just enjoying a night on the town. Are you performing here?”

“Yeah, I’m the next set.”

“I had no idea!”

“You say that as if you should have had one.”

“I mean, you do have a Facebook page.”

“Did you ‘like’ me, Swan?”

“Of course I ‘like’ you.” It was amazing to her how she could so easily slip into the same old banter with someone she’d only spent hours with, but it felt like so much longer. “I’ve gotta be able to tell everyone that I once had coffee with a rockstar.”

He ducked his head and laughed, cheeks growing adorably rosy. “I’m not there yet, but,” he jerked his thumb toward a professional-looking woman with dark curly hair, “my manager thinks I will be soon.”

“You will.” Emma had never been more sure of anything. Her own life was still in flux, but she’d always known that teenage boy from what felt like a lifetime ago would go on to big things, even if his face had lost some of that youthful softness now. “Do you have time for a drink?”

“Of course.”

They settled on a sofa and caught each other up on the last four years: he did finally make it to L.A., and worked as a bouncer a bit before finally catching a break—and the eye—of a talent scout, and then a record label. And now he was on tour, trying to drum up enough attention to be able to put together an album.

“I tried to catch you in Tallahassee, but it didn’t work out. Got too busy that night.”

His eyes narrowed with uncertainty. “And what are you up to now?”

“Using my good looks to trap guys,” she answered, only semi-sarcastically.

“Swan, beg your pardon if this is rude, but…” His eyes drifted over her outfit again, and he seemed oddly concerned. “Are...are you a hooker?” he asked quietly.

She was taken aback at first, but then could only laugh. “No, but I can see why you’d think that. I’m in bail bonds. This is honestly the best way to nab a skip.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “I was near ready to offer you a job on my road crew,” he replied with a wink.

“You couldn’t afford me,” she threw back, smirking.

They kept chatting, and she had another drink, letting the warm buzz of liquor settle in her veins and relax her. Unconsciously, she found herself moving closer and closer to him, until her bare arm was lined up with his. If he cared, he didn’t say, or maybe his rum was having a similar effect.

He traced her tattoo with his index finger. “How’s this going?” he asked; he was still the only person who knew what it meant.

“Slowly. But things don’t suck anymore.”

“Sounds like progress.”

She followed suit, drawing her thumb around the edge of the heart on his arm. “And you? Found your love yet?” Her lips nearly brushed the pointed tip of his ear, they were so close now.

“No. Still waiting.”

“You’re a patient man, Killian Jones.”

“Aye, that I am.”

His voice dropped on that, with a seriousness she wasn’t used to hearing from him. She shifted away just enough to get a good look at his face, and his eyes were boring into hers, practically neon in contrast to the low lights of the bar. The words of the singer on stage swam into her consciousness; it was nearly comical how perfectly they fit the moment.

“But then somethin' I saw in your eyes told me right away that you were gonna have to be mine…”

The air between them grew heated very fast, raising goosebumps on her arm. And before she knew it, she was surging forward, crashing her lips into his.

Her hands found the nape of neck and his settled on her waist as she kissed him with everything she had. There was something just so perfect, so soul-satisfying about it as she nipped at his lower lip, that she didn’t know why she’d waited so long.

Their mouths and tongues fought for dominance as he held her tight, until finally they had to break apart for air. And then she realized what she’d just done, and who she kissed, and whose arms were holding her tight, and instantly backed away.

Hope was one thing, but the reality of a love—of a relationship—was still too daunting.

He rasped, “That was…”

“...A one-time thing,” she finished for him, not giving him another answer. She couldn’t; not with him. It was Killian. Their meeting was a fluke and the odds of it happening again were so slim; what was she thinking? Even if he was the one person who understood her; just—no. They couldn’t.

She hastily grabbed her purse and stood, a little too fast judging by the way the room spun. “Emma, wait—” Killian started, hopping up to stabilize her.

“No, Killian, I—I can’t.” She shrugged him off, not daring to look in his eyes. “Good luck.”

His plea fell on deaf ears as she raced out of the bar into the night, but one last line of lyrics caught her attention.

I'll never get over how good it felt when you finally held me; I’ll never regret…

But she would regret it, she knew. So it was better to run now.

“I'm so tired of being tired. Sure as night will follow day...”

It was raining—storming, really, and the power had gone out. So when someone started banging on her townhouse door from out in the dark night, louder than the battery-operated radio she had on, Emma was as terrified of an intruder as she was concerned it was someone seeking shelter.

Should have known it would be both.

The pounding grew quiet and a muffled voice was singing something unintelligible, which was then followed by a soft thud against the door and the hollow sound of a dropped glass that should have broken but somehow didn’t.

Baseball bat in hand, she cautiously tiptoed down the hall and peered through the peephole. Whoever it was was slumped against the door, soaked to the bone, and was dramatically raising their arm to knock again. As the sleeve of their leather jacket rode up thanks to gravity, she got a glimpse of a tattoo she’d recognize anywhere—though it was a bit different now. Just like him, she supposed.

“Killian, I’m opening the door; stand back,” she called, not wanting him to collapse in her entryway. Something told her he was going to regardless, but she heard a groan and the sounds of movement as she undid the locks and chains.

And then she swung open the door, and there he was. “Swan.” A tired smile deepend the lines around his eyes; she responded with a tentative one of her own. She honestly thought she’d never see him again after that night three years ago in Nashville—that he wouldn’t want anything to do with her, especially once he had hit it big.

But now a one-hit wonder was standing on her front porch, dripping wet and reeking of rum. Unable to come up with anything to say, she just stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

“’M sorry to barge in on you like this,” he stammered, staring at the wood floor. “I...jus’ didn’ know where else t’go.”

“How did you even find me?”

“Same as you found me. Facebook. The internet.” It was her turn to cast her eyes down; she still ‘liked’ all his social media posts, but figured he’d never notice.

As a result of said stalking, she knew everything that had happened to him in the last few years, especially with his manager-turned-girlfriend. The celeb magazines loved him and Milah, going so far as to call them “Millian,” especially when his debut album was tearing up the charts. She’d seen the excess, the wild living, and the absolute love in his eyes when he was with her. She’d been happy for him, truly. And damn if that album wasn’t a rocker.

But then, in true rockstar fashion, he partied too much, lived too hard, and then the two of them got in a wreck. They weren’t at fault, thankfully, but Milah was killed instantly. He dropped out of the spotlight, was dropped from his label, and had seemingly disappeared.

Only to show up on her doorstep, on the other side of the country, clearly heartbroken and drunk as a skunk. Lucky her.

“Come on; you need a shower.”

“I keep crawling back to you...I keep crawling back to you.”

After getting him clean and dry—a feat in itself, given the lack of lights—and into the too-big clothes some one-night stand had forgotten, she had him wrapped in a blanket on the other end of her couch, where she sat watching him sip hot cocoa while the radio made background noise. Where he’d at least been a bit happy at seeing her when he arrived, now he just seemed like a kicked puppy, albeit a wasted one.

“So, how you’ve been?” he asked, in a tone that was too forced to be casual.

“Seriously?”

“What?” he threw back, glaring at her. “I’m sure you know all about me; isn’t it fair that I get caught up, too?”

“There’s nothing to catch up on.” There wasn’t, really; she just continued to catch skips and move around; it was pure luck that he caught her here in New York. “And I’m not the one abusing their liver here.”

“Be glad you don’t have a reason to.” He set his empty mug on the coffee table with a thunk and slumped against the cushions.

She scooted closer to him and gently took hold of his arm, running a thumb along his tattoo. He’d added to it since she saw him last: now, it had a jagged dagger down the middle, and a ribbon bearing Milah’s name. It looked fresh. “She seemed like an awesome woman,” Emma commented, hoping that might get him to open up.

“She is. She was. Bloody hell, I’ll never get used to that.”

Emma kept studying the tattoo, knowing that if she looked at him, she might lose her composure. “You got your wish, though: you had love.”

He just grunted. “Fat lot of good it did me. The high was better than any drug, and the crash is far worse.”

“The rum probably doesn’t help.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

He fell silent after that, and she continued to massage his arm. The fist he’d been holding tight eventually slackened, and his breathing evened out. Finally, she dared to look at his face; he was asleep, but didn’t seem to be at peace. Dark circles nearly matched his thick eyelashes; his beard was scraggly again, but due to it being unkempt rather than juvenile; and hair was an uneven mess. How did someone who seemed to have everything going for them suddenly end up like this?

She stared down at her own tattoo. It seemed to be mocking her now. If things had gone so terribly for Killian once his dream was reached, then surely hers had no better chance of coming true. What a waste.

Killian spent the night on her couch and she made him breakfast the next morning, forcing food and water into him to help him detox. He was sober, it seemed, but she recognized the shaky hands that were gripping his fork with all he had.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking me in, Swan,” he finally said after the arduous process of eating was done. “You had no reason to; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me,” she assured him. “But if you do feel like making it up to me: get help.”

He nodded solemnly. “I will.”

They both sensed the goodbye that was coming, but she had one more question. “Killian, why did you come to me?”

He just shrugged and smiled sadly. “You understand.”

She did.

The TMZ headline about his rehab stint lifted a weight off her, knowing he’d be okay—and making it that much easier to continue with her next move. It had been a minor blessing he’d been too far gone to notice all the boxes.

And then she made sure her address wasn’t listed online. For security—or so she told herself.

This place was certainly out of range of a Starbucks, but at least Storybrooke had some sort of coffee shop. It was one of those quaint, hipstery cafes that she generally made a point to avoid on account of being too homey—but, if Henry got his wish, that's what this little seaside town would become.

God, Henry—she was still pinching herself. Obviously, she'd thought about him a lot in the past ten years, but she never imagined he'd show up at her door the way he did, dragging her back here. He was a fantastic kid, better than she could ever hope for, and certainly better than she could have done.

His adoptive mother was obviously (rightly) uneasy with the situation, given that Henry basically blackmailed Emma into bringing him back and then into staying longer to get to know each other. It seemed he was a bit of a loner, and a generally curious kid, so it kind of made sense to her why he’d want to have her around. Assuming Regina allowed it, of course.

And hey, Emma could use a vacation. Two weeks away from the hustle and bustle of city life? She could do that, even if meant changing up her means of sating her caffeine addiction.

Thankfully, it was hard to mess up her coffee order, so she found a comfy corner of the shop and settled in with a book, killing time until Henry got out of school. The window she was seated by gave a stunning view of the Atlantic, and for a while, she got lost in the morning lights dancing on the waves.

“Well I started out down a dirty road…”

Emma stilled. She should have known this would be the type of place to have a guitar player. But that in itself wasn’t what froze her blood—it was that voice.

“Started out all alone…”

Impossible. Granted, he’d fallen off the radar since he went to rehab, so she just assumed he was back on the road somewhere. She’d never imagine he’d be here, though.

“I’m learning to fly, but I ain’t got wings. Coming down is the hardest thing.”

She was almost scared to look; she hadn’t taken her eyes off the ocean since hearing that first line. But she knew she had to.

And there he was: perfectly at home behind the mic with an acoustic guitar, perched on a stool in jeans and plaid, getting lost in the music like he did all those years ago in Arizona.

And he looked good. It was hard to look worse than he had when they’d last been together, but Killian appeared not just healthy, but happy. His ginger beard was neatly trimmed, hair was intentionally disheveled, and there was a brightness in his eyes again that sparkled like the sun on the water she’d just been staring at.

“Well some say life will beat you down. Break your heart, steal your crown.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she muttered. Unconsciously, she started rubbing her tattoo with her thumb, like she'd taken to whenever he crossed her thoughts. It was great to see him like this, but it also made her realize just how far she was from anything resembling the peace that showed in the relaxed set of his shoulders and gentle smile as he sang.

“I’m learning to fly around the clouds. What goes up must come down.”

Thankfully, the cafe had a side door. Calmly, she gathered her things and slipped out. At some point, she knew she’d probably run into him—this town was only so big—but she didn’t want to face that today.

Fate had other plans, though, when she wasn’t paying attention to her path while she and Henry headed to the diner for an after-school hot cocoa. While listening to Henry tell her about that day’s ornithology lesson, she collided with something warm, solid, and familiar that instantly braced its arms around her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, lass—Emma?” His mouth hung open in disbelief when he realized it was her, eyes growing wide as he studied her, then crinkling at the corners with a grin.

“Hey,” she answered meekly, with a shy smile of her own.

“Bloody hell, I’ve missed you,” he exclaimed, pulling her in for an actual hug that she couldn’t help but reciprocate. It was Killian, after all—he was still right when he’d said they understood each other. His arms felt just as good as they had that night in Nashville. And no one had ever missed her before. “Where did you go?”

“I moved right after—”

“Mom, you know Killian?” Henry asked, interrupting their reunion.

Killian pulled back with a quizzical expression on his raised brow. “‘Mom’?”

“Emma’s my birth mother!” Henry shouted before Emma had a chance to reply, so she just nodded. Recognition sparked in Killian’s eyes, likely thinking back to that conversation years ago. Henry continued, “How do you guys know each other?”

“We go way back, lad,” Killian answered. “Your mum’s me oldest friend.” She blushed, but he was probably hers, too.

“Oy, what about me?” a similarly accented voice protested. Killian finally let Emma go and stepped away, and a slightly taller man was standing behind him. (She refused to admit that she immediately missed Killian’s presence around her.)

“Emma, this is my brother, Liam. He’s my—I’ve been with him for the last couple years, since...since I last saw you.”

She could fill in the blanks. “It’s nice to meet you,” she started, extending her hand, but then was shocked to be pulled into another hug.

“Thank you, Emma,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. She was stunned, but nodded a response.

How was it she’d only been in this town a matter of days and already felt more wanted, more a part of things than anywhere else she’d been in the last 28 years?

Liam pulled back and cleared his throat; she pretended not to see the watery look in his eyes. “I’d love to stay and chat, but Killian and I have an appointment.”

“Can we get coffee sometime?” Killian asked quietly. “I’d love to catch up.”

“Yeah, me too,” she replied, unable to deny it anymore. She at least owed it to him.

Two days later, she arrived at the shop a couple hours before the time they’d decided on so she could catch him playing again. This time, she didn’t hide in the corner, and she didn’t run off before they could chat. He’d seen her, anyway, and knowing him, would just track her down if she’d tried to flee. She was tempted to, though, when he sang the last song of his set.

“I dreamed you; I saw your face. Caught my lifeline when drifting through space.

I saw an angel; I saw my faith. I can only thank God it was not too late.”

His eyes drifted to her more than once and she could feel her cheeks burning red. Add that to the list of firsts on this whirlwind trip: first time someone sang a song to her. And, of course, it was something super deep and heartfelt and she wasn’t tearing up, not at all, because how did this random friendship with a guy she’s barely spent 24 total hours with become so damn important?

“Now I'm walking this street on my own. But she's with me everywhere I go.

Yeah, I found an angel; I found my place. I can only thank God it was not too late.”

“How’d I do?” he asked seriously, once he was packed away and they were settled into plush chairs and fresh drinks. His sincerity took her by surprise—this was the guy who’d headlined some pretty major venues (including the Viper Room), and he was concerned over his performance in a coffee shop?

“You were fantastic; why would you be anything else?”

He blushed and ducked his head down in that sweetly embarrassed move she’d seen so many times. “I’m just getting back into it. Couldn’t while I was in rehab, and just...didn’t want to once I got here.”

“How could you not? It’s such a huge part of your life.”

He shrugged. “It was also a reminder of everything I’d lost.”

She knew that all too well, and couldn’t really blame him. That was why she’d been so transient in the last decade, and why she never got too close to people. They always left and let her down. Save for Killian, she supposed, despite his erratic presence in her life.

“So what have you been doing?” she asked. It was easy to fill a life with working and moving, like she did; it was hard for her to imagine what someone did staying in one place for as long as he’d been here.

“Helping Liam with his business—he runs the marina. Done a lot of sailing, a lot of reading. And I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“Good.”

“Aye,” he agreed, nodding. “It’s been good, but it wasn’t quite...fulfilling, I guess would be the right word. So both Liam and my doc both encouraged me to pick up playing again, to see if that would help.”

“And?”

“So far, so good,” he concluded with a smile. “I was denying myself my own happiness by avoiding it, despite all the bad memories.”

“Even though you got your heart broken?”

“If it can be broken, that means it still works.”

His revelation hit her like a sword in the gut. Again, she started rubbing her tattoo, thinking of that far-off dream she’d once had. Had she been denying herself the chance at it?

Was she too scared of getting hurt again to go after her happy ending? Was it even worth it?

Or, more accurately, was it worth it not to?

“Swan?” His worried voice made her realize she’d zoned out, and the furrow in his brow when she looked up was a bit more concern than she could handle in the wake of massive personal epiphany.

“I...I’ve gotta go, Killian, I’m sorry,” she sputtered as she stood. “I’ll call you, or find you, or something,” she added on, babbling. “Just...I need to...go.”

She didn’t turn around to see the fallen, distressed look on his face; she just went. She needed to think. Her trusty yellow Bug was waiting outside and she just drove for a while, finally stopping at a scenic overlook with a panoramic view of the harbor. She didn’t even leave her car; the sight was impressive enough from where she was seated. And she let Killian’s words sink in.

She’d once dreamed of a life where she’d feel happy and secure. Not one where she’d want for nothing—just one where she had what she needed. And maybe even one where someone chose her.

But life had thus far proven that it was just a dream and she was better on her own, scraping by and making do. Had she just gotten so used to it that it was her norm? Or was she scared that by opening herself to that possibility of a happy life again, she’d inevitably get her ass kicked by the world and would never recover?

The last time she’d seen Killian, he was utterly defeated. Thankfully, she’d never gotten that low, but he managed to overcome it. He had hope—she could see it shining in those blue eyes. If he could do it, why couldn’t she?

The sun slowly fell and it grew dark around her as she sat with her thoughts. An ancient streetlight eventually flickered to life above her, rousing her from her thought-filled trance, and she knew what she had to do.

Because there was one person who had never left her. One who always had faith in her and understood her. And if she was going to go after that mythical happy ending, she wanted him at her side.

The next day found her at the coffee shop yet again. She was a bit late after having breakfast with Henry, but she arrived just in time for the last couple songs of Killian’s set.

“Had to find some higher ground. Had some fear to get around.”

There he was again, reading her like a book. She’d wonder how he did that, but again—they just got each other. And she was ready to turn to the next page.

“Square one, my slate is clear. Rest your head on me my dear. It took a world of trouble, took a world of tears—it took a long time to get back here.”

Once he was packed up, he cautiously approached her. “You alright, love?”

“Will you go out with me?”

If her straightforwardness caught her by surprise, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He practically fell in the chair next to her. “Beg your pardon?”

“Go out with me. On a date.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking?”

“Don’t tell me you’re that old-fashioned, Jones.”

He chuckled. “I heartily accept, Swan.”

The date was perfect: good food, good wine, and a stroll under the stars—so many more in Storybooke than Boston, and the nerd pointed out some of the constellations to her.

The gentle kiss outside her rented room was even better. There was none of the awkwardness of Nashville, or the altered inhibitions. It just felt good and right and somehow perfect, like she’d been waiting for it forever, but hadn’t been ready yet.

She got a job in Storybrooke. She grew closer with Henry. She made more friends in town—Mary Margaret, the teacher; David, the vet; Belle, the librarian (and Liam’s wife). Once she gave in, once she let herself go after it, her happy ending settled around her—or maybe she was the one who settled into it.

Whichever it was didn’t matter; it was hers and it was real and she was never letting it go.

The cool wind whipped against her face from where she stood on the prow of the boat, but Killian’s strong arms held her close and kept her warm, and she leaned into his solid, sure presence that hadn’t wavered...well, ever, even when they were apart. His sweet voice sang in her ear and she knew—she finally had made it.

“You belong among the wildflowers.

You belong in a boat out at sea.

You belong with your love on your arm.

You belong somewhere you feel free.”

If you’d like to hear all the songs referenced in this, check out this playlist: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AldoDm2bV04&list=PL7YAlVeSin3Kq_1xtetAI0rovPvp-6Wdk

tagging some others who might enjoy this: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @its-like-a-story-of-love @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose

[napkinnotes]

11.10.2020

Two days ago I wrote a letter to the September Letters project by Brittany Snow and Jaspre Guest. Here’s what I wrote:

When I was in eighth grade, I had trouble processing how I felt about many things – my relationships with others, the changing world, myself, etc. As a closeted teen living in a conservative Asian household in Oklahoma, I was seeking a place where I could openly speak my mind, a place of refuge where I felt like I was seen, especially in those dark moments. That was when I decided to write letters. I have always been a romantic person, and what’s more romantic than writing a letter you’ll never send? What started out as the “Dear L,” series on my personal Tumblr turned into me putting pen to paper anytime I felt overwhelmed or needed to be heard. Sometimes I would address the letter to the person I’m writing about. Sometimes I would make up a person to address it to just because. I can go months or even a year without writing a letter, but when I do it’s always personal. I’m now 24 and living in Atlanta, Georgia starting my career in higher education amidst a pandemic. I’ve addressed many letters to others, real and fictional, in the last 11 years, but I haven’t written one to myself. So, here’s a new letter:

Dear H,

Fuck 2020, but there is beauty in change. At 23, you’ll be ending graduate school and job searching in the middle of a pandemic. You’re not a journalist as anticipated but an educator now. You’ll end up moving home briefly, even though you vowed to yourself you would never do so. It’s a hit to your pride, but this time forces you to slow down for once. It is during those three weeks in Oklahoma that you made you realize it is alright to not have the family you’ve always hoped for. You’ll land a job in Atlanta, Georgia moving to a state you’ve never stepped foot in. This is a challenge you welcome with open arms.

You will experience post-grad depression missing all of the friends you made in college, which is exacerbated by feelings of loneliness due to not being able to see people in person during a pandemic. Your childhood heroine Naya Rivera passes away unexpectedly, and you’ll spend a week spontaneously crying while listening to all the covers she sang on Glee. Work is good, but it is hard because you cannot see your students or coworkers in-person. You end up in the ER twice making you realize that you need to check your health and weight. You’ve been sober for months, and you don’t miss the taste of alcohol – just the people you typically drank with.

You celebrated your 24th birthday by yourself, and a co-worker got you a succulent that you named Kacey after Kacey Musgraves a musician you both enjoy. That succulent will be the only other living thing in your apartment aside from yourself for a few weeks (you got another plant). There will be mornings you wake up hurting deeply, sometimes physically because you’ve injured yourself. In those early morning moments staring at the ceiling with pain pulsing through your leg, you realize you are completely alone. A few tears find their way down your cheek. Then you summon all that is good in you to limp your way to the car and head to the 24-hour CVS for compression wraps to start healing your sprained ankle. No one might be there with you right now, but you still got yourself.

At 24, you have not dated or been intimate with a single human being – that is okay. You’ve never been good with romantic relationships anyway. However, you will experience a friendship break up that hurts like hell. This relationship with your sorority little was very toxic, one where the care you poured into was not reciprocated nor respected. You did not want to admit that this relationship was toxic, but luckily your best friend fought for you and had the audacity to say it to your face. This forced you to ask yourself, “When do I stop pouring into a bottomless glass?” You say your piece, and you let it be. Things are to be determined with your little but at least you stuck up for yourself and your values. Through this experience, you learned a lot about self-worth and about the people who truly care for you.

Honestly, shit could be worse. Yeah, you’re not talking to most of your family. You’re lonely and there’s no one getting you out of your apartment as much as you’d wish. Work is alright most days, but you’re concerned that you aren’t doing enough with students’ morale being low. You’re slowly making friends. You got a couple of plants. You’re becoming a better self-advocate, and you’re growing. Change sucks and things aren’t easy. However, you’re doing pretty damn well for yourself. You’ve grown so much in 2020 because of change. Those dark moments have made you more grateful for those who remain present in your life, who challenge you to be a better person, who remind you to love yourself. Keep up the good fight, and I’ll leave you with a poem by Morgan Harper Nichols that got you through that friendship break-up.

“You were meant

to give your all,

and you were also meant

to be loved.

You were meant

to have meaningful connection

beyond what you feel

you are worthy of.

So have faith that unmerited favor

has been made available to you,

no matter the heartaches

broken friendships

have brought you.

You are free to forgive

and you are also free

to heal.

You are worthy of love

no matter how anyone else

has made you feel.”

Yours truly,

H.T.

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

I had 4 Asian Cuisine restaurants in NYC I trusted to send girls home through.

In Iraq we used Mother Teresa.

In NYC I used the Chinese Outlets. So I'm very particular that y'all would abuse them. Most had came to the USA for a better life, made one and found that Americans had it worse thsn they did! And wanted to help. Some were kidnapped themselves, like by Jane's place.

So, anyone ridiculing the Chinese With violence or harassment needs to be arrested and dealt with appropriately.

In Texas I used local news media and lawyers.

In Alabama where i first started. I designed Al Qeada. Then used Mother Teresa to go at a faster pace while Al Qaeda learned the ropes in order to help her get people returned faster to keep all the bunkers empty throughout Iraq, Iran, Isreal, Egypt and all the ones we could reach. Together they acoomplished that.

So it was easy to empty The USSR 3 years later. Our system was fool proof. And good.

Unfortunately the USA and the qE2 teamed up again and imprisoned the real Queen of England you see today from 1991 to 2002. Then off and on until 2008 when Saint Luches "kidnapped her" with permission from then Princes William and Harry and herself and along with my crying pleas to protect her. All part of a sting to help escalate the 31200 factory deals and release some of the Abu from Iraq and Iran and the Chinese from the United States.

In Oklahoma I used the citizens of Okmulgee. The teachers at Preston which then shared information with the state to educate children of stranger,danger and teens of how to get safe jobs

By then I knew it was pointless to evacuate and kill and fight. I had to prevent and protect and work deals and negotiate wkth terrorists.

1. Alabama

2. NYC

3. Texas

4. Florida

5. Oklahoma

6. New Mexico

I wrote out of order. But this was my chronological order of operations.

After NYC i stayed above ground mostly. Those nights with Jane and Lily taught me that may be i was too young. That may be i did have a lot of growing to do.

But my heart craves those streets and the brisk walks In the cold nights.

I know staying off them has kept me alive.

So Jane and Lily stayed in those streets working and helping. And they're alive too. And they had each other and a constant working team

Which i have never had.

But in between living a normal life, and growing up... I had those meetings with terrorists. Being kidnapped in different ways. Being tortured in other ways.

Do i have regrets? Every day.

But what is most important is to keep on working. Keep on fighting. And just keeping on.

One thing that's best for me right now is i found my lifelong goal. I didn't ever know what it was. No job ever seemed right. I was always dissatisfied with options.

Would i be an amazing lawyer or doctor? Hell yes!

But my soul still felt empty with those options.

I remember in high school, graduation... "What's your goal in college?"

What the fuck? Who? What? Why? Such an absurdity that it made me viciously angry, full of hate at the world

Not because I didn't know what i wanted to do or know how but because it wasn't an option

Where was the box that said put a check here for something real like "World Peace" or "Make a difference worth keeping" or anything related to reality.

Sure be rich be a doctor. Save lives. You habe no idea how pointless that made me feel.

Be a lawyer. Sure hate myself and be a hypocrite because I can't remember anything worth a shit in the world that ive ever done. And have all the money in the world. Pointless.

So many options full of shit.

But now I have the ability to give people options. And i guess that's all i ever wanted to do. Free people and make super heroes of regular people in the world.

That's all i ever wanted to do. And it makes me feel safe and warm and cuddled in the corner of the world that is mine.

So i am grateful for all those that care and understand what i am feeling, the frustrations I have felt. Even if you don't feel it yourself but you understand.

I hope you will all be our super heroes of the World.

So stand up for someone that your intuition and intelligence says is being bullied.

Stand up to someone your intuition and intellect is telling you is bullying someone.

And if you can't tell the difference, find an older person in your neighbor hood or a younger person and explain to them fully what your eyes saw and your brain said and why and when.

And you'll both grow to be the greatest suoer heroes of all.

And sometimes you may feel you're not exactly understood. And you may not be. So ask someone else.

Like me, I prefer some one mean to talk to. Because I feel they know a lot. And they are suffering inside. They don't want to let down walls to trust anyone, because they have Seen too much pain and hurt.

And that is the type of person i need to talk to. Someone with real pain.

Like Saint Luches "fuck off I don't want to talk to you" he would always say that in 2008

Because i would make him cry. Everytime. Id ask him very difficult and tough questions. Tell him thank you and have my forehead wrinkled continued to work.

And he would cry. Because I cared. Not pretend to care So I could back stab him. But to help him.

A couple times he thought I was backstabbing him. And he accused me of it. So I would explain to him the web I had been caught in and how I was working to get out of it.

But because they believed what they wanted to, they went running their mouths.

So I let him in my laptop computer. Told him to look at all my documents. How I labeled them and what I would do with them.

And that is when he began to smile

He never took a break like me. Never lived ws a "normal" child.

Since 1985 hes been working everyday to stop human trafficking.

Everyday. Every single day.

I want to say i haven't. But the mental anguish i have suffered and the "normal life" is so that I could help the people coming out now to learn about how the rest of the world works

Although it never had worked for me, I always felt a mysterious place in the world needed m3 that I could never find nor define... I know how it works.

William and Harry have felt they had to leave the Kingdom to see how it is as well.

So while I quit the work and i changed my ways during it.

Its So it could all lead to this point here.

Channel KOAT news camera men being beat up multiple times while trying to document evacuations. (KRQE gave him a coat so he's safer. Yay!)

And that. Just that right there. Competitive news channels helping each other.

I mean world peace? Will it ever exist?

Yes. How can it not?

United We Stand.

Doing different things for the same goal.

Freedom. Sanity. Love. Friendship. Trust.

And more. The military offered him a camouflage jacket. But he understood he was there to be an alternative to the military and police due to their corruption. So he rejected their offer. Although it would saved him from a few more black eyes.

So the military asked KRQE and without hesitation, gave KOAT a jacket to use. Not due to fear, but kindness. And compassion.

[hillbillyhippiemusicreview]

Post #21 - Nick Dittmeier, Companion

Y’all, on Friday November 22, 2019, Nick Dittmeier, backed by The Sawdusters, released “Companion.” “Companion” is a 4 song EP and is Nick’s 5th album in as many years. I had the pleasure of attending the Release Party at Goodwood Brewing in Nick’s hometown of Jeffersonville, Indiana.

The initial itch to record “Companion” came to Nick while he was touring heavily throughout the US and Europe and roughly a month after the release of his full length album “All Damn Day.” In his own words the idea behind it “was to create for the sake of creation.”

The first track on the album “It’s Gonna Break Your Heart” is a little darker than some of Nick’s previous releases, but it does try to look for some light at the end of the tunnel. You can see some of that darkness with lyrics like “it’s gonna rock you to the core,” “it’s gonna take a little time to get yourself up off the floor,” and “it’s gonna haunt your dreams.” Nick then comes back with a glimmer of hope with “I’m hopin’ that it’s alright, I’m prayin’ that it might, but I can’t say it for sure.”

Nick’s second expression on the album, “Leaving Terre Haute” comes with inspiration of one of his good buddies. When trying to get one of his buddies to join his band, his friend had one condition: We never play in Terre Haute again. A little back story on Terra Haute, it is referred to as the “Capital” of the Wabash Valley or as Nick’s says “The Crown Jewel of the Wabash Valley.” Terra Haute is home to Indiana State University (for all you Larry Bird fans), Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology, and the Federal Corrections Complex-Terre Haute (where Oklahoma City bomber, Timothy McVeigh was put to death and where the US government conducted Gonnorhea experiments in the 1940s). Thinking about that while driving a van with the entire band asleep, Nick penned “Leaving Terre Haute.” With a side note and a bit of humor added to this song, when I sent this song to a friend of mine who graduated from the oh so prestigious Rose-Hulman, her only response was “haha we call it Terrible Haute.” Nick said he never thought he would write a song about Timothy McVeigh, but here it is.

“Take It Slow” is a little spacier and has a Sturgill Simpson-ish vibe to me. This song really tones back the instruments and highlights the vocals all while telling a story. From infancy to moving from your hometown to the city, to trying to figure out who the hell you are in this world, this is a nice creative touch to “Companion.”

The last song on the EP, “Wildcat Creek” describes a place in Northwest Indiana, that someone just can’t wait to leave but can’t just yet. An upbeat number, the recording of “Wildcat Creek” is quality, but is nothing compared to the song live!

Y’all, go give “Companion” a listen and support small, independent artists. You can find Nick Dittmeier’s other releases “Extra Better,” “Light of Day,” “Midwest Heart/Suther Blues,” and “All Damn Day” on Spotify. Y’all get out to a show, buy some merch and give this fella a listen. You can check his online presence here: https://nickdittmeier.com or check him out on Facebook, Instagram, etc.

Until next time y’all.

-Cheer, N.

*This is an independent review. The Hillbilly Hippie Music Review was not compensated for this review.

*The opinions expressed are solely that of the author(s).

*The artwork shown is not ours, nor do we claim it in any way. It is copyrighted by Nick Dittmeier.

[eliniei]

Those Hard Days -  Epilogue II - END

Summary: Rae’s brother always made sure she was tough as nails. But when her father flips her world upside down, will she find that there’s a limit on how strong she can be?

Warnings: Rape/Non-con (non-graphic, fade-to-black), child abuse, underage drinking, underage smoking, drug use, violence, major character death

AO3: here Fanfiction.net: here

Masterlist

Previous Chapter |  Next Chapter

Chapter 46 - Epilogue II

Four years later, Rae walked into the cemetery where Dally and Johnny had been buried. She tossed her brown hair over the shoulder of her dark t-shirt and felt a cool breeze blow through the strands. Her top and jeans were covered in dried dirt and grass stains, her cheek red with a forming bruise and a line of dried blood running from the corner of her mouth down to the collar of her shirt. The Saint Christopher medal around her neck shone in the late afternoon sunlight. In the crook of one arm, she carried a bunch of brilliant, red roses. She stopped in front of Johnny’s grave, first. 

“Hey, Johnnycake,” Rae started. She pulled a few roses from the paper wrapping and set them down by the bottom of his headstone. “Thought I’d bring ya some flowers.” She wiped the top of the stone off, pushing a few dead, shrivelled leaves off. “Looks like Pony’s been keepin’ your place pretty clean, huh? Does he still come a lot? The gang misses you somethin’ fierce, ya know.” She smiled softly, and after a few more words, moved down to her brother.

"Hey, Dally,” she greeted him, sitting down criss-cross in the dirt, facing the stone, a bright smile on her face. “Just got outta a rumble. Shepard territory this time. Even Darry came on out to help. I got roughed up a bit, but ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” She set the rest of the roses down. 

"I know, I know. You don't like roses but it’s all I could get." She cleaned off the top of the headstone, then ran her fingers down the lettering engraved on it. 

Dallas Tucker Winston November 9, 1948-1965 Devoted Brother and Friend

Rae’s eyes clouded over for a moment, her smile drooping, his face that night flashing in her mind. But she snapped herself out of it, remembering what her therapist had said, and replaced that image with one of him smiling. 

"I-I have something amazing to tell you, Dally," she confessed, smiling again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement and turned her head to see Curly approaching from where he’d parked his car. She tilted her head back. "Well, more than one thing, I guess.” She huffed a laughed. 

“First thing’s first. Remember how I told you that I was takin’ a year after high school to get a job and save up for college?” She paused, reaching for the hair ties at her wrist. Still doin’ the same old shit. “Ponyboy, Two-Bit, Curly, and I are all going to the University of Oklahoma here in a few weeks. Yeah, Two-Bit finally graduated. Amazing, ain’t it? Barb says I was a good influence on him." Rae looked up at the sun for a moment, then back down. “I’m a little sad since Carrie’s stayin’ here in Tulsa so she can be close to Tim, but at least I’ll have the boys. I guess she’s gonna help him with the gang when Curly heads off. She ended up turnin’ real tough, and you’re the one who started it, teachin’ her how to fight.” She felt Curly squat down next to her.

“You tell him yet?”

“Nah, not yet. I was waitin’ for ya.” He smiled and she turned back to her brother’s grave. "So, Dally," she continued, holding out her left hand to the gravestone. There was a silver ring with a small, blue rock sitting on it. "I know you’d prob’ly wanna beat our heads in for this. Curly asked me to marry him and, well, I-I said yes. Tim was sure pissed as hell, ya know?” 

“That’s an understatement,” Curly said with a short laugh.

“We ain’t gonna get marrried anytime soon, so ya ain’t gotta worry about that. I ain’t knocked up or anythin’. That’s what Tim thought, anyhow.”

Rae paused, her smile fading. 

"Dally, you know how we talked about how I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life? I...I think I decided, okay? I wanna to become a therapist...maybe even a certified, professional psychiatrist.” She laughed under her breath. “I know that’s a big word. A-and I’d have to go to medical school for it. Imagine me, a doctor. My therapist was...very supportive.” Curly draped his arm across her back, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. She looked back at him, her smile turned sad. He nodded and kissed her temple.

“I’ll wait in the car.” She nodded and watched him walk away, then turned back to her brother.

“I think I wanna help kids like us." She looked down at the grass and pulled up a few blades. “Kids who...ain’t got good parents or...lost someone...ya know?” Her lip trembled a little, and she sucked in a breath. "But, I'm scared, Dally. I’m afraid of leavin’ ya here without me. I’m scared of leavin’ the rest of the boys behind. Scared of bein’ someplace...new. Therapist says it’s somethin’ called...uh...separation anxiety." Rae let the blade of grass fall out of her hands. “I shouldn’t be surprised, though, huh?”

"It ain’t ever been the same without ya, ya know. I miss ya Dally. You-you remember those nightmares I had when ya first died? Kinda like Pony’s, huh? When his parents..." Rae sighed. “Well, I had one again the other night. My-my therapist says it’s prob’ly ‘cause I’m nervous to leave. She’s gonna...refer me to someone at the college. She says I made some real good progress over the past few years and hopes I will keep it up.” She sat quietly for a few seconds, but finally stood up, looking towards Curly’s car. He stood with his back to her, leaning against the driver side door.

"Guess I better get goin’. The boys are havin’ a cookout tonight for the fourth. Everyone’s gonna be there.” Her stomach did a nervous flip as she stared down at the headstone. 

“Oh, that’s right. Cherry Valance told me to tell you 'hi' for her. She's back in town for the summer. Said she’ll prob’ly come visit soon, too. She’s gonna show us around when we get up to the college.”

She looked back at Curly again. He held up his hand and pointed to his wrist. She huffed a laugh and nodded.

“Alright," she said, turning back one last time. "We’re gonna be late. Do-do me a favor and keep watchin’ over us, okay?" She smiled wide. "I hope I'm makin’ ya proud, big brother. I hope...I hope I’m livin’ life the way ya hoped I would. I love ya, Dally. I’ll...I’ll come visit on my breaks, okay?" She touched the top of his headstone again and started moving back towards the car, letting her hand slide off the smooth, glossy stone.

"Ready?" Curly asked as Rae slid into the passenger seat and closed the door.

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "Let's go."

When they pulled up to the Curtis house, they could smell the grill had been lit already. When they’d made their way to the backyard, Darry was standing in front of it, flipping a burger. He looked up and his face split into a smile. He looked like he’d gone away from the rumble unscathed.

“There ya’ll are,” he called. Soda and Tim turned from their lawn chairs to see who his brother was talking to. Angel and Chrissy were laid out on beach towels, next to them, in nothing but bikinis and sunglasses. A cigarette hung out the corner of Angela’s mouth. She lifted her glasses and peered at them through squinted eyes, then dropped them back on her face and gave them a lazy wave before going back to her own business. Chrissy turned over onto her stomach and waved as well.

“Hey guys!” she called, then laid down flat, trying to get an even tan.

“Took ya long enough,” Darry chided. 

“Oh, yeah. We went to the cemetery real quick.” 

“Hey guys,” the middle Curtis brother greeted, lifting himself out of the chair. Rae smiled and made her way over. He went over to a large cooler and pulled a couple cans of beer out. He threw one to Curly, and held the other out to her. He inspected her face as she took the drink from his hands. “Looks like someone got you good, huh?” She smiled a sly smile.

“Maybe, but I think he looks way worse.” Soda laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. She popped the can open.

“You’re really somethin’, kid.” 

Steve came around from the front of the house, plates and napkins in hand. He set them down on the table the boys had set up outside. Evie came out after him, carrying a bowl of potato salad, followed closely by Cherry, who was carrying a salad, the tongs sticking out. They were smiling, giggling, even.

“Oh yeah, I can totally show ya how I do it,” Evie said to the redhead. They set their bowls down on the table and headed back towards the house to get whatever was left inside. Cherry turned as they walked to wave at her. Rae waved back. Steve came over to them and shook hands with Curly. 

“Hey guys,” he said with a grin, his chipped front tooth prominent. He took Curly from her side and the two went to talk about the car they’d driven over in, mumbling to each other. “Yeah. It is-? Okay, that ain’t gonna be a hard fix or anythin’. Let’s have a look...”

Two-Bit, hopped over the back fence, his hand already wrapped around a bottle of his favorite beer. She smiled and went to meet him. He laid his arm across her shoulders as they made their way over to the chairs. 

“Mom’s gonna kill you, lookin’ the way you do,” he informed her and took a sip of his drink. “How was the rumble?”

“Pretty fun,” she responded. “Got smacked in the mouth with a pipe, but I got him back.”

“Good girl,” he said with a smirk. “Always been a tough kid.” She shrugged.

“Well, ya know where I get it from.” She tugged at the medal around her neck.

“Yeah, I do.”

A sudden scream had her spinning, looking for the source. Carrie came running from the other side of the house in a bikini top and jean shorts, bare feet running through the grass. She had a neon pink plastic squirt gun in her hand, a bruise spreading across the knuckles from a punch she’d landed across some poor kid’s cheekbone earlier that day. Ponyboy came around after her, a green gun in his hand, squirting water at her. 

“Hey, Rae!” she yelled as she passed, then squealed again when the cold water hit her back. Pony ran after her. 

“Hey, Rae!” he repeated. She smiled and shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest, watching them go. 

Tim got up out of his chair and came up next to them. His eye was starting to turn black.

“Make it out okay, Tim?” Rae asked, leaning forward to see him past Two-Bit.

“Alright,” he confirmed and reached his hand into his back pocket. Her foster brother must have seen what Tim had in his hand, because he jumped out of the way, quickly. Before she could do anything, Rae found herself on the barrel-end of a blue squirt gun with a wet face, the water dripping onto her shirt. 

A flash of a memory appeared behind her eyes- but it quickly melted back into reality. Darry was right, she guessed. Time really did help.

She stared at Tim in shock for a moment, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He tossed the gun over to her and pulled an orange one out of his other back pocket, then gave her a slanted grin and took off running in the same direction Carrie had.

Rae shook her head, a wide grin spreading across her face. 

“Oh, you’re dead fuckin’ meat, now,” she yelled and chased after him until Darry called them all for dinner.