#tell me why sydney is so big you don’t have answers? neither do I!

[faithfromanewperspective]

the more I stare at this map of australia the more our almost-megacities make no fucking sense

[btsqualityy]

We’ll Be Okay

Jimin x Reader

Genre: Major Angst, fluff, established couple 

Warnings: miscarriage, description of a medical procedure (it’s kind of vague though), grieving parents

“That’s not a plus sign, is it?”

“What the hell else would it be, a cross on a pregnancy test?”

“Wahh,” Jimin gasped, looking up at you with wide eyes as he clutched both of the pregnancy tests in his hand. “You’re pregnant again jagi.”

“Let me see,” you demanded, reaching out and plucking both tests out of his hand. When you held them up, there was a clear ‘plus’ sign on the face of both tests. “Wow.”

“Aren’t you excited?” Jimin asked, his smile slightly dropping from your reaction. “We both agreed to try for another baby.”

“I know we did, but it’s literally only been two months,” you chuckled in disbelief. A loud cry sounded from Sydney’s nursery, so you set both tests down on the bathroom counter and walked out of the bathroom, with Jimin following close behind. 

“Jagi, we’re both still young and have never had any fertility issues so there’s no reason why it wouldn’t have worked,” Jimin pointed out, watching as you walked over to Sydney’s crib and picked her up, cradling her against your chest. 

“I know, but I’m still shocked,” you shrugged. “I mean, Syd just turned one three months ago and it’ll be a lot to handle three kids under five.”

“So what? Do you not want it?” Jimin wondered and you immediately shook your head.

“Of course I want it, I’m just nervous,” you admitted. Sydney then lifted her head from your neck, reaching out towards her father. 

“And that’s ok,” he assured you as he took Sydney from you, lifting her up and setting her on his hip. “But you’re not gonna be alone Y/N-ah, I’ll be right here with you the entire time.”

“I know,” you nodded, smiling fondly as you watched Sydney snuggle up to him. “Seeing you with them is what makes me want more babies with you, because you’re amazing.”

“Ditto jagi,” he smiled. “And hey, look at it this way: at least you got to find out like a normal person and not by fainting this time.”

“That’s definitely a highlight of this pregnancy,” you laughed, making Jimin do the same. 

“I got you, ok?” He whispered and you nodded. “We’ll be okay.”

............................

“So, I see we’re expecting another little Park,” your doctor smiled as she walked into the examination room where you and Jimin were waiting. 

“Yep,” you nodded with a grin, the nervousness having waned and been replaced with excitement over the month and some change that had passed since the positive pregnancy tests and your first doctor’s appointment. 

“Alright, let’s see what we have here then,” your doctor said, motioning for you to lay back. You did so, making sure to pull up the hem of your shirt a little so that your lower abdomen was showing. Your doctor grabbed the ultrasound gel, squirting a healthy amount onto your skin before grabbing the ultrasound wand and setting it on top. Jimin reached down and grabbed onto your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as the both of you watched the screen for any sign of your small little baby. However, about two minutes passed without a word from your doctor. 

“How long ago did you take that pregnancy test Y/N?” Your doctor wondered.

“About a month ago,” you replied. “Plus another week.”

“And how many days late was your period before that?”

“Three weeks,” you answered with a raised brow. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just trying to make sure that I have this right,” she mumbled as she focused intently on the screen. “So, you’d be eight, almost nine weeks pregnant then.” 

“That sounds about right,” Jimin confirmed and your doctor sighed.

“The baby’s heartbeat isn’t exactly as strong as I’d expect it to be at this point in the pregnancy,” she admitted. 

“And what does that mean?” You asked. 

“I’m sorry you two, but I don’t think this pregnancy is going to make it to full-term,” your doctor said apologetically. “Of course, I’d like to run some more tests on you just to be sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you miscarried within the next few days.”

“But...what?” You chuckled in disbelief. “But I’ve been feeling great this time around. I haven’t even fainted like I did with my past two pregnancies.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, and Jimin, but sometimes these things just happen and there’s no real rhyme or reason to it,” your doctor told you. “I’d like to run those tests on you though so we can be sure, so I’ll go set that up now and give you two some time alone.” Your doctor bowed lightly before quickly excusing herself and walking out of the room and as soon as the door shut behind her, you sat up as tears began to stream down your face.

“Jimin-ssi,” you whimpered, turning to look at him and he just wrapped his arms around you, hugging your body tight to his. 

“I know,” he replied, feeling his eyes starting to become cloudy with tears as well. 

“I’ve been feeling fine, I swear!” You sobbed against his chest. “I would’ve said something if I weren’t!”

“I know baby, I know you would’ve,” Jimin soothed you. “We’ll be okay, though. I promise.”

............................

After getting more tests done, your doctor found that your HCG levels, which is a hormone produced by the placenta, were extremely low and this only confirmed your worst fears. You requested another ultrasound just to be sure, and your doctor found that the baby’s heartbeat was still just as slow as it had been earlier in the day, and had even slowed down more. 

At that point, you had to start to think about how you were supposed to mentally prepare yourself to miscarry your child, but you weren’t even able to leave the doctor’s office before the pain in your abdomen started up and you knew that it was the beginning of what would surely be one of the most painful experiences in your life. 

To be on the safe side, your doctor opted to admit you into the hospital rather than have you go home, so that she’d be able to keep an eye on you and your physical condition. Once you began to bleed, you and Jimin talked to each other and decided that it would best for you to have a dilation and curettage, or a D&C. This was so that you could be sure that the baby passed completely, and that there’d be no issues with any future pregnancies.

Once you had the procedure done and had gotten settled in your hospital room, Jimin crawled into the hospital bed with you and cuddled up to you as you both cried into each other’s arms. It was hands down the worst day of your life thus far; such a happy day turning into a nightmare in the blink of an eye. 

............................

“Mommy?” You heard a soft voice whisper and you opened your eyes to see Noah standing next to your side of the bed. “Are you ok?”

“Not really,” you replied honestly, doing your best to give him a small smile in order to make not him worry completely but you knew that he’d be able to see through it. 

“I thought so,” he said. “You’ve been in bed a lot, and you don’t usually do that like how uncle Yoongi does.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” you agreed, sitting up and scooting back so that your back was pressed against the headboard. “I’ve been really sad though, and so has Daddy.”

“Why? What happened?” Noah wondered and you sighed, the pain of the miscarriage still extremely fresh since it had only been about a week, but you figured that you could tell Noah in a way that was age appropriate. 

“Come here,” you said, holding your arms open and watching as he climbed up onto the bed, immediately snuggling into your side. “Well, Mommy was pregnant.”

“I’m gonna be a big brother again?” Noah gasped and you shook your head.

“Noah, the baby died and went to Heaven,” you explained and the smile immediately let Noah’s face, being replaced by a pout.

“I didn’t even get to see them first!” He exclaimed and you almost wanted to chuckle at how outraged he was.

“We didn’t get to see them either baby,” you told him. 

“Well, if the baby went to Heaven, then you should be happy right?” Noah questioned. “Because Heaven is a place that’s good.”

“I’m sad because the baby was still a baby, and they should’ve been down here with us, growing in my tummy for a while and then being born,” you explained to him. “Just like you and Sydney did.”

“But since it’s in Heaven, the baby can look over us, like the ancestors do,” Noah replied. “You know, like Daddy said.”

“Yeah, but I still miss them,” you sniffled, reaching up and wiping at your eyes before the tears that had been welling up could spill over.

“Can I cuddle you Mommy?” Noah asked and you nodded immediately.

“I’d love that Noey,” you smiled softly, watching as Noah wrapped his arms around you tighter and threw one of his legs over yours, the same way that Jimin does when he cuddles you.

............................

Three weeks later, you had been making an effort to try and get back to normal, or as close to it as you could manage. You still hadn’t gone back to work, but you weren’t staying in bed all day anymore and you had actually started doing things around the house and playing with the kids again, so you figured that it was a start. 

As for you and Jimin, the two of you hadn’t really been talking to each other much anymore these days. It wasn’t that you were purposely ignoring him, it was just that things felt a little tense between the two of you now, since neither of you had never been good at dealing with negative emotions. 

One morning, after dropping Noah off at school, you came back home and were greeted with the sounds of glass breaking. Pacing into the kitchen, you found it completely empty, which only further confused you. Taking a quick glance around, you saw that the back sliding door was opened and as you walked closer to it, the sound of glass breaking got louder so you knew that it was coming from there.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked in surprise, making Jimin stop and turn towards the back porch, the sledgehammer in his hands falling to the ground. There were several large stacks of glass plates surrounding him, as well as several glass cups, bowls, and pitchers. 

“I’m breaking glass,” he shrugged, reaching down with a gloved hand, picking up a plate and chucking it against a nearby tree. You watched as it shattered once it came into contact with the bark, and you looked back at Jimin with a raised brow.

“I can see that, but why?” You pressed, walking away from the sliding door and down the steps of the back porch to walk over to him, maintaining a few feet of distance between the two of you since he was still throwing glass.

“I’m angry,” he huffed, picking up the sledgehammer again and swinging it over his shoulder, hitting a glass water pitcher. 

“About?”

“The baby,” he grit out. “I’m the one who even brought up having another baby, and then we fucking lost it. Makes me feel like a terrible husband.”

“Jimin, it wasn’t your fault,” you tried to convince him but he just scoffed loudly.

“If I hadn’t opened my big mouth, like I always fucking do, you wouldn’t have been pregnant in the first place,” he snapped, picking up a glass cup and throwing that against the tree as well. “So I’m doing this to release some anger because if I don’t, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

“Jimin, stop,” you called out.

“No,” he mumbled.

“Jimin, please,” you said more firmly, but he just ignored you as he threw the sledgehammer down again and began to pick up plates in both hands, throwing them at the tree with more force than he had been before. You waited until his hands were completely empty again before moving towards him, quickly setting both of your hands on his cheeks, which made him stop moving.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” you pleaded and his eyes softened considerably. “There wasn’t anything that either of us could’ve done.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Jimin chuckled ruefully. “Knowing that our child died and that we couldn’t do anything to prevent...it fucking hurts.”

“I know, I know,” you sighed. “But it happened and we have to figure out how to keep living our lives. No reason for us to lose one another in addition to the baby.”

“You’re right,” he huffed, reaching up and wiping his face free of the tears streaks that had stained his skin. “You wanna go soak in a bath, drink wine, and cry until Syd wakes up from her morning nap?”

“Yes please,” you nodded, reaching down and intertwining your fingers with his. “We’re gonna be okay eventually.”

“We will,” Jimin agreed, leaning forward and kissing you softly before turning around and leading you into the house. 

............................

“Alright Jagi, do you wanna say a few words?” Jimin asked as he straightened up from sticking the small granite headstone in the ground of your backyard. As a way to get more closure from loosing the baby, you and Jimin decided to have a little memorial service, with just the four of you present. The headstone was very simple, grey in color with an engraving that simply read “Baby Park. 2020-2020. Always Love and Always Missed.”. 

“Sure,” you nodded, handing Sydney off to him before stepping forward so that you were closer to the headstone. “I’m so sorry that you couldn’t stay here with us. I still somewhat feel like I failed you little one, but I also know that there’s nothing I could’ve done to keep you here with us. Regardless though, I’m always going to miss you and I love you so much.”

“I feel the same way as your Mommy,” Jimin spoke up. “I’ll always wonder who you would’ve looked like this time, me or Mommy. I’ll also wonder if you would’ve loved cuddles like your brother and sister, or if you would’ve loved music and dancing like they do. It sucks that I’ll always just have to wonder, but I love you very much and I’ll do my best to be patient and wait to ask you these questions years from now, when I see you again.”

“Mommy?” Noah called, reaching up and patting your thigh, and you looked down at him.

“Yeah Noey?”

“Can I say something too?” He asked and you nodded. “Hi Baby. It sucks that we didn’t get to meet you but we all love you a lot, even Sydney. Make sure to look over us with the ancestors, ok? Love you!”

“Very well said, mini me,” Jimin smiled. “Alright, who’s hungry?”

“Me!” Noah shouted and Sydney babbled loudly in her father’s arms as she waved her arms around.

“Ok, come on,” Jimin said, turning around and walking with the kids towards the back porch. When he noticed that you weren’t following him, he turned around and saw you still standing in front of the headstone. 

“You coming Jagi?” He called out and you glanced over your shoulder, giving him a small smile. 

“Yeah, just give me a sec,” you nodded and he did the same before turning around and walking into the house. You then knelt down, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to the surface of the headstone. 

“You’ll be okay without us,” you smiled softly, glancing down at your charm bracelet that sat on your wrist. There was one charm that had the zodiac symbol for Libra which represented Jimin, one that had the symbol for Virgo which was for Noah, and one that had the symbol for Scorpio, which was for Sydney. However, your newest charm held the zodiac symbol for Sagittarius, which is when your third child was supposed to have been born. 

“We’ll be okay too,” you stated firmly, giving one last look to the headstone before standing up straight and walking towards the back porch, where you could hear the voices of your husband, son, and daughter flowing from the kitchen. Despite the shitty circumstances, you still considered yourself to be pretty damn lucky. 

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

The Girl I Met on the Internet (Holy, Part 1.)

Series description: Your bestie Kim was a free-spirited person who wasn’t exactly concentrated on finding herself a partner. Yet one day, she recieves a phone number and this time, you didn’t want to keep the person on the other end hanging. And so, you text them, no matter who they are.

Part summary: A party was something unseen in Brownsville, for at least five years. You and your friends go there - and you get a hold on an unknown person’s number sent to your bestie by Stanley Barber.

A/N: I know that I’ve done this with Whatsapp series already but... This just seemed like a super-sweet idea for a closeted queer Sydney is. 

Tagging: x

Sydney’s tape: go fuck yourself

Series masterlist: H E R E

It was a wild evening. The kind of wild you knew you'll remember until the day you die. That was clear as day. Well, in the end, something like this happened once in every five years in Brownsville. What was happening, you might ask?

People puking on the toilets - some of them proceeded to do quite a variety of sexual activities in the said cabins. Drunk dudes were undressing, girls throwing their bras and/or panties (in the worse case) onto the stage. Everyone was dancing, yelling, laughing, and drinking more than they drank beforehand. Oh. And it was a concert. An indie band underground concert. Which naturally caught the attention of many youngsters living in the small town.

Naturally, everyone, there was drunk as fuck and when these said people weren't drunk, they were as high as a kite. Don't be silly - almost no-one there was over the age of 21. No, we're talking about high schoolers. Said reason was the main one for most of the parents not knowing that their children were out there, partying. The whole school was there in the underground club.

Your friend, Kim, managed to assemble the full party - you were there, your gay friend Aaron came, and on top, he brought his boyfriend with him. They disappeared for a while, leaving you and Kim and the bar to buy some beer. Naturally, you had a very vivid idea about what they were doing, but you just let the boys handle their business.

"So..." - You started quietly, looking around at all the young people. Not only your schoolmates were there, but also youngsters from the nearby towns had come there. - "You see some lucky person you like?" - At this question, Kim grinned and took another sip of her beer.

Kim was someone who didn't care about gender or relationships. She was mostly focused on having one night stands and God, she could afford it. She was, indeed, gorgeous in her way. And you were as pretty as she was, yet it wasn't in your nature to just... Approach people. For the most part, you were sure that you're into boys.

But many instances had shown you to never say never. For example, there was this so-called lesbian... Well, now, she was pregnant with a dude who was working in local 7/11, so she couldn't be such a lesbian she proclaimed to be just half a year ago, could she?

"What about you?" - Kim asked back without answering the initial question, sipping from her cup of beer while intensely looking at one chick on the dance floor who was breaking her pelvis while attempting to twerk. Or whatever she was doing.

"Nah. I'm far behind dudes for a while now. We don't wanna repeat the David thing which ended what... A month ago?" - Yeah. As you were shaking your head, there was a grin on your face. David was portraying the role of Mr. Perfect, to put it somehow. Well, in the end, he wasn't as perfect as he wanted you to believe. And when you realized how much of a fraud that person was, you brought the hell on him.

Yet as soon as Kim smirked, even more, you knew she's about to say something borderline controversial. - "Maybe you're searching in the wrong crowd? But who am I to judge." - You watched how her shoulders shrug as you rolled your eyes.

Kim wasn't as much help in the relationship advice department as you'd expect your best friend to be. Every time you've been whining about the escapades with boys, she looked you dead in the eyes, telling you to find yourself a girlfriend. To which, you usually rolled your eyes even harder, telling her that this side of things is her domain more than yours.

And again, she had a response to that - when you meet the person, there doesn't exist a thing like a gender. Sure, she was probably right, but you decided not to jump to conclusions. If you were about to live through some sort of a queer awakening, you wanted it to strike you just like that. You never talked to a girl to ask her out or whatever.

If it was about to happen, who would you be to stop it, right? But you weren't the person who would walk to meet it. So, for the last couple of years, it was Kim's mission to find you a girlfriend. And when you asked her why, she just answered that for a reason, she gets the queer vibes from you.

"Here are my favorite boys!" - Kim cried out as you both saw Aaron and his boyfriend making their way to you. They both looked relaxed as fuck, so that made you more or less sure about what these two were up to on the restrooms. Either they were doing the mentioned sexual activities or they were doing some drugs - and then doing something sexual. Aaron rose his hands above his head, straightening the football jacket on his shoulder just before he hugged one of your shoulders and one of Kim's shoulder. Kim sighed, leaning the back of her head into Aaron's broad shoulder.

"I have... This for you, miss Possible." - His fingers suddenly pulled a small paper from somewhere on his palm, handing Kim a piece of paper with a number written on it. This occurred rather frequently. For an unknown reason, guys neither girls never thought that Kim is an insufferable asshat. She was receiving numbers on pieces of paper now and then - well, she could decorate her whole room with the numbers. As usual, Kim took the paper and looked at Aaron, waiting for the story of this particular number. In the meantime, Aaron's boyfriend left you standing there, going for a cig outside. - "You won't believe this." - Aaron rose his eyebrow, shaking both of you with a childish smile. - "Stanley Barber gave me this number."

"Stan the Man is here? Why didn't you tell me earlier? He sure as hell has some good weed." - Kim widened her eyes, ready to go on a search for Stanley immediately. But Aaron was still holding her in one place, having a dead stare in his eyes. - "Hold your horses. To answer your question, yes, he has his joints with him. But this number belongs to one of his friends who was too shy to approach you. And in exchange for the weed, he wants you to text her." - Aaron explained simply.

Stanley Barber... How would you describe Stanley? You couldn't describe the boy. He was something completely out of this word. No, he and your group of friends weren't friends, but you weren't enemies either. You had more or less a neutral relationship. Sometimes you hung out around each other, sometimes you hadn't seen the boy in weeks. Well... At least you tried not to see him. Stanley himself was unmissable. This boy sometimes came stoned to school, wearing sunglasses and banging his head into walls left and right. His clothes were unmissable as well. Stan was just... Unmissable.

Yet, honestly, you never saw him with anyone who could be seen as a friend figure. Never fucking ever. There was a high probability that Stan was high once again. First and foremost - was this friend real? Second of all - was it a girl or a boy? As soon as you saw Kim's face, you knew she's not texting anyone - but for the first time, it struck you as wrong. Stanley was a cool dude for the most part. You could say that you technically liked the boy. When you realized how much weed he had already invested to keep the relationship on neutral, this was the smallest thing Kim could do.

"Not happening." - "Don't be a bitch." - Aaron rolled his eyes, sighing. - "Stanley gave you as much weed as a cow eats per month. This is nothing to repay him, huh? And... It can end in something fun for you." - The boy proposed and for once, you had to say that Aaron was right. - "Not happening, babe. Stanley's friend is just as weird as he is and I don't wanna do anything in common with that. But let's smoke some fucking pot!" - Kim put both her palms up the air, crying out cheerfully.

"You should text that person. Stan's cool for the most part." - You took Aaron's side in this not-even-an-argument. At that, Kim turned at you and put the small piece of paper into your palm. - "If you can't beat them, join them. I think I know how this would play out, so, now's your turn to try texting a stranger." - Her fingers gently patted your cheek before she turned on her heels, dragging Aaron along. You wanted to go home anyway. And as you watched Kim and the big quarterback disappearing in the distance, you turned on your heels to leave the place as well.

It was a nice evening. You had seen someone gulping down a whole fucking cup of beer under one minute without throwing it out, you saw a dude undressing in front of the stage, a shit ton of people making out, and a few of them throwing up. Sometimes doing these things simultaneously. Which was as impressive as scary. But honestly, you were fucking tired.

Silently, you snuck through the house, closing the door behind. Just when you wanted to call the whole operation a success, you almost stumbled over Mr. Skittles, your super-extra-old tomcat. Even when you almost screamed and Mr. Skittles almost hissed at you pretty loudly to put you back into your place, you both stayed silent and looked at each other. Not too long after that, you were already laying in your bed, trying to fall to sleep.

The next morning, Kim rolled to your house in her old, falling apart Beetle. She was looking worse than you - there were sunglasses on her eyes, she sure as hell hasn't done her make-up in the morning, she didn't even comb her hair, she just put a baseball cap over it. - "You look fucking disgusting." - Was the first thing you told her when you opened up the door. Kim leaned closer to you, pulling her sunglasses down for a minute to look you in the eyes. - "You. Have. No. Idea." - And with that, you set on your way to school.

There still was a mysterious number which was given to Kim. You didn't throw it away but you weren't exactly overhyped to text them. You didn't want to lose the small piece of paper, but you didn't keep it on your field of vision. But there was a day when you gladly took the gamble. It was a few days before one of the shorter holidays, so naturally, there was a big test coming your way. Kim and Aaron were shopping for your stay at your grandma's small cabin just a few minutes down the road.

You, in the meantime, were trying to study. But even the leaves falling on the ground were more interesting than the subject you were trying to study for. So, as you tried to build a small tower from your pens and markers and as it had fallen again, your eyes slowly traveled to the drawer where you stored the small piece of paper for the last few days. Well, you could try it, right? It won't hurt anyone. You didn't even know who's number that was. It would be just like snapping or texting on Omegle, huh?

Slowly, you stood up from your desk and walked to the drawer, taking it out. You were weirdly on edge. It was more than two weeks since the whole concert thingy - the person probably accepted that Kim fucked them over. So you didn't have to stress about this whole situation. You could maybe just make something up in case they would ask where you got the number? This was nonsense. You shouldn't be nervous about such bullshit. So all you had to do was that you had to text the first text. And so you went for it.

You: Is someone there?

That was a tragic first text, that had to be said. And as soon as your phone marked it as delivered, you threw the device away on your bed, turning to your table with your heart in your throat. Why were you feeling so sick? Were you about to pass out? Most likely yeah. And it got worse - because the person had responded.

(Unknown number): Yea, there is. And you are? Where did you get this number?

[letterboxd]

Dream Chasers.

Mark Harris and Alicia Malone—two of the hosts of this month’s TCM Film Festival—tell Jack Moulton about Nichols and May, West Side Story, classic lockdown discoveries, and the films that make you feel like everything has changed when you walk out of that cinema.

For a second year in a row due to the Covid-19 pandemic, the TCM Classic Film Festival is being hosted virtually. Its program screens across TCM and HBO Max from May 6 to May 9. The festival, which began in 2010, was held at Grauman’s Chinese Theater and the nearby Egyptian Theater in Hollywood, a move designed to allow classic movie fans to retread the footsteps of glitzy premieres from the glamorous past.

Ahead of Steven Spielberg’s upcoming remake, the festival opens with West Side Story’s 60th anniversary screening, featuring new and exclusive interviews by living legends Rita Moreno, George Chakiris and Russ Tamblyn. The complete festival lineup includes classic programming and talent highlights, from Michael Douglas introducing his Best Picture-winning One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest to Scorsese on Goodfellas, to a comedian-heavy table read of Edward D. Wood Jr.’s infamously bad Plan 9 From Outer Space.

Journalist and author Mark Harris, who published the biography Mike Nichols: A Life earlier this year, is presenting the 1996 American Masters documentary Nichols and May: Take Two, covering the Oscar-winning director’s legendary comic partnership with Elaine May. It features iconic sketches that will recontextualize the way you think about Nichols if you thought his career started with Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate.

TCM host, feminist cinema expert, Australian expat and Letterboxd member Alicia Malone is also a presenter at this year’s festival. (She admits she’s slacking on her Letterboxd logging this year, but used it to track her viewings over lockdown, topping over 500 films.) Neither Harris nor Malone have been able to go to the cinema since they closed over a year ago, but both are eager to return to their local arthouses in Maine and the Upper West Side of Manhattan as soon as they’re ready.

We caught up with Harris and Malone shortly before the festival commenced for a classic edition of the Letterboxd Life in Film.

‘The Poseidon Adventure’ (1972).

What’s your fondest memory of seeing a film in the cinema? Mark Harris: This is embarrassing, but for me it’s The Poseidon Adventure. At the time, my parents were a bit stricter than other parents so the other kids were already getting to see so-called ‘adult’ movies. The Poseidon Adventure was the first ‘not-kids’ movie that I ever got to see in a theater and at the age of eight, I immediately thought ‘well, clearly this is the best movie of all-time’. Everything in it was new information to me, such as how adults talked to each other and Stella Stevens playing a prostitute—I had no idea what that was. I found it so scary, I believed everything I saw on the screen. The joy of taking in something I hadn’t seen before has never left me.

Alicia Malone: It would probably be seeing Amélie. I was living in Canberra but my older sister had moved to Sydney, which to me was the big smoke, I really wanted to live there when I grew up. I got to visit her by myself and stay in her flat which she was renting by herself and it seemed so cool. She took me to the local arthouse cinema where Amélie was playing and I was so swept away. I know that film gets a bad rap now for being overly sentimental and quirky, but I just felt like I was being seen. I had such a kinship with the character of Amélie because she’s a dreamer, always in her own head and that’s how I was. I was always comparing my life to movies and playing movie scenes in my head. I remember walking out of that cinema and it felt like everything had changed—the color was brighter, it was special.

MH: We have to talk Turner into an Amélie-Poseidon Adventure double-feature!

AM: What a double! That would be amazing.

John Garfield and Ida Lupino in ‘The Sea Wolf’ (1941).

Which classic films that you discovered during lockdown had a major impact on you? MH: I wanted to dive into some directors that I really didn’t know well so I started watching all the Luchino Visconti movies, because Italian cinema is not my strongest area. That was an incredibly rewarding experience. I also saw the big seven-hour Russian War and Peace, which completely blew my mind. Those were probably my big pandemic discoveries.

AM: Something I really loved was getting to do the TCM Star of the Month for John Garfield because he’s such an interesting character and was a pre-cursor to Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro and those types of method actors. I’d seen him in various films—such as The Postman Always Rings Twice—but I’d never sat down to watch a lot of his filmography and learn more about his personal story. To see films like The Sea Wolf and Body and Soul, I really gained a newfound respect for him as an actor. You can see some of the beginnings of that kind of tough-guy, everyday-man archetype with a brilliant actor putting his emotions right there on his sleeve.

MH: I should also say that the Women Make Movies Festival was huge for me. All those movies are on my DVR and I’m still going through them and discovering them. I recorded everything and that was and continues to be a gigantic education for me.

AM: Yes! Thanks for that reminder. That was such a fulfilling experience to get to be one of the hosts on that with Jacqueline Stewart. What was so brilliant about Mark Cousins’ documentary is that there are so many clips of films that you think how have we not seen this? How are we not studying this film? How do we not know about this particular filmmaker?

Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson in ‘Heartburn’ (1986).

If you could only pick one, which is the most overlooked film by Mike Nichols? MH: The most under-appreciated film to me is Heartburn. That was a real rediscovery when I was working on the book. I remember liking it, but I didn’t remember how sharp the performances were, how funny the comedy was, and the really acute social observations. I was so surprised when I was coming across the reviews—almost all of which were by men—and all of them said some version of “Why is he wasting his time with this? Why would he tell this woman’s story? Why doesn’t he tell the other half of the story?” Surely no-one would leave this character unless she gave him a good reason to leave! It was really shocking to me how dismissive and contemptuous a lot of the critical reaction was. I’m so happy that I’ve gotten to stick Heartburn under a lot of people’s noses because it’s a movie they seem to be really liking once they find it.

AM: I’m obviously not as deep into his filmography as Mark is, but I have to agree that Heartburn is a film that I can’t believe has been so overlooked. I came to that movie through Nora Ephron, who I just adore. [Heartburn is adapted from a semi-autobiographical novel by Ephron.] I rewatched it recently and I was blown away by it. Of course, Meryl Streep is amazing, but just getting to be in those characters’ worlds again and watching it after I had listened to the audiobook—which features the voice of Meryl Streep—about a year ago added a whole new experience. I loved how in her book how she has all these recipes dotted through it that you see in the movie as well.

MH: That’s one of the great audiobook readings of all time. It’s great to listen to [Streep] do that.

John Cassavetes and Peter Falk in ‘Mikey and Nicky’ (1976).

Where do you recommend film lovers start with Elaine May? MH: It’s only a four-movie body of work as a director so I think it’s perfectly fine to go in chronological order. A New Leaf is fantastic and feels 100 percent her. You really get a great deal of her sensibility in that movie. I would just start there and go to The Heartbreak Kid and then to Mikey and Nicky, which is not the place to start but is a fascinating movie, and then you’ll be ready for Ishtar.

AM: See, I would say Mikey and Nicky straight out of the gate.

MH: Really?

AM: I love subverting expectations of what a female director can do and that is such a masculine movie. It’s a film that you wouldn’t expect for a female director to make. I love the back and forth, the rapport between [Cassavetes and Falk]. I find it really compelling and exciting every time I see it. So I say, go hard, go in with Mikey and Nicky then, yeah, A New Leaf and The Heartbreak Kid, but maybe skip Ishtar.

Iconic comedy duo Elaine May and Mike Nichols.

Thinking of Nichols fleeing to New York City from Germany, and Alicia moving to Hollywood from Australia, which ‘American Dream’ film resonates with you the most? AM: This answer is going to sound quite cheesy since it was a recent film: La La Land. I understand all the criticism about it, I agree with it, but I don’t care. I feel like it was made for me as a redhead in Hollywood, chasing her dream, and coming up against all the obstacles. I also love Singin’ in the Rain, which I know is not necessarily strictly about the American Dream but is about Hollywood in general. That is a film that really started the idea of moving to Hollywood as a young kid. It’s the idea of a magical place where you could do anything and make your dreams come true and have dignity—always dignity.

MH: This time I’m going to go hard and dark and say the first title that occurred to me, which is The Godfather: Part II. It’s a great immigrant story, though it’s a strange version of the American Dream. The whole saga is about coming to America, becoming an American, and deciding what American values are.

AM: I should say that during our TCM Film Festival on HBO Max, we have a section on immigrant stories. We have America, America, which is a great one by Elia Kazan, and Stranger Than Paradise, which I would recommend as well. It’s a warped view of the American Dream but I love the way they think they get rich and all their dreams can come true. Also Black Legion, which is a darker version of the immigrant story with Humphrey Bogart going to the darker side of ‘foreigners should not take American jobs’.

MH: I’ll just throw in a plug for another Mike Nichols movie, Working Girl. He really saw that as an immigrant story—the first shot is of the Statue of Liberty, even though they’re [emigrating] from Staten Island! I think Mike thought it was as distant of a land as the old country, I’m not sure he spent a lot of time on Staten Island.

Katharine Hepburn in ‘Woman of the Year’ (1942).

What are some of your other problematic faves? The classics we acknowledge have not aged well, but you love anyway. AM: I think My Fair Lady is one of those. I’m a sucker for make-over movies despite all of their problematic ways of showing how women need to change if you don’t fit into the mold and you should sand down all your edges. But I get worked up in the whole transformation myth and making your life better. Even though it’s got Audrey Hepburn and you want to see Julie Andrews in that role, My Fair Lady is still one that I enjoy and I can see all of the problems with it.

Another one, that we featured during our Reframed series on TCM, was Woman of the Year, which is a great example of one of those women’s pictures that, as Professor Jeanine Basinger has pointed out, is so empowering for most of the movie and then in the last five minutes it undoes everything. It’s still a great film to watch when you want to get ahead of feminism and see Katharine Hepburn in a wonderful role, but you just have to ignore the breakfast scene at the end.

MH: I was just talking the other day to some people about the movie Network, which is one of my all-time favorite movies, but if you look hard at Network, it’s very possible to read that as a story about a woman who can’t be a professional in a workplace without hollowing herself out and becoming sort of less-than-human. [Diana Christensen] is talked about terribly by the other characters and you’re supposed to learn a hard lesson about what a monster an ambitious woman can become and that does not hold up well. It’s also a movie that features some of the wittiest dialogue and some of the greatest performances of any movie of the 1970s and I’m always going to love it for that.

AM: That’s such a trope, isn’t it? The ice-cold career woman.

MH: Right, and whoever did it better than…

AM, MH: Faye Dunaway!

Alicia Malone, Mark Harris.

Which coming-of-age movie character did you find the most relatable? AM: For me, it’s Velvet Brown played by Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet. I watched that over and over as a child when I was obsessed with horses. It was so inspiring as a young girl to see another young girl chasing her dreams—pretending she’s a boy that doesn’t speak English to win the Grand National—particularly at the time when I grew up in the 1980s, when so many of those films for kids were about young boys achieving their dreams.

MH: Haven’t seen it in a long time, but the Peter Yates movie Breaking Away meant a lot to me when I was a kid. The idea of chasing something that means something to you but trying to reconcile what your parents thought about it, and how to balance your own dreams with the expectations other people had for you. I think that’s a really lovely movie.

I still think about those performances by Dennis Christopher, Dennis Quaid, Daniel Stern and Jackie Earl Haley, and of course Barbara Barrie and Paul Dooley as the parents. That movie landed right in my heart the first time I saw it. I’m almost afraid to go back now, I don’t want it to have turned into one of my problematic faves! I want it to be one of my faves.

If we could gift every Letterboxd member two hours of HBO Max to discover one film from this year’s TCM Classic Film Festival lineup, which film would you want it to be? (My pick is Bless Their Little Hearts.) AM: A film that I just adore is Cléo From 5 to 7 by Agnès Varda. She was working in the French New Wave and arguably made the first movie ever in the French New Wave. It’s one of those great movies that is close to real time as possible—it should be Cléo From 5 to 6:30 really, because it’s an hour and a half. It’s so inventively shot and edited. I’ve done the walk that she did in Paris, I’ve tried to map that out and copy Cléo. I want more people to see it and discover it.

MH: My husband [playwright and screenwriter Tony Kushner] recently finished writing a new version of West Side Story for Steven Spielberg that’s going to come out at the end of the year. I think I would like to gift everybody the first version of West Side Story, which opens the festival, because you have to start there. It’s a beautiful movie and I think it’s a really instructive thing to see how this story was told in 1961 versus how it’s going to be told in 2021. Also, it’s two-and-a-half hours so if we’re only gifting people two hours… they’re not going to see the ending and they’re going to have to go to the new one to find out what happens!

Related content

Follow Mark Harris, Alicia Malone and TCM on Twitter for updates on TCM Classic Film Festival 2021

Watch the TCMFF West Side Story cast reunion, May 6 at 6pm ET

A Letterboxd list of all the films mentioned in this interview

Follow Festiville for all Letterboxd festival coverage

Follow Jack on Letterboxd

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter one

[ao3]

have i ever mentioned my britpop au? i don’t think i have :) this is quite literally the definition of self-indulgence like genuinely this is so self-indulgent that it probably counts as a deadly sin and i have literally no justifications for it 

before anybody comes for me for starting another chaptered fic: i have 50k of this lined up and i’m still going at the speed of light (as sam can attest to) fear not we’re going to get there with this one i promise also for anyone still waiting for the soulmate au thats going to get finished too once this is out of my system 

i have an inordinate number of people to thank for putting up with me/this fic so let us begin: @tirednotflirting​ deserves every single ounce of praise and love i have to offer for reading this whole thing, listening to me talk about it, bouncing ideas with me, being so patient and kind about it, coming up with such brilliant ideas and for just generally being an all-round sweetheart. @calumftduke​ also deserves excessive praise and thanks for reading a big old chunk of this and being so sweet about it. @killingangels​ genuinely breathed life into this fic and cheered it on to the place it is today thank u for diving into a britpop phase with me. @ashesonthefloor​ and @clumsyclifford​ listened to me whine about this fic even though neither of them care and i truly owe them for that. @kaleidoscopeminds lets me thirst over the gallaghers but keeps me in my place about it which is truly the vibe check i need and also listened to me talk about this fic over the past few weeks and is just generally such a joy to speak to. i’m certain i’ve forgotten someone my brain has not been switched on in weeks now but anyone who’s listened to me talk about this over the past few weeks deserves a ticket straight to heaven honestly 

quick bit of vocab: our kid is a term used by siblings in manchester. not sure why i don’t understand mancunian culture myself but the gallaghers are always saying it in interviews and my mancunian friend concurred that it is correct so idk what goes on up there 

warnings: heavy drug use (its oasis and blur in the ‘90s theres a lot of coke/weed/alcohol) and lots of swearing (including the c word because they’re british)

-

He’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now.

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford.

-

or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

Liam had once asked Calum if he believed in fate. 

“D’you think it’s all real?” he’d said one day, out of the fucking blue. Calum, though, used to Liam beginning conversations in the middle after two long years of knowing him, had just looked at him. 

“Do I think what’s all real?” he’d asked. Liam had indicated up at the sky with his eyes and cigarette. 

“Fate, and all that,” he’d said, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. Calum had watched as his cheeks hollowed around it, turning potential answers over and over in his mind. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he’d said eventually, and Liam had raised his eyebrows and nodded as he’d exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that had blended in with the sky and the council houses. 

Calum thinks he probably should have known then. Maybe Liam had been trying to make a point, in that strange way he sometimes does - what are the odds you’d end up here, with us? Calum hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, just rolled his eyes and nudged Liam’s foot with his own and said Noel’s going to do his fucking nut if we’re not there in ten, and that had been that. The conversation never even crossed his mind again until it was too late, until fate had already had her way with Calum. 

In Calum’s defence, though, fate never showed her hand. She never threw him any hints, no flashing neon signs that said Calum, your destiny is this way. Fate came piecemeal, came in short snippets of conversations or flashes of familiar faces or, on occasion, Liam and Noel swearing loudly at each other as they stomp up the stairs in Calum’s house.

“I’m arsed,” Liam’s saying loudly, when he barges into Calum’s room. Noel’s hot on his heels, midway through a spiel he’s clearly prepared which Liam’s having none of, and he turns to Calum when they get through the door, an annoyed expression on his face. 

“Tell him he’s a prick,” he says. 

“Why?” Calum says, setting his magazine aside, because he needs to know what he’s supposed to be endorsing before he picks a side in an argument between the Gallagher brothers. 

“Our kid wants us to miss the match tonight and go to some fucking gig,” Liam grumbles, throwing himself down on Calum’s bed and picking up his magazine. 

“It’s not ‘some fucking gig’, Liam,” Noel says irritably. “It’s the fucking Boardwalk. We’ve got to hear what else is out there right now.” 

“I told you, I’m fucking arsed what else is out there right now,” Liam says, flicking about five pages on from the article Calum had been in the middle of reading. “I don’t write the fucking songs, do I? Go on your fucking own. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Noel rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and Calum’s Gallagher Explosion Incoming senses start tingling, followed swiftly by his Peacekeeping Skill Set activating. 

“Look,” he says hurriedly, before Noel can say something that’ll lead to a couple of black eyes, mostly because neither of the brothers have ever cared much about collateral damage and Calum values his bruiseless skin. “What if we start the match, and if City look like they’re going to lose, we go to the gig?” Noel closes his mouth, and then opens it again, and then closes it again. 

“Fucking whatever,” Liam grumbles, which is the closest they’re going to get to acquiescence from him. Calum stares at Noel beseechingly, because this is the best idea he’s got and pretty much the only one he thinks Liam’ll agree to, and Noel rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically, but then nods reluctantly. 

“City won’t fucking lose,” he mutters, as he sits down in the chair at Calum’s desk. “Not to a bunch of Scousers.” 

“Lost to Liverpool not four weeks ago,” Calum reminds him, and Noel scowls. 

“That second goal was fucking offside,” he says. 

“Ref was a fucking wanker,” Liam chimes in, from where he’s lying on Calum’s bed, still thumbing through the magazine. “‘Ere, what’s this, then?” he adds, with a grin, and turns the magazine around, tapping on the page. It’s a picture of a (very pretty) boy spread across a motorbike, and Calum rolls his eyes, snatching the magazine out of Liam’s hands. 

“Fuck off,” he says, but Liam’s just laughing, head tipped back on the bed, all full lips and bright blue eyes and long, dark lashes. If Calum hadn’t been doing lines with Liam for half of last night, he could almost believe the angelic innocence the boy gives off. 

“Looks like our kid,” Noel says, sitting down on the chair at Calum’s desk. Liam raises his head far enough to give Noel a two-fingered salute, but he’s still grinning, and Noel’s grinning too when he flips Liam off in return. 

Fucking hell, Calum thinks. It’ll take more than his three O Levels to fucking understand those two. 

 -------

 City end up conceding three goals in the first twenty-five minutes, and Liam’s the one who stands up, voice already hoarse from screaming at the TV, and demands they go out. Noel, never one to resist pressing buttons that only he can find on Liam, makes a snide comment about it, and Calum, to keep the peace, makes a comment about United, giving both brothers something to spend the entire bus journey to the Boardwalk ranting about. 

Noel gets them in for free, because he knows someone who knows someone who’d been a roadie with a band who had been on tour with the Inspiral Carpets for like, half a second, or something. Calum doesn’t really care how they get in for free, whether Noel gets them in by knowing someone who knows someone or by hiring a hitman on the bouncer, as long as they do get in for free, because he’d rather save his money for weed. 

The band that’s playing are immediately declared to be boring little fuckers by Liam, who beelines for the bar and only has to flutter his lashes twice before the pretty girl behind the bar sidles up to him with a coy look on her face. To his credit, though, he doesn’t linger after getting the drinks, weaving through the crowd to Noel and Calum with a mixture of shouted insults and threats at anyone in his path, three overfull pints balanced precariously in his hands. 

“You’re paying me back for these,” is how he greets them again, taking a sip from Noel’s before handing it to him. Noel just rolls his eyes, turning back to the stage and raising the pint to his lips. 

“Am I fuck,” Calum says, taking the other beer out of Liam’s outstretched hand. Liam scowls, but lets him take it, taking a sip from his own glass. 

“I’ll just smoke your weed, then,” he says, like he doesn’t do that anyway. Calum just shakes his head and turns back to the stage, where a new band are setting up, fiddling with their amps and mic stands. 

“D’you even know who these pricks are?” Liam asks Noel. 

“Don’t even know if they’re worth knowing yet,” Noel says. Liam shrugs, like that’s a fair point, and then a squeal of feedback makes all three of them (and the rest of the crowd) jump, causing loud swearing from at least eight people in the vicinity as their drinks slosh over them. 

“Fucking hell,” Noel mutters, shaking his hands off. 

“Evening,” the lead singer says, voice deep and rich. “We’re Blur, and this is Popscene.” They immediately launch into something that’s all guitars and overdrive and beat, and Noel’s soon tapping his foot along in interest, spilled beer forgotten, as the singer starts jumping around enthusiastically. They’re not standing anywhere near the stage, and the distance and bright lights combined with the movement are making the singer look more translucent than opaque, which is making Calum’s head hurt. He chooses to focus on the bassist instead, because Noel’s kind of got a point that they should be listening to what else is around, although he’s probably just looking for more people to nick ideas off. 

By the third song, though, Calum realises he’s really stood far too far away to get any benefit from watching the bassist - he can’t even tell whether he’s using a plectrum or not, and his eyes are already starting to hurt from squinting - and lets his gaze wander across the stage. There’s a guitarist wearing glasses, which Calum’s pretty sure Liam’s going to have a comment about that’ll involve the words ‘fucking’ ‘not’ and ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, with maybe ‘cunt’ chucked in for good measure. The drummer’s so far back that all Calum can make out is a shadowy figure behind the kit, and when the singer stands still long enough for Calum to see more than just a hazy figure all he can vaguely make out is what looks like very pretty features and blonde hair. 

It’s the other guitarist, though, that makes Calum stop, his heart stilling in his chest for the briefest of moments. 

He looks so familiar, messy blonde hair sticking up at all sorts of angles that Calum’s only ever seen on one other person, that it makes Calum’s stomach lurch. He’s got his face down, focusing on whatever they’re playing, so Calum can’t really see - not that he’d be able to tell from this distance, anyway - but there’s something that’s so achingly known to Calum that it makes him swallow, mouth suddenly dry. Even the guitarist’s posture is familiar, a little tense, a lot focused, with an edge of something cool and relaxed. 

Calum’s so mesmerised by the guitarist, heart hammering in his chest, that he barely even realises three more songs have come to an end until the band all stop, gather together at the front of the stage and do an awkward half-bow-half-wave to the crowd. There’s a smattering of applause as they straighten up, and the lights are too bright for Calum to see properly, but he sees a flash of a smile that looks so much like one he hasn’t seen in almost four years that it makes something electric shoot through him before he’s even processed it, and then they’re turning around and heading off the stage. 

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed. 

It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now. 

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford. 

 -------

 They stay to watch three more bands, and then Liam’s in a fucking mood and even Noel’s had enough of the music, so they head back to Noel’s flat to drink and get high. Liam and Noel bicker the whole way there, first about whether or not Liam should be paying for all the weed Noel buys that he smokes, then about whether or not Liam had actually slept over last night or whether he’d been at home, then about whether or not the shirt their mam had bought Noel for Christmas had been green or blue. Calum offers his input on all of them, siding with Noel twice and Liam once, but gets snapped at to shut the fuck up by the both of them each time, making him roll his eyes as he kicks stones along the pavement. 

(“Noel’s a fucking cunt,” Liam had said to him once, fuming, after a particularly nasty argument that had ended in every bag of frozen peas being dug out of the freezer. 

“Yeah,” Calum had said. “So are you, though, mate.” 

“Don’t call my brother a cunt,” Liam had said, and Calum had rolled his eyes, picking up the now-defrosted bag of peas on the table and taking them back into the kitchen, where Noel was nursing his own black eye. 

“What the fuck is his problem?” Noel had said furiously. 

“You’re both twats,” Calum had said with a shrug, tossing the peas back in the freezer.

“Hey,” Noel had said sharply. “That’s my fucking brother.” 

Calum’ll never pretend to understand them.) 

They spend the night lying on Noel’s living room floor, pleasantly drunk and so stoned that Liam and Noel forget to argue for about three hours. Calum drifts in and out of sleep, listening to Liam and Noel mumbling to each other and remembering to speak once every twenty minutes or so, until Noel nudges him at what must be about five in the morning. 

“What’d you reckon?” he says, looking thoughtful. 

“About what?” 

“That band, tonight.” They saw five bands, so Calum would be well within his rights to ask which one, but somehow, he knows. 

“Good,” he says. “Interesting. Sounded new, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Noel says, rolling on his side to face Calum. He hums, like he’s thinking Calum’s words over. “Liam reckons they’re not rock ‘n’ roll enough.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Liam reckons the fucking Stones aren’t rock ‘n’ roll enough,” he says, and Noel snorts, and it sounds so fucking ridiculous that Calum giggles, which makes Noel burst out laughing, and soon they’re cackling on the floor, tears streaming down their faces as they gasp for breath and clutch at their stitches. Liam, who’s been sleeping soundly, looking peaceful and tranquil and not at all like the guy who’d threatened to knock Calum’s teeth out for suggesting City should have played a different formation not six hours ago, stirs and opens his eyes, blinking blearily. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, and then rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Noel glances at Calum, flushed and panting from laughing, eyes bright and gleaming, and that one look is enough to make the both of them collapse in laughter again, cheeks and sides and throats hurting. 

The next morning, when Liam wakes Calum up by nudging him in the ribs and saying get up, lazy bugger, we’re late for work, that’s what Calum remembers from the night before. He remembers laughter, Noel’s living room going blurry around the edges, and the pleasant buzz of alcohol, weed and two of his best mates thrumming through his veins. He doesn’t remember the boy on guitar in the Boardwalk.

 ------- 

 The next time fate has her way with Calum is a good year and a half later. 

They’re recording their first album, which Noel seems to think means he’s recording his first album and everyone else is just there to complement his fucking genius. He’s not managed to stop being a cunt for about six months now, and, not one to let Noel beat him in anything, Liam’s getting equally insufferable. The studio is a fucking battleground, and Bonehead always takes Liam’s side and Tony’s just fucking useless, and Calum thinks to himself at least twice a day: is this really worth it? Maybe I should’ve just stuck with construction. 

They’re getting there, though, and when it’s good, it’s fucking good. They can all sense that there’s something there, something new and bold and, as Noel in all his endless humility declares it one night, groundbreaking. They’ve recorded Supersonic, a song that Noel somehow wrote in about half an hour, recorded a video for it on the roof of some warehouse in London, and there’s something about it that none of them can quite put their finger on, something that feels almost overwhelming, feels like it’s bigger than them. They’ve even been on the radio a few times, been playing bigger and bigger venues, got a contract and management and all that nonsense, and for all the flaws that combine to make up the Gallagher brothers, Noel’s got a fucking knack for songwriting and Liam’s voice is unlike anything Calum’s heard before. 

The problem is that lately, it’s been bad more than it’s been good. They’d done sessions at Monnow Valley which had sounded like absolute shit, too clean and thin, and with every day that passed and every track that couldn’t be used Noel got more and more frantic, snapping at everyone who dared speak to him. Liam, never one to resist a fight with his brother, had risen to the challenge, and the fallout had been messier and dirtier and involved more collateral damage than even Calum had expected. It had culminated in a trip to Amsterdam which had ended before it even began after a fight broke out on the ferry. Calum remembers seeing Liam zooming past, a happy grin on his face, heading right for the middle of the action, and then twenty minutes later zooming past again, bruised and bloody, still grinning, being chased by a policeman. It had ended in Liam being deported, handcuffs and all, and a screaming match between the brothers in which both of them quit and were fired by the other at least twenty-three times. 

Since that, though, things have got a little better. They’ve started recording in Sawmills in Cornwall with Noel as a co-producer, and Noel and Liam have started talking again, and everyone had breathed out a collective sigh of relief when Noel had announced he was going to head to the shops and Liam had wordlessly got up to join him. Slowly but surely, things have started looking up. 

It’s in the middle of one of those sessions that everything changes. 

“Eeyar, Calum,” Noel calls, from the corridor outside. “Your mam’s on the phone.” Calum sighs - fucking hell, what does his mum not understand about we’re recording an album and I’m twenty-two years old, I’ll call you when I fucking call you - but puts his bass aside and gets up grudgingly, trotting outside to see Noel holding out the receiver for him. 

“I want you back in in ten,” he says warningly, like he’s Calum’s dad and they’re eating dinner soon, and Calum rolls his eyes and flips him off, which is as good of a yes as Noel’s going to get. Noel sticks his tongue out at him and heads back into the studio, probably to yell at Bonehead from the soundboard for being too loud, or maybe too quiet, or maybe too middling. He’ll find something. 

“What?” Calum says, a little irritably, lifting the receiver to his ear. 

“Hello to you too, Calum,” his mum says smartly. “I haven’t heard from you in over a week.” Calum rests his arm against the wall, and his forehead against his arm, and stares at his shoes. 

“I’m recording an album, mum,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too annoyed. “We’re busy.” She makes a small hmm, a you should have stayed in a real job kind of hmm, but doesn’t push it. 

“Are you eating well?” she asks, a stern undertone to her voice, like she knows Calum’s diet right now is entirely liquid. 

“Yes,” Calum lies. He gets another disapproving hmm for his trouble which sounds like it might be the prelude to a speech about how he should stop wasting his time and come home and do a proper job and eat some vegetables, so he decides to change tack. “How’s home?” 

“Oh, home’s good,” his mum says. “Janet next door’s got a new man, invited us to the wedding next month - can you imagine? A wedding in March? I said to her, I said ‘you’ll be wanting to move it to May’, and she said ‘oh, we want an indoor wedding anyway’.” Calum hums noncommittally, because he has absolutely no idea what that’s supposed to mean. What the fuck’s wrong with an indoor wedding in March? “Anyway, your dad and I have decided to go. Janet extended the invitation to you, too, but I said I didn’t know if you’d be back from your recording session.” 

“I don’t know either,” Calum says. “Noel’s being a right cunt about the whole thing.”  

“Calum,” his mum says reprovingly, like she wasn’t the one he picked the word up from in the first place. “Well, regardless, you’ll be home by April, won’t you? I told your dad you’d help fix the wall in the garden.” Calum groans, because that’s pretty much the last thing on the list of things he wants to do, including having Noel claw his eyeballs out for fucking up the bass on Supersonic again, and his mum tuts. “You’ve got experience in construction, Calum. You should put those skills to good use.” 

“I’ve never fixed a fucking wall, mum,” he says. 

“Well, the wall needs fixing,” she says, like that’s that. The wall needs fixing, so Calum’s got to suddenly develop the skills to do it. 

(For her, though, Calum’ll do it.) 

“What’s wrong with it?” he says, already mentally ringing up the cost of the bricks and mortar he’s going to need. “Looked fine last time I was home.” 

“I think the ivy must have loosened the cement,” his mum says. “I was watching TV the other night - I saw Michael on Top of the Pops, actually - and then-”

“Hang on,” Calum interrupts, because he only knows two Michaels, and one of them’s here in Cornwall with him. “Michael who?” 

“Michael Clifford,” his mum says, like it’s obvious. “Anyway, then I heard a huge crash outside, and I told your dad to go and take a look, and he said the wall had caved in. Just a bit, you know, near the shed, but-” she’s still talking, something about foxes and de-weeding the garden, but Calum’s not listening. 

Michael Clifford, she’d said, like it was simple and obvious. Like it stood to reason that she saw him on Top of the fucking Pops. Like it made sense that Calum’s childhood best friend, his fucking everything from the age of seven to seventeen, was on a British music show. 

“Michael Clifford?” he repeats, in the middle of whatever his mum’s saying. 

“Yes,” she says, sounding a little annoyed that Calum’s not listening to her impassioned speech about ivy. “Anyway, your dad said he’d need some help with it, and that it can wait until you’re back. But I want it done as soon as you are, because I don’t like the idea of Janet being able to see into our garden. Oh, that’s the chicken done. Call me in a few days, let me know how things are. Give the others my best. Love you.” She doesn’t even wait for a response, just hangs up, leaving Calum staring at the floor with a dial tone ringing in his ear and a name bouncing around in his mind. 

It can’t be him. She must have been mistaken. What the fuck would Michael Clifford be doing on Top of the Pops? What the fuck would Michael Clifford even be doing in Britain? The last Calum had heard from him, about a year and a half after he’d left Sydney, Michael had been sure about becoming a policeman. He’d seemed so dead set on it, had signed himself up for the academy and everything. Calum might not have heard from him in almost half a decade, but he’s pretty sure nobody would stray so far from ‘policeman in Sydney’ to end up at ‘musician in Britain’. No, he thinks, shaking his head and pushing himself off the wall with his arm, his mum must have been wrong. She hasn’t seen Michael since they’d moved from Sydney five years ago either, so it’s understandable that she’d mixed him up with someone else. 

But, a little voice says, as he heads back into the studio and is greeted with the sight of Liam sprawled across the sofa, laughing at something Noel’s just said, both of them looking far too high-spirited for Gallaghers, she watched Michael grow up. She knew his face better than you ever did. 

“‘Ere,” Liam says, interrupting the voice in Calum’s mind as it’s about to start reeling off a list of times Calum’s mum had spotted Michael in a crowd or down the road or in a photo before Calum had. “Noel says he’ll sprint around the house naked if Tony doesn’t fuck up his drums on this take. What d’you reckon?” 

“I reckon it’s a good thing Tony can’t fucking play drums then, isn’t it?” Calum says, as Liam drops his feet to the floor to make room for Calum on the sofa. Liam snorts, and Noel scowls, but his eyes are still lit up with amusement. 

“Well, I reckon you’re both cunts,” Noel tells them, and Calum grins, hoping they don’t see the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and reaches over for Liam’s beer to try and calm his churning stomach. 

 -------

 Calum can’t sleep that night. 

He’s usually so drunk that Liam’s gentle snoring doesn’t even register to him as he throws himself down on his bed, often fully-dressed, and falls right asleep, only waking up to fumble around for paracetamol in the middle of the night when his throbbing headache overpowers his exhaustion. He’s not used to lying there, stomach still unsettled, mind racing, staring blankly up at the ceiling, growing more and more frustrated by the noise of Liam sleeping. 

Liam rolls over in his sleep, mutters something under his breath, and then his breathing evens out again, and Calum times the minutes passing by the way he breathes in, out, in, out. The moonlight’s getting brighter - or maybe it’s the sun rising, he’s not sure - and eventually, when Liam rolls over again and smacks his lips in his sleep, Calum’s had enough. He gets up, pads out of the room and down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen for a drink. 

He’s surprised, though, when he pushes the door open, to find Noel sat at the breakfast bar, a sheet of paper in front of him, still wearing the same clothes from the day before. He turns around at the noise of the door opening and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a greeting to Calum, who grunts back at him as he grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water. 

“Can’t sleep?” Noel asks, and Calum raises his eyebrows over the glass of water he’s gulping down. 

“No,” he says, setting the glass down on the counter. “You?” Noel shakes his head. 

“‘S Bonehead’s fucking snoring,” he says, by way of an explanation, but Calum’s known Noel for five years now, and knows him better than that. 

“And that’s why you’re still dressed?” Calum says shrewdly. 

“Fuck off,” Noel mutters, raising a can of beer to his lips so he won’t have to say anything else. Calum sighs and shakes his head, but chooses not to push him on it, hopping up on the counter and swinging his legs. 

“You writing?” he asks, and Noel looks down at the sheet of paper under his hand, and shrugs. 

“Trying,” he says. Calum hums, and the two of them lapse into a comfortable silence for a while. 

It helps, Calum finds, to be with Noel. He’s never been a man of many words - neither him nor Liam have ever been particularly gifted in that area - but Calum knows he’s always safe with Noel, thrives in the quiet comfort of Noel’s presence. Noel never asks, never pushes, but he’s always there if Calum ever needs anything, and even though they never speak about it, they both know the same is true vice versa. 

(Calum can count on one hand the number of times he’s needed Noel, and can count on one finger the number of times Noel’s needed him.)

That’s not to say Noel doesn’t have his moments, though. He’s obstinate, brash, loud, arrogant, thinks his opinion is worth at least twelve times as much as anyone else’s, and takes himself far too seriously half the time. Calum’s had some of his most memorable arguments with Noel, edged out only slightly by how spectacular his arguments with Liam have been. Both of those, however, are eclipsed by how fucking nuclear the arguments between Noel and Liam are. The two of them bring out both the worst and the best in each other, grating at each other’s virtues and soothing each other’s flaws. They don’t know how to be happy unless they’re dancing along the line between love and hate, and Calum’s not sure it’d work any other way. He’s seen them in their brief, private moments of peace - Liam’s head on Noel’s chest, Noel’s arm wrapped around him, Liam murmuring something about a song or a memory that makes Noel snort, which in turn makes Liam’s lips curve up in a proud smile - but neither of their ships could sail anywhere without a restless sea to guide them. They need the fighting, need the bickering, even need the punches, to keep the wheels turning. A conversation’s not really begun if Noel and Liam haven’t called each other cunts at least twice, Calum thinks, and if Calum’s not been called upon by both of them to call the other a cunt within ten seconds of the inevitable argument breaking out. 

It had been an argument like that a year or so ago that had led to them traipsing to the Boardwalk to watch that band play. Calum remembers the energy they had, raw and a little off-kilter but something there all the same, remembers the lyrical shouting of the singer and the way he’d bounced all over the stage, but not as much as he remembers the guitarist. 

He’d looked so familiar, blonde hair and posture combining to make Calum’s heart ache like no music had ever quite managed to. It couldn’t have been him, though, he’d told himself. There was absolutely no way that Michael Clifford could have been playing in the fucking Boardwalk. Michael was in Sydney, back home, probably sunning himself on Bondi Beach and laughing at something Ashton was saying as Luke grinned at Ashton with wide blue eyes. Michael wasn’t in Manchester. 

Except, a little voice in his head says, maybe he was. Maybe Calum’s mum hadn’t mistaken some guy in a band on Top of the Pops for Michael. Maybe it was Michael. 

“D’you know that band we saw, a few years ago?” Calum says, out of the blue, before the thought to say the words has even crossed his mind. Noel looks up at him, thick brows furrowed. 

“Seen a lot of fucking bands,” he says, a little slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what Calum’s actually asking. Calum half-considers dropping the subject entirely, but Noel’s been in the business far longer than he has, and if anyone’s going to know, it’s him.

“The one in the bar. After the City match.” Noel purses his lips, brows creasing further, before nodding thoughtfully. 

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah. They’re famous now, they are.” 

“Oh,” Calum says, and swallows. That’s not what he expected - or, he finds, wanted - to hear. 

“Yeah. Heard their first record. Or maybe it was their second, I don’t know. It wasn’t all that.” 

“What’re they called, again?” Calum asks, hoping the question sounds innocent, but Noel’s eyes narrow a fraction. 

“Blur,” he says. 

“Blur,” Calum repeats, testing the word out, letting it sit on his tongue. 

“Why?” 

“No reason,” Calum says. Noel looks at him for a moment, like he’s weighing up whether or not to say something, but then seems to let it go, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking odd one, you are,” he says, which is the nicest thing he’s said to Calum in months. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, with a grin. “Good-looking, too.” 

“Don’t push it,” Noel warns, and Calum laughs, swinging his legs. 

“What’re you writing, then?” he asks. Noel looks back down at the sheet of paper. 

“Don’t know, really,” he says. “Just can’t seem to get it right.” 

“Want me to take a look?” Calum offers. 

“You?” Noel says sceptically. “You barely even play a fucking instrument.” 

“Bass is a fucking instrument, you prick,” Calum says, only half-incensed. 

“You’re up there with the fucking tambourine player,” Noel says, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Fuck off,” Calum says, and Noel leans back in the chair, grinning. “You’re the one who bought him that fucking tambourine, anyway.” 

“Little twat might as well do something worthwhile,” Noel says, like Liam’s voice isn’t one of the two indispensable elements they’ve got. 

“At least I can play guitar,” Calum counters. Noel raises an eyebrow.

“Playing?” he says. “Well. If that’s what you want to call it.” Calum scowls and flips him off, and Noel just laughs and gives him a two-fingered salute in return.

“Go on, then,” he says, shoving the piece of paper to the edge of the breakfast bar. “Let’s see how much damage can be done to my genius.” Calum rolls his eyes but reaches over to pull the piece of paper towards him. There’s barely anything on there, just two lines: I can’t tell you the way I feel/Because the way I feel is oh so new to me. Fucking hell. 

“I’m off to bed,” Noel says, like he can sense the questions bubbling under the surface of Calum’s frown, and pushes himself back from the breakfast bar. Calum looks up, catches the brief look of don’t you dare fucking ask me what that’s about that flits across Noel’s face, just the most fractional chink in his armour, and nods, hopping off the counter and tucking the sheet of paper into his pocket. He should probably try and get some sleep too, if only because he’s going to have to be in the best frame of mind possible to deal with how insufferable Noel’s going to be tomorrow on three hours’ sleep. 

“I’m going to smother your brother if he’s not stopped snoring,” he tells Noel, following him out of the room. Noel snorts as he starts up the stairs, that strange mixture of derisive and fond that the Gallaghers manage so well. 

“You’ve got more of a fucking chance of him waking up a bird than you do getting him to stop snoring,” he says. Calum sighs, all long-suffering, like this is news to him, even though he’s been sleeping in rooms with Liam since they were seventeen and sixteen respectively.

“Good thing the tambourine player’s expendable, then,” he says, and Noel laughs, soft and quiet in the stillness of the night. 

“You’d be doing the world a fucking favour,” he says, but there’s a strong edge of pride and fondness that Noel only ever gets when talking about Liam, and Liam only ever gets when talking about Noel, and they never get when talking to each other. Calum thinks they’d probably both rather switch to being United fans than ever admit any semblance of love exists between the two of them, but it hums lowly beneath the surface, visible for anyone who bothers to look beyond the black eyes and hurled insults and weeks of refusing to even look at each other. No one can deny that the two of them fucking hate each other half the time, but without the push and pull of their relationship, without the back and forth and the give and take, the band couldn’t work. If the two of them ever lost that, if one of them ever pulled or pushed too hard, that’d be it. It should probably concern Calum more than it does that his entire career is poised on the knife’s edge that is Liam and Noel’s endless tug-of-war, but he's yet to lose the strangely settled feeling in his stomach every time Noel quits or fires Liam that tells him they'll be alright. You'll be alright. There are still better things to come. 

“You’re just saying that because you want to sing,” Calum retorts. 

“Nah,” Noel says with a grin, hand hovering over the door handle of his and Bonehead’s room. “I’m saying it because I want more royalties.” Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too. 

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” he promises. 

 -------

 As Calum had predicted, Noel’s a fucking nightmare the next day. 

He snaps at everyone who dares come within a ten metre radius of him, and, when everyone stops going into the same room Noel’s in, he specifically goes out of his way to find Liam to start an argument that ends in Liam complaining that one of his teeth is loose. 

(“It’s not fucking loose,” Bonehead says, and then decides to leave the room, presumably because he doesn’t want to deal with Liam’s moaning and whining. Calum can’t really blame him, and starts to shift surreptitiously towards the door himself.

“Since when are you a fucking dentist, you cunt?” Liam shouts after him, and Bonehead flips him off as he walks away. “You’re coming with me to the dentist, you are.” He’s rounded on Calum now, blocking the path to the door, and Calum sighs. 

“If we get more beer on the way back,” he bargains, and Liam nods.) 

That’s how Calum’s ended up in some posh dental surgery, spread out across a leather sofa and looking very incongruous in his oversized shirt and baggy jeans amongst the glass and the fancy-looking plants, waiting for Liam to come out of his appointment. It’s taking far longer than he’d expected - he’d thought it’d be a quick your tooth’s not fucking loose, you knob, you’ve definitely had worse, like everyone else had told him, but Liam’s been in there for a good fifteen minutes now, and Calum’s getting bored. 

The receptionist keeps making eyes at him, and Calum can’t tell whether they’re I want to fuck you eyes or whether they’re you look like you’re going to try and rob this dental surgery eyes, so eventually he picks up the nearest magazine off the coffee table and flicks it open to a random page just for something to look at that isn’t her. 

There’s a very pretty guy staring back at him when he looks down, blonde and blue-eyed and grinning inanely at the camera, and the caption reads BLUR: the cocky rebels you’re allowed to love. 

Blur. That’s what Noel had called the band from that bar in Manchester last night. They’re famous now, they are, he’d said.  

Calum barely even notices the way his heart speeds up as his eyes fly across the page, scanning the article for any mention of Michael before he really realises what he’s looking for. The author and the singer - Damon, apparently - keep referring to a Mike, an Australian Mike, which puts Calum right on edge, but Michael had never gone by Mike. He fucking hated it, corrected anyone who called him anything other than Michael, refused to respond to any teachers who tried to call him Mike, threw glowers at any classmates who did the same. He’d barely even let Calum call him Mikey in his most vulnerable moments, rubbing small circles on his back soothingly as he coaxed him to throw up all the cheap booze they’d nicked from the corner shop. 

Calum’s fingers are slick with sweat as he’s turning the page and his eyes are starting to water from how little he’s blinking, and he’s not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing, whether he wants Mike to be Michael or not. When he reaches the bottom of the second page, however, Calum’s heart stops. 

There’s a picture of the whole band. Damon’s standing second from the left, right arm holding his left bicep, head tilted upwards, looking lazy and effortlessly beautiful, like he fucking knows he’s worth looking at. It reminds Calum of Liam a little bit, the way he plays into the camera, the way he knows that with a small tilt of his chin and a slight lowering of his lashes he’ll have half the fucking nation on their knees for him. Maybe that’s just the way singers need to be, Calum thinks, eyes flitting to the ginger guy to Damon’s left, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then to the guy directly on Damon’s right; tall, broody-looking, dark hair swept across his face. To his right is a shorter dark-haired man, looking tense and on edge, and to his right is-

Michael Clifford. 

There’s no mistaking him. He’s got the same blonde hair still sticking up at all sorts of angles, the same sleepy, sea green eyes, the same pretty lips slightly parted in a pout. He’s holding himself confidently, miles away from the slightly scrawny teenager Calum had left behind, staring into the lens of the camera like it’s a challenge. Come on, Calum. Tell yourself I ever stopped mattering to you, go on. 

Calum doesn’t need to read the caption to know it’s Michael, knows it from the way he’s clutching his right wrist with his left hand, but does it anyway, one final, desperate grasp at a straw - from left to right: David Rowntree, Damon Albarn, Alex James, Graham Coxon, Michael Clifford. 

Michael Clifford. 

The words seem to sort of swim in front of Calum’s eyes, like they’re not really there, like his mind’s superimposed them on the article somehow, but the picture’s still there, clear as day. Michael, a hint of stubble on his jaw, face more angled and figure fuller and shoulders broader and God, he looks so fucking good that Calum’s stomach flips and drops and flips again. 

“-fucking hell, Earth to fucking Cal,” Liam says, sounding sort of muffled, and Calum nearly drops the magazine in shock, yanked back into reality so suddenly and jarringly by the sound of his voice. 

“What?” he says, looking up to see Liam with an irritated expression on his face, cradling one cheek in his hand. 

“Let’s fucking go,” Liam says, already halfway to the door. Calum stares after him for a moment, mind trying to process Liam wants to leave over the tangled jumble of Michael Michael Michael currently winding its way through every cell in his brain, before he jumps up, magazine still in his hand. 

“Sir,” the receptionist calls immediately, like she’s had her eye on him the whole time. “You can’t take the magazine with you.” Calum looks down at the magazine, and Liam turns around from the door, a slight tension in his posture that Calum recognises as the one he gets when he’s spoiling for a fucking fight. Christ, he’s not about to deck the fucking receptionist, is he? 

“Or what?” Liam says, a little menacingly. “You gonna fucking stop him?” 

“I just-” 

“What the fuck do you want with the fucking magazine, eh? Fucking paid enough for the appointment, buy yourself another." 

“C’mon,” Calum mutters, rolling the magazine up and hurrying over to Liam, putting a hand on the small of his back. “Let’s go.” Liam hesitates for a moment, like he’s torn between going to get beer or shouting at a receptionist, but eventually the alcohol seems to win in his mind, because he settles for throwing her one final glare and letting Calum guide him out of the door. 

“What’d they say?” Calum asks as they walk out, his hand still on Liam’s back, because he knows Liam better than to trust he won’t just change his mind on a whim and go storming back in to give the receptionist a piece of his mind for not wanting Calum to take a fucking magazine. 

“Don’t fucking know,” Liam mutters, pushing open the door to outside. Calum shivers a little when the cool late-February air hits him, and decides that Liam’s probably safe now, letting go of him to wrap his arms around himself as they head back to the car that’s been waiting for them. “Sounded like he said something about my flaps.” Calum snorts. 

“Bit forward of him,” he says, and Liam grins. 

“Why’d you take that fucking magazine, then, eh?” he says, rounding the car without looking into the road and flipping off the car that has to screech to a halt to avoid running him over. 

“What?” Calum says, a touch shiftily. “Oh. Saw a good article in it. Wanted to finish reading it.” Liam throws him a look over the top of the car, a look that’s unnervingly shrewd, but then shakes his head and ducks into the car. Calum does the same, taking a moment to tuck the magazine into his pocket and feeling it weigh down one side of him, unbalancing him just slightly. It’s kind of apt, he thinks as he gets into the car. Michael had always made him feel a little unbalanced, too. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” Liam announces, and Calum grins, trying not to think about the way the magazine feels pressed between him and the seat. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” he agrees.

 -------

 Calum doesn’t look at the magazine again until a good week later. 

He’s drunk, and maybe still a little high, which is the driving force behind the whole evening. They all are, because Liam had scored some great coke off some guy called Neville, which Calum had declared to be the funniest dealer name in all of history, leading Bonehead to admit that his weed dealer used to be called Barnaby. Noel had sided with Calum, claiming Neville was far worse than Barnaby, and, predictably, Liam had jumped straight in on Bonehead’s side, and after about two minutes of shouting Tony had mumbled something about not being drunk enough for this and slipped out of the room. 

“Fucking useless,” Liam says derisively, as Tony walks out. “I should fire him.” 

“I fired you two days ago,” Noel says, pointing at Liam with the card he’s using to cut up the coke. “You can’t be firing anyone.” 

“It’s my fucking band,” Liam says, incensed, like it’s not actually Bonehead’s band that Liam had wheedled his way into. 

“Who writes the fucking songs?” Noel counters. “You just play the fucking tambourine and look mardy.” 

“Fucking greatest frontman in the world, I am,” Liam says indignantly. 

“You’re too fucking high to find the front of the stage half the time,” Noel says contemptuously. 

“I know where the front of the fucking stage is,” Liam says, pointing at Noel with one hand and Calum with the other. “‘S between knobheads numbers one and two.” Noel rolls his eyes, too busy cutting lines to flip him off, so Calum does it on both of their behalfs, and Liam grins, swigging from his beer. 

“Save us a fucking line,” Bonehead says to Noel, who’s just bent down to hoover up at least four of the thin white lines on the table. 

“Get your fucking own,” Noel grumbles, like he’s the one who’d scored it, not Liam, but he lets Bonehead push him aside, slumping back against the sofa. 

“Greedy cunt,” Bonehead mutters, and Noel swats him upside the head, handing him the card. 

“We should have a fucking celebration,” Liam declares grandly, gesturing widely with his beer bottle. 

“For what?” Noel says. “Album’s not even fucking finished yet.” 

“Sounds fucking great, though,” Liam says. 

“Well, you’ve clearly not heard it then, have you?” Calum says with a snort, accepting the card Bonehead holds out to him and leaning over towards the coke. There’s not much left, but Liam’ll fucking do one if he doesn’t leave any for him. “Fucking hell, Noel. You a fucking vacuum?” Noel just grins and shrugs at him, cocaine clearly starting to settle into his veins, and Calum rolls his eyes, cutting two thin lines for himself and leaving enough for the same for Liam. 

“It’ll sound great once it’s mixed,” Liam insists, as Calum bends down.  

“That’s what you said last time,” Bonehead points out. 

“No I fucking didn’t,” Liam says, even though he’d literally spent about a week bouncing around saying it’ll sound fucking great when it’s mixed, just you fucking wait. It’ll be fucking biblical. Calum straightens, wincing slightly and pinching the end of his nose, and throws Liam a look. 

“You fucking did,” he says. Liam scowls at him, and motions for the card. “Come over here. No way you’ll reach the coke from over there.” Liam rolls his eyes but complies, heaving himself up and then throwing himself down next to Calum, making a noise of outrage when he sees how little is left for him. 

“What the fuck, Noel?” he demands, and Noel just cackles. Christ, he’s blitzed out of his fucking mind already. 

“We should fucking celebrate,” Noel says, like he hadn’t shot down Liam saying it not two minutes ago. 

“Celebrate what, you prick?” Calum says, wrinkling his nose as the bitter cocaine drips down his throat. Fucking grim. At least his mouth will be too numb to taste it soon. 

“Fucking all of it,” Noel says. “Us. Recording an album. The fact that we’re going to be number fucking one.” Calum snorts, but he’s starting to feel a little giddy, a little warmer, and he leans back with a grin. 

“Number fucking one,” he repeats, and Liam nods solemnly next to him. 

“Fucking right,” he says, like it’s what they’re owed. Calum catches Bonehead’s eye and grins, knows he’s thinking exactly what Calum’s thinking - yeah, us two fucking deserve it for putting up with the both of you. 

“Just wait ‘til we release Supersonic,” Calum says, shuffling up a little to rest his head on Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s arm comes around him, warm and comforting, and he squeezes Calum absent-mindedly as he hums contentedly. Calum lets his eyes flutter shut, euphoric and a little overheated, grinning to himself as he lets himself fantasise. Number fucking one, he thinks to himself. Fucking imagine. 

“Knock those Blur cunts off the top,” Noel says, and Calum’s eyes fly open. 

“What?” he says. 

“Their new song,” Noel says scornfully. “Fucking, what’s it? Girls who like boys who like girls who like boys, something like. Fucking shite.” 

“New song?” Calum echoes, mind trying to work around the cocaine to process what he’s being told. 

“Am I the only one who fucking listens to the radio?” Noel demands. “That’s our fucking competition, that is. We’ve got to knock them off the top spot.” 

“Competition,” Calum says slowly. Competition. Michael Clifford is his competition. 

And, fucking hell. Does Michael even know Calum’s his competition? Does Michael even know Calum’s in Oasis - does Michael even remember Calum? It’s been what, four fucking years now since the letters had petered out, since Calum had got too caught up in his new life of Liam and Noel and drugs and music and Michael had been too busy with his family and friends and the fucking police academy. Michael might not even recognise Calum, might not even remember his name. 

(Something tells him, though, even through the haze of drugs and alcohol, that they could never forget each other. After all, it says, who forgets their first kiss? Who forgets their first fuck? Who, it says, a little too knowingly for Calum’s liking, forgets their first love?) 

Liam seems to have sensed something’s up because he’s frowning, waving a hand in Calum’s face, and Calum blinks, shakes his head abruptly and sits bolt upright. He stopped loving Michael. He fucking did, no matter what the churning in his stomach might be telling him. That’s just the fucking booze.

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Liam says, sounding annoyed.

“Don’t feel great,” Calum says, which isn’t entirely untrue. The high’s too high, and the alcohol’s making his stomach clench and contract, and he’s sweating a little too much, and his hands are clammy, and- 

“Oh, fucking hell,” he says, a little faintly, and lurches to his feet, crashing into the bathroom next door and only just making it to the toilet bowl before he’s throwing up everything he’d ingested in the previous twenty-four hours. He’s glad he’s still high because it means he can’t quite taste the bile in his throat, can’t entirely feel the way his stomach’s heaving that he distantly registers is going to absolutely fucking kill tomorrow. 

Halfway through his retching someone appears behind him, kneeling down beside him and rubbing small circles on his back comfortingly. Calum feels fucking pathetic, slumped over the toilet bowl with tears leaking out of his eyes, someone making quiet, soothing sounds behind him, all because of fucking Michael Clifford. 

(That thought makes him retch once again.)

“Waste of fucking coke, that is,” the person says mildly when he’s finished, leaning up and flushing for him, and it’s Liam. Of course it’s Liam. No one else would willingly spend their short high in a tiny, cramped bathroom watching Calum throw up. Noel would probably lock him in and turn off the water supply, maybe grab a camcorder for good measure. 

Calum huffs out something that’s supposed to be a laugh but sounds like more of a sob as he sits back, wipes his upper lip and forehead and rests his head against the cool tile wall. Liam sits down opposite him, legs pressed against Calum’s because they’re both too fucking big for the bathroom on their own let alone together, and blinks at him. 

“Fuck brought that on?” he says, more curious than anything. Calum’s stomach lurches again, images of Michael smiling at him sleepily on a Saturday morning, of Michael with his head tipped back in detention, laughing at something Calum had said, and the picture of him in the magazine, so much older and yet so fucking familiar, flashing through his mind in rapid succession. 

“Probably just overdid it,” he says weakly. Liam gives him a hard stare. 

“A fucking baby would’ve had a hard time getting high on what you snorted,” he says. 

“Baby wouldn’t’ve drunk five fucking beers beforehand, though,” Calum says, coughing slightly and wincing as he tastes the echo of acid at the back of his throat. 

“Depends whose baby it is,” Liam says. “Pretty sure mine would.” Calum snorts, and lets his eyes flutter shut as he starts to come back to himself a little, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself as he realises how cold he is. Fuck, he’s all clammy. Gross. 

Almost as though he can read Calum’s thoughts, Liam nudges Calum’s knee with his own. 

“You’re fucking rank,” he says. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, not opening his eyes. 

“Take a fucking shower.” Calum pulls a face. He’s not in the fucking mood to shower. 

“Tomorrow,” he says. It’s not like Liam’s never done the same. 

“You’re fucking rank, ” Liam tells him again, like he’d not thrown up in the sink two nights ago and left it there overnight, but he puts his hand on Calum’s shin and pats it, and Calum offers him a weak smile. 

“You don’t have to stay,” he says. 

“What, go back in there and listen to our kid break his neck sucking his own cock? Don’t fucking think so,” Liam scoffs. “I’ll be fucking sober in five minutes, anyway, given the amount of coke you pricks left me.” Calum smiles again, a little less wobbly this time. 

“Sober?” he says. “You drank twice as much as me.” 

“Not all of us are fucking Aussies, though, are we?” Liam says, and Calum can hear the grin in his voice. “Might as well be a fucking southerner, you.” That makes Calum open his eyes a fraction, enough to glare at Liam. 

“Piss off,” he says. “You and your fucking Irish blood. I’d drink anyone else under the fucking table.” 

“Fucking right,” Liam says proudly. “Never met anyone who could outdrink me, let alone an Aussie.”

“You’ve never met any except me, you prick,” Calum says, and Liam grins. 

“Well, most of you fuckers are smart enough to stay where it’s warm and sunny and the birds are fit, aren’t you?” he says. “Only the stupid ones end up here.” Calum scowls, and kicks at Liam’s leg half-heartedly. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “Didn’t choose to move here, did I? Got dragged kicking and screaming.” 

“But you’re still here,” Liam points out, and Calum finds he doesn’t have an answer to that. At least, he thinks, not one he’s willing to give Liam. 

“You must miss it,” Liam says when Calum doesn’t answer, a little surprised, like the thought’s only just crossed his mind after five fucking years of friendship. Which, knowing Liam, is probably the case. 

“Australia?” Liam hums his assent. “Dunno. I guess. I miss Vegemite.” He hesitates, before adding: “Mostly miss my mates, though.” 

“Oh?” Liam says, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You still talk to them?” Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably. After all, it had been him that had ignored the last letter Michael had sent him. He’s the one who hadn’t written back. 

“No,” he says. “Phone calls are too expensive, and none of us are fucked writing letters.” 

“Ah, well,” Liam says, stretching out on the tiles and sighing contentedly. “Just you fucking wait ‘til we’re number one. You’ll see them then. We’ll be touring Australia three times a year, and that.” Calum can’t help but snort. 

“Three times a year?” he says. “There’s only five fucking cities worth playing in.” Liam grins. 

“And you’d better have friends in all of them, mate,” he says. “Not bloody paying for hotels if I can help it.” 

“My mates are all in Sydney,” Calum says, and there’s a little tug in his chest as he realises that actually, that might not be true anymore. He doesn’t know what happened to Ashton and Luke, either. If Michael can go from police cadet in Sydney to fucking famous musician in the UK then Ashton and Luke are probably, like, astronauts, or something. Maybe he should check with the ASA. 

“What?” Liam says curiously, clearly seeing the expression on Calum’s face, and Calum hesitates.

He’s not sure whether he should tell Liam. What the fuck would he even say? My ex, sort of, is in the band Noel’s lining up as our competition? You know Blur? Yeah, I fucked one of the guitarists. Liam wouldn’t get it. Great, he’d say, eyes gleaming. Eeyar, you must have some good stories about him. You can embarrass him in the press. Or maybe, get in, mate. Infiltrate them, eh? Fucking good thought. Oi, that Damon’s alright, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll have it on with him. He wouldn’t understand the weight behind it, what Michael meant to Calum. Means to Calum. Fuck, he doesn’t know anymore. 

“I think a mate of mine might have moved over here,” Calum says eventually, when Liam raises an expectant eyebrow. It feels fucking weird calling Michael a mate. The word doesn’t feel quite complete in his mouth, like maybe there should be a soul prefixing it. 

“Oh aye?” Liam says, raising his other eyebrow too, like he knows what Calum might mean by ‘mate’. “Where’s he living?” 

“I don’t know,” Calum admits. Liam hums, like he’s thinking it over. 

“D’you want to know?” he says, in that strangely perceptive way he sometimes does. Calum shrugs, and hopes Liam doesn’t catch the tension in his shoulders. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Dunno. Depends.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Liam doesn’t ask him to. Instead, his emotional capacity probably filled for the night, he claps his hand on Calum’s thigh. 

“Want to see if we can get Noel to piss himself?” he says, eyes bright, and Calum can’t help but snort. 

“‘Course I fucking do,” he says, getting to his feet. Liam braces himself on the sink as he pulls himself up, a little unsteady, and grins. 

“Ten quid says he does,” he says, and Calum snorts. Noel had pissed himself once, three years ago, and Liam can’t fucking let go of it. 

“You don’t fucking have ten quid,” he says, following Liam out of the room, still feeling a little light-headed and woozy, but no longer nauseous. 

“Neither do you,” Liam counters, pushing open the door to the living room, and Calum has to concede there.

“How about the loser sucks the other’s dick, then?” he says, grinning, and Liam throws his head back as he laughs. 

“You’re on,” he says over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. 

“Who’s getting who to suck their dick?” Noel demands. 

“You’re helping me get Calum to suck my dick,” Liam tells him, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Noel and resting his head on Noel’s chest. Almost instinctively, Noel’s arm comes around him, holding him close. Calum could almost be fooled into thinking they’re in some sort of a truce, that the booze and cocaine have broken down the barrier of hatred between them and left only the underlying love, until Liam reaches forwards, picks up a bottle of beer and holds it to Noel’s lips with a wicked grin. 

“Drink up.”

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chapter two

[scientistowengottlieb-newtkelly]

Thoughts and feelings about Pacific Rim 2?

you sure you wanna open up that particular can of worms?

movie review time! be warned i'm not in a good mood as i am shaking in pain, however this review would have been scathing regardless. and none of this is to say pacific rim is perfect, it's not, but... aye, i have no words for the world of difference there. oh wait! i do:

so. first and foremost, i hate it. as both a movie and a sequel. did i find it entertaining? yes, mildly, so i suppose it did its job, however the only thing that keeps me watching it is because, simply, it's part of the pacific rim franchise whether we like it or not. therefore, i squeeze as much salvageable content from it as i can, such as how one might analyze the precursors, how we are to view hermann and newt as characters pre-, during, and post-uprising, what we are to expect from drifting (though this one i take with a grain of salt, there is a whole other rant preserved for the joke of an attempt to develop that shit within the movie)

one of my biggest issues with pacific rim is really simple: it plays out like DeKnight did not watch the first fucking movie or was scrolling through twitter while doing it and decided he'd make a cash grab since the first one was relatively popular. "haha the kaiju were going for mount fuji the whole time!!" bitch no they weren't!!! why the fuck did they end up anywhere near sydney, australia, then!!! why did they turn tail on places like manila and san fran instead of heading straight for japan!!! WHY DID THE ONE THAT WAS IN JAPAN NOT SUCCEED, THERE'S NO WAY WITH THOSE MARK 1 JAEGERS THEY'D HAVE BEEN ABLE TO REASONABLY FIGURE OUT THEIR PLAN AND WHERE THEY WERE GOING IN TIME TO STOP THEM!!! newt literally lays out what they are doing in the first movie and they completely ignored that!!! not to mention, if the destruction from elements found in mount fuji would have been enough to terraform the earth, WHY DIDN'T THEY JUST FUCKING DO THAT WHEN THEY WERE SUPPOSEDLY ON EARTH AGES AGO??? THERE WERE VOLCANOES WITH THOSE SAME ELEMENTS BEFORE RIGHT NOW, VOLCANOES ARE NOT A RELATIVELY NEW THING EARTH CREATED SUDDENLY AND I WOULD IMAGINE NEITHER ARE THOSE ELEMENTS!!! IT MAKES NO SENSE!!! and.... okay the fucking drones. how did those bitches make breaches??? we know the breach is some result of precursor/kaiju technology, apparently they know the breach's atomic structure as hermann said in the first movie, but how tf some kaiju organs and tech from earth only is ALL it takes to open a breach... illudes and confuses me... why were no more breaches made by the precursors once they realized how long and how many resources it was taking to kill the humans off??? if it's??? shit they could do with simple earth materials + their own biology??? they could have ended things much faster??? shit just doesn't add up, idk, that was Vague and Annoyed Me

and the jaegers.... were....... strange? the fight scenes were so underwhelming, i could count on one hand the number of maneuvers—NOT SCENES, MANEUVERS—i thought were badass and moved well. their fighting was confusing and paced really weird and some of the moves they pulled... don't... work like that... like some of those scenes were just hand-to-hand combat but in big robot form and they didn't sit right with me at all.

and the characters......... oh my word, the characters. look: i love jake pentecost with all of my heart and soul and john boyega's beautiful acting just barely saves the movie from its poor writing. i do love him as a character. but can someone explain to me why in the world they thought it was a good idea to make the only black guy a black market thief/runner, deep-record criminal with daddy and authority issues, and who they dare try to play off as some kind of lazy??? they made him every stereotype they could and said "yeah let's go with that". i'm- aaaaaaaaaaaaaa and what was with the child soldiers??? ROBOCOPS?????? mako....... character assassination at its worst........ my baby......... but the movie was paced so GOD DAMN POORLY I GOT BORED AND LITERALLY MISSED HER DYING THE FIRST TIME I WATCHED IT. and i couldn't tell you the names of half of those poor damn kids, i really couldn't. and can i also say they killed off one of the only two darker skinned kids?? like y'all???? the other darker skinned kids (one of the children i can't remember the names of because it was uttered ONCE in the entire movie or some shit) didn't even GET characterization. my whole heart goes out to her and those other underdeveloped fucks. speaking of...... i am ashamed about jules. from the movie that brought us the mako mori test, they threw in a girl simply for the sake of some shitty, awkward, and unexplained love triangle between jake and White Angst without much else to put to her name. she deserved better. amara was... a decent shot, but very hit or miss because of the writing. i, personally, am very neutral about her leaning towards liking her, but i know people who swing love and who swing hate. liwen was like,,,, they tried really hard to make her unlikable at the beginning because "oh no, she must be the villain! GOTTEM plot twist!!!" and then suddenly she's no longer. threatening everyone except newt. idk i feel like they leaned to heavily one way and i got whiplash when she's actually another but there was nothing to... portray that. at all. i do like her character, and that says a lot because they got me to sympathize with a capitalist without actually regretting it later, but there could/should have been More there. she was powerful, though, in multiple different aspects, and we saw that from her CONSISTENTLY and i 😳🥵👀💕 mako mori test pass for her

now, let's talk about hermann (and by extention, newton, however he'll be getting a section all his own the rat bastard). that man is one of the single instances of decent cross-movie characterization i saw in the whole god damn film. the idea that he takes on newton's roles, that he is more outspoken for himself, that he is just slightly more unhinged after his drift with newton: THAT is on point. he's himself, you can see it, you still know that he's hermann with ever step, but there's something that has shifted in him in those 10 years and it's good without being too much. the "i still get nightmares" scene, the way he presents himself, that scene gives me chills because god bless burn gorman and his acting ability. every face and intonation of his voice is just wonderful and i think his performance was great for what he was given. king shit.

the biggest disappointment of my life came in the form of a kaiju vest wearing bitch at work. at his corporate job. as a boss. for a tech company that undermines all of his and, frankly, hermann's work over their lifetimes. 10 years older and exaggerated to the teeth. newton "move you fascist" geiszler. let me preface this by stating for all to see that i do not hate the idea of newton being the villain. story wise it was a bold move and there was something possible there. BUT THE IMPLICATION THAT ONE OF THE MOST OBVIOUSLY NEURODIVERGENT CHARACTERS IN THE WHOLE FUCKING FRANCHISE, ESPECIALLY GIVEN THAT HE HAS BEEN CHARACTERIZED AS HAVING A "BORDERLINE MANIC PERSONALITY" AKA HAVING ONE OF THE MOST DEMONIZED MENTAL ILLNESSES OUT THERE, ENDS UP ACTING AS THE GOD DAMN VILLAIN OF THE STORY IS A HOT GARBAGE TAKE WHEN YOU FACTOR IN THINGS LIKE POOR WRITING NOT MAKING IT CLEAR WHETHER OR NOT NEWTON IS EVEN IN CONTROL OF HIS OWN FACULTIES AND THE VAGUENESS OF "WILL HE BE 'REDEEMED' OR NOT" BEING UP IN THE AIR LIKELY NEVER TO BE CANONICALLY FUCKING ANSWERED BECAUSE BECKHAM AND DEKNIGHT SHAT OUT A MOVIE THAT BOMBED IN THE BOX OFFICE. we aren't even gonna TALK about the fact that this bitch got AWAY with it despite not even acting in a remotely stable way comparable to himself in the first movie in the 10 years he supposedly dropped off the map from all of his friends because, clearly, hermann hadn't seen him or he wouldn't be so excited with a picture of the two of them on his desk, nor would he have to tell newton about his idea for rocket thrusters with kaiju blood fuel because he would have simply written to him about it. for some strange reason people see his ass show up decked out in a suit he wouldn't even wear for Stacker Fucking Pentecost and a behavior of "Haha Gotta Listen To The Boss" and think "ah, yes, well, time changes a person. THIS BITCH HAS APPARENTLY BEEN LIKE THIS THE WHOLE TIME, YOU THINK HE GOT A JOB WITH LIWEN LOOKING AND ACTING LIKE HE DID BEFORE AND THERE WAS A SHIFT OVER TIME? NO, HE HAD TO HAVE CHANGED IN A SPLIT DECISION AND LIED ABOUT HIMSELF THROUGH HIS TEETH AND NO ONE CONTACTED HIM, OR WAS WORRIED ABOUT HIM, OR DECIDEDLY THOUGHT "YOU KNOW, HE MAY BE EMBOLDENED THAT HE SAVED THE WORLD, BUT I THINK SOMETHING LIKE THAT WOULD HAVE THE EXACT OPPOSITE EFFECT ON HIM AND HE WOULD DO HIS BEST TO AMPLIFY HIS CURRENT STANDING TRAITS. LISTENING TO AND KISSING THE BOOT OF AUTHORITY FIGURES? DIVORCING HIMSELF FROM HIS WORK WITH KAIJU XENOBIOLOGY THAT EVEN HERMANN PICKED UP? TO BECOME THE THING HE HATES? AND FOR WHAT? MONEY? FAME? BITCH WHO ARE YOU?" unreasonable. ridiculous attempt to do this just for a plot twist that was underwhelming at best. i've decided to stick to the fan theory that he was not in control 99% of the time but literally that movie causes such a hellfire path to appear in my wake as i think about it because i know people who don't take it like that and think newt wants what's happening because "haha horny kaiju man" and i wish to scream at the top of my lungs because this is exactly WHY you CANNOT spare ANY EXPENSE to the GOOD, PROPER, INTRICATE directing and writing of a character who is neurodivergent and also ONE OF THE CENTERS OF NOT JUST THE MOVIE YOU'RE WRITING, BUT THE FUCKING MOVIE AFTER THAT. i could go on but i sincerely don't fucking want to, despite how long i've been waiting for someone to willingly hear me out on all of this. all i'll say is if by some miracle they are greenlit for a third film and deknight's working on it and i see ANY sign of a bury your gays end for newt, i'm going to commit the first hate crime against a cishet white male.

to end, the only valid kaiju in that movie was the mega-kaiju, i don't remember the appearance or the names of the three that got through the breaches but the mega-kaiju could kill me and i'd die happy 🥰 beautiful design, that scale comparison when it came face to face with newt? amazing, chills, *chef's kiss* there are exactly two things i liked about uprising and that bitch is one of them.

sorry if this isn't what you wanted, but as i said i am in a bit of a bad mood and have been curled up in bed trying not to think that i'm dying and i've repressed all of this for a couple months now and very few people have actually heard PORTIONS of my frustration so. here it is.

[scarlettwriter91]

Truth and Dare and Texas Tornados

August 2003

I stared hard at my reflection in the mirror of our small bathroom and sighed. My blonde hair was getting pretty long and I knew that my dad would have something to say about it soon. ’Course, when didn’t he have something to say about me? Seems like we couldn’t have a conversation lately without him bringing up something I could be doing better or working harder on. 

Okay, maybe that was a little unfair. Dad wasn’t totally unreasonable, he let me get away with a ton actually. He just had pretty high standards when it came to how any of us boys were supposed to act and behave, which is why he would kill me if he found out I was going out with Sydney Donaldson tonight. 

Sydney and dad, they just didn’t gel. Know what I mean?

My mama would say that Sydney was as wild as a Texas Tornado. She smoked, she drank, and I was pretty sure she was even into drugs, though that was really just hear-say. She was too flirty with the boys and wore too much make-up, but not enough clothes. 

But, hey, I certainly wasn’t gonna complain about that! Sydney’s legs were long and tan and they looked spectacular in those cut-off jeans she liked wearing so much. 

And to top it all off, Sydney liked me. Now, I don’t know if she like liked me, but she definitely liked kissing me behind the bleachers when we went to Beau’s baseball game last week. And at the game before that, too. 

And that is precisely why dad wasn’t in the Sydney Donaldson Fanclub.

But what was I supposed to do when Sydney hopped her ridiculously good-looking body up on top of my desk before history class and smiled down at me like I’d just won the lottery? 

“Hey, Tommy,” she said, turning so that she could rest her foot on my chair next to my leg. Effectively placing those legs of hers right in my line of sight. 

“Hey, Syd,” I grinned back up at her. “What’s up?” 

“Me and a few friends are getting together tonight. You should come hang out with us.” 

“Should I?” I asked smoothly as I sat up straighter in my chair so that I could rest my elbow on her knee and stare up into those chocolate-brown eyes. 

She tossed her caramel-colored hair over her shoulder and bit her lip as she looked back down at me and nodded. “You definitely should.”  

Aw, man, this girl was trouble, but I didn’t care one bit. She liked me and I liked her too, and James Anderson would just have to get over it. 

After I finished getting ready, I grabbed my car keys from where they hung on the hook by the door and was almost free when my mom called out to me.

“And just where are you going? It’s already nearly eight o’clock.” 

I reached my hand up and scratched the back of my neck, “I, um, I was just gonna go hang out with the guys for a while. That okay?” 

She considered me for a moment, as if knowing I wasn’t being entirely forthcoming about my plans, but eventually she nodded. “Alright, it’s Friday, so I guess it’s okay. But next time ask in advance, son. Don’t just try to sneak around. It makes you look guilty.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, feeling my face heat up as I turned back towards the screen door.

“And be back by curfew.” 

“I will,” I promised, though I wasn’t sure if it would be a promise I could actually keep. Hanging out with Sydney tended to make a boy do some pretty stupid things. 

Like lying to his mom about where he was going ’cause he knew unauthorized parties weren’t strictly allowed. 

I pulled my car up outside Crissy Jones’s house, which is where Sydney had said they would be, and immediately wondered how I was even gonna find her in this crowd. This was definitely not a few friends. Not that I had expected an intimate social gathering in the first place. 

I weaved in and out of the sea of kids looking for Sydney. Eventually, I made my way into the living room where I found her sitting with a group of her friends. She smiled when she saw me and stood up. I watched as she walked over to me and took my hand in her much smaller one. “I was afraid you weren’t gonna make it,” she said as she reached up and kissed me square on the mouth. She tasted like cherry chapstick and whiskey. I licked my lips when we broke away before following her into the kitchen where she poured a drink into a red cup and handed it to me. 

When I didn’t immediately take a drink, she smirked up at me. “You look nervous, Tommy.” 

“You’ve met my dad,” I said, “and I’ve met yours. I’d kinda appreciate it if neither of them found out I was drinking while out with you.” 

“Why, Tommy Anderson, what a gentleman you are!” Sydney reached up and put her arms around my neck, pulling herself close to me before kissing me again, soft and slow. This time her tongue darted out and I immediately opened my mouth to grant her access, and if that wasn’t just the hottest thing, I don’t know what is. She pulled away but my free hand stayed around her waist, keeping her close. “I don’t think one little drink’s gonna hurt ya. Besides, you’ll need it.”

“And why’s that?” I ask, even as I was already taking a drink. 

Sydney grinned before once again taking my hand and pulling me back towards the living room. “We’re playing Spin the Bottle: Truth or Dare.” 

I groaned but didn’t protest as she sat down on the floor, pulling me down behind her so that she could sit between my legs.  

We watched and drank for a while as someone would spin the bottle that was in the middle of the group, then whoever it landed on had to answer truth or dare. Most said “truth,” though Charlie Jenkins went for “dare,” but it was nothing outrageous or anything. 

Which is probably why when that stupid bottle finally landed on me, I said “dare” without a second thought. 

“Alright, Tommy,” Matt, one of my best friends, said with a grin. “I dare you to…” He looked around the room as he tried to think of something to dare me to do. 

“Awe, c’mon, Matty,” I said, playfully shoving him on the shoulder, “surely you can think of somethin’.” 

Matt rolled his eyes as he shoved me back but then, seeing something behind me, he grinned. “Hey, Crissy,” he said. “What’re those spray paint cans for?” 

We all looked over to where Matt was pointing four cans of spray paint that were sitting on a table. Crissy shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Some projects my dad has going out in the garage. Why?” 

“Think he’d mind if we borrowed them?” 

And that, my friends, is how I ended up standing at the top of the Decatur water tower, an hour after curfew, with cans of paint in my hands. 

I looked over the edge of the railing to see Sydney, Matt, Crissy, and a couple of other kids cheering me on from down below. 

I turned to face the tower and took in my canvas. It was so much bigger now that I was up here and actually about to start. I shook the can of red spray paint and set to work. I painted the words in really big, blocky letters that would be really hard to miss by anyone driving down Green Pond Road.

But “Rawlings is an as-” was all that I had done when I heard the sirens.  

Crap!

I turned around to look back over the railing. From my vantage point, I could already see the police cruiser coming down the road. I looked to the others and saw that they were climbing into Matt’s truck, yelling for me to hurry up. 

I started climbing back down the ladder as quickly as I could but it was no use. The cruiser came into view and my friends took off. But worse than that was the fact that I recognized this particular car. 

Wesley. Now, what the heck is he doing here?! 

I started climbing back up the ladder. No way was I planning on being down there when he got out of that car. 

“Tommy!” Wesley called as he shined the flashlight up at me. It wasn’t even as if he didn’t know it was me; he’d parked the cruiser next to my car. There weren’t many ’67 Javelins in Decatur. “Get down here!”

“No!” I called back once I was back at the top. “What are you even doing here?! You’re supposed to be off tonight!” 

“How do you know?” he called back.

“‘Cause I pay Josh every week to find out your schedule! Duh!”

“Tommy, I’m not about to keep yelling at you! Now, get your scrawny butt down here now before I call dad!”

How stupid did he think I was? Dad was gonna kill me no matter what. The longer I could hold that off, the better. 

“Come and get me, Wes!” 

Okay, even I could admit that that was kinda childish. I sounded like Beau when he stole something from one of us and was determined to keep it. 

“Tommy Anderson!” I looked over the railing to see the lights on in the house across the street. Old Mrs. Baker’s house. She was standing out on her front porch in her bathrobe and slippers. “You get down here this instant, young man!” Then I watched as she turned to the left towards where Wesley was standing and called out to him, “Sorry, Wesley! I wouldn’t’a even called ya if I’d’a known it was Tommy. I’d’a just called yer daddy in the first place!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Baker,” Wes said in his stupidly perfect choir boy voice. 

Mrs. Baker went back in her house, apparently satisfied that Wesley was gonna take care of his errant kid brother. Busybody.  

Wesley crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at me, Even from this distance, I could tell he was getting more and more pissed off. I groaned and forgetting that the paint was still wet, I leaned back against the tower. Effectively smearing red and white paint all over my black t-shirt. 

Oh, come on! I glanced back down and watched as Wesley pulled out his cell phone.

“Okay, okay!” I yelled down. “I’m comin’!” 

“Now, Tom!” 

“Chill out, Wesley! God!” 

I climbed down the ladder and the second my feet hit the ground, Wesley had his hand wrapped around my arm in a ridiculously strong grip. I tried to pull away but it was no use. He half-lead, half-dragged me over towards his car and pushed me up against the trunk. I crossed my arms and glared down at the ground.

“Keys,” Wesley said as he held his hand out. 

I dug down into my pocket and pulled them out before holding them out with my other hand and dropping them so that he would have to catch them.  

Of course he did with no problem. 

“You need to drop the attitude, Tommy,” Wes growled.

I glared up at him. “I don’t reckon you’ve turned in to dad yet, Wes, so stop actin’ like him.” 

Wesley grinned before he dropped the base in his voice in a perfect imitation of dad and said, “No, but if you think for one second that I won’t slap some cuffs on you and take you to the station instead of home, you’re sorely mistaken, little brother.”

I dropped my eyes down to the ground. Okay, so maybe I definitely didn’t want that. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to be arrested, it was just the fact that I’d already sorta been arrested once this year. My dad had made that an experience that I wasn’t too keen on repeating anytime soon. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Wes said, taking hold of my arm again and leading me around the car before opening the back door. He pushed my head down so that I wouldn’t hit it as I got into the backseat. 

“Wait!” I said, “You’re just taking me home, right? So why do I have to sit back here?”

Wesley grinned, “Because you’re a criminal, Tommy, and criminals sit in the back seat.” 

“Well we can’t all be a saint, Wes.” 

Wesley shut the door and I dropped my head back against the headrest.

Great. Seriously, how do I end up in these messes?

I thought back to that morning in Mr. Rawling’s history class. Oh, yeah.

Sydney Donaldson. 

[naturepointstheway]

of joints, sleep paralysis, and australia

It’s fucking 3am and Chloe can’t fucking sleep again. She leans back on her elbows outside, her ashtray with its stubs of joints next to her. It’s the middle of the night, it’s still hot as balls, and she still sees the storm and the remains of Arcadia, ghost-like in the moonlight. In the middle of nowhere, somewhere between ruined Arcadia Bay and Seattle, somewhere between there and somewhere out there, and somewhere between then and future, she still sees the ruined diner like it’s right in front of her. Feels that stab of indignation like she should have died so her mother wouldn’t have died in a fucking diner, but then there’s that twinge of guilt, shame, like she knows she’s blaming Max for her mother’s death, for the ruins of Arcadia Bay. But what else did she know but to blame everyone for everything that went wrong in her life

But Max. Her Max, Max Caulfield, Super Max, Batmax, why-the-fuck-did-you-never-call-for-five-years Max, her otter in her water, ‘you are my number one priority, now Chloe’, Max. She is still here, and she gave up Arcadia Bay for her. Her number one priority. 

God, Max. How can one goddamn woman give her so much when she, Chloe Price, school dropout, rebel, punk, didn’t deserve so much of it? Chloe might always have been Captain Bluebeard, but Max was always the captain of her heart and soul. 

Chloe drags on her joint, thinks of Max still asleep in the back of the truck, wrapped up in an old blanket dug up from somewhere, her face younger and so much more peaceful in sleep than it had been since that whole godforsaken week. God, the girl was eighteen, what fucked up universe decided to put all of fucking hell on her shoulders? And then forced her to choose between Arcadia Bay and Chloe? Shit. Chloe marvelled that Max hadn’t been driven to booze or getting high to forget all that shit, at least for a while. Yet, when Chloe had offered her a drink one night, Supermax had recoiled with a ‘ugh, yuck.’ 

Never change, Maxine Caulfield. 

Chloe draws her knees up to her chest, squinting up at the stars; she’s sure she sees a planet just above the horizon, unblinking and really bright. Probably Jupiter. She hates that universe, or whoever was up there among the stars, who thought an eighteen year old girl needed to have all that shit put on her shoulders, so that now, when Chloe catches Max’s eye, she sees not an eighteen year old on the verge of adulthood, of pursuing her one passion, but someone twice that age, who has seen more ills and fucked-up shit in life than many in all their lifetimes. What she wouldn’t give for her not to have the bags under her eyes, the faint lines that appear on her forehead, the way she looks at her like someone who has been through a lifetime of trials and tribulations. Fuck. It’s messed up, and what she wouldn’t give to be in Max’s place, just so she didn’t have to go through that. 

After a few minutes, Chloe stubs out what remains of her joint in the ashtray, picking it up in her hand as she stands up, walking back to the truck with its still-open driver’s seat. Dumping the ashtray back on the dashboard, she lifts herself into the seat, leaning back as she shuts the door, shutting it louder than she had intended, and she quickly looks over her shoulder to check Max is still sleeping, and flinches to see her with eyes wide open, her mouth working as if in a silent plead. 

Jesus. 

Chloe turns in her seat, reaches over to shake Max’s shoulder, to draw her from whatever fucked up nightmare she is in now. Even in the faint light, Chloe can tell Max’s body is stiff as a board, unmoving as though paralysed by whatever terror swam through her brain right now. Max has woken up nearly every night at least once, eyes open, but unable to move her body. Sleep paralysis--Chloe’s heard about it before, but never actually seen anyone affected by it, and she’s glad she never experienced it. 

‘Max!  Max, wake up for God’s sake!’ 

And, by some miracle, Max’s body jolts sharply, her eyes clenching shut as her hands fly up to cover her face, her breathing loud and ragged in the confines of the truck. Chloe keeps her hand on Max’s shoulder, gripping it tight. 

‘Hey, Super Max, I’m here, okay? I’m never leaving you.’ 

‘I saw him again, Chloe,’ Max rasps, her hands still over her face, ‘Felt his needle.’ 

Chloe’s other hand balls into a fist against the driver’s seat, her jaw clenching so hard she’s sure she’s going to strain a muscle. She should have killed Mr Jefferson herself. That son of a motherfucker better be burning in hell right now. She never believed in a hell--much less some magical, unicorn-fantasy heaven--but fuck, if hell exists, Mr Jefferson should be burning in its most fiery bowels. 

‘He’s never touching you again. Never.’ 

‘Chloe...’ the hands drop, limp, back down to Max’s blanket. ‘That doesn’t stop...stop him in my dreams.’ 

‘He’s dead, Max.’ 

‘It doesn’t stop him okay?!’ Max snaps, and immediately follows it up with a little gasp, a wince of guilt. ‘I’m sorry, Chloe.’ 

‘Hey, you’re allowed your rage. You can scream and swear and rage in my face, you deserve to after all this fucked up bullshit. You’re fucked up, I’m fucked up, we’re gonna get through this together.’ 

‘I can’t stop feeling it on my neck. His needle...’ Max whispers, a hand moving to rub her neck, right over where the scab from the syringe in the dark room was still healing. Chloe has kissed that spot on Max’s neck many times, and it sickens her to know that not all the tenderest neck kisses in the world could take away the ghost of that sicko’s needle. 

‘You want me to come in the backseat with you?’ Chloe’s used to having spent a night in an awkward position sitting up in the backseat being there for Max after a PTSD-ridden nightmare, and if it means a leg and possibly an arm having gone numb from a cramped position all night, so be it, as long as she was there for Max. 

‘Yeah...’ Max’s voice is no more than a sigh, and Chloe immediately kicks the driver’s seat open, jumps out, and opens the backseat door, waiting as Max carefully sits upright, the blanket falling off her shoulders. Max’s bob is a tangled mess, and she looks paler than usual, and Chloe is sure she can see even darker bags under her eyes. Chloe doesn’t bother to ask if she’s alright, because the fuck she is. Dumb question to ask, when she knows full well the answer. And anyway, how the hell could either be ‘alright’ after all the shit that’s happened. 

Chloe is no sooner settled in the backseat then Max leans into her body, her head on Chloe’s shoulder, her eyes closed. Chloe takes Max’s hands in hers, interlinks their fingers as she drops a kiss in Max’s hair, letting it linger as the brunette readjusts her legs into a slightly more comfortable position. Her breaths are still shallow, but seems to be calming down already. She lets a minute or so of silence pass as Max rests against her, fingers clinging on to hers, her breath tickling Chloe’s bare arm. Her lips move imperceptibly, as though reciting some silent mantra to try to pull together whatever remained of her mind, shattered forever from everything. 

‘Max? How’re you feeling?’ 

‘Urrgh, fucked up as usual,’ she mumbles against Chloe, ‘but better now you’re here.’ 

‘Same,’ Chloe concurs, and she knows Max gets what she means. ‘Pretty fucked up.’ 

There’s a short silence, followed by a sigh from Max. 

‘Chloe, do you ever get scared of falling asleep?’ 

‘All the time.’ 

‘Really?’ Chloe notes the tone of surprise in Max’s voice. 

‘My brain thinks it’s a great idea making me dream of us finding Rachel over and over..’ Chloe shudders, feeling Maxs hands clutch tightly on to hers in response.  

‘Shit.’ Max sounds like she might throw up. ‘That’s fucked up.’ 

‘Or being trapped in Nathan’s creepy drawing. You know the one.’ 

‘The one we saw in the principal’s office?’ 

‘That one.’ 

‘God, Chloe.’ 

‘Bleeding out on the floor of the bathroom as Nathan stands over me, and--Jesus, Max, I don’t want to start giving you even more nightmares than you already have.’ 

‘Like what we’ve been through wasn’t already a long endless nightmare?’ 

‘My nightmares never have you there with me, Max, and you were always there for me during all that shit.’ 

‘Mine too. That’s how I know I’m awake again, when I see you here.’ 

‘Ugh, we’re getting mushy again, Max.’ 

‘Love you too, Chloe.’ 

‘Stop it, I mean it. You know I hate getting all teary and mushy.’ Chloe feels Max shift around, moving her head back to meet Chloe’s smile with a weak one of her own, though her eyes stay dark and world-weary, many years beyond eighteen. 

‘I think the last time I was scared of falling asleep was after we looked into your attic, Chloe, when we were ten and saw that huge spider. Isn’t it messed up that’s what kept me up all night not even ten years ago, and it seems laughable now?’ 

‘i ridiculed you for it. Shit move of me.’

‘That hurt, but...now it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to lose sleep over. Spiders are nothing compared to...I mean spiders don’t seem so bad after all of this shit.’ A pause. ‘Okay, maybe not the ones in Australia. I refuse to go there.’ 

‘Damn it, I was just about to suggest Australia as our next big trip.’ 

Max glares at her, but this only makes her look adorable rather than properly mad. ‘Shut up.’ 

Chloe can’t resist any longer and leans forward to kiss Max, but a quick one that is no less full of love for it. Even Chloe can tell that neither are in the mood for any frisky times in the back seat of the truck. To be honest, neither had been ever since they’d first driven out of the remains of Arcadia Bay. Shit only knew when they would feel mentally ready for moving on to that stage of their relationship. 

‘You’re being chickenshit again, Maxine Caulfield. It’s not that bad over there.’ 

‘Australia terrifies me. You ever heard about cassowaries?’ 

‘It’s not that bad.’ 

‘How would you know, Steve Irwin.’ 

‘Stick to the big cities like Sydney. Don’t go hitch-hiking into the wilderness. Look before you sit on the loo. Watch out for dropbears in trees, and you’ll survive.’ 

Max sighs, leans her forehead in to the crook of Chloe’s neck, right where Chloe loves it best. ‘Sydney...a photographer’s dream.’ 

Never change.

‘Dream of Sydney, okay, and I better be there too.’ 

‘Chloe, I’m...’ 

‘Never leaving you,’ both finish the sentence in a whisper.

‘You sure you’re okay, Max?’ Chloe asks, even as drowsiness washes over her. ‘You recovered bloody quick.’ 

‘Helps when you’re here. I...love you.’ 

‘Hey, I’m no therapist, but don’t be afraid to scream at me about anything, got it?’ 

‘Gotcha, Chloe.’

Chloe marvels how fast Max can fall asleep, even after a nightmare, her face relaxing from its aged-beyond-years look, the kind that scares Chloe, all of nineteen years old. She studies Max’s face in sleep, noting how the lines between her eyebrows fades away, and the corners of her lips relax, her breathing deep and regular against Chloe, who herself falls into a slumber just as the bright planet sinks below the horizon, the stars moving overhead in a silent procession of ever-moving time. 

[breathinginthevapor]

A heart-breaking mess

Summary: You and Luke are former high school sweethearts, but haven’t talked in years. You suddenly run into each other at a bar and might not be completely done with each other.

A/N: Well, no one (literally no one, it got six likes i think) read my last one shot even though the one before that got over 300 so yeah, let’s see how this goes haha. Please please please leave feedback if you like it (and also if you don’t just don’t be too mean im fragile haha) As for warnings, there’s meantions and brief descriptions of sex, and alcohol is also in the picture. Also, if anyone would like a second part, I’d totally be up for that x

T/W: drinking, slight nsfw

Masterlist

I don’t own the picture, it’s from Luke’s instagram

He has changed so much, and he’s not at all the boy you knew all those years ago. But his eyes are the same that once looked at you with admiration and love, and their shade is the same icy blue as the ones who made your teenage heart flutter. His lips are the same as the ones who calmed you down on dark nights, and his hands still the ones that held yours when you walked through the halls of your local high school.

But the confidence radiating from his body is new, as well as the flirting look in his eyes is one you haven’t seen before. It’s a strange coincidence he is frequenting the same bar as you tonight, and even though you’re both different persons than the children who believed their love could last forever, it brings back all those memories you spent so much time on forgetting.  

If you had known he was back in town, you would have stayed indoors watching Netflix instead of visiting the bar you know his friends like, but how could you? It’s not easy when he’s traveling the world; in Asia the first day and then home the next.  

It may seem weird that even now, years after your breakup, you still fear meeting him, but he was your first love, and you’ve learned that first loves always will have a special place in people’s heart, including yours.  

He’s dancing with a girl you don’t know, and she’s just another thing that tells you how different he is. The Luke you knew wouldn’t even have offered her and her short dress a second glance, too caught up in a funny story his friends told and besides never seeing the point in one night stands, but now his hands are around her waist and his lips on her neck.

She turns around and places her hands in his thick curls. You want to puke, perhaps because it isn’t until now you realize that the Luke who’ll always be a part of you is gone from the surface and only lives in your memory. The tiniest bit of hope that has been hidden inside you for the past years shatters. The Luke who promised you forever under a sky full of stars, the Luke who ate McDonald’s with you on prom night in your fancy clothes and the Luke who wrote songs about you and showed them with trembling hands on his guitar doesn’t exist anymore and never will again.  

You swallow down the rest of your drink and get up from the lousy bar chair. You’re not in the mood for neither partying nor drinking anymore, no, you just want to go home and sleep and maybe throw out some old pictures of the boy who had promised to come back to you but never did.  

However, today isn’t your lucky day. When you stand up, you manage to take down the glass with you, and just as it hits the floor, the music stops and everyone turns towards you, including him. You see it in his eyes: the recognition, how he at first wonders why you look so familiar and then how it suddenly hits him who you are.

It’s only about three seconds before another song is played and everybody continues what they were doing before your little accident, but not him. You watch him excuse himself from the girl who’s clearly very disappointed about missing out on a night with the Rockstar, but he doesn’t seem to care, and while he makes his way to you, his eyes are fixated on yours like you’re some song he knew and loved once but now struggle to remember the words of.  

“Y/N.”

“Luke.”

You both greet each other with emotionless voices, and it scares you how comfortable he looks while you’re busy scanning the room for an exit. But even now, the way he says your name sends chill through your body, and you wonder how you have been able to go on so long without hearing him say it.  

It’s weird: he’s still able to give you the sparks, to fill your stomach with butterflies, but at the same time you never want to see him again. Never want to hear his voice again, never want to feel the way that only he can make you.

“It’s been a long time, huh? What, a year, two years?”

It hurts that he doesn’t remember, but you remind yourself that it’s different for him. He doesn’t have to buy groceries at the same place you bought hot wings together when you were hangover, chat with your mom every time he sees her on the street (which is surprisingly often considering how big of a city Sydney is), hear her talk about how good you’re doing or walk past your house every time he’s on his way to work.  

“Almost three,” you correct, fighting to keep the careless expression on your face.

You just hope he can’t read you anymore. You are, after all, not the open book you used to be.  

“Really? Wow, time just flies when you’re living on the road,” he answers, a small smile on his lips, clearly thinking back on some tour memories. “Are you in college now? Almost done or what?”

You’re not really in the mood for small talk, and you just want to run away and never ever think about the boy who broke your heart again, but unfortunately, it feels like your feet are glued to the ground which means you have no choice but to stay.

“Yeah, I’ll be a fully educated teacher in two years. Took a year off to work.”

You can’t count how many times you’ve said those words to strangers or acquaintances, but it feels weird that Luke’s one of them now when he used to be the one who knew you better than anyone else.

Sometimes, you’d wonder if he actually knew you better than you knew yourself. It certainly seemed that way when he sent some of your writing to a competition where the first prize was a course with a professional writer. You only found out what he had done when you received an email that said you had won. Needless to say, you were over the moon for having someone so sweet and considerate in your life.

“Teaching? I thought you wanted to be a writer?” He remembers. Remembers the dreams you had when you were younger and believed everything was possible, when you still believed that dreams come true.

News flash, they don’t.

"Well, we can't all live our teenage dreams as grown-ups," you say before thinking, sounding so bitter that you don't even like yourself. Luke has worked hard for everything he's achieved, and he has definitely deserved it.

However, there's still a small part of you that finds it unfair that he's doing everything he's ever wanted while swimming in money and luxury while you're only just able to pay rent because you did nothing but work for a whole year.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just tired, school's really been taking a toll on me the last couple of months.”

"I understand," he affirms, raising his hand to show that you’re forgiven. "I was rooting for you, though."

You flash a smile at him, and then the two of you stand in an awkward silence you’ve never experienced with him before. You used to talk the whole night, and even when the silence took over, it felt nice and calm and comforting.

He scratches his neck, looking down at his feet. Then he takes a deep breath that visibly expands his chest and fixes his blue orbs on yours.

“Do you wanna dance?”

You open your mouth to decline his offer, but then you close it again and just nod. You can’t explain why, but you can’t get yourself to say no. Not when you know this might be the last time you see him.

He grabs your hand and pulls you through the crowd, bodies pressing against you from every side but the feeling of Luke’s hand in yours making you feel safe.

He stops when he’s found a spot with a little amount of space for the two of you, and you seriously regret your decision when you stand there facing each other and not knowing what to do.

But then he grabs your other hand and swirls you around while pulling you closer, so your back is pressed against his chest. He places your own hands on your hips, his still covering them.

You immediatly lose yourself in the music and the way his body perfectly melds into yours, and you grow braver for every minute. You press your ass against his crotch and let your fingertips wander up to his neck, pulling at the short curls. He groans and grips your hips even tighter, knuckles turning white. Then you turn around and slowly lean in, barely letting your lips meet before pulling away again.

“Such a tease,” he mutters, hands slipping down to squeeze your ass. You lean in once more and this time, there’s no holding back.

He parts your lips with his tongue and then explores your mouth, grazing your teeth and biting your lip.

When a stranger bumps into you, breaking the kiss, he whispers in your ear, “Wanna do this somewhere else, babe?”

You simply nod, feeling your veins boiling with desire.

This time, he leads you to the bathroom for disabled and pushes you up against the door while locking it with the hand that isn’t caressing your hardening nipple through your dress.

“Jump,” he commands, and you secure your legs behind his back while he carries you to the sink, placing you on the brink of it. His lips suck on your neck, collarbone and then, after removing your dress, your breast too, surely leaving marks.

The sex is nothing like when you were together, before he left. He’s much more rough and daring, whispering things in your ear that would make his younger self blush, and he has to cover your mouth to prevent you from making too much noise.

But he’s still considerate enough to make sure to finish you both, and then he stays inside you for a few seconds before pulling out and grabbing your clothing from the floor.

He throws your dress, bra and panties at you and then pulls his boxer shorts on and buttons up his shirt.

You slide down the sink, trying to catch your breath and laughing at his struggle with putting on the tight skinny jeans.

“I can’t believe you still wear those,” you begin, raising your eyebrows, “I remember you said they made you look ‘punk rock’.”

He chuckles, finally succeeding in his attempt at pulling up the black jeans.

“Well, they look good with almost everything and you gotta admit I do look more tough with these on than my old pizza pajamas pants,” he responds and winks at you, making you giggle once more.

“I actually have those in my drawer back home. They may not be trendy or ‘punk rock’, but I swear to God they are the comfiest piece of clothing ever,” you admit and then realize how weird it must sound that an ex has your pajamas laying around after three years of being broken up. “Wow, that sounded creepier than I intended.”

He smiles reassuringly at you, “no worries, Y/N. I still wear that necklace you gave me with the fake shark tooth sometimes as well, so we’re even.” You mirror his grin, remembering when you bought him the necklace. It was when he first went to London, and you wanted to gift him something to remind him of home. You wandered through Sydney all day, not finding anything worth paying for before stumbling upon the fake shark tooth in one of the tourist shops down by the harbor. You knew Luke would find it funny (and perhaps just a little cool too) and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to forget how thankful he looked when you gave it to him.

You were joining his family visiting him in London, and upon your leave, you had offered him the gift and he immediately got the idea behind, slipping the necklace over his head and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, whispering “I love you so much,” when you pulled apart.

Luke clears his throat and shakes you from your thoughts. You can’t remove the smile from your lips, feeling better than you have in a long time and looking forward to spending more time with Luke. There’s so much you want to hear about and so many things you want to tell him. And you’re extremely glad you went to the bar tonight.

But then Luke speaks, and every trace of happiness once again leaves your body, “Well, I should probably get going. It was nice catching up with you Y/N, feel free to message me if you’re ever in L.A and up for a round two.”

Your whole body stiffens, but he doesn’t seem to notice or perhaps he just doesn’t care as he presses a short kiss on your cheek before opening the door and leaving you alone.

You’re unable to move, too much in shock to even think comprehendible, but then someone opens the door to the bathroom and asks if you’re finished out there, and you leave, feeling like a zombie like the ones in the movies you watched with your father when you were a kid.

You stop by the bar and look down where the shattered glass still lays right beside your feet, just like the broken remains of your heart. Because he isn’t your Luke anymore, he’s just a heart-breaking mess who used to be the love of your life.

But even now, he still has the ability to shatter your heart into millions of pieces. And you hate him for it.  

[fictional-downey]

Demons

I am going back and reworking this fic, changing things I wasn’t happy with, etc, and I thought, why not repost it here?  After all, “fictional-downey” was chosen for a reason, and this was it.  I AM A FEEDBACK WHORE so feel free to comment, good or bad (as long as it’s done tastefully, no need to be cruel).  The fic is a little dated, so I’ve begun to change a few things to bring it into the now (imagination, yeah?), but cannot change the fact that music is usually what inspires parts of fics for me and this one was no different.  When “Demons” came out, oh so long ago, Nathan was the first character I thought of, so it had to stay in the first chapter.  Thanks and have a good read!  (BONUS - The first chapter is SMUT!  Not that that’s all you kind people want...)

Chapter 1 - Stranger in a Bar

        Friday night in mid, unseasonably warm October.  There were high school football games being played, couples on dates, husbands and wives playing with their children…but Nathan Gardner was seated at a bar, his second scotch in hand.  This wasn’t Nathan’s usual haunt, but he had stupidly agreed to go out with a couple of casual friends and this was where the night led him.  They told him he needed to “get out there” – he hated that phrase – as well as celebrate getting his old job back.  Steven and Jeff were actually out on the small dance floor trying desperately to flirt with a group of women.  Nathan just shook his head and looked back down into his glass.

         He tried so hard to stop drinking after the fiasco with Charlie, but he was weak.  With his ex-wife still riding his back and the superintendent unhappy about his reinstatement as a teacher, he wasn’t in the mood to try and “fix himself.”  He had just set the empty tumbler down when he heard the barstool next to him move.  He sighed, hoping it wasn’t some chatty creeper who struck out with the women present in the bar.

         “Tequila,” a voice, very much not male, said,  “coconut if you have it…and pineapple juice.”

         “In it?” the bartender asked.

         “Nah, chaser.  I know, it’s girly.”  After a moment Nathan, who was only looking at the wooden bar top, saw two shot glasses placed next to him.  “Thank you,” the woman said.  He watched her manicured hand lift the glass with the tequila, then the one with the pineapple juice.  She all but slammed them down when she was finished.  “Well, that’s a start,” she said to herself.

         Nathan looked up at her, curiosity getting the best of him.  He began to wish for the chatty creeper.  The woman was brunette with dark eyes and berry stained lips.  She had heavy bangs, a neat ponytail, and was clearly going for some type of dramatic look with her dark smoky eye makeup.  Early thirties he guessed…and she realized he was looking at her.

         “Are you going to say something or just keep looking?” she asked, somewhat amused.

         “Ah, sorry,” he stammered.  “Didn’t mean…sorry.”  He waved for the bartender.  “Same.”

         “Amaretto sour,” she said quickly, not wanting the bartender to leave without getting her something else.  They were served at the same time and when she took her drink she looked at Nathan.  “Bye.”  He tried not to, but he watched as she walked away.  She was in a version of the cliched “little black dress”, a generously low cut one that hugged her curves, and black heels.  

         The establishment wasn’t the small, quiet bar Nathan was used to, but it wasn’t like one of the downtown clubs either; it fell somewhere in between.  It was crowded and loud, people were dancing and carrying on, but Nathan was able to keep to himself - especially since his so-called “friends” had forgotten about him.  As long as he could drink, he was fine.

         An hour passed and the woman once again wound up beside him.  “If you’re not going to move from this stool, you’re doing a shot with me.”

         “Uh, no, I’m good,” Nathan said, completely avoiding eye contact with her.

         She pushed herself into his line of sight, wanting to get a better look at him in the dim light.  “I don’t think so,” she said, obviously tipsy.  “Two…cherry tootsie pops!” she said, holding her hand up in the air.  A minute or so later, there was a shot in front of each of them.  “When a woman buys you a drink, it’s only polite to take it.”  She nudged the shot glass closer to him and he took it, albeit reluctantly.  She smiled at him and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards…this caused her to smile wider.  “That’s what I thought.”  She held up her glass and he clinked his own against it.  “To a less lonely night,” she said with a wink.  They both downed the shot and put their glasses down.

         “That actually tasted like…”

        “Like being a kid, right?”  She put her hand on his shoulder.  “I’m Sydney.  Dance with me.”

        “I need a lot more to drink before I can even start to think about that.”

        “I can arrange that…”  She looked at him, waiting for a name.

        He shook his head, knowing he was going to give in.  “Nathan.”

        “That’s not a bar name.  I like it.”

        Nathan raised an eyebrow in question.  “Not a bar name?  What does that mean?”

        Sydney giggled.  “It’s a girl thing, but it’s good…promise.”  She ordered two more shots and Nathan let himself loosen up a little.  “So, why are you drinking all alone on a Friday night, Nathan?”

        “I’m not alone…exactly.”  He looked out at the dance floor.  “My ‘friends’ are…”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  “…trying too hard.  Meanwhile, same question to you.”

        “I’m not alone either…your friends are attempting to hit on mine.”  She sat, fumbling a little, on the stool next to Nathan’s.  “Girls’ night,” she said sarcastically.  “They sorta forced me.”

        “Me too,” he chuckled.

        Sydney took a long, deep breath, then turned her whole body toward Nathan’s.  The music changed to a song she loved and she gave him the best puppy dog eyes she could muster.  “We could be miserable together…out there.”

        “Look, uh…”  He struggled to remember her name for a moment.  “…Sydney.  I really don’t think…”

        “Exactly!  Let’s not think.”  She grabbed his hand.  “Neither of us want to be here and we’ve both had enough to drink to make this plausible…pretty please?”  

        He shrugged, then looked at his friends.  They were trying to dance with the women around them, while this very attractive woman was begging for him to do the same.  If anything, maybe this would get them off his back.  “Okay.”  Sydney beamed as she took his arm and all but dragged him out into the crowd.

        “I’m a terrible dancer,” she laughed.  “Fair warning.”  She stumbled a bit, trying to dance on her own and Nathan watched her, barely moving his feet.  Without warning, Sydney flung her arms around his neck and her dancing style changed.  Nathan didn’t even realize he was putting his arms around her until he felt his body  pressing against hers.  “Mmm…”  He could barely hear her above the music, but the sound was there.  She ran her hands along his arms.  “Strong,” she said with a coy smile.  “You don’t dress how you’re built, do you?”

        “I don’t put much thought into it,” he answered honestly.  He was in a rumpled button down shirt, his tie crooked, and his pants were a size too big.

        “Well then, good thing you’re hot,” she added, her finger tracing his jaw line.  Nathan blushed instantly.  She giggled.  “Like you don’t know it.”  She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them he looked…nervous.

        “I…”

        “Not hit on much?”

        “Not hit on ever.”  He inhaled her perfume, light with a strange hint of chocolate.  He didn’t mean for it to happen, but his body reacted.  What could have been the highest form of embarrassment was overlooked as Sydney’s lips found his.  It was closed mouthed and quick, but it was enough to make him allow some lines to blur.

        “Let’s remedy that, hm?”  She pulled him off the dance floor and back to the bar.  A few more shots later and he was losing the remaining tenseness in his muscles.  “My fiancé dumped me for a man,” Sydney confessed.  They had moved to a table and she was sitting on his lap, nuzzling his neck.  His hand was on her backside.  “‘New boyfriend’ left me a couple of days ago…well, sort of…he left for work a while ago, but just officially dumped me... ”  She stopped talking and circled his ear with her tongue.

        “Assholes,” Nathan said, his eyes half closed as he enjoyed the feelings running through him.  “My ex-wife slept with anything that had a pulse…”

        “Bitch.”  She moved her hands to his face and looked at him.  “I know how you want to kiss me…you should just do it.”

        “Yeah?”  

        She licked at her upper lip.  “Yeah…”  Her word was swallowed as Nathan kissed her, his tongue searching out hers.  Without breaking the kiss, she moved her body so she straddled him, grinding against his growing erection.  She moaned into his whiskey soaked mouth, her body aching with want, then broke the kiss and rose from his lap.  She saw the look on his face and bent down to kiss him again.  “Just need…little girls room…”  She winked and steadied herself as she walked to the restrooms.  When she returned, she grabbed his tie, pulling him up from his seat.  “Dance,” she said.  This time she didn’t have to ask twice.

        They shamelessly ground against one another to the beat of the music.  Nathan’s hands were curious and Sydney didn’t bat them away; hers were just as curious.  Both sets of friends noticed them and laughed it off as a drunken tryst, which it most certainly was…for a while.

        “I haven’t…no fun for…”  It wasn’t the alcohol affecting Nathan’s words, it was Sydney’s fingers running along his waistband.

        “I’m gonna offer you something men would kill for,” Sydney whispered in his ear.

        “Oh?”  He cocked an eyebrow, his mouth dry.

        “I got something from the…vending machine in the bathroom.”

        Nathan immediately knew what she meant and became rock hard.  He hadn’t felt like this in years…he wanted the contact so much it hurt.  “Not nice to tease.”

        “Not teasing,” Sydney purred.  “No last names, no phone numbers…I could care less what you make a year or even if you’re a fucking serial killer.”  She kissed him, slow and wet.  “Have you ever slept with a stranger from a bar?”  He shook his head.  “Me either…and I want to.”

        “I…”

        She stopped him.  “Don’t tell me you don’t want to feel good for a night…”

        “I do,” he growled, unable to help himself.

        She smiled, please with his answer.  “You’ve been hard a few times tonight, Nathan.”

        “Have you been wet?”  He couldn’t believe those words passed his lips.  She guided his hand under the hem of her dress, nobody noticing them.  “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling the answer to her question.  He wavered for a moment, unsure if it was due to the alcohol or his awakened hormones.

        “No strings.”  She stroked him through his pants.

        “Where?”

        The tone of her voice was desperate and needy.  “It doesn’t matter…”  She kissed him once more,  grabbing his erection as she did so.  “I’m betting it’s been a while, hm?”  He nodded, his eyes closed and his head tipped back.  “Might not last if we don’t…”  The ill fitting pants were a great help as Sydney’s hand dipped below the waistband, beyond his boxers, and found his bare length.  His body shuddered and his breath hitched.  “Poor baby,” she cooed.

        Nathan’s hand went back under her dress.  “And you?”

        “He was gone a couple of months before he ended…”  She gasped as he stroked the damp fabric between her legs.  “…it.”

        Nathan pulled her closer, still moving enough to look like they were dancing.  He put his lips next to her ear and breathed, “I want to touch you.”

        “You are.”

“I want to feel you.”

        Sydney pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.  “I’m not saying ‘no’ am I?”  It was all Nathan needed to hear.  Her soft hand still stroking him, he pushed her panties aside and slid a finger inside her.  “Fuck,” she panted.

        He bit at his lip as they remained in the crowd, their hands working one another into a frenzy.  “If you don’t stop I’m gonna…”

        “That’s the point.”  She licked his neck.  “Quick mess now means a longer time with me later.”

“Christ…you’re so…ah…”  He felt a surge of new moisture on his finger and he knew he’d made her come…he followed suit, not caring where the mess went.

“Good boy,” Sydney whispered, her cheeks glowing.  “I’ve got it, baby.”  She slyly removed her hand and went to the restroom again.  Nathan worried she wouldn’t come back.

After a few minutes, he went back to the bar, convinced she had, indeed, left.  “’Nother,” he slurred, his body as light as his head.  He hadn’t even bothered touching himself for longer than he could remember and tonight a complete stranger got him off in a crowd of a hundred or so people.  “Hallucinating?” he asked himself, as yet another tumbler appeared before him.

“I was real last time I checked,” Sydney said, wrapping her arms around him from behind.  She kissed the side of his neck.  “Feel good?”

Nathan turned on the stool and took her into his arms, kissing her unabashedly.  His tongue sought out all it could and his hands wandered her back.  “Who are you?” he asked.

Sydney shook her head.  “I told you.  I’m Sydney.”  He wasn’t going to get any more from her.  “We’re two lonely people on a night out neither of us wanted.”  She smiled at him.  “We’re one another’s future good memories with no regrets.”  

“This…this doesn’t happen,” he slurred.  “Happens in movies and, well, pornos and shit…”  Sydney laughed.  “…but real life?”

“Changing your mind?”

“No!” he yelled, far too eager.

“Good.”  She took his hand and led him back to the table they occupied before, so she could sit on his lap again.  “I want you to tell me what you wanna to do me.”

“What?”

“We’ve both had plenty to shut off our filters…”  She nuzzled into his neck again, lightly nipping at his flesh.  “What are you thinking about doing to me right now?”  She sucked his earlobe.  “Be dirty, baby.”  She felt the muscles in his chest tighten for a moment.    

“I…”  Drunk as he was, he just couldn’t.

“Please, baby,” Sydney purred, accentuating the anonymous placeholder.  She was trying to use his name as little as possible; it kept things easier.  “Every dirty little thing you’ve wanted since your ex did what she did…tell me.”

“I wanna bury my cock inside you,” he confessed, unable to stop.  Sydney was right, the filters were gone.  His voice stayed low as he continued.  “I want to fuck you…I want to make you come, coating me…”  He was kissing her chest, his tongue dipping into her cleavage.  “I want you to clench around me and make me…”

“Make you what?”

“I wanna fucking explode,” he growled.

        Satisfied, she rose from his lap and grabbed his arm.  They went out the front door of the bar and were immediately illuminated by the streetlight.   “Jesus, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Sydney all but moaned.  “In there yeah, but…fuck, Nathan…”  He blushed, thinking the same of her, but also thinking she was putting him on.  “You don’t believe me.”  She saw the few lines around his eyes, the traces of gray in his hair and stub - and it made her knees weak.  “You’re in your prime.”  He smiled at her and that was it.  “Do that…do that a lot more.”  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, heat and want flooding her body.

        “You’re beautiful,” he breathed.  “I can’t…fuck, I…”

        “Oh, yes you can, Nathan…”  She looked around and smiled.  “Back here.”  She led him to side of the building.  The bar was in a nice enough area that it wasn’t a typical “dirty” alleyway, just a throughway between businesses…with a half fence to keep anyone from seeing them.  There was one dim light above them and she saw doubt in his eyes for a moment.  

        He pressed her body to the brick wall with gentle force.  “Why me?” he asked, his voice raspy with want and tainted by confusion.  “All the guys in there, all the younger, better looking…”

Sydney put her finger to his lips.  “First of all, I repeat, you’re gorgeous.  Younger men are a pain in the ass…”  Her body trembled for a dozen different reasons.  “…and you looked broken.”

“You’ve no idea,” he whispered.  

“Two broken people…”  She rubbed his back as he began to place hot, wet kisses along her neck.  He found a spot between her neck and shoulder that made her back arch and she pressed into him.  “…they should be able to fix something for a bit when put together, don’t you think?”

“Never thought of it…”  He kissed her lips, chaste at first.  “…that way..”   His kisses deepened and Sydney mewed into his mouth.  “Tell me you want me,” he whispered, needing to hear it, needing to know this was real.

“I want you,” she said surely.  “Moment I saw you…crazy…stupid…”

“No…”  He reached up under her dress to stroke her again and found no barrier in the way.

        “In my purse,” she answered before he could question.  “So’s…” Nathan understood and backed off, letting her bend and rifle through her small black bag.  She pulled out the foil packet and reached for his belt.  They could hear the music from inside the bar as she released his length out into the unseasonable air.  

When the days are cold…and the cards all fold…and the saints we see…are all made of gold…

She couldn’t help but smile when she looked down.  “Knew what I felt was good.”

When your dreams all fail…and the ones we hail…are the worst of all…and the blood’s run stale…

        He gasped as she sheathed him, even that act feeling better than anything in years.  She looked at him with full, parted lips and could see that he needed just one more nudge.  “It’s okay, baby,” she cooed, stroking his face.  “Fill me.  We’re not making love here, no need to…be formal or anything.”  Nathan took her left leg and hiked it onto his hip.  He ran his length along her folds for a moment, giving her the chance to change her mind.  “Fuck me,” she begged.

        I want to hide the truth…I want to shelter you…but with the beast inside there’s nowhere we can hide…


        Nathan slid himself inside her body and let out a low growl.  He immediately claimed her lips as he reached for her other leg and wrapped them both around his waist.  “Christ,” he breathed, coming up for air.  

“Talk to me,” she cried.  “Tell me…” She wanted to hear every dirty thing he had to say to her.

No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed…This is my kingdom come…This is my kingdom come…

        “So fucking tight,” he grunted.  “So wet…warm…”  He placed his arms between her back and the brick wall, not wanting to hurt her.  “Fuck, Syd,” he hissed…and she hated how he’d just said her name - like he knew her, like he could have cared for her.

        “Harder,” Sydney panted, wanting to break the brief spell she was under.  “Your cock feels amazing, baby…so hard, so big…”  She got what she wanted as Nathan’s thrusts increased.   He held her close to him and she felt how strong he really was.  The air was sobering, but her mind didn’t change.  Nathan looked into her eyes, he was beginning to sober as well, but his pace stayed strong, enjoying every bit of pleasure coursing thorough his body.

        When you feel my heat, look into my eyes…It’s where my demons hide…It’s where my demons hide…
Don’t get too close, it’s dark inside…it’s where my demons hide, it’s where my demons hide…



        “You feel so good,” he whispered in her ear.  “Will you come for me?”

        When the curtain’s call is the last of all…When the lights fade out all the sinners crawl…So they dug your grave and the masquerade…Will come calling out at the mess you made…



         “Yes,” she whined, her body tensing.   She bit on his shoulder to muffle herself and Nathan groaned as her walls clenched around him.  “Fuck…fuck yes…Nathan…”  She regretted saying his name.

        “Say my name again,” he all but demanded.  “Come on me again.”

Don’t want to let you down, but I am hell bound…Though this is all for you, don’t want to hide the truth…No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed…This is my kingdom come…This is my kingdom come…


        He rolled his hips, thrusting deeper within her and she did as he asked, calling out his name, knowing she shouldn’t, but wanting to all the same.  “So good, Nathan…so...fucking…good…”

When you feel my heat, look into my eyes…It’s where my demons hide…It’s where my demons hide…Don’t get too close, it’s dark inside…It’s where my demons hide…It’s where my demons hide…



        She tightened around him again and he couldn’t stop what was running through him.  He kissed her, desperate for the contact, and spilled himself.  “Sydney,” he breathed against her neck.  Nathan thrust once more as his body convulsed with sheer pleasure.  He said nothing else as he slid from her depths and placed her feet back on the ground.  They could still hear the commotion inside the bar, but it sounded worlds away.  “I…”

        Sydney smiled.  “I know.”  She smoothed out her dress and picked up her purse as he disposed of the condom and put himself back in order.  He then took her hand and they made their way back to the front of the building.

        “Staying?”

        She shook her head.  “I don’t think so.”  She looked at the ground.  “I’m pretty sure they won’t miss me. I’ll just get a cab and…” When she looked back up, she was captivated by his eyes and her words simply stopped.

They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate…It's woven in my soul, I need to let you go…



        “Let me,” Nathan said, not realizing the effect he was having on her.  He hailed the cab that was coming down the street.

        Your eyes, they shine so bright…I want to save their light…I can't escape this now…Unless you show me how…

        The cab stopped and Sydney opened the door.  “Thank you,” she said, “for the cab and…well…”  She looked at him, blushing.  “I said no strings, but…”  Nathan’s heart began to race.  She put her arms around him and her lips to his ear.  “…would you mind if I named my toy after you?”  Nathan’s eyes went wide.  “Don’t be embarrassed, I’m not.”

        “I’m not…I think I’m flattered.”

        “You should be…that was…”  She stopped herself.  “Fuck it, we’ll never see each other again.  Nathan, that was the best orgasm of my life.”  She kissed him and he reciprocated, heat beginning to rise between them again.  She pulled back.  “Get home safe.”  She got into the cab and he watched it take her away.

        When you feel my heat, look into my eyes…It’s where my demons hide…It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close, it’s dark inside…It’s where my demons hide…It’s where my demons hide…

[elliearchive]

DAMNED IF I DO YA, DAMNED IF I DON’T ➝ JETNEY.

TAGGING ➝ Jett Hudson, Sydney Smythe.

LOCATION ➝ Restaurant, followed by Sydney’s house.

TIME FRAME ➝ 4/18, evening & 4/19, morning.

WARNINGS ➝ None.

NOTES ➝ Jett and Sydney get set up on a blind date.

JETT HUDSON

Divorced under thirty was definitely not where Jett had see himself, but that was his reality. Even more so, he’d never expected that he and Sydney wouldn’t work, but evidently they hadn’t, and he knew it was important to put himself back out there, otherwise he just never would. So, wearing a long-sleeved button down shirt and a pair of neatly pressed jeans, he found himself sitting in some Italian restaurant, the name of which he couldn’t even remember without looking at the menu, with his colleague, Liam, who had announced that the girls would be here any minute after reading a text on his iPhone. Jett wasn’t really in any hurry. In fact, he was kind of apprehensive, and sipped slowly on his beer to try calm his nerves a little bit. “Here they come,” Liam motioned over Jett’s shoulder. It felt impolite to turn, but he did stand from his seat, ready to pull out the chair for whoever his date may be. He wondered if someone was pulling a prank on him when the two women came into his peripheral, immediately recognizing his ex-wife before he’d even properly laid eyes on her. He opened his mouth to speak, but the woman she was with begun to talk before he even could. “Jett,” She beamed, not even bothering to introduce herself — Jett didn’t know her from Adam — “This is my friend, Sydney. Sydney, this is Liam’s friend, Jett.” He found himself speechless as he stared at his ex. “She’s gorgeous, right?” The other woman grinned, motioning to Sydney to sit. “Uh, Sydney,” he finally said, finding his voice. Jett cleared his throat. “Do you want to come to the bar with me and pick out a drink?” They needed to talk. Alone.

SYDNEY SMYTHE

A blind date. It was the last thing Sydney wanted to be doing. The whole idea of it made her stomach turn, she wanted to rewind time and figure out how to make things work with Jett. She knew that wasn’t an option, because you couldn’t create love where there was none. At least not romantically, but she she was. Divorced. A single mother. Again. And going on a blind date. She’d done her best to look presentable, though she admittedly could look better, but she knew she was naturally beautiful, and that wasn’t her being conceited, it was just the truth, so a nice dress, her hair done, it was enough. Jett always made it clear that he preferred her without makeup, that he liked her natural beauty, and if it was good enough for him it would have to be good enough for any other man who might come into her life. As her and Monica entered the restaurant, and she pointed to the two men, she felt her heart stop. She could swear that that was Jett, just from the back of his head, but she shook the feeling away, sure she was out of her mind. However, as she saw him stand, there was no denying it. She’d somehow been set up with her very own ex husband. She’d have laughed if it didn’t somehow hurt to know he was on a date. It was with her, but he didn’t know that. She was on one too, but she felt sad about the idea of him being open to moving on when the idea had seemed so unappealing to her. Her eyes didn’t leave his as Monica introduced them, instead she just nodded at his question. “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” she whispered, stepping aside so he could lead the way. “This is awkward,” she said with a small smile, though it was weak, as they approached the bar. “You must be disappointed, I’m sorry.”

JETT HUDSON

Maybe they weren’t in love the way they thought they had been, but Sydney was beautiful, Jett had always thought so. He was never going to stop thinking so, in fact, so to look at her this evening was no exception. In a dress he’d always appreciated her in, her hair done, face free of makeup, she looked stunning. He felt like he needed air, or to at least get away from the table for a minute or two while he pieced together whatever was going on here, and was glad that Sydney didn’t question him. He offered a small smile to his friend, before guiding Sydney away from the table, his hand resting instinctively on the small of her back, though he pulled it away once they’d walked a few steps and he’d realized what he was doing. He waited until they were by the bar and out of earshot of their friends to speak. “Yeah, tell me about it,” he laughed dryly, bringing a hand up to run over the back of his head. He’d gotten a haircut for the occasion, admittedly to the shorter style he knew Sydney liked. His thought process was that if she’d liked it that way, this other girl might, too. He just hadn’t expected the other girl to be her, that was all. “Disappointed?” He questioned, gaze meeting hers. “No, I’m not.” And he genuinely wasn’t, which was almost confusing. “Uh, you didn’t know about this? I swear I didn’t. This wasn’t any kind of setup, Syd. Was it on your end?” He didn’t know why it would be, but it felt necessary to check.

SYDNEY SMYTHE

She tilted her head as he spoke, the idea of either of them setting this up hadn’t even crossed her mind, and when he said it, she couldn’t help but laugh. Sydney shook her head at the question, “No, of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you, try to trick you.” She bit her lip, “I can tell you didn’t know either, the look on your face when I walked in made that pretty clear.” She sat down on a bar stool, her hand instinctively reaching out to rest on his forearm, “It’s good to see you, though. You look great,” she admitted, and then felt the pit in her stomach from a few minutes ago returned, he looked great for another girl. “Gabe is with Carter tonight, and Monica kept insisting that I get back out there...” she trailed off, shaking her head, “I thought maybe I could just shut her up, and it would be better than another night home alone.” She really knew how to say things she shouldn’t. Sydney pulled her hand away from him, realizing it wasn’t really appropriate, and her gaze followed her hand as it landed in her lap, “Sorry, habit.” She explained. It was horrible, this feeling. She wanted more than anything to have him just pull her against him, wrap her in his arms, but who would that serve? It wasn’t fair that she’d lost her husband and her best friend in all of this, and she hated thinking about how they may never have that friendship back. “Should I just go?”

JETT HUDSON

He’d known the answer before he’d even asked the question. Sydney had looked just as surprised as Jett had felt, but he’d just needed that verbal confirmation. He had no reason to think she was lying. It was just a very, very big coincidence. One that could only happen to them. “Yeah, definitely didn’t know,” he promised, trying to look anywhere but at his ex, though that was hard to do, especially when her hand rested on his arm. Jett didn’t even consider pulling it away. Why would he? It was just what was natural for them. Even if it shouldn’t have been anymore. Even if they were here for dates with other people. He found himself chuckling quietly as she explained herself, shaking his head in response. “It’s okay. Liam’s been doing the same. I guess they just thought they were doing something nice for us.” He shrugged, glancing over toward the table. Neither Liam nor Monica seemed to suspect anything, and were already very much wrapped up in each other. Sydney’s question pulled his focus back to her, and Jett felt like he might’ve answered a little too quickly when he told her no. “Why? You’re here now. I’m here.” He paused, wondering if the idea ticking through his mind was a good one or not. Maybe not, but that didn’t stop him from voicing it. It definitely wasn’t for the sake of their friends, though he could play it off that way. He didn’t want to question what it actually meant that he wanted to do this. “You know, they thought they were doing a nice thing,” he reiterated, clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly. “If you want, we could pretend like we don’t know each other. Go along with the whole blind date thing.” He brought his gaze up to meet Sydney’s again. “Don’t want to make them feel bad, you know?”

SYDNEY SMYTHE

It was somewhat of a relief to hear that he’d been basically as forced into this as she’d been. She finally looked back up at him when he answered her question. Syd looked back at the table herself and then back to him, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, they meant well,” she agreed, and then sighed, “it might be fun, to have dinner and just have fun, kind of like old times.” She shrugged, she’d probably never turn down a night with Jett, truthfully. “You’re going to have to buy me that drink now, though.” She said with a smile, a much more genuine now, “We don’t want them to be suspicious.”

JETT HUDSON

As soon as it’d left his lips, Jett knew it was kind of a stupid idea. What would they get out of pretending to be strangers who had been set up on a blind date? In his mind, the answer was that he’d get to spend some time with Sydney, and maybe it could be like old times again. When things weren’t awkward between them, and their friendship wasn’t strained the way it was now. His brows raised some when it seemed that she’d agreed with him, though he chose not to question her. “Right. That’s what I thought,” he agreed, his expression softening as she continued. He found himself smiling over at her, before turning to the bartender to order a glass of chardonnay for her without checking. He knew Sydney, he knew her drinks of choice. Jett handed over the money, accepted the glass, then held it out to her to take. “Here, stranger,” he winked, motioning toward the table, “Let’s go see how good our acting skills are.”

SYDNEY SMYTHE

It was comforting and yet saddening how he knew her so well. She accepted the drink, taking a small sip of it as she stood from the bar stool. “I never thought Carter and his constant acting tips would ever come in handy,” she laughed, shaking her head. It was so easy to laugh with him, and she tried to just enjoy it, rather than miss it. Once they made their way back to the table, she stood aside, allowing him to pull her chair out for her, letting him be gentlemanly. “So Jett, did Sydney tell you that she hosts an amazing podcast, she has a ton of followers, it’s all very impressive.” Monica said with a grin, as the two sat down, causing Sydney to blush a bit. Not because of Jett, but she was almost embarrassed for the girl beside her. “It’s not that impressive,” Sydney said to Jett with a smile, as if he hadn’t been beside her from the very beginning of it all.

JETT HUDSON

It was always so easy with Sydney, which had kind of added to why Jett had begun to question their relationship. It was almost too easy, like friendship easy. What wasn’t going to be easy was pretending like he didn’t know her, but he’d give it a shot, and forced himself not to rest his hand on her back again as they walked back to the table. It felt like too much of a familiar thing. He did pull out her chair for her, though, offering her a small smile once she’d sat, then took his seat across from her. Picking up his bottle, he took a slow sip, listening to Monica talk. His gaze flickered over to Sydney, and Jett pushed the smirk away from his lips before it’d had the chance to fully form. “No, she didn’t tell me that. That’s awesome, though. What’s it about?” He asked, gaze on his ex-wife. “I think it sounds impressive.”

SYDNEY SMYTHE

Syd couldn’t help but chuckle at the look on Jett’s face. “Murder.” She grinned, answering his question was difficult without laughing. “But Monica hasn’t told me much about you, Jett. What do you do?” She asked, trying to shift the subject from herself, afraid that she’d somehow slip up if she continued to talk about herself. Truthfully this was more difficult than she’d imagined it being. She took a long sip from her wine, hoping the distraction would allow her to pull her poker face back up.

JETT HUDSON

Jett realized he probably didn’t look as surprised as he maybe should’ve when Sydney explained the content of her podcast. “Wait,” he paused, trying to do a little damage control, “Murder? That really does sound awesome.” Talking about himself wasn’t really Jett’s thing on dates; he liked to share the stage, to make sure both he and his date got to know one another. But he also knew Sydney, he knew she was looking for him to take the lead, so he chose to do just that. “Nothing as impressive as a murder podcast,” he winked, setting his bottle down on the table. “I’m a high school swim coach. I used to surf, I still do a little brand promoting here and there on social media, but that’s the extent now.” Both Monica and Liam seemed pleased with themselves as they watched on, but soon got to chatting amongst themselves, so Jett sent his ex an encouraging smile across the table, nudging her foot gently with his own now that the focus wasn’t on them. He was still going to keep up the whole date facade, though. Frankly, he was enjoying it. “What do you like to do outside of work?”

SYDNEY SMYTHE

Sydney shot up straight in bed as she heard noises from the other room. Gabe was with Carter, and the night before was a bit of a haze. She was frozen in place for a few seconds before she realized the voices were that of her son and Carter. Shaking her head, she sighed as she looked around her, and then gasped quickly as she noticed Jett in the bed next to her. She started shoving his shoulder, "Wake up!" she hissed at him, the memories of last night flooding back to her. She couldn't help but regret all of it, they'd had such a fun night, and then ended up here. It had been amazing, having sex with Jett always was, but she was absolutely certain that it was a horrible idea that they'd done it. "Jett!" She whispered, "Quick, go to the bathroom! Gabe is here!" And as if on cue, the door swung open and the nine year old was standing there with Carter not far behind. "Mom, where's my science kit! It's show and tell today!" He said, walking into the room with Sydney frozen in place.

JETT HUDSON

Jett couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept as well as he had last night. It was probably before he and Sydney had ended; he always seemed to sleep better with her beside him. He wasn’t ready to wake up yet, in fact, though the feeling of a shove against his shoulder disturbed him, and it took him a couple seconds of blinking to realize what was going on. “What?” He yawned, rolling over to look at his ex-wife. He didn’t even have time to process that they’d slept together, because her words were desperate and panicky, and Jett found himself worrying now, too. “Shit,” he breathed, sitting upright. The sheets fell down around his waist, keeping him covered, but he knew he wasn’t wearing anything. His boxers were on the floor beside him, anyway. He’d barely had the chance to reach over to grab them before the door swung open, Jett’s eyes widening. “Uh,” he brought a hand up to rub across the back of his head, “Hey, buddy.” He knew where the science kit was, presuming it was in its usual place, but then Carter was walking in the door behind him, so Jett definitely was not moving. “Hey, Syd, do you know where—” Carter began, though he paused when he realized what was going on. “Oh. Whoa, our bad,” Carter seemed to bite back an amused look as he placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Come on, bud. Let’s go look for it in your room.” Carter turned to usher Gabe out of the bedroom, leaving Jett to offer his ex a weak, apologetic smile.

SYDNEY SMYTHE

As if sleeping with her ex husband wasn’t a bad enough idea, the fact that her son was seeing them in bed together while he was still adjusting to the divorce just made things that much worse. She rolled her eyes at the look on Carter’s face, but really it was her who had screwed up here, so she’d probably have to climb off her high horse on this one. “Oh my god!” She moaned, her head resting her hands as Carter and Gabe left the room. “What were we thinking?” She grumbled, now looking back up at Jett. “What are we supposed to tell Gabe?” She asked, her eyes pleading, hoping he had the answer that she certainly wasn’t able to find. Syd stood from the bed, grateful that she’d been able to at least keep her bare chest covered when they came in the room. She grabbed her bathrobe off the door and pulled it on, staring at Jett again and sighing. “I hope you know that I enjoyed last night, I’ve missed having you next to me,” she admitted as she shook her head, “but it probably wasn’t the best idea, was it?”

JETT HUDSON

Nothing like this had ever happened to Jett before. So, he had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to react now. The last thing he wanted to do was to confuse or upset Gabe, he cared about that kid more than anything in the world, but it wasn’t like they could take it back now. And he’d be lying if he said he regretted sleeping with Sydney last night. He didn’t regret that one bit. “I don’t think we were thinking,” he admitted, leaning over to retrieve his boxers now that they were alone again. It felt impolite to look at her until she’d covered up, but he couldn’t help himself, and caught himself stealing a glimpse before she’d shut her robe, but then he made himself busy with pulling on his boxers and standing from the bed to find his shirt. He knew now wasn’t really the time to be happy about any of this, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t freaking out the way she was. “I enjoyed it, too. We’re always good together,” he mumbled, unsure of what exactly he even meant by that. Or how deeply he meant it, anyway. He sighed as he finally found his shirt, shrugging it on and beginning to fasten it from the bottom upwards. “We can’t take it back. But if you don’t think that it should happen again, then it shouldn’t. We won’t let it.”

SYDNEY SMYTHE

Syd frowned at his words, they were always good together, that was true enough, except for when it came to loving each other, it seemed. Or being in love with each other anyways. Yet, that didn’t stop her from stepping forward, her hands reaching out to grasp at the fabric of his shirt as she rested her forehead against his chest. Jett was still the person she wanted to hold her when she was upset or confused, he’d been her friend for so long, and then her husband, she didn’t know how to not need him. “I don’t know what I think,” she whispered against him, shaking her head gently. “I just know that I miss you, I miss waking up next to you, and having fun with you. Last night was so nice...” she trailed off, knowing she’d already said that, but it was true. It had been so long since they’d just had fun together. “Maybe we should just try spending time together, be friends again, you know? If this happens again, we’ll deal with it then.”

JETT HUDSON

As much as he wanted to be touching her right now, Jett wasn’t trying to get too close. Only because he didn’t know where the line was, and because it seemed like Sydney was freaking out right now. She’d been the one to approach him, though, so as her forehead rested against his chest, he instinctively dropped his hands to rest against her lower back, his lips pressing a small kiss to the top of her head without even allowing himself to think about it. “I know,” he agreed, his voice a little quieter. He exhaled a small sigh through his nose, his fingers rubbing small, hopefully comforting circles against her back through the fabric of her robe. Truth be told, he didn’t know if he even really knew how to just be friends with Sydney anymore, but he wasn’t willing to lose her completely, so he pushed a reassuring smile to his lips as he looked down at her, nodding his head. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he murmured, “I think we can make that work.”

[lucymacculloch]

Love, From

You’re at the beach and you’re wearing your dead grandmother’s blue raincoat. For once it’s the tourists that have dressed for England’s pretence of summer, so while the people with British accents are walking along the port in jeans and long coats, the voice that sound American to you but you know are Canadian are talking about shorts were a mistake and whether they should buy longer pants. You’ve heard that it’s supposed to rain later.

You finally understand why English people like Australian beaches.  You were waiting for the sudden glitter of blue and a blur of golden sand, only to realise that the sea had already been trickling past the train for five minutes, its dark blue only distinguishable from the grey shore by its resting boats. So far, you have not seen a single wave. 

You can't remember what an overcast day at a Sydney beach looks like. You haven't even been to the beach in five years, and how un-Australian is that? You wonder how the water would look now if the sun was brighter and the sky was bluer. Before you got to the coast, the train windows had cut Norfolk into ready-made postcards of trimmed hay with rounded trees and fields of yellow flowers. It was quaint - diorama worthy, with pulled cotton hanging from fishing line as clouds above pig figurines held in paddle-pop fence pens - romantically and fancifully rural. And then the colours had lost their saturation and the clouds had grown, until you had arrived at the station and were met with only an absence of colour.

Ok, you're not actually at the beach yet. You are a fifteen minute walk away from the actual shore. Apparently, England builds houses near beaches instead of building carparks. Ten minutes of explore has revealed that your first impression of there being fuck all to do in a small port town was accurate. There are three arcades, all two minutes away from each other, as well as one of those spirituality shops that sells mood rings and quartz stones and smells of lavender. There are two cafes but only one fish and chip shop, whose takeaway boxes sit in the laps of almost everyone sitting on the boardwalk. You smelled the oil from the chips before you smelled the sea salt itself, and now they mix together with a bit of tomato sauce and vinegar thrown in. You have no idea why anyone would put vinegar on chips, but at least they don't call them fries here. 

Another store, more toy shop than tourist centre has a write rack of postcards sitting out the front. You twirl it around, scanning them more out of obligation than interest. You've been writing about postcard for years (it seemed like an underused metaphor for something meaningful at the time), but it didn't occur to you to send one until your mother emailed you asking you to. Not to her, but to both of your great aunts, one of whom you've never met but hope to receive part of an inheritance from. You got your mother's most recent email yesterday, this one containing a self-diagnosis for Asperger's syndrome and how it differs between men and women, only you read it as Alzheimer's for two minutes. Same difference. You'll ring her this afternoon when it's 1am over there because you know she'll be awake and it will save you from replying.

The last postcard you received was from Jasmine. She handed it to you a week after she'd gotten back from New York, the edge at the top starting to split. You found it again only recently, when you were doing your annual room clean. You read it and it made you sad, but right now you can't remember what it said. You think the photo on the front was blue. You're not sure where you put it, but it's probably safely in a box. Or it went into recycling. It's hard to tell what you've done, sometimes. 

Jasmine is ten minutes late, as you both expected her to be. Either that or you got the wrong time, or the wrong place. Or the wrong date. It doesn't matter if you did: just take sixty or so photos of the beach and its colourful houses, the bunting hanging above the street for zero reason that you can see, and a bright cone of gelato, and post three out of four of them on Instagram and the two hour trip will have been worth it. You might even have left before it starts to rain. The wind smacks your hair into your face and it feels like straw. It's been more of a lost cause than usual, as has your face with its constellation of red mounds. You're suddenly aware of how soft the flesh on your arms is, how when you press against it you can barely feel the hard bone. Your stomach doesn't feel soft at all, just unavoidable.  You're wearing your mother's jumper that's supposed to be two sizes too big for you, but it doesn't feel big enough. You want to draw your hood up, rest the wool over your face and sink into the warm dark. It's only midday; you've been awake for four hours at most. This is why you don't go out.

Jasmine is on her phone when you see her, leaning against the town map. You still expect her to dress in bright floral patterns, but she's just wearing a blue shirt and dark jeans - something you would wear, have been wearing for the past two weeks - with her in the low ponytail she wears when she's working. At least she didn't straight it. Her lipstick is nice, fuchsia, but you don't know how frequently she wears makeup and if it means you should have made more of an effort, too. She's more happy than tired, and you wonder if that's still a rarity for her. You've started to drift towards her when she sees you, gives more of a nod of recognition than a smile, and you both stop for a moment to see if one of you will go in for a hug. Neither of you do.  

The how are you's last about four minutes before food gets brought up. Ten minutes ago you wouldn't have been able to eat anything other than fairy floss; would have needed to feel the sugar granules dissolve one by one, feeling the sticky grit on the ridges of your fingers for your throat to accept anything at all, but now you're desperate for one of those takeaway boxes becoming transparent with grease. Jasmine just shrugs, and you know she'll try to get a salad.

Your mum talked about how chip oil was better here, so you think that the chips might melt a little more smoothly on your tongue, not hot enough to burn but still warm, soft. Jasmine asks about your trip just as you're licking the salt and tomato sauce off of your fingers. You start to answer as you wipe the grease from your fingers on your grandma's raincoat. You can feel the words starting to pile up at the back of your throat as you run out of script.

- How was Canberra? Did your team win? How is your boyfriend? You ask. She waves off each question like they're nothing.

You want to get her talking. After all, you only have two stories to tell and she's already heard them, years ago.  You are no longer looking at her, eyes drifting to edge of the dock where people, families mostly, are dropping their lines into the water to catch crabs. You suddenly remember just how busy the dock is, the surrounding voices returning in a jumbled rush. Overhead the seagulls flap their wings, swooping to perch on the flag mast of a boat. You comment that they seem better behaved here than in Australia. Jasmine murmurs in agreement.

A crab plops into a bucket overlaid with a sticker of a smiling cartoon crustacean. The water has a yellow tinge and the crabs are sitting on top of each other. Further on, a boy hold a crap up to his sister, finger and thumb wrapped around the middle. The crab barely moves its legs and the girl only tilts her face away from the boy's teasing. Their parents watch from the sidewalk, smiling. Eventually, he puts the crab down, where it immediately shuffles to the edge of the dock and falls off.

- You been crabbing? Jasmine asks, eyebrow cocked.

You shake your head, and both of you turn away from each other again, looking out to the sea.

- Rob used to take me fishing, occasionally. When I was a kid. I wasn't very good. I could never bait the line. I forgot about going, actually. What about you?

Jasmine tilts her head like it's an answer.

The takeaway box on your lap is no longer warm. The smell of salt is stronger now and there's a hint of salt though you know it's from the plastic bags of bait. A boy of about ten is sitting with a fluorescent orange net, barely moving as he waits. He looks up and he's wearing a bright pink wrestling mask. You and Jasmine turn to each other with bemused smiles.

Eventually you both decide to get coffee, only Jasmine gets a chai latte and you get a hot chocolate, trying not to feel too childish next to her, pulling the sleeves of your jumper over your hands and pressing them against the warmth of the mug. Jasmine starts telling you about a movie she saw recently that you might like, actually, and you nod and smile into your mug and hope you look attentive and sophisticated enough as melted marshmallow sticks to the corner of your mouth, the dip in your top lip. You're trying to talk about a TV show you like when you let slip a do you remember when and she nods, and you quickly fill in the silence with a badly-told joke.

You're somewhere between walking to the bus stop and down to the shore when Jasmine stops outside one of the shops, twirls a rack of postcards around her finger as she tilts her head.

- Should I get one for Libby? she asks.

You shrug, come up next to her and pick up a few, showing her to the ones you deem pretty enough. Most of them are blue, or pale green.

- I never know what to write on them, Jasmine says.

You don't either.

- Just stick a 'wish you were here' or 'love from' on them, you reply.

Jasmine puts the postcards back and says she'll buy one in London.

You don't end up going to the beach. Instead, Jasmine catches a bus to go back to her hotel and you think you should hug her to say goodbye but you don't, just brush your shoulder against hers and wish her a good trip. She waves to you as she gets on the bus but doesn't sit by the window. Two days later will she post a photo on Instagram of her and another friend you used to know who happened to be in England at the same time as her, and sadness will settle over you like a worn blanket. But only for a few minutes. In the meantime, you walk back to the edge of the dock and peer over it, picture yourself falling to the bottom like one of the captured crabs. Nearby, the boy in the wrestling mask rustles a crab out of his net, dunks it into his bucket. You feel one, two, drops of rain splash your face and pull your hood up as you walk back to the station.  

[nice-cheerleader-blog]

Short Story Sunday: French Toast & Black Cats

Witches aren’t really around anymore, but you can still feel their presence. At least, that’s what my mom would tell me. ­­­­­

“You think it’s a coincidence that the Calgary Flames haven’t won a game in Anaheim for 11 straight years?” She didn’t know the witch behind it, but figured there must be one responsible. Going over a decade without a single win on the Ducks’ home turf? I agreed with her—it was a little spooky.

According to my mom, witches have been just as fanatic about sports as any typical frat boy or suburban dad. Ever heard of the Curse of the Bambino? My mom says that witch was infamous—she set the curse in 1918 when the Red Sox traded her beloved Babe Ruth to the Yankees. She died in 1939, but the curse lived on after her for another 65 years. For 86 years, the Sox never won a World Series.

***

I learned from a young age that witches were neither the hat-wearing, broom-riding women from Halloween catalogues, nor the devil-worshipping vixens of Hell that the pilgrims of Salem’s Village feared in the 1690s. Witchcraft was much more mundane than all of that, to your dismay or comfort. Killing through magical means is possible, but extremely difficult to pull off. Plus, it was equally dangerous. That kind of vengeance could be the last thing a witch ever does. Don’t get me wrong, though. Any community has its bad seeds.

There was once this witch my mom said was scary powerful. She was a housewife in the 1960s, the spouse of a conservative state senator and mother to two rambunctious teenagers. As the story goes, her two kids became quite the counterculturalists. They loved Hendrix and Janis Joplin, would steal records from their friends to play while their mother was out. Of course, their mother hated rock music and the lifestyle it represented. It didn’t take long for her to catch wind of her children’s new vices. She did what any overbearing 20th century mother would do: smash the records and forbid them to leave the house. But in a time where hippies ran rampant and communes were almost common, do you think that stopped them?

“She could’ve hexed them to stay in the house,” I told my mother. “Why didn’t she?”

“It was taboo,” she said immediately. “You’d never use magic on the people you love.”

This housewife, though, couldn’t stand for this behavior. She was furious; she had to do something. If she couldn’t target her kids, she’d target the thing that corrupted them. My mom didn’t know how she did it, but the witch used all of her power to curse the musicians that dared seduce her kin. This was in 1968. Three years later, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison were dead—all at the ripe age of 27. Now, this group of dead musicians has become its own club: The 27 Club. Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse are among recent high profile inductees. No one knows how long the curse will live on, but it might be awhile. It did cost the housewife her life after all.

***

The curses that were most common were more agitating than dangerous, my mom assured me. Little annoyances were much easier to create. My mom knew this one witch who would hex the watches of aggravating coworkers to run backwards whenever they were particularly grating. Another girl she knew would curse people to forget about their tea until it was cold. She was English, and you know how they are about their tea.

The hexes could be even subtler, if you can believe it. My mom worked at a grocery store when she was a teenager, and this guy that was always on shift with her would show up late every day. After a few months of this nonsense, she cast a spell that would force him to wake up a half an hour before his alarm every day, no matter what time it was set, with the inability to fall back asleep. “I was just trying to help; time management is a valuable skill,” she assured me with a self-satisfied smirk. Another favorite of hers was cursing people for a few weeks or so to step in water whenever they’ve put on a new pair of socks.

She pulled out all the stops for an ex one time. “The whole ‘fire and brimstone’ thing is a bit cliché, but I was pissed,” she told me. She caught her girlfriend redhanded, in the arms of another woman. They hadn’t seen her though, so my mom made it her mission to follow her unfaithful partner to the adulterous rendezvous’ and hex her in the most embarrassing ways. One day, it was a giant sneeze, launching a big wad of mucus into the mistress’ face. On another occasion, it was a bit of flatulence. Then a lot of flatulence. My mother progressed her curses meeting by meeting … I won’t get into too much detail in case you’ve just finished eating. Finally, the mistress had had enough, and broke things off. On the same day, my mother broke things off with her too. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and all that.

***

“How would you do it?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain. It’s like a feeling that you put every thought, every bit of energy into. You almost will it into existence, whatever thing you’re trying to accomplish.”

I asked her about the candles. Movies like Hocus Pocus and The Craft always said you needed candles to do witchcraft. They used different colors for different spells, lighting them in the dead of night or in some eerie, darkened cavern.

“There’s something to the candles/incense stereotype. They’re helpful, but not necessary. Casting spells requires focus. You have to inhabit your own being with everything you’ve got. It’s like meditating. Sometimes the candles help with that. They set the mood.”

She smirked.

“Also, it’s kind of a cool feeling, casting spells in candle light. I’ll give the movies that much.”

I asked her about black cats then, too.

She laughed. “That was more like a self-fulfilling prophecy. People started to think that they were bad luck, owned only by servants of the Devil, which we thought was hilarious. Having them became a big inside joke. It’s a bonus if they scare the neighbors.”

***

You might be wondering why my mom didn’t just show me how to cast spells firsthand. I wondered the same thing for much of my life. She had dodged the question for quite a few years before I got any sort of answer. Before then, it was all “Maybe when you’re older,” or “I need a good reason to cast a spell, and I don’t have one right now,” or “It’s not all its chalked up to be.”

It wasn’t until I was 17 that I put my foot down. I asked her one more time. “No more excuses.”

She sighed. “I can’t.”

This gave me pause. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I haven’t been able to cast anything since I was pregnant with you.”

I remember the look on her face as she told me, so unlike herself. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, blushing slightly, like she was embarrassed. It was clear that I got her to admit some sort of vulnerability, but it was uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to do.

She made herself busy, putting the dishes away and wiping off the counter as she spoke. “I tried to do a few things around the house after you were born. Small things, like charming the laundry to fold itself. But it was like it had switched off. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis. “Nothing.”

I asked her what she thought went wrong and she replied quickly with a mumbled “I don’t know” and continued cleaning. I had planned to leave it at that, and went up to my room to just be somewhere else. I didn’t like being around this hesitant person that wasn’t my mom. She found me a bit later, though, popping into my bedroom doorway.

“It’s a genetic thing, typically. I know you know that but … You’ve never made anything weird happen? Something you thought hard about that just—”

“No, mom. Never.” It wasn’t the first time she had asked, and it wouldn’t be the last. Answering her felt like an admission of guilt. She always smiled afterwards, nodded her head reassuringly, but the expression never reached her eyes. I always felt like a disappointment.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. I used the sit in my room with the lights off, sitting with my legs criss-crossed on the floor. I’d think hard about the math test I might’ve flunked the day before, or Sydney MacNeil and her aggravatingly straight hair and the smile she’d give anyone after granting them a backhanded compliment. Regardless, everything the next day was the same: Sydney was still a bitch with perfect hair and I still sucked at math.

***

“Tell me about Dad again.”

It was a command common of my youthful self, a request that I would ultimately grow out of. But when I was a little girl, he was my favorite of Mom’s stories.

“Dad was the most beautiful son-of-a-bitch there ever was. Remember that Shakespeare line I told you about?”

I slid the orange slice I was sucking on out of my mouth. “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here” I replied with a teeth full of orange pulp. No passerby had reason to think I was the daughter of a former witch, but had anyone caught that phrase escaping my then 10-year-old lips, they might have been suspicious.

“He was here all right, but people forget that devils can be beautiful. I certainly did. They can look like cherubs, with curly blond hair and blue eyes. Their smiles know how to set off the butterflies in your stomach. They know just what you want to hear.”

“What did you want to hear, Mom?”

“I wanted to hear how beautiful I was. I was vain. I wanted to see adoration in someone else’s eyes. And I did. Until one day…”

I knew this one. “You told him!”

“Yes, I told him I was a witch. Something I hadn’t the guts to tell ANYONE in my entire life. Until that day. And you know what he did?”

“Mean things!”

“Very mean things. Luckily you were there with me, right in my belly. You kept me company, especially after he left. And it’s been the two of us ever since.”

That was how the story usually ended. She would return to whatever she was doing before, usually with added fervency. I always wanted a bit more though. “Mom, where did he go?”

“Hopefully back to whatever HELL he came from,” she said, scrubbing the counter a bit harder.

Even at 10-years-old, something told me not to push it.

At some point, I stopped asking about him altogether. He was a fairy tale that came to be a waste of time.

***

Not being a witch was something I learned to cope with. It was hard for a while—during high school especially—to know that there was some force out there that could’ve made everything just a bit easier, if only I was able to conjure it. Having somehow disinherited the powers of my mother, and her mother before that, and so on certainly didn’t help with the teenage angst and feelings of inadequacy. I never met my grandmother, but that gave me some sort of relief. She was spared from the disappointment of sharing blood with the magically handicapped, the disappointment I imagined my mother must’ve felt every day.

In hindsight, it’s odd that I didn’t question the existence of this entity I had never seen with my own eyes. Perhaps that was foolish of me. But Mom was so transparent, always. She was honest, and so was anything she said. Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny—they were make believe, she admitted. But witchcraft was real, as real to me as the woman who told me about it.

Nonetheless, it was also a secret. “These stories are for you and me, Chrys,” she’d remind me from time to time. “Other people might get the wrong idea.” That meant that there was a world between Mom and me that no one could come close to touching. Needless to say, I had trouble making friends, or even wanting to make friends. Soccer team drama, going to the movies, the daily grind of office life—it was all so boring compared to stories of magical vengeance. My peers didn’t know what they were missing, and I held it against them.

In grade school, the other kids called my mom a hippie and made fun of her “weird” clothes. “What kind of name is Chrysanthemum, anyway? Who would name their kid that?”

If only they knew how much greater she was than them. They were little people, wandering through life inconsequential, and she was the Statue of Liberty. I stood on her shoulders, looking down at them all.

Mom was always a big hit with people—cashiers, waitresses, the people she passed by on the street. She was a character, as people say. But she tended not to have many close friends, either. I don’t know for sure what she thought of my being a kind of recluse, though I think she at appreciated it. We got to be recluses together. She provided the entertainment, and I was her built-in audience.  

Part of me wanted to share these stories with the world. Maybe I just wanted people to know that I was privy to a world they knew nothing about, at least vicariously. But at the same time, I was selfish. They couldn’t have those stories because they were ours first—Mom’s and mine.

***

Mom got sick—early-onset Alzheimer’s. I was 35 and she was too young. It was easy to spot because she’d always been such a storyteller. I knew something was wrong when she started losing details.

“Who was the witch that had cursed the Red Sox?”

“What year did Janis Joplin bite it?”

“Don’t you have school today, hun?”

By this time, I knew the stories like the back of my hand, and had to remind her that I haven’t been to school for quite some time. She just shook her head, made some joke about being an old crone. “I’ve always told it like it is; now my memory is just as blunt.”

I knew about Alzheimer’s, had seen all those sad movies about people slowly losing their grasp on reality. I figured that was what she had, despite her age. But I wasn’t prepared for how quickly it went. Her mind, that is. One day, she was cursing out a Jehovah’s Witness for daring to ring the doorbell at 8am, fiery and loud. The next, I found her staring at herself blankly in the mirror, looking like she was searching for some sort of misplaced purpose. That’s how it felt, at least. I didn’t want to take her to see anyone, though. I hated doctors and so did she.

On one of her bad days, we were eating breakfast. I made French toast. She had this fool-proof recipe that I adopted as my own. Mid bite, she turned to me with her brows furrowed. “Have you seen Jude? I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Jude was my dad. I told her we should go for a drive and took her to the hospital.

***

My mom was pretty out of it most of the time after that, but she had her moments of clarity. I think of it like she thought of her magic: a switch being turned off. Most days, she was off, and the on days were few and far between. It was always good to have her back, though.

“Did I ever tell you what happened after your dad left? I don’t think I ever did.” She said so during one of the on days, towards the end. We were sitting in her room at the home, decorated just how she liked it: lots of reds, oranges, and pinks. We were sat in the middle of a perpetually setting sun.

“No, Mom,” I agreed. “You just said he went to Hell.”

She chuckled. “Maybe he did. I wouldn’t know—I never heard from him again. It might be my own fault, though, and I never told you why.”

I sat up in my seat.

“I felt so betrayed when he left. He was so taken with me, or so I thought. It only took that one bit of detail to turn him against me wholly. ‘A witch?!’ he asked. ‘You’re delusional. You’re a freak.’ He stormed out after a few more jabs.”

“And he never came back,” I added.

“I …” she trailed off.  “Not that I ever gave him the chance to,” she said finally. I looked into her eyes to see them glistening. I asked her what she meant.  

“I was so embarrassed. And angry. I just …” she brushed a bit of red hair out of her eyes. “I freaked out. Before I knew it, I was willing him to forget about everything. About me, about you, about where we lived. I don’t have any concrete evidence that it worked. But he never came back; I do know that. Never called, not even to ask about you. That wasn’t like him. He was a devil, for sure, and mischievous as all hell. But he was so excited about you.”

Her voice was pained, the same quality it had when she would forgetfully ask me about Jude. I felt my eyes burning for a man I grew up learning to hate.

“Taking things out of the world isn’t as easy as putting them there. It never is. Remember what I said about cursing the ones you love?”

I nodded.  

“Like I told you before—the last time I used magic was when I was pregnant with you.”

She paused. I waited, too. Then, I could see the dreamy look coming across her face. She was going again, but she didn’t really need to say anymore. I got what she was getting at; she might’ve ruined witchcraft for us both.

***

For years, I wondered if the suddenness of my mom’s downward spiral had anything to do with the spell she cast on Jude. The doctors could always back up her decline with their PET scans and CAT scans and DOG scans or whatever, but even they knew that something weird was going on. Most of them commented on my mom’s age. She was unusually young for a woman losing her mental faculties, especially at such an alarming rate.

She never spoke of Jude again after that day, and I never prompted her to. I let a war rage inside me instead. There was contempt and understanding, bitterness and guilt, questions and possible answers. How could she be so rash that day he left? I’d ask myself, even while knowing the reason why: Other people might get the wrong idea. He couldn’t have understood her, I’d decide. But then I’d see us, the perfectly imperfect nuclear family, me and Mom playing magic tricks on Dad, the way it could’ve been.

I had no means of finding him. To me, he was Jude with curly blonde hair and blue eyes and a mischievous smile. No last name, no address, no phone number. Even if I knew those things, what then? It would be best to let him fade from thought, just like he had up to this point in my life. I never needed a dad, and didn’t need one now. That didn’t keep the possibility of one gnawing at me, though.

He could’ve come back. But if she had waited a little longer to do anything, she wouldn’t be my mother.

I was a mess. That’s saying something, trust me. I’m not the type to let myself become a mess. Yet, there I was. Perhaps I was behaving like any normal human would when faced with losing the one person in their life that actually mattered. I didn’t feel normal, though. I felt weak.

***

Would you believe it if I told you that, even in this state, I attracted a shoulder to cry on? Morgan. God, Morgan. The man is a saint, I swear to you. I’ve never been one for dating, and I somehow managed to land this guy just before the worst period of my life. He stuck with me through all of it. He was one of my mother’s attendants, an employee at the home. He was assigned to her as soon as she moved there, but I didn’t notice him for quite some time. I was too busy being wrapped up in my own thoughts and whatever was left of my mother’s.

I went for a visit one day, but the nurses informed me that Mom was taking a nap. I told her I’d wait until she woke up, and kept to a couch in the lobby. I tried to read whatever magazine was left out on the coffee table, but I skimmed the same page over and over again instead. Morgan sat down beside me, unaware of his presence until he spoke up.

“Care for a smile?”

I glanced over and looked at him for the first time. Really looked at him. I could associate this man, with dark hair just beginning to go gray at the edges, with the blur of movement in the corner of my eye I’d recognized coming in and out of my mom’s room. I couldn’t even remember his name at the time, so I avoided addressing him directly. My attention was elsewhere: the plate of sliced oranges in his hands.

“Smiles?”

“Your mother is quite the talker, about you especially. She kept saying how her little girl loves orange smiles, and made me promise to bring her some. She’s a persistent lady.”

He was a good judge of character. “You knew what they were?”

“My mom used to call them smiles, too.” He picked a piece off of the plate and wedged the whole thing into his mouth. He gave me a solid orange smile.

I’m stubborn, so I didn’t smile back immediately. He nudged one out of me eventually.

I wondered for a while why Morgan decided to make such an effort to be chummy with me. I don’t mean to be self-pitying, but I wasn’t exactly the most fun to hang out with in those days. One day, I gathered up the courage to ask him why he bothered to be so kind.

“You were so vacant when I first met you. Not even there for me to like or dislike. But I’ve seen how you are with your mom. When I pop in and out of her room, I see you smile, I see you laugh—you light up for her in a way you don’t with anybody else. I’m just hoping I’ll get to see that Chrys for myself sometime.”

I’d tease him later for being so suave.

***

I forgave my mom; I had to. Now, it’s been weeks since my mom passed, and I’ve gotten pretty good at being normal. I miss her. That much is obvious, I’m sure. But it’s like she used to say: witches aren’t around anymore, but we can still feel their presence.

I see her in the color scheme of the rooms in the house I share with Morgan, bright like she would have liked it. I see her in our cat Fiona. She’s black, of course, with the biggest, greenest eyes, and loves to knock over the candles we keep in the living room. My mom would’ve gotten a kick out her.

Morgan helped me with her until the very end. He grew to admire her almost as much as I did, which made him pretty okay in my book. I couldn’t help but keep him around.  

It’s Sunday. Morgan and I are making breakfast. I’m on—you guessed it—French toast duty, while Morgan is in charge of the home fries and bacon. For all his wonderful qualities, though, his potato-chopping abilities are slow as molasses. Consequently, I’m waiting patiently to cook the French toast while his home fries take decades to cook in the oven. I say this much to him.

“These potatoes are going to be perfect,” he assures me, laying a couple strips of bacon onto the frying pan in front of him. “Unlike your French toast, which will be mediocre at best.”

I purse my lips and raise an eyebrow at him. He sticks his tongue out at me, a child stuck in an old man’s body.

“That’s some tough talk for a male nurse,” I quip.

He shakes the spatula at me accusingly. “Tease all you want—you know you think the scrubs are sexy.”

I roll my eyes and turn to leave the kitchen.

“May all your bacon burn,” I curse him with a smirk.

I enter the living room and plop myself down on the big red couch in the center. I thumb through an old magazine, waiting for the right moment to begin my portion of the breakfast prep.  

A bit of smoke catches my eye behind the magazine’s pages.

“What the hell?!” It’s rare to catch Morgan cursing, even as mild as this. I call out to him, still seated on the couch.

“There must be something wrong with this pan,” he shouts back. I see him enter the living room doorway, pan in one hand and a strip of blackened meat in the other. “I swear I’ve been putting down the bacon only for a few seconds, but each strip comes back completely charred.”

I’m puzzled for a second, and then my jaw drops.

***

I never told Morgan about the witches, and I still haven’t. I haven’t been able to bring myself to say the words, not after what happened to my parents.

I’ve decided to give myself an ultimatum. I will tell him, but I have to do something first.

Morgan’s out for the night, on a business trip a few states over. Fiona and I are alone in the house. She keeps me company as a light a dozen candles in my darkened bedroom. I set them up in a circle on the floor, and climb carefully into the open spot in the middle. Cross-legged, I rest my hands on my knees and keep my breathing even. My mom was right; the candles do help.

I close my eyes. I wait for my head to clear, and then fill it with a single name.

Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude.

Where is Jude?

And I see him in my mind’s eye.

[babylon-bitch]

Just Friends ~ Goodbye (part 67)

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

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

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

***

Harper’s P.O.V.

Slamming my car door closed, and locking it, holding my hoodie close to me as it’s raining and really windy. A storm is brewing in the sky, a few leaves floating around, the sky a dark shade of grey, and water flowing down the road.

I’m at Michael’s house to say goodbye to everyone, my flight leaves in a few hours, and I didn’t want to say goodbye through text.

I haven’t really spoken to Luke since what happened the other day, we texted a little last night, and that’s it.

We didn’t kiss, we nearly did, but then I came back to reality and realized what we were about to do, then I jumped away from him, running my hand over my face, and thought about what just happened. Luke had the same reaction as me, eyes wide, not knowing what we were doing.

We talked for a little before Luke got a text from his mum, and I’ve never been more greatful for her.

Neither of us brought up what happened last night, but we didn’t seem rocky, we just joked around and asked what each other are doing. So from what I can tell, we’re on good terms.

Knocking on the door, I watch the sky as I wait for someone to open up.

“My favourite person!” Michael exclaims as he opens the door.

“My favourite person also!” I smile at him and give him a short, half assed hug.

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”

“It’s early, I’m cold, and a little wet, cry me a river.” I reply and head up the stairs.

“It’s 11:30.” He deadpans.

“I didn’t get much sleep.” I tell him and walk into Michael’s room.

“Hi.” Maddie and Erika speak in unison.

“Hey.” Calum waves as I sit down next to Cal on Michael’s bed.

“It’s just Luke and Ash to come now.” Michael breathes as he walks in, sitting down on his desk chair.

“Who came first?” I ask.

“Maddie and Erika.”

“When’s the wedding?” Calum questions.

“We haven’t really set a date, we’ve done some planning and stuff, but I think we’re going to wait a while.” Maddie answers.

“Fair enough?” He nods.

“When do you think you’ll have it?” Michael questions.

“Uh in like 2 years or something.” Erika says, and Maddie intertwined their hands.

“Need me a partner like that.” I say.

“You’ve got one.” Calum smirks and I glare at him.

“No I don’t.”

“I can be him.” Michael saves me.

“Eat shit, Hood.” I flip him off.

“Eat shit, Hood.” He imitates my voice.

“I hate you.” I pout.

“Cool story.” He responds and I roll my eyes, looking out the window, watching the droplets race each other. Seeing cars go by every now and then, water splashing the pavement as they go by. I would hate to be walking, I almost did, but then I became lazy and took the car, but I took the right choice by the looks of it.

“You look like you’re in a sad music video.” A voice interrupts my daydream. Turning to my left I see Luke and Ashton, well Ashton is talking to Michael, and Luke’s paying attention to me.

“Hey.” I greet.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions, sitting next to me.

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

“You sure?”

“Yeah? What makes you think I’ve got something going on?” I look up at him.

“You just were zoned out for a while, and it seemed like something was up with you.” Luke explains.

“Well nothing major comes to mind.” I shrug.

“Good.” He purses his lips.

“Anything up with you?”

“Nothing new.” He says and I nod, leaning my head back the wall.

“You’re so short.” Luke comments after a while.

“What? No I’m not.” I defend myself.

“Harper, your legs just about reach the end of the bed.”

“It’s a big bed.” I reply. “Well you’re so big.”

“You know it.” He winks at me and I roll my eyes.

“I’m not short, I’m 5"5, and that’s one inch taller than the average.”

“You’re still short.”

“No I’m not.” I claim.

“Look at these cute little short arms.” He teases and picks my arm up.

“Mean.” I huff.

“Yeah but your my little shorty.” He tells me and I look at him unamused.

“You’re so annoying.” I groan and push his arm.

“Yeah but you’ll miss it when you’re gone.” He sends me a smug smile.

“Maybe, maybe not, depends if you send me memes or not.”

“Like salt bae??”

“No, good memes.”

“Did you just disrespect him?” Luke questions holding a hand to his heart and I nod. “Have you seen the way he handles that meat? Have you seen how he sprinkles salt?”

“Yeah, and it’s dry, it was funny for a few days.”

“Have you seen salt bae?” He shakes my shoulders and I laugh.

“Really? Right in front of my salad?” I question and he facepalms.

“When you pieces of trash are finished, I’m gonna go wave a metal pole outside.” Maddie grabs are attention.

“What?” We both question.

“You talking about memes was doing my head in.” She explains.

“Maddie please, this is a private conversation.” I hold my hand up to her. “So moral of the story, only send me good memes, if at all.”

“Fucking bitch.” She mutters and as soon as she finishes the power goes off.

“If I could see you right now, I would hit you.” I reply. You can still see a little bit, but because it’s so cloudy it makes everything really dark, plus Michael has part of his curtain closed.

“Is anyone scared of storms?” Calum asks.

“No.” We all say.

“I hope my flight isn’t delayed.” I sigh.

“You could always drive.” Erika speaks.

“Yes Erika, I’m going to drive all the way from Sydney to Sheffield.” I sarcastically reply.

“I swear there hasn’t been a storm in ages.” Ashton points out.

“Yeah.” I agree.

“Maybe because you haven’t been in Australia?” Erika informs.

“And it’s just turning summer.” Maddie adds.

“Geez you guys are moody today.” Luke comments.

“Rule number one, don’t point it out.” I inform him. “You should know this.”

“What?” He raises an eyebrow.

“We’re on our period.”

“At the same time?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah, it’s called syncing up.” Maddie explains,

“Are you on your period?” Calum asks me.

“No.”

“Then h-”

“You don’t choose to sync up, it’s just natural.” I explain.

“This is gross.” Michael shudders.

“It’s just nature.” I tell him.

“I still get nightmares from when you were on yours.” Luke jokes.

“What do you mean were? I still get it.”

“Whatever, but you used to snap at me all the time, get me to get you food, and I didn’t even get anything out of it.”

“I gave you my love!” I pout.

“For what I did, I think I deserved more.“ 

“Rude.” I huff.

“What do we do now?” Michael asks.

“Uh, I don’t know.” Calum shrugs.

Helpful.

“We could go out or something.” Ashton suggests.

“Where?” Luke asks.

“Your guys’ houses might have power.” Michael suggests.

“I’ll text my mum.” I announce and pull my phone out.

“What’s your background?” Erika questions.

“Hayley Williams.” I show her.

“Oh my God, same.” She laughs and shows her one to me.

“What? Why don’t you have one of me?” Maddie asks.

“Sorry, babe, but Hayley is my one and only.”

“Same.” I raise my hand.

“My one is of you.” Maddie huffs and folds her arms.

I carry on with my task of texting my mum, and leaning my head on Luke’s shoulder as I wait do her to reply, listening to the harsh patter of rain on the windows, lighting lighting up the room every now and then, and thunder rumbling around.

“My house has power.” I tell everyone.

“I don’t really know what we’re gonna do at your house that we can’t do here, but hey.” Erika shrugs and gets up.

“There’s a difference, believe me.” Luke says and gets up. I whine and put my hand out for him to help me up, Luke rolls his eyes but takes my hand anyway and helps me up.

We all walk downstairs and I put the hood of my hoodie up as we’re by the door. “I’m so not ready for this.” Maddie mumbles rubbing her hands together.

“Who’s car are we taking?” Calum questions.

“Well we gotta take my car, let’s just split.” I explain.

“Can I drive?” Erika pipes up.

“You don’t have a car here.” Ashton points out the obvious.

“But I can drive your car.” She gives him puppy dog eyes.

“Why? Can’t you just be a passenger?” He asks.

“Please Ashton, I haven’t driven in ages, I’ll clean it for you at some point.” She bribes.

My phone starts to make a noise and everyone looks at me, pulling my phone out I see I have a facetime call with Blake.

“I’m going in my car whilst you figure this out.” I mumble and open the door, my converse stepping in many puddles on the way.

Unlocking my car, as I get closer, and open the door, left in out a sigh of relief once I’m safe out of the rain.

“Hey.” I say as I answer it.

“Hey, are you busy?” He questions, not looking at me.

“Not really, just waiting for my friends and stuff.” I answer.

“Cool, when you coming home?” He asks, looking at me.

“Well my flight is tonight, but there is a huge storm going on, so it might be delayed.”

“But you’re planning on coming home tonight.” He asks for confirmation.

“Yeah, should, why?”

“I was just checking because I didn’t know when you were coming home.” He tells me and I readjust my phone.

“Alright, do you want to meet up when I get back.” I question as I watch the others rush out the door, Calum and Luke doing a quick jog.

“Yeah sure, when are you supposed to get back?” He asks as he does something on his laptop.

Calum opens the passanger side of the door and sits down, Luke following his actions but in the back behind me.

“Late afternoon or something.” I answer as Michael and strangely Ashton enter the car.

“Alright, I think we’re going over to Juliet’s house for the evening.” Blake explains as I begin to pull out of my parking spot. “I can meet you at your house, or you at mine, whatever is easiest.”

“Probably easier if you come to me and then Tori, Izzy, you, and I can all go over at the same time.” I reply, placing my phone in my lap as it’s easier to focus on driving.

“Okay cool, hope you have a safe flight, and I hope it doesn’t get delayed, see you tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay, oh any boy troubles?” He smirks.

“Goodbye, Blake.” I sigh with a laugh.

“Bye, speak soon.” He laughs and ends the call.

I plug my phone in so I can put some music on as we’re at a stop sign. “Any song requests?”

“Play some My Chemical Romance.” Michael requests, and I nod putting one of their albums on shuffle.

“Why are you here, Ash?” I question, looking behind me.

“Do you want me to leave? Do you want me to leave so I have to walk in the rain?” He asks.

“No it’s just, you have a car.” I laugh. “Of your own.”

“Erika wanted to drive, and she said she’d clean my car so I said yeah, because I haven’t done it in over a year.”

“Why’d she want to drive? She has her own car.”

“I don’t get it either but I’ve not been a passanger in a while.”

“You were on tour.”

“Your point?”

I roll my eyes, ands put my focus on my driving, spotting Ashton’s car a couple cars in front of us.

After a little while we hit some traffic, and I’m stuck right by the spot where the ‘accident’ occurred.

It’s weird to see how far I’ve come from that place, it was quite a few months ago now, and I’ve made some progress. I still get these little bursts of sadness every now and then, I’ll be in the kitchen making some dinner for myself late at night, when a little cloud comes over my head, while I’m stirring pasta. At first I’m like where the fuck did you come from? But then I start thinking and it gets worse, a little ball builds up in my chest and my stomach feels weird, overall I just feel uncomfortable.

All night I feel like that until I drift off to sleep, then in the morning I feel alright, sometimes it clings on in the morning, but it’s so different to what I was feeling just last month.

Last month I felt like that all day and all night, as well as it being 10x worse.

I don’t know if it’s caused by just one person, everyone I’m around, being away from the bad habits I had back in England, or just being home. Maybe it’s a combination of it all, but I’ve improved, and I hope I can stay like this.

I see the boys thinking the same thing when I look in the mirror. I really need to change this because I don’t want my last day with these guys to be sad.

“Are you guys gonna visit me when I’m in England?” I ask.

“I mean…” Calum trails off and I glare at him.

“I think we should at least try to.” Ashton agrees.

“I said I’d visit you.” Luke speaks up.

“Then it would make sense if we all go.” Michael says.

“When do you get a break?” Calum questions.

“Um nothing until Christmas.” I shrug and move forward as the traffic starts clearing up.

“Why don’t we visit you like next month or something?” Michael suggests.

“How about early December because I’m really busy through out November.” I tell them.

“Yeah that could work.” Luke nods.

“What about the girls?” Calum asks.

“Erika has uni doesn’t she?” I sigh.

“I mean you’re gonna see her in like 3 weeks after, it’s not too big of a deal.” Luke points out.

“I’m still gonna feel bad.”

“You’re coming back?” Ashton questions.

“Yeah, after Christmas.” I confirm as I turn the corner, sliding around a bit because of the wet. “Shit.” I mutter.

“What?” Michael asks.

“Did you not feel that?” Luke and I say in unison.

“What?” He repeats.

“We were sliding around a little.” I tell him as I drive cautiously round the roundabout.

“So we’re definitely going to England in early December?” Ashton asks.

“Pretty sure.” Calum nods.

“Cool.”

“What date?” Luke questions.

“What are you going to be there for?" 

"To see you of course.” Michael says confused.

“Yeah but like do you want to party and stuff or just chill? Because my friend Cody and his girlfriend are hosting a party.”

“Could be fun.” Calum replies.

“That’s on the 8th.”

“Why don’t we fly out on like the 4th or 5th?” Michael suggests.

“Cool, I guess we’ll tell you when we book our flight.” Ashton purses his lips.

“By the way, I’ve only got one spare bedroom, so you can fight about who’s getting it.” I inform and pull the hand break up.

***

Putting my leather jacket on as I jog down the stairs, seeing everyone in the lounge, chatting and laughing.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” My dad asks as I walk in the kitchen.

“Uh yeah I think so, I’ve just gotta go say goodbye.” I answer as I look through the cupboard for a snack.

“Okay, you’ve got around 10 minutes, just gotta wait for your brothers to finish packing.” He sighs as I pick out a couple chocolate bars to put in my bag.

“Alright, I’m gonna go say goodbye.” I smile at him and walk out the kitchen and towards the living room, leaning on the door frame.

“Geez you got a stash.” Michael laughs as he sees the chocolate in my hand.

“Shut up.” I chuckle and place them on the table in the hallway.

“Who’s your dealer?” Maddie questions.

“Cadbury.” I joke.

This is so bittersweet.

I know I’m gonna see them soon enough, but it’s still sad.

I hear one of my brothers clunk down the stairs with his suitcase, and once he’s on the bottom floor I see it’s Angus. He pushes my shoulder as he goes past, and I flip him off.

“Looks like it’s time to say goodbye.” I quietly sigh.

“I guess it is.” Erika mumbles and begins to get up.

I wrap my arms around her shoulders briefly before we pull away. “I’ll see you after Christmas.” Erika says.

“Yeah, I promise I’ll call you and stuff all the time.” I promise.

“Bye, I’ll talk to you soon.” She gives me a small smile and walks back to where she was.

“My turn.” Maddie raises her hand and she gives me a short hug.

“How are you gonna cope without me?" 

"Easier than it sounds.” She shrugs. “Bye, Harper.”

“Bye, Maddie.” Repeat and she stands next to Erika.

“Now, don’t get too drunk without me, you’re usually my buddy in that.” Calum smirks as he approaches me.

“Yeah, I’ll try not to.” I smile up at him, then wrap my arms around his torso, his follow in suit.

“We’ve got time to catch up on though soon.” Calum replies.

“I am not looking forward to that hangover.” I grimace and he laughs.

“See you soon.” He gives me a smile and stands next to Erika.

“Ashton!” I over exaggerate my tone.

“Harper!” He mocks.

“I can’t wait for you to visit me and critic my life choices.” I tell him.

“You know it.” He chuckles and gives me a hug and we say our goodbyes.

“It’s time.” Michael announces.

“It’s not like I’m dying, Michael.” I inform.

“Well last time you disappeared off the face of the earth.” He points out.

“I promise to speak to you regularly.”

“You better.” He sends me a warning look and I give him a hug and say what I want to say.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Luke mumbles as he stands in front of me.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” I copy his tone.

“But we’ll see each other soon enough.” He reassures and runs his hand down my arm.

“Yeah.” I nod and wrap my arms around his waist.

“Text me or call me when you get home.” He requests, running his hand down my back.

I pull back from him slightly, looking up at him, my eyes slightly filling with tears. “Don’t cry babygirl.” He pouts and wipes away the small tear that is falling.

I briefly look at his lips, and then back at his eyes, then give him one last hug, before we part.

“I love you guys.”

[nocteverbascio]

lintz - what i left behind (16-17/?)

Pairing: Sydney Katz/Maggie Lin Summary: AU. Post S3, when Sydney leaves, she leaves for good. Without realizing it, Maggie feels like something is missing in her life. The story where Sydney leaves breadcrumbs for Maggie to follow but Maggie doesn’t realize it. A/N: warning: feels and smut...?? is that even worrisome??? drop me a comment!

ao3 link

xvi

The day is much longer than she anticipated because Rebecca’s pain doesn’t go away. It gets to be too much and Maggie is forced to operate. Sydney tries to make a suggestion, but Maggie can see the worry in her eyes because this was her baby sister. It makes Maggie nervous despite being a very qualified doctor. She knows what she is doing and what her options are for Rebecca, but her worry also lies with Sydney. What more can she do for Sydney?

It doesn’t help that every time they share a space, they seem to be very distracted with each other. Sydney stares at her reverently as Maggie talks and examines her sister. It makes Maggie feel like her heart wants to give out on her because of how fast it’s beating. Maggie feels like she can’t stop staring at Sydney because all she wants to do is touch Sydney now that she’s there. She has to catch herself multiple times because Sydney looks like she wants to do the same.

Maggie lets Billy close up Rebecca and she goes to meet Sydney to update her parents.

They seem to be in the middle of an argument with Sydney trying her best to remain calm, but neither one of her parents seem to care. They see Maggie approaching and immediately turn their attention to her.

“Sydney says she fine, is Rebecca fine?” Sydney’s mother instantly asks as her husband sidles up beside her with an equally worried look on her face. “Why did you open her up? There is a risk to the baby!”

Off to the side, Sydney looks annoyed at being rebuffed before catching Maggie’s eyes. Maggie tilts her head for Sydney to join her because they’re in this together. Sydney quietly moves over next to Maggie, clearly unwilling to speak anymore since her parents don’t want to listen to what she has to say.

Maggie squares her shoulders and speaks confidently. “I’m sure Sydney explained to you that it was necessary for us to perform the surgery in order to remove the tumors that were causing Rebecca a significant amount of pain.” Maggie unconsciously places a hand on the small of Sydney’s back encouragingly. “With Syd’s counsel and my assessment of Rebecca’s state, it was the best option for us to take the chance.” They look taken aback as if coming to Sydney’s defense was unnatural, but they really stare at Maggie’s hand on their daughter. Maggie doesn’t move her hand the minute she feels Sydney relaxing to her touch. “The tumors were successfully removed and Rebecca and the baby are fine. You’ll be able to see her soon.”

Mr. and Mrs. Katz both look relieved but don’t reserve the same look at Sydney. In fact, they ignore her, which is better than them yelling at her. Sydney stands beside Maggie, looking impassively. They don’t say thank you to Maggie but Maggie doesn’t care because that went as well as it could’ve gone.

“I’m sorry about my parents,” Sydney says as they walk away. They make no motion to stop Sydney but Maggie can feel their stares at them.

“It’s fine,” Maggie returns honestly. “I wasn’t expecting a grand gesture of thanks. Are you doing okay?” She was referring to the arguing before she got there.

Sydney nods before letting out a long sigh. “I’m fine. You know what? They’ll come around or they won’t. I’m done trying to make it easy for them.”

Maggie perks to the confidence in Sydney’s voice. “You seem so...different,” she points out proudly.

Sydney nods in agreement. “These last couple of years have been a lot of things. I thought I’d feel like that same ashamed girl that left them, but now that I’m here, I can see things for how they really are. I’m my own person and the decisions I’ve made haven’t made me any less of a great doctor or a decent human being.”

Maggie smiles brightly as she pats Sydney on the shoulder. “Look at you,” she playfully cheers. “I’d say you’re ready to take the world on by storm but it looks like you’ve already started.”

Sydney laughs at this. “It’s not like you don’t already know that. We talk.”

“Yeah, but it’s different now that you’re here,” Maggie admits. “It’s better.”

Sydney bites her lip at Maggie’s words. She looks like she’s searching for the right thing to say but instead she says, “Should we get going?”

It worries Maggie but she puts it in the back of her mind. “Yeah, just let me get changed.”

“I’ll just check on Rebecca and meet you up front,” Sydney coordinates.

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

Maggie enters her office and she’s in the middle of taking off her shirt when she hears the door open. She turns and sees Alex coming in.

“So Sydney’s been here all day,” Alex announces with a sly look on her face.

Maggie narrows her eyes. “Yeah, her sister has stage 2 ovarian cancer and she’s pregnant,” she recaps casually.

Alex nods. “I heard that you were specifically requested.”

Before Maggie can answer, the door opens up and Zach comes into the room with a bright smile on his face.

“Dr. Katz has been here all day,” Zach says slyly before wiggling his eyebrows.

Maggie rolls her eyes as she throws her shirt over her head. “I know that.”

“Of course you do, you’ve been working all day with her,” Zach adds on, garnering a snicker from Alex. “And you’re taking her back to your place.” Alex looks at him with raised eyebrows as he nods to her knowingly. “Seems like someone is going to get thanked for all her hard work today.”

Maggie’s eyes widen comically. While Alex slaps Zach with the back of her hand but the smirk on her face betrays her.

“It’s not like that!” Maggie protests hotly. She can feel her cheeks warm.

“But inviting her over is really bold,” Alex adds.

Maggie looks incredulously at the both of them. “She didn’t have a place to stay because she rushed over here from London,” she rationalizes to them. “It’d be rude if I didn’t offer.”

Both Alex and Zach cross their arms with a look on their faces, pure disbelief at Maggie. Maggie blushes furiously.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal,” Maggie tries to brush off. “We’re just friends.”

Alex and Zach look at each other with some weird telepathic communication before looking at Maggie.

“What?!” Maggie exclaims.

“We didn’t say anything,” Alex calmly returns with a smile on her face.

“But the lady doth protest too much,” Zach interjects with a shit eating grin on his face.

“I am not!” Maggie throws back as she pulls on her jacket. “Stop making this weird. It’s not like she came here for me.” She grabs her bag and keys before moving towards the door. “She’s just making sure her sister is checked in and before I know it, she’ll be back to cheery ole London.” Maggie bashfully rushes out of the room before Alex and Zach can say anything else.

Alex and Zach look at each other as Maggie practically runs away from them.

“She’s totally in love with Sydney isn’t she?” Zach clarifies to Alex.

Alex looks at him with a nod. “Basically.”

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

Sydney is relieved that her parents aren’t in Rebecca’s room when she makes her way in. Her sister is resting peacefully that she doesn’t want to disturb her. However, Sydney’s mere presence seems to wake her up.

Rebecca looks over as Sydney quietly enters the room. “Hey, you’re still here,” she greets with a small smile on her face. A tired hand reaches for Sydney.

Sydney feels her heart swell as she grabs onto Rebecca’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, just really tired?” Rebecca answers before looking at her stomach with relief. “The baby is okay?”

Sydney nods. “Yes, Maggie was able to remove the tumor without harming the baby,” she relays positively. “You are going to still need to be on chemo but you’re going need a lot of rest for now okay?”

Rebecca nods sleepily. She tries to sit up a bit and Sydney immediately adjusts the bed for her. “You and Dr. Lin are really close.” Sydney opens her mouth when Rebecca adds, “You call her Maggie.” Sydney shuts her mouth immediately and her cheeks warm. “She was there wasn’t she? When you came out, she was the woman you were with.”

Sydney shakes her head. “I wasn’t with her,” she says softly. Sydney feels her heart tighten in her chest at the quiet judgement in her sister’s voice. “She didn’t have anything to do with how I felt. I was tired of living my life the way I was. I was tired of lying to everyone, including myself.” Sydney sees the guilt in her sister’s eyes and gently caresses her cheek to comfort her. She shares a small smile, understanding that it wasn’t like Rebecca had a choice.

Rebecca senses the strength in her sister’s voice and stares in awe. “I’m sorry, just after today...I thought--”

Sydney furrows her brows in confusion. What was her sister saying?

“The way you look at each other...I thought you were together,” she adds softly.

Sydney raises her eyebrows in shock as her mouth drops open with a silent, “Oh.” Her and Maggie together. The idea warms her cheeks instantly, no doubt they’re visibly pink already. She shakes her head quickly out of her reverie. “We aren’t--she and I--” She stumbles over her words. “We are just friends.”

Rebecca stares at her sister curiously. Sydney was always composed and focused. She could get passionate, but she’s never been embarrassed by that.

Sydney can tell by the way her sister stares at her that she’s about to say something that is completely inaccurate about the nature of her and Maggie’s relationship--friendship. Her heart pounds in her chest. “You should rest,” Sydney settles on. “It’s been a long day. I’ll come check on you tomorrow. Mom and dad are coming to see you now.”

Sydney kisses her sister on her forehead before leaving the room with quiet goodbyes. She can tell Rebecca is staring intently as she leaves, but Sydney can’t bear to talk to her sister about Maggie anymore than she’s already tried to process on her own.

xvii

They grab dinner on the way back to Maggie’s place and catch up on what’s been going on in the meantime with work. It feels so superficial but Maggie isn’t bothered by it if Sydney isn’t. Maggie doesn’t know if she’s ready to talk about them. Because even though she wanted to broach the subject a few days ago, it was still painfully obvious that they were an ocean apart.

Sydney is checking her tablet when Maggie comes out of her room with extra sheets.

“You still have work to do at a time like this?” Maggie asks as she approaches.

Sydney tilts her head back to look at Maggie. “Just checking into my flight,” she informs with a small smile. She furtively closes her tablet and places it in her bag before getting up.

“You’re leaving…” Maggie tries to smile even though her heart tightens inside of her.

“Tomorrow,” Sydney nods as she walks towards Maggie.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” We’ve only just seen each other.

Sydney looks down between them sadly before shaking her head. “I wanted to make sure that Rebecca was in good hands and she is. Besides, you saw my parents, it’s best if I go. I still have a lot of work to do in London anyway.”

Maggie unconsciously hugs the sheets closer to her chest. The news makes her immensely sad and she hates the way it sits inside of her. She swallows thickly. “Right, important doctor stuff to do,” she tries to joke.

“As if you aren’t important here,” Sydney jokes back in return as her hands find Maggie’s upper arms. “You’re a great doctor here, Maggie. A lot of people look up to you now.” She stares up at Maggie with a thoughtful look on her face. Maggie feels warm at her touch and proximity.

“You kind of have to look up to me,” Maggie returns playfully. Sydney scoffs and rolls her eyes at Maggie before taking the sheets. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking the sheets for the couch?” Sydney answers in confusion.

Maggie tugs the sheets back to her chest, turning away from Sydney’s grasp. “These are for me,” she informs. “You can have my bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to kick you out of your bed.”

“You’re not sleeping on my couch. You had a long flight, you deserve to be comfortable.”

Sydney shakes her head. “No, I couldn’t, Maggie. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re my guest, Syd,” Maggie declares. “I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch.”

Sydney sighs, not wanting to argue with Maggie. She walks towards Maggie’s bedroom, peering in before looking back at Maggie. She bites her lip as she turns back to Maggie. “Your bed is big enough for the both of us. We can share.”

Maggie raises an eyebrow at Sydney.

The action is more than enough for Sydney to turn red. “We’re adults. We can sleep together.” Her eyes widen at her words. “You know what I mean.”

“Sleep together?” Maggie playfully flirts.

Sydney throws up her hands before walking into Maggie’s room. She’s grumbling something to the effect of Maggie being childish.

Maggie laughs to herself before following Sydney. They could share a bed together. It sure beat the couch. It was never Maggie’s favorite purchase either, it was a second hand couch that had lumps in weird places. Besides, they were adults, friends, they could share a bed easily.

Except when it was apparent to Maggie that sleeping next to Sydney was a lot more difficult than she thought.

They’d share a bed before, briefly after they’d slept together. Sydney had been lying next to her, naked, trying to catch her breath. Maggie remembers it vividly, the way Sydney looked was beautiful. She’d been trying to catch her breath too because she’d been surprised how enthusiastic they’d been with each other. There was no real chance of getting up for a little bit.

Maggie had closed her eyes briefly, feeling the exhaustion of her worked body, when she felt Sydney shift next to her. She glanced over to see Sydney, biting her lip shyly contemplating her move as she looked at Maggie.

“I--I don’t think I can get up yet,” Sydney whispered, throat hoarse from her gasps and moans earlier. Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Can you hand me my scrub top?”

Maggie reached blindly off the bed for some clothes, too lazy to move herself. She picked up something by the pocket and handed it to Sydney. “Sorry, it’s mine. I think yours is somewhere far away.”

Sydney bit her lip again before quietly thanking Maggie. She pulled Maggie’s scrub top over her head before turning over to face the wall. Maggie laughed quietly to herself before closing her eyes again.

Neither of them said a thing when they woke up an hour later with Sydney’s arm thrown around Maggie’s waist.

Now, Maggie can feel Sydney’s presence more intensely because she knows that the way her heart beats near Sydney means something. She feels happier around Sydney, lighter, like everything fits together. Everything makes sense when she’s with Sydney. In brief moments, Maggie doesn’t feel the need to deconstruct how she feels, she just does.

Maggie turns on her side, just to take a look at Sydney. Because it’s been years since she’s been in the presence of her mentor. It feels like she needs to soak in Sydney’s presence because who knows when they’ll be in each other’s space once more after tonight.

Sydney feels Maggie’s eyes on her and she turns her head to look at Maggie. She’s fully awake. “You okay?” she asks, exhausted.

Maggie tucks her hands underneath her head and nods. “It’s just weird having you here. You’re actually here, in Toronto, in my bed.”

Sydney groans, moving to get up. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Maggie reaches out to grab Sydney’s wrist. Sydney pauses and stares at Maggie’s hand on her before looking at Maggie. “I didn’t mean it was weird in a bad way,” Maggie admits. “It’s just been so long since we’ve been in the same place and it makes me feel things.” She bites her lip, hoping that Sydney won’t take it the wrong way. The last thing she wants is for Sydney to feel uncomfortable on account of her feelings.

Sydney lies back down on her side to face Maggie. She laces their fingers before bringing it up between them. Her other hand comes up to trace the back of Maggie’s hand in hers.

There’s a subtle shock of electricity that creeps through Maggie’s limbs as Sydney touches her.

“What things do you feel?” Sydney asks carefully as she looks up at Maggie.

Maggie bites her lip. Her heart still pounds inside of her. “I’m not sure. It feels like--” Suffocating? Strangling? Longing?

“The other day, when you called, you said you were trying to process things,” Sydney states suddenly. “Did you want to talk about that?”

Maggie debates it. Sydney is going to leave tomorrow, would it even matter? Yet, staring at Sydney right before her and thinking about how far they’ve come, how far she's come, maybe it was worth it. Maggie hasn't been afraid of going for something she's wanted before, she shouldn't be now.

“I have a question,” Maggie starts and Sydney looks up at her earnestly. “Why did you do it? Why did you recommend me to your colleagues? I mean I could understand Cleveland because you hadn’t been gone for too long, but Dr. Montgomery and basically the Boston consortium were very….distant.”

Sydney looks at their entangled hands before biting her lip. She shyly looks up at Maggie and her voice drops to a whisper, “I was never really good at goodbyes. There’s just something so cumbersome about saying goodbye because it meant I was leaving something behind. Admittingly, leaving someone behind. It took me a while to realize it. When I left Toronto, I thought about you everyday.” There’s a small breath she releases at the admission.

Maggie’s eyes widen as the corner of her lips curl into a smile. There are butterflies in her chest as she stares at Sydney. “I thought about you too,” she admits.

Sydney smiles at this and reaches for Maggie’s cheek. Her warm hand caressing Maggie gently before she leans in and places a kiss on her lips.

Maggie takes a moment because the kiss is both expected and unexpected. It feels like the first time Sydney kissed her, sudden and determined. There’s less of a shock to this because Maggie feels like it’s what she’s wanted for a long time now. She doesn’t waste another second to cup Sydney’s cheek, pulling her in closer, deepening the kiss as they close the gap between their bodies.

Sydney quietly moans into the kiss as her hand slides down Maggie’s side, seeking purchase at her waist. She daringly slips her hand underneath Maggie’s thin tank top.

Maggie smiles unconsciously at the touch, feeling her heart soar inside of her. She slips her hand down to Sydney’s slim waist and gently coaxes her on top. There’s a small gasp as their legs slot between one another and Sydney readjusts herself to straddle Maggie’s thigh. Sydney breaks the kiss suddenly, sitting back on her calves as she stares at Maggie, biting her lip.

“Do you want to stop?” Maggie asks raspily, hands finding its way to Sydney’s waist comfortingly.

Sydney stares at Maggie with focus through the dark room. The city lights filtered in by the shades are no match for the way Sydney’s eyes burn with passion. There’s a small smile on Sydney’s face as she shakes her head. Her hands slip underneath Maggie’s to grasp the hem of her shirt. In one swift motion, she pulls off her shirt to reveal her pert breasts and creamy skin and ducks back down to capture Maggie’s lips.

Maggie returns the kiss eagerly. Her hands slide up Sydney’s smooth back before grasping her waist and cupping her breasts, fitting perfectly in the palms of her hand. The urge to touch Sydney everywhere becomes pertinent. The longing that Maggie’s held onto inside is lit by Sydney’s very real presence and evolving into her deep desire to have Sydney, to feel her, to be with her.

Sydney lets out a quiet moan as Maggie massages her breast until her nipples harden. Maggie groans at the way Sydney’s body responds to her and pushes back against the smaller woman until she’s on her back. This time Sydney gasps as Maggie knee comes up between her legs, rubbing the thin fabric of her pajamas against her. Maggie breaks their kissing as she caresses both breasts, flicking her thumb across Sydney’s pebbled nipples. She moves lower, grasping at Sydney’s body and dropping kisses between the valley of her breasts down her stomach.

“M-aggie--” Sydney gasps as she throws her head back into the pillow. Her hips jerk upward to Maggie’s lips.

Maggie smiles as the goosebumps rise across Sydney’s body. Her own arousal is very evident as her shorts become damp with wetness, but Maggie is determined to have Sydney first. She wants Sydney to feel good.

She gently tugs at Sydney’s pants with her underwear, peeling them down her legs achingly slow. As much as Maggie wants to take Sydney fast and hard, this feeling has been simmering inside of her for so long. She wants to take her time for as long as she can.

Maggie throws the clothing somewhere in her room and watches as Sydney brings her thighs together, rubbing them together to relieve some pressure. She places her hands on Sydney’s knees, encouraging them to spread. Maggie bites her lip. She watches Sydney cover her face with her hands, either to hide the embarrassment of baring her painful arousal or to suppress her wanton moans.

It doesn’t make a difference because Sydney lifts her hip subtly for Maggie. Maggie kisses the inside of her thighs, feeling them quiver underneath her lips as she moves closer towards Sydney’s wet folds.

“Sydney,” Maggie whispers hotly against her wetness. “Syd, look at me.” She rubs Sydney’s knees encouragingly until the redhead makes eye contact with her.  

Sydney picks up her head, looking surprisingly apprehensive.

“We can stop if you want,” Maggie breathes out carefully. They’d only just seen each other for the first time in years, it makes sense for Sydney to be apprehensive. Maggie also feels an inkling of fear through her arousal.

Sydney props herself up on her elbows and immediately protests, “No, Maggie, I don’t want to stop. I’m just--it’s been awhile since--”

“Since you’ve had sex?” Maggie finishes curiously.

Sydney’s whole body blushes. “Since we’ve…”

Maggie smiles at the uncertainty in Sydney’s voice. It’s evident she’s nervous because it’s them. “I feel the same,” Maggie levels with Sydney, reaching for her hand. Sydney reaches out to grasp Maggie’s hand and Maggie squeezes it encouragingly. “Let me take care of you and show you how happy I am that you’re here.” She drops another kiss on the inside of Sydney’s knee. Sydney sucks in her breath and nods. “Just tell me if you want me to stop.”

Sydney bites her lip. Maggie swallows at how unconsciously seductive the younger doctor is.

Maggie ducks her head without hesitation and broadly licks Sydney’s wet entrance. Sydney full body shivers at the single lick to Maggie’s delight and it spurs her to continue. Enthusiastically. She drinks up Sydney like she’s parched and licks Sydney like she’s savoring every taste. Sydney’s scent is still heady like Maggie remembers it to be, but she tastes a lot sweeter than before. Maggie dips her tongue inside Sydney, tentatively at first, listening for the breathy moans before darting her tongue in and out, knowing how much Sydney likes it. Her finger comes up to rub Sydney’s engorged nub and immediately, Sydney cries out and tightens her grip on Maggie’s hand before reaching, tangling her fingers in Maggie’s hair, encouraging her to continue.

Maggie moans at the way Sydney’s nails scratch her scalp and swaps her fingers for her mouth. She sucks hard at Sydney’s clit to feel her hair being tugged just a bit harder.

Sydney moans her name in a dreamy mantra, begging for her to continue.

Maggie slips two fingers inside Sydney’s hot heat and uses her hand to push at Sydney’s thigh to give her deeper access. Sydney’s back arches off the bed and her hand tightens in Maggie’s hair, tugging hard until Maggie hisses.

“Don’t stop--don’t stop--” Sydney gasps out, rolling her hips against Maggie’s fingers.

Maggie doesn’t intend to stop, not with the way Sydney’s walls clench around her fingers and thighs shiver beside her. She wants Sydney more than she realizes, more than the dampness between her legs can express. Maggie wants to come with Sydney, just shoving her hand into her own shorts and rub herself as she curls her fingers inside Sydney, but she doesn’t. She wants Sydney to come first, she wants to make her come.

“Maggie,” Sydney groans out as she uses both hands to tug Maggie up. Maggie meets her halfway and Sydney’s lips are on hers, kissing her desperately because she wants her closer. She holds Maggie’s face in her hands until Maggie is hovering over her, settling between her legs. “I want more.”

Her hot raspy voice against Maggie causes her to accidentally bite Sydney’s lip to elicit a hiss and she quickly licks it as an apology. Maggie doesn’t forget though, immediately she pushes a third finger in Sydney and feels Sydney’s whole body seize, her walls clamping around her fingers. Maggie slowly pumps them, letting Sydney ride her orgasm for as long as she can. Sydney throws her arms around Maggie’s shoulders to hug her tightly as she utters Maggie’s name over and over.

Maggie drops kisses on Sydney’s gasping lips before burying her head into her neck, nuzzling her comfortably until Sydney’s grasp on her loosens. She smiles into Sydney’s neck as she comes down from her orgasm.

Maggie feels sated in Sydney’s arms at the moment. Everything she’s wanted suddenly feels like they’ve fallen into place.

“Maggie,” Sydney grunts adorably under her weight. Maggie picks up her head with a proud smile on her face. Sydney returns the smile, stroking her hair aside before kissing her.

Sydney doesn’t say anything else as she slips her hand between them into Maggie’s shorts. Maggie gasps, feeling extremely sensitive to Sydney’s slim fingers dancing between her folds. She curls into the smaller woman, wanting more of her touch.

Sydney rolls Maggie onto her back quickly.

There’s no shedding of Maggie’s clothes or paced foreplay to excite Maggie. Sydney knows how close Maggie is from the way her nipples peek underneath the thin fabric down to her drenched shorts. It surprises Maggie when Sydney unceremoniously pushes her shorts to her knees and straddles her leg again. This time Sydney slides against Maggie’s thigh with her come and Maggie bites her lip hard as her hands find Sydney’s hips again.

Sydney presses at Maggie’s clit with two fingers before sliding them down between her folds, gathering all the wetness that’s been pooling there. Maggie trembles at touches and returns the favor by caressing Sydney’s waist before cupping her ass. Sydney’s jaw clenches as she tries to remain focused even though Maggie starts to guide her hips to move against her thigh.

Maggie smirks as she tries to get Sydney off on her thigh. “Syd, I want you inside,” she says frankly through her low pants.

Sydney pushes a single finger inside of Maggie, pumping it quickly and curling it. It’s not enough for Maggie to come, but she’s a mess all the same, squeezing her walls around Sydney’s single digit desperately.

“More,” Maggie gasps out as she encourages Sydney’s hips to keep grinding down on her thigh. Sydney complies quickly, pushing two fingers inside Maggie before stretching her. Maggie feels herself dripping down to her thighs as she starts humping Sydney’s fingers.

The urge to hold onto Sydney cuts deep inside of her. Maggie reaches up to grasp the back of Sydney’s neck to pull her down into a kiss. Sydney’s fingers twist inside of her and she’s moaning loudly into Sydney’s mouth as they continue to rut against each other.

Maggie’s head starts to spin because Sydney’s scent is stronger now. She can smell their sex and sweat all around her and she takes it in deeply, trying to commit it to memory. Sydney kisses and nips at her neck. It takes her a moment to find a sensitive spot at the juncture of her shoulder before Maggie’s eyes roll back and she sucks it harder than Maggie expects. Her walls are shivering around Sydney’s fingers, the coils in her stomach tighten even harder.

“Syd--fu--I’m close,” Maggie pants as they keep moving against each other.

Sydney hums against her neck, sucking just a bit harder. Her thumb presses against her clit and she rubs roughly that Maggie jerks to the touch. Maggie gasps in air as she feels the orgasm wash over her and she pulls Sydney impossibly closer, unwilling to let go for any reason as she comes. Sydney comes again on her thigh, biting hard into her shoulder as a new wave of juices slick their thighs.

Sydney falls beside Maggie into the pillows, trying to catch her breath. Maggie does the same beside her. For a brief moment, they look at each other and share tired smiles. Sydney’s eyes start to droop and she throws her arm around Maggie’s waist, holding her close. Maggie turns on her side, ignoring the growing soreness between her legs, to throw an arm around Sydney as well.

Maggie falls asleep more satisfied than she’s been in a long time.

[hard-satin]

Weaponized (4.07)

Masterlist

“Where’s Lydia?” Kira asked as she, Scott, Malia, Stiles and I stood in line for the PSAT. I was still mad that they made all the juniors come to school on a saturday for this stupid test.

“She took it her freshman year.” Stiles informed Kira who was looking around for the redhead.

“Does that mean I could have taken it some other time?” Malia asked him angrily.

“Malia, you studied harder for this than any of us.” Scott reminded her.

“Yeah, Jamie only studied with me once a week and she just happened to know everything. So even though I studied the most that doesn’t mean I’m going to do good.” She argued.

“Well.” Stiles told her.

“Well, what?” She asked him.

“It’s do well, not good.” Stiles corrected her.

“Oh, god!” Malia exclaimed even more anxious than before.

“Look Lia. I don’t know what it is about me but I can just hear some information and it stays with me. Not everyone is like that, but you’re still going to get this done.” I assured her.

“Why?” She groaned.

“You’re doing this, because while we’re trying not to die we still need to live. If I survive high school, I’d like to go to college. A good college.” Scott told her.

“It’s only three hours. We can survive three hours.” Kira pointed out.

-

We walked in one by one. We had to place our fingerprint on the test. Then we took a couple pencils and handed over our cell phones. There wasn’t five seats close together but we tried to pack into a close area to each other as we took our seats.

Kira, Scott, Malia, and I sat across the front row, with Stiles snagging the seat directly behind Malia. I listen patiently to the instructions the proctor gave. Then he turned to Lydia’s mom who was one of our proctors and asked where the other proctor was.

“It’s coach, he’s not exactly punctual.” Mrs. Martin informed the man. She excused herself to call coach. She came back a couple minutes later.

“I can’t find him, but Mr. Yukimura is upstairs grading papers. Do you want me to try him?” She asked.

“We have to start. We can ask for his assistance during the first break.” The man told her. He leaned over the desk and pressed a button on his watch before looking up at all of us.

“You may now open your test booklets and begin.” He instructed us. The sound of turning pages filled the air as we all began the test.

We weren’t even a whole minute into the exam before the girl sitting behind me collapsed to the floor. I groaned internally, this wasn’t looking good for the rest of us. This was the one weird thing that always meant our day would end up a struggle for survival.

“Sydney! Are you alright?” Mrs. Martin was quick to the girls side.

“I’m alright. I just got kind of dizzy.” The girl assured her. Mrs. Martin took a hold of her wrist.

“How long have you had this?” She asked the girl looking at something on the inside of her wrist.

“Mrs. Martin, do I need to stop the test?” Our head Proctor asked her.

“No, it’s fine. Everybody stay in your seats. I’ll be back in a minute.” SHe told us before heading up to the front and retrieving her phone.

“Nobody leaves the room.” She told the head proctor. I looked to the other members of the pack, they seemed as confused and concerned as I was.

“Get back! No! Do not come in here! Get back outside!” The screams came a minute or so after Mrs. Martin left the classroom. We all ran out to see what was wrong.

“Back to your seats now. Please.” She instructed us calmly, but her chemosignals were wreaking of distress. All the students filled back inside, but Scott and I stayed by the door to listen into Mrs. Martin's phone call.

“I need the number for the CDC. Yes the centers for disease control.” I heard her say into the phone. Scott and I shared a wide eyed look of panic.

-

Men in yellow hazmat suits were at the school within the hour. They set up plastic bubble rooms for some of the students in the test room. They put up tarps so that we couldn’t see out of the window.

“I bet they think it’s smallpox.” Stiles told Kira, Malia and I as we sat on the desks that had been pushed aside.

“Not likely. Smallpox was eradicated worldwide in 1979. We’ve only managed to completely eradicate two viruses in history. The other was rinderpest. It killed cows.” The head proctor of our exam told us in a uniquely creepy way.

“So we should be comforted by that, right?” Stiles asked him.

“Unless it’s something worse.” The man pointed out. I let out a small chuckle at his weird mannerisms.

“Whatever it is they’re taking it pretty seriously. There’s a lot of cars and trucks out there.” Malia told us. I listen in, catching the sound of a very familiar voice.

“Noah’s with them.” I told Stiles.

“I should probably call him.” Stiles said standing up and rifling through the box of cell phones on the desk.

“Don’t bother. They would have shut off any access to outside communications by now. No cell service, no wifi, no starting a panic. Looks like we’re all just going to have to wait here and see what happens.” The creepy man told him. I looked to the girls, worry etched into my face.

-

“Kira, do you ever get the feeling that Scott and Stiles aren’t telling you everything?” Malia asked as we stood in line. I looked at my friend in confusion. She had asked me something similar one night when we were studying.

“What do you mean?” KIra asked. Now it was her I looked at with curiosity. Her heartbeat had jumped. Was there really something that the boys had been keeping a secret.

“Like they hide stuff.” Malia elaborated.

“I think if they did they would probably have a pretty good reason.” Kira said carefully. She was definitely hiding something.

“Do you know what they’re in the bag under Scott’s bed?” Malia cut to the chase.

“What? No. I’ve never been under Scott’s bed, or in it, just on it. Wearing clothes.” Kira stuttered. Something was definitely up. I would have to remember to grill the boys about it later. Most likely Stiles he was the worst at lying to me.

“Kira Yukimura.” The tech called for Kira to step forward and give blood. Kira eyes the needle.

“I don’t like needles either, but I promise this is going to be fast.” The tech assured her. She pressed the needle to Kira’s skin, as soon as it made contact it became electrified. The tech dropped the needle.

Malia and I pulled Kira away in the mess of the other tech’s trying to get the one that was dealing with Kira out. We brought her to the bathroom where Stiles, Scott and Mr. Yukimura already were. Scott's eyes were flickering between their normal brown and alpha red. Malia and I had started sweating. Something was happening to us.

“Obviously the virus is affecting you three in a way that isn’t happening to anyone else.” Mr. Yukimura concluded.

“You guys have to stay out of sight. We have to quarantine you, form the quarantine.” Stiles told us. I looked at the claws that Malia couldn’t control as I ran my tongue over the fangs in my mouth that I couldn’t make recede.

“Yeah, but where? What if they get violent? Like on a full moon.” Kira asked looking between the three of us.

“We shouldn’t stay in here. Not a locker room.” Stiles pointed out.

“A classroom is not going to hold us.” Malia added.

“What about the basement?” Kira offered up as a solution.

“Too many ways out.” Scott shot the idea down.

“We need something secure. Somewhere nobody could find us.” I said as my breath started to become laboured.

“The vault. The Hale vault. The Hale’s always have an escape route. Like their house. There has to be another way in.” Stiles told us before running from the locker room.

Stiles returned with a blueprint of the school. He pointed to where we knew the first entrance was and sketched out about how big the vault was.

“I suppose if there was a second entrance it would probably be in the basement.” Mr. Yukimura therorised.

“It’s got to be somewhere in the west corridor.” Stiles told us before he collapsed. Scott caught him and propped him back up.

“It’s happening to you too. You’re getting sick. You all are.” Mr. Yukimura told him as he looked at the rash that had popped up on Stiles arms.

“I don’t feel sick.” Kira told her dad.

“I think it’s affecting you differently. Neurologically. I found your test answer sheet in the pile with the others.” He told her spreading out the crumpled paper on the table. Kira’s pencil marks were all over the paper.

We all raced down to the basement. Searching until Stiles found the second entrance. We gathered around it with no way in. The cracks in the wall made the shape of a triskele.

“It’s like the entrance outside. It only opens with claws. Anyone’s claws right?” Stiles asked looking to Scott.

“I’ll do it.” I volunteered stepping forward.

“No! Actually I think Malia should try.” Scott told me. I furrowed my brow at him.

“Why me?” Malia asked.

“Yeah.” I added wanting to know the answer to that question myself.

“I don’t have control and I don’t want Jamie stuck with her claws out either.” Scott told her. It was convincing enough, but something still didn’t sound right.

“Okay. I’ll do it, but first tell me what you’ve been hiding from me.” She told them. The boys looked between each other, neither one of them saying a word.

“I know you think you’re protecting me but I can handle it. I know I’m on the list.” She finally told them. They looked relieved. It seemed more like she had given them a cover up then provoking them to tell her the truth.

“Yes.” Stiles said in a way that made me certain there was more to it.

“So how much?” She asked them.

“How much what?” Stiles asked her.

“How much am I worth?” She asked.

“Four million.” Scott told her.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked her.

“Yeah. Scott’s worth twenty five, Jamie’s worth twenty, Kira’s six. They’ll take you guys out way before me.” Malia told them before stepping up and opening the vault. I chuckled at her relaxed attitude.

“It’s progress.” Stiles muttered to Scott and Kira who were less amused by Malia’s statement.

The vault door opened and we all walked into the Hale vault.

-

Kira paced the floor as I snooped around. Malia had fallen asleep in Stiles arms and Scott was sitting in a box. We were less than inspired for a solution. I had a feeling if we didn’t think of one soon we would all die. Werewolves couldn’t get sick, so whatever this illness was it was meant for us.

“You know this is where it all started. The money was sitting right there. A hundred and seventeen million in bearer bonds.” Stiles told us as he pointed to the now empty safe.

“How do you even change bearer bonds into cash?” Kira asked as she messed with a jar of weird looking leaves and mushrooms. Se handed it to me when I came over to investigate. I looked it over and gave it a sniff. I reeled back, it was strong and weird smelling. I put it back on the shelf.

“The bank I guess. They just let it sit here the whole time collecting dust. You know bearer bonds are basically extinct.” Stiles told us.

“Why does it matter?” Kira asked him sitting down beside Scott.

“You know how many problems that money could solve?” Stiles asked her.

“For you?” Kira asked him.

“Me, my dad, Eichen house and the MRI bills are crushing him.” Stiles confessed.

“Why didn’t you tell me I have money saved away for me from my parents.” I told Stiles.

“Dad would never accept that from you.” Stiles told me.

“Mom does this thing where she writes down all the items in our budget. How much they cost. Then she adds it all up and figures out how long we have until we lose the house.” Scott confessed. I hung my head. Scott got up and went to the door to listen. Stiles followed him over so I went to sit at Malia’s side. Kira sat on her other side. Malia’s head eventually found its way into my lap. Kira and I were leaning against each other. Propping each other up over Malia.

Stiles came over to tell her that he was going to go out and try to figure out what was going on. He wrapped his jacket around her as she shivered.

“You’re coming back right?” She asked him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d never leave you behind.” Stiles assured her. I watched him walk out the door. Malia’s head was back in my lap before it closed behind him. She was still shaking and there wasn’t much I could do for her. So I held her, and I held onto hope that somehow we would all make it out of this alive.

-

Malia struggled to sit up as she pulled a piece of paper from Stiles coat pocket. She unfolded it before us.

“Is that the third part of the deadpool? I haven’t seen it yet who’s on it?” I asked her as she sat up.

“Malia!” Scott called out in warning. She looked up at him.

“I can’t see. I can’t see anything.” She told him as she started to shake. I took the deadpool from her hands but the words on the paper were a blur. My vision faded completely a few seconds later.

“Scott! It’s in the vault. It’s called reishi mushrooms. It’s in there with you!” Stiles yelled at us from outside the vault. I struggled to my feet at Stiles words. I remembered the jar Kira had picked up earlier. I couldn’t see but I knew it was right across the room from me. I stumbled blindly in what I hoped was the right direction. I reached out with my sense of smell that had been weakened but was still there. I grabbed hold of the shelf as I bumped into it. Mostly to keep me from tumbling down. I felt around and my hand closed around the jar. I unscrewed the cap and grabbed the strong smelling contents. I forced some of it in my mouth. I chewed and swallowed it down.

The effects were near instant. My sight coming back to me and then my strength. I wasn’t one hundred percent but I was strong enough to save my friends. I went to Scott first. I shoved some of the tea down his throat. His eyes opened as he sputtered but I held my hand over his mouth making sure he swallowed it all. I put some in the palm of his hand.

“Get this to Kira.” i told him helping him to his feet and pushing him in the direction of his girlfriend before I made my way to Malia.

I forced the mushrooms down my friends throat and nearly sobbed as her eyes shot open. I pulled her to me. Scott cured Kira before opening the door for Stiles. AS Malia hugged me I heard the crinkling sound of paper between us. I pulled away and looked down at the third part of the deadpool as it fell into our laps. My eyes widened as I scanned it over. The second name down was Malia Hale followed by the number four. Malia looked like she’d been shot.

Stiles ran inside and knelt in front of her. I realised then that this truth was what he’d been hiding from her. I honestly felt betrayed too knowing that everyone had kept this from me.

“Hey are you okay? Malia? Malia?” Stiles asked reaching out to touch her shoulder. Malia grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from her. SHe stood up leaving the list behind. SHe took my hand and pulled me to my feet. She kept her hand firmly in mine as she led us both from the vault. She left the others behind without a word.

Malia led me out of the basement and away from the crowd of people upstairs into the locker room. She pulled me in and closed the door behind us before rounding on me.

“You didn’t know?” She asked tears in her eyes. I could only shake my head as my heart broke for her. She seemed relieved that I was as clueless as she was about her true heritage. She wrapped her arms around me and we clung to each other as she sobbed into my shoulder.