#. . . hate that that's actually semi-IC to my michael

[ladyseidr]

i think my favorite fn.af theory that i've ever read is that, on the seventh night / custom night, the protags can Genuinely, Actually control the AI of the animatronics. like yeah they're just doing that to themselves. mike after 6 nights of almost dying turning their AIs to 20 like "you know what i can take them"

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Academic Rivals

michael gavey x reader

summary: a partner project in the library leads to heightened emotions

A/N: a request from my dearest belie boo! hope you enjoy @valeskafics !!

TW: smut!, semi-public sex, degradation, hate-fucking, misogyny, michael is a little perv actually

word count: 1,788 words

You despise Michael Gavey. The smug bastard sits right next to you in history and the two of you constantly compete for top of the class. You’ll be the first one to admit that he’d have you beat in any math class but history is yours. The worst part of it is that your professor encourages the rivalry, insisting that it’s ‘healthy competition’. Which is why you’re currently (very apprehensively) making your way to the library to work on your partnered essay with Michael.

You don’t want to make it easy on him though so you strut in, ten minutes late with an iced coffee in your hand. You’re dressed in a sweater and a very short plaid skirt with black thigh highs that just reach under the hem of it. His eyes glance over you almost too quickly, like he’s trying to avoid your gaze.

“You’re late.” He says while looking at his notes.

“This part of the library wasn’t easy to find.” You look around and there isn’t a single person in your line of sight. “Maybe that’s why it’s so dead in here.”

He scoffs. “Or perhaps you’re late because you stopped to get overpriced coffee on the way. Whatever you’re drinking is more sugar than coffee anyhow.”

“So hateful today.” I tease.

“If you spent more time focusing on punctuality then I wouldn’t need to be.” He says pompously. “Get out your notes. I need your contributions for the analysis of economics during the 18th century.”

“In a moment.” You say as you pull out your compact mirror instead of your notes so you can check your hair. You don’t particularly care how it looks at the moment but you know your primping will piss him off.

“Did you even do your research or were you too focused with your own vanity to get the work done?” He asks in a snarky tone and your eyes dart up to meet his.

“Just because I enjoy putting an effort into looking good doesn’t mean i’m an airhead. Of course I did my research.” You say with a roll of your pretty eyes. Michael thinks you look particularly pretty when you’re angry.

“How should I have known any different? You spend more time worrying about getting attention than your studies. It’s pathetic really. You have so much potential, yet you let your feminine interests dominate you.” He says with a mock look of pity.

“Oh you poor thing. If my ‘feminine interests’ seem to dominate my life then why do I have the highest mark in our class? Shouldn’t you have the highest mark if you dedicate all your time to your studies?” You give him a sweet little smile and he is mortified at the way it makes his cock harden.

“History is hardly my top priority when i’m in much more academically challenging classes and I was top of the class last week so it won’t be long before I overtake you again anyhow.” He tries to act nonchalant but you can tell your words got to him.

“It’s probably difficult for you to do as well as you could when you spend most of the class staring at me.” You say and feel a sense of accomplishment when his cheeks turn crimson red.

“I only look at you because you spend all class talking and giving your half-brained takes on the French Revolution.” He retorts but his words are a little clumsy.

“Then why are you blushing?” 

“It’s hot in here.” He says firmly.

“It is a little hot in here.” Your tone is casual but he can sense the mischief in your voice. His eyes widen as you shrug off your sweater to reveal a tight, white camisole underneath and because it isn’t really that warm in the library, your nipples harden under the garment and they poke through the fabric. “Something wrong, Michael?” You ask sweetly, noticing how his eyes are glued to your perky tits.

“No, of course not.” He answers too quickly and you smirk at him.

You stand up and walk over to his side of the table and sit on it right next to him, so your thigh could almost brush his arm. He can now clearly see the lacy hem off your stockings. “You’re so flustered. It’s pathetic.” You say a little cruelly and he stands abruptly, his chair almost tipping back.

“You’re a bitch.” He spits back at you.

“That’s no way to speak to a woman, Gavey. What would your mother think?”

He just glares at you for a moment and you can’t tell if it’s hate or lust burning in his eyes. You realize quickly that it’s the latter when he grips the back of your hair and forces your mouth to his. Michael presses himself against you and you can feel how painfully hard he is in his trousers as he kisses you roughly. You hate to say that you kiss back, enjoying how sloppy and inexperienced he is, although full of emotion.

He parts his mouth from yours but stays slotted between your thighs. He looks almost nervous, like he half expects you to slap him and leave. He’s fucking delighted when you roll your hips gently against his instead. The math nerd has never touched a woman before but he’s more than ready to grasp the opportunity. He slips both his hands right up your top and groans when he feels your soft tits. He massages them and you whine, lifting your shirt for him so he can see exactly what he’s doing.

“Oh, God.” He murmurs as he rolls your nipples between his fingers.

“Have you ever been within two feet of a woman?” You ask him with a cruel little smirk but then you squeak as he pinches your nipple hard. “Ow! Fuck, Michael.” You whine.

“You fucking slut.” He murmurs and you can’t tell if it’s a term of endearment or just plain old misogyny. “Always have some bratty little remark to say.”

Your eyes glaze over a little and you pout at the way he looks at you. You would never think that a virgin could act so dominant.

He looks like he’s fighting some conflict in his mind before he speaks. “Now, you’re going to take your underwear off and bend over the table… then i’m going to fuck you.” He says it like it’s a command but it’s almost as if he’s trying to breathe a dream into reality. When you obey him, his eyes widen and he begins to make quick work on the removal of his belt. He can hardly believe that a woman as hot as you just listened to him, that a woman who seems to despise him with every inch of her being has just bent over a table, waiting to be fucked by him.

He lifts up your skirt, feeling more bricked than he’s ever been as he rubs his hand over your ass. He gives a firm slap to your right cheek just to see how you’d react and he’s pleased when you whimper. Michael runs his fingers through your folds as he finally releases his cock from his pants. He pumps himself as he rubs you, enjoying how wet you are, knowing it means you like it.

“Jesus, Michael, are you gonna stand there all day or are you going to fuck me?” You barely manage to get the question out when he decides to slam himself, balls deep, inside of you. You whine out as you try to get used to how big he is. You really didn’t expect him to be so hung.

All he can do is think to himself, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum. As he tries to block out the sound of your voice so he doesn’t spill himself inside you prematurely.

“Michael…” You whimper out, not even knowing why you’re saying his name.

“Shut the fuck up.” He murmurs before beginning to move himself in and out of you. “Little fucking brat, thinking you’re smarter than me.” He starts to thrust harder. “I’m the smartest person in this entire fucking school.”

His cock is slamming in and out of you at this point and all you can do is let out little moans from how roughly he’s treating you.

“Say it. Say i’m the smartest person in the school.”

“Fuck you, asshole.” You manage to groan out from under him.

He grins. “That’s my job.” Michael may have never had sex before this but he sure as hell knows how the woman’s body works. So, his fingers snake around your front so he can roll your clit between his fingers. You let out a strangled gasp. “Say it. Now.”

“You’re the… smartest… person… in the school.” He punctuates your words with his thrusts as his hips slam against yours, making you stutter at every other word.

“Good girl.” He says smugly.

You give him no warning when you cum and the way your pussy squeezes and convulses around his cock almost makes him fall to his knees and pray to God in thanks. He cums instantly after you, not having the self control to hold it back anymore and not having the will to pull out as he spills deep inside of you.

He now fully contextualizes the fact that, no matter if it’s a deserted section, the two of you are still in the library. He pulls himself out quickly and you whine at the abruptness of it all as he swiftly begins to clothe himself.

“Get dressed!” He urges but you can hardly do more than lie there after being fucked so hard.

You move slowly as you pull up your panties and fix your skirt and top, your thigh-highs looking rumpled.

“We’re going to be expelled!” He panics as he kneels down to straighten up your thigh-highs for you.

“Nobody saw and there’s no cameras in here.” You say as you manage to pull yourself together enough to roll your eyes.

“T-This is your fault!” He exclaims.

Post-nut spiralling i guess.

“My fault?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yes, it's your fault! You seduced me!” He gets his things together, his face one shade off of a tomato.

“Then it won’t happen again.” You say simply. His face drops.

“Whatever.” He seems to have calmed down a bit, slightly irritated by your words.

You sigh and decide that it’s best to leave while you’re ahead.

“Goodbye, Michael.” You say in a sing-songy tone as you strut away, now leaving him as the dazed one.

“B-But we didn’t start the essay!” Is all he can get out before you turn around the corner and out of his sight.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 7 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey

sorry if y'all only wanted to be on my hotd taglist i forget

[ja-khajay]

Stuff I read (and liked) this year

As promised, here’s a list of the novels, comics, manga, etc... I read this year, focusing on the ones I enjoyed and would recommend to people. Under a cut, this is going to be a little long.

-------- Books --------

Favorite book of the year: Stranger in the Woods, by Michael Finkel

Non-fiction. Based on the interviews of the man himself by the author, it is about a man who felt so unfit for society he decided one day to leave it, and spent the next 28 years as a hidden hermit in forest in Maine. The book details how he survived there, how he was eventually found, and some of his reasons for doing so. It’s a great reflection on the nature of loneliness.

Indian creek, by Pete Fromm

...Yet another detailed tale of living alone in the woods. This time, the diary of a student who spent a winter in the mountains to help tend for salmon hatchlings, and how he spent the rest of his days hiking, hunting, meeting the locals. It’s a fun little book who, being set almost the whole world away from where I live, was a nice way to travel.

Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones

I don’t feel the need to explain this one since everyone and their mom has seen the movie adapted from it. The book, that I first read a decade ago before I actually watched the film, is a less romantized, more spirited telling of the same story. The writing is absolutely delightful and so is the world it paints, and it’s the first time in ages a book had me laughing out loud during my entire read.

-------- Comics (BD) --------

Favorite comic of the year: Monsieur Désire?, by Hubert and Virginie Augustin

A discreet young woman becomes a maid for a decadent, unbearable, byronesque young lord. Caked in the rigid and oppressive social hierarchy of the victorian era, you follow a mental and verbal joust between the two, as the lord tries his best to offend and corrupt his new unrelenting servant, to little success. The writing and especially the dialogues were stellar, drawing me into the tense atmosphere, watching this trainwreck of a character flamboyantly destroy himself. While there’s no precise content warnings that I can give, this is a mature and heavy story.

World of Edena, by Moebius

Anyone who’s followed this blog for over a month knows how much of a Moebius fan I am. Edena combines the vague, dreamlike, wordless storytelling from stuff like Arzach or The cat’s eyes with an actual plot. While I haven’t completly finished the story, the evolution of the main characters and how the story is told have been great to read through, and as always the art is beyond gorgeous. Unfortunately suffers from some good old sexism in the writing that even if minimal, tasted sour

Le roman de Renart, by Joan Sfar (book 1)

Sfar’s work always has a signature vibe of being dreamy and light without being light hearted, of being down to earth but drifting in the fantastical, and this one is no exception. It’s an adaption of a series of medieval folk tales I grew up with, who uses the same characters to tell an original story. If you’re familiar with icons like Renart as well as other mythological big boys like Merlin you’ll fit right in. There is something special in how the dialogues are written, who feel natural in a way that you’d overhear in a street corner and is very special to me.

The mercenary, by VIncente Segrelles

Another one I post about a lot on this blog. The mercenary is a king on the throne of fantasy cheese. The worldbuilding is interesting at times but the writing is a pretty pathetic display of glorious old time sword and sorcery sci-fantasy 10 years too late for it’s prime (warning for ye old sexism and orientalism that plagues the genre, cranked very high...) but you come and stay for the art. The entire thing is drawn in a series of hyper detailed oil paintings with an insane eye for technical detail, from the engineering of the weaponry, to the architecture and weather, to the anatomy of the fantasy creatures... Each panel stands out as it’s own painting which makes even flipping through it without reading the scenario a treat. Click here to see more of the art, in my Segrelles tag.

The ice maurauder, by Jacques Tardi

A short story about mad scientists entirely drawn like a 19th century engraving. In great Tardi tradition everyone is ugly and mean, it ends terribly, it’s both a hommage to the genre of late 19th cent. to early 1900s dramatic adventure novels and a critical eye on it, and it’s morbidly funny. Most people I saw online hated the way this was written but I’m not them and I really recommend this book. Die mad

-------- Manga --------

Favorite manga of the year: it’s a tie between the following two.

Cats of the Louvre, by Taiyo Matsumoto

Most wonderful comic I have read in ages. The story follows a bunch of semi-feral cats secretly living in the Louvre museum’s attic, and the small group of humans who share their life, walking through the museum as the night watch. When the cats are together, they are represented in a humanoid way, but still act like animals, and “become” cats again when a human is nearby. The plot is a sort of supernatural mystery centered around a kitten who walks around paintings. It’s a love letter to art, sincere and beautiful, with a unique art style and great characters.

Memoirs of amorous Gentlemen, by Moyoco Anno

A sex worker in early 20th century paris starts writing down a diary of the clients she meets, in a quest to cope with the troubles of her life. You follow her, her colleagues, and her bittersweet relationship with an abusive lover. I don’t have much words about this comic, but the art and writing both are amazing, it’s the perfect length and drew me in like little series had before. Obvious content warnings as this is an adult story that talks about sexuality, but also depicts both mental and physical abuse.

Hana, also by Taiyo Matsumoto 

A very short story, this was not made to be read as a comic originally, but served as storyboarding and visual development for a play, and the way it is written follows that. Hana is a slice of life story set in a fantasy world, of a young boy, his family, his village. Despite the setting being an original one, the character interactions are refreshingly... normal, and there is no huge plot to speak of, just a bit of the life of these characters. The art is beautiful, entirely black and white, with a scratchy style and an emphasis on contrast. Matsumoto is on a speedy road to becoming my favorite manga artist haha

Delicious in Dungeon, by Ryoko Kui

While not marked as my year’s favorite, I still consider this series among my favorite manga ever. The art and writing are amazing, and it’s both heartfelt, well concieved and plain hilarious. The story follows several parties of dungeon diving adventurers each on their little quests with a premise of our protagonists, on a panic rescue mission, surviving in the dungeon by cooking and eating the monsters they come across. From a DnD party turned cooking manual dinner of the week beginning, the plot creeps up on you and slowly thickens. I don’t want to spoil anything about the overarching story of this because it was a delight to discover for myself. While everything about DinD rules, I am especially fond of the design philosophy of the author, who puts great detail in the practicality and biology of what she draws, as well as the character writing. Everyone even side characters has so much charm and depth to them, the cast is so diverse and entertaining...! Each character is just a bit lame enough but endearing, and has their own little backstory that shows in the way they exist. It’s a delight

Chainsaw man, by Tatsuki Fujimoto

I went into CSM expecting a borderline campy hyperviolent dumb fun thing to read and was very surprised to find an uncomfortably well written story about a teenager being groomed. The hyperviolent dumb fun fights are here nonetheless and the series still qualifies as shonen for some reason, but the more mature character writing as well as some truly outlandish visuals make it something very special. If you can’t stand shonen, not sure you will like it, but if you don’t mind it, worth trying.

Witch hat atelier, by Kamome Shirahama

The oh so elegant fantasy seinen every cool kid started posting about this year, who I also succumbed to and fast. Witch hat is hard to explain, as most of it’s plot revolves around the rules of the world it’s set in, specifically the regulations around it’s magic and the social and historical reasons for them. It’s about growing up, learning, disability, making art. You follow a little girl taken in by a witch as an apprentice, her magical education, and learn little by little why her lovely teacher is so willing to break a lot of rules... While a bit too gentle and pretty for my taste at times, Witch hat has great worldbuilding and explores sensitive themes I rarely see in manga, much less in fantasy. And Berserk wishes it had art this good

[ineverlookavvay]

I'm still here hoping (that one day you may come back)

Set during the lost decade. After years apart, Alex and Michael spend a night together.

Fic prompt: “I don’t want you to go.”  - Day 3 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

content warning for alcohol, semi-explicit sex, self-destructive behavior

Read it on Ao3 

Michael slammed the door to his truck and took a breath, looking around to see if anyone else was loitering in the parking lot of the bar.  Too many people, too dangerous to do what he wanted and throw something heavy across the lot with his mind, but too much energy to go inside.  Instead, he slammed his fist against the side of the truck, reveling in the way the blow rang through his bones.  

It was a Friday night, so of course the parking lot wasn’t empty, which was good since Michael was looking for a fight tonight.  He was getting good at recognizing the types of truck that usually belonged to the kind of guy he didn’t mind going to jail for pummeling, and there were several excellent contenders. 

Satisfied with the potential, he strode into the Wild Pony, avoiding Maria’s gaze and slipping into a seat at the bar.  He was enough of a regular that he barely had to motion to the guy behind the bar to order a drink.   

“Don’t you have a trailer to loiter in?”  Maria sauntered up, leaning on the bar like she owned the damn place instead of her mom.    

“Can’t you afford to hire other people to work here?”  Michael shot back, accepting the drink the actual bartender slid in front of him and smirking at her when she frowned.  “Go away, I’m a paying customer.”

“Tabs don’t count.”

Michael gave her an actual smile, even though he felt like screaming and crying and tearing the entire town down to splinters.  “No, but see, I’m promising to someday be a paying customer.  That’s just as good.”  She put her hands on her hips, staring him down.  Michael was struck again by how ridiculously unfair it was that being an adult was just the same as being in high school, except everyone felt even more entitled.  The able-to-drink-in-public part is better though.  “Are you gonna take away my drink?” he asked inflammatorily.  “No?  Then goodbye.”   She rolled her eyes but walked away.    

Michael sipped his bourbon and slipped some acetone into it.  More than he should, probably, but numb was better than whatever he was currently feeling.  Numb had always been better than the noise and the tangle of thoughts and the pain—all of the fucking pain—and the worry.  

It shouldn’t have even been this bad.  It was just a party, an engagement party, for Isobel and her utterly normal, friendly boyfriend.  Well, fiancé, now.   

Michael wasn’t sure what it was about the whole thing that made him feel the way he did.  Maybe it was that reminder of Max and Isobel’s happy, wealthy family, and how completely unaware the Evanses were of the ridiculousness of throwing a gauzy, white party in the middle of the desert.  He could always see in their eyes that they were glad when he left, even if they pretended otherwise.  Or maybe it was that Isobel had actually found someone to marry, an actual companion, someone who didn’t make her sad, who didn’t make her feel so much that it ached.  

Not that Michael was looking for someone to marry.  Fuck, no.  He was happy chasing the smaller highs of casual hookups.  Or at least, he was content with it.  He’d had his taste of that something else, of that ache, of that feeling they wrote melodramatic poetry about; he’d had his chance and it had been too much.  Too much for someone like Michael, too much to sustain, too much to sacrifice for when he didn’t have anything to give except himself, and even that was small and insufficient.  

That summer, the three of them had become bad people, the kind of people who cover up a murder for their own good, no matter how justified it might have seemed.  And while Max and Isobel dealt with it by being the very best, upstanding citizen parodies of themselves, Michael just stopped acting like anything mattered.  He wasn’t a cowboy, or an upstanding citizen, or a drunkard, or anything—he was only himself.  And one of these days, he was going to get off this forsaken planet and become something.  

But until then, he split his mind between working and going to Isobel’s parties and pretending he didn’t hate every minute of it.  The engagement party had been semi-formal, which meant Michael had put on a clean shirt and jeans, and grudgingly accepted the tie she thrust at him when he walked in the door (now buried somewhere on the floor of the truck).  He’d put on a smile and he’d toasted the happy couple and he’d tried to stem that idiotic part of him that had the nerve to feel jealous.  

The jealousy, and the sadness, and the feelings of inferiority weren’t even the worst part.  The worst part was that they’d gone years and years without telling anyone their secret, and now Isobel was getting married.  She was literally going to swear to be honest and faithful and whatever else, and Michael couldn’t help but feel a little worried that she would want to tell all her secrets to this man she was planning to spend her life with.  All of their secrets.  No matter how much she protested that she didn’t want that, that she wanted a normal marriage, it was still concerning.

Michael finished the drink and another one appeared.  Got to love being a regular, even if he wished he had a nicer place to haunt.  He took a drink and tipped more acetone in, glancing around the bar for someone to talk to, or hit on, or just plain hit.  And his eyes fell on someone walking through the door: Alex. 

Michael turned back to the bar immediately, taking a drink with shaking fingers.  Fuck.  This wasn’t the right night for his first lov—his high school ex, who he hadn’t seen in years, to come wandering back into his life.  Then again, Michael wasn’t sure there ever would be a right night for it.  

They hadn’t talked.  The end of that summer had turned into one nightmarish day after the next—Michael had his first string of arrests, his first nights in the drunk tank, all to try and chase the memory of that night from his mind, to chase away the disappointed look Alex had given him when Michael admitted that he wasn’t going to college after all.  It wasn’t like he could say, ‘I have to stay and keep an eye on my homicidal alien sister.’  Things had been bad enough before he’d woken up one morning to find that Alex was gone.  Really, actually gone.  

That had been the worst string of nights Michael had experienced since he’d learned to punch back.  

Michael looked around again, unable to stop himself.  He wasn’t sure if Alex had seen him, and besides that, he wasn’t sure if Alex would give any fucks about him.  Probably not, which was fair.  The only people who did give a fuck about Michael were Max and Isobel, and they didn’t have a choice.  

The problem was that Michael was smart.  Smart enough to have noticed which tables were empty in the bar when Alex walked in, to find him within seconds at one of them, talking to Maria.  Michael was too smart to believe that his shaking hands weren’t the prelude to something larger and more fantastic and extremely not attached to him shaking, to think that he was going to be able to sit there at the bar and drink like nothing at all is different and—fuck.

Michael accidentally met Alex’s gaze and immediately ducked his head down, like he could somehow hide behind nothing, when it was clear that Alex had already seen him.  Michael’s head was too fuzzy already to have a good sense of what Alex’s expression had looked like, the whole bar was suddenly too loud and chaotic for him to grasp something as intangible as a social cue.  

Maria slid up to the bar and leaned over it to grab two beers, looking sideways at Michael.  “What’s wrong, Guerin?  Someone bigger and stronger steal the girl you were eyeing?” 

He mimed laughter.  “Funny.”  Michael swallowed the remainder of his drink and stood up, feeling a little bit wobbly and not from the bourbon.  “Save your material, I’m leaving.”

Maria looked happy he was going, which was just the icing on the damn cake.  Absolutely no one wanted to see Michael, and he wasn’t even really drunk enough to pick a worthwhile fight.  He spared another quick glance at Alex’s table, ignoring how it made his pulse speed, ignoring that Alex still looked good as hell, and shoving his still shaking hands in his pockets as he walked past and out of the bar. 

He didn’t go to his truck though.  There was nothing waiting for Michael anywhere else, and he was far too wired for sleep.  Maybe he could still find something to do while he waited for Alex to leave so he could have the bar to himself.  Michael slipped into the shadows, leaning against the wall of the building and taking the momentary lull in parking lot foot traffic as an opportunity to sip a little more from his flask of acetone. 

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but standing there in the warm night air, with the faint sound of music and laughter seeping through the windows, he felt almost okay.  It was almost enough to unsnarl his mind for a moment.  

And then the door opened, and Alex stepped out of the bar.  

Michael’s breath caught as he waited to see if anyone was with Alex, but no one else appeared.  He couldn’t tell if Alex was intentionally walking towards him, or just walking with his fingertips trailing the side of the building, but either way, in a matter of moments they were closer than they’d been in a long, long time.  

It wasn’t the right night for this.  Michael felt like he needed someone, he had been thinking about their time right after high school anyway, and now he felt unmoored and uncontrollable and like if he was going to make a mistake, he might as well dive in.  Michael reached out as Alex drew near him and grabbed Alex’s hand, pulling him into the shadows where Michael was lurking.  

“Guerin,” Alex breathed, and it didn’t sound like anger.  

“Alex.”  Michael’s hands were shaking.  

“How are you?”  Alex hadn’t pulled his hand away, and Michael honestly wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a terrible sign.  But it was contact.  What aliens crave.  “I saw you before, inside, but I wasn’t sure if—”

“What are you doing here?”  Michael asked abruptly.  

Alex smiled, surprised, and it was all nostalgia and ache and the burning brightness of a star.  “I’m on leave.”  

If it had been another night, if Michael hadn’t been feeling raw and lonely, if he was a little more or a little less drunk, if his hands weren’t shaking like damn leaves.  But it was, and he was, and they were.  It was a foregone conclusion.  

“Wanna go for a drive?”     

Alex nodded, and Michael hated how it made his chest clench. 

They drove into the middle of nowhere, far enough away from lights that the stars blinked into view.  Michael just drove, and god help him, it reminded him of that summer, driving out to the middle of the desert just to be alone with each other.  And here Alex was, again, sitting just too far across the bench seat of Michael’s truck, making idle conversation and good-naturedly criticizing every song that came on the radio.    

Eventually, Michael found a place to park, cutting the engine and the radio off.  They sat in silence for a long, terrible moment.  “Nicer view from the bed,” Michael said without thinking about the wording, and Alex laughed nervously.  

“Yeah, okay.”

They clambered out and into the truck bed, and Michael was glad he’d recently washed some of the blankets he kept thrown in there.  Alex sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, while Michael lounged across the other side, trying to make himself look more put together than he felt.  Alex looked at the stars and Michael looked at Alex.  He looked good—older, and maybe more tired, and he was missing the jewelry and eyeliner that was so endearingly rebellious.  He looked quieter, somehow, and the thought of that made something in Michael want to scream.  

“I forgot how quiet it was,” Alex said eventually, looking over at Michael.  His eyes were the same, or at least they still made Michael feel achingly adrift.

“Must be a nice change.” Michael had no idea what he was saying, he was just trying not to let the conversation die.  Alex laughed wryly.  “How’ve you really been?”

Alex shrugged.  “You really want to hear about it?”

Michael didn’t.  The idea of Alex—Alex who was good and real and made him ache—off fighting someone else’s wars made Michael sick to his stomach, made him want to flip the damn truck over.  

“I’ve spent all day talking about the Air Force,” Alex said eventually.

“Okay, so tell me something else about you,” Michael said.

“I’m glad to see you,” Alex said, staring straight at Michael, like he was daring him to argue.  “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

“Well, I am.  For now.”  It was a lie—Michael wasn’t leaving Roswell unless it was in a flying saucer—but the lie made reality easier to bear. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”  The information was offered before Michael could decide if he wanted to know.  Alex’s phone chimed from where he’d left it in the cab.  “And I had plans for tonight.”   

“Breaking plans to bum around with me?  I’m honored.”

“When you looked at me in the bar, I forgot all about them,” Alex continued, sounding mildly disgusted with himself.  

Michael swallowed hard.  “When I looked at you in the bar, I forgot about everything else.”  It was easier, out here, to say things like that, knowing it was just between him and Alex and the desert and the night sky—and Alex would be gone tomorrow.      

“Are you still getting into fights?  Still drinking?  Still getting arrested?”  He sounded hopeful.  That just made it all worse.  

Michael looked down at the blanket he was sitting on, worrying the edge of it between the fingers of his bad hand.  “Not currently.”  Alex’s hand suddenly reached out and grasped his fingers, stopping the fidgeting.  Michael looked up and Alex was closer, their faces inches apart.  

“Just for tonight,” Alex said, and Michael nodded, unable to turn away even if his life depended on it.  Alex smiled like he couldn’t help it, and then pressed his lips to Michael’s.

Everything was quiet.  Everything was eclipsed by the desire, the ache, the need to press as much of himself to Alex as possible.  Alex’s lips were more chapped than Michael remembered, but otherwise it was the same—the same swooping sensation in his stomach, the same warm wet pressure, the same fervent way Alex licked Michael’s lips until he deepened the kiss.  Michael bit back the high, needy noise threatening to burst out of him, wrapping his hand around Alex’s waist, holding him as close as possible when they were both awkwardly sitting side by side in the truck bed.  It was enough.  

Michael had asked Isobel how it felt to kiss Noah, once.  It was under the guise of teasing, but he had really wondered if everyone had the same brilliantly overwhelming feelings he experienced with Alex, like nothing else mattered but the two of them, like nothing else even existed.  Michael hadn’t felt that with anyone else, but no one else had been nearly as important as Alex was to him, as Noah seemed to be to Isobel.  Isobel had laughed, and said something cliched and cute, but it hadn’t come anywhere near the words he would use to describe kissing Alex.  And now, he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t undersold the experience in his memory. 

They fell back against the blankets, legs intertwined.  It was perfect until Michael misjudged and hit his elbow on the side of the truck with a bang and a loud “Fuck!”  Michael slid quickly away from the offending metal, closer to Alex, and Alex giggled, hiding the sound in the curve of Michael’s neck.  Michael filed that away, the sound of Alex giggling, deep in his memory, a balm for the really bad moments.  

His face still tucked into the juncture between Michael’s neck and shoulder, Alex turned the laughter into kisses, pressing them along the sensitive skin of Michael’s neck.  Michael ran his good fingers along Alex’s spine, and Alex shivered at the light touch.  Michael felt good, he felt weightless, like he’d been carrying an invisible weight, and now Alex was lifting it. 

Alex’s fingers plucked at the edge of Michael’s shirt, and Michael let Alex peel it off of him, the air and anticipation prickling at his bare skin.  Alex touched Michael with a look of reverence, running his hands along the lines of Michael’s collarbones, tripping across his nipples, stroking over his ribs, smoothing the line of his stomach.  Michael had forgotten how this felt, to have someone really want him, really want to touch him, in a way that felt intimate instead of rushed and anonymous.  It made him feel powerful and incredibly vulnerable.

Michael tugged at the buttons on Alex’s shirt, slipping them from their holes, slowly revealing skin, an exceptional tease.  Alex huffed a laugh as Michael’s tugging became more insistent, the last button popping clean off the shirt, rolling across the metal of the truck bed.  They crashed together, gripping each other’s hips, pressing their skin together and kissing messily.   

It was just like the last time, except the sting of that summer was dulled; over time, it had been overtaken by the way that Michael ached when he thought about how long it had been since he’d seen Alex, how many nights he’d spent lying in bed hoping that nothing terrible had happened to him.  They were both still eager, and they both seemed to want it just as much.  The difference was that Michael knew now that this wasn’t just a summer fling, that it never could be; the difference was that Michael knew that something in him broke every time Alex left, and he would have to try his best to rebuild himself tonight because in the morning, it would break again.  

Michael ran his fingers arounds the waist of Alex’s pants—soft, ticklish caresses that made Alex’s breath catch, his exhales twisting towards a moan.  Michael undid the fiddly zipper of Alex’s pants, letting out his own moan at the sudden expanse of skin as Alex helped pull them off, at the suggestive bulge of Alex’s cock beneath his boxers.  Michael’s pants were off after another moment, hurried motions that made both of them giggle and moan like teenagers.     

Filled with the restless energy of want, Michael pressed Alex back down on the blankets, rolling to hover over him, sweeping his eyes over all of Alex’s skin.  Their kisses were heated, spurred on by their bodies sliding together.  Michael could feel every nerve in his body reacting to touching Alex, every bit of him lit up and conscious of Alex’s every movement, every sigh, every push of his hips against Michael’s, every look and every kiss burning through him. 

Alex pulled away, breathing hard, his hand tangling in Michael’s hair.  “Christ, I missed you,” he whispered, quiet even though no one else was around.  He sounded wrecked, and Michael felt the sound sear itself in his memory.  

Michael took a deep breath.  Alex was smiling up at him, looking blissful; Alex was here, with him, and he had to make it count, to make it good for Alex, because Michael knew with a sudden certainty that he wouldn’t be able to survive it if Alex came home the next time and didn’t fall into his arms.  Michael spent so much time disappointing so many people, but this—loving Alex—this he could do. 

“You look nervous,” Alex said, later, when they were both naked and Michael had found the lube he kept stashed in the glove compartment.  

“No,” Michael laughed, running his tongue along the sensitive skin by Alex’s hip.  “It’s just been a while since I did this with someone I liked as much as you.”

Then Michael’s mouth was on Alex’s cock and Alex’s response turned into a moan, his voice rising into the quiet air as Michael tried to say everything he really wanted to say without any words and hoped Alex would understand.

Hours later, as they lay wrapped together in blankets and each other, sweat cooling on their skin, Michael ran his hand through Alex’s hair and wished he had the power to slow time.  Alex’s hair was longer in high school, and Michael regretted slightly that he couldn’t pull on it the way he remembered Alex liking.  It was just another reminder that things were different now, that Alex was going to leave for someplace he might never come back from, while Michael dug his own grave slowly in Roswell. 

“That’s nice, Michael,” Alex said, leaning into Michael’s touch.  Michael pressed kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his lips—gentle, unhurried kisses, the kind they never got to have in high school.  There was always some danger lurking around the corner, the fear of being seen, of being caught; now the only threat was the sun, and the morning that would take Alex away.    

“Only nice?” Michael teased, kissing along Alex’s jaw, down his neck.  “Do I have to demonstrate my charms again?”  He pressed his hips toward Alex suggestively. 

“Nice is good,” Alex replied, sighing as he leaned closer to Michael.  “And this was perfect.”

Don’t leave, he wanted to say.  Instead, he rocked their bodies together again more purposefully as he felt Alex respond.  They gripped each other like they could hold together the things threatening to tear them apart with every passing minute, kissing with renewed passion, making the most of what time they had.  

They hadn’t slept at all when the sun started to rise, painting the broad expanse of the desert with color and light, or at least Michael hadn’t.  Alex was dozing, and Michael was watching him, watching the way the glow of the early morning made Alex’s skin golden, the way his eyelashes fluttered as he dreamed, the dark red of his well-kissed lips.  It would have been creepy to take a photo, but Michael wished he’d brought his phone out of the cab, wished he had a picture of Alex looking peaceful and fucking radiant, to remind himself that not everything was shit all of the time.  Instead, Michael looked and looked and tried to etch the image onto his memory. 

Alex stirred, blinking awake and smiling up at Michael.  “Hey.”  His voice was thick with sleep and sex, and Michael’s chest felt tight at the thought he might never get to hear that again.  He’d never admit it, but while Alex slept, Michael had mentally seriously considered the pros and cons of joining the damn Air Force himself just to have some piece of Alex around him all the time.

“Mornin’,” Michael drawled, kissing Alex’s eyelids, kissing Alex’s hand, kissing Alex everywhere he could see.  Alex yawned and Michael grinned.  “Tired?”

Alex’s face slipped from contentment to something sadder and more complicated.  “Hey, that’s the first time we’ve both actually slept in the same place.”

“Speak for yourself,” Michael replied, then switched tactics when Alex’s face dropped a bit.  “Yeah, I know.”  He paused, watching Alex’s expression brighten.  “I liked it.”

“Me too.”  

The sun sped higher in the sky, drenching them in light.  Michael wondered what would happen if he tried to telekinetically move the sun back towards the East.  Probably worse than just a nosebleed.

Alex started to root around for his clothing in the mess of blankets, shooting Michael small smiles despite the aura of sadness surrounding them.  Alex pulled on his pants and slid off the back of the truck, standing up and looking around them like he was cataloguing his surroundings.  Michael sighed and pulled on his own jeans, trying to ignore how final it felt.  

“So.”  It was stranger, in the light, with Alex standing up and out of reach.  “You going back to some buff Air Force boyfriend?”

Alex laughed, glancing over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow at Michael.  “You going back to some drunk townie?”  It stung, a little, and after all hadn’t Michael been trying to sting him by asking first.  Alex sighed, turning back to Michael fully, his face suddenly sadder and less guarded.  “Don’t worry, Guerin, you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Guerin.  After being Michael all night, it hurt more than he expected.  Michael’s chest tightened at the name, at the offhand remark, and he wanted nothing more than to agree, to tell Alex that he felt the same and have it ring with truth, to admit that nothing else could ever stand up to whatever it was they stumbled upon at 17—but he couldn’t.  He couldn’t because Alex was leaving and there wasn’t a damn thing Michael could do about it, because Michael was still himself and now that it was light he could feel the unease spreading over him, because they were different people now than who they had been years ago, and it was nothing but foolish to pretend that nothing had changed.  

“I don’t want you to go,” Michael said instead, petulantly.  

Alex smiled sadly and shook his head.  He pulled his shirt on, tucking it in to hide the missing bottom button, and walked back to the passenger door of the truck.  Done.  Finito.  

Michael sighed, blinking back the heat sitting in the corners of his eyes, threatening to become something he couldn’t laugh off.  Michael would only let himself cry in one place, and that was alone in his trailer, where no one could see or hear him, where no one could sense any weakness. 

Michael started the truck before realizing he had no idea where Alex wanted to be taken.  Not home, because home was still his father’s house, and Michael avoided that place like the plague.  

“You can drop me off at the Wild Pony,” Alex said quietly.  “I’ll get a ride from Mimi.”

“Right.”

It wasn’t a long drive.  Far too short, but neither of them talked.  They sat in silence, the cab filling with unspoken words, dread and sadness neither of them could force past their lips.  Michael wanted to tell him to be careful, wanted to beg him to stay, wanted to cry and scream and protest that it wasn’t fair for something to be this important and still be impermanent.  He drove in silence and parked at the edge of the lot, giving Alex the chance to sneak away without being obvious about where he was coming from.  That hurt, too. 

“Oh, hey.”  Alex paused with his hand on the door latch.  “I have something for you, don’t leave.”  He climbed out of the car and went running towards the building.  

Michael stared after him, his hand on the gear shift, ready to escape if anyone else appeared, certain he’d misheard the request to wait.  He could vaguely make out a figure in the doorway handing Alex a bundle of fabric—probably Mimi—and Alex gestured at her to go inside before running back towards Michael.  

He pulled open the door and slid back inside, handing Michael a thin cd case.  Michael took it cautiously and Alex shrugged, clearly embarrassed.  “It’s um—it’s a mix cd.  I made it a while ago, thought maybe you could use some good music for a change and it—it made me think of you, so.”  

Michael considered the cd, brushing his fingers against the plastic, a sheet of paper with Alex’s handwriting on the inside of the case, listing a bunch of songs he didn’t know.  It was very plain, no doodled hearts or personalization or anything, but still, it was something tangible that came from Alex, something Michael could hold, something given to him on purpose.  He looked up at Alex with something like wonder.  “Thank you,” he breathed, then recovering some swagger, “Knowing your music taste, not sure that counts as a gift, but…thanks.”

Alex smiled, and pulled Michael in for a kiss, short and searing and carrying so much that was unsaid that Michael felt the weight of it settle over him.  He wasn’t ready for Alex to leave again, he was never going to be ready, and Alex was always going to leave because Michael was never going to be enough to keep him.  That’s just how it was, but Michael knew he would never be able to stop trying to be enough. 

“I think I might love you,” Michael said against Alex’s lips, unable to hold back the surge of emotion.  

“Don’t.”  

Alex breathed in sharply, and Michael could see a tear fall from Alex’s eye, neither of them acknowledging it.  He kissed Michael again fiercely, and Michael knew it still wasn’t enough, and he knew that Alex wasn’t going to reply, and he knew that he would swallow it down and disappoint everyone and life would go on.  It was inevitable that Alex would pull away, and it wasn’t until he did that Michael realized their hands were clenched together, the cd lying in his lap.  

They didn’t do goodbyes, so Alex just smiled tightly and slipped out of the truck and into the bar, and that was it.  

Michael drove home.  He parked the truck and climbed into the trailer and showered, washing Alex Manes and every painful emotion he brought up down the drain with the soapy water.  

Clean and changed and exhausted, Michael tried unsuccessfully to focus on work.  His gaze kept going back to the stupid mix cd—who even did that anymore?—and eventually he gave in, rolling his eyes and trying not to feel anything as he started the cd playing.  

He didn’t know the songs, and it wasn’t his taste, and it didn’t matter in the least.  Michael sat on his bed and listened to the songs that reminded Alex of him.  

Sitting there, Michael imagined that he could hear the sound of a jet overhead, carrying Alex out of New Mexico and out of Michael’s grasp; he imagined he could hear Alex’s footsteps, his uniform shoes clicking on the tiled airport floor, tapping anxiously against the floor of his father’s car.  Michael listened to the cd and it felt like senior year; it felt like everything he’d ever tried to forget because it hurt and Michael didn’t know what to do with hurt except swallow it down or drink it dull; it felt like lying in the middle of the desert watching the sunlight dance on Alex’s face as he slept.  

Michael listened to the cd again when it finished, and then again, and he let himself fall apart, alone in his trailer, mourning the life that they could have had, mourning the life that they never would.  He listened until his eyes were sore and red and his chest burned with longing and he felt drained and exhausted.  And then he took the cd and slipped it back into its case and put it inside of a cabinet, buried beneath other things, and tried to remember how to forget. 

[allsassnoclass]

Hazel, can I request - “you’re only semi-lucid and are sort of reaching for my face and for various reasons I shouldn’t kiss YOUR face, but your hand is right here and I still need to convey affection” for Malum?? Love you!

MALUM!!!! I love them so much I LOVE them so much.

This is a sickfic so there is mention of vomit/throwing up but that doesn’t actually happen in the fic

"Mike?"

Michael tears his eyes away from the television at Calum's gentle, slightly hoarse call.  They have a rerun of some cop show on, mostly for background noise since Calum is drifting in and out of sleep and doesn't want anything he has to pay attention to but also doesn't want to be bored.  He's still a little pale from the loss of fluids and nutrients that come with his stomach bug, but from Michael's quick assessment his fogginess seems to be more from regular tiredness than the illness.  He's splayed out on the couch in pajama pants and an old, soft shirt, hair messy and visibly drooping, but he's not lurching for the bucket on the ground or looking worse than he had earlier in the day.

He still is somehow the most beautiful person Michael has ever seen.

"Yeah?" Michael asks, leaving his armchair to kneel by the couch.  "What do you need?"

Calum swallows, throat clicking from lack of moisture.

"Fluids?" Michael asks.

"Yeah," Calum says.

"Want to try the fruit juice again?"

Calum nods.  Michael read a thing online about giving sick people a spoonful of the juice from canned fruit cocktail every so often, and so far it's been working without upsetting Calum's stomach more.  Between that and the apple juice Michael froze in ice cube trays that Calum occasionally requests to munch on, he's been okay.  As long as he keeps everything down for another hour, Michael thinks they'll be able to try some toast.

He goes to the fridge and gets the can of fruit and a spoon while Calum props himself up.  Calum reaches for them when he gets back to the living room, carefully taking a few spoonfuls of the syrup then slumping back against the cushions and handing everything to Michael to take care of, either in the growing pile of stuff on the side table or the kitchen.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Bored," Calum says.

"We're watching Hawaii Five-0.  There's at least one explosion every episode and you're bored?"

"Shut up," Calum says, swiping at him half-heartedly.  "I'm sick.  Don't be mean to me right now."

"I'm just saying, we could switch to one of those daytime talk shows instead if you want."

Calum snorts derisively.

"I hate being sick," he complains.

"I know, babe," Michael says, smoothing back his hair.  He doesn't feel warmer than usual, and the lack of fever means he'll probably be over this in a day.

"When I said I wanted a day off of work, this is not what I meant."

"I know, babe."

"I miss eating real food."

"I know, babe."

"And you're a shit nurse."

"Hey," Michael says.

"Sorry.  Just wanted to be sure you were paying attention.  I didn't mean it."

Michael smooths back his hair again, then leans forward and kisses his forehead.  Calum pushes weakly at him.

"No, stop.  You're gonna get sick, too."

"No I won't," Michael says.  "I've been waiting on you all day.  If I'm going to get sick, it won't be from a kiss."

"No more kisses," Calum says.  "I'm serious.  I don't want you to get sick.  It sucks and I'll have to take another day off to take care of you and you complain a lot when you're sick."

"And you don't?"

"This isn't about me."

Michael rolls his eyes, because everything in his life is somehow about Calum at this point.

"It's fine, you hate me now.  I get it," he says dramatically.

"No, no, that's not it," Calum says, reaching out, fingers brushing his cheek.  Michael turns and kisses his palm, then takes Calum's hand in both of his.

"Last kiss for now, I promise," he says.  Calum smiles.  He looks soft like this, eyes warm and full of affection.  Of course, Calum always looks soft when it comes to Michael, but there's a different vulnerability to him like this, letting Michael dote on him and accepting all of the affection that that entails.  Michael would love to stay under his gaze forever.

"I love you," Calum says softly.  "Thanks for taking care of me."

"Always," Michael says.  "You'd do the same for me."

"Eh, maybe," Calum teases.

"I could kiss you and get sick and we could find out," Michael threatens.

"No, you promised!"

"I know.  I won't," Michael says.  "As kissable as you are at any given moment, I will restrain myself like you asked."

"Thank you."  Calum sighs, eyes fluttering closed then back open.  "Sorry.  I'm still tired."

Michael isn't surprised.  He was up for half the night emptying his guts in the toilet.

"Go back to sleep.  If you're still fine when you wake up, we can try toast."

"Yay," Calum cheers half-heartedly.  He's already closing his eyes again, breathing starting to even out.  Calum has always fallen asleep startlingly quickly, a process which is sped up when he's sick.  Michael sneaks in one last kiss to his hand before returning to his armchair, ready to wait until Calum needs him again.

[imyourbuddie]

Christmas Comes A Knockin'

January 5th, 2019 

Dear Eddie,

I know you’ve only just left, but I already miss you. And Christopher misses you. Tonight we made your favourite for dinner and Chris accidentally set out three plates. It was rough, but he felt better after Papa Buck’s special hot chocolate. 

You know, I never thought I’d have much use of this notebook you gave me last Christmas, yet here we are. 

Anyway, missing you. Stay safe. 

Buck

January 30th, 2019

Eddie you jackass, 

I don’t know how to send you letters. They told me you’re on some sort of highly classified mission and there’s no communication. Seriously? Some secret military black ops bullshit and you didn’t tell me? If you die on me, Edmundo Diaz, I will kill you. You hear me? I will fucking kill you.

Buck

March 23rd, 2019

Hey Eddie,

Chris got his first ribbon today at the science fair. He’s so proud and we have pictures that we’re saving for when you get back. I know he’s not supposed to get cookies and hot chocolate before bed, but I figure we make an exception for a special night. Hope all’s well. 

Missing you.

Buck

April 1st, 2019

Hen and Chim can walk off a cliff, together. They’re too damn old to be playing April Fools tricks on me! I’m going to be eating glitter for days. Days!

Anway, missing you. Loving you.

Buck

April, 16th, 2019

Feliz cumpleaños, mi amo! See, I’m learning! Chris helped me make you a cake. It’s chocolate and we ate a slice on your behalf. Wherever you are, I hope you’re celebrating.

Missing you. Always missing you.

Buck

May 1st, 2019

Chris was called into the principal’s office today. The other little fuck face claims Chris tripped him on purpose with his cane. His bitch of a mother wanted a written apology and one day suspension. I can’t even right now. Why are people such assholes? Chris says he didn’t do it and I believe him. God, I hate people sometimes.

I don’t know how much longer I can do this without you.

Buck

May 13th, 2019

Chris and I went to the pier for his birthday. It’s kinda special and it felt easier being there when it’s just us. We had churros, cake, lemonade, and maybe that was a bit too much sugar, but he’s passed out now. Yay sugar crash. 

He says you owe him a birthday present but I got your back. Now you owe me for being so brilliantly considerate. I’ll be collecting when you get home. 

Loving you,

Buck 

June 28th, 2019

I heard gunshots coming from the cemetery while we were answering a call. I don’t know if it was a military funeral, but...they’d call me if something happened, right? You’re not so off the grid that I’ll be left wondering for the rest of my life? I’m you husband. They can’t not tell me, right? 

Eddie, please, I miss you so much.

Buck

July 3rd, 2019

Chris gave me a miniature fire truck for my birthday. He’s the sweetest child a man can ask for. Really. The gang got me a cake and Chim shoved my face in it. That asshole. It’s a good thing I love him. 

It’s not the same without you here, though. I hope you’re thinking of me. 

Buck

July 16th, 2019

We went to the aquarium today. They played Baby Shark on repeat and now all I can think about is baby shark do do do do do do do and it’s driving me nuts. Chris thinks it’s hilarious. I may or may not have thrown an octopus plushie at him over it. 

Anyway, we saw all sorts of crazy stuff, and Chris loved the dolphin show. We’ll have to go again when you get back. The mango slushie at the cafeteria is magnificent. 

Missing you always.

Buck

September 15th, 2019

I miss summer vacation. I know, getting child care is always a pain in the ass, but I loved hanging out with Chris. When I’m with him, it’s like being with a small piece of you, and that made things a little easier. Now that he’s back in school, it feels like you leaving all over again. 

It gets pretty lonely at night sometimes. Stay safe and come back to me. To us. 

Loving you.

Buck

November 11th, 2019

We’re thinking of you. All of us. 

Love,

Buck

November 28th, 2019

I made us Thanksgiving dinner at the station. Chris had a blast and the guys loved having him there. We’re both so stuffed right now we’ve not left the couch even though bedtime was half an hour ago. Chris wanted to say hi, he says I can write for him while he talks, so here goes.

Hi Daddy, 

Papa gave me the biggest slice of pumpkin pie tonight, and it was so huge I almost didn’t finish it. But I did. Denny and I got to ride in the fire truck and it’s so cool you get to ride it every day at work. Papa says it’s time for bed now, I love you Daddy, and I miss you. 

Christopher and Buck

December 5th, 2019

Why are Hallmark’s movies out already? I’m not ready. We don’t have enough tissues at the house. I need to buy more tomorrow because I used up the last box watching The Knight Before Christmas. 

Wherever you are, have a pumpkin spice latte for me.

Buck

December 5th, 2019

Eddie I couldn’t sleep, so I stared at the ceiling talking to myself, pretending you’re here next to me. Remember when you first kissed me? I thought I was drowning and you kissed me. I know it wasn’t a real kiss, you were trying to keep me alive, but our lips touched, and it brought me back, you know? You brought me back when I thought I was dying. When I was ready to give up.

You’re not here to kiss me now, but I’m not giving up. I’m going to wait until you get home to me, to Chris, and I’m going to kiss the shit out of you. 

Always loving you. 

Buck

December 16th, 2019

Chris had his Christmas concert at school today. The whole unit came to watch. Mama Grant had a camera so we can record it for you. She’s really good with that thing too, even ran to the front of the stage so she could get some closeups. Chris was fantastic. Voice of an angel, I swear. We all went for ice cream after, and no, Edmundo, it’s never too cold for ice cream. 

We put up the tree last weekend, and Chris came home with these cookie ornaments they made at school. There’s one for you, too, with your name on it, so come get it, big boy. 

Cap says we’re going to have our Christmas party on the 23rd so people can go home and celebrate with their families for actual Christmas. Carla offered to watch Chris, but I’m considering taking him with me. It’s a family friendly party, so maybe Denny will be there too. 

Anyway, this is getting long. Loving you,

Buck

December 23th, 2019

Gonna take Chris to the party with me. He’s pumped. Who knew being a parent could feel like this? 

I’m always so grateful that you let me into your little family. You gave me Chris, and he’s the best present a guy could ask for. For every Christmas for the rest of my life. 

Loving you.

Buck

===

Buck closes his notebook and tucks the pen into the elastic loop attached to the cover. His finger twitches, and he wants to open the book and write our every little thing going through his head right now. Every emotion. But he can’t. It’s too damn painful. And Eddie’s not here. 

“Papa?” Chris calls from the bathroom. “Can you help me?” 

Buck scrubs a hand down his face and clears his throat, willing the prickle of tears to go away. “Yeah, bud, be right there.” 

When he pops his head into the bathroom, Chris is struggling with his bowtie. Buck wanted to get him a pre-tied one, but Chris insisted on the real deal. There’s a little card that came with the tie with diagrams on how to make the bow. Buck studies it, tries and fails a couple times, but eventually he gets a semi decent looking bow that sits snug under the collar of Chris’ shirt. 

“There you go,” he says, patting down the lapels of Chris’ suit jacket. 

“Thanks, Papa.” 

Buck’s chest swells, like it does every time Chris calls him Papa. It started as Papa Buck, but somewhere between Buck moving in and his and Eddie’s wedding, he became just Papa. It was a little strange at first, but it didn’t take long before Buck forgets that Chris isn’t his biological son. He loves Chris the same way he loves Maddie and his parents, but even more so because he never knew he could be so fiercely protective of a single human being. 

Some days, Buck muses he loves Chris more than he loves Eddie, and that’s saying something.

Buck stares into the mirror, his eyes meeting Chris’, and they both smile. “Ready?” Buck asks as he straightens his tie. 

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Chris leads the way, and Buck follows him out of the bathroom, through the living room, and out the front door. December in LA is mild at best, but Buck shivers as he helps Chris into the car. He looks behind him, then around, but there’s no one there. 

“Hm.” 

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks. 

Buck looks over his shoulder once more, then shakes his head. “Nothing, little man, let’s go.”

The drive to the station is uneventful, but Buck can’t shake that weird feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach. They pull into the parking lot just as Hen, Karen, and Denny pile out of their car, and Buck’s glad he decided to bring Chris afterall. 

Bobby’s whole family is here too, along with Michael, and as the spiked eggnog got passed around more than once, that uneasy feeling dissipates into something warm and fuzzy. Buck’s a little buzzed, but only enough to take the edge off. 

Chris, Denny, and Harry are off playing somewhere. Buck finds a spot with line of sight to the children and takes a seat, cradling his overstuffed stomach. He doesn’t know why he does this, but he just can’t stop himself from overeating when it’s a holiday. It’s a good thing he’s surrounded by LA’s finest paramedics incase he keels over from too much turkey. 

The upstairs lounge is buzzing with people. Firefighters and their families, and Buck tries not to let Eddie’s absence dampen his Christmas spirit. The rest of his family is right here, and he loves and cherishes them, and having Chris here makes up for the fact that Eddie isn’t. 

And that’s enough. It has to be. 

Buck contemplates a third eggnog, but decides against it. They still need to get home after, and Buck will be damned if he puts Chris’ life in danger just because he’s feeling a little maudlin and a lot lonely. He heaves out of the chair and heads for the trays of cookies and pastries laid out on a long table. If he can’t drink his sorrows away, he’ll just eat his feelings tonight instead. 

Somewhere behind him, Chris gasps. Buck’s heart drops through the floor and he spins to find Chris making a mad dash for the stairs. He acts before he’s had time to process, and he’s running up behind Chris, who’s half way down the first flight of stairs, before he sees what Chris is running towards. 

Or who. 

Down in the engine bay is a lone figure dressed in army fatigues with the brightest hazel eyes Buck’s ever known. His heart jumps into his throat, and the hubbub of the party fades as his eyes meet Eddie’s for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. 

They stand there, frozen, staring at each other, and a million things pass in that wide chasm between them. A whole year’s worth of fear and sadness and loneliness. Of love and longing and hope. Buck gets a little lightheaded, and that’s when he realizes he’s been holding his breath. He huffs, and with that single breath, every doubt he’s had this year flows out of him.

Eddie’s lips twitch into a rueful smile, that smile splitting impossibly wide when he sees Chris coming around the corner and down the second flight of stairs. 

“Daddy!” Chris’ jubilant shout breaks the freezing spell Eddie and Buck are under, and they move in sync. 

“Christopher, mijo. I’ve missed you so so much.” Eddie’s muffled voice drifts up as he clutches Chris to his chest. 

When Buck finally, finally makes his way down the steps, he stops just short. 

He’s dreamt of this moment, played it in his head over and over and over, imagined every possible way it could play out, but everything he imagined pales in comparison. Buck’s chest aches in that bittersweet, delicious way he never knew he could feel, and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. 

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t ruin the moment. Just don’t, Buck. 

Eddie looks up over Chris’ head, and his red-rimmed eyes glisten with unshed tears. And that fucking does it. Buck’s eyes burn, and his nose stuffs up even more as he heaves for breath. His vision blurs, and everything turns into a watery mosaic. Eddie reaches for him, Chris still tucked against his chest, and Buck steps into the embrace like his life depends on it. 

When Buck’s arms wrap around Eddie’s actual, solid form, every dam he put up breaks, and the first of many sobs heaves out of him. Chris turns around, wrapping his arms around Buck’s neck, and then Eddie’s lips are on his skin. Warm, dry, and a little chapped. 

They’re on the floor, and Chris is in Buck’s lap, and Eddie’s hands are cupping Buck’s cheeks and Buck can’t fucking breathe. Can’t fucking see because his eyes are leaking like broken faucets. But he doesn’t need to see to know Eddie’s here, in his arms, and his presence is answer enough to all of Buck’s unanswered letters.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie rasps, his lips hovering on the corner of Buck’s mouth. 

Buck wants to say something, anything, but all that comes out is another sob. Eddie chuckles, then his lips press against Buck’s in a soft, chaste kiss. “Evan, Ev, I’m here. It’s okay.”

“Papa missed you,” Chris pipes up between them. 

Eddie’s eyes mist, and his arms slip around Buck’s shoulders. “I missed Papa too. Missed you both so, so much.” 

“Are you coming home, Daddy?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and his bright eyes lock on Buck’s with a conviction. “I’m coming home. For good.”

[goldeneyedgirl]

jaliceweek20 day 2: soulmate au

JaliceWeek2020 Day 2: Soulmate AU

Untitled

Notes: I’m so mad this got so long because I was going to write this as a continuation of the Angel/Demon, but I wanted something shorter, and then this would. not. end. I think the premise was far too big. But alas, we have fic! No title is coming to me, so I’ll think of one tonight. If I get the other prompts done, I might even finish off the Angel/Demon version. 

Words: 6581

--

They meet like this:

The new girl, her hair hanging in her eyes, darts out of the classroom like she’s on fire. She runs straight into him, bounces off the wall of vampiric-muscle and hits the floor. 

It’s hardly the thing of great love stories or cinematic meet-cutes, but it is the beginning. 

He mechanically offers to help her up, but she looks away. That’s when he begins to notice - he doesn’t know how it feels for her, but it’s like someone injected ice into his side, where the mark has been for eleven years. She stares up at him for a moment, her hand fluttering at her collar bone before she’s back on her feet and hurrying down the hall like she’s running away. 

—

The soul mark appears when Alice is six. 

It is a twisted ribbon of a mark, from the inside of her left elbow, up her arm, over her shoulder, along her clavicle, over her right shoulder and down to her right wrist. It is enormous for a soul mark, especially on such a small child. And perhaps that would be okay, if it wasn’t for the colour - deeply and unmistakably red; dark in the middle and light on the outside, like she’s been slashed violently with a knife. 

Alice’s mother screams when she sees it, expecting blood to follow, until she realises what she’s seeing. Lillian stares at her daughter, who seems delighted by her positively disfiguring mark. Her little sister has one, her cousins each have one, there’s only her and Uncle Fred that don’t and now she does. 

But Cynthia’s is an elaborate knot of yellow on her right hip that looks more like an abstract flower. Lillian’s own is yellow and mauve, fanning out like sunburst on the back of her neck. She has never seen a soul mark like this, and she feels disloyal when she allows herself to think it quite hideous as she lets her daughter babble away in joy. 

What ugly, soulless individual could inspire such a mark?

(Then, of course, there is the social faux pas that Alice is obviously older than her new soulmate - just old enough for people to talk. It’s still not really acceptable in Biloxi society for the female half of the couple to be older, but it can be overlooked if its only a year or two. Don’t even get Lillian started on same-sex soulmates; she’ll worry about that if it ever comes to pass, pray to god it doesn’t. 

Thankfully, Cynthia was born with her mark, and Lillian with hers.

It’ll be years before Alice herself understands: the soul mark has less to do with birthdays and ages, and a lot more to do with the path you find yourself on - there’s no point having a map to a place you won’t be visiting. That day when she was six years old was the very day that the seeds of the Great Brandon Feud were planted, and her path was gently diverted into that of another).

—

The official reason they move to Forks is because Brandon Shipping is expanding, and the newest office and facility is in Port Angeles; Lillian thinks the small logging town is charming and a more socially palatable place to live, plus she is excited by the idea of renovating an old house (Alice is positive that every Pottery Barn in the Pacific Northwest is standing-by for her mother’s legendarily dull sense of interior design). 

The semi-official reason is that Alice punched her cousin Marcella at the last family Fourth of July barbecue, and both Lillian and Michael are leaving in shame. Alice resents this justification to her bones because one, Marcella deserved it, and probably another one or two. Two, if it had been any any cousin Marcella had said those words to, it would be Marcella who would be punished. And three, the unspoken reason. 

The unspoken reason was that Michael and his brothers have reached a peak in the Great Brandon Family Feud where ultimatums have been made that can’t be taken back, but all of them are focused enough on wealth and status they aren’t stupid enough to actually break up the company. So Michael is - depending on who you ask - either banished to the newest, furthest outpost of the company, or removes himself and his family from a ‘disturbing, irrational, and toxic environment.’ 

The only one who is actually relieved by their arrival in the dreary little town is Alice; wearing neck-to-wrist clothing all year around will be much more comfortable in Forks than in Biloxi. She might actually get to be normal. No sunshine, no swimming pools, no weddings or volleyball or spiteful, nasty little cousins. 

Just school and home and peace of being left entirely alone. That’s been her plan for years now - hide away and not find whomever branded her like this. She can almost see the disappointment in their eyes when they glimpse her, and all that she is. 

Forks seems like a really good place for someone to hide. 

—

The mark hasn’t changed in eleven years - bright red, enormous, and always there. Lillian has tried every kind of make-up and cover-up, every form of medication, every skin treatment but the red still bleeds through insistently. And until Alice was twelve, she didn’t really notice anyone recoiling from her mark - though Lillian always insisted on high-collar dresses and dainty cardigans, even in the summer heat. 

It was Cousin Grace’s wedding that changed everything - Grace was always a sweetheart, and everyone was pleased for her. All the little cousins would be bridesmaids and flower-girls, of course - that’s how it was down in their family. Alice was so excited - Grace was the oldest, and it was the first wedding she’d actually get to be in. They’d arrived at the bridal store, and everyone was gathered, and the dresses were there on the rack, and everyone laughed at how excited little Mary-Alice was to climb into her bridesmaid dress. 

Lillian was distracted, not thinking, as she accepted champagne and talked to Grace’s mother Susan. Cynthia was already being hustled into a fitting room when Alice emerged, already spinning in the pink lace creation with the sweetheart neckline.

And all went silent. The bride, the children, the mothers, the store attendants - all of them froze at the sight of Mary-Alice in her candy pink dress with a soul mark that looked like she’d just climbed off an autopsy table half-way done. 

Grace managed a sickly smile, “you look so pretty, Mary!” she manages in the same voice she uses for her kindergarten class. “It fits well, not too long.”

“That’s all we need, Alice, put your clothes back on,” Lillian manages in a faint voice before she is swept into a corner with Grace, Aunt Susan, and Grace’s wedding planning. 

The dressing rooms of wedding boutiques are not fortresses of solitude and silence. The murmured and slightly panicked conversation between the four woman about Alice’s Mark, about its hideousness, and the photos, oh my god, everyone will be forced to look at it. 

No, make-up won’t cover it - they’ve tried everything they can find. 

She just can’t be in the wedding. She’ll ruin it. 

Alice stares into the gilded mirror in the dressing room, at the dress she was so excited to wear. At the red slash that she has always loved but… it really is terrible, ugly to look at. Not like Mama’s or Cynthia’s or anyone else’s she knows. It’s so awful. 

She puts on her sweater and her skirt, and hangs up the bridesmaid dress she’ll never get to wear, and she’ll sit quietly as the rest of the cousins try on dresses and she won’t even cry when Grace lies to her so sweetly, and tells her that she’s got too many bridesmaids and would she mind terribly if she was just a very special guest instead. 

She wears a long-sleeved navy blue dress to the wedding and hides in the bathrooms when the photos are taken, not that anyone comes looking for her. She stays quiet and good and doesn’t complain about how hot her dress makes her. Cynthia spins on the dance floor in her pink tulle dress, and Alice tries to push down the jealousy. It’s not her little sister’s fault that she’s too ugly to wear a pretty dress. At least one of them gets to enjoy it. Then she wonders what she did to make her soul mate hate her so much they’d mark her like this before they’ve even met. 

—

Twelve is the year she stops complaining about her clothes, stops having to be reminded to cover herself up. 

Twelve is the year she finds she prefers oversized clothing, clothing she can hide in, so nothing but her face and finger tips can be seen.

Twelve is the year she doesn’t ask even once to go swimming with her friends (even though she’s never been allowed before) - and when she swims in their pool at home, she wears a long sleeved shirt over her swimsuit every single time, and only swims just before it gets dark, where no one can see her. 

Twelve is the year that she thinks, maybe if she was skinner, the mark might get smaller. Her mother compliments her on her diet as she fades away, but the mark just seems to get brighter. 

Twelve is the year she successfully convinces her parents and her fancy school to excuse her from gym permanently, because she’ll faint exercising in all those layers, and none of the other students should be forced to see her. (It takes a depressing lack of effort to secure that privilege, everyone praising her for her maturity and practicality, as if they’ve forgotten how much she had always loved gymnastics and volleyball.) 

Twelve is also the year she works out that she can’t cut or burn the stupid thing away, and no one seems upset with her attempts when they get a good look at what she’s working against. 

Twelve is a horrible year. 

—

The day she runs into the tall boy at school, it all goes to hell. 

She hasn’t really made friends at Forks - she sits next to June in Art, and Katie in History, and they’re both nice to her, but they really leave the new girl alone - she’s too quiet to be befriended. All her report cards have said the same things for years now - she’s polite and diligent but just so shy that perhaps her parents should get her help. 

They don’t, because Michael Brandon prefers his eldest daughter to remain silent and unresistant to his will. Plus, what would people think if they found out Alice needed a therapist?

So, she continues on her quest for complete invisibility, like a rabbit in the underbrush, and that leads her into running into the handsome boy she’s seen roaming the halls, and she falls flat on the floor, stunned but unharmed. 

It happens almost immediately, a burn in her chest that is running down both her arms and … no. No, nope, nada, nyet, nein. No way in hell. The burn is increasing and she gets to her feet, ignoring him entirely to go and hide in the library and wait for the pain to ebb. 

It still hurts when the final bell rings, and she stumbles to the bus, head down and headphones on so that no one can call out to her and have her hear. It feels like an inside-out sunburn, and she’s going home to take a cold bath and cry. 

No one else is home, thankfully, when she barges in the back door and straight up the stairs, pausing only long enough to grab the omnipresent tube of aloe vera gel from the fridge - she couldn’t bare to deal with the expected afternoon niceties with her mother right now. She’s got to get the burning to stop. 

Her bathroom is a tiny ensuite to ensure her privacy - her father has made no secret of how disgusting he finds her mark, and her mother only encourages her extreme form of modesty. She almost regrets all the layers - heavy sweater, turtleneck, camisole, bra, skirt, shoes, stockings, underwear - as she sheds them, wanting to scratch the skin from her body out of sheer frustration and discomfort. 

And then she looks up in the mirror and freezes. 

There’s no doubting he’s her soulmate, not an ounce of doubt in her mind. Because her mark has changed, and it is… like nothing she’s ever seen, not in all her research on the topic. Not in endless scrolling on social media of people boasting ‘before’ and ‘after’ soul marks, in delicate little love knots, and spiralling patterns and bursts of colour. 

This is something utterly unique. The ribbon-like shape is unchanged, but somehow, it looks almost faceted like crystal, like under her skin there is the inside of a geode, colours shifting in ripples of scarlet and gold. It feels no different to touch, but no longer does she look like she’s been murdered. And the very ends, on her wrist and arm, they have darkened to a deep and unexpected violet. 

The heat still rolls under her skin but is slowly dispersing again, as if it was just insistent that she had to take a closer look. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Alice feels… well, not beautiful. But not monstrous. 

So she climbs into the bathtub and starts to cry. 

—

She stays in bed the next day, unable to face school. Lillian indulges her claims she’s sick, everything below Alice’s chin tucked firmly under her duvet, and leaves her daughter to rest. 

She can’t do it, can’t face the idea of having to see that boy again, that truly handsome boy, and let him know that when life was dealing out soul mates, he drew her card. Because she hasn’t been made suddenly beautiful by their inevitable meeting. She’s still a tiny, bony, and pale little creature - her own grandmother assures her every Christmas that she’ll never win any prizes for beauty. 

That doesn’t stop her from peaking under the blankets every so often just to see the impossible glitter of her mark, the way it somehow shifts from ruby to crimson to scarlet, with little veins of gold threaded through. She doesn’t understand - it’s just skin, still flat and smooth, the most remarkable of illusions. 

In the end, she kicks off the blankets and throws on a dress and leggings and boots, and leaves the house. Finds herself walking to the school, hoping that maybe she’s lucky enough to one, not get caught by either her parents or teachers, and two, find Him before he leaves for the day. 

Apparently, she’s just the right amount of lucky. She finds him sitting on one of the benches outside the school, running his hand through his hair and looking stressed. He’s surrounded by others, no one she recognises - one guy appears to be reassuring him; they’re all looking for someone. 

A brunette girl catches her eye and points to her, and apparently the person they’re looking for is her. She tries not to shrink under their gaze, as she crosses the carpark and wondering why on earth she’s here, and not still in bed, why she’s even tempting fate by approaching him. It’s going to go horribly, and everyone in town is going to find out about her mark, and her parents will just outright destroy her. 

She falters, and looks up at him. He looks almost hopeful, as he stares at her, raising his hands in peace when he thinks she’s going to back away. 

She approaches slowly, her arms crossed over her chest as she finally reaches the group. 

“Hello.” The boy stands up to greet her and he is so, so ridiculously tall, it’s not fair. 

“Hi.” It’s awkward. All those soul-meeting stories she read online, they all sounded so lovely, and hers is at a bench at school and… this.

“We’ll leave you to it, man,” one of the other boys says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

The blond boy nods and looks at her. He has kind eyes, which is good, she decides. 

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he offers suddenly. “Just around here? Might make it easier.”

“Yes. That sounds okay.” Her voice sounds small, and they move away from the benches, from the witnesses, towards the oval. 

—

His name is Jasper Hale, and he’s eighteen. He lives with his aunt, uncle, twin sister, and his adopted cousins. They only moved to Forks a year ago. He likes American History, motorcycles, and horses. He plays the guitar. He’d like to get to know her. 

She fumbles through what to tell him. Her name, of course, her family. Why they moved. She likes… that’s a weird question. She’s spent so long hiding everything about herself that she can’t remember what she actually likes and what’s just become routine. 

She can do this. 

Her name is Alice Brandon - Mary Alice Brandon - and she’s seventeen. She lives with her parents and younger sister. They just moved from Biloxi. She likes drawing, she likes fashion, and she likes dancing. 

“I don’t know if this is inappropriate,” Jasper begins, as they take a seat on the ageing bleachers at the back of the school. “But, could I see the mark?”

She visibly flinches from the request, but he’s been very patient and seems to actually be invested in this, and she can’t be outright cruel. He’ll leave her alone soon enough. “C-can I see yours?” she manages, hoping to delay the inevitable. 

He nods, looking at her with concern, but hikes up the side of his shirt. It runs down his side, even underneath the waistband of his jeans, all sharp edges and thin lines jerking out, like a spiking heart rate. It’s mostly a dark gold colour, but with violet and scarlet bleeding into parts of it. It’s the most perfectly normal soul mark she’s ever seen, and she’s not sure whether to be disappointed his doesn’t match hers better so they can be freaks together, or if she’s grateful no one else has to live like she does.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, and it’s true. Beautiful colours, the visible representation of a beating heart. It suits him. 

He nods, a slight smile hovering at his lips. “Yours?” he asks, and this time she knows she cannot get out of it. But she also can’t whip off the dress she’s wearing, in the middle of the school oval. 

“Um, I can’t,” she began, looking at her shoes. “Not here.” She makes a gesture towards her chest. “Not the whole thing - but I can show you some of it.”

He’s curious as she rolls up her right sleeve to her elbow, and holds out her arm. He positively gapes at it, and reaches out to stroke it, making them both jump at the unexpected contact.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. That’s… incredible,” he murmured. 

“Incredible?” she echoes, pulling her sleeve down. He’s staring at her like she’s performed a miracle in front of him, and she doesn’t know how to act. 

“It’s beautiful. But you said you couldn’t show me all of it? How far up does it go?” he asks, furrowing his brow. 

She wordlessly and mechanically draws the path she’s been branded with - for him - and his eyes get wider. 

“I’ve never heard of such a … prominent mark,” he manages. 

“It’s pretty … dramatic,” she admits before sighing and shaking her head. “Before we ran into each other, it was… awful. Hideous - the ugliest thing possible.”

He looks shocked, and moves closer. “Why do you say that?” his voice is low, encouraging. 

“It was so big and bright and everyone hated it, hated looking at it,” she gestured to her chest. “You’ll understand when you see the entire thing. It’s… it’s nicer now, but it’s still everywhere.”

Jasper studied her a moment longer before looking out at the field. “I researched soul marks once, as a bit of a hobby,” he began. “American research on the topic is only very recent, and focused on the science of it rather than the meaning. But you begin to look abroad, or back through history, and what we know or believe it gets interesting.

“For instance, in India, they believe the length of the soul mark determines the length of your time together. Hundreds of years ago, they had a special way to measure a soul mark to determine how many years you would have together. It’s been lost to modern history, but it was once incredibly important a couple to have their soul marks measured and calculated. 

“And then in Ancient Greece, any mark was a sign of great pride. They would cut down their clothing - sometimes quite indecently - to show off - the more prominent the mark, the better.

“And some of the Slavic tribes, they believed that the shape and size and placement of the mark held great significance to the relationship the soul mates would have - the depth and strength of love the pair would carry for each other; that a great size implied that one half of the couple was taking on a burden of pain or suffering from the other, to help them through life.”

She sat there, almost breathless, as he so easily detailed the different things he had found and read. All of them full of acceptance, of hope, and of how… special such a thing was supposed to be. 

“What do you believe?” she manages to ask. 

He looks at her and reaches out to take her hand, gently squeezing it. 

“That there’s nothing you could show me that would scare me away,” he said, and she can feel herself blush. “And that I would very much like to get to know you better, Alice Brandon.”

—

He walks her home, still holding her hand, and they talk about nothing. Movies they’ve seen, music they like, places they would like to visit. He makes it easy to talk, to find things to say. The walk is a lot shorter on the way back. 

Lillian Brandon is not amused to find her so-called ‘unwell’ eldest daughter has snuck out, but is bamboozled and gracious enough to hold back her displeasure when she sees Alice hand in hand with Jasper. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Alice?” Lillian rebukes her daughter, and watches as her daughter appears to shrink back against the tall boy with his gaze permanently fixed on her. 

“This is Jasper Hale,” Alice manages, ducking her head. “He’s a senior.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Jasper replies respectfully, eyeing the uncomfortable girl at his side. “I’d like to thank you for doing me the favour of bringing my soul mate to Forks.”

Later, Alice will laugh until her eyes are watering over the look on Lillian’s face when she computes what Jasper is saying. That this tall, handsome boy who can’t take his eyes off her daughter is Alice’s soul mate. Lillian’s face goes through the full spectrum of emotions - confused, shocked, completely blank, incredulous, and then vaguely dazed. 

The late reveal of Alice’s soul mark is hand waved away with Jasper informing the pair his own didn’t show up until he was seven - that late appearing soul marks aren’t as uncommon as people think. Lillian is utterly flabbergasted and Alice only gets to enjoy it for as long as it takes Lillian to get to her favourite topic - complaining about Alice’s ‘disfigurement’. 

“It’s really quite gruesome to look at - you said your uncle was a surgeon? Perhaps he might know of someone who can tidy it up a little,” Lillian prattles on as the pair sit stiffly at the kitchen table. 

“I think it’s quite lovely, myself,” Jasper responds coldly, but Lillian doesn’t notice the change in his mood. 

“Have you seen the whole thing? Run up and put a camisole on, Alice,” Lillian waves a hand at her daughter. “You’ll understand. We’ve tried everything, but nothing works.”

Jasper looks furious as she leaves the table meekly at her mother’s bidding. Maybe Lillian is right, maybe Jasper will back away when he sees the sheer expanse of all, all that research be damned. 

It feels quite strange to walk around wearing so little clothing, and she’s slower going back downstairs, her face hidden by her hair, as she returns to the kitchen. The camisole is cut low enough to show her barely-existent cleavage, and she really feels like she’s just walking around naked. 

Jasper stands as soon as she returns, and for a split second, she thinks he’s going to walk out, that Lillian was right and she was right and it doesn’t matter it changed, it’s still awful. 

But he moves closer to her, reaching out to gather her hair and push it away from her face. And for the first time since they’ve met, he looks at her. At the faint freckles on her nose, the tiny scar on her cheek, her slightly sunken cheeks, her sad grey eyes, down to the faceted expanse of soul mark that twists up both her arms and meets over her collarbone. 

Lillian shakes her head in despair at the family shame revealed so openly, not remarking - or maybe not noticing - the change of it. 

“I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Jasper’s voice is firm and clear and appreciative and Lillian looks scandalised, and Alice starts to laugh and cry at the same time, and somehow she finds herself in his arms, clinging to him like a lifesaver because she can’t remember  ever being told that in her whole life.  

(It’s a quiet dinner at the Brandons that night, after Lillian reports to her husband what has transpired. The only comment Michael Brandon makes is right before he gets up, staring at his eldest daughter, and rudely congratulating her on catching a doctor’s son. Alice can’t find it in herself to care.)

—

Nothing worth having ever came easy.

Meeting the Cullens goes… fine. She wears a dress with a high neckline and elbow-length sleeves, but then puts a cardigan over the top because old habits are hard to break. She puts her hair up though, because it makes Jasper smile when she does. 

Dr Cullen seems vaguely horrified at the sight of her (Jasper reassures her later that it was how terribly, terribly thin she was, and nothing more), but Mrs Cullen is delighted by her, clasping her in a hug and insisting Alice call her ‘Esme’. 

Jasper’s twin sister, Rose, seems guarded but very polite to her, whilst Jasper’s adopted cousin (and Rose’s soul mate, which explains the very specific description) Emmett is all fun and games, and at ease with her right away.

“Jas said you had issues with your mark,” he says within the first minutes of meeting her. “Get a load of this.” He pulls his t-shirt up, and turns around to show Alice his back. Like Alice, his spine appears to have split perfectly down the middle to reveal a faceted crystal effect in deep pink and forest green. It starts at his hairline, running down his neck and stretches across his shoulders before narrowing again. 

“Very appropriate timing, Emmett,” the other cousin, Edward, sighs. 

“What? Jas was pissed she was upset,” Emmett tugs his shirt down, and Alice isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry that the whole family knows something she’s been ashamed of for so long. “We thought it might be, like, a freaky genetic thing but then Edward’s girl showed up with one like it on her leg. Some people just get lucky, I guess.”

“Ignore him. He’s got the tact of cinderblock wall,” Edward says to her. “He’s never had a moment of self-doubt in his life.”

That makes her giggle a little, and everyone relaxes. It’s a nice visit after that, but both Dr Cullen and Mrs Cu- Esme look at her with worried eyes, and that makes her worry more. 

At school, apparently being Jasper Hale’s soul mate is a scandal of the highest degree. Her locker is defaced twice, and one girl body-slams her into the wall as she walks past. Everybody suddenly knows who she is, and she has a place to sit at the cafeteria, and it’s not as bad as she thought it would be because the Cullens don’t eat much either. 

Jasper fusses over her a lot; he picks her up for school every day in a shiny black truck, and he walks her to every class. He takes her back home every day, and most days they sit in her room and talk. Nothing inappropriate, especially since she has to keep her bedroom door open whenever she has guests. She asks him about college, but he is dismissive of it - entirely focused on her and her plans. He helps her with her homework, helps her move her bedroom furniture - nothing is too much trouble. 

He only leaves at dinner time, when her father comes home. Sometimes she wonders if he’d ever leave her if he wasn’t forced to. 

She knows she runs hot and cold. Some days she clings to him like a limpet, reluctant to seperate even for their respective classes, quiet and solemn. Other days, she is distant, uncomfortable with being touched. Those are the days she drags the turtlenecks and heavy sweaters out, the ones that cover her right to her hands. And then there are the days she is her best self, when her smile is bright and she can wear a top that bares her forearms and forces herself to ignore people staring at her soul mark. Those are the days she can relied to eat lunch, to have a conversation with his family, to be the person she was shamed into not being. 

And Jasper stays for all of it. He doesn’t get mad, he doesn’t insult her, he doesn’t yell. He’s just right there, by her side, right up until graduation. They don’t go to Prom because the idea of wearing an evening dress makes her feel woozy and hide in the immense fabric of one of his hoodies and watch bad movies with aggressive focus. Instead, they stay at the Cullens house, and Mrs Cullen makes them crepes - she eats more than Jasper, she’s sure of it, but they’re very good - and he plays music in his bedroom and they dance there, instead. 

That’s where he admits he’s putting college off for a year and working for Esme - a very successful architect and interior designer - for a year. And not for college money; apparently that isn’t a problem. No, because he wants to wait for her, so they can go to college together. He doesn’t care where - it’s her choice. That she’s letting him tag along is all he needs. 

It’s all very romantic and it’s also their very first kiss, and then their very first make out, and nearly their very first time except she’s still messed up in the head, and the idea of getting really naked with anyone is so bad she hyperventilates and he has to calm her down. 

She’s not sure what he gets out of having her as a soul mate, but she hopes he knows that he’s saving her life. 

—

It’s late August, just before she starts her senior year with Edward and his girlfriend, Bella, when Jasper brings her to the house to tell her something.

She worries the entire trip to his house, piling anxiety on top of anxiety. It’s definitely her - they kiss sometimes and it’s nice, and she doesn’t mind when he sees her in her bra now, but anything else is too much and maybe he’s tired of waiting?

Or maybe he’s realised waiting around for a whole year in a town like Forks for a girl like her is actually really dumb, and he’s going to college after all. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

The thing is, in all her catastrophizing, she thought she had everything covered. Every single thing, from a break-up, to terminal illness, to joining the military, to world collapse. She feels like her head is spinning by the time she gets to the Cullens, and she’s positive she’s either going to faint or vomit by the time he tells her whatever he wants to tell her. 

“We’re vampires,” is absolutely and most certainly nowhere on her list, and she bursts into tears, and the entire family freaks out, and then she has to admit she thought she was being dumped, and both Emmett and Carlisle burst out laughing because apparently Jasper has been mooning over her since the day she ran into him, without exception, and the idea that he’d choose to leave her for some petty human reason is the height of comedy. 

She has to lie down after that revelation, as Jasper and Carlisle slowly explain to her that all those ‘quirks’ she evidently didn’t pay attention to where indicative of being a fucking vampire, with various interjections from Emmett that are unhelpful but funny. 

The end result is that she starts her final year of high school with the knowledge that her soul mate is a vampire - one that hunts animals but is physically unable to drink her blood thanks to soul mate biology; that they will respect her choice to remain human if that is what she wants, but that allowing him to change her will give them forever together. 

It’s a lot of pressure. She loses some of the hard-won weight she has gained, and she’s not sleeping well, and Esme - when she finds out - is fairly pissed they’ve rattled her to that point. When she goes to Esme for advice, the woman is more than happy to offer counsel, to listen to her hopes and fears and dreams and all the things that rattle around in her brain that she can’t stop thinking about.

It’s Rosalie who helps, who finds her in the Cullen’s kitchen inspecting the calories on the peanut butter jar.

“You know, I didn’t want this,” Rose says brusquely, taking the jar out of her hands and shoves Alice out of the way to make the sandwich for her. “I hated Carlisle for years for changing me without consent - I was dying, he made a choice,” the blonde girl says, slicing up the banana. “Then I got my mark, and found Emmett.” She cuts the sandwich likes she’s stabbing a dead thing. 

“Eat. There are a lot of things I regret and I resent about this life. We all have them - I know for a fact that Jasper has sanitised most of his own history to ‘protect’ you, and I disagree with that. But never have I looked at Emmett, had Emmett beside me, and regretted that. I love him more than I thought possible.

"We’re given these damn marks for a reason. I’ve never seen Jasper as… at peace as he has been since he found you. There’s never going to be a time - not today, or next month or even in the next twenty years - that he’s going to look at you and not see his entire world. Stay human, become one of us - only you can make that choice. But don’t make that choice because you think that it will change how it will make him feel. Because that’s not happening,” Rose finished, putting the peanut butter in the fridge. “You’re smart, you’re pretty, you clearly love him. Anything else is just your own neuroses. Eat the damn sandwich.”

She eats the whole thing. 

— 

‘Nothing worth having ever came easy.’ 

She reminds herself of that over and over again when things get hard. When she goes up a clothing size, when she wears a t-shirt that fits for the first time since she was twelve, when she’s staring down a perfectly ordinary bowl of fruit salad. 

When she lets him put his mouth on her soul mark, her chest bare, and her breathing only a little bit panicked. But it feels kind of nice and she makes a few sounds that are embarrassing but Jasper seems to like them a lot. 

When her mother drives her to Seattle to pick out a dress for prom, and she immediately reaches for a blue one. A vintage-style strapless cocktail dress in deep blue that she’s immediately in love with. It fits like a glove, and as she spins in front of the mirror, she chooses to ignore the look that Cynthia shoots Lillian, and Lillian’s wince. She loves it and she’s going to wear it.

And she does. She nearly hyperventilates, and changes into her back-up dress twice (one that covers her from wrist-to-throat-to-knee) before she commits. It’s what she wants to wear, it’s how she wants to look for him, and he loves her soul mark. He loves her. He’ll love her in any dress, but she wants it to be this one. 

And as she comes down the stairs, to go to her senior prom, in a dress that exposes every inch of what she’s tried so hard to hide, his eyes widen and he gapes. He loses all composure for a moment and that makes her laugh and he calls her beautiful, just like he does every day, except she’s almost started believing him. 

And decades later, when she remembers that night, it’s not the snide remarks she recalls. It’s of being in his arms as he dances with her; it’s her hand in his as she tugs him along. The way he looked at her, and the way she looked at him. It was the pride in his gaze, and the love, and the promise that no matter what, they would always be together. 

—

A few years later, her soul mark has changed again. Carlisle affectionately calls her a chameleon before delving into an academic recitation on the biology of soul marks and how great upheavals - physical, mental, or spiritual - can affect their appearance. 

“Duh,” Emmett says after a moment of silence, and even Edward and Rose are sniggering at that. 

Her soul mark has not shrunk or changed shape, as she once wished so passionately. And the beautiful crystal effect has remained, even more beautiful not that she truly sparkles in the sun. 

But the scarlet has faded away, giving way for swoops of gold and violet that twist together in a way that she adores.

It’s the very same gold of Jasper’s eyes.

The very same gold as the diamond in the ring he presents to her, down on knee, and she knocks them both to the floor in her delight and rush to accept. 

It’s the same gold she hopes her eyes will be.

Someday. 

—

[flirting-with-psychology]

1. I own a ferret. 2. My best friend is my boyfriend 3. My best friend is a girl 4. I use the word super way too much 5. I am a boy 6. I like My Chemical Romance 7. I own more than 100 CDs 8. I like discussing politics 9. I collect state quarters 10. The Legend of Zelda is my favorite video game. 11. I have Cingular 12. I love MAC makeup 13. I smoke too much 14. I own more than 5 bandanas 15. My favorite movie is Kill Bill 16. I watched Lamb Chop when I was young 17. I have my ears gauged 18. I can do HTML without guidance 19. I watch Spongebob Squarepants regularly. 20. I go to the movies at least once a week 21. I play guitar or bass 22. I love Elvis 23. I’ve had a mo/bi/trihawk before 24. I have met my favorite band 25. I like to hardcore dance 26. Something’s outside my window 27. I believe in ghosts 28. I do drugs regularly 29. I am straightedge 30. My favorite feature about myself is my lips 31. I have never consumed alcohol 32. I want a tattoo. 33. My favorite actor is Will Ferrell. 34. I have seen Conan O'Brien live. 35. I hate MTV 36. I used to watch Cheaters every week 37. I have my own vaccuum 38. Frank Sinatra is awesome 39. I sleep with a stuffed animal 40. I am scared of werewolves 41. I watch hockey regularly 42. I am originally from New York 43. I own an iPod 44. Some people aren’t funny. 45. I hate school. 46. My favorite vegetable is lettuce. 47. Tickle fights are fun. 48. I am currently unemployed. 49. I have my license 50. I hate spelling mistakes 51. I love Spanish class 52. I live in a big city 53. I have been to the Grand Canyon 54. I listen to music to fall asleep 55. I watch TV to fall asleep 56. I only get a few hours of sleep each night 57. I’m relatively innocent. 58. I am a size 3 or smaller 59. I’m bored. 60. Purple is my favorite color. 61. I hate flossing 62. I have a car. 63. I believe in God 64. I’m in love. 65. I used to love Unwritten Law. 66. Reno 911 is my favorite show. 67. There is a mini stapler on my computer desk. 68. Cuddling’s my favorite. 69. For sure. 70. I have a flip phone 71. I love my handwriting 72. I own a Louis Vuitton handbag 73. I want to be an astronaut. 74. I love the song Dragostea Din Tei 75. 50 Cent is not talented 76. I like scanners better than digital cameras. 77. I own at least one Punk-O-Rama CD 78. My room is sound proof. 79. I’m 5'5 or less 80. Lying pisses me off 81. I backstab people. 82. I have been in a fist fight. 83. I have PaintShop Pro. 84. It’s almost midnight 85. My nightlight is cracked 86. I only listen to Dashboard Confessional when I’m sad 87. And I feel like a pansy when I do so 88. I hate metal 89. I’m in a band. 90. Napoleon Dynamite is annoying now. 91. I love hickeys 92. I want to lose weight 93. My favorite channel is the Food Network. 94. I don’t have a CD burner. 95. Pixar is stupid except for the Incredibles 96. I own an apartment/house 97. I am engaged. 98. My computer’s a Gateway. 99. I hate driving. 100. I like watching boys sleep. =========================== 01. I miss someone right now 02. I don’t watch much TV these days 03. I love olives 04. I love sleeping 05. I own lots of books 06. I wear glasses or contact lenses 07. I love to play video games 08. I’ve tried marijuana 09. I’ve watched porn movies 10. I have been in a threesome 11. I have been the psycho-ex in a past relationship 12. I believe honesty is usually the best policy 13. I have acne free skin usually 14. I like and respect Al Sharpton 15. I curse frequently 16. I have changed a lot mentally over the last year 17. I have a hobby 18. I’ve been told I can suck the chromes off a trailer hitch. 19. I carry my knife/razor everywhere with me 20. I’m smart 21. I’ve never broken someone’s bones 22. I have a secret that I am ashamed to reveal 23. I hate the rain 24. I’m paranoid at times 25. I would get plastic surgery if it were 100% safe, free of cost, and scars. 26. I need money right now! 27. I love Sushi 28. I talk really, really fast sometimes 29. I have fresh breath in the morning 30. I have semi-long hair 31. I have lost money in Las Vegas 32. I have at least one brother and/or one sister 33. I was born in a country outside of the U.S. 34. I shave my legs 35. I have a twin 36. I have worn fake hair/fingernails/eyelashes in the past 37. I couldn’t survive without Caller I.D. 38. I like the way that I look sometimes 39. I have lied to a good friend in the last 6 months 40. I know how to do cornrows 41. I am usually pessimistic 42. I have a lot of mood swings 43. I think prostitution should be legalized 44. I think Britney Spears is hot 45. I have cheated on a significant other in the past 46. I have a hidden talent 47. I’m always hyper no matter how much sugar I have. 48. I think that I’m popular 49. I am currently single 50. I have kissed someone of the same sex 51. I enjoy talking on the phone 52. I practically live in sweatpants or PJ pants 53. I love to shop. 54. I would rather shop than eat 55. I would classify myself as ghetto. 56. I’m bourgie and have worn a sweater tied around my shoulders 57. I’m obsessed with my Livejournal 58. I don’t hate anyone. 59. I’m a pretty good dancer 60. I don’t think Mike Tyson raped Desiree Washington 61. I’m completely embarrassed to be seen with my mother 62. I have a cell phone 63. I believe in God/ a higher being. 64. I watch MTV/Vh1 on a daily basis 65. I have passed out drunk in the past 6 months 66. I love drama. 67. I have never been in a real romantic relationship before 68. I’ve rejected someone before 69. I currently have a crush on someone 70. I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life 71. I want to have children in the future 72. I have changed a diaper before 73. I’ve called the cops on a friend before 74. I bite my nails 75. I am a member of the Tom Green fan club 76. I’m not allergic to anything 77. I have a lot to learn 78. I have dated someone at least 10 years older or younger 79. I plan on seeing Ice Cube’s newest “Friday” movie 80. I am sometimes shy around the opposite sex 81. I’m online 24/7, even as an away message 82. I have at least 5 away messages saved 83. I have tried alcohol or drugs before 84. I have made a move on a friend’s significant other in the past 85. I own the “South Park” movie 86. I have avoided assignments at work/school to be on Xanga or Livejournal 87. When I was a kid I played “the birds and the bees” with a neighbor or chum 88. I enjoy some country music 90. I think that Pizza Hut has the best pizza 91. I watch soap operas whenever I can 92. I’m obsessive, anal retentive, and often a perfectionist 93. I have used my sexuality to advance my career 94. I love Michael Jackson, scandals and all 95. I know all the words to Slick Rick’s “Children’s Story” 96. Halloween is awesome because you get free candy 97. I watch Spongebob Squarepants and I like it 98. I have dated a close friend’s ex 99. I’m happy as of this moment 100. I was born in the 80s but I am truly a child of the 90s  101. I have slapped john dasaro and chris burke in the face..on the same night 102. I haven’t showered in two days… and I like it. 103. i own every f***er here 104. I procrastinate all the time 105. I’m a nerd 106. I LOVE the movie The Wedding Singer. 107. i hate corn. 108. i’ve attended the rocky horror picture show 109. i’ve never seen Bambi the movie 110. Thinking about the future terrifies me 111. Without music there would be no point in living. 112. If I could change one thing about myself I would 113. If someone of the same sex liked me, I would date them. 114. I went to the mall today for 5 hours ================================ Would do Have Done

001. Bought everyone in the pub a drink 002. Swam with wild dolphins 003. Climbed a mountain *004. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive 005. Been inside the Great Pyramid 006. Held a tarantula. *007. Taken a candlelit bath with someone 008. Said ‘I love you’ and meant it. 009. Hugged a tree *010. Done a striptease 011. Bungee jumped *012. Visited Paris 013. Watched a lightning storm at sea *014. Stayed up all night long, and watch the sun rise several times *015. Seen the Northern Lights 016. Gone to a huge sports game 017. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa *018. Grown and eaten your own vegetables *019. Touched an iceberg *020. Slept under the stars 021. Changed a baby’s diaper 022. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon *023. Watched a meteor shower *024. Gotten drunk on champagne *025. Given more than you can afford to charity 026. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope 027. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment 028. Had a food fight 029. Bet on a winning horse 030. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill 031. Asked out a stranger 032. Had a snowball fight 033. Photocopied your bottom on the office photocopier 034. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can 035. Held a lamb 036. Organized and planned a surprise party for a loved one *037. Taken a midnight skinny dip 038. Taken an ice cold bath 039. Had a meaningful conversation with a beggar 040. Seen a total eclipse 041. Ridden a roller coaster 042. Hit a home run 043. Fit three weeks miraculously into three days 044. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking *045. Adopted an accent for an entire day 046. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors 047. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment *048. Had two hard drives for your computer *049. Visited all 50 states 050. Loved your job for all accounts *051. Taken care of someone who was really sick *052. Had enough money to be truly satisfied 053. Had amazing friends 054. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country *055. Watched wild whales 056. Stolen a sign 057. Backpacked in Europe *058. Taken a road-trip 059. Rock climbing 060. Lied to foreign government’s official in that country to avoid notice *061. Midnight walk on the beach 062. Sky diving *063. Visited Ireland 064. Been heartbroken longer then you were actually in love 065. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them *066. Visited Japan 067. Bench pressed your own weight 068. Milked a cow 069. Alphabetized your records 070. Pretended to be a superhero 071. Sung karaoke 072. Lounged around in bed all day 073. Protested something you feel strongly against 074. Scuba diving *075. Got it on to “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye 076. Kissed in the rain 077. Played in the mud 078. Played in the rain *079. Gone to a drive-in theater 080. Done something you should regret, but don’t regret *081. Visited the Great Wall of China 082. Discovered that someone who’s not supposed to have known about your blog has discovered your blog 083. Dropped Windows in favor of something better 084. Started a business 085. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken 086. Toured ancient sites 087. Taken a martial arts class 088. Swordfought for the honor of a woman 089. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight *090. Gotten married 091. Been in a movie 092. Crashed a party 093. Loved someone you shouldn’t have *094. Kissed someone so passionately it made them dizzy 095. Gotten divorced 096. Started an office war 097. Gone without food for 5 days 098. Made cookies from scratch 099. Won first prize in a costume contest 100. Ridden a gondola in Venice 101. Gotten a tattoo 102. Found that the texture of some materials can turn you on 103. Rafted the Snake River 104. Been on television news programs as an “expert" 105. Got flowers for no reason 106. Made out in a public place 107. Got so drunk you don’t remember anything 108. Been addicted to some form of illegal drug 109. Performed on stage 110. Been to Las Vegas 111. Recorded music 112. Eaten shark *113. Drank an entire 6 pack by yourself *114. Gone to Thailand 115. Seen Siouxsie *116. Bought a house 117. Been in a combat zone 118. Buried one/both of your parents 119. Shaved all of your hair off *120. Been on a cruise ship 121. Spoken more than one language fluently 122. Gotten into a fight while attempting to defend someone 123. Bounced a check 124. Performed in theatre 125. Read - and understood - your credit report *126. Raised children 127. Recently bought and played with a favorite childhood toy *128. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour *129. Created and named your own constellation of stars 130. Taken a bicycle tour in a foreign country 131. Found out something significant that your ancestors did 132. Called or written your Congress person 133. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over 135. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge 136. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking 137. Had an abortion 138. Had plastic surgery 139. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived 140. Wrote articles for a large publication 141. Lost over 100 pounds 142. Held someone while they were having a flashback 143. Piloted an airplane 144. Petted a stingray 145. Broken someone’s heart 146. Helped an animal give birth 147. Been fired or laid off from a job 148. Won money on a TV game show 149. Broken a bone 150. Killed a human being *151. Gone on an African photo safari 152. Ridden a motorcycle 153. Driven any land vehicle at a speed of greater than 100mph 154. Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced 155. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol 156. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild 157. Ridden a horse 158. Had major surgery 159. Ridden on a passenger train 160. Had a snake as a pet 161. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon 162. Slept through an entire flight: takeoff, flight, and landing 163. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours 164. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states *165. Visited all 7 continents 166. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days 167. Eaten kangaroo meat 168. Fallen in love at an ancient Mayan burial ground 169. Been a sperm or egg donor 170. Eaten sushi 171. Had your picture in the newspaper 172. Had 2 (or more) healthy romantic relationships for over a year in your lifetime *173. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about 174. Gotten someone fired for their actions 175. Gone back to school 176. Parasailed 177. Changed your name 178. Petted a cockroach 179. Eaten fried green tomatoes 180. Read The Iliad 181. Selected one "important” author who you missed in school, and read 182. Dined in a restaurant and stolen silverware, plates, cups because your apartment needed them 183. …and gotten 86'ed from the restaurant because you did it so many times, they figured out it was you 184. Taught yourself an art from scratch 185. Killed and prepared an animal for eating 186. Apologized to someone years after inflicting the hurt *187. Skipped all your school reunions 188. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language 189. Been elected to public office 190. Written your own computer language 191. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream 192. Had to put someone you love into hospice care 193. Built your own PC from parts 194. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you 195. Had a booth at a street fair 196: Dyed your hair blue 197: Been a DJ 198: Found out someone was going to dump you via LiveJournal 199: Written your own role playing game 200: Been arrested ====================== 1. I have self-mutilated before. 2. I still love the song Dragostea Din Tei 3. I used to like New Kids on the Block 4. The 80s was funny. 5. I have realtones enabled on my cellular phone. 6. Public bathrooms scare me 7. I have keys on my belt 8. I’m not wearing a belt 9. I hate writing 10. I hate reading 1. I love compilation CDs 12. My favorite teachers have all been guys 13. I think Bad Religion’s only been around for ten or so years 14. I don’t know who Bad Religion is. 15. I don’t wear my hood unless it’s raining 16. I enjoy smaller clubs rather than big ones 17. I’ve put a song on repeat for more than 8 hours 18. I have sound on my computer  19. Someone wants my hiney. 20. My mom loves Elvis 21. I have my own computer 22. I live on the east coast 23. My favorite animal is a kangaroo 24. I’m on vacation 25. I don’t own a pair of ripped jeans 26. I am very insecure somewhat 27. I love to dance 28. I curse way too much. 29. I choose the pansy way and star out my curse words (f*ck) 30. I feel dumb because I was just called a pansy 31. I have a flatscreen computer 32. I collect something. 33. I’m married 34. I won’t date someone who’s smaller than me smaller, as in also shorter? 35. Brass knuckles are the shit. 36. I own a hand puppet 37. I write with blue pens 38. I wear eye makeup almost every day 39. I wish I lived somewhere other than here 40. I don’t own a band shirt. Not yet anyway.. 41. I love techno. 42. I have my nipples pierced 43. I’m shitty at wrapping presents 44. I know someone in the KKK 45. I’m racist/anti-semitist. 46. I don’t know what those mean. 47. I love life most of the time 48. I have posters all over my room 49. I’ve never been a camera whore with someone.. And I want to. 50. I’m halfway done 51. I wish I lived in the 80s 52. I know what the term borgie means 53. I’m interested in social hierarchy. 54. I love music videos. 55. I have a DVD player 56. I’m drunk right now 57. I’m listening to music 58. I have a big screen TV 59. I have an STD 60. I know the singer of the Clash’s name 61. The only IM program I have is AIM 62. I skateboard regularly 63. I live on the north side of town 64. I have been to Alaska 65. I’ve worn a cowboy hat 66. I watch late night infomercials for retarded, unnecessary things 67. I LOVE DOING THE DEATH GROWL TO MY FAVORITE METAL SONGS. 68. That last question was dumb. 69. I know what the word “peligroso” means in English 70. I speak another language fluently 71. I’ve been in a limo 72. I own a bong 73. My lungs hurt 74. I know someone who’s committed suicide 75. I’ve got a six pack and I don’t need you! 76. I know what band sung the above line 77. I like strong boys. 78. I’m sick right now 79. I know someone who’s currently enlisted in the army 80. I do not own a color phone 81. My birthday is in September 82. I hate mall cops 83. I hate most cops in general 84. I’m wearing blush 85. I live in an apartment 86. I’m still in high school. 87. I own something from Victoria’s Secret 88. I don’t know a boy that wears girls pants 89. I’ve had the same best friend since I was 8. 90. Brownies are my favorite 91. So is cake 92. I’ve heard the song “Looks Good in Leather” 93. I own some sort of propaganda, fake or real 94. I deny the Holocaust happened 95. Kisses are my favorite sign of affection 96. I need to charge my phone 97. My purse could pass for a suitcase 98. I take birth control 99. I only buy what’s fashionable

1. I love bolding 2. I know someone named Mimi 3. I hate my old best friend 4. My favorite alcoholic drink is Jack n Coke 5. I have a digital camera 6. I’m talking to at least one person online 7. I like watching college basketball 8. I have never moved. 9. I have at least one cat 10. I have at least one dog 11. I’m going to see a movie tonight maybe 12. I make my own AIM icons 13. I’m in pain 14. I watch more than five shows a day 15. I love the Cure 16. My parents like some of the same music I do 17. I have never been to the dentist 18. I listen to the radio 19. I do my own laundry 20. I’ve made at least one article of clothing 21. I have/want something on my face pierced 22. I go to at least one concert a week 23. I’ve written a story 24. I’ve dyed my hair every color of the rainbow 25. I own a Grand Theft Auto game 26. My favorite pattern is camoflauge 27. I know someone who does/did cocaine 28. I have too many game systems 29. I love scary movies 30. I hate scary movies 31. I’ve had sex more than 5 times 32. My favorite chips are Lays Original 33. I think butter is unhealthy 34. I hate the Osbournes 35. I used to have dreadlocks 36. I need to take medicine for something 37. I suffer from insomnia 38. I speak ebonics 39. I’ve gambled 40. And won 41. I have at least one gay friend 42. I like going to pet stores 43. I own a dog toy 44. And I don’t have a dog 45. I own more than ten candles 46. I’ve smoked a cigarette in the shower before 47. I’ve flunked a class 48. I listen to music every day 49. I have more than one nickname 50. I wear pajamas when I feel like it 51. I’m wearing more than one jewelry item 52. I haven’t washed my hair in a week 53. I watch the Grammy’s every year 54. Along with the Macy’s Parade 55. My favorite season is winter 56. I have seen the All American Rejects live 57. And I’ve enjoyed it. 58. Boobs are nothing special 59. I go swimming at least once a week in summer. 60. I have a pool. 61. I’ve gone skinnydipping 62. I’ve played strip poker 63. And lost 64. I want a nautical star tattoo 65. My cell phone turns off when it’s charging 66. And it pisses me off 67. I used to buy my entire wardrobe from Hot Topic 68. I’ve been to albinoblacksheep.com 69. My favorite subject is History 70. And/or math 71. I am a republican 72. I am a democrat 73. I listen to the Used occasionally 74. I have been to the Warped Tour 75. I am part Mexican 76. I am part German 77. All of my grandparents are still alive. 79. I love bowling 80. I know that there is a South Park, Colorado 81. I love Dairy Queen 82. Sometimes I think I’m crazy 83. I own a Moffatts CD 84. I own a Backstreet Boys CD 85. I want plastic surgery 86. Operation, operation, snip and tie, snip and tie 87. I know what song that line is from 88. I have killed something [bugs!] 89. I’ve never had a Nokia cell phone 90. I’m never sarcastic 91. Light eyes turn me on 92. I have never been to a foreign country 93. I don’t eat enough 94. I own illegal weaponry 95. I know someone who has overdosed on something 96. And lived to tell about it 97. I don’t own a pair of mittens 98. I love the heat 99. I’ve never had a steady boyfriend/gf 100. I want to makeout.

[stayextrafrosty]

I am Your Future, I am Your Past: Chapter 3

A Roswell New Mexico Soulmate AU

Warnings: PTSD, angst, and semi-smutty situations

Read On AO3

-

Alex typed at his computer, frustrated at the numbers that weren’t adding up. He was a hacker but for some reason, they had him in data entry. He hated being treated like he could no longer do the things he was supposed to. He cursed his missing leg. Though he supposed he should be happy to be alive…

-

“Manes, you almost done, we gotta go now!” A few more seconds and he would have all the information on the enemy’s battle plans.

“Manes!” The computer beeped and Alex jumped up, snapping the computer closed.

“Get moving now,” he called to the group of soldiers standing guard.

They sprinted out of the bunker, jumping into armored jeeps. Alex kept his head down, gripping the laptop against his chest. The car jerked forward for a few seconds, moving away from the rapid-fire.

“Somethings wrong!” Alex felt the car roll to a stop.

“Abort! Get out!” The extra weight of the bulletproof vest and computer slowed him down.

“Leave it, Manes!” Alex’s eyes shot to the second in command. But he listened. He tossed the computer to the seat. And jumped.

The explosion flung him into a rock, metal shredding his leg. His leg? Where was it?

He felt no pain. Just stared at the exposed bone and flesh. Another flash went off in the distance. He thought about moving. But he couldn’t.

“Alex! Don’t you dare pass out on me! We need a medic now, he’s still conscious!” The second in command grabbed him, pulling him out of the range of fire. Things were blurry.

“Come on. You promised we’d go out for drinks when this was all over. You said you’d tell me about the love of your life. Alex, stay with me!”

“Michael…”

“It’s me! It’s Tessa. As second in command I do not allow you to die like this. Do you hear me, Alex?”

-

He shook his head. She had saved his life. At least that’s what people told him when he woke up in the hospital. He hadn’t seen her since. No one would tell him where she was. He tried to look her up, but it was like she was completely scrubbed from the system.

Alex ran a hand through his hair. He should be grateful that he only lost a leg. He only wished he could thank her.

A knock at his door made him jump. He glanced at the clock. It was late for anyone to be stopping by. Alex picked up his crutch and moved toward the door. He opened it slowly, surprised to find Maria on the other side.

“Hey, Maria. Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” He pulled the door open completely, stepping to the side to welcome her in.

“I just… I need to talk to you. About Michael.”

He had successfully pushed the events from yesterday out of his mind. But now they were back full force. He tried to keep a straight face and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Did he do something? I don’t know him that well so—”

“Stop Alex. I know there’s something going on. You have the same tattoo,” she said, voice cautious. He blinked, not sure how to respond. Maria had seen his mark. Alex opened his mouth to speak but closed it again.

“What’s going on, Alex?”

He turned away from her, heading for the couch. If Michael hasn’t said anything to her yet, is it really his place to talk about it. She deserved to know something of course, but what was the line?

“Maria, look. There’s some stuff I think you should know.” She sat down with him on the couch, pulling her legs up to her chest.

“Let me start by saying this is all in the past,” he said slowly. She nodded.

“Michael and I… We were close. Back in high school, I mean. Friends and then... Remember that guy I said kissed me while I was at work?” Her eyebrows drew together and she nodded again. “That was Michael.” Her mouth hung open slightly.

“But Alex, you always told me you loved that guy. That he might have been the best thing that ever happened to you.” He smiled at the memories.

“And I meant it.”

“Alex, I—”

“Remember, this is all in the past. We aren’t like that anymore.” He cut her off. He didn’t need her jumping to conclusions. “Michael is a really great guy. Trust him,” he said, smiling. His fingers were crossed that this would distract her from what she originally asked.

“I’m sorry. I love him,” she said, tears pricking her eyes. Alex smiled and pulled her into a hug.

“I know. It’s scary how easy it is.” Alex felt his heart pang. He and Michael were over. Old feelings would be easy to rekindle. But he refused to let it. Michael and Maria were happy together.

“Are you going to tell me about that tattoo you both have?” Shit. He should have known better. Nothing was getting between Maria and the answers she wanted. Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I think it would be better if Michael explained it,” he said, not looking her in the eye. There was no way she would take what he said to heart if he started talking about cursed lovers over the generations.

Hell, it sounded like one of those stupid soulmate romances.

“So, it’s not ‘nothing’ then?” Alex moved his shirt away from the mark on his chest.

“We share this mark because of a curse Maria. That’s really all I can say because that’s all I know about it. It’s as new to me as it is to you.” She reached out and touched the area with the missing petal.

“This wasn’t like this a couple days ago.” Alex shrugged. Keeping things from her hurt but he was sure Michael would come up with something to keep her as out of it as possible. Her face suddenly lit up.

“I can do research on it if you want! My mom has all these old books on curses and stuff. I never really looked at them because I’m psychic, not a witch.” He shook his head.

“Uh, no, you don’t need to do that…” But she was already up and halfway to the door.

“Rely on me, Manes. I’m sure I’ll have something in a few days.” Then she was gone. He groaned and flopped back on the couch. He should warn Michael.

Alex pulled his phone out of his sweatpants pocket. He found Michael’s contact and his thumb hovered over the call button. Maybe this was better to just text to him? There wasn’t much to say except, ‘hey I told Maria we share a curse, sorry.’

Alex jumped as the phone started buzzing in his hand. Michael’s name popping up on the caller ID made the decision for him. He pressed the green button, lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Alex, there’s a problem.” This made him sit up from his lounging position.

“What problem?”

“Remember how I said the Evans’ had a bunch of old history stuff about this curse thing? Well someone broke into the house and trashed the room they were kept in. Max showed up right after I did.”

“Are there any cameras in the house? Did you call the police?”

“Max is the police,” he said, half joking.

“Right, sorry.” Michael talked to someone on the other side. It sounded female, maybe Isabel.

“Michael. Maria came to see me.” Whatever Michael was saying was promptly cut off.

“What did you tell her?”

“As little as possible. I talked about our time in high school. But she wouldn’t be distracted. I told her the mark was a curse but that was it. I told her to talk to you.” He heard Michael sigh. He could almost envision him running a hand through his curls.

“Do you need my help with anything,” Alex asked, not liking the silence.

“Yea, actually. Can you come by the Airstream tomorrow? It’s parked in Sander’s junkyard. The same place I worked some summers in high school.” Alex remembered. They made out hidden behind junk cars enough times that he couldn’t really forget it.

“Got it. I’ll be by around noon unless you need me earlier.”

“That works.” There were a few moments of awkward silence. Should he say ‘goodnight?’ ‘See you tomorrow?’ Or just hang up?

“See you then, Manes,” Michael said gently. The line clicked off before Alex could reply. He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His heart fluttered at the idea of seeing Michael. He knew there was something seriously wrong going on but he couldn’t help it.

“Snap out of it, Manes,” he scolded himself.

He moved back to his computer. The data wasn’t going to enter itself. But he couldn’t look at the spreadsheets anymore. Too much had happened in the past thirty minutes for him to focus. It was late anyway. Nearly eleven.

Alex picked up his prosthetic from where it was leaning next to the table. He moved to his room slowly, shoulders getting heavier as the promise of a bed and sleep got closer. He flipped on the light switch. The light was warm and helped him relax.

The guitar in the corner hadn’t been touched in years. He always considered picking it up, but would he still remember how to play? The queen bed shoved into the corner called to him. He would pick up that train of thought another day.

Alex let himself fall face first into the mattress. Why he was suddenly so exhausted was a mystery. He would worry about that tomorrow.

Michael.

He didn’t have the strength to fight the thoughts back. They were wrong and he knew it. But was it really a sin to let himself feel happy? Even if they were just dreams. He flipped over, resting a hand over his heart. He imagined Michaels hand. Imagined his heartbeat. Imagined the smell of rain covering him…

-

Alex stood in the middle of the desert. He turned and he was in front of the Airstream. He must have been early. Michael usually meets him out here. He stepped up to the door, knocking.

“Michael. You wanted to talk right?” Alex called but there was no answer. He walked around, looking at the various cars that were being worked on. A loud crash came from behind a shed. He rushed over to find Michael holding some ice to his hand. The one his father had crushed.

“Michael, what’s wrong?” He looked up and smiled.

“Nothing. just banged up my hand. Not serious.” Alex moved over to him, grabbing the injured hand. He lifted it to his lips, kissing it gently.

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, it doesn’t really work,” Michael joked. Alex looked up at him, rolling his eyes. He kissed his knuckles again, moving over his hand, turning it over to kiss his palm. Michael sucked in a breath as Alex trailed kisses down over his wrist.

Alex found himself pressed against the wall of the shed, Michaels hands cradling his face, eyes dark. Their lips came together, openmouthed and hot. Alex grabbed at Michaels waist, pulling him as close as possible.

Little gasps escaped his lips as their hips rubbed against each other, searching for more friction than they were getting. Alex shoved his hands under Michaels shirt, needing to feel more of him. They separated only for a moment as he lifted his shirt off. Michael reattached himself to Alex. Kissing his lips and then down his chin and over his neck.

“Michael,” Alex sighed, biting his lip. Michael kissed and sucked at a spot on his neck, driving him crazy. His hands slipped under Alex’s shirt, pushing it up and eventually off. They kissed each other like neither of them needed anything else. Air be damned.

God, they were going to do this. Right here. And Alex didn’t care. He didn’t care if someone saw. He just needed Michael. With him was exactly where he belonged.

Alex ran his hands down, over his chest and abs, settling at his belt. Alex tugged it out of its position, undoing it quickly before fiddling with the button on his jeans. Michael chuckled, low and breathy.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Alex halfheartedly scolded.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His fingers finally opened the button. He reached into his jeans, wrapping a hand around his hard dick. Michael moaned into his mouth as he rubbed him slowly. His own hard-on was becoming uncomfortable.

“Touch me, Michael.” He didn’t need to be told twice. Michael opened his pants easily, grabbing him while his own hips pumped into Alex’s hand. He pressed his lips against his neck, lower than where he had been kissing earlier. They pressed closer. Cocks rubbing against each other.

“Alex. I know I never said it before. But I—”

-

Both boys shot up from where they were sleeping. Drenched in sweat. Michael looked around his airstream and Alex around his room. Michael cursed as he flopped back down, frustrated. Alex stood, bracing himself on the wall to turn off the light that was still on.

Shared dreams would only be the beginning. When the universe wants two people together, it throws everything at them. Nothing held back. It plays off their own emotions. There was no moving on for them. They needed each other in every way.

-

Sunlight peaked through the window of the airstream. Michael had hardly slept. He groaned as the alarm he set on his phone went off. Alex would be here in an hour and he still had no idea how he would face him.

He hadn’t had a dream that vivid in years. He could still taste the salt from the sweat on Alex’s skin. He cursed his body. He needed to get off. He couldn’t hide something like this from Alex if he were driven mad from being horny.

It was no secret that he was attracted to Alex. He’d call someone crazy if they weren’t. He hauled himself up from the bed, shedding clothes. He stepped into the shower, not even jumping as the cold water ran over him.

He grabbed himself, rubbing slowly, the way he liked. He thought of Maria at first, but his thoughts drifted to Alex shortly after. He pressed his head against the cool wall. He stroked himself faster. He thought of the way Alex said his name in the dream. He was so desperate. There was so much love. His mouth fell open as the thought of Alex’s hand on him as opposed to his own. He didn’t last long after that.

“I can’t fucking shake him,” me mumbled.

He shook his head, grabbing shampoo and soap, washing himself off quickly. The water dripped from his hair, but he didn’t bother toweling it off. It would probably dry as soon as he stepped outside. He moved his arm carefully as he pulled on a white shirt and old jeans that had grease stains on it.

He looked into the small mirror Maria had talked him into getting. He ran a hand through his hair and his eyes drifted down to the mark that was just visible. He shook his head and stepped outside.

Someone had broken into the Evans’ house and stole documents that were more important than anything else. Whoever stole them knew about the curse. And the only other family that knew would be the Manes. It had to have been Jesse. Michael vowed to make him pay. What game was he playing? Why did he hide it from Alex? It couldn’t just be because he was a homophobic sack of shit.

Michael walked around, picking up beer bottles he had left the previous night while Isabel was there. She had lectured him on what he should and shouldn’t tell Maria. But of course, she had gone to Alex first. He couldn’t blame him for talking. Maria was nothing if not persistent.

He checked his phone for the time, wondering when Alex would show up. He laughed at himself. He sounded like a teenager again. Of course, it was early. Still ten minutes before he said he would be here.

He dropped a handful of empty bottles into the recycling bin when he heard a car rolling through the dirt. He turned and watched Alex’s car slowly come to a stop. He had intended to help him but he jumped out of the car, walking toward him, no crutch in sight.

“No crutch today,” he stated as he got closer.

“I have it. But it just slows me down to walk with it.” Michael nodded. They stood in silence for a few seconds.

“I had a dream about you,” Alex rushed out, pink dusting his cheeks. Michael raised an eyebrow.

“What about?” Clearly something was bothering him. Dreams had their way of getting to people. If it was something bad, he didn’t blame Alex for being worried.

“Uh, well. We… got intimate…” Michael tried not to let the shock show on his face. Was Alex Manes confessing he had a sex dream about them? “But something felt different. When I woke up. I could still… feel you. Like something with the mark.” His face only got redder as he explained. He lifted a hand over his chest. Michael hoped he wasn’t blushing himself.

“What time was this,” he asked hesitantly?

“I don’t know, I think I woke up around two or something?” Michael swallowed.

“Don’t freak out. I think we had the same dream.” Alex turned his head away, refusing to look at him. Michael didn’t know if he wanted a play by play. Though he should ask just to make sure he wasn’t completely crazy. He didn’t remember anything about the curse having them share dreams, but it wasn’t out of the question.

“Just… tell me how to make it stop.” He couldn’t say why that hurt to hear. The connection was making both of their lives harder. Metaphorically and physically. It was only reasonable to want to end it as soon as possible.

“I wish I could. But that brings me to the actual reason I needed your help.” Michael turned and moved a couple chairs into the shade of the Airstream. He signaled for Alex to sit. He still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Someone stole one of the original scrolls. It had part of the story on it, though I’m not sure which part considering no one has actually read them in years. There was a camera at the front door but whoever broke out had the video wiped.”

“My hacking ability doesn’t work unless I know what I’m hacking into. If the video was wiped then I guarantee they know how to cover their tracks.” Alex finally looked at him. He could talk about work. It was a safe subject.

“I know. That’s why I want you to hack into your father’s things. The Manes family is the only other group that knows those scrolls exist.,” he said. Alex blinked. Once. Twice.

“That’s a dangerous game. He’s military. If he doesn’t have alerts about stuff like that then I would say he’s lost touch with reality.” Michael sat back, running a hand through his hair. Alex was right. But what other choice did they have.

“If it was him who stole it, then he must have made copies and saved them on a computer somewhere. You’re the only one who can do this Alex.” He sighed. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his legs. He thought for a while, wringing his hands, eyebrows drawn together.

“I can try. But I’ll need a secure place to set up. Can’t be my house and it obviously can’t be any of the Evans’.” Michael smiled. He knew just the place.

“Follow me,” he said, standing. He walked to the front of the Airstream, uncovering a lever. He tossed the rags and tarps to the side before pulling it. A small engine roared to life, gears and chains spinning the trailer to reveal a manhole cover with a handle.

Alex just looked at him, mouth slightly ajar. The distrust made Michael chuckle. He crouched down and pulled the handle, unlocking the cover. It was harder to lift with one hand, but he still managed.

“This is the part where you kill me,” Alex deadpanned. That caused Michael to fully laugh for the first time in a while.

“Manes, if I ever try to kill you, assume I’ve been put under some mind control and kill me first.” He signaled for Alex to take the lead. Alex sat down, legs dangling into the hole. He moved slowly, sometimes uncertain on his prosthetic.

Michael followed, lanterns lighting the small area. Alex walked around his work area. Several beakers and burners were set up. The untrained eye might assume drugs. But Michael was looking for a way to help plants grow in harsh conditions. Little light and water. He hadn’t been successful yet but maybe someday.

“This is…” Alex trailed off as he looked at the planters. “This is amazing, Michael.”

“Not exactly legal though, so let’s keep it between us,” he said, smiling. Alex shook his head.

“You know I cold get you real funding, right? Hell, you could probably ask Liz and she’d be all over it. Just so you don’t have to work in a fallout shelter.” Michael just shrugged.

“Will this work for a secure base?” Alex looked around, something passing over his face. Michael tilted his head before stepping up to him. “What is it, Alex?” He blinked a few times before shaking his head.

“Just… reminds me of…a place in Iraq.” He took a deep breath and then forced a smile. “It should work just fine. Though I might make you clean it up a bit.” Michael never broke eye contact. He could see his shoulders shaking. Michael stepped into his personal space. His heart ached. Alex was scared.

“Talk to me. We can leave if you want,” he said softly. Alex shook his head.

“No. My therapist says exposure therapy works for some people. I’ll be fine.” Michael shook his head. He was not fine.

“I think that’s supposed to be in a controlled environment,” he continued gently. Michael hesitantly wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Almost instantly, Alex wrapped his arms around him.

They stood there for who knows how long. Eventually Alex stopped shaking, though his face was still buried in his shoulder. He heard him start to mumble something.

“When I lost my leg… I was coming from a bunker like this. The second in command said we needed to leave. But I can’t make downloads go any faster. We tried to escape. But there was a bomb attached to the car.” Michael didn’t dare speak. He didn’t want him to shut him out.

“I was so focused on the data I tried to save it. She yelled at me to leave it. I did but I wasn’t fast enough. The bomb went off when I jumped. Had she not been there… I’d be dead. I was told she pulled me to safety. She was my best friend.” His shoulders started to shake again. Alex cried, hands twisting into his shirt.

He had been through so much. Michael held him firmly, his heart screaming for him to do something. Anything. But he had no idea what he could do. He would never understand the things Alex went through on the other side of the world.

“I don’t even know where she is. There’s no record of her anywhere. I’m scared she’s dead and I have no idea.” He lifted his arm from the sling again, wrapping it around him. One hand pet his hair. They continued to stand there until the tears stopped flowing. Alex stepped away from him, wiping at his eyes.

“Sorry. I’m alright now. Though I kind of want to get out of here,” he said, half chuckling. Michael nodded.

“Feel free to lean on me. I’m here whenever you need it.” He looked over his shoulder briefly but turned back to the latter to climb without saying anything else. He followed him up, the sun shinning bright in his eyes.

Michael pulled the cover back over the bunker and pulled the lever to move the trailer back to its normal spot. He turned to ask Alex how he was feeling but he was already headed back towards his car. He jogged after him.

“Leaving already? You ok?” He didn’t turn away from his car door.

“Yea, I’m fine. Just have a lot of work to get done. So, if that was all you wanted to talk about, I’m headed out.”

“I mean I could tell you about the stuff I learned about the curse but if you’re busy…” He spun back toward him.

“Spit it out, Guerin. What did you find?” He raised a hand, signaling him to wait. He jogged back to his trailer, pulling scraps of paper that he took notes on and a book. He looked through them as he made his way back.

“Ok well. Fun facts first, I guess. The most trials any of the past reincarnations has ever completed was seven. The trials get worse as they go on. We knew that. It said I should have some sort of enhanced healing but its just slightly above normal. It uh, also says all of the reincarnations had been a guy and a girl, so I guess we’re a bit strange in that department.”

Alex listened intently. He shuffled through his notes, looking for the more significant things.

“I also found that all of the trials happen within six months. Or at least that’s what they can guess. You know since no one has gotten through all of them.” He snapped his mouth shut. Sometimes he hated how comfortable he was with him. He just talked and didn’t know when to shut up.

“Find out anything about the mark or how this connection works,” Alex asked?

“Not really. It says the connections and the effects were often kept private between the two people. Understandable since we kind of know how personal it can get…” he glanced up at him, holding his gaze for a few seconds before refocusing on his notes. “It’s mostly stuff we already know. We can feel each other. Emotions and the like. Lying is impossible. There’s a constant pull to be together. Embarrassing stuff,” Michael said, laughing. Alex shook his head.

“I noticed.” He was worried that Alex would remember a couple days ago. Had he picked up on his lie? That everything they had felt was very real? If he did, he didn’t let on.

He flipped through the book to the page he had bookmarked. A drawing that claimed to be of one of the Gods devoted to helping them break the curse. She was mentioned in most of the stories. Only showing up once. Shortly after, the couple would usually fall to the next trial. He turned the book toward Alex.

“I’ll see if I can find a photo of her or something, but if you see this girl. I would recommend staying far—” Alex ripped the book from his hands, surprising him.

“Who is this,” he said, voice trembling.

“Well based on the stories, she seems like an angel of death. Claims to want to help then seriously fucking over the couple facing the trials.” Alex spun and yanked his car door open, fishing around in his glove box. Michael tried to see what he was doing. He eventually pulled out a piece of paper, unfolding it.

“This girl…” He held the piece of paper next to the drawing. He turned the picture and book toward Michael. He swore the breath left his lungs. A girl with black hair standing next to Alex, was the spitting image of the drawing.

“This is Tessa. She was the second in command in my platoon.”

“Alex this is not the time to be fucking with me,” he warned.

“I’m not. This girl became my best friend overseas and then she saved my life. She is definitely not an ‘angel of death.’” Michael ran a hand over his face. He didn’t know what to say. This girl was obviously dangerous but why would she save him only to kill them both later?

“I mean. It would explain why she dropped off the face of the earth.” Alex just stared at the picture of the girl. He was sure it was jarring to learn the girl who saved your life might not actually be on your side.

Michael thought to his confession about his time overseas. What else had happened over there? What demons did Alex have that he wasn’t talking about? He wasn’t his therapist, but he wanted to know. It would be the only way he could help him.

The crunching of gravel made them turn. Michael recognized Maria’s truck. This conversation was happening now. He had been half avoiding it, almost hoping she would break up with him so he didn’t have to worry about her trying save them.

She jumped out of the car and walked over to them. Her tank top with the Wild Pony logo on the front meant she probably didn’t have much time. She stopped and looked between them before glancing at the book and photo Alex was holding.

“You ready to give me a real explanation, Guerin?” He and Alex shared a look.

“I’ll go. Let me know if you find anything else,” he rushed out. He climbed into his car after handing the book back to him. He hardly spared a look as he backed away. His heart ached when the car was no longer in view.

“Alex already spilled about the curse or whatever. No point in lying,” Maria said, hands on her hips.

“I would never lie to you,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s go sit down. It’s kind of complicated.” She followed, sitting down in a lawn chair across from him. He had to pick his words carefully.

“Alex told you we have this mark because of a curse, right?” She nodded in response. “Ok, well it started a long time ago. Generations. It’s passed through the family. We are… how should I say this…” He thought for a moment, trying to come up with a watered-down version of the story.

Maria waited patiently, though her finger occasionally tapped on her knee. He hated lying to her. But it was the only way to keep her safe. He continued slowly.

“We’re expected to complete a series of tasks. We don’t know what they are, just that they’re gunna be hard.”

“Well, why was the curse put on you in the first place?” Her eyebrows drew together, trying to think through the logic of what he was saying. Too bad there wasn’t any.

“The story says it was punishment for trying to escape a ritual sacrifice.”

“Huh… Do you have access to the story? I’m trying to find some way to break the curse and maybe knowing everything will help.” Of course her first thought was to break it. She would never find the answer. It was ‘make it through the trials or death.’

“We don’t have access to the story at the moment. Things have gotten lost or destroyed over the years,” he said, trying to sound as disappointed as possible. She hummed in response.

“What’s all the stuff you were showing to Alex?”

“Mostly recounts of past trials. Hoped it would tell us what we were up against. No such luck.” She nodded but didn’t press about it further. They sat silently as he waited for more questions.

“So… you and Alex…?” He blinked in surprise. Though Alex had said that he told Maria about their history. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Look. It was a long time ago. At this point, we’re just acquaintances who happen to be stuck by some shitty curse.” His heart panged but ignoring it had become second nature. As long as he wasn’t there, he could pretend it didn’t exist.

Maria chuckled at his explanation, before leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He smiled into it, encouraging her giggles.

“I love you, Maria.”

“I never doubted that, Guerin.”

[rainbow-filmnerd]

Another Top 5 Favorite Sanders Sides Videos (4/5)

In honor of the one-year anniversary of me watching Sanders Sides for the first time and becoming a Fander, I’ve decided to count down ANOTHER Top 5 Favorite Sanders Sides videos! If you didn’t see a video you think I should have discussed, be sure to check out the first list!

#2 is... “My NEGATIVE Thinking”

GENERAL THOUGHTS

As mentioned in the honorable mentions before the original list, I didn’t think too much of this video. I had made a post a while ago briefly talking about why I like this one so much, but let me explain everything here.

Back at school, I had an evening influenced by my own negative thinking, and after deciding to watch a Sanders Sides video before going to bed, I recalled this video talked about the same subject matter. Watching it made me feel a LOT better, and it become one of my favorites. I understood everything that was discussed, and it just goes to show how impactful this content is.

FAVORITE PARTS/LINES OF DIALOGUE (in no particular order)

Every single "Falsehood!” uttered in this video.

“Alright, Roman. Soup time!” “Cream of broccoli?! I told you I hate-! Mmm, never mind. This is delicious.” “Oh, that is not good. A cream-based broth will upset Princey’s stomach.”

Logan calling Morality a “cardigan-clad clod”.

“I am Thomas Sanders, your supplier of semi-humorous Tumblr posts at three in the morning.” And the truth is, I love a lot of the posts I see him reblog here. XD

Logan trying to learn “a particular phrase in a multitude of languages”.

“I’m afraid I’m going to need your name.” “.... No.”

Logan and Anxiety both mutually groaning in disgust.

“Your mom is preposterous.”

Morality scolding Logan for his “childish language”.

Roman’s bruised ego. I can just imagine him wearing pajamas, a pair of slippers, a bathrobe and a few bandages and ice pack when he wasn’t on-screen during the main video.

“I’m not camera ready!”

Thomas completely butchering “cognitive distortions”.

“I would write an angsty sonnet illustrating my contempt for you, if I actually cared enough about what you were saying right now.”

Logan figuring out “savage” is also a modern slang term.

“Savage.” “Wait, why are you complimenting him?” “I’m saying he’s acting like an aggressive, brainless savage-. Oh no, is that another contemporary slang term I have to learn?”

“Mistakes were made... I don’t even know if I wanna think about it... You know what? Yes I do!”

Thomas’s intro being him attempting to do an impression of his intro.

“I just wanna know... Objectively, how did I do?” “You screwed up.” “Ah! Anxiety-!” “Anxiety, what are you doing here? Yes, this is exactly what you do every time I pop up.”

Logan telling Anxiety that he did good on the debate, and also the recap on what was discussed during the debate.

“I waited for my turn to speak! Please do not disrespect the sanctity of the rules that we just made up just now.”

The film nerd in me is geeking out over Logan’s trivia fact on how Michael Caine forgot his lines in The Dark Knight.

“That is an extremely specific and random fact to call upon for the sake of feeling secure.”

Thomas forming an “imaginary” rainbow like SpongeBob in the episode “Idiot Box”.

“Anixety, the first question goes to you.” “Too much pressure, no!”

Morality taking care of Roman. Such a parent thing to do when your kid is sick.

“This debate is sponsored by the National Essential Reasoning Department, or NERD-.” “Uh, or-or we do not have to abbreviate it.”

Anxiety hissing at Logan.

“I do that when I start reaching my limit with stupid questions.”

“I’m a monthly donor.”

Logan taking Anxiety and Thomas’s terms of messing up a little too literal.

Anxiety defining “TBD” as “Totally Believable, Dude.”

“Okay, you know what?” “What’re you doing?” “I’m writing you a prescription for a figurative chill pill.”

Anxiety’s little smile and laugh after Logan uses the new slang at Roman.

“Keep calm, carry on.” “You’re right, I’m an adult... Me-me big boy-. Nope!”

[echo-bleu]

Writing thoughts: November 2019

I have no idea how it is December already, but my phone says it is.

I think that pretty much sums up the last month, where days melted into each other in a large mass of anxiety and fatigue, not exactly conductive of good writing−or writing at all. Whumptober burned me out a bit, but mostly I’m generally burnt out and stressed out. I wrote very little (27k, my lowest count this year by far) and posted even less, so I’ll focus more on what’s in the works here.

I did post a Malex one-shot Put your hand in mine, though to be fair I didn’t even write it this month for the most part. I posted, I think, one chapter each Power Through (RNM) and The Underground (Gifted) and that’s about it? And I had stretches of several days where I didn’t write at all, which had not happened in over a year.

But it’s okay. I’m working on cutting myself some slack. I don’t have to do everything all the time.

Anyway, I need to take stock of what I want to write now, so here goes.

Stand alones:

12 days of Malex Secret Santa: coming real soon though it’s not finished, Malex h/c and fluff canon divergence AU.

RNM Secret Santa: Malex Holidays AU, mostly fluff with some h/c.

Icing over a secret pain: it was actually supposed to be part of Malex Santa, but it developed a life of its own. Alex and Michael actually talk before having sex in 1x02.

Setting Fire To Our Insides: this is one I’m very excited about, but it’s also going to take some time. It will be long, probably with several parts, and VERY painful. It’s Alex-centered but through Isobel’s eyes as she goes into his mind, and it will touch on some dark themes.

Long WIPs:

Power Through: I am very slowly plowing through chapter 5, but I have a semi clear plot for the whole story, so it will come. Malex Mutant AU, mostly geared toward...wait, that’s a spoiler. You’ll see.

Leverage AU: Peel back the dark was a little prequel/snippet. I don’t really have anything written, but I have a pretty solid idea of the plot. It’s a Human AU, I think, because the whole point of Leverage is that they’re amazing without having superpowers, but I’m toying with making them aliens anyway, just powerless. Geared toward taking down Jesse Manes.

Guide AU (working title): I have very little so far, but I kinda want to write it? Basic idea is: the pod squad didn’t walk toward Roswell coming out of the pods, so they never ended there. Working title is because Alex comes back from the war and becomes a tour guide in Roswell. It would be about Noah, but I’m not fully sure of anything yet.

For my Gifted fic: thanks to @eveningspirit‘s help and handholding, I finally have a solid plan for The Underground up until the ending, so we’ll get there, albeit slowly. All We Stand To Lose is on hold at this point, though I hate to leave anything unfinished (especially at the worst moment). I hope I’ll get back to it eventually.

Things I’ve started and kinda abandoned, but want to get back to:

Movie Night (working title): Established Malex, where Alex has a bad stretch and Michael invites everyone over to cheer him up.

Untitled thing exploring the pod squad and neurodivergence, gender and sexuality.

Muffled Scream: Whumptober prompt I started and didn’t have the energy to finish

Things I promised to write or want to write a sequel for:

Uh, long list. Let’s see.

RNM Teen Camp AU: I kinda said I’d write a sequel, didn’t I? I will. At some point.

RNM Musketeers AU: I made the mistake of promising a sequel by leaving it where I did! Not that I mind, I love this AU, but now I need to figure out how they’re going to take down Jesse. I’m not planning on making this a long fic, though, only one-shots.

Wandering in our heads (Sense8 AU): the latest casting announcement kinda makes me want to explore this universe a bit more, but it’s fairly low in my list of priorities.

Lines of Fear and Blame deserves a few more parts! I planned one more during Whumptober before I decided that it deserved more than a day of working on it, because it touches on suicide ideation and self-harm.

Put your hand in mine: I have a sequel planned with Malex and Maria friendship, maybe Kyle down the line.

*

This was ridiculously long, so if you’ve read it all, congrats! All those fics will probably happen at some point. Maybe. It’s a really long list and I’m tired.

[rahabs]

tagged by the lovely @davesgahan ❤  merci my friend!

name: cheyenne nicknames: chey, melia zodiac: aries height: 167cm (just under 5′6″) languages: english, german, latin, old english nationality: canadian (first nations/cree + irish) favourite season: winter favourite flower: gorse, tiger lily favourite scent: smoked leather and campfire.  also, anything with vanilla.  I also love citrus. favourite fictional character: oh so many that I will likely forget.  excluding fictional portrayals of known historical figures (which elimates a lot) and my OCs: revan, odysseus, percy weasley, kylo ren, reynard the fox, bertilak de hautdesert (the green knight) coffee, hot tea, or hot chocolate?: tea or hot chocolate. average sleep: 3-5 hours. dogs or cats?: dogs.  unfortunately, I have a fairly severe allergy to cats, save a few breeds. number of blankets: four, but one is a down quilt. dream trip: across the uk, across ireland, across germany & austria, and a desert crossing.  I have been fortunate enough to do all of these, save the last. blog established: god, august 2011 I believe. random fact: most people didn’t realise I’d cut my hair to my jawline for months because thanks to years of dance I am an expert at putting my hair in various types of buns and making those buns look at least semi-substantive (aka like I actually have enough hair to do it traditionally, which I don’t), and because I hit the gym a lot, I usually have my hair up.  so when I wore it down, I had ten different people tell me it looked great and asked when I cut it, even though I’d cut it over a month ago.  also, I’m a natural redhead of sorts (I was born with three different hair colours and right now if I let it grow out it would be a golden-brown auburn, which is very annoying since red hair is hard to cover with dye). gender: female. current time: 21:21 (9:21 PM) favourite artists: I assume this means music?  nightwish, loreena mckennitt, fidil, powerwolf, stoneburner, delain, thomas tallis, william byrd, palestrina, arash, lindsey stirling, scorpions, within temptation, kamelot, clamavi de profundis, etc. stuck in my head: uist tramping song. last movie I saw: some like it hot (1959) last thing I googled: indian act amendments. other blogs: I have a couple sideblogs, largely for storing things. do I get asks?: not often anymore, unfortunately. reason for URL: I wanted a more neutral URL that wasn’t specific to any one thing, and of course, I can never resist a good plague doctor reference. followers/following: I just hit 1850 followers today (it’s actually been sitting consistently in the 1800 range for about five years now), and following 105 blogs! lucky number: seven. currently wearing: army green leggings, my faculty of law fleece sweater, and two ankle braces. dream job: truthfully I always wanted to dance professionally, but was physically barred from it due to chronic injuries.  I also wanted to be a stage performer re singing, but I’m not cutthroat with music and hate competing witth music, so, lawyer, and published author of historical fiction. favourite foods: fish, milchreis, strawberries, oatmeal, irish stew, ice cream, carrots & hummus, curries. instruments: piano, clarinet (e flat, bass), oboe, saxophone (alto, tenor).  I’m also a singer (coloratura soprano with a four octave vocal range). favourite song: many, including die schatten werden länger from elisabeth das musical; last of the wilds by nightwish; the highwayman by loreena mckennitt; allegri’s miserere; jyn erso & hope suit by michael giacchino; the red baron by sabaton; joey batey’s redition of toss a coin to your witcher; and various folk songs and old historical bits including ai vis lo lop, non é gran cousa, the rocky road to dublin, star of the county down, twa recruitin’ sergeants, etc.

tagging: @allegoriesinmediasres @temporisfilia,  and I tagged a bunch of people earlier today, so if I tagged you then, you are tagged again!  And if I didn’t tag you, and you want to do this, then I hearby tag you!  My brain is unfortunately mush after three hours of law school classes, two hours of CBs, and two hours of actual real-world legal application.

[moviegroovies]

oh my go d i swore to myself i would stop until at least tomorrow with the headcanons but now that i’ve opened up the floodgates they just keep coming so here we go, part 2!!!!

out of all the lost boys (other than michael, obviously), paul is the one who would get along the best with sam, if the vampires and the emersons ever figure out how to make peace with one another. in fact, they have pretty similar interests; paul’s into mtv, too, and he hangs around stores with tvs all night trying to catch a glimpse of it, probably running into sam once in a while without even noticing when sam’s out doing the same. plus, he’d never admit it, but he thinks sam’s clothes are pretty cool...

not that he’d give up his rocker style for it

or that david would LET him ruin the group’s aesthetic by giving up his rocker style for it dshgfdhg

in general paul’s pretty good with kids, but in like a “fun uncle” way. he’s DEFINITELY not suited to be a child’s main caretaker, but he likes things they like, so he’d be good at having fun with them: taking them out for ice cream or the arcade, palling around, that kind of thing. he’s probably the kind of guy who dares kids to do dangerous shit without ever considering whether or not they’ll, you know, be okay.

dwayne on the other hand is intensely cognizant of that stuff, to the point of anxiety; even if he doesn’t actually stop the goings on he’s just Super Aware it’s happening and he won’t relax until the kid’s feet are on the fucking ground, thank you. 

which isn’t to say that kids don’t think dwayne is fun. really, all of the lost boys (including star) are more suited to be fun uncles + aunt (or more accurately, fun older sibling types) than actual parents. the whole group is mostly about having good times forever, so it’s not like them to get bogged down in responsibility and adult stuff. that’s not on their radar. 

marko and paul goof around together a lot. you know how i said paul would unthinkingly dare human children to do dangerous stuff? IMAGINE the kind of shit he tries to get an invulnerable immortal to do. half the time they spend with each other is just spent trying to think of increasingly awful things to wish on the other until one of them finally backs down from a dare, which can take weeks.

other people can get dragged into these battles; dwayne is the most frequent victim until michael shows up and does so many dumbass things because he doesn’t quite realize he’s being hazed. 

david HATES it

he thinks they’re all being dumb and immature as hell, but at the same time, he’s no more mature than they are, no matter how much he likes to act it. if one of them goes “i triple dog dare you,” he’s going to hold out for about three seconds before his pride gets the better of him and oops, there he goes, off to do the stupid thing

michael figures this out about him fairly quickly, and one such dare is the way he finally gets his revenge for getting tricked into giving up his mortality and that whole incident with the train on the bridge

one fought shark and two weeks of watching david regrow partially missing limbs later, nobody fucks with michael anymore. go figure.

ok honestly i have even less to go on with jasper than i do for the rest of the lost boys, which is already fairly sparse, but i want to think about him so I Am.

based on the lost boys: the beginning script (what little there is of him in it, honestly--he’s definitely got the least lines, never mind that he isn’t even in the real movie), my characterization of him would revolve around him being a bit of a dandy. kind of thinks of himself as a gentleman thief, the montparnasse of the group, if you get what i’m saying. he’s not actually all that slick (never mind the bad poetry he writes), but he tries to dress a little better than the others, and they let him think he’s a wine connoisseur when they really suspect he’s just teetering on alcoholism. 

underneath the prettyboy poet thing, he has the capacity to be kind of nasty if the opportunity presents itself (on the sliding scale of control to bloodthirst from my last post, i’d put him below dwayne but above marko, making him semi-controlled, but still liable to go vicious on a hunt), but when he was human, he mostly preferred to run from fights rather than fight them--he was the fastest of the group (after his death, david briefly took that place, until star showed up), and had the best hands for pickpocketing.

he’s also a little bit of a dork underneath it all. when he’s had a little too much to drink he’s liable to gush about his affection for his friends, or a stranger, or anyone who gets within gushing distance. everybody gave him a hard time about it, but once he’s gone, they secretly feel like they should have appreciated it more when he was around.

on the other hand, he could be somewhat prone to bouts of melancholy. 

dwayne said Gay Rights. 

when jasper was alive, the two of them were the closest, having a pretty steady (though not entirely monogamous) relationship over the course of about a year of their human lives and around three or four solid decades of vampirism. the other guys knew, naturally, but apart from some mild teasing, they mostly just let it be. it’s not like any of them are particularly straight--if anything, they were probably just jealous that they found each other and had a relationship that made them that happy. not that they’d ever say that, of course.

the end of the prequel script almost made me think that jasper died then, somehow? but then he said something new a few lines after the line that made me think that, so i’m just going to work off the assumption that he lived through that and died later.

instead, i think he was killed by grandpa emerson and some other vampire hunters when grandpa was in his prime.

in the wake of jasper’s death, the whole gang kind of falls apart. even after all these years of killing, none of them have ever dealt with real loss, the loss of a blood brother (or, in dwayne’s case, a dude he’s been in love with for a much longer stretch of his life than the part where he wasn’t) before. the only thing they can all agree on is that they have to get revenge immediately. 

even though he’s never been on the front lines of these hunts, it’s a unanimous agreement that dwayne lead the charge to find the hunters who killed jasper. for once, when they get to the group, dwayne isn’t feeding, he’s just annihilating every single person even tangentially involved. the only person who escapes the massacre with his life is grandpa emerson, who just barely makes it out unnoticed in the aftermath of the thing, when david finally has to physically remove dwayne from the corpses and take him back to the cave for his own good. even then, he’s in no condition to hunt vampires for months, and even when he recovers, he never gets his full health back. instead, he lies low, the thought that the vampires will one day realize what they missed eternally ringing at the back of his mind, and moves his wife and young daughter outside of the city limits, staying away from santa carla as much as he can. 

that’s pretty much it on hunting for grandpa emerson. at least, for the next few decades, that is...

after a few years, things go more or less back to normal for the lost boys, except with the loss of the relatively quiet, subdued jasper, the group’s dynamic takes a little bit of a turn for the worse. dwayne’s more nonverbal than ever, and also a little wilder, a little more inclined toward violence when he remembers the last humans who got too close to their dwelling. marko, seeing the opportunity, tends toward more extreme violence in those days, and paul, who gets easily drawn in by the smell and sight of blood, tends to follow suit. even david finds himself lost in the kill sometimes, coming to hours afterward and realizing that he’d been clumsy, even reckless, in his hunting the night before.

they’re all making mistakes and egging each other on, and david doesn’t like it. he’s got the presence of mind (not to mention the eternal protective instinct regarding his friends) to realize that they’re spiraling, and if they keep it up like this, more hunters are going to rise in the place of the ones they killed. this starts a search for a more level-headed member of their group to replace jasper, a search that, naturally, leads him to star.

her inclusion to the group definitely helps things. the guys, having lived in pure testosterone for some 60 odd years, are a little awkward in her presence, and for the first year or so, they’re quieter when she’s around, trying to impress her. 

they all go out and get the canopy bed especially for her (they do like her, from the beginning) when it becomes obvious that star’s penchant for long skirts will only make things awkward if she tries to sleep upside down with them, not to mention their mutual unease regarding a co-ed bat cave. 

they have no idea what girls, especially girls in the 70′s, like, but they try to dress it up and they’re very proud when they present it to her.

from the beginning, star doesn’t trust marko all that much--she refuses to be alone with him, and forms a habit around being on the other side of the room from him in group settings. it sort of pisses marko off (mostly just because he doesn’t understand why), but david sees this and understands, intervening in such a way that leaves marko no room for argument whenever he tries to confront her about it.

star doesn’t like david, either, mostly due to the growing resentments she builds over the decade and a half she spends with them for him letting her become a vampire. her hatred, given that it was her decision (that she’d asked him specifically to make her a vampire) pisses david off a lot, but he lets her get away with a lot, too, because he remembers how much he fought against being turned, and can understand her moral dilemma. 

star feels the safest when dwayne is around, but she had some fun times goofing off with paul and dancing to the radio. those times were probably the ones where she regretted her decision to join the lost boys the least. 

dwayne’s residual anger and bloodlust from the incident with jasper finally starts to fade when she shows up, which david notices and appreciates

still, her inner conflict over joining them is obvious and leads to a different kind of tension in the group, so he has to keep searching for another member to cool things down. 

hence: laddie

honestly i can’t tell what i think about the origin of his inclusion. part of me thinks it could be a claudia in iwtv situation, where david tries babytrapping star, banking on the idea that she won’t be able to leave if she knows there’s a little kid there that she has a duty to protect. on the other hand, david intentionally condemning a little kid to a kind of stunted half life where he can’t grow up and is taken away from his parents sort of conflicts with the david that unrobbed a dude because he saw that the guy had little kids relying on him, and anyway, up until this point, david had only known star as a somewhat reckless teenage girl; banking on her having a maternal instinct he’d seen no proof of seems like an awfully big gamble. 

so what i’m thinking is more like: david kept looking for a sixth member, but he was looking at the young adults in their age range on the boardwalk, not children. instead, some unforseen event happens around the same time as he’s looking (i’m thinking maybe the boys go too far when hunting one night and laddie got seriously injured in the crossfires, leading dwayne or star or david to take him back to the hotel for blood to save his life), and bam: sixth member.

i think his inclusion kind of does what david wanted it to do and kind of Doesn’t. 

like, as soon as he shows up, star completely lets go of any notion of leaving the group and running away, which is good. at the same time, though, she resents david even more for turning laddie, even if it saved his life (naturally, it was the boys’ fault that laddie was in danger in the first place, so she kind of has a point) and now she’s always preoccupied with questions about turning back and she spends a lot of time mourning her humanity.

so david is still fucking looking for another person to even this new mess out.

i think laddie and star both have instincts on some level (or, if laddie doesn’t, he’s guided by star, and star does) about the safest place to be in the semi-volatile vampire den at any time. like, star visibly doesn’t get along very well with david, but she still knows that he’s got the most self control and at least some semblance of a moral code, so when it comes down to it, she hovers around him. they’re definitely not dating, and never were, but it could easily seem that way to an outsider; on the boardwalk, when she’s with the boys, she sticks as close to david as she can, and if she’s riding on the back of anyone’s bike, it’s his (she also only lets laddie ride with either david, if she’s not riding, or, more often, dwayne. paul and marko are strictly off limits). 

david is also possessive of her, because to david, she’s one of them, and he can tell that half the guys he’ll find her with (the way he found her with michael), she’s just throwing herself at because she wants out of the group, away from the lost boys, and he feels like he’s got to remind her where she belongs. 

it’s pretty toxic, really. over the tense year or so the group exists as we see it at the beginning of the film, david, dwayne, marko, paul, star, and laddie, things only get worse as david’s temper starts to heat up and star clashes with him at just about every opportunity. things are getting to the point where they HAVE to break, and finally they do:

michael moves into town.

at first, david sees him as just another escape for star (the same way star sees him, really). when david issues a challenge and michael responds to it, and not only that, for a split second, he’s winning, beating david’s bike despite being indisputably outclassed, though, david starts to see potential... a potential which shines through when michael shows his anger, picks a fight (and what passion!), and still follows them back to the cave, not because star is going to be there, but because david is. 

on the way there, he decides that michael is the final missing link they’ve been needing. he doesn’t know, yet, about max’s infatuation with lucy, or the plan to put the blood sucking brady bunch together. he just knows, in that moment, that his boys are teetering on the edge of irreconcilable dysfunction, and michael is the final piece he needs to fix it: he’s calm enough that he won’t add to marko and paul’s mania, but still fiery enough that his voice will come into play in favor of more thought-out decisions. plus, he can tell the boys are starting to like him (of course, they like anyone who takes a swing at david, even if they’d be tearing the perpetrator to pieces in seconds if they thought the swing was taken with legitimate malice behind it), and he knew from the first second that star did. michael is one of them.

with this thought in his mind, david is the one who becomes reckless in his need to convert michael. he gets sloppy.... but, since these are my headcanons and i get to choose the rules, i’m just going to say that eventually, things work out, michael becomes the final member of the gang, and everyone lives happily ever after.

holy shit, i just wrote a goddamn timeline.

i mean. wow, i think i’ve written less intricate fanfiction, fuck.

well, if you’ve made it this far, i’ve got a few more fun and low-stakes (ha, ha) headcanons as a reward for you, before i give this post the mercy killing it is begging for

david likes movies.

not just good movies.

david and the gang sneak into the cinema pretty much every time they get something new, and no matter how cheesy the dialogue or how predictable the plot twists are, he’s totally entrenched. it makes sense on a certain level, probably, if you consider that when he was growing up even silent films weren’t so much as a whisper on the horizon, but still, there’s a definite element of cognitive dissonance involved in watching the strict and intimidating leader of their gang clap and cheer at the end of every shitty b-movie that comes to their local theater. i mean, really.

it’s after he goes on a few of these movie nights with everyone that michael finally starts to really warm up to david. he wants to still be mad about the way things went down, but at the end of the day... it’s kind of hard to be scared of a guy you’ve seen cry at the end of working girl. 

marko and paul really like action flicks; paul gets into action-adventure, while marko is more into the slasher genre (although secretly, he’s more than a little intruiged by pretty, indie movies they show in the art house... not that he’d be caught dead there in a million years). dwayne, on the other hand, goes to those movies with them, but in his heart he just really likes comedies. they’re fun. sue him.

david would say he prefers horror, but it’s only barely the truth. he does like horror movies... but at the same time, he likes every other genre and practically every other film he’s ever seen. vampire movies are always his favorites, though, for personal reasons. 

star doesn’t go to the movies with them a lot, but she enjoys the occasional blockbuster with the guys, and she takes laddie to see more family-oriented films when he asks. 

michael..... likes romances. he’s always so embarrassed to be there with all the ladies his mother’s age, but there he is in the audience, hiding his face behind his hand, totally fucking loving this. hey, at least david is there too,  throwing popcorn at the horny couples making out in the row ahead of them and getting just as horrifyingly into the plot as he is. 

they never talk about those movies after they’re over. what happens in the santa carla movie theater stays in the santa carla movie theater. 

not that this is any particular place for a good end for this post, but this is the last thing i have for now: when michael moves into the hotel with everyone else, he elects to sleep in the canopy bed with star, rather than hanging from the ceiling with the guys. they start ribbing on him constantly for this--saying that the main room of the cave must be reserved for women and children--but the joke’s on them, in michael’s opinion--not only is he not hanging by his feet from the alcoves, but he’s also the one who sleeps holding a beautiful girl every day. things could be a lot worse.

[katekarnage7]

“Heartbreak Can Be Fixed”

Destiel Prompt Thing.

I found this awesome prompt when going through my home page so I thought I’d give it a shot!

This was a dialogue prompt, the dialogue was the first line and that prompt was fantastic. You can find the blogger who made it here: promptdumpster.

Here’s a quick warning for angst. Lots of angst. Also, this is an AU kind of thing so yep. There are a few injuries and things sustained in this, so reader discretion is advised!

The word count for this bad boy is 3,718. 

PS: Heartbreak Can Be Fixed is the name of this prompt-fic thingy. 

—

—

“You are the most stupid man I have ever laid my eyes on! And I have seen my fair share!” Cass shouts at him, pure rage in those captivating blue eyes. “I told you it was a freakin’ misunderstanding, Cass! What else can I say?!” Dean shouts back. This whole thing is ridiculous.

“So what, you just tripped and somehow you were all over Anna? I’m not a fool, Dean!” Cass is pacing around their kitchen as he yells, the bowls and measuring cups from when Cass was making dinner are still out. He must’ve abandoned his dinner plans when he got the call. 

“Meg told me what happened,” Cass says, crossing his arms as if to protect himself from the world. As if to protect himself from Dean. It stings. “She didn’t actually see what went down, did she?” Dean’s words are phrased like a question but said like a statement.

“She saw enough, Dean!” Cass’s already gravelly voice is breaking with desperation. “You’re an idiot!” Cass yells and Dean can see the beginnings of tears in those blue depths that he fell in love with.

“Cass, nothing happened, I swear!” Dean says, stepping towards his boyfriend but Cass takes a step back and throws his hands out. He’s warning Dean not to come any closer. Dean feels like he’s been hit by a semi. The pain in his chest threatens to overcome him.

“Anna just needed some help getting something from the top shelf, she was on a stool, she fell and I caught her! Nothing else happened, Cass!” Dean says, pleading with Cass to understand. “Meg said she saw you two kissing, Dean,” Cass says in a quiet, heartbroken voice that makes Dean want to wrap him in his arms.

“She saw something else, Cass, I swear,” Dean says, forcing himself to stare right into Cass’s eyes and when he does, he sees the pain, the heartbreak, the absolute despair in those eyes that have been so alight with humor and kindness since the day he met the man in front of him.

He can’t believe he’s the one to make them lose that light.

Suddenly, Cass pushes past him, out of the kitchen and into the front hall. Dean takes off like a shot behind him. “Where’re you going?” Dean calls after him. Cass stands in the main hall, grabs his coat from the hanger by the door and grabs his keys.

“I’m going to stay with Gabriel,” Cass says matter-of-factly. Cass’s back is to him still. “I’ll be back to pick up my stuff tomorrow. It’d be best if you weren’t here.” Cass’s words break his heart, he feels like he can’t breathe. “Cass, we can work this out, you have to know that I wouldn’t ever do that you.” He begs.

Cass turns slowly and his eyes… God, there’s no emotion left. “I don’t believe you,” Cass whispers and suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he’s out the door, leaving Dean to collapse on the floor and finally, the tears start flowing.

—

Castiel slams the door behind him, one last spark of energy before it disappears entirely. He still can’t believe that Dean would do that to him, after everything they’ve been through. He can’t believe that Dean would just end it like that! Well, he supposes he’s the one who ended it but his boyfriend - ex? - gave him little choice in the matter.

He knows that they should work it out, after all, what if Meg really is wrong? What if Dean was telling the truth and he’s just to overwhelmed by emotions to see that? Either way, he knows one thing for certain; he can’t be here right now.

He takes off down the stairs of their apartment building. Why bother with the elevator? And when he reaches the lobby, he steps out into the freezing winter air. 

Lawrence, Kansas, is nice in the winter, snowy and somewhat stormy but he likes that aspect. Usually. Right now, however, he just wants to get the hell away from Dean Winchester and the thoughts of him and Anna… 

He shakes his head and takes off towards his 1987 Lincoln Continental. He loves this car, perhaps not as much as Dean loves his Impala ‘Baby’ as he’s called it since before they met, though, Castiel himself has monikered his car ‘Grace’ for no particular reason, he supposes, but perhaps it’s an ode to his religious family.

Not that Castiel is really in touch with them anymore. Well, all of them except for Gabriel. His two older brothers, Lucifer and Michael are massive, well, as Dean would say, dicks. They constantly fight and it’s only gotten worse since their father’s death.

At least, that’s what he’s been told by Inias. Seeing as both Castiel and Gabriel took off at the first chance they got, neither of them have had much contact with their family but Inias is one of the only brothers that he can tolerate, other than Gabriel.

He quickly unlocks his car and gets in, sliding the keys into the ignition and starting the car before Dean can come after him. If Dean is coming after him. He can’t fathom why Dean would do anything with Anna but sometimes Dean Winchester can be an impulsive, bull-headed fool.

Castiel doesn’t know if they can fix this. Obviously, he wants to have a little space and time to think things over and then maybe, just maybe, they could talk it out and see if it can be fixed.

He loves Dean, he really does, with all of his - currently shattered - heart but he’s not sure if they can bounce back from this. Especially not if Meg was telling the truth. He hopes she wasn’t. He prays to God that she was wrong but… A nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach says otherwise.

He pulls out onto the road in front of the apartment building and drives in the direction of Gabriel’s apartment. He doesn’t look back until the building disappears from his rearview mirror.

The roads are icy this evening. They have a tendency to get this way during the winter so Castiel tries to walk more. People are rather foolish if they don’t handle ice on a regular basis and there’s an uptick in automobile related accidents, however, everyone in Lawrence is careful, unlike in other cities he’s been in over the course of his travels.

He’s a lawyer so he used to travel quite a bit for his firm. Not all firms have their lawyers travel as much but people from all over the world would pay for their services and in turn, Castiel’s services.

That’s how he met Dean in the first place. He was working a case in California, it was a relatively high-profile case because the defendant was a man of importance in Los Angelos and he was accused of sexually assaulting women then blackmailing them.

He swears, some of the scum he’s defended. That was when he met Sam Winchester, a prosecutor with an axe to grind. Sam despised the defendant and frankly, Castiel agreed.

Eventually, the man was convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. Castiel thought he should have gotten more but that was the sentencing. After the trial, he met Sam a few more times and eventually they became friends when Castiel was stationed in California for a bit longer on another case.

Castiel met Sam’s brother Dean while Dean was visiting him. They met and after some time, they fell in love, even though Dean wasn’t out of the closet then. Dean had been visiting Sam for two months and at the end of that time, when back to Lawrence.

Castiel and Dean started dating - in secret - after a month of his visit to Sam and continued dating even after Dean went back and eventually, Castiel decided to quit the job at his old law firm and start one in Lawrence with his brother Gabriel.

It had always been a dream of his and with Dean, well he couldn’t see a reason not to. He loves Dean and now that he’s slightly calmer, he realizes that Meg must’ve been wrong. He and Dean have far too much history for Dean to ever do something like that.

He should turn around and sort things out with Dean, so, when he comes to the next light, he decides to make a U-turn, he’s only a couple of blocks away from Gabriel’s apartment now, but he needs to talk with Dean.

As he is halfway through the turn a car speeds through the intersection and suddenly, everything is in slow motion as he watches the other car hurtle towards him. His last coherent thought is to cover his head and then everything goes black.

—

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting on the floor, his back to the door that Cass slammed. He cried until there were no tears left to cry and has been sitting in a kind of haze since. He wants to get up and get a drink. He wants to drink until he forgets everything that happened.

It really was just a stupid misunderstanding and right now he wants to kill that bitch Meg for lying to Cass! He’s always known of her conniving behavior towards his boyfriend but this is something new.

He wished Bobby had never hired her to handle the PR side of things. Bobby sucks at that shit so he needed someone, but why her? The second she met Cass she was all over him, in fact, Dean would bet good money that right now she’s playing all sweet and apologetic ‘Oh, Cass, I’m so sorry that Dean would do that you, blah, blah, blah’.

He clenches his fist. There is the possibility that she thought something happened but knowing Meg? She’s a stone cold bitch and why Cass is trusting her is baffling enough.

God, he hates this whole situation. He wishes that Cass would just come back but he knows that his boyfriend - hopefully not ex - needs time to cool off and once he’s had that, they can talk, but still… Dean’s worried. They’ve never gotten in a fight like this before…

He’s not sure what’s going to happen and even though he loves Cass, he knows about Cass’s worries. He’s had them since the moment they met. The guy is basically an angel in human form and yet he thinks he’s not the best damn thing that’s ever happened to Dean.

His self-awareness needs work. God, Dean just hopes he’ll come back. Even if he was the least self-aware person in the world, Dean would still love his stupid ass until they both ended up six feet under.

He sits on the floor a little longer before standing. His legs are wobbly and his right foot fell asleep because of his lack of movement. He drags himself to their bedroom.

Everything is clean. Cass isn’t the type to throw someone’s stuff all over the floor and break vases. No, Cass is the type who would leave everything completely organized so the could come to get it later.

He realizes with a painful jolt that there’s already a suitcase open and waiting on the floor. This is really happening. He takes deep breathes, trying to remind himself that once they talk this all out, everything will be okay. Please let everything be okay.

He collapses in bed and suddenly, the exhaustion from the day sinks in and he drifts off to sleep.

—

He wakes up to the seemingly ear-splitting sound of a ringing phone. Why the hell is his phone ringing? He’s about to nudge Cass to answer it but then he realizes Cass isn’t there.

He looks out the window and realizes it’s still the middle of the night. Who would be calling at this godforsaken hour? His heart is in his throat when he realizes that it might be Cass calling to say he’s coming back or… Or he doesn’t know but he fumbles to pick the phone up.

He reads the caller ID and his heart sinks. It’s Gabriel. He’s about to get a fucking big bro lecture that he does not need at this hour of the night - morning? - and he would let it ring and not answer it, but something inside him pushes him to answer.

“What, Gabriel? If you’re going to go on some dumb rant I am not in the mood to hear-” Dean begins to say but Gabriel cuts him off. “Dean. Get the fuck over to the Lawrence Memorial Hospital,” Gabriel says, his voice hard and stressed.

“Why? Is everything okay?” Dean asks, a nagging feeling spawning in the pit of his stomach with every word Gabriel says. Gabriel didn’t call him Deano, something is seriously wrong. “It’s Cassie, Dean,” Gabriel says and suddenly, the world fades into static around him. He can’t breathe. Cass. 

—

His hands shake as he bolts straight out of bed to grab his jacket and keys. He’s grateful for the fact that he fell asleep in his clothes. Gabriel’s words echo in his head as he bolts down the stairs into the lobby.

It’s Cassie. Get the fuck over here. It’s Cassie. Lawrence Memorial. He can’t seem to quiet the words so he focuses on running to his Baby, both them. How he gets into his Impala and onto the road is a haze of panic.

The entire drive is Gabriel’s words and his and Cass’s fight from earlier on repeat. It’s like a Greatest Hits of shit in his head right now. He can’t completely focus on the road. The icy nature of it means he could easily crash right now but somehow he makes it to the hospital in one piece.

He rushes in through the doors and is immediately wrapped into a bear hug by none other than Gabriel. “I’m glad you’re here, Dean,” Gabriel mutters before releasing him. Gabriel looks exhausted.

“Where is he?” Dean asks, his voice comes out like a broken croak of desperation. “Surgery,” Gabriel answers. “What happened?” Dean asks, all but begging Gabriel to give him something. “He, um, he got into a car crash,” Gabriel says, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling.

“From what I’ve figured out it seems like it was a drunk asshole or someone who doesn’t know how to fucking drive in the snow. The driver probably didn’t realize how slick the fucking ice was and then…” Gabriel trails off.

Dean feels a hot flash of anger in his chest. “Where is this jackass?! I swear to God if Cass dies I’ll kill him!” Dean all but yells. “Looks like God already did it for ya, Deano,” Gabriel says and gives him a weak smile.

“There were two women and a man in the car with him. One of the women made it out with minor injuries and the other two have more serious injuries but nothing they can’t recover from,” Gabriel says, looking anywhere but at Dean.

“How do you know all of this?” Dean asks, trying to calm his breathing and not think about how Cass, the love of his goddamn life, might be dying on a table somewhere in the hospital where he is just out of Dean’s reach. “One of the nurses took pity on me,” Gabriel says.

“How long have you been here?” Dean asks. “Long enough to get some shitty hospital coffee,” Gabriel says, motioning to the coffee cup abandoned on the seat behind him. At the expression on Dean’s face, an expression that clearly states that he’s not in the mood for Gabriel’s bullshit right now, Gabriel folds.

“About thirty minutes.” Dean balks. “Thirty minutes? When did you call me?” Dean asks, staring at the much shorter man with, what he hopes, is a firelike rage in his eyes. “As soon as I got here,” Gabriel says as if he’s offended by the implication.

“Deano, as much as we may argue, Cassie loves you and I’m not enough of a dickhead to not let you see him when he’s in the goddamn hospital,” Gabriel says. “So you’re admitting that you are, at least partially, a dickhead?” It’s not really a question anymore, more of a statement.

“You know, it’s a wondrous thing, the fact that you got Cassie to love you even with all of your aching stupidity,” Gabriel says, busting out the big boy words. “Thanks, Gabe, glad we’re friends too,” Dean says and then, silence falls.

After a few moments, Dean takes a deep breath. “What do we do now?” Dean asks, biting down on his lower lip to calm himself. The moment of laughter in his panic was nice but now everything is replaced with an aching sense of worry. “We wait and pray to whatever God is out there that Cassie comes back to us.”

—

The first time he wakes up, everything is quiet. Strangely quiet. He tries to open his eyes but when he does all he sees is a bunch of doctors and nurses running around and a blinding light above him. He’s on some sort of moving table… A stretcher, perhaps.

Everyone around him seems to be panicking. Why are they so worried? Castiel wonders. Everything seems so peaceful with no sound. He can’t fathom why anyone would feel panic in this situation.

Then, the pain hits him and he sinks back into unconsciousness. 

—

 The second time he wakes up he registers the pain immediately, however, this time he doesn’t black out. He forces his eyes to open. He’s in a hospital room. Panic sets in. What happened? He tries to focus and remember what’s going on but it’s difficult.

Suddenly, he remembers with a gasp. Dean. Castiel himself was hit by a car while going to Dean. He feverishly looks around the room until his eyes fall on a certain someone fast asleep in a chair by his bed.

Dean’s head is resting on the bed by his legs. He gently moves them so as not to disturb him. Castiel feels a sense of fondness wash over him because Dean is right here, beside him, like always.

How could he have ever doubted that? And with that thought in mind, he drifts off to sleep once more.

—

The third time he wakes up, he hears crying. His eyes fly open only to see a disheveled Dean Winchester, still by the foot of his bed, even though it must have been hours since he last woke up.

Dean is crying with his face buried in the blankets of Castiel’s bed. “I’m sorry,” Dean says with a sob. Castiel, despite the ache in his bones, reaches down and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair. “It’s okay,” Castiel manages to mutter just before Dean all but jumps out of his skin.

“Cass?” Dean says, raising his head to look at him. Dean sounds so broken and tired. His beautiful green eyes are red and puffy. His cheeks are tear-stained and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, even though it sends bolts of pain through his throat. “Thank God,” Dean says, quickly raising his hand to paw at his wet cheeks. “I’m sorry, I know you must hate me right now but…” Dean trails off, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Why on Earth would I hate you, Dean?” Castiel asks. Pain be damned. “Because, well, I… Wait… You don’t, um, hate me?” Dean asks and the vulnerability in his eyes is a rare sight. Dean doesn’t like to feel vulnerable, Castiel knows that.

“Of course I don’t. I was coming back to talk you,” Castiel says, reaching to take Dean’s hand. “But it’s my fault that you were even on the road! I’m sorry. I should go,” Dean says, making a move to stand up but despite every part of his body objecting, Castiel manages to wrench Dean closer to him with the grip on his hand.

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have left, Dean, stop taking all the blame, beloved,” Castiel says. He doesn’t care about Dean and Anna, he knows now that Dean would never do that and even if he did, Castiel doesn’t believe it.

“Beloved? Cass, you were ready to walk out the door, what changed?” Dean asks. “I wasn’t even truly ready to leave you. Have more faith in me, beloved,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean says with mock-anger, but Castiel knows him too well, he knows he’s not really angry. “I believe you, Dean, and a near-death experience kind of puts things in perspective. I trust you,” Castiel says and he knows his trust isn’t misplaced. Dean Winchester is a good man and that is the only thing Castiel knows for certain.

Dean’s eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion. “I love you, Dean,” Castiel says, his hand wrapping tighter around Dean’s. “I love you too, angel,” Dean replies, coming in close to press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Where’s Gabriel?” Castiel asks. “He’s out getting some better goddamn coffee,” Dean says with a watery laugh. “How long have you been up, Dean?” Castiel asks, examining the face of his beloved.

“Three days,” Dean says. Castiel bolts straight up, ignoring the flash of pain. “Easy! You’ll rip your stitches!” Dean says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been here for three days and you haven’t slept at all?!” Dean balks. “I, uh, I got some sleep,” Dean says.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean Winchester,” Castiel says, staring him down. Suddenly, there’s a laugh from the door. “Aww, you guys are totally adorbs! When did you guys get married?” A nurse with red-hair says. A nametag on her scrubs informs him that her name is Charlie.

Dean blushes a deep shade of red and before he can stammer out a response Castiel responds for him with a wicked grin. “Hopefully, we’ll be getting married soon,” Castiel says and Dean looks back at him, the blush still tinting his cheeks and ears.

“Say what?” Dean asks. His eyebrows are almost in his hair. “What do you say, beloved, want to get married?” Dean smiles, even though the blush intensifies. “Sure, angel.”

Thank you all for reading! I quickly wanted to say that no, Dean was not cheating on Cass. Meg was just being a meanie. I also wanted to say that I don’t hate Meg, in fact, I love her dearly, but I needed a villain and not that many ladies are into our beloved Castiel (even though they should be because he’s adorable).

This was a really fun prompt to write and I’m hoping to do more in the future! :)

[5sosspicedrosey]

hey! could i get a poly ship? my name is violet and im 5" 5. I've got long red hair and green eyes. im a semi professional figure skater so i spend a lot of my time training and competing. i am vegetarian. people tend to assume im very innocent because im soft spoken and look younger than i am, but thats definitely not the case and i often express a sexier side with the costumes i wear on the ice. i love champagne and fancy parties, exploring new cities, bright red lipstick and eating candy! ty!

Know what?

Muke

This is some Muke material right here!!!

Luke calls you his little squish because of how soft you act and look but both definitely appreaciate when you pull out the sexier stuff

They both 100% support your training and all the time it takes because you do the same for them when they are in the recording studio

Can you imagine them arguing about who get’s to leave the studio early to go pick you up from the arena you are practicing in

“You got to last time.”

“Doesn’t count, I went to the wrong one and didn’t even get to see her in the end.”

They both end up coming

Michael insisted stopping for pizza on the way

They bought two large pizzas but they only came in with one because they’d already eaten the other one in the car

Luke scoffs when Michael tells you that it was him who ate most of it 

Luke tells you that Michael is lying because “he was the one who wanted pizza the most so it obviously was him”

Luke bundles you up in his jacket as Michael offeres to help undo your laces for you

They’re always sweet to you like that

Luke pretends to be offended my your vegetarianism and how “vegetarian is just another word for a lazy chewer” (IDK Luke???)

But in reality he is the one who makes sure you get enough protein

He always makes sure you have veggie burgers and whatever meat alternatives you like added to the grocery list and that those items are never in short supply

Michael loves your red hair

He actually died his back to red for a few weeks just to match you

Both of yoiu tried to convince Luke to do it with you guys but he wasn’t having any of it

Actually he came very close to caving several times

Michael is trying to get you to change your hair colour to violet just so that it’s the same as your name

Both boys love the fact that everybody thinks you are a sweet little angel but when you guys get home it’s easy to see who really wears the pants in the household

Michael makes a point to buy you two types of candy for every city they tour in

He get’s on exotic candy or one that’s iconic for the area and then he gets one generic kind

Altough he does make you share 

Tickling you until you share when you decide to be playful

Luke couldn’t help but roll his eyes the day Michael brought back candied bugs as your exotic candy

“Michael, a) that’s disgusting and b) she’s not going to eat that she’s a vegetarian”

Michael literally makes an “o” with his mouth when he realizes that Luke is right

“We eat weird stuff all the time…”

“Yeah, on interviews and stuff like that when we are promoting albums, not just for the hell of it.”

Exploring new towns and cities with a boy on either side of you

Luke really wanted to take you to this restaurant that’d been recommended to him

Michael wasn’t as keen but he couldn’t resist you

Your left hand fit into Michaels warm soft one while Luke held onto you by placing an arm over your shoulder

Ashton snuck a quick picture of you guys when nobody was looking

He sent it to Luke and Michael that night

They added it to the group chat that consisted of the three of you

You loved the picture so much and told them that it was “the one”

They both knew what “the one” meant

The three of you’d been talking about it for weeks but were waiting for the right picture opportunity 

The next day twitter blew up

Your ships name was the hottest hashtag 

You guys used the picture that Ashton had taken to announce your relationship to the public

All three of you were a little worried of how the fans would take your relationship it being a poly one and all

Instead of massive abouts of hate you receive massive amounts of love and support from the fandom

Other celebrities sent in congratulations and their best wishes

Jack Baraket sent in a slightly lewd comment about the bedroom 

You all knew that even of things had gone south and people weren’t as thrilled that you three would have been alright because you were meant to stick through thick and thin

Ironically that was the caption for the announcement

“Together with the people we love, we will continue to love together, through thick and thin.”

-xx Reetz

Sorry this one was super long I didn’t mean for it to get that long 

[hollerace-blog]

The Shed

One of the salient advantages at growing up at 314 Midfield Avenue was that surprises were many and close between. My dad (and his friends) always seemed to have something in store. Add my mom’s brother, Uncle Buzz, to the mix, and adventure, usually concomitant with fun, was ever on the menu.

That spring Saturday so many years ago stands out. My brother and I awoke to the sounds of carpentry coming from the backyard. Various implements banged in a striking cadence of metal on wood.

Still pajamaed, we raced into the yard, mindless of our grandma’s call to breakfast. We scarfed down her velvety scramblers posthaste. A handful of men worked at the project. Uncle Buzz (a reputed carpenter by trade) led the tradesmen as Dad handled some plans and made measurements.

“IT’S A TOOL SHED. WELL, GONNA BE,” Mom offered. “BUZZ, YOU DON’T NEED A BEER! IT’S GOING FOR NINE!” My mother had a unique way of telling time. For years, I had no idea of actual numerical chronological increments. Our household was limited to a number of phrases that merely approximated real times in hours and minutes. We deciphered code phrases like “going for”; “a little after”; “not quite,” among others.

The concept of a tool shed did little to boost the morale of the Hollerkids, but it’s not every day a new edifice arises in your yard. So, jeaned and sneakered, we ventured out. This foray did not last long, since Buzz delivered yet another hammer blow to a gnarled, already indigo fingernail. A raft of curses ensued, accompanied by Dad ushering us out of earshot. Snagged.

Buzz came to the rescue, proffering his seemingly endless supply of silver coinage for us to go to the matinee at the Marilyn. We celebrated with Milk Duds, Junior Mints and popcorn doused in semi-buttery, mucilaginous petroleum product. A few Roadrunners, some Stooges and jutting-jawed white men shuttling fighter jets in dazzling array kept us at bay for the afternoon.

Back at home, the skeleton was complete. This seemingly massive structure spoke of more than a mere tool shed. My brother and I conferred in our bunks that night, sharing dreams about this mysterious new building.

By the time we got back from Mass the next day, our future shed was just about done. But the mystery lingered on. Over Mom’s paprikas, the subject stayed off the table. After the meal, I noticed Dad had left something behind. It was a clear piece of lucite. A small key dangled from one end. On the plastic, hand-etched in my father’s precise fashion were the words:

CLUB HOUSE AND TOOL SHED

“A CLUB HOUSE!” two boys screamed in concert. We burst out the back door and hit the shed. It was actually a two-room affair; the larger space was for the “club.” Someone had put a couple of old folding chairs and a rickety table about the room.

Somehow, the silent signal made its way to both our noggins. We owned this! No rules! No grown-ups! Nirvana! My brother and I were hootin’ and Holleran. We stomped, danced and otherwise caroused. With nobody trying to simmer us down.

Mom had to drag us out to the real world at suppertime. I made sure to secure the lock; no strangers could violate our Valhalla.

Our fortress was spare. A single, sliding window was the only outlook. To that end, we left the door open most of the time. The wall dividing the shed was made of Homasote, a dismal, gray fiberboard affair, but begging for thumbtacks.

Not to fear. One day, Tom and I retreated to our castle to see some color photos affixed to that wall. Willie Mays, Al Kaline, a crookedly grinning Larry Berra. All these borrowed from Dad’s Sport magazine. We cautiously decorated to our own tastes. A grinning, gapped Alfred E. Newman did not go over well, but remained. For some reason, adults viewed this character as a denizen of some warped Sixties Gehenna.

As school ended in June, we looked forward to quality time in The Shed, as Mom had dubbed it. One day, my brother brought up a touchpoint. “Do we have a club, or what?”

Whoa. The idea of an organized association of any sort was foreign to us. But heck, the Little Rascals had clubhouses. They even put on shows! But what about nomenclature? A cool handle meant everything. We both descended into deep thought. Which didn’t last long.

“I’ve got it!” exclaimed Tom. “The Night Crawlers!” Debate over. We both had seen the sign advertising these varmints at Ted’s Bait Box for years. The moniker was menacing enough, with no swears or other nastiness that might upset adults. Perfect.

Tom voted me president; I voted him sergeant-at-arms. Politics done.

Prospective members became a problem. Word ignited around the neighborhood. I got skinny that guys we didn’t even know—from the other side of the Avenue—were claiming to be members. Of course, Lloyd and Barry Tichey from across the street were charter Crawlers. We had to let in Linda Fortune, who lived in the three-top above the Ticheys. Her dog, Hercules, became our unofficial mascot.

We discussed others. Tom wrote the name of every vaunted associate in chalk on the fiberboard. Inky O’Doul, Johnny Sabo and Swedey Johnson, who was by popular mandate the most popular kid in Park Terrace.

I can’t accurately describe the Night Crawlers as an organization. We never had a meeting. No charter, no dues, no mission statement.

As luck would have it, things eventually went dark. One day, I returned from a sojourn to the local playground (better known as “The Field”). The door to The Shed lay open, as it often did. Only standing in that doorway was one Michael Fanelli.

I could hear him muttering something to my brother, who cowered away. Fanelli wasn’t the most hated kid in the neighborhood; he was just the least liked. He was not of any type other than rodentine. He could have been twelve or sixteen. Black clothing, engineer boots in summer. He seemed to belong to no school or family. . 

He was tolerated by the Dirt Kids from Tin Can Alley, mainly because he would treat for candy at United Cigars. Otherwise, no one claimed him as a friend. And I didn’t want him in my backyard.

His mouth was a slash of a sneer as he kept calling my brother “kid” in the snottiest way. I didn’t hesitate. “Clear out, Fanelli,” I said. “Hit the road.” 

“Screw you and your crappy club, kid,” said my nemesis. Nonetheless, he shambled down our driveway. I felt Tommy’s sigh of relief in Fanelli’s wake. I clutched him instinctively. He was already tough stuff but I could feel a tremble.

He said, “Fanelli said we had to let him in the club or he’d kick my ass.”I knew the interloper  was all mouth and no action. Word was that he would talk trash to guys at The Field and sidle away when anyone had a problem.

I saw no need to consult Bucky Maraglino and Rats Müller about Fanelli bothering my brother, knowing that these older guys would intervene for us. For a while, Fanelli faded.

The Shed served us well that summer. We’d hang out on drowsy days. Our grandmother would make us pitchers of iced tea, levering cubes out of trays to fill an old enameled pot that served as a cooler. Chips and other salt-laden treats were always on hand, and slabs of meat on Wonder were always available for lunch.

 Kids would come and go throughout the day. Tom and I ruled over this tiny kingdom. I just enjoyed sitting back, inhaling the still-fresh woodsy aura of the building. I felt safe, protected and independent.

 Guys supported us. Wifty Schultz, already a budding artist, dolled up a Newman poster with our club name in two-toned type! Some cool flame decals appeared for window decorations. The space became our castle, our keep. Dad would putter in the tool quarters but pretty much left us alone. 

These were heady times, for sure. The days seemed warmer, brighter. The two sturdy maples in our yard brought relief from city heat, slicing sharp sickles of sun that darted through the sparse, dusty patch where grass could find only a timid purchase. In those days of innocent clarity, nothing could stop us. We were indeed Dukes of Earl.

We were fortunate that Michael Fanelli never made a return visit to The Shed. One day, biking up to The Avenue, I peered down an alley behind stores. We used to flip baseball cards back there. I saw Fanelli kicking the wall, his black boots looking odd and scrufty in the heat.

I couldn’t resist, and approached the kid. He looked especially feral; his sneer seemed  nastier, more menacing. “They kicked me out of United,” he said. “Caught me stealing.” It was a neighborhood tradition not to nick anything from United Cigars. Old Mr. Kessler, no humanitarian himself, treated the kids with benign neglect.

Fanelli cast his eyes away from me. I was astonished to see he was crying. He said, “I guess I can’t be in your club.” I felt badly for him, for some reason..

“No. You can’t, “ I said. “Not when you threaten to beat up my brother,”

“I didn’t mean nothin’.”

I said, “You should think of that before you open your mouth.” I decided not to make fun of his tears, as much as I wanted to mock him. But I couldn’t resist a final dig. I  added, “Just stay away from our house, our club. Or I will kick your ass.”

He shied away, sniveling. I went into United and got a Tru Ade and a couple of Fireballs.  I wasn’t sure of any physical prowess over Michael Fanelli. I don’t even know if I ever saw him again.

I rode home and went right to the shed. For some reason, I gave my brother a Fireball and held him close. I said, “Nobody’s gonna bother us anymore. We’re the Night Crawlers.”

Tom and I stood there, clinging to each other, protected by The Shed.

And it was all good.

***

We had a few good summers in that shed. Soon, my brother outgrew me and became MY protector. After Mom sold the house, the new owners tore down The Shed. They also put a statue of a saucy jester in the front yard. That would have driven Dad up a wall.

Many years later, on a visit home from the Left Coast, I stopped by the Sons of Sweden. A lot of the old gang was there; drinks were hoisted; jollity ruled.  Some guy I didn’t recognize was reminiscing about the old neighborhood. “Where did you live, anyway?” said Hook Grywalski.

“Barketine Lane,.”said the guy.. This was up on the Hill, a small enclave for the monied set.

Swedey Johnson jumped in, “But you were never a Night Crawler.”