#to make each other feel safe and secure for the past decade+ that it's Easy for them both now and they're SUCH a confident couple

[shannonsketches]

lays on the floor do you guys ever think about how in ResF Bulma falls for Vegeta's fake-out with Freeza and both she and Yamcha are worried about Vegeta's villain fake-out strategy in Champa and Beerus' mini tournament and how it's only been a couple of years since the Buu saga and how Vegeta straight up stopped using that strategy after that tournament

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 10: Leverage

A plan is taking shape but first, you and The Mandalorian need leverage. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-9 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, light smut (FINALLY! Dry humping, just a lot of it). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 7K

The trek to the city wasn’t nearly as long on a speeder bike as it would have been on foot. For one, getting down the mountain was a whole hell of a lot quicker when you could travel straight down and not take it at an easy incline. Din was at the helm and you were wrapped around his waist. You diligently kept your eyes closed, worried that watching the trees that you could hear whizzing past your head would make you sick. Your pack was strapped securely to your back, planning to set up camp just outside the city overnight with Keci joining you both tomorrow. 

She’d told you some of what went on in the city, things she suspected weren’t totally legal or were, at least, questionable. You had an idea of where to start after you left your speeder outside the city in a place that seemed safe.  

You’d never navigated a city of this size with the Mandalorian by your side. You were used to blending in, taking advantage of being small and unobtrusive, just raising a hood here or putting on a wrap there to help blend in and not jump out as a familiar sight after tailing someone for hours. A Mandalorian didn’t blend in. 

Instead, it was like the waters of people flowing down the streets parted for you, giving the armored man a wide berth. When you’d glance back to him, you saw him doing the same thing he’d done on Nevarro - never looking in one direction for too long, always on guard for something to jump out and attack at any time. 

After a while of not being able to move through the place the way you liked, you pulled Din aside. 

“I think we need to split up for a bit,” you said. You could almost feel him frown at you. It was funny, you’d never seen his face but you were sure he was doing it behind the metal. “You’re a little too… bold. I can’t sneak into anywhere with you here.” 

“No one’s taking a shot at you with me here, either,” he replied. “And you can’t collect or do anything with intel if you’re dead.” 

“I’m very good at not getting killed when gathering information,” you assured him. You weren’t sure why he seemed to care quite so much. Yes, you were friends now. And there was the added intimacy that came with having traveled together in such close quarters. But this was just part of the job he’d accepted - his code should make it so he’d want to do whatever it took to get it done. “Believe it or not, I did this for years - more than a decade - before I even met you, with way bigger assholes than some Spice runners and gangsters. I’ll be fine.” 

He looked around, over your head, for a moment before looking back down to you. 

“I don’t like it.” 

You sighed. 

“I’ll meet you here in three hours,” you said, eyebrows raised as you waited for him to agree. 

He looked down at you for a long moment before he sighed. 

“Fine,” he pulled a com link off his belt and pressed it to your hand. “Anything happens - and I mean anything - I come get you.” 

You gave him a smile, a nod and slipped into the crowd, feeling his eyes on you until he was out of sight. 

It was much easier when you didn’t have more than six feet of armor behind you. It only took half an hour of navigating the seedier parts of the city when you easily identified a place that seemed to have a stream of people flowing into a nondescript door. You slipped inside, poking around. It didn’t take long for you to find that it was an underground casino, with sabacc tables and slot machines that looked so old they probably pre-dated the Empire. In the middle, through doors that were heavily guarded, was a fighting ring. You winced as you watched two men brawl. It was painful enough to see them beating each other but it was worse when you realized both men were wearing shock collars. One stopped hitting the other - who lay limp on the mat below him - looking off to an unseen force for permission to step away. You saw the metal at his neck spark and his body seize before he went back to beating the man on the ground. 

It was terrible but it’s exactly what you needed. You tried to unobtrusively take a picture.

You worked your way deeper into the establishment, trailing people as they went about their business, listening closely when they said names or mentioned something that sounded like someone had control. You stayed close when you heard the word Spice, doing everything you could to stay unseen, just blend into the background. At one point, you paused at one of the slot machines and pretended to play to listen in on a conversation, one that gave you a specific name. You noted it and stayed close to the person who seemed to know most, following a few paces behind them. You’d thought you’d been doing well until you turned a corner and ran smack into his chest. 

“Well, well, well,” the man looked down at you, his head cocked and a smile spreading on his sharp face. “I have a little stalker.” 

“I’m sorry,” you stammered in Chandrilan. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. I’m lost, can you help me find my way out?” 

He grabbed your face, his fingers digging into your skin, the force enough that it threatened to break your jaw. 

“Surely you don’t think I’m that stupid, girl,” he snarled, putting his face close to yours. “I know you were listening. You’ve been slinking through here for hours.” 

“I’m sorry,” you switched to Basic, straining to talk around his grip on your face. “I’m just… I’m looking for my dad, OK? He left weeks ago, the money is gone, please, my baby brother is starving and he has a habit of losing everything at the tables. I thought… maybe he’d lost so much that you had him.” 

He searched your eyes as though that would tell him the truth. He released your jaw. 

“What’s his name?” He asked, pulling a data pad from his side. You blinked. 

“Perro Obeu,” you said, making it up on the spot. He entered the name and looked at a list. 

“He’s not here,” he said, putting the data pad down. “And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t be here either.” 

“I won’t,” you said quickly. “Thank you.” 

You felt his eyes on you as you left and you tried to move fast enough that you got out before there was trouble but not so fast that you drew further attention to yourself. You paced yourself until you were a few hundred steps from the entrance and you broke into a run, immediately cutting down a road you hadn’t gone done before and grabbing the com link from your pocket. 

“Change of plan,” you said into it quickly. “Meet me at the market we passed, east side.” 

You flicked it off and shoved it into your pocket before you spotted a spout you could scale on a building. You climbed it quickly, scrambling onto the roof. You stayed put and watched as, a moment later, men from the casino came prowling down the alley. You looked around, spotting the clearest path across the roof line. 

“Maker dammit,” you muttered to yourself, steeling yourself before running and jumping onto the next closest building. You stumbled, having to tuck and roll before getting back to your feet and doing it again. You were too short to be really good at this, the distance too great to be really doable for someone with legs your length. The speed you had to move with was reckless, your feet catching and sending you sprawling so much that your hands were scratched and bloodied. Eventually, the market was in view and you went to the edge of the building you were on, looking for something you could climb down. There wasn’t anything you could see, but there was an awning over the entrance to the shop you were on top of that was less than 20 feet down. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, climbing over the side of the building, taking a deep breath, and letting yourself drop. You landed with a clatter on the metal, the people on the street looking up at you with shocked expressions, but you didn’t see the men from the casino. The awning, at least, was only 10 feet off the ground, and you jumped off the side of it into the only open ground you could find, pressing through the crowd and waiting until the people who’d seen your acrobatics were out of sight to pull your hood up. 

Din found you a minute later, taking your elbow and pulling you onto a quiet side street. 

“What in the Maker was that?” He demanded. 

“I picked up a tail,” you replied with a sigh, lowering your hood. “But I think I ditched them…” 

Something about his demeanor changed, his whole body suddenly rigid. You frowned as his hand slowly, gently, went to your chin. He turned your face so he could see your skin in different lights, the hand not touching you slowly clenching into a fist. 

“Who did this?” He asked. You frowned deeper. 

“Did what?” 

“Hurt you,” it sounded as though he was straining to speak through gritted teeth. “There are bruises on your face. Who did it.” 

“Oh,” you winced. “Yeah, I drew some unwanted attention just before I picked up the tail. It’s nothing, and definitely worth it because I got good intel. I have enough leverage, I think…” 

“I should have gone with you,” he cut you off. You drew back, surprised. “No one would have done this if I was there.” 

“I’ve had way worse than some bruising,” you said, trying to reassure him. You held up your bloodied hands. “I did worse to myself, see? Trust me. It’s worth the price. Except I’ll need some makeup to cover this with to pull off tomorrow’s plan… We’ll have to find a stand at the market and quick, I should get out of here in case the tail picks me up again.” 

Din stood there, his body caging you in. 

“I promise,” you said. “It’s fine.” 

You ducked below his arm and put your hood back up, stopping at the first stand you found that sold makeup. You quickly made your purchase, the Mandalorian following you like a shadow, before you made your way back to your speeder and set up camp. You gathered your thoughts and your information, preparing for the next day. Your entire plan hinged on it. 

***

Din was sure, now, that you’d be the end of him. It was as though you’d taken part of him for yourself, like you were walking around with a vital piece and he couldn’t do a damn thing to keep it safe anymore. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry as when he’d seen your bruised skin. He’d known he should have gone with you. It felt like you should be within his line of sight all the time. It was the only way to know you were safe and he needed you to be safe - more, it seemed, than he needed anything else. Certainly more than he needed sleep.

Which is how he found himself standing guard as you slept, curled up on the ground under every blanket in the pack and still shivering because you couldn’t afford to risk a fire. He’d said he’d wake you for second watch but he wasn’t going to. He needed less sleep than you did and he didn’t think he could rest right now if he tried. Just like on Hosnian Prime, someone had hurt you when he’d been so close but too far to stop it. What good was all he could do if he couldn’t keep you safe? 

But you’d seemed unbothered. You slept soundly, no sign of the nightmares he knew could plague you. He’d seen your scars. He knew that you’d survived far worse than anything that had happened to you today. But you shouldn’t need to. 

You were upset with him when you woke up with the sunrise but he just shrugged. 

“You’re the one who has to convince the local government to provide support,” he replied. “I just have to stand there.” 

“You have to get us back to the settlement,” you glared at him. “Maker knows I can’t drive through trees like that.” 

He laughed. 

“I’ll get us there,” he replied. 

He watched you get ready, using the side of the speeder bike as a mirror to doctor your face and style your hair before changing into the dress you’d packed. He’d seen you in it once before, on the Razor Crest, when you’d climbed out of your hiding place in between crates just to prove your point. The dress had almost enraged him then but he could appreciate it now. It was quietly elegant, demanding respect while highlighting your figure. It was a dress you’d leverage as a diplomat. 

Keci met you about half a click outside the gates, giving you a once over. 

“You clean up well,” she said. 

“Have to look the part,” you shrugged before settling into the business at hand. “Let me do all the talking unless I indicate otherwise. Keci, I’ll ask you to seal the agreement on behalf of the settlement. Mando, I probably won’t ask anything of you at all. There are going to be tense moments, I’m basically going to be blackmailing a politician. It has to be done right. I need all the control of the situation I can get so please don’t intervene.” 

Keci looked concerned. 

“I’ve done this many times,” you said to her gently. “Trust me. I’m going to get us what we want. You just have to let me work.” 

You turned and led the way to the city. 

“Can she do it?” Keci lowered her voice to him, frowning. Din looked ahead to you, carrying yourself like the queen he knew you’d stood in for. 

“She can,” he said. “I’ve seen it.” 

The three of you made your way to the center of the city, finding the government building with ease. No one questioned you as you just walked past the guards, head held high, almost daring anyone to stop you. Eventually, you came to the governor’s office, stopping at a desk outside his door. 

“Can I help you?” The man sitting at the desk got to his feet. A few guards trailed in after the group. You had drawn some attention, after all. Just no one who was brave enough to try to stop you. 

“I’m here to speak with Governor Chadik on behalf of the Bisneth Settlement,” you said. 

“Do you have an appointment?” He asked, looking down at his desk. 

“Urgent diplomatic matters shouldn’t require an appointment,” you replied. The man frowned. 

“I’m not sure that he’s available…” he hedged. Din glanced down at you. 

“If Governor Chadik would like to keep his position within the New Republic, he should become available.” 

The man’s eyes shot up, looking at you, trying to call your bluff. You didn’t waver. 

“Right this way,” he said, gesturing you toward the door behind him. 

Keci looked to Din and he gave a stiff nod as the two of them followed behind you into the grand office. A middle-aged Balosar man sat behind his desk as his assistant came and whispered in his ear, nodding and stiffening in his seat. You gave a strong, knowing smile. 

“Please,” he said as his assistant stepped back. “Come in, take a seat. Can I get you anything?” 

“No, thank you,” you said, stepping forward, your hands clasped in front of you. The man came out from behind his desk to meet you in the middle of the room, leaning down to kiss both of your cheeks. Din stiffened. 

“Always a pleasure to hear from the settlements,” he said, gesturing to the seats at the front of his desk. You took the middle one as he went around the back. “I’m Governor Chadik, with whom do I have the pleasure?” 

“Mesh’la,” you replied. Din felt his stomach clench at the sound of Mando’a on your lips, your pronunciation perfect. “I’m here with my guard, the Mandalorian, and Keci, the mayor of the Bisneth Settlement. I am here on behalf of the people of the settlement, people that are suffering on your watch.” 

“Now, I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” he began, but you cut him off. 

“Governor,” you gave him an almost condescending smile. “Do you really think a New Republic emissary intervenes when there aren’t serious concerns? Do you believe the New Republic wastes time and resources on mundane, minor issues?” 

“No,” he said quickly, laughing lightly. “No, of course not…” 

“Good,” your smile became slightly more genuine. “I’d hate for you to not have a clear understanding of my role here. And your role, as well.” 

“Of course,” he said quickly. “And I can assure you, we do everything we can to ensure the welfare of the people here…” 

You held out your hand and Din handed you the data pad he had at his side. 

“I am concerned, Governor,” you frowned, looking down at the data pad. “That you don’t. You certainly don’t seem to do everything in your power and you don’t seem to understand your role, either…” 

“It’s a big world, Mesh’la,” he said, grinding his teeth. “I’m not saying there wasn’t something that was missed but…” 

“Well then your administration has missed an awful lot,” you said. “From Bisneth Settlement alone, a dozen citizens have been taken and enslaved by Spice runners from the Zottex Spice Operation, an organization that’s recognized as a criminal syndicate galaxy wide. The operation has cut off all trade routes to the settlement, exposing citizens there to a risk of starvation. Are you intending to participate in the flesh trade, Governor?” 

“No!” He sputtered before regaining his composure. “No, of course not…” 

“Excellent,” you said, scrolling further on the data pad. “Can you explain why you’ve allowed this to happen on your watch?” 

“The settlement is remote,” he ground is teeth. “They are largely cut off from the rest of our society, by their choice I might add. It leaves them vulnerable, there is only so much I can do with the resources available to me…” 

“Of course,” you nodded kindly, cocking your head questioningly at him. “So explain the happenings right here, in your capital city.” 

“Excuse me?” He said, getting to his feet. Din went to stand, but you threw an arm out, stopping him. The man’s eyes darted to the Mandalorian, metal restrained by flesh. 

“He will step in if I allow it,” you said, meeting the man’s eyes. “He’s a Mandalorian. There is no hiding from him. If I say you should be taken into custody, you will be. Please, have a seat Governor.” 

He ground his teeth again before dropping forcefully into his chair and leaning across the desk. He closed his eyes for a moment relaxing his jaw, before he spoke again. 

“There is nothing happening in my city,” he replied. 

“So you’re unaware of the illegal casino only a few blocks away from here?” You asked, bringing up an image of the fighting ring on your data pad. “The one that includes slave ring fighting, run by the Zottex Cartel? Because what it looks like to me is that you’re getting kick-backs from a Spice operation, allowing them to capture citizens, starve citizens and profit from getting your citizens addicted to an illegal substance. Is that not what’s going on?” 

He looked almost murderous. Din’s hand moved to his blaster. 

“Now, Governor Chadrik,” you smiled gently. “I know you’re a busy man. It would be impossible for you to know everything that was happening on your planet at any given time.” 

“Of course it is,” he seethed. 

“But,” you sighed. “I think, given the New Republic’s current stance on the Spice trade and the increased crack down on slavery in the Outer Rim, you’d have a hard time making it out of this with your job intact… Unless you do something to make it better.” 

“What are you asking for?” He asked. His hands were in fists on his desk. You smiled broadly. 

“Nothing that’s outside your capacity to give,” you replied, sliding the data pad to him. “I have drawn up this agreement between Bisneth Settlement and the Zottex Cartel. We just ask that we have the full backing of the Bakuran government in the enforcement of this agreement.” 

“You really think you can get the cartel to come to an agreement with a backwater settlement,” he hissed. 

“Yes,” you said smoothly. “With the right incentives. We just ask for enforcement aid, a reasonable request that you should be fulfilling anyway. Also, you end the slave fighting. We can turn a blind eye to the casino.” 

“How do you expect me to get Zottex to shut down the fighting?” He demanded. You shrugged. 

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” You said. “But if you don’t want word of it to get back to the core government, you’ll make it happen. I can’t return to Coruscant and not report it if it’s still happening. Honestly, Governor, I’m doing you a favor with this offer.” 

He looked at the data pad. 

“I don’t have the man-power to support this level of enforcement,” he said. 

“Yes you do,” you replied. “The New Republic has added 8 million credits to this world’s security budget in the last 2 years. You can afford additional forces. Unless you’d like me to examine where those funds have gone while I’m on world?” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he grabbed the data pad off the desk and scrawled his signature. “You’ll never get Zottex to agree.” 

“Good thing that’s not your problem then, isn’t it?” You smiled. He almost threw the data pad at you but you took it gently from his hands and handed it to Keci. 

“Mayor,” you said. “Please sign on behalf of your settlement.” 

She was looking at you, somewhat awed, but took the data pad and obeyed. You showed the governor before pressing a few keys. 

“I just transferred a copy of this agreement to you for your records,” you said. “And, of course, we will be filing this as an official agreement with the hall of records on Coruscant. We will let you know when the agreement goes into effect. In the meantime, you have 4 days to end the slave fighting. Do you have any questions?” 

He just glared at you. 

“Excellent,” you smiled, handing the data pad back to Din before facing the Governor again. “It was nice to meet you, Governor Chadrik. I look forward to you fulfilling your pact with your people. Best of luck to you.” 

He didn’t say anything as you led the way from the room, Din watching him until he knew he wasn’t going to shoot you. 

“Maker be damned,” Keci hissed as you left the building. 

“Wait until we’re the speeders,” you said quickly, your head still high as you made your way through town. 

You found the bikes in the trees and Keci threw herself around your neck, laughing, almost giddy. 

“I didn’t really think you could do it!” She clutched onto you. You just smiled and patted her back. “I can’t believe it, we’re going to get the help we need!” 

“We’re only half way there,” you said, stepping back gently. “We still have to back Zottex into a corner.” 

“I know,” she said, still smiling hugely. “But I think we can. I know we can. You’re not really an emissary from the New Republic, are you? What if he tries to get out of it?” 

“And what,” you shrugged. “Sends a message to Coruscant saying ‘hey, just checking, but someone called me on my shit, can you confirm she’s with you?’ He’s going to keep this as quiet as possible. And you don’t have to be an emissary to file something with the hall of records. We can log it, it will be binding. We just have to get Zottex to sign.” 

“We can,” she said quickly. “We will.” 

You rode on the back of Din’s speeder, your head between his shoulders at his back, your arms around his waist, legs around his hips. He let himself enjoy the feeling of it - the feeling of someone who could bring the Governor of a planet to his knees wrapped around him. 

Keci spread the word the second she was back, with what seemed like the entirety of the settlement pouring from their homes to greet you on the street as you walked back to where you were staying. Someone started playing music and you’d only made it up the path to where you were staying when someone pressed dishes of food into your hands. 

“I feel bad for taking resources,” you said, sitting with your back against the wall as Din started a fire. The sun was going down, but the celebration in the streets of the settlement was just getting started but the two of you were far enough away that it was quiet, distant. 

“Think you earned it. Besides, trade will start again soon,” Din said, sitting across from you. “How’s your face?” 

“Fine,” you waved him off. “Barely even feel it.” You took a bite of food and closed your eyes, moaning happily. “Fuck, almost forgot what not-rations taste like. Maker, that’s good.” 

Din laughed and your eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, I’m being so rude,” you said, moving out from the wall and turning to face the corner. He paused. “There, I won’t look. You should eat, it’s so good.” 

He watched you for a moment. He wanted to ask you to turn back around, having more fun watching you enjoy yourself, but thought better of it. Instead, he removed his helmet and took a bite. 

“You were right,” he said. “This is…” 

“So good, right?” You said when he couldn’t find the words. He smiled. 

“So good.” 

After dinner, you strategized until it looked like you were going to collapse and Din convinced you to lie down, the faint strains of music still filtering in through the window. Again, he waited until he was sure you were asleep before he silently removed his helmet, holding you close enough that he could feel your skin until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, putting the helmet back on before falling asleep beside you. 

*** 

The giddiness of pulling off your plan clung to you all the way back to the settlement and all evening long, the happiest it seemed you’d been in ages. It was like your whole body was burning with it, a pleasant tingling spreading through your limbs and your chest, consuming you. You’d been about ready to fall asleep sitting up with Din convinced you to lie down, something you were happier to agree to when he took his place next to you. 

The feeling only seemed to grow as you slept, though, and the ache inside you deepened as you dreamed of the most stable presence in your life, all metal and soothing baritone. What it would be like to touch him, feel him, the need twisting and gnawing in your sleep. 

“Mesh’la,” his voice, slightly strangled, reached you, and you woke with a gasp. You were in his arms but closer than you’d ever been. One leg was hitched over his hip, your core pressed against him, suddenly acutely aware of his hard length against you through his flight suit. His arms were around you, loosely, like he was afraid to touch you, but your chest was pressed tight against him. 

“I’m…” you started, panting for breath but not fully understanding why. Your eyes searched where you knew his to be below the helmet, about to apologize when you realized that he was breathless, too. 

He lifted a gloved hand, tentatively, brushing your hair back from your face. You took a deep, shaky breath, the ache between your legs growing at the feeling of him pressed against you. 

“What do you want, Mesh’la?” He asked, his voice trembling. “Tell me what you want, what you need.” 

You groaned quietly, pressing yourself closer to him, somehow inching you closer to relief while spreading the ache through your body. 

“You,” you whispered. “I want… I need… you.” 

He took the hand from your face and took yours. 

“Help me take this off,” he said, still panting for breath. You obeyed, hand trembling as you pulled the glove from him. His fingers traced your hand, his skin feeling too soft for someone who lived the life he did, before running up your arm back to your face. His fingers drifted into your hair and he moaned softly, twisting in it at the base of your skull before pulling your head to his helmet and rocking his hips against you. 

A strangled groan spilled from your lips as you moved against him, working yourself over him while the hand that was below your body clutched at your lower back, pressing you so tightly to him you were afraid you’d burst. 

But you needed it, needed the closeness, needed to feel as much of him as you possibly could, the ache threatening to consume you otherwise. His ungloved hand eventually left your face, trailing to your chest and running over your breasts beneath your shirt, softly cupping you as he pressed his length against you harder. 

His pace increased, his hand running down your body - leaving your breasts with a strangled moan - to your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh as he pulled you closer. You knew, if you were both naked, he’d be buried inside you like this. But instead it felt like he was trying to climb inside your skin and you were desperate to let him, wanted to feel him that close to you like you’d never wanted anything else. 

“Cyare,” he moaned as you clung to him, doing everything in your power to bring him closer. The hand on your leg moved again, this time slipping up your shirt to your back, his fingertips digging into you in a way that would probably hurt if you weren’t so desperate for release, for him. You moaned, biting your lip, nearing choking on the aching pleasure. “Tell me what you need… fuck, so soft…” 

“Just you,” you managed, hardly able to string two words together. All you could think of was the rising pleasure, the tightness building in your core, how you weren’t sure it would be possible to ever be close enough to this man to be truly satisfied. “Please, Din…” 

He thrust up against you, almost rabid with need, hitting you just right so that the band that had been tightening inside you snapped and you came with a strangled cry. He grabbed you with both hands and pulled your hips against him with all his strength, gasping as he came undone, his orgasm so powerful you could feel him throbbing through your clothes. 

“Fuck, Cyare,” he moaned, all the tension leaving his body as he went limp beside you, his grip on you easing, both of you panting for breath. You stayed like that, your body against his, raw from the intensity of your release, for a few minutes. His ungloved hand shakily came to your face, cupping your cheek gently. You pressed your face into his palm, luxuriating in the fact that you were touching him, his skin. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” you said. Your voice was shaky. “Are you?” 

“Yes. I’ve wanted…” he paused, his breathing straining to return to normal. He ran his fingers through your hair. “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.” 

Your hand covered his ungloved one, lacing your fingers through his and tugging his palm to your lips as press a kiss into it. His breathing stuttered again. 

“Good,” you said softly. “Because I wouldn’t want to be in that alone.” 

He held you close, your leg still over his hip, your face still against his helmet, until you both fell asleep again, completely wrapped up in each other. 

You half expected to have dreamed it, for him to not be there when you woke, but he was. Your leg was still over him, his ungloved hand was tangled in your hair and curled around the back of your neck, his thumb gently tracing your throat, your forehead against the bottom of his helmet. The ache in you from the night before lingered beneath the surface, hazy morning light coloring the room around you a soft orange. You gently ran your fingers along his side, where his skin was only covered by his flight suit and there was no armor between you. 

“Doll,” he said softly, his voice low. It made you jump, snatching your hand back into yourself for a moment before you slowly, cautiously reached back to his side. He wouldn’t be holding you like this if he didn’t want you to touch him, right? 

“Yes?” You breathed, resisting the urge to move your hips against him. 

“What do you want?” His voice was almost a growl, heat and desperation in it. 

“I thought I’d made that clear last night,” you said, softly, slowly rocking your hips against him. He groaned. 

“Good.” 

His hand disentangled from your hair and almost flew to your leg, pulling it higher on his body so he could press himself closer to you. You buried your mouth in his shoulder to muffle your strangled cry as he almost viciously clung to you, the heat that had been present in your body curling between your legs. You abandoned any pretense you had, arms wrapping around him and pulling him tightly against you, your body crushing against his muscle and armor. 

You couldn’t remember ever needing something - anything - the way you needed this. Like there was a fist in your chest, squeezing your heart so it threatened to burst until you found relief. The arm that was below you suddenly wrapped tightly around your waist and Din rolled onto his back, taking you with him so you were on top of him. His hands moved quickly to your hips, reminding you of how he moved when fighting - exacting, purposeful. He pulled you down against him and you almost collapsed on him from the shock of that rolled through you, the angle exposing unknowingly neglected nerves and flesh that relished in the contact. 

His hands guided your movements, fingers clinging to you, working your body over his in long, full, aching strokes. You shuddered against him, your head falling weakly to his, the cool metal feeling almost as intimate as the bare skin of his hand as his fingers brushed against your exposed flesh over the top of your pants. He thrust himself up against you, fast and hard and reckless, and you groaned, pressing your lips into his covered shoulder just to put them somewhere on him. 

Din’s hands left your body for a moment, just long enough to pull off the other glove and cast it aside, before slipping them below your shirt and over your skin. With a moan, he pulled you down onto him, his hips meeting yours, the feeling of his bare hands on you heady and intense. 

You tried to steady yourself and have just a moment of lucidity, putting your hands on his shoulders and pushing him into the ground, leveraging yourself up and looking down at him. Your long hair was a curtain around you both and your eyes found his below his mask, feeling him there as you worked yourself against him harder, faster, your breaths coming in keening pants. His hands slid slowly up your body, the feeling of his skin on you leaving a trail of fire up your flesh. He moaned breathlessly when he reached your breasts, his soft touch standing in stark contrast to his sharp thrusts beneath you. You gasped his name as the tightness inside you neared its peak, bringing you higher and higher. 

“Fuck, Mesh’la,” he moaned. “You feel… Do it, take what you need…” 

You pressed yourself so hard against him it seemed like a miracle you didn’t break from it, working his hard length over your core until you came undone, your body going limp and hips stilling. His hands moved on you again, his hips still pushing up against your overwrought center, one going to the small of your back, the other wrapping around your middle, holding you so tight against him that you weren’t quite sure where you ended and he began, your whole body a raw nerve. He held onto you like you were all that mattered, the only thing keeping him alive, the only thing he’d ever needed. You felt his release overtake him, a strangled groan slipping from him as he gasped for breath and clutched you to him. You lay there, body limp on him, wondering how the fuck he could do this to you. 

It’s not like you were especially experienced - you’d only ever been with one person, war and a subsequent life in hiding not exactly giving you much time for things like romance. But you weren’t a total novice, either. Sex with Dagres had been good. Not that you knew a damn thing about it but you loved him and it felt right. But it never felt like this and you hadn’t even touched him, not really. You were both still fully clothed. 

“Cyare,” he said. His hand trembled as he found your face, the other slipped up your back, fingers gentle on your spine. Your lips brushed his thumb and he pulled your head to the base of his mask, sighting against you. You kissed the middle of his chest, against his armor. 

“What does that mean?” You asked softly. His hand stilled in the middle of your back, his palm large and warm. He was silent. After a moment, you decided to cut him a break, fighting to ignore the pang of rejection. “We should go, we have a lot of work to do.” 

***

All Din wanted was to hold onto you for a while longer. The absence of you stung as you went to get changed. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening as you just existed in the next room. It had been so long since he’d last touched someone but it felt like he couldn’t get close enough to you, no matter what he did. You were so soft, possibly the softest thing he’d ever held. He could almost imagine what it would be to sink into you, to feel you completely. It had been months since he’d last been with a woman and it had only ever been something quick to satisfy a need. Everything stayed on, he’d never touched someone the way he’d touched you. 

When he’d woken to you pressed against him, warm and desperate in your sleep, it took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t a dream. He should have woken you up the moment he knew what you were doing. But you felt too good and it consumed him. He could only wake you up when he couldn’t take it anymore, when he was so desperate to move against you that he had no other choice. 

He hadn’t meant to call you cyare. The word seemed to have slipped from him of its own accord, the only word he knew in any language that fit you. 

He wasn’t sure what to do now. He signed, getting to his feet and silently leaving the house before you emerged from the bedroom and walking down the path to the settlement. 

When you came down not long after, you didn’t say a word to him, barely glancing at him before finding Keci. 

The next thing he knew, you were climbing the tallest tree near the center of town. Din growled and stalked over to it, standing beside Keci as she looked up at you. 

“What’s she doing?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you keep climbing, the thin branches looking like they’d barely hold your weight. But you kept climbing. 

“Looking for a good siege point,” she glanced over at him. “She’s damn good.” 

“I know,” he muttered, still watching you. Your foot slipped and Din jumped - ready to do what he wasn’t quite sure - but you caught yourself. You were too high up. But you held onto the tree, surveilling the area before climbing back down, dropping beside Keci and landing deftly on your feet from more than 10 feet up. 

“I think I have it,” you said, nodding to her. “If we set up the meeting hall to withstand a siege, we can put the most vulnerable in there. We can work with the landscape around the outskirts and we’ll only need a few well-placed explosives. We can force them through a funnel point, have the defensible siege location. Once we pin them down, we can capture one or two major players and force the agreement.”

She nodded. 

“We have about two dozen strong fighters,” Keci said. “A handful more who are decent marksmen if we set them back…” 

“If we can make sure their numbers don’t overwhelm us,” you said. “I think that will be enough. But we need to force them into the funnel.” 

“On it,” Keci said, making for the central part of the settlement. You watched her go for a moment before glancing at him. 

“Yes?” You asked, voice cool. 

“Can you try harder to not get yourself killed?” He grumbled. 

“Sorry, Mando,” you said. “Wasn’t aware you cared.” 

He couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, he just watched you leave. 

[forever-rogue]

if you’re still taking requests for Bucky, can you do one from this quote if it sparks any inspiration: ‘when you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can stand in front of them and show yourself and their response is “you’re safe with me” - that’s intimacy.’

A/N: please, this is so soft ���

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

A heavy sigh escaped soft lips as Bucky laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling. There was almost no sound in the room besides the rhythmic ticking of the aging clock on the wall, combined with the sounds wafting in from the open window, and the almost non-existent humming of his vibranium appendage. He reached his hand up to his chest to ground himself by touching the dog tags that had been his for way too many years now. A temporary moment of panic set into his bones when he realized there was nothing there, but revelation quickly dawned on him as he remembered that they were currently with you. The last he’d seen them, you were wearing them, the metallic silver tags safely nestled under the soft fabric of your t-shirt.

When he’d given them to you, a sign of his desire to call you his, among other things, he never actually expected that you’d wear them. The first time he’d spied you wearing them, along a casual outfit consisting of jeans and a t-shirt and sneakers, he’d almost short circuited. There was something about comforting knowing they were safe and sound in your possession now. They were yours now too - just like he was.

A gentle tugging lifted the corners of his mouth into the semblance of a smile. How foreign it still felt sometimes, the gentle feeling of blossoming happiness and knowing he was loved. Loved. What a strange and odd concept that was. He couldn’t remember the last another soul had told him they loved him besides in the most platonic sense. But the first time you’d whispered those words to him, so effortlessly, so easily, I love you, his whole world came to a screeching halt and he was sent into a wild spiral that left him speechless. Bucky hadn’t reciprocated your words then; but it wasn’t long after that he did. It had been a half shout, half declaration as you just grinned at him, pulling him against your lips and only letting him go when you were both breathless and dizzy.

He relaxed at the thought, settling against the pillow as he reminded himself to swim in happy memories, rather than drown in the ghosts of the past.

His phone vibrated against the glass top of the coffee table as it startled him out of his stupor, causing him to almost roll off the couch in surprise. He scrambled to grab the phone, and relaxed when he saw your name on the screen. Straightening himself up, he cleared his throat before answering, “hi sweetheart.”

“Bucky!” your excited voice on the other end of the line made his heart relax as he just imagined you bouncing around your small floral shop, making sure everything was perfect, “it’s about time you answered, old man. I’ve called you like three times! Did I disturb your afternoon nap, Barnes?”

“Hey, watch who you’re calling an old man,” he snorted as he stood up and stretched, surprised by how easily you were able to read him, “I got decades on you, kid, respect your elders.”

“Respect me when I’m right,” you grinned as he laughed lightly. How easily everything seemed to flow between the two of you; he’d never thought he could have anything like this again. Even once he’d left Wakanda and life slowly went back to a semblance of normality after the Blip, he still had a hard time trusting people; perhaps, more than anything else, he didn’t trust himself.

While he knew he was himself again, Bucky, and not the Winter Soldier, he still was never quite convinced that he wouldn’t ever go back. For so long he had been nothing but a killer, it was hard to believe that he could ever be fully himself again. So he’d closed himself off, steeled himself, despite the constant reassurance from the people around him that it was okay to let others in. He couldn’t trust himself - after so long...how could he? How was he just supposed to be able to pick the pieces and just be James again?

But he was learning, over time, slowly, bit by bit, that it was okay to let people in, okay to feel, and be okay and also not be okay. Sure, some days were hard, but the good days were good. And they were getting to become more and more frequent.

“Bucky? Hello?” you called his name from the other line, trying to get him to snap back into attention, “James? James Buchanan Barnes?”

“S-sorry,” his voice was soft and gentle for a moment, “I...yeah.”

“Yeah,” you teased softly, “zoning out again huh, my love? I know how you get. What are you thinking about, Bucky?”

“Nothing much,” he admitted, shrugging to himself despite the fact that you weren’t able to see him, “when are you off?”

“Whenever I want to be,” you reminded him, “I’m the boss now, remember? Why do you ask? Got some grand plans for us?”

“Nah,” he confessed, “just want to come and see you. Is it okay if I stop in? I’d come and bring you some flowers...but that would seem a little...on the nose.”

“Ahh, look at you,” he could practically hear you grinning, “very clever, aren’t you? Come and see me - it’s been slow so I might as well close up when you get here. Maybe we can go for a walk and get dinner?”

“Sounds great,” he agreed softly, “see you soon.”

“See you soon, Bucky.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

While you waited for Bucky to arrive, a brilliant idea popped into your head. You quickly grabbed a vase and started to gather some of the flowers that reminded you of him. It wasn’t long before you had a variety of them, neatly arranged and topped off with a bow, ready and waiting for him. He walked into your small shop, ready to announce himself but quickly found that he didn’t have to.You were perched up on the counter, swinging your legs back and forth as you tilted your head to the side and studied him with a small smile. He was dressed casually today, sporting a dark blue henley and a pair of well fitting jeans. His arm, intricate and beautifully designed golden and black vibranium, wasn’t on full display, nor was it completely hidden. Progress; a step in the right direction, albeit small. He’d get there when he’d get there and if that took another five years or fifty, you planned on being there for him.

“Hi James,” you popped off the counter and met him halfway, letting him wrap you up and envelope you in his warm, tight grasp. His arms, his body, was your favorite place to be. You never felt more safe and secure than when you were wrapped up in him, “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed me?” he chuckled as you just nodded, pouting lightly as he couldn’t help but kiss you softly, “it’s only been a few hours since we’ve seen each other.”

“I know,” you ran a hand through his dark hair, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t miss you, does it?”

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed as you took his hand and pulled him over to the counter. Bucky dramatically rolled his eyes as he trailed after you. Your hand looked so small in his hand; delicate skin contrasted against harsh callouses as you gave him a squeeze of reassurance. Whatever hesitation or tension was left in his body seeped, replaced by a feeling of saccharine bliss, “what are you up to?”

“You always think I’m up to something,” standing in front of the flowers, you paused, studying his features before reaching up to tenderly cradle his face in your hands. Bucky, resilient and strong, turned into a puddle of mush and practical whimpers as you traced a delicate fingertip across his features, “perhaps this time you’re right.”

“Tell me then,” he turned his face, pressing a gentle kiss to your palm as you used your free hand to reach behind you and push the vase to your side so he could see the ornate display. Blue eyes narrowed, highlighting the wary crease in his brow before they widened, softening all the way through. His hand slinked down to your waist, a light squeeze followed as he shuffled to the side and studied the flowers. Bright yellows and oranges, brilliant crimsons and pinks, and mellow pastels were suddenly under his intense scrutiny as he took in the sight of the blossoms, “w-what are these?”

“And here I was, thinking you were smart,” standing behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, delicately and slowly at first so you wouldn’t startle him. His frame stiffened for a mere moment before he relaxed, the weight of your head on his back a welcome burden he was happy to bear, “these are called flowers.”

“Very funny,” you could feel the laugh vibrate through his chest as a hand, one colder and more metallic than normal, but still all him, settled on your own. Pressing a line of soft kisses to his shoulders, you listened to the steady beating of his heart, “what’s the occasion?”

“There is none,” you insisted, “I just thought you would enjoy them. Look at the colors and blossoms, they all reminded me of you. So brilliant and warm and bright and lovely - just like you, Bucky.”

A few beats of silence met your ears as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, a million thoughts swirling around his mind. Before you could speak or say anything else, he turned around in your arms so he was facing you. He gestured between you and the flowers for a few moments, finding himself at a loss for words, “me?”

“Yes,” you promised him, “for you. Do you like them?”

“I love them,” he reassured you, an easy warmth settling over you, “back in the day I would have been doing this for you…”

‘You’ve gotten me flowers plenty of times,” you laughed, a sound that had easily become his favorite thing in almost no time, “besides, you deserve some nice things too.”

“I’ve been thinking…”

“That’s a new one,” you teased as he jokingly groaned, “ I jest! I’ve noticed you’ve been a little more quiet and stoic lately...I didn’t even know that was possible for you. What’s been on your mind, my love?”

“There’s this quote that came into mind...I heard it somewhere, but I can’t remember from what or who,” he mused as he rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, “it’s something along the lines of ‘when you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can stand in front of them and show yourself and their response is “you’re safe with me” - that’s intimacy.’ I feel like...I can do that with you - like I can be myself and you’re not judging me, even though you know who I am.”

“Bucky - James - I know who you are,” it was surprising you didn’t melt into a puddle then and there, melting into nothingness at his feet. You leaned in, looking at his eyes for a few moments before capturing his lips in a soft kiss. You broke apart slowly, reluctantly before resting your forehead against his, “I know exactly you who are. And I love you for it - a good man, friend, partner, and so many other things. You are good, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says or thinks. Fuck them - the people that know you know who you really are.”

“Even after…”

“Even after everything that’s happened,” you promised, “you are safe with me. I’m not going to suddenly turn my back on you and walk away. I love you, Bucky. You have me, now and forever, and I’ve got you, always. That’s not going to change. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you could feel him smiling against your lips as he breathed you in and let you overwhelm his senses, “I know that.”

“Good,” you smiled as you reached for his hand, “let’s go to get dinner. I’m starving.”

“Don’t you need to close up?”

“Nah,” you winked at him, “I closed up as soon as we got off the phone earlier so we would have interruptions. C’mon Buck, I’m going to take you for a night on the town! What do you say?”

“Sounds perfect,” he agreed, “there’s just one more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“This,” he pulled you into his arms and kissed you deeply as your body melded into his, “I love you too.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 19 - Chasing Silhouettes [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, blood.

Word Count: 3800

Summary: Truce can be inevitable. 

It was safe to say that you were officially off your rocker after the break up. Stress? Check. No sleep? Check. Getting drunk mid-day? Check.

Looking a serial killer in the eye and threatening him?

Also check.

The constant anger was gone though. That blinding fury was gone, the fear was gone, the only thing you felt was numbness. It was as if you were watching everything happening around you from behind a glass, it was there but you couldn’t touch it or feel it.

With one exception; you missed Spencer each and every minute of the day, so you at least knew there was something left inside of you that wasn’t broken. But after what had happened, it wasn’t like you could call him. You had already left him multiple voice messages whenever you got too drunk anyway, and you were sure he had deleted them without even listening.

Not that you could blame him. He had already told you he wished he had never met you, and there was nothing you could do to change that.

“You guys will get back together,” Kenzie assured you like the hopeless romantic she was, “This is just temporary. I just know it, it’s like me and Mina. You can’t stop true love.”

“I doubt Mina ever told you she never loved you,” you stated, exhaling the smoke of your cigarette. “Or that you told her you wish you had never met her.”

She stole a look at Mina who was waiting for your lattes by the counter and turned to you.

“Well alright, maybe you and Spencer are having a more intense fight than we did, but—“

“This is not a fight, Kenz. We broke up.”

“You broke up with him,” she corrected you, “And you’re still in love with him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrugged your shoulders, “I burned that bridge, okay? After this whole case is over, he will want nothing to do with me—hell, he wants nothing to do with me right now and I don’t blame him.”

“Okay,” Mina said as she came to your table and handed you your latte before sitting down, “What are we talking about?”

“Her and Spencer.”

“Yeah no, fuck that guy.”

Kenzie gasped, “Babe!”

“Kenz, he’s in the FBI, okay? He was there when they brought her into that interrogation room.”

“He wasn’t there when they took me to the station.”

“Fine, he came later on but did nothing to stop his beloved team from hounding you.”

“Mina, he was in another room.”

“You can’t possibly believe he didn’t know what was happening in the interrogation room,” she insisted and Kenzie pulled her brows together.

“Wait, didn’t you say he was the one who called you? For the lawyers and everything?”

Mina shrugged, “Yeah, so? That was just because this one,” she pointed at you, “Was too much of an idiot to ask for a lawyer. What, did you never watch a movie? You always ask for a lawyer.”

“But think about it, it means that he was trying to protect her from that whole interrogation process before he even landed,” Kenzie stated, “He knows how that whole thing goes, he made the calls, he gave his professional opinion to the police, he sent his team because they wouldn’t let him in there, it wouldn’t surprise me if he thought they’d go easy on her.”

You held the warm cup in your hands, listening silently.

“Or he just wanted to play the nice guy so that he could manipulate her more.”

You pulled your brows together, “Dude, he’s not manipulating me.”

“Not right now.”

“Not ever,” you said, “That’s not… that wasn’t the reason. Kenzie has a point, he was trying to get me out of there with minimum damage, and he knows how the system works.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why you need to talk to him and explain—“

“Enough people got hurt because of me,” you cut Kenzie off, “Died, even. It would destroy me if it was him, okay? Me staying away is better for him, at least he will stay alive.”

Mina scoffed, “Not that your heartbreak is not important, but I need to bitch at you before I forget,” she said, “How could you not tell me Nolan was planning to propose mom?”

Kenzie smiled, “I think it’s sweet.”

“I think it’s a fucking disaster.”

“Oh come on,” you murmured, sipping your coffee, “You’ve seen them together, haven’t you? It’s bound to happen, he’s head over heels and mom can’t stop talking about him.”

Mina let out a whine, “I’m a good person,” she murmured, “I give to charity and stuff, I don’t deserve this.”

“You’re not ten years old you idiot, a stepfather will not disturb any dynamics you have.”

“He will though!” she protested, “To repeat, he is basically my boss, okay?”

“He’s a lot of people’s boss.”

“Yeah, do you know what people will think when I finally make partner?” she asked you, “That my brand new stepdaddy pulled some strings.”

“Please don’t call him stepdaddy, that’s just disturbing.” Kenzie made a face and Mina heaved a sigh.

“How are you so okay with this?” she asked you and you tilted your head.

“Mina, there’s a killer who’s going after people I know and making sure I see that,” you started, counting with your fingers,  “I’ve been drugged at my own apartment—in my own bedroom only to find my ex boyfriend’s dead body in my kitchen. I’ve been accused of murder, been handcuffed, interrogated and broke up with the love of my life. The last past week, I got maybe five hours of sleep and oh, before I forget, I also threatened our original serial killer father with death just a couple of days ago. Does it look like I’m in the right mental state to worry about getting a new stepdaddy?”

“To repeat, can you guys stop calling him stepdaddy?”

“What did you tell him when he asked for your blessing?” you asked and Mina rolled her eyes.

“I told him that mom is a grown woman,” she said, “She doesn’t need our permission to do anything. If she wants to get married to the guy who has apparently loved her for decades… who am I to say no to that?”

You tilted your head, “You were nice?” you asked in disbelief, “You’re never nice.”

“Eh, I have my moments.”

“What’s the real reason?”

Mina pointed at Kenzie with her thumb, “She said to be nice.”

“You’re so whipped.”

“You are seriously going to sit there and call me whipped when you’ve been wailing for the last month, miss I shall suffer forever after my lost love even though he was two seconds away from handcuffing me and not in a fun way?”

“He wasn’t-“

“Both of you are being too cynical about Nolan,” Kenzie interrupted you and grinned wide, “I mean come on, doesn’t it make you believe in love all over again?”

“It makes me want to get booze because I’ll never have that, Kenz,” you murmured and she pulled her brows together.

“Oh don’t be like that.”

“Kenz he was the love of my life and I lost—“

“I’m leaving if you start crying into your latte,” Mina deadpanned, “And please don’t say that you’ll plan Nolan’s proposal or God forbid, their wedding.”

“My client list is full.”

She let out a laugh, “You realize we all know that’s your favorite excuse when you don’t want to accept a client, right?” she asked you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” you said and checked your wristwatch, “Well, I gotta get back to the office, I have this meeting and then I have two other meetings with these new pastry shops.”

“Hey, brat?” Mina stopped you as soon as you stood up and you tilted your head.

“Yeah?”

“You’re okay, right?” she asked, “Besides this whole mess?”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to smile, “I’m not but I will be.”

“Will you?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I mean I have to, right? There’s not much of an option there.”

Mina looked like she wanted to insist, but Kenzie squeezed her hand, silently telling her to drop it before you made your way through the street to approach the building your office was in. You nodded at the security guards then got in the elevator and pressed the button.

When the elevator got to your floor the doors opened but your assistant rushed to you as soon as you stepped outside

“Y/N, hi! You haven’t been answering your phone.”

“Shit, I forgot it on silent,” you murmured and checked it to see five calls from her, “Five calls? Erica, did you guys catch fire or something?”

“I was actually thinking maybe you would want to come to the balcony with me, you know, to get some fresh air before your meeting?”

You pulled your brows together, “What’s going on?”

“We didn’t know if we should call you or left them downstairs but…” she said, making your heart skip a beat.

“What is it?”

“Remember the time you said you were allergic to jasmines?”

You could feel the goosebumps rising on your arms, “Yeah?”

She pointed at something over your shoulder and you turned your head, your breathing catching up in your throat as someone opened the glass door to go outside.

There was a bowl full of jasmine flower petals but you could still take the overly sweet scent. Bile climbed up your throat as you walked through the door to approach the reception desk, and as soon as you saw what was in the middle of the petals, the room started spinning.

A vial of blood.

“Are you dating like a goth guy?” Erica asked as you took a step back, the walls closing in on you.

“Call the FBI,” you gasped as you rushed to the balcony, desperate for air, “Now.”

                                            ***

Panic attacks were a big part of your childhood, and even if you weren’t completely unfamiliar with them as an adult, they still managed to take you by surprise.

It took you nearly an hour to pull yourself together. An hour of sitting there in the balcony, your knees drawn up to your chest as your mind desperately searched for something to focus on, something to hold on to.

Some happy place.

By the time FBI had gotten there, your makeup was smudged around your eyes due to the excessive crying, your whole body was shaky and you were so exhausted that you could barely will yourself to get up and walk to your office.

The jasmine scent still clung to the air though.

You didn’t even have any energy to keep your eyes open, your whole mind wrapped in that numb haze that kept pulling you deeper and deeper into the absolute nothingness as you sat there on the couch, multiple agents coming and going into the office, into the reception, into your floor.

Dr Tara Lewis, Spencer’s coworker had given you a small bottle of hand lotion so that you could take in a scent other than those flowers before she had shot you a sympathetic smile and left your office to talk with the reception.

Even raising your hand to wipe at your nose with the tissue balled up in your palm felt way too tiring for you, but you wiped your nose, your eyes still fixed on the wall as the glass door to your office opened once again and footsteps came closer.

You didn’t even have to raise your head as Spencer approached you before he knelt down to look you in the eye.

“Hi.”

You blinked a couple of times, “Hi,” you sniffled, “Is it okay if we don’t do this today?”

He raised his brows, “Don’t do what?”

“I’m too tired to fight,” your speech was almost slurred at this point but you pulled your brows together, forcing yourself to focus as much as you could. “So can we do that tomorrow please? Like truce for a day?”

He offered you a tight lipped smile, “I’m not here to fight,” he said gently, as if trying to pull you back to the reality without scaring you, “Truce for a day works for me.”

You picked at the crumpled tissue in your hand, “Thank you.”

“Do you think you can talk to me though?”

You nodded silently, wiping at your nose again. “Yes.”

“Great,” he said, his calm voice washing over you, “That’s good. What’re you thinking about right now?”

“I’m thinking…” you tried to put your thoughts in order, “Tara gave me a peach hand lotion, can you give it back to her after you’re done here?”

“Sure,” he said, “That’s a good thing to focus on. What else?”

“It’s not my dad,” you said, “My dad wouldn’t dare to fuck with me, not after- it’s not him.”

“Tell me something other than the case.”

You willed yourself to concentrate on his handsome face, “Do I look like a horror movie corpse right now?”

He scoffed a chuckle, shaking his head. “You look beautiful Y/N. You always do.”

“The only person who’s a bigger liar than you is that makeup artist that told me this eyeliner was waterproof.”

He reached out to tilt your chin up so that his hazel gaze could study you better, and even in your numb state you could feel the warmth spreading through your body with his touch, “How long have you been awake?”

“I dozed off for like an hour last night,” you murmured, “I have this new apartment but I can’t sleep in my bedroom because I keep thinking there’s some noise coming from the kitchen, like… like it’s going to happen again. It’s impossible though, there are like five different locks on that door, someone would have to come with a battering ram to open the damn thing but I still don’t feel safe enough to—to sleep.”

He thought for a moment, “You can’t sleep because you don’t feel safe,” he murmured and you heaved a sigh, your head dropping before you forced yourself to raise it again, making a face.

“I’ve never tried peach lotion before, it smells nice…” you mused, your gaze fixed on the wall while the black spots flew in your vision “Have you ever tried it? Also hypothetically speaking, what happens if you eat lotion? Like do you think—“

“Y/N,” his clear voice shot through the haze again, “Sweetheart, look at me.”

If you weren’t too goddamn tired, the pet name would make you snap out of it and even give you a spark of hope, but you could barely concentrate on what was happening.

“Can you do something for me?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, anything.”

“Lie down.” he said and you pulled your brows together.

“Why?”

“We’ll try something,” he said, stealing a look outside to the reception crawling with agents before turning to you as you curled up on the couch, still holding the tissue tight in your hand, your eyes getting heavy the minute your head hit the small pillow.

“What are we trying?” you managed to ask through the fog and he smiled softly.

“Close your eyes, for thirty seconds,” he said, “Just focus on your breathing. I’m right here, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, counting in your head.

You didn’t even reach fifteen before the sleep surrounded you.

                                                      ***

You were pulled away from the bliss when someone shook you by the shoulder gently.

“Y/N,” Erica’s voice reached you, “Y/N, wake up.”

You opened your eyes groggily, frowning. It was already dark outside and there was nearly no one in the office except for her and you. You attempted to sit up but stopped as soon as Spencer’s cologne filled your nostrils and you looked down at the jacket covering you.

He must’ve left his jacket on you while you slept in order to keep you from getting cold.

You could feel the small spark of peace shooting through you, the warmth spreading through your veins as you hugged the jacket tighter around your body and cleared your throat.

“What time is it?”

“Eight,” she shot you a small smile, “Um, everyone left and I figured you’d get a stiff back if you sleept on the couch any longer.”

“Erica,” you said, “You didn’t have to stay.”

“Come on, I wouldn’t leave you here alone after today,” she said, “Besides, I told that tall handsome agent that I’d drive you home. His team was called back to the FBI, some clue or whatever.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, I’d be a lousy assistant if I didn’t.”

“No, I mean—“ you swallowed thickly, “Thank you. It means more than you know to me.”

She grinned at you as you grabbed your purse and both of you made your way to the elevator.

“So I take it there’s no goth boyfriend but…” she said as the elevator went down, “Maybe a tall handsome flirt?”

“We broke up,” you murmured and she scoffed.

“Yeah no.”

You blinked a couple of times, “Erica, I’m pretty sure we broke up. I was there—“

“No I mean,” she huffed while you left the elevator to approach her car, “I have a talent to sense these sort of things you see. He doesn’t look at you like you broke up, and that jacket over you certainly doesn’t say you broke up.”

You got in the car with her and she started it.

“Is it because of your dad?” she asked you and your head shot up.

“What? How did you-?”

“It’s a small office, people talk,” she said as if apologizing, “But don’t worry, we all know that’s not the kind of person you are. I even had a fight with my boyfriend about it, but I told him that I knew you, you would never be able to do something like that. He was like you don’t know what people are capable of and I was like well...”

You were way too tired to answer her, so you let her talk about the time how she was great at sensing people’s true motives and how her boyfriend thought you were capable of murder while you sat in her car as she drove you to your place. You thanked her, your mind still fuzzy with sleep and made your way to your apartment.

After checking if all five locks were in their places and counting them in your head, you kicked off your heels and made your way to the fridge to get the bottle of whiskey. You took a swig of it and went to the couch, turning on the TV and leaning back to the soft cushions. You slowly took the jacket off and pulled it over your body, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent.

Maybe you could just imagine that you two were together, just for tonight.

You managed to distract yourself for a couple of hours, just sitting there and staring at the TV, barely paying attention to what was playing. By the time it was midnight, you had reached the half of the bottle and looked down at your phone for a couple of seconds before finding his name in the contacts.

You didn’t have to wait for long, and for once it didn’t go to voice mail.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you smiled, “Um… is the truce still on? Or should I— should I hang up?”

“No,” he said almost too quickly, “No, don’t. We have today, don’t we? Might as well use the truce until the end.”

“Okay,” you whispered, “Thanks, by the way. For today. I can imagine how hard it is for you—“

“No,” his voice was soft, “No you really can’t.”

A silence fell upon you and you grabbed a tissue, wiping at your eyes,

“Professor?”

“Hm?”

“What does science say about heartbreak? Hypothetically speaking?”

“About heartbreak?”

“Yeah.”

He cleared his throat, “Considering the stimulation that increases dopamine and-“

“In a way that I will understand while I’m half drunk?”

“Addiction.”

You pulled back to look at the phone, “Addiction?”

“You know the areas of your brain that are active when you’re in love? Those areas are also active when you use…well, you name it. Cocaine. Drugs. Nicotine.”

“So that means heartbreak means-“

“Withdrawals,” he finished your sentence for you, “Exactly.”

You grabbed another tissue from the box on the coffee table, wiping at your nose.

“Spencer, what if it goes on like this forever?” you rasped out, “This whole heartbreak. What if I feel like this forever? What if I… What if I’m like seventy and I still—“

Love you.

“Miss you,” you changed your mind mid-sentence, “What if I’m old and gray and still using your jacket as a blanket?”

“That’s what you’re doing right now?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, “Pathetic right?”

“I recorded that show you liked and still can’t bring myself to delete it,” he admitted, “I don’t even watch it, it’s just there. You sure you want to talk about pathetic with me?”

You let out a bitter laugh, “Nah, still no competition professor. I still call you whenever I’m drunk, remember? You’re handling this way better than me, you still have your dignity.”

“I saw a fridge magnet in a store a week ago and I actually walked in there to buy it before I remembered I couldn’t give it to you,” he paused, “I’m not handling anything, Y/N. I’m a mess, it’s like…”

You held your breath, waiting for him to continue.

“You took something with you on your way out,” he said slowly, “And I don’t know what to do with what’s left, to be honest.”

“My chest actually hurts when I see you, you know?” you murmured, “And I still haven’t deleted the pictures.”

“Me neither.”

You picked at the tissue in your hand, “So much for Dante and Beatrice huh?”

“All things considered, they’d handle it worse than us.”

“I doubt anyone could handle it worse than us, professor.”

“No think about it,” he said, “We had….we had each other, at least. They didn’t technically lose each other, because they were never together.”

“It’s still romantic.”

“Dante saw Beatrice twice in his life,” he told you, “Once when they were nine, once when they were both adults. Twice in his whole life. Ignore the poems, what would you do if a guy you saw when you were nine showed up years and years later, proclaiming his undying love for you?”

“Call the police?” you said, making him chuckle.

“There you go.”

“When you put romanticism aside, Beatrice should’ve gotten a restraining order.”

“They didn’t have those back then, Y/N.”

You let out a small giggle, “Yeah yeah…” you murmured, “So what does that mean then? We’re more tragic than Dante and Beatrice?”

He sniffled and cleared his throat, “Yeah,” he said, “I think that’s what it means.”

You could feel the tears burning your eyes, “It’s not going to get easier, is it?” you croaked out after almost a minute of silence and he thought for a moment.

“I don’t think so,” he said, “Not for me anyway.”

“Not for me either,” you murmured and wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, burying your nose to the collar of his jacket draped over you.

If you closed your eyes, maybe it would stop hurting this much. You touched your screen to get to your gallery, then found your picture together, both of you smiling at the camera, unaware of the heartbreak that would hit you both very soon.

“Good night Dante,” you whispered and Spencer exhaled a shaky breath, as if he was craving the addictive high of your presence as much as you did his.

“Good night Beatrice.”

Chapter 20

[amysubmits]

“Just Knowing” & Communication

I got an ask recently asking if I could write something about how doms seem to sometimes “instinctively know” things about their sub, and how communication plays into that. 

I thought it was a great point, and I had an experience that I’d been wanting to share in some way, that I thought would work well within that concept. Anyway, here goes...

I have shared experiences where CD reads my needs seamlessly. Those moments can feel almost magical and that makes me want to share them. I have occasionally heard from people who seem to think CD is nearly capable of reading my mind, as a result of posts like that. It’s not my intention to give that impression. 

There are occasional moments where I am shocked at how he knows things I didn’t say. I’ve also shared that sometimes those moments where he perfectly meets my needs are often the moments where I feel the most owned. That’s because him knowing and meeting my needs feels so intensely intimate, and so much of our D/s comes down to emotional intimacy.

He isn’t a mind reader, though. We have been together over a decade now, and he’s observant. I think that deserves a big mention, when discussing how he ‘just knows’ things about me. He notices my body language, and how I react to things. He learns a lot about me by simply paying close attention. This is really important to me. Him naturally watching me, noticing my mood and such, is a big way that he makes me feel loved. I couldn’t be with someone who wasn’t naturally drawn to try to learn me, and pay close attention to me. Just him being someone who pays attention is a huge part of how I feel loved. It shows me that he wants to know as much as he can about me, and that he wants to meet my needs. More than that, his desire to want to learn my needs period, matters. There are some people who just don’t wish to get that deep with their partner, they don’t care to know their partner like the back of their had. That would be a problem, for me, because I do want that level of intimacy. Part of how I knew that CD had that desire for deeper intimacy, was how he tried to learn what he could by observing me. 

At the same time, being mindful of your loved one’s body language, facial expressions and behaviors only goes so far. You can’t observe your way into knowing exactly what someone wants or needs. You just can’t. Certain things just have to be explicitly stated. While a good portion of our emotional intimacy comes from paying close attention to each other, more of it comes from our communication.

The truth is, there have been times where I’ve been frustrated that CD didn’t catch something. I’ve occasionally had the emotional reaction of almost feeling neglected because he didn’t notice something about me. And that? Is not a healthy reaction for me to have. That reaction is something I have to try to be conscious of, and I can’t allow myself to run away with those feelings. I have to recognize them and fight back against them. Because I can’t expect him to read my mind, or to pick up on everything, to ‘just know’ everything, or anything, really. If he isn’t aware of something, it is my responsibility to communicate. 

We were new to D/s in particular, we talked about our needs and wants all the time, often daily. Getting started with D/s requires really thorough communication so that you know the boundaries and limits of the dynamic, and so that you know what is expected of each of you. Even though we tried to hammer out our dynamic in advance, we found ourselves experiencing scenarios that we weren’t sure how they ‘should’ be handled with our D/s, because we couldn’t pre-plan our D/s for how to go about every possible scenario that life may throw at us. So whenever we experienced something new and didn’t know how to handle it, we’d have to discuss how we wanted to handle it. Or in there cases we’d handle a situation and then realize we wished it had been handled differently, and we’d discuss that and plan to do differently next time. 

After a while (many months?) it got to where we had the basics down and we didn’t need to talk about things as often anymore. We didn’t have to discuss it multiple times a week anymore, but perhaps a couple times a month was sufficient. Still, the frequency ebbs and flows. We go through phases, even now, 6 years in, of discussing our D/s more or less often. It mainly depends on whether we’re facing new things in life or making changes to our rules or the rest of our dynamic, or whether life is normal and our dynamic is unchanged. If we make changes, that means we’ll communicate about our D/s more often for a while, usually. Tons of what we know about each other and our needs are things we’ve learned through all that communication. Way more than we’ve learned by just observing each other. 

Our “meta-talks” (discussions about our D/s) are perhaps one of the areas that I don’t give enough attention to on this blog. They’re often very private feeling, so it’s hard to feel comfortable sharing much about them. 

A couple of months ago after a meta-talk, we came to the conclusion that it would be helpful for us to focus on making sure I feel very seen. It wasn’t that I had stopped feeling seen...but more that our current life circumstances were making me need to feel more seen than usual. Anyway, CD had me make him a list of things that made me feel seen, to share with him.

The things I shared on that list were all things he had done “naturally” before. So it was more about sharing with him what things he does that make me feel particularly seen. Still, I did over-think it, a little bit. I wondered if it would feel different for him to do these things for me after I shared them with him, rather than doing them purely instinctually, like he had in the past. Would it feel less genuine? Would I be able to absorb it and really effectively feel see if I suspected he was doing this for the purpose of making me feel seen? 

Early on, I did feel a bit bashful or self-conscious when I noticed him doing those things a little bit more often. I felt a bit insecure like “Oh, he just thinks he has to do that because I need to feel more seen.” and for some reason that cheapened it a little in my mind, and also made me feel a bit selfish or something. Worrying about being a burden on people is a deep seeded insecurity of mine that comes in up all sorts of ways. So it’s not surprising that my brain tried to twist this into ‘he just feels obligated to’. Even early on when I was feeling those insecurities, I was feeling seen, at the same time.  As more time went on though, those insecurities softened and I was able to recognize that these things were feeling fulfilling to him, too, which further eased my insecurities. 

This is just one example of how our direct communication has benefitted our D/s. When this type of thing occurs over the course of many years, I hope you can imagine how that can assist with creating those “he just knows” moments. 

I think a lot of good relationships have similar experiences with hesitating to share exactly what you want from your partner. The love is there, the good intent is there, but unless you tell your partner exactly what makes you feel the best...you can’t magically expect them to know. Yet many of us have this instinct that “I can’t tell them exactly how I’d like them to treat me, or it won’t be as ‘real’”. 

I think D/s often complicates this issue even farther. Subs hesitate to ask for ‘too much’ because they don’t want to be too needy, or to feel like they’re taking charge or telling their doms what to do. Which I think is a valid concern. In my view, the answer to that potential problem isn’t to avoid sharing what make you feel good. Instead, it’s just to be mindful of the way that you are communicating, so that you are sharing the knowledge of your needs or desires without telling them what to do. 

Communicating in great detail is a huge part of how we find the intimacy that we’re after with D/s. Understanding in detail what makes each other feel dominant and submissive does SO much to assist us with keeping our D/s on track, and to keep each other feeling loved and cared for. These deep, difficult, detailed discussions are also helpful to our D/s because they make me realize how safe our relationship is. That sense of security allows me to let go and be more submissive. 

As I said earlier, I understand that instinct that if you tell someone exactly what you want, and then they do it, your initial instinct may be to feel like it’s less meaningful when they do it. Like asking for it somehow ‘cheapened’ it. 

I think that is a largely misguided instinct, though. I think that if you tell someone what feels good to you, and they do it just to placate you or please you? You can tell they’re just phoning it in. And if you tell them what makes you feel good, and they do it because they enjoy making you feel good? You’ll feel that too. 

It’s similar to how starting D/s worked for us. When I first asked for it, I worried it would be something he did just for me. But once he found meaning in it himself? I could tell that our D/s was fulfilling for him, that it was giving him joy, and that he was really feeling the connection with me through this dynamic. It was just easy to see that he was really ‘feeling it’. A similar thing can happen with "smaller” things such as specific acts of love, care or service. 

[thedarklingxalina]

A Darklina fic I'm playing about with but not committing to yet. This would be the first chapter. I need to finish Dark Guardian first but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.

Eclipse

Summary: Alina is an investigative journalist, investigating the death of her childhood friend, Mal.

Alina is reunited with her other childhood friend, Aleksander - known to the world as Kirigan, a famous actor and grisha rights activist. All too quickly though, Alina begins to discover Aleksander is hiding a dark secret.

Modern Grisha AU. Everyone has their powers. Mentions of suicide. Mild torture.

Saints, give me strength. 

Alina stared at the rusty mesh gates through the rain speckled windscreen. A barrage of warning signs prohibiting entrance were pinned across the fencing. Keep out. Danger. Risk to life. On one fence was a display of withered flowers entwined around the metal, with hand-made laminated pleads to stay away, to remember that someone out there loves you. 

It was a somber sight. Careful reminders of the danger that lurked behind that run-down gate, past the abandoned warehouses, looming at the end of decrepit wooden bridges. Even from here Alina could see the mass of swirling shadows, an endless stretch of darkness that tore Ravka in two.

And here she was armed with wire cutters, ready to break in. Foolish, reckless, stupid. Exactly what she had been told not to do. 

This is for Mal, she reminded herself.  

Alina took in a deep breath and left the warmth and safety of her car. She put on her medical face mask, slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and tucked her camera inside her satchel. 

She didn't plan on staying here long, but seeing as research into the side effects of prolonged exposure to the Fold was ongoing, she decided to err on the side of caution. 

Gravel crunched under her boots as she approached the fence, making her way to a part hidden by the treeline. There she cut a reasonable size hole for herself to squeeze through. 

So far, getting into the site was easy. Too easy really, considering the dangers of this place.

Abandoned heavy equipment littered the rubble ridden grounds. Metallic, battle-worn Skiffs (centuries ago once manned by Squallers before new technological advancements replaced them) laid in ruins around the site; rust-encrusted, dented and torn up. The warehouses were dilapidated, weathered down and overgrown with weeds. 

And that wasn't even mentioning the bridges that crossed the ten foot moat, giving unhindered access to the Unsea and the monsters within. 

This place was a death trap. 

"Why in the Saints name did you come back here, Mal?" Alina asked. 

He had loathed this place. Everyone in Os Atla had. There had been vocal opposition from the public for decades, demanding the site be shut down. The residents of the city uncomfortable with an access point to the Fold being right on their doorstep. 

This skiffyard's infamous reputation for being the most dangerous, certainly hadn't endeared it to people, no matter the flow of trade it provided. It had the highest fatality and injury rate of an skiffyard. Budget cuts producing poorly made Skiffs that broke down frequently and were east pickings for Volcra. Breaching person capacity on each trip to increase profit. Bribing of safety inspectors. Understaffed. Overworking their employees to exhaustion. 

The place had been a nightmare. The stories Mal had told Alina about it over the years still made her recoil. 

The final nail in the coffin for Skiffyard 13 had been when three urban explorers had snuck into the docks, using it to bypass the the forest and ten foot moat separating the Fold from the city - deterrents erected over a century prior, to keep the public safe. The three individuals, the youngest only fourteen years old, had never came out again. 

The dock had been shut down. Workers like Mal had been relocated to other docks outside the city.

Yet despite this, the site had never been dismantled. It was too expensive, was the frequent excuse. The go to excuse for all failures in protecting the general public from the dangers of the Unsea. 

Now, it was the easiest access point to the Fold. No workers to sneak past, no checkpoints, and no maintenance to the gates and various deterrents. There wasn't even video surveillance or electrical fencing, as electronics were unreliable this close the Fold. And much to the people of Os Atla's grief, no armed patrols or guards dogs to keep trespassers like her out.  

Oh, the mayor promised they would upgrade the security on access points to the Fold regularly. But those promises seemed to be forgotten after the elections had passed. Funny that. 

As Alina scanned the deserted skiffyard, the Fold a short walk away, she realized the bitter irony of it all.

It didn't take long for Alina to find the place she was looking. Dock Six. The last place Mal had last been seen alive. 

Alina took a shuddering breath, her grip on her satchel tightening. she closed her eyes, feeling the sting of tears at her eyes.

Another life lost to the Fold, the news reporter had said. A tragic suicide, the police had decided, he left a farewell note on the dock.

A farewell note that doesn't mention me? His childhood best friend. That doesn't mention his girlfriend Lucy who he had planned to propose to on her birthday? 

But Alina's protests had fallen on deaf ears. She was nothing but a grieving girl in denial to them. Even Lucy had tried to discourage her, wanting her to accept-

No. Alina wouldn't hear it. Mal didn't take his own life. He hadn't. He wouldn't. Alina had spoken to him days before. There had been something he had wanted to tell her, something he hadn't felt safe discussing over phone or email. A story, he had said, that people need to know. Then that phone call the night he vanished. That desperate, breathless voice pleading with her through a breaking line. 

Alina... don't... Atla... away- 

Mal? Mal, is that you? I can't hear you, the line is terrible. Where are you? 

Distant shouting, five loud bangs, more static.

Mal? Mal!

Stay away... sorry... sorry...

Something had happened to Mal that night. Something awful that the police were refusing to look into. Alina was sure of it. And come hell or high water, she was going to find out what. She owed it to Mal, to Lucy, to herself. 

Alina scouted the area, alighting her hand with a soft glow to light her way.

It took a while, but the Saints finally took pity on her and Alina found something. Something that she suspected to be the source of the bangs in that final phone call. Gouged into a floorboard of the dock, into a post, and a concrete wall. 

Bullet holes.

They weren't old. The moss overgrowing the post and floorboards having been blasted off with the impact, yet to have grown back. 

Alina snapped some photos. 

After an hour prowling around each bullet hole site, sometimes on hands and knees, getting caked in dust and mud, Alina was ready to give up when an idea sprung to mind. She summoned her light, shining it across the ground until something silver glinted back. 

A bullet, hidden among the overgrown weeds. Alina took more photos before putting the bullet in a labeled ziplock bag. 

Suicide in deed, Alina mused bitterly. Had the police even bothered to check the scene? 

"I'll find out what happened to you, Mal. I swear it."

Alina rose to her feet, dusting her trousers.

Mal had come here for a reason, and whatever it was, someone had killed him for it. But what could be here that was worth killing over? 

There was only one warehouse stable enough to enter. Warehouse three. Alina didn't bother to pick the lock, just melted it off its hinges then crept in. 

The warehouse was massive and surprisingly well maintained. Everything was clean. There was no debris. Creates and boxes were stacked high and neatly.

Alina frowned, extinguishing her light in favor of using a battery powered torch.

If there were people here, she didn't need them knowing she was Grisha. That element of surprise could be the difference that mattered. Besides, there were too many out there that despised her kind; having people know you were Grisha was like walking around with a bullseye on your back. 

Alina crept behind a row of shelves, occasionally taking photos. She stopped at an easy to reach pile of boxes and pulled back the lids. 

Oxygen canisters, boxes of personal protective equipment, bullets (but not the same as the one that she found outside; these were longer and bigger, meant for something... larger.) 

This is all essential items for crossings, Alina realised. And it's all new. 

Someone had to making illegal crossings across the Fold, using these docks as their access point. 

Alina closed the lid, a dreadful unease settling over her. 

What are they taking across the Fold that requires all the secrecy? 

Maybe the answer was in another crate. Alina moved to open another- 

A sharp tug on her heart stilled her, making her choke for air. Alina fell to her knees, the energy in her body bleeding from her.

As darkness consumed her, one though flickered through her mind. 

Saints above, she hated Heartrenders.

☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑

Alina was no stranger to danger. Her investigative journalism had gotten her into many a difficult situation. But nothing ever quite this bad. 

When Alina had awoken, it was to find herself tied to a chair, her hands separated and bound to a steel bar (rendering her powers useless). She was blind folded; inconvenient and certainly unnerving, but it gave her some hope. Whoever had assaulted her, cared if she saw their faces. If they were going to kill her a blindfold wasn't necessary.

"Who are you?" A man asked. Middle aged by the deep roughness. Ravkan by the accent. A grumpy git, by the tone. 

Not the person you're looking for, Alina wants to snark, but thinks better of it. They might not be fans of Star Wars references and honestly, she is too exhausted to try and be smart. Besides, snarky quips and teasing here would only charm her way into a pair of cement boots and a dip in the river. Or the Unsea. 

Alina tried not to shiver. 

"I said who are you?" Grumpy demands. 

"Alina Starkov. Investigative Journalist for the Ketterdam Express News."

There's no point lying. They probably already know who she is with a quick internet search. Lying will only make them mad. 

"What's a small-time news journalist doing in Os Atla?"

Alina twitches at his comment. 

This time the man who speaks is younger. He has a scratchy voice and bratty attitude that made Alina want to kick him in the shin. 

"I'm looking for a friend of mine. Nothing more. He went missing three months ago and was last spotted working at the docks you snatched me from." 

Wouldn't happen to have seen him, would you? Put a bullet through his head perhaps? 

"Name?" Grumpy asks.

"Mal Oretsev."

"Never heard of him. Seems you've wasted your time, Nancy Drew," Bratty said. 

I doubt that, Alina mused bitterly. She had clearly stumbled onto something if they were willing to kidnap and interrogate her. 

"That's a shame," Alina said with exaggerated glumness. "Well, if you could just untie me I can head off. Wouldn't want to keep you guys later than need be."

Grumpy snorted. Bratty let out a nasty chuckle (Alina would wager a week on gossip column duty, that Bratty had a very punchable face).

"We can't have snoopy reporters buzzing around here," Bratty says.

Don't panic, Alina tells herself. Don't-

Alina hears the rustle of fabric, then the dreaded sound of a gun's safety clicking off. 

-starting to panic.

"And you think a dead one will prevent that?" Alina swallowed down the hysteria threatening to overwhelm her, but there was still a frantic edge to her voice. "There are people who know where I am and know to call the police if I don't make it back soon. Within an hour this place will be swarming!" 

"She's bluffing." 

"You think I'm stupid enough not to have a back up plan in case something like this happened?" 

If she said it strongly enough, maybe even she would believe it. Because really, a smart journalist would have done that. 

"You were stupid enough to get caught."

Prick.

"You have a heartrender, that's cheat-" 

Someone slapped her, Bratty she would bet. Alina cries out as pain flares hot on her cheek.

That'll leave a bruise, Alina muses bitterly.

"That's enough," Grumpy snapped, his footsteps loud as he got closer. "Tell us, what information do you have on Project Likhoradka?"

Alina frowned. The name rung a bell, but it was too distant to make out. Likhoradka... why would they think she had any information on it? Was it because she had mentioned Mal? Did it have something to do with the illegal Fold crossings? 

"I don't know anything about-" 

Someone slapped her again, worse than before. Where his hand had connected, her skin burned and ached.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, Alina thinks, gritting her teeth.

"I don't know anything! One of you is a heartrender, you know I'm telling the truth!" Alina snarled. 

Alina strained against the bonds on her wrist, tied behind her back. If only she could melt through them. She could distract them with a flash of blinding light, turn invisible, then flee into the night. Had they known she was Grisha and that was why they bound her this way? Or was it just a precaution?

A phone buzzed, cutting the interrogation short. A moment later, Grumpy spoke again. "The boss is here."

Alina heard the whirling grate of the warehouses large doors lifting. A brief wind tickled her face. Then a new set of footsteps, slow and precise, made their way closer. 

Damn it. How many of them where their now? Three inside, but could more be waiting outside? More heartrenders or maybe other Grisha? Infernis, Squallers, more heartrenders?

Alina swallowed hard, sniffing back the tears welling behind her eyes. Hope of making it out of this alive was dimming like a setting sun. 

"And what is this?" A voice asked. He had a pleasing voice; gentle, smooth, young, yet firm. The boss, she'd guess. Boss of what though?

"Nosey reporter from Kansas-"

"Ketterdam, I'm not Dorothy," Alina muttered. But Bratty would certainly make a perfect Scarescrow; no brains and all.

Bratty smacked her again; this time across the head, more chiding than malicious. Speak when spoken to, the message was clear. 

"Does she know anything?" The leader asked. 

"Don't know yet. But she said she's friends with Oretsev." So much for not knowing him. "We figure she has to know something about-"

Bratty stops talking. Footsteps come closer and Alina holds her breath as someone takes a delicate hold of her chin. She gets the impression they are studying her features intently. Long fingers brush aside the hair from her face, lightly tracing the scar on her forehead. 

A scar she had gotten when she was a child, when a group of bullies found out she was different from them. Witch, demon, freak... stones flying through the air... frightened shrieks and tears... and a little boy with onyx eyes, arms out stretched, shielding her from it all... 

The man inhales sharply. 

The heartrender knocked her out again. 

[pendragonsandbuckleys]

Oh it felt so easy then.

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

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

[Also on AO3]

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

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

Word Count: 21,499

❄️👽🎄💌

Ten years was a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 2008

It started with the hubcaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another text from Isobel no doubt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that would have to be good enough for now.

November 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Michael,

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

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

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

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

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

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

From,

Alex.

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

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

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

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

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

February 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obviously.”

“What did I say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael was a mechanic. Barely.

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

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

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

April 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

It just felt right. 

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

Besides, he looked damn good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Michael,

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

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

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

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

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

I’m sure I’ll get used it.

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

Speak to you soon,

Alex.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July 2009

Dear Alex,

You’ll never guess what happened today.

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

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

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

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

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

Stay safe out there.

Michael

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something he could choose for himself?

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

Looking around, there were several places it could sit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, onto the rest.

November 2009

It had been a very quiet morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hair was much shorter and so not him.

But he was here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t mind.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

August 2010

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

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

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

Small, but no less important.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red was a given with its instant connection to love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

February 2011

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the moment? Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Dear Alex,

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

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

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

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

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

I miss you.

Come back soon.

Michael

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

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

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

September 2011

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did we actually talk at all last night?”

“Are you complaining?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But was Alex saying no to them going out together?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

January 2012

Earth wasn’t his home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

October 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March 2013

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

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

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

Isobel had Noah, and Michael?

Michael had Vicky. Last night.

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

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

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

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

Dear Michael,

I saw someone die today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope everything is okay in Roswell.

Stay safe,

Alex.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

August 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poor kids whose worn down shoes and too small clothes would be an instant target on their backs.

Gay kids who did absolutely nothing to deserve the brunt of Kyle’s torment for so many years. Gay kids who could also pack a mean punch when it really came down to it. 

Kyle had made it his mission in high school to ruin Alex’s life and Michael would never forgive him for it. Simple as that.

“What is he even doing here anyway?”

Maria picked up the closest bottle of whiskey and refilled his glass. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed at how well she knew his drinking habits.

“He’s been travelling to visit family but now he’s back for a few weeks to see some friends before his next year of med school starts.” Maria answered easily, letting out a huff of laughter as Michael narrowed his eyes in confusion. “When you’re this side of the bar, people tell you everything…like I’m sure you’ll be doing soon enough.”

Michael smirked as he took another swig of whiskey. It burned in his chest before settling uneasily in his stomach. “You love it Deluca, don’t try and deny it.”

Taking another look behind him, Michael watched as Kyle spoke, gesturing wildly with his arms as his words held the attention of everyone circled around him. He looked no different from high school, same dark quiff styled neatly with gel, same bulging muscles on show under his tight fitting top, same punchable face.

Watching Alex take a swing at Kyle during prom had been a very proud moment for Michael - and he had barely even known Alex by that point. If he hadn’t been worried that Alex would get hurt, Michael would have gladly watched him punch Kyle for the rest of the evening.

“I think he’s changed, you know.” Maria interrupted his thoughts as she wiped down the bar top in front of him. Her bracelets jangled noisily with every movement. “College has been good for him.”

Michael watched as she ran her necklace between her fingers and went about collecting the empty beer bottles sitting at the end of the bar. “Kyle Valenti will never change.” 

Deep down a tiny part of him would admit that Maria was right. Since leaving high school everyone he’s known has changed in some way or another - normally for the better as they grow out of their ignorant, childish ways. But he just couldn’t imagine golden boy Kyle Valenti turning his life around that much. And even though one day Alex, with his heart of gold, will probably end up forgiving Kyle, Michael never would.

June 2014

“I’m just saying, if Noah expects me to take it easy with this wedding organisation, he’s got another thing coming.” Isobel spoke animatedly as the three of them walked down the street. “I am practically the unofficial Roswell party planning committee after all.”

“Isn’t a committee normally a group of people?” Max quizzed, moving out of the way for a little boy on his bike that was riding towards them.

“Not what you’re supposed to be taking from this conversation, Max.” Isobel glared at him. “I got proposed to guys!”

“Yeah, we got that from the first fifty times you told us.” Michael remarked, righting the cowboy hat that had slipped down on his head.

“Well, I’m allowed to be excited!”

Max gave his sister a fond smile. “Of course you are. But I think any more wedding talk today will literally melt Michael’s brain.”

It had been over a week since Noah had gotten down on one knee and Max and Michael had heard every possible recounting of the evening along with every guest list suggestion, every wedding hairstyle idea, even every floral arrangement possibility. As a couple, they had barely had a chance to set a date, yet Isobel was now firmly stuck in wedding planner mode.

It was Max who had put forward that the three of them meet up. It was his first day off after a busy week of shifts and it was warm out, though the suggestion to make the most of the sun was also a ploy to force Isobel to take a break from her obsessing. But unfortunately the wedding seemed to have followed them.

It didn’t really bother them though as they strolled through town, soaking up the warmth of the rays and enjoying each other’s company. Isobel was happy and in love and it was exactly what she deserved.

As they neared the end of the road, they reached the Crashdown. The cafe was a hubbub of happy, smiling customers and servers in their uniforms and antennae, but it was hard to miss the derogatory, racist words spray painted across the windows. Michael didn’t envy the poor waiter who was desperately scrubbing at them with soapy water.

Every year on the anniversary of Rosa Ortecho’s death the Crashdown was vandalised and every year it hurt more and more to witness.

Arturo Ortecho didn’t deserve the hate he got because of what happened to his daughter. He didn’t deserve for his livelihood, his home to be wrecked every year because of a choice Isobel made. A choice they all made.

After the fateful night six years ago, they had sworn to each other they would not set foot in the Crashdown again, to separate themselves from the Ortecho’s completely. But over the years, whether it be from guilt or concern, they had never been able to keep that promise.

“Let’s go in,” Max said after a moment of staring inside.

“Max-” Michael warned. He was all for keeping up appearances but today of all days they ought to be keeping a low profile when it came to the Crashdown.

“We should show our support. It’s the least we can do.” Max turned to look at him pointedly. And as much as Michael hated it, he was right. They had managed to keep the events of that night a secret for so long now. Avoiding the place once a year wasn’t really going to have as big an impact as they liked to think it would.

And being the cause of Mr Ortecho’s suffering, it was the least they could do.

Entering with a smile, they found a booth in the corner and Michael was made designated ‘seat saver’ as Max and Isobel went up to the counter. They all knew each other’s orders off by heart, but neither sibling wanted to run the risk of potentially running into Arturo alone for fear of not knowing what to say.

Michael watched as the waiter outside finished with one window and moved onto the next.

He was lucky in a way. He could go months without thinking about what they chose to do to those three girls. How they covered up the murders and framed an innocent for it. He doubted Arturo ever had the pleasure of forgetting about the death of his eldest daughter.

And now, as he tried to forget once more about certain events of that night, his mind was drawn to the other life changing incident and his worry for Alex reignited all over again. He had been able to protect Alex from his father back then, but whilst they were on two separate continents, Michael was powerless.

Not that he thought Alex needed his protection. Michael knew just how strong he was, but the job of an airman was unpredictable.

In an attempt to calm his mind, he thought back to the letter he had received yesterday and tried to recall the words it contained.

Dear Michael,

I can’t believe you managed to find work on Mr Anderson’s ranch! Or more specifically, I can’t believe he willingly hired you after the amount of trouble you caused him. I’m guessing you didn’t tell him that it was you that drove straight through his crop field or let all those horses out when we were younger? Because you know as well as I do, that man holds a grudge.

I’m glad you’re finding all this work. I used to worry that you wouldn’t realise how skilled you were so it’s nice to hear that people are actually appreciating your hard work.

I’ve spent the past week updating security measures here and the all-nighters are reminding me of high school before a math test or something. I think I actually used to go days without sleeping sometimes if I was trying to cram in revision and I honestly don’t know how I managed it back then. Teenage me was obviously a lot stronger.

There’s rumours that we could be heading back to North Dakota next month, but I’m not getting my hopes up. Germany’s not too bad, the people have been great and the food is delicious. On our down days we’ve been going to this cafe just outside of base. They have this type of iced coffee that tastes amazing and I’ve definitely had it far too much judging by the amount of teasing I get from my team every time I order it.

As nice as it is here though, it would be good to be back on home soil. I feel like I’ve been away from America for so long.

I’ll let you know if we do end up moving bases and maybe I’ll visit Roswell again soon.

Hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

Michael was pulled out of his thoughts as Max and Isobel took their seats. They were bickering about something or other and the familiarity forced all his worries to the back of his mind.

Alex would be home soon and Michael would be able to hold him in his arms and everything would be alright. And for now, he would make the most of his time with the rest of his family.

October 2014

Michael was warming himself by the fire when a car pulled up by the airstream. He had managed to find the old burn barrel at the junkyard a few months ago along with some mismatched chairs and lighting the fire had become a calming night time occurrence for him.

He brought the beer bottle to his lips and took a sip, wordlessly watching as Alex stepped out of the car and wandered over to him. He wasn’t sure why Alex was even here. The letters had been getting infrequent again, the enthusiasm dwindling, and Michael had been starting to suspect that their hearts were just no longer in it.

Alex had informed him that he was on leave for a few days and Michael had been happy, excited even. But at some point between this morning - where he had been frantically trying to calm his nerves as he tided up the place - to this evening, something had changed. He’d managed to overthink everything he’d been wanting to say to Alex for a long time now.

“Hey.” Alex smiled politely as he came to a stop by the fire. If he thought it strange that Michael hadn’t greeted him he didn’t mention it, but he did pause, hands clasped behind his back, almost waiting for permission to take a seat.

Michael took another gulp of beer, watching Alex carefully. “You can sit down you know.”

Alex didn’t need to be told twice, dropping into the seat closest to him. He looked older, the years of service catching up on him, hardening him against all that he had seen. 

“How have you been?” He asked. His voice was calm but Michael could see the wariness in his eyes. So he had noticed Michael’s rather frosty welcoming.

“Same as always.” Michael muttered, looking off into the distance.

“Are you okay-”

“What are you doing here, Alex?” Michael blurted out before he lost the nerve.

Alex’s eyes widened at the outburst, “Sorry, I thought you said I could drop by when I got back.”

“Okay fine, what are we doing here?” Michael rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, “I mean this thing we’re doing, is it real or just some hookup for when you come home?”

Alex recoiled at the accusation and Michael could feel the guilt creeping in once more at the hurt in Alex’s eyes. Okay so maybe that was a bit harsh, but there was no point dragging out this conversation for the next three days. Plus, he suspected his veins were filled more of alcohol than blood right now and when he was on a roll there was no stopping him.

“Last time you were here I tried to have this conversation with you and we got nowhere. That was years ago and we’re still dancing around it.”

“You know it’s not like that. The sex I mean. I don’t come here just to sleep with you, I come to see you.” The fire crackled loudly, the flames casting an orange glow over Alex as he spoke. “I’m sorry I haven’t been writing much lately. Your letters mean everything to me and I like doing this with you, but I just…”

“Just what?” Michael demanded. He could see Alex take a breath as he tried to word the next sentence correctly in his head.

“Anything could happen while I’m in the Air Force and I just don’t think you should pin your hopes on this.”

If Michael could stop with the tunnel vision for two seconds he would realise that Alex was trying to protect him, but all he heard was that Alex didn’t want to be with him, not properly at least. Not as his boyfriend, his partner, his other half.

Michael didn’t have an answer and Alex had no more to add.

They had barely spent five minutes in each other’s company after years apart and they’d already been rendered quiet. It isn’t how either of them had expected it to go. They sat in the uncomfortable silence, their gazes fixed on the fire but barely registering the flames licking the air. Neither wanted to make the first move.

The beautiful boy he had been in love with since they were seventeen had practically just told him that they would never be together and instead of feeling sad or desperate, Michael fell back to his default emotion. He was filled with so much anger he could practically feel it burning under his skin.

The moment he kissed Alex in the museum all those years ago he had seen the future they could have together, but now, in the cool autumn evening as he watched the tips of the flames reaching up to the sky, that dream was crumbling.

“Do you want me to go?” Alex asked faintly after a few minutes.

Yes! If you walk away now then I’ll have my final answer and it will make all of this so much easier.

“No.”

Alex had only just gotten there and as pissed off as Michael felt, the thought of him leaving again suddenly hurt like hell. “I miss you.” He whispered, struggling to make eye contact at the admission.

In his peripheral vision he could see Alex pause uneasily, almost waiting for another outburst, and when none came the airman replied with a wary smile. “Me too.”

May 2015

Another soda can went flying into the air and Max shot it down with trained precision. It almost hit Isobel on the way down who couldn’t hold back a squeal as she moved out of the way.

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here for this.” She huffed at the boys as she righted herself in the chair. Her plans for the weekend had involved shopping, TV and sleeping. It had been a long week and it was what she deserved. Instead, she was getting sand in her shoes and cans flung towards her face.

“You’re the one who said we should practice using our powers more.” Michael smirked, concentrating on the unopened can sitting on the desk inside the airstream. With barely any effort, he watched as it floated through the doorway and over towards Isobel.

“That was an excuse to get into Old Man Simmons’ head and you know it.” She narrowed his eyes at him but grabbed the can anyway. “Besides, isn’t there a more productive way to train?”

“What are you talking about? We used to do this all the time.” Max lifted the gun and signalled for Michael to throw the next can into the air.

“Yeah, when we were like seventeen. Don’t know if you noticed but we’re not kids anymore.”

“Tell me about it. Did you know Sheriff Valenti let me assist on another murder case last week. She said I’m showing potential.” 

“Bit of a morbid thing to brag about there, Deputy.” Michael grinned as he used his power to send the next can flying, trying to catch Max off guard with its speed. Max was too slow to hit it during its ascent, but before it touched the ground he had sent a bullet clean through it.

Michael whistled in amazement and clapped Max on the back. They may be adults now but hitting a target was just as exciting as when they were kids.

Isobel was less than impressed if the furrowed brow was anything to go by. She honestly couldn’t understand the desire to shoot things. “Great, you hit it. Can I go now?”

She made a point of checking the time on her phone with a sigh and Max gave Michael such a sibling look. The kind of look that clearly conveyed annoyance, irritation and the simple question of will she ever stop complaining.

“Will you lighten up Iz, it’s just a bit of fun.” Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. “Now hurry up and drink that, we’re gonna need it soon.”

He was about the throw another can when he noticed a white van driving up the path, recognising it immediately. He felt bad for the guy, having to come out to the middle of nowhere every month or so just to drop off a single letter.

He walked over to meet the mailman as he parked in front of them and gratefully took the letter passed to him through the open window.

“Who the hell is sending you mail?” Isobel leaned forward in her chair as the van drove off and Michael was worried for a second that she would get up and take it from him before he could stop her. She never did have good impulse control.

“It’s probably just junk.” He said dismissively, staring down at his name and address. He didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. He had literally never received a single letter from anyone else in his life.

He tried to plaster on his best nonchalant face as he jogged over to the airstream and prayed that the others wouldn’t ask questions. “It’s fine, I’ll check it later.”

Bypassing every surface entirely, knowing full well that if Isobel saw it on the desk she would open it, he opened the compartment above his bed. The cupboard had gotten more crowded over the years, but the shoebox still had its special little place inside. He looked down at the letter in his hand one more time, debating whether to just rip it open then and there, before sliding it on top of the box.

He’d read it later when he wasn’t busy.

September 2015

“Ahh Deluca. It’s been while.” Michael grinned as he took a seat at the bar. It was early evening on a Friday so the place was pretty packed, but luckily for him there was always a stool empty.

Maria grabbed a glass from the rack and the bottle of whiskey from behind her and began pouring. There were other servers behind the bar so she could afford to take her time conversing with this particular regular.

“Yes, surprisingly I did notice your absence from my bar recently and honestly I’m not sure who that looks worse for.”

“You. Definitely you.” Michael said dryly as he picked up the nearest coaster and began to twirl it between his fingers. “Besides if you were that desperate to see my ruggedly handsome face you wouldn’t have skipped your shift last Friday.”

“The fact that you know my shift pattern is not a good look for you Guerin.” Maria raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “Besides, I’m allowed a night off every now and then.”

“Oh yeah? To do what? Paint your nails? Have a nice little bubble bath? Some other girl related activity?”

“To see a friend actually. Because I have those.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” He muttered playfully and she moved forward to dramatically knock the coaster out of his hand.

“We had a lovely time, thank you for asking. He hasn’t been back home in ages so we decided to make a weekend of it.”

Michael froze at her words. There was really only one person she could be talking about but he asked the question anyway. “What friend is this?”

“Alex? Manes? He went to school with us. Former emo kid turned airman.” 

Michael’s mouth suddenly felt very dry and he couldn’t get his words out. He grabbed the drink that Maria had poured and took a large gulp. “Alex was here?”

“Yeah he had a few days leave so he came to see me. It was really sweet of him, I mean he’s worked hard for that time off and he could literally do anything with it but he chose to come here. I think he was missing home a bit actually.”

Michael bit his lip, almost enough to draw blood. He was suddenly filled with so much hurt he didn’t know what to do with it. “Was he okay?”

“Yeah. I think his work has been a bit tough recently but he seemed happy.” Maria smiled gently.

Seemed happy? Did that mean Alex was happy because he was home? Or because he was spending his time with someone other than Michael?

Michael was glad he was happy, of course he was glad. Alex’s happiness is all he’s ever wanted. And of course, he has a right to visit other friends, it was never Michael’s place to tell him not to. Even when he had stayed with Michael in the past, he had always made time to say hello to other friends before he had to leave again.

But this time he hadn’t even mentioned to Michael that he was coming home. Not a single word in any of the intermittent letters.

And maybe Michael was to blame. The last time they had seen each other hadn’t exactly been perfect. And recently he’d been putting off replying for weeks which Alex must have noticed. But he still always replied in the end! So that must have meant something, right? It must have proven to Alex that he still cared, that he would still want to spend time with him.

There was no way Alex could have known that he would find out. Michael had never properly mentioned the little love-hate friendship he had struck up with Maria over the years, so really Alex could never have predicted this. And that’s probably what he had wanted, to spend time in Roswell under the radar, away from Michael.

Should he be angry about this? Was he angry? Yes. He was probably being overdramatic but this seemed like the final nail in the coffin of their unspoken relationship.

Suddenly, he had the desperate urge to take his mind off everything he’d just heard so without thinking he turned to what he did best. Paying Maria half of what he owed for the drink, he locked eyes with a cute girl at the other end of the bar and eagerly slid off the stool, ready to make a night of it.

January 2016

Isobel grabbed his face and kissed him on the cheek before he could stop her. The fireworks exploding into a hundred sparks above their heads were loud, but the cheering from the mass of people crowded outside of the Pony seemed louder.

“Happy New Year!!” Isobel practically screamed in his ear before turning to plant an overly enthusiastic kiss on Noah’s lips. This was probably the most drunk he had ever seen Isobel and every second of it was brilliant.

Max clapped a hand on Michael’s back and they tapped glasses in a less enthusiastic celebration. When Michael had suggested that the four of them go to the Wild Pony for New Year’s he had expected to be shot down instantly, but now that they were here he was glad they had actually agreed.

It had been a good night. There was plenty of alcohol, loud music and he’d won several games of pool - all without using his powers! Even Deluca had seemed almost happy to see him but he put that down to the Christmas spirit she’d been radiating for the past week.

Watching the fireworks felt like such a cliche way to end it. It was perfect. The colours lit up the sky, the bright blues and pinks of the explosions reminding him of the alien console that was slowly coming together beneath the earth of the junkyard and the booms were so powerful he could practically feel them reverberating in his chest.

He had drunk far too much to be able to quite remember how he made it home, but closing the door behind him, he noticed how lonely the airstream felt after spending the evening in a crowd of people. 

He threw his hat onto the desk and his shoes into the nearest corner and dropped onto the bed with a sigh. He clenched his left fist a few times as the ache became noticeable again. Even after all these years, the cold weather still wreaked havoc with his injury, making it cramp or stiffen up at the worst times.

As he stared up at the ceiling he had an idea. A truly terrible idea. And if he was sober he would have realised that, but sensible Michael had taken a break for the night.

He rolled off the bed and stumbled the short distance to his desk. For a messy person, his supplies were surprisingly organised with the paper stacked in one draw and a few envelopes scattered in another. He grabbed the closest pen to him and tested it worked on a scrap design that he hadn’t had the heart to throw away yet.

His uneven lettering would probably give away his drunken state but he didn’t care. This was probably the most honest he would ever be with Alex so why not take advantage of that.

Dear Alex,

I guess I should wish you a happy new year.

You know we’ve never spent a new years together? I know you’re really busy in your super important job but it would have been nice for you to celebrate it at home one year. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t tell me.

I’ve been thinking about leaving Roswell. 2016 has officially begun and I’m stuck doing the same thing I’ve been doing my entire life, living in some tiny metal box and getting paid a measly amount at a job I only half show up to.

So maybe I should just leave. Get out of the town that’s filled with heaps of bad memories. Like all the shit that happened with Max and Isobel, all the stuff with your dad. Everywhere I look in this town has been tainted by bad people and bad choices.

So you know what they say, new year, new start.

I might go to Vegas and try my luck there. Or Texas. It’s not as far but at least I’d fit in. Or maybe I’ll just leave America completely! Europe sounds nice and I bet it isn’t just miles of sand.

I used to wish we could leave together. I’d save up enough money and as soon as you got out of the Air Force we’d just leave. It wouldn’t matter where, just anywhere away from this town. And we’d probably run out of money and it would be an absolute disaster but that would be okay because at least we’d be together.

I don’t think you want that though Alex, I think you’ve already moved on and that really hurts. So maybe I should just move on too.

Enjoy the new year with your boys.

Michael

Without reading it over, he folded the paper into an envelope and sealed it before he could second guess anything.

In the morning he wouldn’t remember what the letter said, but he’d post it anyway.

November 2016

Roswell always did go all out for Veterans Day. There were banners hung in every building, flags flying proudly from every window and it was as though every Roswell born member of the Armed Forces - past and present - had returned for the annual celebration. All except one.

The evening’s event was held at the drive in, organised by the one and only Isobel Evans-Bracken and that was the only reason Michael was there. To support Isobel and that’s it.

This day was hard most years. The constant reminders of Alex everywhere he’d go, the odd sighting of Jesse Manes being thanked for his service when that man was the entire reason for Alex’s absence.

He had always believed that he would get used to it the longer Alex was away. The town was very pro-military and there always seemed to be some parade or other so the constant reminders should have made him accustomed to the feelings it brought up.

But wishful thinking strikes again.

And this year seemed to be the worst of the lot.

He and Alex had hardly spoken all year and the letters he did receive sounded like Alex was just checking if he was still in Roswell more than anything else. He never quite worked out what gave the airman the impression that he would be leaving anytime soon.

To be fair though, all of his replies had been short and vague with a rather blunt tone that he couldn’t help. A small part of him knew that he was pushing Alex away and it was screaming at him, begging him to stop, but he didn’t listen. Unfortunately, when he was hurt his self preservation kicked in big time.

Grabbing another beer from the cooler, he took a seat next to Max on the back of the truck and watched as Master Sergeant Jesse Manes took to the stage to give a speech about duty and sacrifice and how those who had lost their lives had done so proudly in the service of their country.

It made him wonder if Alex would feel proud in his last moments. If the worst happened, would he be glad to die for his country or would he be afraid? Would he be filled with fear as he lay in the dirt, cold and bleeding, waiting for help that wasn’t going to arrive on time? Would he be with his team, surrounded by love and friendship and people begging him to be okay or would he be alone? 

Or maybe it would be quick. A swift bullet to the head or heart. A nice clean shot and a point to the enemy. There one minute and gone the next.

Would Alex even feel it?

Would Michael?

As the townsfolk and various uniformed men and women began clapping loudly around him, his mind was brought back to the present. Manes gave a wave to the crowd as he ended his speech and passed the microphone over to Isobel to announce the evening’s agenda.

As she listed the live music and entertainment that was in store, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on her words instead of the thoughts circling his head. He didn’t know why he still cared so much. Alex wasn’t Michael’s to protect or worry about. Not anymore.

Michael had moved on and maybe if he drunk enough tonight, his heart would finally believe that and his mind would stop reciting the latest letter that had arrived at his door.

Dear Michael,

We were shipped off to Baghdad two months ago.

I wasn’t going to tell you because I don’t want you to worry and it’s not fair for me to force this onto you when you’re off living your own life now. It’s just a lot has happened on this tour already and I’ve been getting this feeling that I should probably let you know that I’m here.

All things considered, I’m actually quite lucky that this is only my third deployment bearing in mind how many years I’ve been serving. I’ve heard stories about some people who are on tour after tour and I don’t think I’d be able to handle the never ending missions.

It turns out I must be quite good at my job though because the team I’m with requested me. They needed someone with my specialist skillset so I guess its rather flattering but it makes me think that this job is going to be harder than the others.

It’s crazy to think about how much I’ve accomplished since I first joined. Seventeen year old Alex would hate that I’m still here but I guess he didn’t know the world like I do now. I still think about him sometimes though, the rebellious kid who wore too much eyeliner.

I know I don’t say it much but I’m really grateful for the time we spent together back then. And since then. They’re some of my favourite memories.

But I’m glad you’ve found your own path in life. You have a job that you love, a place to live that you can call your own and friends and family that you can always turn to.

I hope everyone is okay back home. I hope you’re okay. 

And more than anything, I hope that you’re happy. It’s what you deserve and I’m sure one day you’ll find someone who sees that and makes you even happier.

From, 

Alex.

He hated that Alex was back there.

And he hated that the letter sounded like a goodbye.

February 2017

Dear Alex,

I know it’s taken me a while to reply. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I’ve just been thinking about everything that’s happened and I didn’t want to say something I would regret. You’d probably tell me that I was overthinking and I’d dramatically disagree of course. But you would be right.

I’ve been thinking a lot about where you are right now and all of the bad things that could happen. I’m not going to go into how many soldiers have died over there because I’m sure you know more about it than me, just make sure you’re not added to that list, okay? I haven’t acted like it recently but it worries me that you’re somewhere so dangerous, so please be careful.

I know we’ve drifted but I still care about you Alex so I need you to be okay. I’ve been distancing myself from you these past few years and I’m sorry for that. I thought you were pushing me away so I did all I could to push you away first. I know I can’t change that now but maybe it can be different going forward.

It’s been almost three years since I last saw you in person and in a weird way it feels like yesterday. Three years sounds like a long time but looking back, it’s flown past way too quickly. So much has changed since then. I see Sanders occasionally but I haven’t worked at the junkyard in years, Isobel is married, the Wild Pony has starting having open mic nights and the Crashdown has gained about ten new milkshakes.

But I suppose the one constant is that you haven’t been here. You’ve been off being an American hero and that’s such an incredible achievement. You’ve travelled to places that I will never go, accomplished things I will probably never understand and been involved in so much that I can never know about. 

I’m sure it hasn’t always been the positive experience that people make it out to be, but I’m so happy you’ve been able to make something of your life.

You’re probably on some super secret mission right now with your little carefully selected team, but if you’ve got a minute, let me know that you’re okay.

Michael

July 2017

Alex hadn't answered. Five months and four goddamn letters and Alex hadn't answered a single one. And Michael was pissed. 

Well, first he was terrified. He had made up all manner of excuses. Maybe the letters got lost in the post. Maybe Alex was too busy to reply. But the never ending weeks of radio silence soon left Michael thinking the worst.

He had scoured the news headlines for any reports of American deaths in Iraq, he checked the obituary lists for any updates and he kept an ear out for any locals discussing the untimely death of Alex Manes.

He didn’t want to find out but he needed to know the truth.

Maria hadn’t mentioned anything in the many nights he had spent drowning his sorrows at the bar, so he took that as a good sign but then again she could just be as in the dark as he was.

After a while though, when no bad news had surfaced, he accepted the sad fact that Alex had chosen not to reply.

That the man he once loved had read his letters and hadn’t cared enough to respond. That he’d read the carefully selected words that conveyed Michael’s love and gratitude and worry. That he’d held the paper in his hands, each letter more honest than the last, and had decided to leave Michael hanging.

And if it proved one thing, it’s that he was right to stop waiting for Alex. 

He had woken up that morning missing Alex desperately. Missing his face, his voice, his laugh, his words. But when, once again, no letter arrived, his anger tore through as he finally decided to face the cold hard truth that had been waiting in the back of his mind for weeks.

Their relationship had been going downhill for a long time and now the airman had clearly made the choice for the both of them. Alex had ended whatever it was they had going on and so now Michael would do the same.

That night he went to sleep, vowing to never think of Alex again, so painfully unaware that Alex, now with half a limb cruelly taken from him, had read the letters. In fact he'd read over every letter in his metal box, mourning the end of their relationship with each one. 

Waking up in the hospital bed five months ago he'd seen his future. The future filled with therapy, physio, phantom pains, decreased mobility, the constant awkwardness from other people. And he refused to burden Michael with that. His beautiful cowboy deserved so much better.

Soon the letters would stop completely and Alex would accept that because why would Michael keep trying when he was receiving nothing in return? And maybe they’ll never see each other again and maybe they’ll never reconcile, but that would be okay because at least this way, Michael would be free.

December 2017

It was two weeks until Christmas and Isobel was on his case about a present. Why do you have to make my life difficult, Michael? You’re the only person I haven’t bought for, Michael. Can you find some actual hobbies so that I know what to get you, Michael?

The queen of organisation was getting very stressed at the mere thought of having to do any last minute shopping but how would Michael tell her what he really wanted for Christmas when obtaining it was impossible?

And yeah, yeah, he said he was going to stop thinking about him. But let’s be real, that was never going to happen.

Instead he drank. A lot. And gambled and hooked up with pretty girls and committed enough petty crime to make Max consider a very early retirement.  

Anything to get his mind off Alex. But as blissful as the forgetting was in the night, it always came flooding back in the morning. Because every morning he woke up and stared at the compartment where the box was stored and every morning it reminded him of Alex. Well, no more.

Sitting on the edge of the bed as he tried to ignore the cold winter wind raging outside, he made the decision to move it. If he hid it away and promised himself that he would never look inside again then maybe, just maybe, he would finally move on.

Standing up was a choice he instantly regretted as the room spun slightly and the sun blaring in through the newspaper covered window immediately fuelled the hangover burning behind his eyes. But as soon as everything settled he wasted no time in opening the compartment and taking out the box.

His fingers were itching to lift up the lid and peek inside but that would only make it harder. Instead he clamped the sides tightly in his grip and headed straight for the closet.

It was ironic really, hiding Alex in the closet - a thought that only came to him as he was opening the door - but it was the only place in the tiny hamster cage of a home where it would be safe from prying eyes, Michael’s included. 

There were a pair of boots at the bottom alongside some old clothes Max had given him years ago and a cardboard box of blueprints, photos and spaceship pieces he had yet to take to the junkyard.

He lifted them out easily and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor next to where he was kneeling - they had been shoved in the bottom of a closet for god knows how long, they could manage a bit of manhandling.

With the space now empty, the shoebox went in first, being pushed as far into the corner as possible before he gave himself the chance to change his mind. The larger box went back in next, taking up the remaining floor space, then the boots and bag of clothes were thrown in afterwards. As long as they didn’t fall out, he didn’t care where they landed.

As he closed the door his phone rang and looking at the caller ID the timing couldn’t have been more perfect as he’d finally thought of an idea for what Isobel could buy him.

Because why spend your own money to fuel your drinking habit when someone else could do it for you.

March 2018

Michael was shocked awake by a loud thump. Sitting up too quickly, scrambling to get his brain in gear, he noticed Max standing on the other side of the cage with a large pile of files on the desk in front of him. That explains what caused the rude awakening then.

“Thanks.” He groaned, lying back down on the metal bench. His head was thumping and he was not in the mood for the conversation that was bound to follow.

“Is this gonna be a regular thing with you?” Max asked as he took a seat at the desk. The chair scraped horribly on the floor and it made Michael wince.

He stared up at the ceiling and took a few breaths before talking. He didn’t normally feel this bad after drinking but he’d forgotten to grab a bottle of acetone before heading to the Pony and it had been a long night.

“I thought you wanted to spend more time together.” He replied impudently after a moment. 

He heard Max sigh and could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“It’s not funny, Michael.”

“It’s a little funny.” He smirked, attempting to sit up again, groaning as it became clear how much his back hadn’t appreciated his drunk tank sleeping arrangements. Max didn’t even glance up at him from the file he was reading. “Right, are you gonna let me out or not?”

“Nope. Valenti’s just outside and she’ll know if I go easy on you.” 

Michael scoffed and debated just lifting the keys from the desk with his powers. Why did Max have to be such a rule-following little Deputy? It was as if Max was the mind reader of the trio though as he grabbed the keys without looking and put them straight into his pocket.

“I’m just trying to help you.” Max gave him a pointed look that Michael just wanted to punch right off his face sometimes.

“Like always…” Michael muttered under his breath.

“I’m surprised Maria hasn’t barred you yet. You cause her more trouble than it’s worth.”

“The fight wasn’t even that bad, everyone just overreacted. Besides, the other guy totally started it.”

Max shook his head as he got back to his work. Michael wasn’t lying, he hadn’t started the fight, he had just been rather eager to join in. Sometimes punching things felt good.

Max was clearly not letting him out anytime soon and it was well before noon so no-one was expecting him to be at work for a good couple of hours. He could try to negotiate his freedom but Max had this whole save Michael from himself agenda going on recently so it would probably just be a waste of breath.

Instead he could take the easy route and catch up with a bit more sleep.

June 2018

“Quick Alex, run and tell your daddy.”

Michael instantly regretted his words the second the door had closed behind him.

But he hadn’t seen Alex in four years, hadn’t heard from him in months. He had every right to be angry. Right?

Except he wasn’t angry, not really, that was just a façade he was forcing forward to help protect himself from the heartache threatening to break through. He never could stay angry at Alex for long.

Looking through the shoebox filled him with a cautious kind of hope. Just because Alex was back didn’t mean anything was going to change between them but Michael just couldn’t help it.

He sat on the floor for a while as he read over some of the letters, his legs getting cramped in the small gap between the bed and the closet. He had forgotten how happy the earlier letters were, the ones sent before Alex had had a chance to experience combat. They had both been so young back then, so unaware of how life would turn out.

Once he was finished, he left the shoebox on his desk, feeling too nostalgic to put it back in the closet but not yet ready to commit to the overhead compartment again. Thoughts of Alex followed him well into the afternoon of the next day and they didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. Twenty-four hours since Alex had been standing right in front of him and he had completely fallen for the airman all over again.

But that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let Alex in again. Not if it was just going to end the same way.

So when Alex approached him at the reunion, suggesting that he had turned his trailer into a meth lab, Michael did all he could to put the wall back up again. He was sarcastic and aggrieved and did his best to rile Alex up. You trying to hold my hand, Private?

And when he shoved past Alex he pretended to himself that it felt good.

But the heart wants what the hearts wants and all evening his eyes kept being drawn back to Alex. He barely noticed the girl at his side as he watched Alex smile politely and engage in conversation with people they had both gone to school with and when Alex ducked into a side room, he couldn’t stop his feet from following.

Watching Alex check his prosthetic broke Michael’s heart. He wanted to ask a million questions, how did it happen? When did it happen? Does it hurt? Are you okay? Alex was walking on it, albeit with a crutch, so it must have been at least a year since he was injured and Michael had been oblivious to it all. Although an entire year of unanswered letters were suddenly provided with a devastating explanation.

To lose a limb must be unimaginable, but whatever had caused it, Michael was just so glad that it hadn’t taken all of him.

He leaned against the doorway as his eyes roamed over every part of the man in front of him, taking him in completely. His beautiful face that Michael was desperate to put a smile on, his soft hair that had grown since he had last been home, the checkered shirt that looked so much more Alex than the uniform, the way he glowed under the coloured lights.

They had both been through so much this past decade but Alex was back, potentially for good this time, and Michael was about to dive headfirst into the possibility of them rekindling whatever it was they once had.

“Nostalgia’s a bitch, huh?” He spoke up, hoping beyond anything that Alex wouldn’t walk away. He allowed a gentle smile and when Alex dropped his leg to the floor and faced him properly, he felt his heartbeat quicken.

Alex took a moment to reply and when he did his face gave no hints as to whether he was happy to see Michael or not. “I thought for sure when I got back from Iraq you would be long gone.” 

“Is that what you want?” Michael avoided eye contact, suddenly not wanting to witness the moment Alex turned him away but still, he walked closer.

“We’re not kids anymore.” Alex whispered, the words catching in his throat, and still Michael kept walking. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

They were so close to each other now, barely an arm’s length away from touching and the close proximity gave Michael all the courage he needed. He drew his longing gaze away from Alex’s eyes to his soft lips and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

One moment they were two separate people and the next they were crashing together like waves that had been parted for an eternity.

Michael’s entire body tingled, the feeling of Alex’s palm on his back, Alex’s lips against his own. He was hardly aware of what his hands were doing, cupping Alex’s face and pulling him closer, hungry and intense and desperate to reclaim what they had lost. He barely breathed as the rest of the world fell away until it was just them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

His anger at Alex and his year long desire to banish any thought of him was long forgotten. He was back, he was here and Michael didn’t ever want to let go. 

As they parted, foreheads still touching, Michael couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the man in front of him, convinced that if he closed his eyes for even a second it would all disappear. The moment was so perfect, part of him felt like he was dreaming.

Their relationship over the past decade had been a complete rollercoaster but now, feeling Alex pressed against him, Michael was convinced that things would be different now.

And maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

The End.

Thank you for reading ❤️✨

[yyparkq]

superman

pairing: jaebeom x reader

word count: ~2k

summary: you finally bare your burdens with the person you trusted the most, your best friend turned boyfriend, lim jaebeom.

t/w: implications of rape, violence, anxiety

a/n: got too emotional writing this and i dont think i could continue...my heart’s just drenched for y/n. i hope you like it nonetheless! 

requested by anon~

Fighting your own demons completely alone for years is beyond exhausting. How you’re able to genuinely connect with other people despite being utterly damaged yourself on the inside should be considered some sort of anomaly in the humankind. But everything breaks at one point or another, right? Things, whether good or bad, shall pass.

Every single day, all you ever ask from the universe is to make you numb. Numb from all the pain and memories that relentlessly haunt you. To be free from it and be genuinely happy yourself for once. Is that too much to ask? Were you not worthy of living a normal life at all?

When you think of other people in the same situation as you, you can’t help but feel anguish. The little girls being touched by their stepfather or uncle or brother’s friends without their consent, the teenage girls being forced by their boyfriends to do sexual acts to prove their love for them, the wives being used by their husbands anytime to satisfy themselves without their consent.

“Beom-ah, will you kill someone for me?” you ask your best friend without looking.

It has been quite a while since you set your book down on your stomach and watched the sky in front of you, your right arm tucked under your head as a makeshift pillow while lying under the tree.

Jaebeom lowers the book he’s been reading and looks down at you. Unlike you, he was sitting with his back leaning against the trunk. He uncrosses his legs and leans forward to better see your face.

“I just want them dead,” you continue to stare blankly in front of you. When you were younger, you could easily make shapes out of the scattered formation of the clouds in the sky. “But they don’t look like they’re dying anytime soon. And I can’t do it. I’m too weak to kill anyone.”

“What’s going on?” Jaebeom asks slowly. He studies your face carefully albeit being upside down. Something doesn’t sit right. You’re never a violent person and hearing you speak about wanting to kill someone sent a shiver down his spine but made his blood boil at the same time.

“I’m just kidding. Did I scare you?” You smile at your best friend and fake a laugh. Clutching the book on your torso, you sit up and brush your hair with your fingers, scooping closely beside him in the process. You see him still looking at you intently. Somehow you know he will not let your brief slip of the tongue away so easily unless you tell him the truth. His gaze on you is sharp and you worry he’ll easily look right into you again this time.

Jaebeom’s gaze continues to pierce into you and you sigh loudly before collapsing onto the grass again, placing your head on his lap.

Tears attempt to prick the corner of your eyes so you close them, hoping to feign a tired look on your face so he could leave you alone with your thoughts again. Instead, you feel his hand caress your cheek tenderly. His other hand brushing away the strands from your face.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” he asks softly.

Not trusting yourself to speak without sobbing, you only slightly nod your head, though a single tear trickles your side of the face afterward.

Jaebeom immediately wipes it before it even falls halfway down the side of your cheek and dips his head down to place a light kiss on your temple.

In a world where people judge more than try to comprehend the victim’s claims, it is mentally taxing to ask for help.

Not that you never asked anyone for help. In fact, you did. A lot of times. But what do people usually get in return? Nothing more than a mere dubious look from your family and friends and even verbal excuses to downplay your issues. “Should be a slip of the hand, honey,” “Were you both drunk that night?” “He’s your husband. It’s okay.”

The thing is, it is never okay. It never is but somehow you will just learn to live with it.

Sometimes you just wish the tears you shed will be enough to drown all the monstrosity in this world.

Your heart clenches at the mere thought that at least one of the people you meet every day are being abused in one way or another. The only thing you think you could help anyone with is by treating them with utmost kindness and respect unless they prove to be not worthy of either of those.

Everyone except, probably, your own family who caused you an awful lot of mental distress.

They say when you wish someone dead, chances are, they will live longer than you expected. You never cease to wish it though, every time you get a glimpse of their mere shadow inside your house. But aside from that, you also wish to be old enough to help yourself run away from the very place where your nightmares originated.

Before you got into college, you saved the majority of your allowances, took part-time jobs, and even applied for scholarships to save enough money to live on your own, determined to finally get away from everything and start again. You plan on not looking back and build another version of yourself away from the people who inflicted your pain.

And you did. You were able to score yourself admission to a respectable university in the capital. It hasn’t been easy but you felt a lot better than before. You only hoped for the best the moment you stepped inside the university. Soon, you were able to find yourself a number of trustworthy people you can count on. No one knew your past and they’re never really nosy about such things. It should be fine since you wanted to forget about everything from your past anyway, but sometimes you can’t help but feel as though you’re not being fully honest with them. Like you’re creating a different version of yourself that you want to be liked by the new people around you. There are times when you wanted to tell them your story but you’re too afraid they’re going to judge you and they will start to see you differently. You cannot afford to make the same mistake you did in the past when your stories drove your family members and your friends further away from you.

Finding your way to college has been the greatest decision you’ve made so far. If you haven’t pushed yourself way harder to get where you are right now, you wouldn’t be able to meet  Lim Jaebeom—your best friend and now your boyfriend. For almost a decade now, you have been each other’s constant rock.

You met Jaebeom in your favorite coffee house near the university. Unlike most people, background noises in coffee shops actually help you more to focus when studying. It was evidently full the moment you entered one afternoon to study for your upcoming exams. Most people that came in came out after a minute or two after realizing that the coffee house was a full house. But you’re not most people. You didn’t mind standing by the side of the counter as you wait for the other students to wrap up and leave a table until someone pokes you from behind and offered to share his table.

Jaebeom’s mind has been wandering that day, unable to focus on the questions from his mock exams and reviewers. Seeing you enter the shop with your books clutched against your chest and a serene look on your face didn’t help him at all. Before he knew it, he was already approaching and offering you the seat he’s saving for his friend. His heart raced when you smiled warmly and lightly bowed at him, grateful for his generosity.

Oddly enough, you felt really comfortable even when sharing a table with a total stranger for the very first time. A couple of times you caught him staring at you from the corner of his eyes which made you blush but not at all fidgety or uncomfortable. When your second cup of coffee turned cold and the low temperature inside the premise mixed by the sudden pouring of rain outside made you shiver for the second time, Jaebeom offered you a black hoodie hanging in the back of the chair beside him. You refused the offer a few times before accepting, too shy to wear a stranger’s clothes but eventually accepted because the temperature is just too cool for your body’s liking. Both of you, with a few other students, ended up staying in the coffee house until closing. Before parting ways, Jaebeom insisted you keep his hoodie on your way home and used it as an excuse to get your name and your number. Since then you started hanging out and eventually became a couple.

The very first person you told your past about is Jaebeom. Within the course of a few months, somehow, you have developed an unusual bond and attraction for each other which made telling your life story to Jaebeom so much easier.

After accidentally thinking out loud during one of your breaks at the campus garden a month before, you wanted so much to share the ease the burden of you still being occasionally haunted by your past to someone. You felt incredibly lonely more than ever and Jaebeom had always been the most perfect fit to talk to when it comes to your troubles. With him, you feel safe and secured. Most of the time, you get easily overwhelmed with your troubles and he’d always be there to help you look at things objectively, encouraging you to try to make a sound decision each time.

Jaebeom pulls you closer to his body and kisses your temple. His lips stay pressed on the side of your head and you can feel his chest rapidly rising and falling on your back after hearing the side of the story you just bared with him. He’s flushed with anger. How can people do such things and get away with it so easily?

You bask in the warmth of his body against yours. Even after all these years, talking about your traumatic experiences sends every limb of your body to shiver at the memory. Meanwhile, as opposed to what you have expected of yourself, you barely shed a few tears instead of sobbing uncontrollably.

Jaebeom shifts slightly and starts to guide your body so you’re facing him on the couch. His hands soothe your back and arms when you face him and you settle at the crook of his neck comfortably, breathing in his familiar scent. You stay pressed like this for a while until you hear him sniff slightly.

You pull yourself just enough to look at his expression and you’re shocked to see the corners of his eyes red.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I promise you will always be safe with me,” he whispers, slightly croaking. His eyes are wide with sincerity. “We can no longer change the past but, I promise you, you will never have to go through that hell again. Our future kids will never suffer. Not when I’m alive. I will make sure of it.”

You don’t remember the last time you were genuinely consoled by anyone’s words until now. Jaebeom’s words weigh more than a simple I love you. He’s committing to providing a safe haven for you. And even though at the back of your mind you know this couldn’t be foolproof—you cannot control the people around you, after all— you wanted so much to hold onto his words and trust him.

“Thank you for trusting me, baby. Please, please, let me share your troubles. You will never be alone again,” he whispers before bringing your lips to his, showing you just how deep his love for you.

“I love you,” you say between kisses. You didn’t realize you were crying until Jaebeom kisses your tears away.

“I love you so much.”

That night, you fell asleep in Jaebeom’s arms and wake up in his bed the following morning. Over brunch, he convinces you to see a therapist to help you better deal with your traumatic experiences.

[daybannercoupon]

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We all method this kind of info personally, without the need for software or perhaps computerized methods. Like that, we all jump in to the companies' financials entirely, examine and also go over the particular record, next nourish in which info directly into our own projecting product, which usually establishes the particular honest value. It is vital to own no less than 5-year info and appearance strongly on the characteristics regarding earnings, net income, running and also totally free cashflow. Ab muscles selection to be able to probably choose business will come simply right after figuring out their existing honest benefit and also benefit every discuss. We all take into account organizations using a prospective greater than 10% regarding honest benefit, yet initial items initial. Start. Thus, their twelve-monthly record happens nowadays. The particular record has to be audited and also printed from the SEC (Securities and also Swap Commission). According to part 8 with the record, we all help make data inside our product, replacement beliefs, compute multipliers, and lastly decide the particular honest benefit. Simply by almost all standards, the business will be undervalued and also at this time the particular discuss benefit is significantly below the particular computed beliefs, why don't we move further in to the record. Earnings. Why don't we examine earnings characteristics (it can be a considerable factor). Earnings continues to be increasing the past 3-5 decades, it will be best when it is often improving year in year out regarding a decade, nevertheless the amount regarding these kinds of organizations will be negligible. We all offer goal to be able to earnings inside our calculations-no earnings : you should not are the business inside our collection. We all look closely at achievable imbalances. As an example, through the pandemics (COVID-19), several organizations coming from diverse areas have got endured economic loss as well as the earnings lowered. That is someone method, with regards to the market. The best option: earnings progress + 5-10% throughout the last 5 decades.

Web income. We all go through the web income number, and it's also excellent when in addition, it increases, in training the internet income will be a lot more risky. In cases like this quite aspect will be in which business provides q income, rather than a damage, which can be 10-15% regarding earnings. Needless to say, a solid drop inside income is a unfavorable aspect in the particular data. The best option: any income regarding 10-15% regarding earnings throughout the last 5 decades. Resources and also financial obligations. We all see a equilibrium page to see the firm's resources boost year in year out, financial obligations lower, and also money boosts at the same time. Funds and also funds equivalents are usually improving. We all look closely at their total credit card debt, it should not necessarily go beyond 45% regarding resources. Alternatively, regarding organizations from your economic market, it isn't essential, and several feel safe together with 60-70% credit card debt. That is focused on someone method. We all take into account simply short-term and also long-term financial obligations, breaks and also lending options, procurment financial obligations. The best option: progress regarding business resources, overall credit card debt < 45% regarding resources, business money greater than 30%. Cashflow. We have been right away enthusiastic about the particular running cashflow (OCF), increasing yr simply by yr at a rate regarding 10-15%. We all examine money costs (CAPEX), it could a bit boost or perhaps continue to be the identical. The principal signal for people will probably be totally free cashflow (FCF) computed since OCF : CAPEX = FCF. The best option: progress regarding cashflow coming from functions, hook boost inside money costs, and a lot notably, twelve-monthly progress regarding totally free cashflow + 10-15%, that your business can easily devote to the more advancement, or perhaps for instance, about repurchasing regarding the explains to you. Dividend. Besides the rest, we must look closely at the particular dividend coverage with the business. All things considered, we all want it any time income are usually contributed, also somewhat tad, for our assets inside the business. In the event the dividend increases coming from yr to be able to yr, that simply pleases the particular trader. Furthermore, the general return inside organizations using a dividend must boost. Several buyers favor any "dividend collection, inches buying 15-20 dividend organizations together with brings regarding 4-6%, besides the progress inside the benefit with the explains to you by themselves. The best option: twelve-monthly dividend and also dividend produce progress, dividend produce previously mentioned the common produce regarding S&P 500 organizations. Multipliers. Relocating about the multiples with the business, all of them are computed making use of diverse remedies. Any time establishing the identical multiplier, you need to use several remedies using a diverse method. We all have a tendency to trim in the direction of the common. The particular essential signals will be the 3, 5 and also 10-year beliefs. The particular list regarding a decade gets the least expensive effect inside the data plus the twelve-monthly. In the present economic system, we all take into account 3 and also 5-year signals being the main kinds. How many multiples will be massive plus it tends to make simply no perception to be able to compute every single one of which. We have to take notice simply to the particular key kinds. One of them are usually Price/Earnings proportion (P/E), Price/Cash Movement proportion (P/CF), ROA and also ROE, Price/Book (P/B), Price/Sales, Venture Value/Revenue (EV/R), Real Publication Benefit, Go back about Put in Money (ROIC). It is crucial to consider these kinds of signals inside characteristics above 5-10 decades. The best option: price/profit and also cashflow proportions are usually regressing or perhaps have reached the identical stage (these proportions needs to be lower than 15), performance proportions are usually improving yr simply by yr and also relocating toward 25, some other proportions are usually previously mentioned common on this market. It is a tiny established regarding buyers. Needless to say, there are numerous signals in the firm's twelve-monthly record, quite kinds contain running income, wear and tear, revenue just before fees, fees, goodwill and others. We all get ready the main element and a lot crucial economic signals, it is possible to help save lots of time and also study almost all organizations inside the S&P 500 List. We have now a broad thought in regards to the economic well being with the business. We all produced several data inside our economic product, in which we all established the particular proportion regarding undervaluation at this time and also determined whether or not to get explains to you with this business or perhaps not necessarily. You can find simply no impediments. Spend 5-8% of one's accessible price range and get the particular inventory. Be sure you diversify the collection. Acquire undervalued organizations, 1-2 inside each and every market. You can find 11 areas inside the S&P 500. Pick simply people organizations whoever enterprise you recognize, whoever companies you employ or perhaps whoever goods you get. Usually do not dash the particular data within your product, in case you are uncertain, usually do not spend money on this provider. Amazingly, a great undervalued business may well not attain the benefit for some time. The particular dividend paid out can increase the circumstance. Avoid organizations together with details noises. Generally, they will don't stop talking yet usually do not carry out significantly. The particular S&P 500 list regarding organizations continues to be glorious the average twelve-monthly go back regarding 8-10% for quite some time. Needless to say, there were negative decades regarding organizations, nevertheless they are usually recouping faster as compared to their particular "junior colleagues" inside the S&P 500 or perhaps 1000. Use a excellent and also rewarding purchase.

[heavensreigns]

𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖜𝖊'𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘. 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖊'𝖗𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖇𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉. 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖜𝖊'𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘, '𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖜𝖊'𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘. 𝖎 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖒𝖊𝖉𝖎-𝖒𝖊𝖉𝖎-𝖒𝖊𝖉𝖎-𝖒𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖊. 𝖎 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖇𝖊 𝖉𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖎 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖊. ( leopold alexander wayne. chris wood. 440+. warlock. ) psd & template.

GROWING UP leo was born to a demonic father and a mundane mother on august 13th 1580, but unlike many demonic pregnancies this one was not owed to manipulation of an innocent human being. it happened out of love. his parents married shortly after his birth and as he grew older, he always had a very close relationship to both of his parents. his mother taught him about mundane ideals and traditions while his father taught him to control and harness his powers as a warlock. he felt loved, privileged and content with his life - a feeling that only increased with each sibling that was born. at that point, leopold felt like he could not have asked for a better life. he loved england, he had parents that adored him, he had incredible powers and siblings to love and dote on. what else could he possibly need?

ANOTHER PREGNANCY surprised just about every member of the wayne household. leopold already had two sisters when his mother announced that she was pregnant again, but something about this was different. even before she gave birth, she fell ill and they all tried to keep her as comfortable as possible as she fought for her life. his mother gave birth to her third daughter and first there was relief. they could focus on her health now, even use magic to make things better, but it did not take a genius to see that something was not alright. leopold’s third sibling could not possibly be his father’s. 

THE ESCALATION knowing that his wife could die was enough to drive his father insane, but he snapped the moment he realized that his wife had cheated on him. he no longer cared about the fact that she could lose her life, much the opposite. he wanted her to die, and the all consuming rage and pain that he felt extended toward all of them, so leopold made them flee. none of them have ever seen their father again and while it broke his heart, he did what he had to do to protect his siblings and his mother. they needed her and he could not sit back and watch as they lost her.

CROSSING BOUNDARIES leopold knew all about the accords, his father made sure that he studied them. not because he believed in them, but to make sure that he could stay safe. he knew that his plan was a very dangerous one, but what choice did he have? he studied countless grimoires from all over the world, tried spell after spell to get his mother back to full health, but all attempts failed, until he made a decision. he was much older than his siblings, he would be able to handle her passing, but they could not and if he could not cure this mysterious sickness, there was another way out. he contacted an old friend, one of the closest friends he has ever had, which happened to be a vampire. with his mother’s consent, she was finally turned and her sickness was replaced by bloodlust. one that took decades to control, but still. it was better than letting her go, wasn’t it? 

HIS PROTÉGÉ his family and him stayed very close, travelling from place to place together while he was practically raising his youngest sister, elenora, but he never felt a strong urge to stay in one place - until he found cirilla. there was something about her that made him feel drawn to her and he could not believe his eyes or his ears when he realized that she had no idea just how special he was. leopold chose to stay with her, spending the next century mentoring her and teaching her how to discover and use her powers. it made him feel like he had a purpose in life, but - more importantly - there seemed to be no greater joy than to spend time with the faerie. he cared for her, more than he ever cared about an individual outside his family, and his feelings only grew more intense... until he fell in love with her. the two of them spent the next century loving each other with everything they had and, once again, he felt blessed. they faced obstacles in their relationship, like any other couple, but leo realized that cirilla was all that he needed and it seemed like they could work through anything. there was such love, trust and passion between them, he truly believed that they were unbreakable. but life had a way of teaching him lessons when he least expected them.

LOSING HOPE the wayne family loved cirilla dearly and it is safe to say that none of them saw things coming. when she told him that she wanted to learn more about her roots, leopold supported her. it is important to know about your heritage and he understood her desire to find out about her family. he offered to join with her, or wait for her. he promised he would do anything to make this as easy as possible for her and respected her decision when she wanted to go alone. the two of them continued to meet up, but those meetings became less and less frequent... until she stopped showing up. at first, he felt like he must have made a mistake. maybe he got the wrong date, the wrong time? maybe he missed a message? he tried to convince himself that he messed up, but deep down he already knew the truth. she wasn’t coming. he noticed the slightest, subtlest changes in her behavior before, but he never thought that she was capable of this... still, he refused to believe that anything happened to her, but what was he supposed to do? he could not reach her and she was not reaching out to him. elenora, who was incredibly close to her too, freaked out and it did nothing to help the panic that started to bubble up inside of him. she wasn’t coming. he knew it and yet, he could not stop showing up, praying that by some miracle she would show up after all... but that moment never came and the pain threatened to consume him. he struggled to let go, he knew he couldn’t let go, but if he kept showing up it would kill him. still, it took him decades until he finally let his youngest sister, elenora, stop him from coming to the spot. 

BECOMING HIGH WARLOCK it was time to move and this time? leopold needed as much distance to the places he called home as possible. when he received an offer to become high warlock he always turned it down in the past, but things were different now and he finally chose to accept the spot in new york. it wasn’t easy for him to part from his family, but he felt like it was his only shot at moving on, even though he still felt like he never could. not fully. yet, throwing himself into work and duty distracted him enough to make his days a little more bearable. besides, there was one benefit that came with the job: he made a deal with the seelie queen, becoming her right hand in regards to warlock magic - all in hopes of finding any hint about cirilla’s fate. roughly a century went by with lots of false promises and lies, but he never managed to get her a message or to learn anything about her. he knew the queen toyed with him, but even as he continued to try to make peace with the past, he refused to give up and stop working with her. 

MEETING A MUNDANE his past made it rare for him to let anyone close to him. he had a handful of selected friends that he had for decades or centuries and he did not care all that much to meet new people, but a certain mundane was really insistent on getting to know him. gabriella was young, way too young for someone like him, but once she saw him she refused to let him off the hook. he was reluctant to bond with her, but he thought a few conversations would not hurt. conversations eventually turned into hook ups, hook ups turned into dates and even the fact that he was not human did not seem to scare her away. she eventually moved in with him and while his family hardly approved of the fact that his new girlfriend was a human being, he eventually proposed to her after three years of dating, knowing it was all that gabriella wanted. 

THINGS GETTING ROCKY after the spell trapped gabriella and him in this realm, cancelling their wedding in the process, there were obstacles in their way that leopold never expected. the last year had been difficult for them: he had been working a lot and she seemed less and less interested in spending time with him, but he never thought he would learn the things that he found out about and it took a toll on their relationship, even though they are trying to make amends and heal to move past things. that relationship was not the only one that got messy. it is hard to be okay when you finally find out what happened to your ex, just to realize that she is the queen of this realm. on top of that, he got into a terrible fight with elenora, leaving him in a state of mind that was anything other than secure and content. it was the first time he questioned everything: what if he wasn’t so privileged, after all? what if he was only destined to lose everyone he ever let close? what if he wasn’t good enough for any of them? was that his lesson in life? 

LOSING HIS SISTER you see, when you are almost grown up when your parents have another child, it lets you bond with them in a whole different way. elenora was not leopold’s daughter, but she was more than a sibling. he was close to all three of them, but she meant the world to him. their fight broke his heart, but things only got worse when he discovered her lifeless body. with elenora gone, his whole world seems to be falling apart and the warlock does not know how to go on. who cares about the clave business? they are the ones that fucked up, they should be the ones finding a solution, right?

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

Why So Jaded? Chapter 2

And here we go, part 2. In case you missed it. Part 1 AO3 FFN 

Chapter 2

A decade can be a long time.

That much time can change a person, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse and sometimes it just makes you grow up, mature you and give you perspective.

A decade ago, Bartholomew Maximillian Pine aka Buddy Pine- had built an empire fueled by his hatred and resentment for Supers and more importantly Mr. Incredible. He had become successful, powerful, on a scale beyond imagination. His creations helped topple governments, weaponize vast armies and made him more money then he could ever hope to spend in a thousand lifetimes. And with Mirage by his side, he had it all at the relatively young age age of 21.

A decade ago, Violet Parr was coming to terms with her powers, was coming into her own and finding her footing in life. She was learning to bear the load that all Supers carry.

But a decade can be a long time.

In a decade, you can see the empire you built be turned against you in a flash before it's dismantled into pieces that can never be put back together again and the people who you thought you could trust turn on you then leave you and realize their own agendas before you found yourself trying to start over and rebuild with some of the pieces you had managed to scrape together. No small feat and one made harder by extensive injuries, in not just a physical sense, but a mental and emotional and physiological sense as you attempt to rebuild yourself just as much as you rebuild your empire. Letting go of old grudges and hate in an effort to accept change and the present in order to have a future. And that is where Buddy Pine had currently found himself.

And a decade can be a long time.

In a decade you can see things that make you question yourself, your morals, your loyalties, your career and sense of right and wrong. Make you resent the burden placed on you by your parents, by your siblings and peers, your superiors, by everyone around you, and worse, make you resent the very ones who put that burden there. You got to see first hand how the world was rarely black and white and everything was a shade of gray and how even when you want to do the right thing and try to do the right thing, no good deed goes unpunished. You're struck and reminded over and over again by how profoundly fickle it all was. And how you can rise to popularity one moment and fall the next, like the waves of the sea, rising and falling and rising again as cycles began anew and how even the most altruistic super has their price. And more importantly, what yours was. You learned who your true friends were, as well as your enemies. And most importantly that the only one you could truly count on was yourself when you get pushed past your breaking point several times over and who you needed to pull you back from the edge over and over again. You become jaded and disillusioned yet worldly and discerning from your experiences and recognize patterns and cycles remarkably well. When you see enough shit go down and get covered up and how when people are wealthy and powerful enough, or hell, even talented, famous or important enough they can get away with literal murder if not atrocities that would make God himself shudder. You learn that justice was a joke but vengeance was attainable if not valid and very understandable, if not sympathetically so. Which can sadly- make you even more valuable and sought after and you become the best at what you do, even when you had no intention of being so. Until you realized you didn't have to play by anyone's rules except your own, in fact, you didn't have to play their little game at all and sometimes the smartest thing was to walk away when you had had enough and your sense of self preservation was the biggest instinct you cultivated in yourself and was sometimes the only thing that kept you alive.

That's where Violet found herself now. Not necessarily at a crossroads, but simply a spot on a map. She had been pulled back into this Super world a little over a year ago but it was supposed to be her last job. It was supposed to be an easy one, a babysitter post for a genius, billionaire playboy that had taken Buddy's place in the weaponized technology field. Only the big difference was Buddy did this all on his own, while her current employer had bought some of the pieces of Buddy's empire and was very much at the powers that be- beckon call and he was a master at catering to all of them so that he had no governmental resistance or interference world wide. So that the only ones in his way was his competition in his various markets from technology, science, medicine and most lucratively- weapons and while his ego was huge, it wasn't as haughty as Buddy's had been and if Violet had placed a bet, she would say he was a low grade Super himself, only his power was the charm and disarm anyone and gain their trust and help them feel safe so they turned vulnerable and honest and even she was not completely immune to him and his powers. It's how he learned who her true identity was and was able to get to know the real her as well as he did, or more importantly, as well as he thought he did. But for every take, there is a give because she in turn, got to learn more about him than anyone else did and thus, bred their closeness that they both got to enjoy and Phillip had sworn on his life and the lives of his family, that he would never betray her as long as she never betrayed him.

Phillip Edward Sebastian the Fifth was a European Aristobrat who had turned his family's modest fortune but grand history to his absolute advantage and with smart investing and playing the stock market, he had used that modest fortune to turn it into unimaginable wealth and power and was now on the cutting edge of all things weapons, electronics, medicine and far beyond and he had asked for Violet in particular because of her history with espionage, corporate and otherwise and the like. He was willing to pay her 15 times more for her services as his handler than he had offered anyone else and in just the short year she had been working with him, she had risen through the ranks, and was now not just as his right hand woman and personal assistant and she was a one woman security detail who he trusted with his life, his privacy, his confidence and confidentiality because of her skillset and ability. And once her own bank accounts swelled to the point that she used her former mentor's own financial staff to make sure that even in the worst case scenarios, her safety nets had safety nets and she had back up plans for her back up plans and contingency plans for her contingency plans several layers deep and learned to buy stocks in what he bought and sold what he sold on her own since he never hid that information from her and through that alone, she was one of the more independently wealthy Superheroes and she ensured that not just herself but her family would be safe and taken care of, which, in the grand scheme of things, was all she ever wanted and cared about. So she was happy and content, for now. That's why Violet could easily retire after this job. Plus she still collected her super hero paycheck. She wasn't the only one getting two paychecks for the same work, if not multiple checks.

And Phillip had always been the ideal employer, sure he had his own trust issues and paranoia, not to mention, his own daredevil antics and recklessness. But he respected her boundaries because she respected his and their relationship worked as beautifully and seamlessly as it did because they respected each other and Phillip treated her better than he treated everyone else because he knew that Violet, ultimately- didn't want or need him or his money or power and didn't ask too many questions because she didn't need to know the answers and kept her personal life very separated from her work life and didn't judge and kept her opinions to herself as closely as she kept her head and her wits. Which were all things he respected, admired and even adored and their relationship even blossomed enough to include certain "benefits" and Violet was the only one who could use Phillip as her personal fuck toy without the hassle and mess of a committed, monogamous romantic relationship and that kind of emotional entanglements even though Phillip still held out hope that at the end of her "servitude" she would stay with him because he had grown to rely so much on her and it would take a team of a hundred people to do what she did for him and do it as flawlessly as she did.

Before this job, Violet had disappeared in the far east- Hong Kong specifically, with a large city of over seven million, it was easy to disappear into but easy enough to spot agents from a mile away. She figured her superiors spent at least a million dollars trying to find her and once they did, they made her an offer she couldn't refuse and found, and named, and gave- her price, as their most highly sought after and paid agent. She was 24 now and would retire in just two more years at the age of 26 into a very comfortable life as a multimillionaire. But even she had to admit, the urge to do Super work had been getting to her while she had disappeared before The Agency had tracked her down since she had been 'in the wind' for over a year after a particularly brutal assignment gone to shit. But saving people and being a hero, even an invisible one, was an itch that most Supers, even when under ban, was impossible not to scratch. Her father was living proof of that. But she had learned from her parent's mistakes. She had learned to be careful. But being careful and playing it safe, while inherently easy for her, was getting mundane. She had taken up a few hobbies, learned a few languages along with some invaluable skills so that she could, in theory, go anywhere and support herself and blend in with any crowd and she was lucky that while she was in Phillip’s employment, she could still do a few hero jobs of her choice on the side and Phillip’s technology had made those jobs a breeze. But she was smart enough to not become dependent on any of the technology provided to her, either by The Agency or Phillip.

Invisigirl tapped on a screen as she flew her secret spy plane back to Spain to contact her employer, Mr. Phillip Sebastian.

"Do you have a report Vi?" Phillip asked.

"Yes, Mr. Pine himself has taken the nanochip, just like you predicted and is on multiple cameras doing so, he took both baits so I'm now en-route to you." Violet answered as she took off her mask and tied her hair up, revealing flawless makeup under the mask as her lipstick changed from an ultra violet to match her suit to a soft dusty rose on her pouty lips.

"What are the chances that he will follow?" Phillip furthered.

"At this point, medium to high." Violet estimated with a shrug as the plane achieved the proper altitude for a transatlantic flight.

"Excellent. Well we have him dead to rights, so he's as good as ours anyway." Phillip grinned victoriously as he rewatched the feed.

"So hopefully that objective can be fulfilled sooner than later," Violet assumed.

"We will talk about that when you get back, see you in a few hours." He placated.

"Understood," Violet said as she closed the channel since the plane was on auto pilot. She wanted to get changed into civilian attire and hopefully get a chance to relax and possibly take a nap before she would have to play babysitter again as she popped a few pills of very high level painkillers that would make Oxycodone look like children's Tylenol.

Meanwhile Buddy had made his escape and had arrived back at his compound, a different island this time since the 'authorities' literally blew up the last one. But while Buddy was getting a bit desperate, he wasn't stupid. He installed the nanochip into an ordinary laptop that wasn't connected in any way to the internet in case there was some kind of signal embedded. Fifteen seconds later he found himself staring at a melting piece of trash on fire before he put the fire out.

"And that's why we don't just hook things up into the system." He muttered aloud as he retrieved the other nano chip, the one that was on the left, he had taken both, just in case she was leading him astray. He picked up the dead computer with thick work gloves and simply dumped it into the trash and retrieved another, turning it on and repeating the process. This time, it worked perfectly.

"Well, it appears you didn't steer me wrong, this time," he mused as he retrieved the nanochip and put it into his system. Since the 'incident' aka him almost being completely shredded by a jet engine, his ability to create new technology had been hindered greatly. But he could reverse engineer anything and make it better, and that was his intention now. Once he had all the specs down it would be difficult to put the nanochip back along with another dummy one but not impossible.

Except when he came back a week later, it was a trap. The moment he opened that safe, there were more guards on him than he could count coming almost out of nowhere. He was immediately detained in a holding cell in the basement of the building and stripped of all his gear but thankfully they still let him keep his original clothes on.

Buddy wondered who would be coming, would it be the local police? The FBI? The CIA? He ended up waiting a few days when Phillip Sebastian came in himself.

"Good morning Mr. Bartholomew Maximillian Pine, I understand that you like to go by "Buddy" less formal." Phillip greeted formally with a smug smirk on his handsome face.

"Good morning Mr. Sebastian," Buddy mirrored warily as he looked down to see the hairs on his arm raise as if the static electricity in the room was getting charged as he wondered if Invisigirl was with Phillip, in fact he would bet on it as he glanced at the space around Phillip to see if he could see any distortions and he couldn't see any but he could sense her the way he could sense Mirage in the past, the way she had taught him to anyway, and realized Invisigirl was so close to him, he could reach out and touch her if he tried but he got the sense she had an invisible weapon targeted at his head and knew that if he attempted to, he'd be dead by the time he made contact with her. His heart still stung at Mirage's betrayal which had hurt him the worst and when he was seen how she married some other billionaire playboy, it had dumped his ass into one of the worst depressions of his life and almost completely broke him, but the lessons she taught him were invaluable and he was finding himself grateful for them right in this moment.

"Mr. Pine, you are either really smart or really stupid, you had the nanochip, why didn't you just keep it? Why risk putting it back?" Phillip inquired curiously.

"I need a lawyer," Buddy answered firmly.

"Why? You're not under arrest. The authorities haven't been called, however if you don't cooperate with me I will be forced to contact them but for now, let's leave them out of this." Phillip said dismissively.

"What do you want?" Buddy asked wearily.

"I want you to work for me, not against me." Philip answered simply.

"I refuse to work for anyone but myself." Buddy defied.

"Are you sure you don't want to reconsider? You would have your own lab and assistants and an unlimited budget, you could set your own hours and have some say so in your own salary and have access to all the compounds and technology you could ever dream of." Phillip proposed. "You would even earn a high percentage of all sales of whatever you create in collaboration with SEB Enterprises, you'll even get press for IRize and all your other little corporations, shells or no and more opportunities for your collaboration with me and my company and all of my associates and other collaborators, of which we share a surprising amount of them." Phillip generously offered.

"So what's the catch?" Buddy asked with a subtle tilt of his head in Invisigirl's direction and just barely registered the feel of his hair brush up against something. She was right next to him and his gut feeling told him she had a weapon was pointed at his head as he felt her withdraw just a little to keep from getting too close.

"You will have to work for me for a minimum of 3 years. You will stay on campus at all times unless accompanied by a security detail and you will be monitored at all times in all things." Phillip informed him solemnly. "So it's either this or some high security super prison for 20-life. Because the evidence against you is pretty damning." Phillip specified.

"Can you give me some time to think it over?" Buddy inquired.

"Of course, take all the time you need, simply knock on the door when you've made a decision." Phillip replied as he got up and left the room as Buddy watched the hairs on his forearms lay back down before another meal was delivered to him, this time it was breakfast. At least Phillip knew how to treat a guest. Even a detained one, because Buddy wasn't in shackles and was being fed decent food at least and his little one room cell, while bare, was surprisingly comfortable.

Three hours later Buddy knocked on the door and a few minutes later Phillip came in, ready to hear his answer.

"I'll do it, however I have a few conditions of my own." Buddy started and was pleased to see Phillip nod.

"I want everything in writing, I want my criminal activity erased." Buddy began.

"Of course, my lawyers are writing our contract up as we speak and any and all evidence against you and IRise will be destroyed and dissolved within the hour. Anything else?" Phillip reassured him.

"I will only work for you for two years, no more," Buddy specified.

"Five years then because you want to negotiate the time frame. Or that 20-life in a super max prison." Phillip countered.

"Ok fine, three years it is." Buddy huffed.

"Agreed." Phillip said as he held out his hand for a handshake. Buddy took it and shook firmly as he could have sworn he heard a huff nearby. The two left the room and walked to an elevator where a secretary was waiting for them. Her hair up in a bun and her gray business jacket accentuated her tulip skirt with patterned hose and killer heels along with a pair of glasses that helped her see things most eyes could not as she used her stylus like a pen.

"Everything is ready Mr. Sebastian, the notary is already in conference room 12A." She informed him as she continued to work on an electronic pad diligently.

"Excellent, thank you Ms. Parr," Phillip replied in thanks before turning to Buddy. "Mr. Pine, I believe you already know my colleague and associate Miss Violet Parr." Phillip gestured before getting on the elevator that opened once they approached.

Buddy had to do a double take, he hadn't recognized her, she was standing right in front of him and she might as well have been invisible at first. However, now that he really looked at her and took notice, she was stunning. Like just...knock out gorgeous, should have been a model herself kind of beautiful. Even she could effortlessly rock the sexy assistant look but now that he saw her, he couldn't quite make himself look away. She was gorgeous even with glasses and just as breathtaking out of her suit as she had been in it and most likely, just as lethal. And just like that, those butterflies were back in his stomach, fluttering away.

"Yes, we are already too well acquainted," Violet answered as she stepped on the elevator herself, standing on one side of Phillip, using him like a shield between her and Buddy as she continued to work on her tablet and actively ignored him.

"Well I don't know about that," Buddy answered with a smirk before he could feel static electricity instantly build within the elevator as the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rose again. Ha, he got her tell.

"Easy," Phillip warned Violet, his tone surprisingly gentle. Violet exhaled in a huff and Buddy felt static electricity lull, the rest of the ride was in silence, the only sound, their breathing and the dinging of the elevator. Buddy noticed her breathing was noticeably huffy and almost labored while Phillip's was calm and even until they reached the twelfth floor before Violet was the first to cross the threshold before the doors fully opened, walking quickly while Phillip walked in tandem with Buddy as Phillip subtly studied Buddy's reactions to Violet.

Violet led the way to the conference room, she tapped her ID card against a reader and the door opened, revealing a notary and three lawyers, one of them being Buddy’s. All sitting at the table in the middle of the room with stacks of paperwork around them as Buddy was allowed to have some private council with his own lawyer who basically confirmed that it was either this or super max prison before they sat down to negotiate more terms of the contract.

Buddy wasn't an idiot, he read each and every single line on those contracts before signing them.

And it took four hours, a bottle of scotch, lunch and a whole variety of snack and dessert trays.

Violet looked like she wanted to die of boredom despite playing a game on her tablet for most of it and couldn't get out of there fast enough when it was all over, signed and notarized by everyone. Another assistant came to escort Buddy to his new 'apartment' which had already been filled with his things that were taken from his new compound while Phillip and Violet retreated to Phillips office.

"Well I am so glad that didn't take too long," Violet drawled sarcastically as she crashed on the comfy couch in his office after kicking her heels off. Phillip chuckled as he tossed her a bottle of water from his mini fridge in his desk and smiled when she caught it with ease.

"He's still smart, he wanted to make sure I wasn't taking him for a complete fool," Phillip countered as he took a long pull from his own water bottle as he idly watched her stretch and relax as she reclined on his couch in a very unladylike pose, with her feet up on the arm of the couch. But he loved the fact that she felt so comfortable around him and could just be herself rather than the super secret agent she felt she had to play with him. She could just be when she was alone with him and he liked it that way. No pretenses or anything like that.

"Do you think he'll honor the contract? Or do you think he'll run the first chance he gets?" Violet inquired.

"Oh I think as long as you're around, he'll stay right here. He looked at you at least a dozen times an hour, every move you made, he tried to catch." Phillip began as he glanced at Violet who had rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Speaking of which, I have a new assignment for you, I want you to be the liaison between him and I until the end of your contract." Phillip proposed.

"Hell no," Violet immediately spat as she gave him a dirty glare.

"Oh come on, all that means is you see him once a day for only a few minutes all the days we're stateside. Make sure he has everything he needs to keep him focused and relay messages back and forth," Phillip specified.

"That's what email is for." Violet retorted.

"But email is so impersonal," Phillip playfully argued in a mock complaint.

"That's exactly it, I don't want to have to deal with him any more than I absolutely have to. He did try to kill me as a child. What kind of monster purposefully kills kids? I'll tell you. Him. He's that monster. He tried to kill me, my family and kidnap Jack..," She began to go into a seething rant.

"And take over the world, yeah I know, I was there- but, that was a lifetime ago, clearly everyone involved has changed. I mean you saw him, the man is just one failed attempt away from completely imploding. And the fact that he was desperate enough to steal from me himself says a lot." He reminded her, keeping her from going into her full blown rant because he didn't want to rearrange his office...again.

"I still don't understand why he would stoop that low," Violet admitted as she thought that over again.

"I think he lost a spark ," Phillip conjectured. Violet raised a curious brow at his choice of words. "Writers and artists have muses, engineers have sparks." Phillip explained as he came over and sat on the couch with her before he nestled her head into his lap so she could look up at him.

"But if he's lost his spark, he's no good to you, it's been a decade, surely if he was going to get his 'spark ' back, don't you think he would have gotten it back by now?" Violet questioned.

"He's searching for it, pretty hard, I've been keeping him under surveillance for the last several years once he was recognized by my software. A man can only tinker so long." Phillip soothed as he began to pet her head to calm her down further.

"So he's either going to find it with you or die trying," Violet guessed.

"Exactly, besides, I know your past with him makes this especially hard and I am so proud of you for doing your best to put that aside and try to be professional and not kill him where he stands right now. But it's you who will have the last word in the matter. It's you who will get to decide if he lives or dies after his contract is up and inherit everything he has when we're done with him. Why do you think that contract included you as his heir apparent? Because once he dies, you and your family will get due recompense for everything he's done, he owes you and your family that much at least. You can put your big girl panties on and suck it up for two years. Then you get to spend that third year devising all the ways you want to torture him to death if you still want him dead after." Phillip soothed her as he started to pet her head, letting his own super ability lull her into a peaceful state, which worked extra strongly when he was able to touch her as she rolled over and faced him and took a deep, cleansing breath and mulled it over as she simply closed her eyes and soaked up this attention from him before she seemed to come to her own decision.

"You know, if I didn't know any better I would think you were an evil mastermind," Violet teased with a smug grin as she opened her eyes and tilted her head to look up at him.

"Hey now. Keep it to yourself, Edna hasn't finished my super villain suit yet," Phillip countered teasingly, causing Violet to glare at him, unimpressed by that dig. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Phillip placated with his hands up in defeat.

"You better be, ass," Violet grumbled.

"So will you take the job or not?" Phillip asked.

"You're going to have to up my salary again, make it worth my while." Violet insisted.

"I'll match his salary 200% as your bonus salary as long as both of you are in my employment- for the "suffering" of having to deal with him and be our liaison. And to really sweeten it, how about….oh, how about I give you a percentage of whatever he touches." Phillip offered.

"Twenty percent," Violet started.

"Ouch, no, I'm thinking 10 at the most," Phillip frowned.

"Fine, fifteen, same as Mr. Pine's percentage." Violet rebutted firmly.

"Deal," Phillip agreed. "And you start now," Phillip stipulated as he offered his hand for a shake and by now Violet knew that his handshake was as good as any contract, even one written in blood before he leaned down and kissed her sweetly.

"Fine," Violet caved before gave his gut a light playful punch that was barely a tap which made him recoil and hold his gut like she had really sucker punched him as his face scrunched up in pain which caused her to laugh which in turn made him beam a proud smile at her.

"And I want it in writing by the time I get back." Violet insisted.

"Of course," He nodded in agreement.

"And you still owe me dinner because lunch sucked." Violet reminded him as she slipped back into her heels before going down to a different lab and got the appropriate hardware for Buddy and made her way to Buddy's floor, using her key card to get to the floor, since his floor wasn’t shown on the elevator and she had to press two floors and press her keycard to the reader to get to it. She thought it was ridiculous that he would have more than a bed and a lab let alone an entire floor full of equipment and an apartment that rivaled most penthouses but Phillip wanted to give Buddy every opportunity to succeed by making sure he stayed comfortable.

She came into the lab to see him already at work. She knocked on a countertop to make her presence known so as not to startle him.

"How come you couldn't do that before?" Buddy asked wryly as he looked over at her as he was still putting things away in the lab section of the floor.

"Because you weren't supposed to know I was there. We have a few details we need to discus Mr. Pine." Violet began as she watched him pause and turn to face her to give her his complete attention before he started walking towards her and joined her at the island.

"First, you are never to address me as anything other than Ms. Parr and you will always conduct yourself in the utmost professional manner when dealing with me or any other employee, partner or associate of SEB Industries. I am your liaison to Mr. Sebastian himself so if there anything in particular that you need regarding your living and your work you can tell me. These are yours, your phone has been cloned into this before it was put to sleep, you can retrieve it once your contract is up." Violet stated as she held up the phone and the tablet before putting them down on the counter and sliding them towards him. "My number is under speed dial one and is only supposed to be used in emergencies and for vital business needs and inquires during reasonable business hours. And I swear to God if I get any flirtation from you or heaven forbid dick pics, I will personally cut your dick off and shove it down your throat and watch you choke on it before I throw your body into another jet engine turbine and feed your remains to the rats in the subway and then inherit everything you have and sell it off at auction to the highest bidder. Any information mining or manipulations by you will be met with the same treatment. Is that understood?" Violet specified as her gaze bored through him with a look that if it could kill, he would have been dead already.

"Yes Ma'am." Buddy nodded with a gulp.

"Now, while at SEB Industries we suggest little to no contact with the outside world other than of course the contact with various associates and colleagues to complete projects. However SEB does understand that there are certain 'needs' that only the outside world can satisfy." Violet explained as she cleared her throat and fought not to shudder and gag when she said 'needs'. "And those will be handled by the appropriate liaison which is not me. And that proper liaison is Leslie, she's on speed dial 2 who will also take care of anything outside of the normal business hours. Now, is there anything in particular you need or want at this time? Perhaps dinner?" She offered as she noticed the time.

"Dinner sounds great, as long as you will eat it with me," Buddy answered hopefully but she narrowed her eyes as he felt the static electricity build up again for a moment before she simply took a deep breath.

"Unfortunately I have prior engagements, but you do have access to a full kitchen in the apartment side of this floor that should be well stocked, and if it is lacking feel free to create a grocery list and I will have an assistant fulfill it. We also allow take out to be delivered although anything you receive will be subjected to inspection and scans. But there is a drawer next to your fridge full of menus of all the restaurants who deliver here or you could order something online. Do you understand the terms I have dictated?" She explained as explicitly as she could and as calmly and as professionally as she could because she had to swallow all the anger and rage she felt towards him down for now because it was her job. But if he dared cross the line, she had no qualms about ending him where he stood.

"Yes," Buddy confirmed with a nod.

"Do you have any questions?" Violet obligatorily asked.

"Are you free for dinner tomorrow?" Buddy asked before he saw her slip her metaphoric mask on more tightly.

"No. Good day Mr. Pine, good luck with your work," Violet coldly replied before turning and leaving her heels clicking in her wake.

Buddy smirked and went back to work. His own plan was working well.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 16

Warnings: Profanity, angst (sort of)

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​

I had some of you call attention to another fic that was jacking pieces of my mine (including my OC) and I just want to thank you guys for having my back! You know who you are ;)   God that other site is a cesspool!

After their naps and lunch, Tyler takes the two littlest down to the water; settling down at the edge with a life jacket clad Declan next to him, the toddler crouching down to dig and play in the wet sand.  He holds Addie along his forearm, the back of her head resting in his palm, his other hand cupping water and allowing it to the drop through his fingers and onto her tiny body. Starting at the top of her feet and slowly moving all the way to the top of her head; her eyes widening and her toes curling at the texture and the temperature, yet never uttering even the smallest of cries. He remembers doing the same with Millie; taking her to the beach as often as possible, slowly and patiently working at getting her used to the water. It had been a big part of his life growing up; the happiest times of his often painful and traumatizing childhood had all happened near or in the water. Spending hours there with his mother. She’d been the one who had taught how to swim and had recruited a neighbor to give him surfing lessons.

It’s where he’s always felt grounded. Relaxed by the feel of the water against his body, the sound of the waves, the smell of salt that lingers in the air. And sharing it with his children is of dire importance; that they have good memories of their father.  Not ones of him leaving in the middle of the night and not returning for days and often weeks on end. Not of him coming back through the front door with stitches and bruises marring his face, broken bones set in casts, arms in slings.   They are all just babies still. Way too young to be burdened with memories of THAT life.    Once they’d moved, he’d decided to devote himself to being the best father he can possibly be; one that spends time with them, who doesn’t miss birthdays, who isn’t too hung over to get up and make breakfast for them in the morning.  All mistakes that he’s already made and will regret for the rest of his life.

Much like her big sister, Addie shows no fear of the water. There’s no flinching or grimacing or fussing; even when he cups a handful of it in his palms and lets it trickle down onto the top of her head. Millie had been the same. Fearless. And still is almost six years later. Always willing to try new things, spending her entire day in and out of the water if you’d let her. The twins had been apprehensive; living in Colorado all their lives, they’d never been exposed to the ocean, and it had been overwhelming and scary for both. But they’d battled through it; both decent, strong swimmers that now shared their father’s passion for surfing. Declan prefers to say on the sidelines; happy to just sit in the surf while watching his siblings.

The introduction to the new neighbor is still playing in his mind; the awkward yet rather amusing way she rambled when embarrassed, her blatant honesty, the way she hadn’t been the least bit shy when it came to checking him out and making comments about what she saw. He’s not sure if he finds her charming or annoying.  If he wouldn’t mind her coming by on a regular basis or if he’d try and avoid her as much as possible. Meeting new people isn’t easy for him; he’d spent decades constantly looking over his shoulder, viewing everyone around him as a potential threat.  His suspiciousness and leeriness of strangers became even more intense when became a father again, and then reaching its peak when Michael McMann had come alone and put his family in danger. It’s why living somewhere fairly remote had been so important; he’s able to control who comes around the people he loves. He doesn’t always have to be so guarded. He could let the kids out onto the beach to play –within eyesight- and not worry that someone was out there lurking around, waiting for a chance to grab one of them. He craves the privacy that comes hand in hand with where they’ve chosen to settle down; more relaxed with the sense of security being here has brought him.

Which is why he hadn’t been the exactly thrilled to hear that his wife had been so welcoming to the new neighbor. That she’d not only befriended her so quickly but had taken his two youngest over to the woman’s house. Had entrusted her –a stranger- with Declan’s care.  It had unnerved and angered him. That she’d be that careless with not only her own safety, but with the safety of his children as well. For someone that had been in the job herself, she is far too trusting. Always seeing the side of everyone without even considering their bad side. She’d called him paranoid; accuse of him being overprotective and making her feel as if he wanted to keep her a prisoner in her own home. It isn’t his intention.  Yes, he’s protective. He’s the first one to admit to that. But given some of the things that have happened to them –to her- in the past six and a half years, he feels he has a reason to be. He’d come close to losing her. Twice. Three times if he counted their six-month separation.  And there’s no way in hell he’s letting that happen again; no way he ever lets a stranger get close enough to hurt her.

Even now he’s on edge. Occasionally glancing each way down the beach. The bend around the woods in one direction, the expanse of near white sand in the other; near indiscernible outlines of other that live on the road enjoying their own private sections of beach.  Even looking over his shoulder towards the house; almost expecting to see someone watching him from the back patio or creeping up behind him. The latter fills him with panic; strong and choking.  And he briefly closes his eyes in an attempt to chase it away.  Logically he knows it’s unhealthy, living like this. But logic is a rarity these days.

He places his other forearm under Addie, one hand over the other as he slowly lowers her into the water; until it just reaches the outer edge of her ears. She’s calm. Content. Not a fear in the world. Those dark eyes rivetted on his blue ones; nothing but pure and utter trust and faith in him. It’s as if...even at that young of an age...she knows that nothing will ever happen to her if he’s around. That there’s nothing he won’t do to keep her safe.

Declan settles down beside him, tucking the little –yet remarkably solid- body tightly into his side, a sand covered thumb stuck in his mouth.  

“That’s just gross, mate,” he little nudges the toddler with his elbow. “I know us guys do some gross shit, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Shit,” Declan echoes, and reluctantly removes the thumb from his mouth in favor of curling both arms around Tyler’s bicep.  

He’s always been the affectionate one; a constant need to be physically close to either his mother or father. It’s comforting to him; the feel of their skin or even their hair against him, giving him a sense of calm and security. Even when he was a baby he’d had ‘wandering hands’, constantly touching their face or holding a piece of their clothing while taking a bottle or being rocked to sleep.  Deeply sensitive and intuitive for someone so young. Much like Tanner; an old soul stuck in a tiny body. Their father’s looks but their mother’s personality.  

Tyler stretches both legs out in front of him; grimacing at the sharp, sudden pain that comes from both the right knee and hip.  The latter is new; most likely from falling asleep on it or pulling something while working out. And he lays Addie along his thighs; one hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun, the other coming to rest on to side of Declan’s head as he presses a kiss to his hair.

“Tired?”

“’ungry,” Declan replies.

“Hungry?” Tyler grins. “Again? You just ate.”

Declan shrugs. “’ungry,” he repeats.

“Me too. Wanna go home? Get something to eat?”

The toddler nods, then gives a loud yawn before scrambling to his feet. “Stanny!” he suddenly announces, and then points down the beach.

“Who’s Stanny?”

“Daddy...look...” Declan grabs a handful of Tyler’s hair. “Stanny!”

He glances towards whatever has captured his son’s attention; a tan and black pug running towards them, the frazzled neighbor in hot pursuit. And he grabs a hold of the back of Declan’s shorts before he can bolt, easily and effectively keeping the kind in place.

“You don’t do that,” he scolds his son, tone harsher than it needs to be. “You don’t run of off that like that. Ever.”  He’s agitated. Annoyed. Even pissed off. For six months he’s enjoyed the privacy their stretch of land has providing, liking the anonymity that relative seclusion has given him. Now twice in less than two hours someone has had the nerve to invade his ‘happy place’ as his wife calls it. And not just someone. The same someone.

“Is there a part of ‘private beach’ you don’t understand?” he inquires, as Salena finally reaches them, crouching down in the sand to allow Declan to climb all over her; hugging and kissing her before he settles down to play with the pug as it rolls around in the sand.

“Well maybe Mac is smart enough to read, but Stanny isn’t,” she retorts.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but they make these things called leashes. I could buy you one if you need me to.”

“Mac isn’t always on leash,” Salena points out.

“Mac doesn’t leave our property, so....”

“Are you always this grumpy?” she inquires. “Were you born this way or...”

“It’s a gift. You know, for six months I’ve haven’t seen anyone other than my own family. I kind of like it that way. Now I’ve seen you twice. In the same day.”

“You’re anti-social.”

“You can put it that way if you want. I like my privacy.”

“Esme told me you get this like this,” she says. “Intense.”

“Yeah? Well Esme needs to learn to keep her mouth shut. She’s a little too...”

“Talkative.”

He shakes his head. “Trusting.”

“And that’s a problem because....”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“Sounds like you’re the one with the problem. Not her.”

Tyler smirks. “If you lived the life I had, you wouldn't trust anyone either.”

She arches an eyebrow and cocks her head to the side. “What kind of life is that?”

“The kind that’s not of your business. Really?” he asks, sighing heavily and rolling his eyes when she sits down beside him. “Am I giving off some kind of vibe that says: ‘make yourself comfortable’? Do I seem like I’m interested in making friends?”

“No,” Salena admits. “But maybe you need one.”

“Unlike my wife, I don’t feel the need to have contact with people outside of my family.”

“That sounds unhealthy.”

“What’s unhealthy is the things I’m thinking towards you right now.”

She grins. “Dirty things?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Ragey things. Violent things. Has anyone ever told you they want to drown you before? Because that’s what I want to do to you right now.”

“You know what I’m most curious about when it comes to you? How someone like Esme ends up with someone like you. She’s so...I don’t know...her. And you’re so...you.”

“You were checking me out below the waist earlier. There's your answer. My secret when it comes to keeping her around.”

It’s Salena’s turn to smirk. “I think you can be pretty charming when you want to be. When you let yourself be. What kind of job did you have before? Is that what made you like this? So... I don’t know...bitchy.”

“People make me bitchy,” Tyler informs her. “People like you.”

“All the scars,” she comments, as her hand reaches out to rest on his shoulder; fingertips tracing the thin, slightly puckered line that runs from the base of his neck to the top of his right shoulder. “Whatever you did before must have been pretty hard core.”

He yanks his arm away, annoyed by her touch. “I was in the army. SASR.”

“Special Air Services Regiment. That’s impressive. You served overseas?”

“A handful of times.”

“What did you do after that? How’d you meet Esme?”

“Why are asking me all of this? Why is it so important to you?”

She shrugs. “Curiosity.”

“We worked together. The people we were both working for at the time put us together on a job.”

“Who were these people?”

“None of our business.”

“Why so secretive? Was it THAT bad? So awful that neither of you will talk about it?”

“We left that life behind. We don’t talk about it because it didn’t exactly end well. So we put it in the past and moved on. And that’s where we want it to stay. In the past.”

“Was it illegal?”

He scowls. “What did I just say?”

“I’ll get it out of you eventually.  Once we become friends too.”

Tyler snorts. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“You’re used to getting your own way, aren’t you,” she states.

“I’m used to people minding their own business and leaving me alone. There’s six people in this world I want around me. You’re not on the list.”

“Not yet,” she sing songs.

Tyler rolls his eyes.

“Opposites really do attract, I guess. You and Esme are just so different. She’s very cute and sweet and friendly and...”

“You don’t know her that well. You think you know everything there is to know about her in just a few days? There’s way more do her than that, trust me.”

“...and you’re so...you.  You must balance each other out in some way. I’m still trying to figure out how.”

“Well don’t strain yourself too hard.”

She smirks. “You CAN be a real dick.”

“It’s my specialty. Along with scaring people away.”

“You’re not THAT scary. Okay,” she laughs, when he stares at her pointedly. “Maybe you are. Although I think intimidating is a better word to describe you. You intimidate people.  You’ve got this intense way about you and you’re freakishly tall and you’ve got all the muscles and the tattoos and the scars and the huge arms. Can I touch them?”

He laughs. “What?”

“Your arms. Can I touch them? I’ve never seen arms like that.”

“Yeah...no....you can’t. That’s just weird as fuck.”

“What about your back? Can I touch that?”

He frowns. “What is wrong with you?”

“You’ve never had anyone to ask you to flex so they can touch your back or your arms?”

“I’m not in the habit of letting women touch me. Especially weird ones.”

“Because your wife wouldn’t like it? Because she’d get jealous?”

“Because I respect her. Why would I let other women touch me? I’m married. Happily.”

“So then why do you look like that? Why do you work so hard to get a body like that?”

“Because I can. Because I want to. And because my wife likes it. You know, the one woman who’s allowed to touch me. As much as she wants.”

Salena grins. “Intense AND loyal.”

“I’m faithful,” Tyler corrects her. “So if you’ve got something going on in that head of yours, you need to get it out of there. Because it’s never going to happen. I don’t cheat.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. And what the fuck is with all the weird questions?”

“You’re the one answering them,” Salena points out. “You haven’t told me to fuck off. Yet.”

“I’m getting there. Any minute now.”

“’ungry,” Declan announces, and plops down into the sand, a pout on his face.

“I gotta feed him before he goes into a Hulk rage,” Tyler says. “I’d say it was nice talking to you, but...”

“You’re warming up to me,” she says. “Admit it.”

“Yeah, no. Sorry,” he smirks, as he tucks Addie into his chest, hand supporting the back of her head as he stands up.

“You’re a tough nut to crack, Tyler Rake,” she calls after him.

“You get used to it,” he says, then takes Declan by the hand and leads him towards the house.

****

He’s in the kitchen when she arrives home; standing at the sink in just a pair of well-worn and tattered jeans that sit low on his hips, hair damp and messy, a slight sunburn noticeable across his shoulders and the back of his neck. Tending to the dirty dishes in the sink and making up a dozen baby bottles to store in the fridge. It’s a far cry from the man he used to be. The one who’d taken out nearly an entire apartment full of hostiles in Dhaka with his bare hands. Yet it’s phenomenally attractive; the domestic side of him. To see someone that big and that strong tending to the more simple and mundane things of everyday life. He enjoys the simplicity of it all because it is far removed from the life he used to live.

“Hey,” she greets, as she places her purse on one of the barstools in front of the island and two shopping ones –one brown paper- on top of the counter. “You’re busy, busy,” she says, as she lays a hand on the small of his back, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down to kiss her. “No rest for the weary, huh? Where’s Declan and the baby?”

“Both asleep. Second nap of the day.”

“Wow, you really do have some skills. Getting them to a second nap already? Normally he’s still fighting the first one when I’m home alone with him.”

“I use threats.”

“And by threats you mean you bribe him,” she grins, and carries the paper bag to the fridge. “The market was extra good today,” she says, as she begins unloading her purchases. “I bought all kinds of goodies.”

“That better not be kale. Because if you start feeding me that shit again...”

“It’s good for you,” she informs him.

“It tastes like grass clippings and the tears of baby animals.”

“Well lucky for you, I can’t stand the taste of either. It’s spinach. To make salads with. You wrote it on the list. For your smoothies. What’s this?” she pulls out an unfamiliar plastic container and peers under the lid. “Have you been experimenting in the kitchen again, or...”

“I dunno. Something the neighbor brought over. She’s really annoying by the way.”

“You think everyone is annoying. Including me sometimes. Mmm. Taco salad. We can have it with supper tonight. I thought maybe we could try and patch things up Ovi before you start busting his ass. Maybe you can come some stuff on the barbecue?”

“Whatever you want, baby. You’re the boss.”

“You’re finally admitting that after six and a half years?” she teases, and then pops open the lid on the plastic container and grabs a spoon from the silverware drawer. “You want to try some?”

Tyler frowns. “You’re actually going to eat that?”

“Well it’s not just to look at,” she laughs, then scoops up some of the salad. “By the way, the doctor sent something home for you.”

“Viagra?”

“Please. As if you need Viagra. You can get it up if there’s a stiff in the room. I made him write you a note. Saying that it’s perfectly okay for us to go back to regular activities.”

He grins. “Regular activities as in...”

“Yes, as in that. He says there’s no rule that says we have to wait that long. That a lot of couples go right back to having sex as soon as they feel comfortable. He just said that we have to be careful because there’s higher risk for things like uterine infections and all that. So you can erase that memo on your phone. The one that’s counting down the days until your dry spell is over.”

“I’m not doing anything until I see the note.”

“He even put it in an envelope with your name on it. Just like he did when you were the only one who wanted to know if Addie was going to be a boy or a girl,” she journeys over to where her purse sits, digging through it until she finds the item in question, then joins him at the sink and holds it out to him. “So there you go. No more solo studying for you.”

“I was kind of enjoying all the blowjobs,” Tyler grins.

“Well it doesn’t mean we have to stop those. Just that we can do other things now too. The things we enjoy the most. So...” she pops some of the salad on her spoon into her mouth. “Oh my God. So good. You have to try some.”

“I don’t want to try it,” he says, and tears into the envelope.

“You’ll like it. I’ve been feeding your ass for six and a half years. I think I know if you’ll like something. “

He frowns and looks down at the food being offered to him.

“When did you get so picky? You’re in a bulk and when you’re in a bulk, you eat everything. “

“I don’t know what’s in it.”

“Hamburger meat, cheese, onions, tomatoes, taco seasoning, pieces of crushed up Doritos. What’s not to like?”

“It’s not that I won’t like it. It’s that I don’t know what’s in it.”

“Tyler,” she sighs. “Our new neighbor is not trying to poison you. Get a grip. I just had some and I feel fine. Humor me, please.”

He finally relents, then nods in approval.

“You need to stop being so paranoid,” she points the spoon at him, then drops it into the sink and returns the container to the fridge. Why would she try to kill you? She’s harmless.”

“Jeffery Dahmer probably seemed harmless at first too.”

“I highly doubt she’s a cannibalistic serial killer. Not everyone is a threat, regardless of what you think. I thought you were getting better about that. Your fear of strangers.”

“First, it’s not a fear. I’m not afraid of anyone and you know that. Second, when did you become so trusting of them? You did the job too.  You know you can’t trust anyone. That you have to see everyone as a possible threat.”

“Well I’m not on the job anymore. And neither are you. It’s time to let that go. This thinking everyone is up to no good and out to get you. It’s not healthy and you know it.   Arre you taking your meds?”

“Yes!” he snaps. “Why is that your go to for everything? Why do you automatically get on my ass about taking my meds? I’m not a fucking child.”

“I never said you were a child. But I know what you’re like. How you go on and off of them all the damn time. And I know what you get like when you don’t take them. You don’t need to jump down my throat at the stupidest shit. If you can’t handle being alone with two of them at once...”

“That’s not fucking it. When have I ever had a hard time being alone with two at once? I’ve been alone with all five of them and never had any issues. I’m not a rookie that doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

“Okay, I don’t know what’s crawled up your ass, but what the hell Tyler? If you didn’t want me going out with my brother, why didn’t you just say something. If you wanted to be the one that went with me to the doctor, you didn’t you just tell me that and Kyle would have stayed with Declan and Addie.”

“I don’t give a shit about any of that,” he snarls.

“So then what the fuck? You were fine when I left the house. You were even fine when I walked in here ten minutes ago. Now you’re like this? What the hell?”

“How do you even know that Sabrina or Sally or whatever the fuck her name is?”

“Her name is Salena. She’s our neighbor. And she happens to be a very nice person.”

“So all of a sudden we’re making friends with the neighbors?”

“Yes, Tyler. Because that’s what people do. They make friends. At least that's what normal people do. We are not getting into this. We are not having this argument again.  We’ve had this argument at least once a month since we moved here. You don’t like me being friends with other moms at the school, you don’t like me hanging out with the girls I met in the toddler  playgroup, you didn’t like me going into town to meet with other moms at that mom’s social thing at the community center. Enough.”

“You don’t even know her,” he attempts to reason, as she snags a bottle of water from the fridge. “Yet you just go over there and hang like you’ve been friends with her forever?”

“How else do I get to know people? Or is that the problem? You don’t want me getting to know people. You just want me all to yourself for some goddamn reason. Like you think I’m going to meet people and suddenly forget I’m a wife and a mother and want me single again.”

“That’s not what I think.”

“People have friends Tyler. Maybe you don’t. And I don’t get on your ass about that. You like being alone. You like it when it’s just us and the kids. And I get why you’re like that and I respect it and understand it and I don’t pressure you to get out of your comfort zone. I get why you are the way you are. But I’m not like you. No matter how hard you try to make me like you.”

“I don’t try to make you like me. I don’t expect you to. But you’re taking my kids over there. My two littlest kids. My two most vulnerable. You even had her watch Declan. He was over there. Alone.”

“What do you think is going to happen to them? What do you think she was going to do to him? She’s just a nice person.”

“No one is that nice.”

“In your experience. I’ve met tons of really nice people. I met tons of them when I used to volunteer at the school and go on field trips and got to be around the other moms. But I wasn’t allowed to be around them for too long, was I. Because you didn’t want me to be alone with anyone, yet you didn’t want to tag along and hang around with the other dads either.”

“What the hell am I going to have in common with other dads?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Tyler. Maybe there’s another hired killer among them just waiting for you to come along.”

His eyes narrow. “That’s fucking low and you know it.”

“You’re right,” Esme admits. “That was. And I’m sorry. But I’m sick of this. I’m sick and tired of this same bullshit from you. Where you think it’s perfectly healthy and normal to keep me locked up like a goddamn prisoner in my own home.”

“That is not what I’m trying to do.”

“Look, I know you want to protect e. And I understand why you’re so hell bent on it. I know that everything with McMann has put you so on edge that even six months later you can’t let go of it. I get it. Especially considering what happened at his house and what he told you he would have done to me. I get that’s fucked you up. And I love you for wanting to keep me safe. But I’ve always felt safe with you. Always.”

“I just want to protect you.”

“But it’s an obsession with you. Can’t you see that? It’s not normal. It’s so far from normal. I’m not some package that you need to get safely to someone.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because it doesn’t seem that way. I’m not some fragile little thing that someone’s hired you to bring back to the. I’m your wife.”

“Yeah, you are. And you’re mother of my children. And it’s not fucking okay that you took my kids over to a stranger’s house and put them in danger.”

“In danger of what? What is going to happen to them? She’s harmless!”

“You don’t know that!” he snarls.

“I do know that. And if you sat down and thought about it logically instead of emotionally, your instincts would tell you the same thing.”

“I’m going to be emotional!” Tyler argues. “Those are my fucking kids!”

“They’re my kids too. Or do you conveniently forget that when you hear something you don’t like? You didn’t make those kids on your own and you sure as hell didn’t give birth to them.”

He sighs heavily, nostrils flaring. “You know what, don’t get fucking mouthy with me. You took my kids and you intentionally put them in danger and...”

“Oh no you don’t,” she furiously interjects. “You do not accuse me of being neglectful when it comes to OUR kids. That’s out of line and you know it. Because I would die for those kids in a heartbeat. No questions asked. And I’ve spent almost six years dedicating every waking moment to taking care of them. And I’ve given everything I have to you, too. And yet you have the fucking nerve to accuse me of intentionally putting OUR kids in harm's way?  Fuck you, Tyler. I wasn’t the one taking off all the time and leaving those kids. I’ve made some mistakes, but don’t you dare stand there acting like you’re the perfect fucking parent. Because you’ve fucked up. A lot.”

He nods in agreement. The truth hitting him hard. Her words stinging. And considerably knocking down the level and intensity of his anger. “You’re right,” he says, as leans back against the counter, arms crossed over chest. “I have.”

“I’m the one that cleaned your messes up when it comes to those kids,” tears stream down her face. Hot. Angry. Hurt. “Every time you were away, and you missed a birthday. Every time you were too hungover to even get out of bed in the morning and have breakfast with them. Or when we were separated, and you were too drunk to even remember you had visitation with them. I’m the one that had to answer their questions when they wondered if you left because they were bad and if you didn’t want to see them because you hated them. You don’t know what that was like. Hearing Millie and the twins asking those things. Seeing how heartbroken they were because all the wanted was for you to come home yet you couldn’t even bother to clean yourself up to spend time with them.”

Sighing once more, he crosses one ankle over the other; eyes riveted on the floor, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he struggles with his own emotions.  It’s not a shock to hear those things; he knows the things he’s done and the mistakes he’s made. But to hear that his kids had asked those questions...that they thought he wasn’t around because they’d done something or because he hated them...hurts like no other pain he’s ever experienced.

“How dare you come at me like that,” she continues, wiping frantically at the tears that stain her cheeks. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I made a friend. And I trusted her with Declan for a couple of hours. And if you trusted me at all...”

“I do trust you. You’re one of the few people I do trust.”

“...you wouldn’t accuse of doing something to hurt him. Because I would never hurt him. I would never hurt any of your kids. Because I love them, and I love you, and you guys are the best things that have ever happened to me.   No...” she shoves his hands away when he reaches for her. “...don’t...don’t touch me...”

He ignores her, wrapping both arms around her slender body and drawing her tightly against him. An arm circling her waist, a hand on the back of her head, holding it to his chest.

“I’m a human being, Tyler. And I need to feel like one. I need to be more than just a wife and a mother. Because I don’t even know who I am anymore outside of those things. And that can’t be all there is to be life. No matter how much I love you and our kids. I don’t want that to be all there is.”

“It’s okay,” he drops a kiss on the top of her head. “It’s going to be okay.”

“And I’m sorry. If the things I said hurt you.  But you hurt me, and I lashed out and...”

“I’m sorry, Esme. I didn’t mean to say the shit I did. I was just annoyed and pissed off and you’re always the one that has to pay the price. And I fucking hate that. That I do that to you.”

“I don’t want to this anymore. I don’t want to fight like this with you. We were doing so good and then this shit Ovi happened and Nik showed back up and it all just went to hell again. And I hate that. That we take all this shit on each other. Because it’s not fair. To either of us.”

“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”

“I don’t want to fight with you. You’re the last person I want to fight with. We’re supposed to be in this together. Not letting shit come between us like this.  We need to work harder. At not letting things get between us. Or we won’t make it. And I want to.”

“So do I,” he says, and places both hands on the sides of her hands, thumbs clearing away her tears. “I love you. Even if I have a shitty way of showing it sometimes.”

“I love you too.”

He kisses her. Long and soft. Tasting the salt that lingers on her lips.

“I need to go lie down. You can come too if you want. But I understand if you want to be alone. That was a lot to hear and you probably hate me for some of it.”

“I could never hate you,” he assures her, and places his lips against her brow. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” she gives a small smile before resting her forehead against his chest.  

He combs his fingers through her hair, allowing the soft tresses to slide between his fingers before she pulls away.  “I’ll change,” he says.  “I promise.”

She just gives a small nod, attempting another smile before stepping away and leaving the room.

[ruminativerabbi]

When A Torah Falls to the Ground

I don’t believe I had ever heard of Rabbi Israel of Brno until earlier this week. Or maybe I had heard of him, but without knowing who he was or having read any of his surviving works. Born around the year 1400 and gone from the world in 1480, his life span covered almost the entire fifteenth century. And he had, to say the least, a tumultuous life, on one occasion being imprisoned by the authorities after someone lodged a blood libel against him by claiming he had kidnapped a Christian youth to make some sort of ritual use of the lad’s blood. (That story actually has a good ending—or at least it did for Rabbi Israel: his accuser eventually recanted and was subsequently executed. But they still only let the rabbi out of jail once he formally renounced any future effort to secure compensation for the injustice done him.) I mention him, though, not because of any of those details, but because he is apparently the earliest authority to suggest that the correct way to respond to seeing a Torah scroll, or even a pair of tefillin, fall to the floor is to take the incident as a sign from Heaven for the community to consider its deeds, to spend time in repentance for known and unknown sins, and to fast as a way of atoning for the misdeeds of individuals in the community and of the community itself.

This was an almost natural development of an earlier idea mentioned in the Talmud, where a well-known text enumerates the specific instances in which, after having rent one’s clothing in grief, the tear may never be sewn up: when mourning the loss of a parent and the loss of one’s primary teacher of Torah, when gazing on the site of the destroyed Temple in Jerusalem, or when expressing one’s sense of deep loss after having witnessed the burning of a Torah scroll. (There are others too.) The commentators focus on each instance separately, in the case of the Torah scroll wondering if the law is different if the scroll is burnt accidentally or intentionally, if one actually sees the incident or is merely present in synagogue when it happens, and if it is completely or only partially destroyed. But Rabbi Israel of Brno (pronounced Bruna by the Jews of the time) was the first to decree that the proper response even just to seeing a Torah scroll fall to the ground, let alone to seeing it burnt to ash, is to fast as an expression of sorrowful repentance and to take the incident neither as happenstance nor accident, but as a word from Heaven to the community that the time has come for it to consider its ways and devote time to asking the most monitory of all self-directed questions for any Jewish community: whether the community itself is worthy of having a Torah scroll in its midst. Not whether they can raise the money to repair or replace the damaged scroll. Not what procedures they should put in place to guarantee that this kind of accident never happen again. Not, and least of all, whom they should blame for the incident having happened in the first place. Instead, Rabbi Israel suggests that a far more disorienting question be asked: whether this incident can successfully inspire the community to look deep within to consider how privileged its members are to own a Torah scroll in the first place, let alone a dozen of them, and to ask what exactly they have done to make themselves worthy of that privilege.

These are not stress-free questions to contemplate. The urge to wave the whole incident away as a mere accident, thus as something to be regretted but not taken all that seriously, is intense. And hiding behind the whole question of how to respond when a Torah falls to the ground is the even deeper, far more anxiety-producing one regarding the way in general that God speaks to the world, to us all, to each of us. Are the circumstances of our lives—the things that happen to us, the successes we celebrate and the setbacks we endure, the accomplishments we achieve and the failures we regret—to what extent is any of these things, let alone all of them, meant to bear meaning beyond the obvious details of the event itself? Shelter Rockers know that I often speak from the bimah about the concept of personal destiny. And that concept too is part of the larger discussion here. Are the big things that happen to us part of God’s plan for our lives? What about the less big things, about the twists and turns along the road of life we all experience? What about individual incidents—arriving at the site of an armed robbery when the robber was already fleeing the scene instead of ten minutes earlier (this happened to me in college), being in a minor airplane accident that led directly to meeting your future spouse in a specific setting and at a specific hour (ditto), having the bus you’re on break down in the middle of nowhere on Erev Yom Kippur thus guaranteeing that you spend Kol Nidre evening in a chilly field of purple flowers instead of in shul (also)—what about incidents like that? Is that how God speaks these days to whomever will listen? (And if so, then why not far more clearly, as in ancient times when prophets wandered the world proclaiming the word of God forcefully and clearly?)

As many readers already know, we had the terrible experience last Shabbat of seeing a Torah scroll fall from the Torah-reading table to the ground, whereupon it rolled down the stairs to the floor of the sanctuary and ripped almost in two. It was, to say the very least, a heart-stopping moment…for me, certainly, but also for everybody present both physically and virtually. I’ve known that Talmudic passage mentioned above about rending our garments in the style of mourners when we see a Torah scroll for decades. (Just for the record, the text is clearly meant to reference an intentional act of desecration.) But I don’t think I ever really understood it until this last Saturday—or rather I understood it intellectually but not emotionally or viscerally.

Of course, the physical thing—the parchment and the ink, the gut used to sew the panels together and the wooden handles—is just the vessel, the pot: the “real” Torah is constituted of the words themselves, how they sound and what they mean. So here too it feels like it should be easy to look past the physical thing and feel secure that the words themselves were safe. But that’s not at all how it felt. I remembered, somehow, that we don’t rend our garments on Shabbat, so I didn’t make that error. (And also that law applies solely to acts of intentional desecration, not accidents.) But it was still a chilling moment, one that no one present is going to forget easily or even possibly at all.

We have been responding, I think, in a positive manner. Each morning we have been adding the 130th psalm to the worship service, the same psalm we add in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur as a way of inspiring repentance born jointly of serious introspection and trust in God’s saving power. As soon as Chanukah is over, we will be adding in Avinu Malkeinu as well, the extended supplication recited on fast days and also on the Ten Days of Repentance between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. A week from today, on Friday, December 25, we will be observing the Fast of the Tenth of Tevet—a relatively obscure fast day generally ignored by most but this year to be imbued with the hope of a whole community that through the traditional media of repentance—prayer, fasting, and giving charity to the needy—we achieve a state of atonement for whatever flaws in our personal behavior, or in our communal comportment, that led to this signal being vouchsafed to us all.

The sages of old understood the universe to be an organic whole composed of disparate but intricately interconnected pieces, something of the way the human body consists of many different bits and pieces that are distinct yet intricately interrelated by virtue of being part of the same organism. That being the case, the thought that happenstance be alive with meaning is not that far-fetched. Whether the Creator always speaks through creation seems unlikely. (I broke a glass bowl Sunday when I was emptying the dishwasher and found the incident to be suggestive solely of my own clumsiness.) But that creation—and not solely the physical universe but the universe of deeds, events, and, yes, accidents—that creation can serve as the medium for the Creator’s tweets, that seems entirely reasonable to me.

In the wake of the incident, I received many, many emails offering to help both with repairing the scroll and with interpreting the event. All were heartfelt and helpful, but I would like to quote in closing just from the one written by Stuart Stein. “The Torah scroll,” Stuart wrote, “is ultimately words on parchment wrapped on wooden spindles. The Torah’s message and meaning stay firmly and permanently secure in each of our hearts, thus forming part of who each of us is. And from that perch it simply cannot fall.”  I couldn’t have said it better myself!

[sciencespies]

Ten Innovators to Watch in 2021

https://sciencespies.com/nature/ten-innovators-to-watch-in-2021/

Ten Innovators to Watch in 2021

This past year left us with no shortage of incredible innovations, chief among them Covid-19 vaccines. Following a harrowing 2020, we’re excited to see how innovators continue to push the envelope and bring forth what they think the world needs. From celebrating and honoring black history to improving the mental health of K-12 students, we’re keeping our eyes on these ten groundbreakers as they share their visions with the world.

Chicken-less Egg Connoisseur Arturo Elizondo

Arturo Elizondo

(Clara Foods)

“Like any good Mexican, I had two eggs for breakfast every morning, and like any good Texan I had my barbeque every Sunday,” says Arturo Elizondo. But when he learned about the devastating impacts that livestock has on the environment, he set out to find a better, more sustainable way to produce animal protein. In 2014, he co-founded Clara Foods with cell biologist David Anchel with a mission to take animals out of animal proteins.

Similar to how brewers use yeast to convert sugar into alcohol for beer, Clara Foods uses yeast and sugar to produce animal protein. Specifically, Elizondo and his team are working to produce egg proteins—one of the most challenging to find alternatives for. One trillion eggs are consumed across the globe each year, but it takes a whopping 600 gallons of water to produce a dozen eggs, he says. Since they’re so versatile and globally loved, Clara Foods is offering a cleaner alternative so that people can still enjoy eggs in all their culinary forms without the tremendous environmental impact.

Clara Foods has been knee-deep in research and development for the last six years, but the company is officially coming out of their “eggshell” in 2021 when they launch the world’s first egg protein made without a chicken, Elizondo says.

Problem-Solving Wunderkind Gitanjali Rao

Gitanjali Rao

(Gitanjali Rao)

As a 15-year-old, Gitanjali Rao is the youngest innovator on our list, but she’s certainly one to watch. She’s already tackling some of the greatest problems affecting current generations: lack of access to clean water, opioid addiction and cyberbullying.

After hearing about the water crisis in Flint, Michigan, Rao was shocked to learn that people in the United States and beyond still don’t have access to safe, clean water. In response, she invented Tethys—a sensor that can detect lead in water and upload results from the water sample to an app, allowing users to quickly and affordably see if water is safe to drink. She’s also worked to address the opioid crisis by developing Epione, a way to diagnose prescription opioid addictions for patients at the onset of addiction, after hearing about a family friend who developed an addiction after a car accident. And to address cyberbullying—a problem especially relevant to her age group—Rao developed Kindly, an artificial intelligence-powered software that detects hurtful or harmful messages and then prompts users to rephrase what they send. Her thoughtful, problem-solving innovations earned her the title of TIME’s 2020 Kid of the Year.

“My motivation to solve problems in society started in a very simple manner: to solve problems that we face on a daily basis,” she says. “I try my best to understand them and look for ways to address them. I am not always successful, but the few times [I’ve succeeded,] I feel like I have contributed in some way.”

To inspire others to innovate, Rao has connected with about 35,000 students across four continents and has more events planned in the coming months. As she moves forward in 2021, Rao says she has more ideas in the works and that she’ll continue developing her current innovations as she searches for the partners to help her out.

Storytelling Composer Barron Ryan

Barron Ryan

(Daniel Charles Folkers)

On May 31, 1921, a mob of white residents attacked the Greenwood District, a predominantly black neighborhood, in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in what’s known as the Tulsa Race Massacre. The attack—one of the worst acts of racial violence in American history—continued through the next day as the mob killed more than 300 black Tulsans, displaced 10,000 others and burned more than 35 city blocks to the ground.

To commemorate the 100-year anniversary of the Tulsa Race Massacre, Chamber Music Tulsa commissioned composer and performer Barron Ryan to tell the story of the tragedy through a piano trio. As a Tulsa native, Ryan says that it’s important for him to tell this story—a story that needs to be remembered. “It’s an integral part of who I am, and I’m honored to do it,” he says.

“Music can tell a story without using words, [and it] has an unparalleled ability to communicate” Ryan says, which is what he aspires to do with his trio. In composing the piece, he looked through firsthand accounts of the massacre. He read about a woman who hid with her daughter and read psalms as the attack raged on. Psalm 88:3 spoke to Ryan, and it ultimately inspired the melody. One of the verses reads, “My soul is full of troubles,” which Ryan borrowed as the title of his trio.

He hopes that his music inspires people to reflect on the Tulsa Race Massacre and to be courageous—to do what’s right and not simply what is easy, he says. “I’m hoping that it’s well received, and that we remember our history as Tulsans and learn the right lessons and not repeat something like this again.”

Transit Trailblazer Andrea Ponti

Andrea Ponti

(Andrea Ponti)

The Covid-19 pandemic brought public transportation to a screeching halt as people who had the means to travel in their own private vehicles opted to do so. Andrea Ponti, the founder and director of Ponti Design Studio, took the opportunity to re-think and re-plan how we get around. Inspired by social distancing, he developed Island, an electric tram designed for a post-pandemic Hong Kong, the city where he resides.

“When the pandemic took over Hong Kong, many people turned to private transport causing a dramatic increase in traffic, pollution and noise,” he says. “What makes Island attractive is that it helps to solve all those problems. The bottom line is technology needs good design in order to be efficient and accessible to most people, and I think Island might be an example of that.”

Instead of sitting in rows, the tram’s seats are organized in circles, or “islands,” seating people with their backs towards each other so they can look out the window instead of facing others. “To me that is a safer way to commute and a fun way to take in the city sights and see Hong Kong from a different viewpoint,” he says. Plus, the tram is electric and driverless, making it eco-friendlier and more efficient.

“As a designer I really like the challenge of re-imagining products and services that we often take for granted and that can be greatly impacted by social changes—in this case re-designing trams at the time of social distancing in a metropolis like Hong Kong where social distancing is hard to practice,” he says.

Ponti started developing Island in March 2020 and has since modeled the tram and produced a number of prototypes. Moving forward in 2021, he is working to scale the protypes, move into the testing phase and secure a partner to produce Island.

Honoring Black History with Anitra Belle Henderson

Anitra Belle Henderson

(Lemaris Alston)

In 1860, a plantation owner smuggled in a shipload of 110 African people to Alabama on the Clotilda, the last known slave ship to arrive in the United States, decades after the U.S. had banned the importation of enslaved people. When enslaved people were freed in 1865, survivors of the Clotilda couldn’t afford to return to Africa, so they founded Africatown instead, a bustling town rooted in their homelands and cultures.

After years of searching for the long-lost Clotilda, a team of historians and archaeologists finally discovered it at the bottom of Alabama’s Mobile River in 2019. Now, the City of Mobile will open a heritage house in the summer of 2021 to tell the story of the Clotilda‘s survivors and of Africatown.

“We are excited to help the community tell their story,” says Anitra Belle Henderson, the executive director of communications and external affairs for the City of Mobile and the lead on all the Africatown projects. “Our goal is for visitors to understand more about those who were enslaved. They have a name and a story.”

The heritage house is designed to be an immersive experience. Visitors will feel the waves of the ocean like the enslaved people felt on their voyage, read stories of the slave trade and be introduced to the survivors of the Clotilda. They’ll also be able to visit Africatown, where many descendants of the Clotilda‘s survivors still reside.

“Each detail of the heritage house was designed with reverence to the ancestors, descendants and the community,” Belle Henderson says. “Those who are curious about African culture can visit an African community on American soil—a community that was built with hope and promise.”

“The many stories show the diverse brilliance of black people,” she says. “Since the [discovery] of the Clotilda there has been a new excitement in the community. Educating people about Africatown’s past will definitely create a bright future for a community that so deserves the attention it is receiving.”

Nautical Visionary Brett Phaneuf

Brett Phaneuf

(IBM)

In April 2021, the Mayflower Autonomous Ship, one of the world’s first full-sized self-navigating ships, will set sail from the United Kingdom’s Plymouth Harbor and traverse the Atlantic Ocean to Cape Cod, Massachusetts. It will retrace the voyage made by the original Mayflower in 1620 that brought Pilgrims to New England, but instead of looking back at 400 years of history, it represents what the next wave of nautical advances will look like.

The Mayflower Autonomous Ship is a collaboration between the marine research organization ProMare and IBM, which developed the ship’s artificial intelligence systems that will allow it to navigate unassisted across the ocean. The Mayflower team is hoping to revolutionize ocean research by creating an affordable option for scientists to study the ocean without necessarily being on board a ship. Without needing to worry about the logistics for housing people on board, like sleeping, eating and sanitation, the ship can accommodate more technology, like cameras and sensors, and stay out at sea longer.

“If it works as designed, then it will substantially drive down the cost of collecting data at sea,” says Phaneuf, a co-founder and co-director of the Mayflower Autonomous Ship project. “This will lead to [a] better understanding of our oceans and climate.”

Phaneuf’s biggest hope for the Mayflower is that it makes it across the ocean and sparks the conversation about how autonomous ships can be used to study the high seas. During this first voyage, the ship will collect meteorological and oceanographic data as well as water samples to study microplastic distribution.

Student Advocate Samantha Pratt

Samantha Pratt

(Samantha Pratt)

Two thirds of all U.S. youth face at least one trauma by age 16 that can stem from poverty, racism, domestic or community violence, or substance abuse, says Samantha Pratt, the CEO and founder of KlickEngage.

“Students carry heavy emotional backpacks into the classroom every day that they cannot put down,” she says. “I was teaching high-need students in an overcrowded classroom and could not check in with each of my students every day in order to address their issues. Out of urgent need, I decided that I had to find a way to streamline student self-report.”

To do so, Pratt designed KlickEngage—an app that allows users to self-report their mental state each day by completing a two-minute survey. The app, which has reached thousands of kids,then provides students with targeted coping mechanisms while delivering real-time data to educators so that they can identify and supports students carrying heavy emotional loads, Pratt says. Schools have the ability to make a huge impact for students by providing health services and resources, but they’re often limited and underfunded.

“By directly serving students, teachers and schools, we limit the impacts of adverse experiences on school engagement in early years of education so that there is a higher likelihood of student success in later years, breaking the cycle of trauma and poverty,” Pratt says.

Students are still facing adversities, plus the compounded issues brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic, such as unemployment, food insecurity and fear-based anxiety, Pratt says. Since KlickEngage is able to be adapted for a physical or virtual learning environment, it can help educators check in with students, even from a distance. In 2021, KlickEngage is planning to grow its impact and reach more classrooms.

Pandemic-Inspired Architects Jing Liu and Florian Idenburg

Jing Liu and Florian Idenburg

(Vincent Tullo)

In 2020, homes transformed into all-in-one offices, gyms, daycares, classrooms, vacation destinations and restaurants as people’s lives became confined to their residences. As a result, people noticed just how important their home environment is to their mental and emotional wellbeing, say Jing Liu and Florian Idenburg, the founding partners of SO–IL, an architecture and design firm.

At the outset of the Covid-19 pandemic, Liu and Idenburg were in the beginning stages of designing a new 30-unit residential building in Brooklyn. They also found themselves adjusting to living and working from home with their two daughters, and they say that experience helped shape the design for the new building, to be completed in 2022. Now that people are home all the time, Liu and Idenburg needed to create a space that was both multi-functional and comfortable for residents. For example, they moved bedrooms to opposite sides of the apartment to muffle noise and distractions, which are typically clustered together. They also incorporated multiple outdoor spaces for each unit, creating easy access to fresh air and sunshine.

The pandemic has highlighted what people really need in their homes, and architecture trends in the future will reflect that, they say. “The main lesson to take away is that the lifespan of a building will be longer than the interval between pandemics,” they say. “From a sustainability standpoint, we should endeavor to build buildings that last ‘forever.’ It means we need to design for future pandemics.”

Mosquito-Trapping Mastermind Kennyjie

Kennyjie

(Eric Lau)

When industrial designer Kennyjie (he prefers to go by just his first name) was 12 years old, he contracted dengue fever—a flu-like disease transmitted by mosquitos—while living in Indonesia. “Being able to afford long hospital care, I was one of the privileged kids who walked out alive,” he says. Mosquito-borne disease prevention has remained an issue close to his heart, and it’s the driving force behind his new innovation, Quito.

While visiting Bali, Kennyjie noticed that the mosquito prevention tactics were inconvenient and ineffective, so he set out to design his own. Quito, which made the International Top 20 for the James Dyson Award in 2020, uses a simple chemical reaction to produce carbon dioxide and an artificial human odor to attract mosquitoes, and then it vacuums them into a chamber. By luring mosquitoes in instead of repelling them, Quito reduces their local population and the chance of disease transmission. It’s designed to be placed in tropical resorts to lessen the likelihood of an outbreak as people travel in and out of the region.

Kennyjie traveled through multiple Indonesian villages to ensure that Quito’s design is informed by the local culture, economy and climate so that it fits into the “geographical context in which it is needed,” he says. This year, Kennyjie will continue running more tests from his home in Melbourne, Australia, until international borders are open and he can start pilot tests in Indonesia.

#Nature

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

America is a little matryoshka doll of panic right now; pop open each layer to reveal a new, worrying scenario. For months the country was focused on reopening the economy, which had its own complicated set of problems. But only recently has a broader swath of America tuned into the mess nestled inside it, one that parents have been sitting with for months: what to do with the kids.

There has been no federal plan to help American parents with child care, and they continue to wonder whether schools will really open their doors come the new school year. That lack of action is in direct contrast to other crises that have struck America recently. After the financial crash of 2008, there was a bailout and a stimulus plan. After the protests against police over the last few months, officials in cities and states responded with promises of better actions in the future but also, immediate policy implementation: New York state repealed a law that had shielded police personnel files, while the Minneapolis City Council voted to begin a process that could eventually lead to the dissolution of the city police as it’s now known.

But on child care and school, a specific, urgent response has been missing, or at least one that acknowledges our new reality. President Trump threatened to withhold federal funding for education if schools didn’t open back up, counter to schools’ insistence they need more money to provide a safe education amid the pandemic. While the CARES Act, an omnibus COVID-19 relief bill signed into law in late March, gave extra stimulus funding to families with children, schools and child care businesses so they could remain afloat, a Democratic-backed bill to give a $50 billion bailout of the child care industry has gotten little attention. Teachers around the country have voiced doubt that necessary safety measures for in-school teaching will be sufficient, and Los Angeles Unified School District, one of the country’s largest school systems, has decided not to reopen classrooms when schools go back in session in August. Some worry that while distance learning is safer, socially different children and those without stable internet connections or computers — who are already at the margins in normal times — will fall irrevocably behind.

There is no cohesive solution to America’s child care problem. But the relative inattention to this crisis, one that’s so foundational to a functioning society, the economy and family units across the country, is revealing. It shows that for all the changes that have happened in American life — more female elected officials, a MeToo movement and a workforce that is around 47 percent female — our power dynamics remain fundamentally skewed. We are failing to collectively understand what our most critical and pressing problems actually are.

“Care in general has always been seen as a sideline issue,” Vicki Shabo of the left-leaning think tank New America said. “A nice-to-have and not something that’s necessary, and not something that’s central for adults to be productive in the economy.” Of course, now we’re seeing how much of a misunderstanding that is. In a country where most men and women work even when they have children, having child care is inextricably linked to economic productivity — and not having it often hurts women most. U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics data from 2015 found that in households with children under 6, women spent an hour a day doing child care, compared to the 25 minutes of care provided by men. It’s easy to extrapolate this trend for pandemic times: American women will bear the brunt of the school and child care crisis.

Yet, child care in particular hasn’t often found itself at the forefront of political debate. Experts and activists I talked to for this story all used the same framing to talk about why: an American narrative that child care problems are individuals’ problems, not society’s.

“If you think about child care traditionally before the pandemic, you probably didn’t think about it too much before you had kids,” Melissa Boteach, vice president of income security and child care at the National Women’s Law Center, said. “Then you have kids, you’re in the most stressful and resource-strapped part of your life: You’re operating on three hours of sleep a night, you’re financially squeezed, because at the very time you’re taking off of work, you have diapers and wipes and formula and whatever else. You’re in this total daze of early motherhood. That’s probably not the time when you say, ‘You know what, I’m going to call my member of Congress.’ You’re feeling it like a personal issue.”

Child care isn’t necessarily seen as a macroeconomic issue or a driver of labor force participation or GDP, Shabo said. And because of that, she said, it often takes a backseat to economic issues like wages when lobbying efforts happen. This is not to say that child care issues don’t get attention — in the 2020 Democratic presidential primaries, which featured several female candidates, child care plans took a more front and center role in the campaign than they had in the past. One leading candidate, Sen. Elizabeth Warren, co-authored a 2004 book, “The Two-Income Trap,” which was about the ways the rising incomes of households with two full-time employed adults belied the heavy costs of essentials like child care. Warren thought child care costs were among the reasons the American middle class was in an economic crisis.

“Our workplaces were built for white men,” said Danielle Atkinson, the founder and director of Mothering Justice, a Detroit-area advocacy group for working families. The fact that parents are left to fend for themselves from birth to kindergarten and then during the after-school, pre-dinner hours, is an American tradition that seems to assume a readily available, at-home caregiver. (Atkinson pointed out the inextricable role black women have played in American child care; enslaved women often took care of white children.) The nuclear family with a stay-at-home parent (usually a mother) is an ideal that persists, or at the very least lingers in American life: only 18 percent of Americans in a 2018 Pew Research Survey thought it was ideal for both parents to work full time.

“This conversation about school is really a conversation about work,” Atkinson said. “The conversation about returning to school is not based on health. It’s about returning those workers to working and not looking after their children, so those children have to be somewhere.” Essential workers in particular are being forced to make difficult choices about their children’s care — many essential-worker jobs are lower wage — and many child care providers are in strapped situations. The work of child care providers, Atkinson said, is often undervalued — their median annual wage in 2017 was a little more than $22,000 annually, which is just above the federal government’s poverty line for a family of three — and as Boteach pointed out, those workers could continue to risk greater infection rates as schools and work open back up. She highlighted the plan put forth by Senate Democrats, the Child Care Is Essential Act — which would provide a bailout to the suffering industry and additional money for those providers to buy personal protective equipment — and cited an estimate that the U.S. child care industry would need a $9.6 billion injection monthly to survive the pandemic.

It’s more likely the next governmental nod to parents and their school-age children will come in the next iteration of the omnibus coronavirus relief package. Congressional Democrats have proposed $350 billion in funds for schools and universities to purchase PPE and clean their facilities. Republicans agree about more funds, though it’s not clear what their proposed number is — some have argued that since many schools will be operating on a partly virtual basis, less federal funding is needed.

The moral tussling that many parents have been doing — go back to work and risk potential COVID-19 infection at day care or school — will likely continue to be subjected to partisan politics. Trump and his Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos have been the loudest voices in recent days about sending children back to school at all costs, much to the chagrin of teachers, many of whom feel ill-prepared for the safety precautions necessary for in-person pandemic teaching. Ultimately, though, it is parents who are forced to make a choice. Atkinson, a mother of six, told me she would be keeping her children home in the fall.

For those who focus on child care, the pandemic has perversely presented an opportunity to advance the cause of greater access to guaranteed services. “This pandemic has created greater alignment of experience, potentially, between white middle class folks who saw this as an individual issue that they were struggling with and outraged by but hadn’t really taken action on and the longtime, long-standing lived experience of lower wage folks and people of color who have struggled for decades with the unaffordability of child care and the lack of care options to meet their work schedules,” Shabo said.

Atkinson said she also hoped the individualism narrative would be shattered by the current crisis. “We want to lift the veil away and help women, especially white women, know that you’ve been lied to. You were sold a bunch of lies: ‘if you just work harder, if you just slay sexism, you’ll be OK.’ But really, it’s a tool to divide,” she said.

The pandemic has shattered norms and paradigms ever since it arrived in the U.S. — our expectations of child care is no exception. What some politicians and activists had long sought to do to no avail — place working parents and their child care crisis on the center stage of American politics — the virus has done in a matter of months.

[bunkershotgolf]

Golf Retail at Two Club Lengths

By ED TRAVIS

Retailing has taken an unprecedented hit. According to the U.S. Census Bureau the Sporting Goods/Hobby/Musical category had 38% lower sales in April than in March and Adobe’s Digital Economy Index reported online purchasing increased 49% in April.

It is easy to see the most immediate task for all retailers is to figure how to take advantage of the “new normal,” whatever that may be.

As shelter-in-place restrictions are being removed stores of all sizes are faced with figuring out how to attract customers, perhaps in ways never considered previously. E-commerce was already a major factor but due to the recent health requirements the trend is sure to gain momentum. Consumers, many for the first time, are taking advantage of the inventory variety, ease of comparison shopping, speed of ordering and often lower prices.

According to one major golf retailer, PGA TOUR Superstore (PGATSS), the solution is continuing a customer-centered instore experience and doing business at “Two Club Lengths.”

Dick Sullivan, President and CEO of PGA TOUR Superstore, has a reputation for dynamic management that is readily apparent while leading the company for the past decade. PGATSS’s results and his leadership were recognized in 2018 when he was the first retailer to be elected chairman of the National Golf Foundation. We had the opportunity to ask him questions about the present retailing situation and what it means for his operation.

Ed Travis: With store closings forced by the efforts to contain transmission of the COVID-19 virus did PGATSS lay off employees? If so, will they all be eventually reemployed?

Dick Sullivan: Our number one priority remains health and safety of Associates and customers. After that our focus is on preserving jobs. We have not furloughed Associates or had pay cuts. Our vision and business strategy are driven by a long-term approach in everything we do. That means making good, smart decisions for our business for the months and years ahead.

ET: An online ordering program with Curbside Caddie pickup was initiated. Considering the circumstances do you consider it a success?

DS: Absolutely, we were still able to accommodate our customers in our local markets while the stores remained closed to the public. We conceived the Curbside Caddie idea and integrated it into our digital experience in less than 48 hours. It has represented approximately 25-50% of our total e-commerce orders since launch.

ET: During the stay-at-home period were hard goods sales hurt more or less than soft goods?

DS: There has been significant demand in the accessory’s category because the majority of our sales are being driven by people that are out playing golf or practicing at home. Not surprisingly, many Customers have bought training aids, push/pull carts and golf balls, etc.

375% reflects the increase in push/pull cart sales from April of this year, compared to April of last year. With nearly 95 percent of golf courses open across the US, many facilities have put in place walking only protocols. Golf is a game that offers many physical and well-being benefits. Walking nine holes of golf is equivalent to 5,000 steps.

What has been the consistent number one category of products sold online was clubs. Our online club sales were up 120% vs. prior year and we attribute this to excellent blended offering of both repositioned and new clubs. It’s interesting to note, we’ve seen a noticeable increase in women’s packaged sets being purchased. Soft goods have seen smaller comp increases during this time compared to hard goods.

ET: With approximately two-thirds of your locations reopened have there been problems for employees and customers with social distancing and other preventative measures?

DS: We’ve done a good job of “doing the right thing.” Sanitation supplies, on the way in and out of the store, signage to reinforce social distancing, Associates wearing masks and we provided them with individual hand sanitizers in addition to multiple sanitation stations throughout the stores. We are also regularly wiping down clubs that are being demoed, golf balls that are being used in the simulators and on the putting green, and high traffic areas and surfaces.  

We implemented a new ‘Starter’ position to help customers navigate the rules and to clean any equipment that is brought in for repairs or regripping. It gives the customer an opportunity to ask questions and hear what we are doing to help make them comfortable and safe.

We have also established a que line at check-out and labeled spacing to ensure social distancing guidelines.

ET: Will the costs of extra cleaning, etc. result in increased prices?

DS: No. Putting people first has always been our top core value. The health and safety of our Associates and customers will always be our top priority. Comfort, care, and cleanliness, has been our operational approach driving us during this time. For example, we have secured disposable masks, reusable masks, gallons of hand sanitizer, individual hand sanitizer, gloves and set up 450 hand sanitizing stations.

We also set up social distancing protocols reminding people to stay “two club lengths” (six feet) away from each other. And, then there is the signage throughout our stores and at the Store Support Center reminding people to practice social distancing, frequently wash hands, etc., all based on CDC and other government guidelines and recommendations.

ET: Before the closings, the growth trend in both instore and online sales had been extraordinarily strong. What special promotions or other initiatives will be done to reestablish that growth?

DS: We will continue to manage online business as we have working different exclusive promotions and offers. For the stores, we will celebrate Father’s Day with our usual focus on gifts for Dad and special offers. After Father’s Day, we will assess the results including what we heard from our customers and Associates and then plan the balance of the year as needed. I think it goes without saying that we are moving into uncharted territory with the season shifting to the second half of the year. The typical playbook is not going to work in 2020 and we want to be as agile and responsive as possible.

ET: Instore sales at the Altamonte Springs, Fla. location have shown a very significant increase since reopening May 4. What were the contributing factors and have similar results been seen in other locations?

DS: We have seen a significant year over year sales increase since re-opening our Altamonte Springs location. This is due to a couple of factors. The first being that a local competitor closed their location prior to and unrelated to the COVID-19 pandemic.  Secondly, the Altamonte Springs location relies more on its residential community rather than tourists. As you know, when they rank the top cities in the US for golf, Orlando is always in the top-10. http://theaposition.com/golf/courses-and-travel/1526/the-a-list-what-is-the-best-golf-city-in-the-us

ET: Given the depressed conditions some retailers are permanently closing locations while PGATSS is opening a new store in Palm Beach Gardens, Fla. What is your thinking about such expansion right now and are more new store openings planned in the near future?

DS: Our brand has tremendous momentum and many markets that are not yet served. We support a game that is well-positioned to serve a higher purpose – particularly right now. Our growth plans have not changed. Not only Palm Beach opening, but we will open a store in Columbus, Ohio the week of the Memorial.

ET: An attraction and strength of PGATSS stores has been the “experience” consumers get when making a visit. How do you see that going forward?

DS: We have a very strong brand and history of consistently delivering positive experiences and trust for our Customers. Customers have thanked us for creating a safe environment for them to continue to enjoy shopping in our store and leveraging all that our store has to offer – putting green, hitting bays, fitting studio and more. We have made many enhancements to continue to facilitate the in-store experience that our customers enjoy. Their feedback and input have validated that they feel comfortable, are easing back in gently but looking forward to getting back into the store.

ET: The stay-at-home rules and retail shut down resulted in an immense increase of online transactions. According to some analysts this means basic changes to retailing in general as many shoppers may have simply gotten the “online habit” rather than making trips out to stores. Do you share that view, or do you see retailing returning with a similar buying pattern as it has had in the past due?

DS: We expect to continue to have strong online sales and will continue to elevate the digital experience – as we always have. That said, given the strong retail results we’ve been experiencing, as well as the feedback and insights directly from our Customers over the past month, we believe that our retail experience will be an opportunity for consumers to get custom fit and connect with others over their shared passion for the game, as well as continue to be mindful of their own self-care – mind, body and spirit. Golf is the game that provides that solution.