#calling myself out with this description of Alex's brain let's be real

[kiwiana-writes]

Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

Thanks @blairwaldcrf and @ssmtskw for the tags! This is technically only five sentences, but there is also some wanton semicolon abuse, so I think it counts.

The thing about Alex is, he’s always ten steps ahead of himself. When faced with a problem, more often than not the solution will come to him fully formed and he has to pick up the thread and walk it backwards through the labyrinthine pathways of his brain’s logic until all the twists and turns fit together; until he understands the steps to take to get himself from point A to point B. He’s always been this way, to the confusion of most people around him and the dismay of more than one high school math teacher begging him to show his working. The point is, he knows that what he’s looking at is how they get June home safely. He just needs to fit all the puzzle pieces together so he understands how.

Forever feeling feral for whatever y'all are up to, so tags below the cut and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

@affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @celaestis1 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @hypnostheory @iboatedhere @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @leaves-of-laurelin @lilythesilly @myheartalivewrites @nontoxic-writes @orchidscript @rmd-writes @roseapothecary @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @suseagull04 @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland 

[paper-cuts-and-fresh-bruises]

So once again I’ve taken my time to collect my thoughts because wow, I am all in the feels right now (warning, long post). First things first, I am so oddly HAPPY that they didn’t give us a Nancy and Ace kiss, because beforehand yes I was wanting it and by all means I still do, but it made so much more sense with how everything played out. Plus, the proximity Nace had in the dreamscape was immaculate, and when dreamscape Ace said “knock ‘em dead”, oh lord that knocked me dead for a good minute. Plus, we’re in it for the slow burn, and part of that is letting it unfold naturally and gradually, not forced by circumstance or manufactured; make no mistake, the writers are invested in giving us everything we could want and more, but they know how to do it without falling in too deep into the rabbit hole, they have to take clarity in real time, we can only do that after the fact. I personally find that for once the writers know me better than I do, I’ve thrown out theories (some I’ve shared on here and some not) that I’ve had into the void with varying levels of accuracy, from none, to partial, to spot on (this last one being more rare personally). And honestly, I’m actually quite comforted at the moment with my trust in what the writers will do just in general, but obviously especially with Nace. For now I’m living on Kennedy’s words “just let it ride baby”. Plus, season 3 is the place to be for it to flow naturally like a river, give us that progression and have it happen.

Another Nancy x Ace feature I loved was Ace’s tendency to be more touchy (literally) and drawn to Nancy in the finale, because although make no mistake Ace has had numerous moments through the season in terms of his journey towards Nancy, Nancy has definitely been a bit more loud on that side of things although it does make total sense for the both of them. Nancy’s near death experience was definitely a catalyst in the journey for Ace to acknowledge those feelings, I mean the eye contact when Nancy woke up was astoundingly loud. Also, going back a bit for a second, aside from the fact I am so glad that Nancy dumped the dumpster fire that is Gil, I am also so giddy at what Ace said to Nancy because it was so sweet but I also adore his clear affirmation to Nancy that she can do it and that her breaking up with Gil was all her, she has the strength and as can be seen she proved that. Also quick note, aside from the back rubs and hand holding, his concern when the blood was draining, MY HEART. On top of that his “I feel like I left something behind” is giving me everything, and btw I can give you an eye witness description Ace, plus any additional info if you’d like. Coupled with Nancy’s speech she was rehearsing at his door, the girl has it bad for our boy, he just needs to gain clarity in return.

Other things I want to mention, I know we kind of talk about who Nancy’s gonna be with next but I’m gonna throw it out there and say no one, at least not until Ace comes along, at which point they play the game of awkward interactions and figure things out. The Nancy we’ve known up to this point has jumped from guy to guy, but we understand at this point that that’s down to her avoiding her trauma, which she’s now not only in charge of but has to face head on, which means not diving into just any guy’s arms, she understands at this point that it’s not healthy and it’s not helpful. As a result, I think she’s gonna fuel her time with other things; this will obviously include investigating, but maybe even hanging out at Ace’s house whilst he’s on the “romantic” trip (also I really don’t like Amanda defending Gil, I can understand defending family to a certain degree, but girl “he got dumped for no reason” is complete bs, did you even ask or just assume? Ace is right about all he said, and as someone with a brother myself I’ll say it doesn’t take having a sibling to know that, you didn’t even acknowledge Gil’s toxic behaviour properly when Ace called you back). I feel like even though Ace encouraged the trip that he’s already not feeling it, because his feelings are elsewhere *hint hint* right now, it’s more of an excuse to run from what (or who) he’s feeling different about, but when he returns we’re gonna get a lot of juicy content (I don’t think they’ll waste much time doing this for season 3). 

The episode really went there, addressing a lot but not making it feel rushed. Which whilst we’re on the subject, aside from Nancy’s whole ordeal, it’ll be interesting to see if maybe there’s a solution for finding a way to separate George and Odette (I’ve had this theory in my head that Temperance might be the devil they have to make a deal with), though if they do I want it to be a case of Odette being freed and her moving on, because Bess deserves to find someone (as they hinted in the interview for the finale) and not just be dragged back because whilst it was cute for a bit, the whole Odette thing was definitely messy regardless of her noble choice to not resurface again, but also give George her life back where she isn’t having to rush milestones and Bess can get the screen time (which btw I think they deliberately scaled her back this season to serve the other plots better so that they could do more for her in season 3, to give the writers credit where it’s due). Another thing, from the interview as far as the Bobbsey’s are concerned, as far as I know they’ll be taking a backseat, which has me intrigued as to how they’ll be used if they do turn up. On top of that, I loved the reference to Nancy and Ace’s feelings as “nothing casual” which leads me to the last bit of this long post (I will likely make more posts but I’m trying to control myself).

For the longest time I’ve shipped Nancy and Ace, like day 1 type stuff. And part of me just thought it was my brain working overtime and wanting it to be that way, especially when season 2 rolled around and we got all this CONTENT. It could’ve been the writers just latching onto us. But as it turns out I and the rest of us Nace shippers have been right in what our eyes saw this the entire time. They looked at Ace (Alex Saxon) as a love interest for Nancy (Kennedy Mcmann) the moment they had him cast. It’s such great validation because in season 1 amongst other scenes, especially when they went to the library and there was that look between them when they read the emails, I was like...am I? are you seeing this? the seeds were being planted. Anyways, that’s all that’s on my brain right now (surprise surprise), nevertheless I can’t wait for what’s next overall, but obviously I and the rest of us will have to. Luckily though it’s not a whole year we have to wait so we are truly blessed. Looking forward to what’s in store.

[benaffleckofcrowdsurfing]

Star Treatment - 1

TBHC Alex Turner AU

cowritten with @walkingidler​

description: an escort, a millionaire, a hotel that breaks the boundaries of technology, time, and space, a flashing red light, and a shit ton of cocaine.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of mental illness, light drug use, and assault. I’d rate this chapter PG-13.

THE BEGINNING

**********

“We’re just leaving now. Should only be a few minutes. Brielle is very excited to meet you.”

“Lovely. I’ll step outside and wait for her arrival.”

As Alex stepped outside, the warm Los Angeles air hit him like a swift palm to the face. He took off his blazer and waited, not quite knowing who for. He knew she was young and at least somewhat attractive, he had been quite impressed by the pictures that his friend showed him. Who knew, though. Girls in LA never looked like they did in their pictures. 

In only a few moments, a black SUV pulled up to the lavish restaurant. Alex smiled politely when a small brunette girl stepped out. Wow, he thought. She’s actually more attractive than her photos.

“I presume you’re Miss Brielle,” Alex took a step toward her as she strutted up to him, and shook her hand.

“And you must be Alexander,” the girl hummed. The word ‘Alexander’ left her lips like honey, leaving goosebumps down Alex’s spine. She looked up at him with bedroom eyes, her soft green irises twinkling under the moonlight. Alex couldn’t help but stare.

“Come on, Darling. There’s a bottle of wine waiting for us at the table,” Alex muttered, still admiring the petite girl’s beauty. She smiled up at him before putting her hands around his arm and allowing him to guide her to the table.

“So,” Alex pulled out the chair for Brielle. “How old are you, Brielle. You look quite young.”

Brielle thanked him as she sat down, and when Alex returned to his side of the table, she chuckled a bit. “I’m nineteen. I’ve been doing this for almost three years now.”

“Three years? That would have made you sixteen when you started. How did you get caught up in something like this so young?” Alex poured Brielle a glass of wine.

Brielle sighed. “You’re eager, aren’t you? Usually men don’t ask me my life story until at least the third or fourth date.”

Alex’s eyes grew wide and his face flushed. “Oh- I’m sorry. I’ve never actually done anything like this before, I guess I didn’t get the ‘escort manners’ memo.” 

Brielle laughed again. “No, don’t apologize. It’s refreshing to sit down and have dinner with someone who doesn’t just want to talk about their tough day at work or their failing marriage or their kids who are probably all around my age.”

“Right. I guess you’re probably used to married men. I forgot about that.”

“Do you not have a woman in your life, Alexander?”

“I’m actually on this… er - date… by recommendation of a friend to help me get over my most recent ex girlfriend.”

Brielle frowned at Alex and stuck her bottom lip out in pity. “I’m sorry, Alexander. I’m sure it was her loss. You’re a very attractive man and from what my higher-ups said, you’re quite the businessman.”

Alex chuckled. “Businessman. That’s a funny one. But - and just let me know if I’m prying, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable - you never answered my question. I want to know how you got here.”

Brielle exhaled and took a long sip of her wine before tucking her hair behind her ears and looking directly into Alex’s eyes; it was like she could see a universe behind them as they gleaned against the dim lighting. “I’m just going to say this now, Alexander. I don’t want pity. I’m a big girl and I’ve worked hard to get where I’m at, even if you may not see it as the most noble lifestyle.”

Alex nodded. “I understand, and trust me I’m never one to judge your lifestyle. I am the one who hired you, after all.”

Brielle pursed her lips into a small smile before continuing. “When I was fourteen, I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. I had been suffering from it for a long time before I was diagnosed, and it really took a toll on my relationships with my family. My parents were never the best people, they’re quite wealthy and are kind of your typical ‘Real Housewives of Los Angeles’ assholes. My mother told me from a very young age that it was more important to be pretty and polite than yourself, and my father never really paid attention to me. So when I was diagnosed, they kind of just wanted to throw me on whatever meds would make me a zombie and would keep me out of their hair, but I wasn’t having it. I deeply understood that I was who I was because of BPD, and even if I was irrational or ‘crazy’ or whatever, that was me. So I never took my meds.”

As Brielle fell into her own little world, painting out the picture of her teenage years for Alex, he watched her. He watched how her soft lips fell when she was speaking about her parents, how her eyes creased in hesitation before going on about her mental illness, how her delicate hands acted out everything she spoke about. He listened to her voice, taking note of the way she giggled through her story and put emphasis on words like crazy and troubled. Alex usually didn’t like American accents, but there was something about hers he couldn’t get enough of. She sounded intelligent, he could tell that there was a lot going on in her brain and it made him want to hear more.

“When I was fifteen, my mom found out I wasn’t taking my meds. She was livid. She screamed at me for hours, that was one of the worst days of my life. She called me a spoiled brat and a fucking psycho and said that having me was one of the worst mistakes she ever made. That day really pushed me over the edge. I couldn’t stand living with her anymore. I told her to take me out of the trust and to never speak to me again, and I left.”

Alex furrowed his brows. “You left when you were fifteen?”

Brielle rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. I was way too young to be on my own. But I had places to go. For that first year or so I stayed with some friends downtown. It was great. I got a job at a decent restaurant, and the friends I was staying with had an in to this club so we were constantly out partying and drinking and all that jazz.”

Alex frowned even more. “You were hanging out in clubs when you were fifteen?”

“Yes, Alexander. Fifteen. I dropped acid for the first time when I was fifteen. I did coke for the first time when I was fifteen. I had sex for the first time when I was fifteen. I was a bad kid.”

“I didn’t call you a bad kid, I just wanted to clarify.”

“Sure you did, Alexander.”

“I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Brielle, would you please just continue your story?”

Brielle shot Alex a dirty look before continuing. “One day, I was in the club, and a man came up to me. He told me he liked how I danced. I was like ‘okay?’ And then he told me he’d pay for me to sit with him and keep him company. At first I was like, ‘no, what the fuck?’ because I was a kid and I didn’t realize what he was asking, but I guess one of the guys we knew who ran the club saw and pulled me aside and explained it to me. He told me that if I wanted to pursue that, he could take care of the business side of everything, and promised to keep me safe. At that point I already had no morals for myself so I was just kind of like, ‘fuck it’, you know? Fast forward three years, and I’m still saying fuck it.”

Alex repeated the words to himself. “Fuck it.” 

Brielle bit her bottom lip and raised her glass. “To saying fuck it.”

Alex grinned and put his glass to hers. “To saying fuck it.”

They both laughed after drinking their wine, and a waiter came up to them. “What can I get for you two?”

Brielle looked down at the menu and hummed softly. “I’d love the salmon, please.”

Alex handed the waiter his menu. “I’ll do the filet mignon.”

After the waiter refilled both of their water glasses and walked away, Alex looked back over to Brielle. 

“I must say, Brielle. I’m absolutely enthralled by you.” 

Brielle smirked. “As I am by you.”

Alex cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well,” Brielle took another sip of her wine. “You’re a lot younger than most of the other men I see. You’re unmarried, extremely wealthy, have a sexy accent, and are insanely attractive. I can’t quite figure out why you decided to hire an escort.” 

Alex bit his lip. “So you think I’ve got a sexy accent?”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Well, maybe I just wanted to be seen out with an attractive young lass.”

Before Brielle could respond, the waiter returned with their meals. 

Brielle let out an excited gasp at the sight of her dinner, making Alex giggle. “That’s a mighty fine lookin’ fish you’ve got there, darling.”

Brielle picked up her fork in a hurry, and let out a little moan as she took her first bite. “Oh my god, this is insane.”

Alex’s eyes grew darker at the sound of her little noises of delight. This girl was driving him absolutely mad, just watching her lips curl around her fork and smile into the salmon was getting him hot and bothered.

Brielle looked up from her meal and scoffed at Alex. “Are you gonna eat your steak or are you just gonna sit there and drool over me?”

“Wow, Brielle. I would’ve thought a girl getting paid to have dinner with me would be a bit less blunt,” Alex chuckled.

“Jeez, sorry that I’m comfortable enough with you to not be perfect,” Brielle blew a raspberry at the man across the table, and then smiled and stuck her fork out to him. “Would you like a taste?”

Alex cleared his throat in order to keep his composure. “I’d love some.”

Brielle stuck her tongue out slightly as she moved the fork toward Alex, and as Alex took the salmon into his mouth, she averted her gaze from the fork to his eyes. He was looking directly at her, so their eye contact was immediate. Both their eyes were dark, the heat of the moment building up between them. Alex had no idea that such a small gesture could get him going so quickly, and Brielle had no idea that she could feel the things she was feeling for a client. As the two of them backed away from each other and leaned back into their seats, they held eye contact.

“That’s absolutely heavenly. I should’ve gotten that instead of the steak,” Alex raved.

“I’m sure your steak is quite good as well, it looks fantastic.”

Alex lowered his voice a bit. If she was going to be bold, so was he. “Well open up then, have a taste.”

Brielle blushed a bit, the apples of her cheeks lifting when the corners of her lips curled into a grin. She leaned forward, resuming her eye contact with Alex as she took the steak into her mouth. She let out a few moans of delight as she sat back in her seat, nodding as she chewed. Alex bit his lip in satisfaction. He’d hand feed her bites of his meal all night if it meant he’d get to hear those noises.

“Holy shit, that’s a really good cut of meat.” Brielle mumbled. Her mouth was still full, and Alex laughed at her poor table manners.

The eccentric couple sat and finished their main courses, making small talk and getting to know each other better. At one point they talked about their favorite films, having a rather riveting conversation about one particular French film, Le Cercel Rouge. Alex practically proposed to Brielle when she had mentioned the movie, it was one of his favorites and he loved a girl who knew French cinema. They also talked about Alex’s two Akitas, Vesta and Vulcan. Brielle gushed over the pictures he showed her of them, she loved dogs and begged Alex to meet them (to which Alex replied something along the lines of “that can be arranged”).

“Alexander,” Brielle purred. 

They were eating dessert now. Alex had ordered a rather decadent chocolate mousse, and Brielle went for banana parfait. 

“Please, Brielle. Call me Alex.”

Brielle simpered. “Alright, Alex. You asked me how I got here, but how did you get here?”

Alex frowned. “I already told you. A friend of mine recommended I see someone to take my mind off of my ex.”

“No, silly. Not here, here. How’d you end up in LA? Where did your wealth come from? What do you do for a living?” Brielle pointed her spoon at Alex to emphasize what she was saying. 

“Well, alright. I’ve lived in the states officially for ten years now, but before that I visited quite often. I grew up in a little town in the UK called Sheffield, but my uncle owned a hotel here in Los Angeles and I often came to visit.”

“Oh, that’s really cool! Which hotel does he own?”

“Well, actually I own it now. It’s the Tranquility Base.”

Brielle’s eyes widened. “You own that thing?” The Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino was a massive building in the heart of Beverly Hills, and just so happened to be one of the most prestigious residencies in California. It was quite elusive. People were rarely seen going in and out, however it was widely known that this was where the most rich and famous stayed. 

“Yes ma’am.”

“So, I’m assuming that’s where your fortune came from?”

“Well, partially. My uncle left me a lot of money, plus the hotel, but I also, um,” Alex paused to find his words. How could he say this without exposing himself? “I’m an entrepreneur.”

Brielle narrowed her eyes at Alex’s last statement. “So you’re a drug dealer?”

Alex’s eyes grew wide. “How did you-“

“Alexan- er, Alex, I’ve been escorting for three years. I know that ‘entrepreneur’ is code for ‘I’m a drug lord’. It’s nothing to be secretive about. I’m trustworthy.” Brielle leaned back in her seat with a sort of cocky look on her face.

“Okay, yes. I’m involved in… that sort of thing. Another gift from my uncle. High standing in one of the most elite drug rings in the country. Both a blessing and a curse, but it is what it is.” Alex let out a breathy laugh and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bag full of a white powder. “Want some?”

Brielle’s face contorted into a Cheshire Cat smile. “You know, usually I’d decline. I may be dumb but I’m not dumb enough to take anything from a stranger. But I’m feeling lucky tonight, Alex. I trust you.”

“Off to the bathroom we go, then.” 

***********

It was only two more days until Alex arranged another dinner date with Brielle, and a few days after that he called upon her for a quick dog walk with Vesta and Vulcan. Alex didn’t stop thinking about her for days. He thought about her in the shower, while he was working, during meetings, he dreamed about her, he had even asked his driver to follow her around one evening to see what she got up to in her free time. She was driving him mad, making him sick. He wanted her - no, he craved her, and at this point he’d pay her every night if it meant he got to spend time with her. She may have been some dirty fantasy of his at first, but in only a month he felt that he had strong feelings for Brielle.

Luckily for Alex, she thought similarly. Every time her “boss”, Enzo, told her that she’d be accompanying Mister Turner, her eyes lit up. As much as she hated that she liked someone as old as Alex, she was fascinated by him. Brielle had even gone to the extent of asking Enzo for his number, so she could see him outside of work, but that hadn’t gone well.

“Bri, you know the deal. No seeing clients outside of work.”

Enzo and Brielle stood against the club’s back wall, looking out over the sea of people. 

Brielle scoffed after him and took a drag from the blunt the two of them were sharing. “Enzo, please. I’m not going to go behind your back and ask him for more money or anything. I just want to be able to see him outside of work.”

The tall man looked down at Brielle as if she had lost her mind. “Bitch, that’s the problem. You start fucking your clients for free and I’ve lost all my credibility. People will clown us, and I can’t let you cost me clients.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Enzo. You’re absolutely impossible. I’ll just ask him for it the next time I see him,” she whisper-shouted and began to walk away. Enzo chuckled before grabbing Brielle by the hair, slamming her against the wall and gripping her arm violently to keep her in place. She looked up at him with a spiteful look, “What gives, Enzo? Can you let me fucking go?”

“You’re forgetting something, Bri. I own you. You’re caught up with me, and there’s no getting out of it. You knew that the moment you started doing business with me.” Enzo bent down so his face was level with hers. He kissed her cheek before letting her go and taking the blunt from her hands. “You’ve got a date with Mister Turner tomorrow night. I’ll be watching you closely. Don’t do anything fucking stupid.”

Brielle nodded her head in compliance, and when he shoved her away, she stormed outside and kicked off her shoes. “I can’t fucking believe him. I cannot fucking believe him. I’m going to fucking kill him. I fucking- I can’t fucking- I-,” Brielle cried. She was warm to the touch, the tears streaming down her face seemed to be sizzling against her hot cheeks. She couldn’t do anything but sit on the sidewalk and cry, she had no one to call or talk to help her calm down. 

“Need a cigarette, Love?”

A familiar voice reached from behind her.

“Hey, Alex.”

 Brielle sniffled and wiped the tears off of her cheeks before turning around to greet him. Maybe In a different situation she would asked him why are you here, but she was just thankful to have someone there for her - no questions asked.

 Alex sat next to her on the curb, and pulled a carton of Marlboros and a lighter out of his coat pocket. He pulled two cigarettes out of the pack, and handed one to her. “What’s going on, Brielle?” 

“Just work troubles,” Brielle shrugged. She thanked Alex after he lit the cigarette for her, and laid back on the concrete to take her first drag. 

Alex ran his hand over her small arm, a dark bruise was forming from where Enzo had held her against the wall. His voice got quiet. “I can see that.”

Brielle panicked and ripped her arm away from Alex’s soft touch. “Please don’t say anything about this to anyone. Enzo and I just had a bit of an argument. I’m okay.”

“Brielle, I know how Enzo is. If you’re in trouble you can tell me, I’m here for you.” Alex’s voice was low and soft, he seemed genuinely concerned and it made Brielle’s eyes well up once again.

“I can’t escape, Alex. You know how people like that are. If I ever go against his word he’ll kill me,” she mumbled. When Alex put his arm around her and pulled her closer, she burst into tears. “I want out so badly.”

Alex sighed and kissed the top of her head, his beard tickling her forehead. They sat there for a moment, just waiting for Brielle to calm down a bit, before Alex stood up. 

“Come home with me, Brielle. Please. You need someone to keep you company.”

Brielle furrowed her brows and stood up to be more level with Alex. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Alex stepped closer to her, and Brielle quickly stepped away.

“I just…can’t.” She began to tear up again. As much as she did want to go with Alex, she was terrified of what Enzo would do. “Trust me, I’d love to be with you. I really would.”

Alex looked confused, but he let it go nonetheless. He was sure she had a valid reason. “At least let me drive you home. Please.”

Brielle smiled weakly and nodded her head. “Okay.”

Alex put an arm around Brielle and guided her to his towncar. He opened the door for her, and cleared his throat as the two of them slipped in.

“Brielle, this is my driver, Nick O’Malley. Nick, Brielle Roux.” 

Brielle said a quick hello to Nick, who didn’t say anything, but rather nodded at her. The drive home was quiet, it mostly consisted of Brielle sniffling away her tears and telling Nick how to get to her apartment, and Alex comfortingly rubbing Brielle’s thigh.

“Here we are,” Brielle muttered as they rolled up to her apartment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex.”

She planted a kiss on Alex’s cheek before slipping out of the car.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Love.”

[echo-bleu]

FIC PROMPT: Kyle or Liz wanting to talk to Alex about his suicidal ideation.

There it is Beth! I couldn’t figure out a way to make this related to what Alex told Michael in 2x10, not without dealing with the whole kidnapping thing, but then I realized it didn’t have to be related. I’m not sure why this wanted to be post 2x06, but it is. Or, a slightly different version of 2x06.

My headcanons for Alex’s background here are the same as I used in setting fire to our insides (for fun).

[suicide ideation, mentions of suicide attempt, mentions of bullying and child abuse, vague description of a dead person, stab wound, vague mentions of the 2x06 scene]

spinning like a weathervane

“Hey,” Alex opens the door, blinking hard at the light. He squints and looks away from Kyle to wave him in, feeling like his head is going to split open. “Sorry.”

“Hangover?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah. It's fine, it'll go away.” Alex hops back on his crutch awkwardly, unstable. His left shoulder is too painful to take his weight, or he would have grabbed both crutches. Hangovers mess badly with his balance.

Kyle follows him into the living room. “I'm guessing that's not why you called me?”

“No. I, uh, I kinda got stabbed?”

“You got what?” Kyle stammers.

“Yesterday was...complicated,” Alex mutters. He sits down on his piano bench, both because it allows him to face away from the eastern windows and because he doesn't think he'll be able to get up again if he lets himself get comfortable in an armchair. He leans his crutches against the keyboard.

“Are you bleeding? Show me. When did this happen?”

Alex sighs and starts trying to takes his shirt−Michael's shirt−off. It was easier to put it on. Or maybe he just ignored the pain when he rushed to get dressed this morning, Michael and Maria's eyes on him and discomfort seeping into his bones. It's harder to ignore, now that his brain doesn't register any immediate threat. Plus, both his head and his leg are killing him. He spent the whole night with his prosthesis on, almost twenty-four hours of walking and riding in a car and fucking getting stabbed, and it did a number on his stump.

“It was cleaned up and treated, but I'm pretty sure it needs a couple stitches,” he says.

“What did this?” Kyle asks, coming to kneel down in front of Alex, setting down his medical bag. “Who did this?”

“Doesn't matter.” Alex grits his teeth as Kyle carefully rips off the bandage. Sure enough, the injury is still seeping blood. “He's taken care of. And it was an ice pick. Before you ask, yes, I'm up to date with my shots. Not my first stabbing.”

“That is not reassuring. Did you lose a lot of blood? Felt lightheaded?”

Alex shakes his head. “I, uh, fainted, but I think it was just the pain. The drive back was not fun.”

Kyle prods at the wound, making Alex hiss in pain. “This definitely needs stitches. I need you to give me a timeline here. When did you get stabbed?”

Alex watches him start to prepare his kit. “Around midnight.”

“Eighteen hours ago. And why didn't you call me right away?” Kyle asks without looking up.

“It wasn't that bad. Beside, we were in the middle of nowhere. Maria called Michael to tow us back.”

“You were with Maria and Michael,” Kyle states flatly.

“Well, just with Maria. We were tracking down a lead on Mimi's kidnapping. Guy attacked me, chased Maria, she knocked him out, and his twin shot him. Michael showed up and drove us back, and they patched me up.” Alex leaves the rest out. The awkward hours in the car, trying to breathe through the pain and not watch Maria only have eyes for Michael. How his heart broke in a million pieces, again, watching Michael so scared for Maria, watching them kiss. How he still couldn't take his eyes away from him, couldn't stand up and leave, call a ride-share or something, anything, anything not to have to watch this.

How Maria kissed him. How she grabbed his hand and put it on Michael's thigh. What could have happened, if Michael hadn't inadvertently elbowed Alex straight into his wound and Alex hadn't nearly passed out from the pain.

He will always wonder, probably. Call it morbid curiosity. By then, he was already floating far out of his body, his brain incapable of processing things. Disappearing, like he's always done when it gets too hard. Michael's shock brought him back hard, harder than any pain could have.

“And when was that?”

“We got back at dawn. Michael−” Alex pauses to grit his teeth as Kyle starts to stitch him up, “−drove me back here.”

“And none of you thought to call me? Or, you know, do what most people do when they're injured and drive to the nearest ER?”

Kyle's tone is sarcastic, but his worry is real. And that's exactly why Alex hoped until now to avoid having to tell him. “I was fine,” he says. It took him almost fifteen minutes to convince Michael that he didn't have to stay out of guilt, that he could go back to the Airstream where Maria waited. It took him almost a full hour to decide that the only way he was going to forget about that and finally sleep was the bottle of Patron in his liquor cabinet.

“That's when you decided to get hammered?” Kyle asks, finishing his last knot.

Alex shrugs. “Seemed better than just offing myself at the time,” he jokes.

Kyle's response is very much not what he expected−not that Alex knows what he expected. Kyle's face goes slack with shock and he stares at Alex for a solid thirty seconds, bloody hands and needles forgotten. At least he's already finished the stitches, Alex thinks a little hysterically.

“Alex,” he says slowly, deliberately moving his hands into Alex's sight so he doesn't come off as a threat. “Do you mean that? What you just said.”

Alex replays it in his head, quickly, trying to figure out where the hitch is. Oh. Right, regular people don't react well to that. He forgot, again. Last time Karl dragged him straight to the base hospital and he had to argue for half-an-hour with the on-call therapist that it was just a joke. And Karl knew way more than Kyle does about gallows humor.

Alex goes to deny it, go back on his words, but the thought of Karl−of his body sprawled on Alex's, eyes unseeing, heavy, so heavy, so still−makes him grimace against his will. And the moment has passed, it's too late to just wave it away. The concern is anchored in Kyle's eyes now and won't just leave.

Alex works his jaw, hesitating. “I'm not going to do anything.”

“But you think about it.”

Alex doesn't deny it.

“You know what it is, right?” Kyle asks, biting his lip. He's clearly unsure how to proceed, but he's not going to let it go. Alex wishes they could have this conversation at another time. His head feels far too heavy for his neck, and he wants to support it with his hand, but Kyle will be looking for any sign of distress, now. Which means that Alex won't get any respite. Fuck.

“Yes, Kyle, I've been to therapy. Still go. I know what suicide ideation is. Always had the thoughts. Never tried anything, beside the once, and I won't.”

Kyle's face shifts. And...fuck. Alex's brain-to-mouth filter is fucked, he's still half drunk. He didn't mean to let that slip.

“You attempted suicide?” Kyle asks carefully.

Alex swallows. “I was fourteen. I thought I'd hit rock bottom. I was pretty naive. Look, just because I think of it doesn't mean I actually want to do it. It doesn't work like that. It's just...thought patterns. That's where my mind goes when I feel bad, that's all. It's a coping mechanism.”

Kyle doesn't answer, and he goes back to treating Alex's wound, slowly and deliberately. More disinfectant makes Alex screw up his face at the sting. Kyle covers it in gauze and tapes a bandage over it, cleaner and better than Michael's was. Alex watches him, wondering if this will change everything between them. Once they got over their history, Kyle has been pretty good at respecting his agency, not mothering him because of his disability. But things changed with Karl, when he found out. It was just a few weeks before−

Alex shakes his head to get rid of the thought. He focuses on his wound instead, because physical pain is always easier to deal with. He rolls his shoulder to check his range of motion. Good enough, though using a crutch on that side will hurt for a while. Hiding it at work shouldn't be too hard, at least.

“Fourteen,” Kyle says suddenly. “That's when we stopped talking.”

Something cold settles inside Alex. “Don't you dare think it was your fault,” he snarls.

“Okay, okay,” Kyle physically backs off. “I just−I think about what I did to you a lot.”

“Look, you were a dick, but you were also just a kid. If you want to blame someone, blame my father. Not yourself.”

“As long as you remember that that's valid for you, too,” Kyle says with a raised eyebrow.

Alex looks away. He won't admit that Kyle hit a nerve, but this rings far too true.

“I'm done here,” Kyle changes the subject. “You hurt anywhere else?”

“No. Spent too much time on my leg, but that will heal on its own.”

“You need rest. I don't want you at work for at least two days. I'll write you a note, or whatever form you need to get medical leave.”

“Kyle, I can't afford my supervisors finding out what I'm doing with my free time.”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Then taking a couple sick days because of your prior injury is better than showing up sleep-deprived and with a sore shoulder.”

“Fine,” Alex sighs. He could really use the sleep, he knows, but two days of running circles in his house thinking about Michael and Maria is not appealing. And that's if his brain doesn't decide that a little stabbing calls for a rerun of every trauma he's ever had.

“And Alex? Please at least call your therapist?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes. “Yeah, I will.”

He doesn't see her regularly anymore, but he knows this is the right call. At least Kyle isn't trying to get him to do more, like seek inpatient help.

“Thank you,” he adds, without looking at Kyle who is zipping up his bag.

“You want me to stay?” Kyle offers. “Get some pizza, watch a movie or something?”

“You're just off your shift, you must be dying to get home,” Alex says.

“Nah. No one there waiting for me. I'll just do the same at my place. Feel like some company?”

Alex hesitates for a moment. “Sure.”

“Then get comfortable,” Kyle smiles, kicking off his shoes. He gestures at the TV. “You got Netflix on this?”

[justacouplebandfics]

We’ve got scars on our future hearts (Jalex) - Chapter 1

Description: Alex dealt with self harm when he was younger, that's over now though- he's better, until he's not. Struggling with the idea of self harming as an adult Alex keeps the issue to himself, but living on a tour bus with your band there's only so long you can keep something a secret.

Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of self harm

It’s also available here on Wattpad, and you can find the masterlist here. 

Disclaimer: All self harm is valid self harm, all notions of 'real' self harm discussed in this fic come from a place of internal struggle.

Alex's POV

I flopped down on my bunk, exhausted from tonight's show- it was amazing, the crowd, the lights, I never get tired of it- looking out to the sea of smiling fans I'm always reminded how lucky I am to have made it like this. I couldn't ask for better band mates, the tour is going incredibly well, which is why it's just so hard to comprehend why I feel so down sometimes. It feels so selfish. There are people who have genuine problems who get up every day and get on with it and I'm sat here miserable for no good reason.

Pulling the curtain to my bunk closed I reach up to the little shelf and grab my sunglasses pouch, opening it and reaching into the little back pocket I sit and look at the small collection of blades. There's a couple I jimmied out of a pencil sharpener years ago and a new box cutter blade I brought the other week, I let out a tense breath as I pick it up and set it down on the duvet in front of me.

I struggled with self harm when I was younger, honestly I'm pretty sure with how the world is nowadays you'd be hard pushed to find someone that didn't at least think about it at that age. By younger I mean high school, your so-called glory days, even though it's only the privilege few who seem to get to actually enjoy it. It was never anything terrible- cat scratches really, yeah my thighs are absolutely riddled with scars but I can't remember ever cutting myself in a way that was any kind of impressive.

It got better after high school, All Time Low kicked off and I didn't even think about it for a while, kind of just forgot it was ever a thing- every now and then things got a bit too stressful and I'd return to it but I'd knock it off within a few days. I'm an adult, this isn't the way adults deal with their problems, it felt embarrassing to do it, childish.

I don't even remember what brought it back this time- I was alone on the bus one evening, a rare occurrence, and I just did it. I wasn't even particularly sad or angry, the urge just came out of nowhere and overwhelmed my mind. I never got rid of the blades from high school, they sat unused in an old sunglasses pouch for some glasses I hadn't picked up since high school either, so it was just too easy to go back to my bunk and slice up my thighs. I know I should have thrown them out, or not brought them with me, but a little part of my brain kept telling me at some point I'll relapse again and need them, and I guess it was right.

It wasn't anything awful that time either, three shallow cuts at the top of my thigh, on the clean scar-free skin I hadn't touched in my high school days. The clean up process was so familiar it was almost comforting, wiping up the blood, sticking on a bandage, pulling up my skinny jeans trying not to let them drag against it. I sat back down in the front lounge all too aware of the pain on my right thigh as Jack and Rian walked in, all smiles from meeting some fans. I plastered on a smile too and pretended everything was fine.

After blankly staring at the blade in front of my for what feels like forever I let out another tense breath and pick it up, pressing the sharp corner into the pad of my thumb, trying to find a reason for wanting to do this tonight. I can hear the guys' voices faintly from the front lounge, laughing about something; I think to myself for a moment that I could just put this away, I could go out there and laugh and have fun, I don't have to do this, but almost immediately the overwhelming urges drown those thoughts out.

I feel like I'm running on autopilot as I slip the blade into the back of my phone case, get out of my bunk and grab my towel from where it's hanging. Walking towards the front of the bus I crack open the door to the lounge, peeking my head around "Hey guys, I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick- was anyone waiting?" With only one shower on the bus and some venues not having any in the green room you can very quickly find yourself 5 deep in a queue to get clean after a show. My brain might be overrun with urges to slice my thighs open at the moment but I'm not about to be a queue-jumping asshole.

"Nah, you're all good" Jack pipes up from the couch, giving me a toothy grin that makes my stomach twist up. It's not that I feel guilty about them being sad or worried if they find out, it's the sheer embarrassment of it- this is something I did when I was younger and didn't know any better, it's not something you're meant to do as an adult. I can just imagine the looks of judgement if they ever saw, the mocking pity, I just couldn't do it.

After some sounds of agreement from the other guys, way more interested in whatever movie was on than who was in the shower, I shut the door and pick out a pair of joggers from my wardrobe as I head to the bathroom. Locking the door behind me I reach into the shower and turn it on, facing the shower head towards the wall. After shimmying out of my skinny jeans I put the toilet lid down and take a seat, pulling the blade out from the back of my phone case, balancing it on my thigh.

I bite at my bottom lip as I try to conjure up a reason for doing this again, coming up completely blank. My mind just feels like static at the moment and this is the only way I know how to stop it.

Fuck this is so stupid.

I pick up the blade and press the corner into my thigh, just below the ones from yesterday, slowly dragging it across my skin. The familiar pin prick pain lights up my thigh as I see little beads of blood start to form. Grabbing some toilet paper I wipe it away, repositioning my blade at the start of the cut again and going in for another swipe. I carry on like that for a little while- swipe, bleed, wipe, until there are 4 cuts, definitely not deep enough for any kind of medical attention, but deep enough to gape a bit.

I sit and admire them for a moment, I'm almost proud- the cuts now are so much deeper than they were in high school, they feel more like real self harm, but they still aren't deep enough. I press a clean piece of tissue to them to soak up the blood while I clean off the blade, drying it and slipping it back into my phone case. I pick up the paper and take another look, now the blood is wiped up I can see the 4 white lines, the gaping showing off the exposed dermis clearly.

Standing up I pick up all the bloodied tissues and throw them into the toilet, checking to see if I accidentally got any blood anywhere in the bathroom. Satisfied all the evidence of my sins is in the toilet bowl I step into the shower, mentally bracing myself for the stinging sensation that will come when I turn the shower head onto myself.

I stand under the stream for a while, having already showered earlier I don't feel the need to wash myself again, just wiping away any of the already dried blood on my thigh. I let the slightly-too-hot water burn my back as I press my forehead against the cool shower door, the shame starting to set in. At least my head feels clearer now, calmer.

I step out and dry off, grabbing the medical kit stashed under the sink and securing a bandage over the new cuts- trying to avoid placing the tape over the assortment of scabs already present. Throwing on the joggers and the t-shirt I came in with I flush the toilet and head back out to my bunk, making sure the curtain is shut firmly behind me before transferring the blade back to its rightful place.

I make my way to the front lounge, sitting myself down next to Jack who's sprawled out over one of the couches. Matt and Zack are sat on the floor, eyes glued to the TV, and Rian's taking up the other couch, half dozing off as he tries to follow the movie. I don't recognise it, and I don't bother to ask either, it looks like it's a fair way in and I hate being the person who keeps interrupting the movie to ask people to explain what's happening.

Instead I look to Jack, flashing him a quick smile which he promptly returns before turning back to the TV.

---

I'm not sure when I dozed off but it must've been a while ago because when I open my eyes it's just me and Jack in the lounge, and the TV has been switched off.

"Hey, sorry I didn't want to wake you, you looked so tired" I hear Jack say from above me- it's only now that I realise I've been lying with my head on his shoulder. Not that that matters, we've been best friends for years, we're ridiculously comfortable around each other.

I sit upright and shift to face him, leaning my elbow on the back of the couch, still a bit groggy "When did the others head to bed?" I ask.

"I dunno, maybe an hour ago?"

"Hmm," I hum, blinking away the fog of sleep and looking around.

"So two showers tonight, huh?" Jack asks, still looking down at his phone, mindlessly scrolling through twitter. I try to sus what he's getting at, my mind instantly jumping to 'he knows', I must have taken too long to respond because he looks away from his phone for a minute and gives me a slightly puzzled look "Lex?"

"Oh, yeah! Sweaty one, small venues are so nostalgic but damn do they get hot" I finally get out, playing off the delayed response as plain grogginess, laughing a bit. Jack chuckles and goes back to scrolling, I'd hoped nobody would've noticed I took two showers- I was one of the first back on the bus so I hopped in first right after the show, despite Jack's goofiness though he can be pretty observant sometimes. I push the question out of my mind as I stand up and stretch.

"I'm gonna head to bed, I'll catch you tomorrow" I say to Jack as I start walking towards the door.

"Night Lex" Jack calls back.

"Night Jack" I reply, shutting the door behind me and slipping into my bunk.

[style-beat-webzine]

“ If you could be my Punk Rock Princess, I would be your Garage Band King” -Something Corporate (Punk Rock Princess)

Music has always been a part of who I am, even in the womb, I know that sounds weird, but bare with me. When my mom was 4 months pregnant with my twin brother and I, she went to see her favorite band for the first time. That band was none other than a little band called, The Rolling Stones. This is one of my favorite parts of the story, we just so happened to be born on the same day The Rolling Stones founding member, Brian Jones was born. If that’s not a sign from the universe I don’t know what is, haha. My brother, Jake, got some of Brian Jones’ musical talent while I got his artistic side. I swear my fashion sense has always been inspired by the rock and roll attitude of saying fuck soceity and the philosphy of, I’m gonna do and wear what I like. For me the crazier the better, the proverb; go big, or go home, pops to mind when I think of my choice of outfits throughout the years. I once read somewhere on the internet that Brain Jones would go on shopping sprees when he was stressed, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself at that part. I swear part of his soul is some of mine, because same. I should make a post of all my quarantine purchases, I have fabulous additions to my wardrobe, that I can’t display anywhere and anytime soon.

Fashion has always been my way to connect with the world around me. I’ve always been considered plus size, and if I’m being honest I could never find things in my size at fast fashion places like Forever 21, H&M, Hollister, or any of the others you can think of. It wasn’t until I was out of high school that Forever 21 started to cater to plus size, and that’s when I was able to start buying clothes that were trendy, like in real time with the regular sizes!! Before that my style was basically skinny jeans, a band tee with a cardigan and a shit ton of accessories to spice the look up. Fave accessories at the time were pearl necklaces, chunky plastic jewelry, checkered Vans slip-ons, ballet flats, and an impressive scarf collection. I should mention I was in high school in the mid 2000s, we were inspired by the Cali living with shows like the O.C. and Laguna Beach, omg Stephennnn, I’m so donezo. If you know, you know, haha.

If it wasn’t for supporting my favorite bands and a subscription to Teen Vogue, my style wouldn’t be what it is today. Those two were the building blocks to my personal style, but they were also aspects that impacted my self esteem when it came to my perception of  how society sees me. In the classic tale of never fitting into the fashion industry's model of beautiful, I never saw girls that looked like me in those Teen Vogue magazines. Nevertheless, I would devour them from the moment I got them in the mail. I used to spend hours cutting up the magazine and making collages with them, I studied the pictures so intently. I would look over the composition of the overall photograph, color palettes used, how the models were styled with different prints and textures. I became a fan of fashion instantly. While I was creating those collages I would listen to my favorite bands on repeat, I was really fortunate with my high school soundtracks, I’m talking 2004-2008, baaaybyyy. The bands I listened to most were Fall Out Boy, Panic! At the Disco (none of this Brendon Urie Project shit you kids are listening to these days), The Academy Is…, as well as Cute is What We Aim For. And senior year wouldn’t have been senior year without Cobra Starships’ !Viva La Cobra! Album. With all these bands singing lyrics about their dream girls that never fit my description, I came to terms early on, that I’d never be a girl a band would write a song about or look at romantically. So, I went to work to see how close to a band I could get without being an object of desire. And that’s how I started a journey to being a rock and roll photographer.

Here I am with my first photo pass in the photo pit

I got pretty far with that, and I got to photograph some of my favorite bands like The Maine, The Fratellis, and The 1975 to name a few. My concert photography career wouldn’t have started without All Time Low, they were the first band that I got a photo pass for, and I learned so much during that first photo pass session. If you want to know, I actually brought along my analog camera (film) as well as my digital camera. I have a picture of Alex Gaskarth on film smiling into my camera, how many brag points is that worth? Haha jk 

Here’s the picture so you know I’m not a fraud :) 

But like every other creative person, you have a down or blue period (yes that was an art joke regarding Picasso, and yes I’m using the term in a different context than he, but you get the point). After about 4-5 years off of not doing anything creative which is a whole story within itself, that I’m sure I will share soon enough. I’ve finally been able to get my creative juices flowing again. This time I’m working on fashion styling. This has always been something I wanted to do, but figured since I’m plus size I had no business in the fashion industry. I now know how wrong I was, and the fashion industry only holds power over you if you let it. For now I plan to post at least once a week and depending on how it goes maybe twice a week!! 

Here’s a picture I took of Matty from The 1975 back in 2014

and here is a picture of The Fratellis I took in 2015

Thank you for reading if you’ve made it this far, I truly appreciate the read :)

Cheers to all!!

xoxo Michelle

[itstimeforspring]

i can see the clouds are moving faster now (5 of ?)

title from ‘hold on’ by tobymac. so sorry for how long this took to get out into the world -- but here it is now. a thousand and five thanks to @love-with-you-i-have-everything for reading over this! also tagging @kmomof4​ and thank you so much for all of the encouragement, always!

previous installments of this fic are here. also find on ao3 and ff.net here!

“Mom, have you heard from Ashley Boyd lately?” Emma asked, taking a bite of her grilled cheese. Her face was perfectly bland and cheerful. For all her family knew, she was simply catching up on old friends and enjoying the extra cheesiness of the grilled cheese. She took another bite. It was very cheesy. Henry must have put in an extra few slices. Good kid, he was.

Mary Margaret canted her head as she thought. Henry reached for the wavy fries even though he’d already eaten a serving and a half from his and Mary Margaret’s plates. Emma reached out and lightly slapped his hand away from Killian’s share and the boy pouted. “From the last I heard of her, she and Sean had gotten married and taken Alexandra to New York. I’m not sure when that was, though, or what they’ve been doing since. Why do you ask?”

Killian reached for a single fry, shoving it into his mouth with a strange grace, albeit lack of manners. The only evidence of his tension was the tremor in his scarred hand. He finished chewing and swallowing before speaking, giving Emma some hope for the table manners of their future children. “Swan and I were discussing her old schoolmates, and she remembered what had become of all of them except for the aforementioned Ashley.” Mary Margaret nodded, fully accepting the truth.

David took a meditative bite of grilled cheese. His appeared to have a hamburger stuffed inside the fried cheese post-grilling. Emma took note; maybe Robin would appreciate that the next time the Hoods came for dinner. “Sean’s a good kid. Really great with Alex, last I saw them.” David caught a bit of mustard from his sandwich—it wasn’t even a grilled cheese anymore, apparently, or at least it didn’t deserve the simple title—with a fry and continued his lunch without a care in the world.

“Alex was sweet, at least when I watched her in high school,” Emma added, suddenly longing for her father’s calmness. There was only so much more of this skirting-around-the-real-topic she could take. Judging by the tremor continuing in Killian’s hand, he was about done with the conversation. They were used to being able to jump straight into their real topic, although that usually involved pointing a gun at someone’s head.

Mary Margaret made a noncommittal hum before her eyes darted to Killian’s hand. “Are you okay, Killian?”

Killian glanced down at his hand and noticed the tremors. His face smoothed out and he sighed slightly, staring at his hand and forming a fist, the shaking slowing almost immediately. Emma reached for his hand and he let her take it, although there was nothing she could do except squeeze his hand so that his muscles could focus on something aside from stress. “Aye, I’m fine. The nerves don’t really know what to do with themselves anymore, sometimes causing tremors. The doctor said it should stop eventually.”

The doctor had really said, “These tremors, man, it’s almost entirely psychological even with the nerve damage that’s technically causing it. From what you’ve described, it’s gonna show up when you’re stressed, so don’t risk too much in poker, you’ll lose. I also recommend therapy for theoretical PTSD.” Of course, Killian being who he was, Emma had noticed that the shaking really just manifested when he was frustrated. Not particularly stressed, but generally during interrogation.

“Anyway—” thank goodness for little brothers and their tendency to interrupt “—I was wondering who would like to take me Christmas shopping tomorrow,” Henry said, leaning forward. Mary Margaret and David both froze, glancing back and forth between each other, Henry, and Emma. “Unless you’re going to say I’m old enough to take myself, but I’m not expecting that yet,” Henry continued drily.

Emma thought about it. Today was December 20; Christmas was in five days. Only five days to find something for everyone, all the people she hadn’t seen in long enough that she had no idea what to get them. Henry would probably be help with that. “I’ll take you, kid, as long as you promise to help me figure out a present for whoever’s coming on Christmas.”

Henry beamed and nodded before trying to look cool again. Emma tilted her head as she looked at her little brother. The sheer joy on his face… what did that mean? Mary Margaret clapped her hands together. “That’ll be wonderful, Emma! And if you’re gone with Henry, that means Killian can help me with the decorations!”

Killian froze and stared at his mother-in-law. “What kind of decorations are entailed in that description?” he asked, and Emma tried not to laugh at him. He’d never really done a massive Christmas like the Nolans always put together, and they were masters at managing to do four weeks of decorating, baking, and shopping in five days. It had been quite the shock when David had explained how it all worked right before her first Nolan Christmas.

“So that’s settled,” David said cheerfully. “Emma and Henry will do their shopping tomorrow and Killian and Mary Margaret will get the decorations started while I go to work. The petty thieves wait for no one, not even Christmas.” Emma answered his grin with an uncertain one of her own, and Killian merely looked concerned.

--

“Killian,” Emma sighed as she flopped back onto the bed.

“Yes, my love?” he asked from the bathroom.

“Stop staring at your own face and get in here.”

Killian stepped out of the bathroom, looking decidedly peeved. She would have laughed at his precious face but his eyes were too serious and he held his hand stiffly by his side. “My hand’s getting worse, Swan.”

“Do you want to go to the doctor tomorrow?” He stared at her for ten seconds, not moving from the doorway. Emma rolled her eyes. “Call me optimistic, but I’ll keep asking. It’s like how you kept asking if we had to go to the hospital in Russia and I kept saying no even though you were about ready to drag me there. Remember that feeling and you’ll know how I feel.”

He took a short, exasperated breath before speaking. “You had been shot. I was being a proper partner, concerned for his girlfriend.” His voice was about as amused as his eyes, which were now throwing daggers at her. “This psychosomatic tremor does not compare, my dearest love.” Finally he turned the bathroom light off, letting the room drown in the sudden darkness. There wasn’t so much as a street light outside to light the room.

Emma sighed again as Killian gently nudged her under the blankets so that her back was to him. “What are you going to do about it, then?” His hand landed on her stomach without much grace and she started massaging the shaking hand. Killian sighed happily.

They were silent for ten minutes, soaking up the other’s warmth and relishing the fact that they were completely alone. “I love you, Swan,” Killian murmured, his voice already raspy with sleep.

“Oh, no, you can’t go to sleep yet,” she whispered back. He pulled her closer and kissed her shoulder.

“As you wish,” he groaned, just under his breath. “What is it, love?”

Emma took a big breath. “What are we going to do about Ashley and all of that?”

“Can we do anything right now?”

Emma raised an eyebrow even though Killian couldn’t see it. “We can track her down and find out what’s happening. We can look around town for whoever she’s taking orders from, assuming that they’re here too. There’s a host of things we can do, Killian.”

Killian kissed her shoulder twice, letting his mouth linger over an old scar from a bullet three years ago. Emma held her breath for a moment, wondering how much further he was going to go. “I know I was anxious to find out what was happening earlier, during lunch. Which is probably the reason I started shaking, incidentally one of the worst possible side effects from an explosion.” He tilted his head and kissed the base of her neck. “But Henry reminded me of something.”

“What’s that?”

“Christmas is in just a few days.”

Emma rolled over to face her husband in one smooth movement. He took that as an invitation to pull her even closer and she couldn’t really argue with his interpretation. Peering into the darkness of the room, she almost saw the grin on his face once he came into focus and she couldn’t hold her own smile back. They spent a minute smiling stupidly at each other—the smiles were the reason that Ariel and her husband Eric called them real-life Disney characters. Apparently even from the beginning they’d had some sort of lovesick gaze, and it had also been enough for Regina to make them partners—until Emma remembered their conversation.

“What about Christmas?”

Killian leaned forward enough for their noses to nudge together. “We came for Christmas, love. Your parents invited us for Christmas. Obviously whatever’s happening with Ashley is a problem, and we’ll deal with it. But we have to pretend that Christmas is the most important thing right now.”

“Because it actually is.” Emma finished his thought.

“Indeed,” Killian murmured sleepily. “You’ll go shopping with the lad tomorrow and I’ll assist my mother-in-law with decorating, which I’m sure will be a lovely bonding experience for all of us. I do hope that I’m at least capable of hanging lights. I think your mother would laugh at me otherwise.” He kissed her quickly.

“You decorated our tree last Christmas, even if it was only three feet tall, and it was beautiful. You’ll do just fine.” She kissed him, lingering a little longer, before closing her eyes and preparing to shut her brain down for sleep.

“We can find Ashley later,” Killian whispered. “We’ll do it together, later.” Emma nodded, squeezing her eyes closed. The last thing she felt was another kiss on her forehead and his whispered “I love you, Emma” before she drifted off to sleep.

--

“Come on, Emma,” Henry called from a few steps ahead. “We’re probably too late already, because someone forgot it was Christmas, but I want to make sure I can find something for everyone!”

“You’ll find something, kid, don’t worry. And it wasn’t just one person who forgot. It was all of us idiot adults.” Emma jogged a few steps to catch up with her little brother. They’d just dropped off their dad at the police station for his second-to-last work day before Christmas, leaving Emma and Henry to browse the town. “Who’s coming for Christmas, anyway?”

Henry looked up at Emma—not too far up, he was almost as tall as her and this line of thinking was going to make her depressed—as if she were the stupidest person he’d ever met. “Don’t you remember?”

“It’s been a really long time, Henry.”

Henry scuffed his shoe against the pavement. “Yeah, that’s true.” He lightened up as quickly as he’d gotten grumpy. “It’s you, me, Mom, Dad, Killian, Ruby, Granny, and Dad said he’s maybe inviting Graham and Leroy. Mom wanted to invite more, but Dad said we didn’t have any more room.”

Emma thought about the guest list for a moment. Graham, she’d known for forever; there would be some excellent faking involved there. Leroy, well, he never cared about her love life and they could probably wear their wedding rings and he wouldn’t notice. “Sounds great, kid. You didn’t want to invite Violet?” she teased. That would absolutely make the day, if she and Killian and her father got to watch Henry bumble around with his family and his crush at the same time.

Henry blushed as red as Killian did when he asked her out the first two times. “Mom told me to, but she said she and her dad were going down to Boston for the week.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” Emma emoted. Henry only turned redder, so she let the thing go, even though she was rather longing to meet the girl of Henry’s dreams and fancies. Probably for the best, though, as Killian would have taken it upon himself to tease his younger brother-in-law quite mercilessly. He had no such qualms in making fun of his fellow species in regards to the fairer sex, as he’d termed them.

They turned into the first store of the day. Henry went immediately to the blankets in the corner while Emma trailed along behind him, eyes sharp for anything her parents might fancy as well as Ashley. She and Killian had agreed that they would spend the day with family, enjoying the time and the season and the frankly frigid temperatures, but Emma couldn’t stop herself from keeping a look-out. The last time she’d forgotten to keep her eyes open—Emma shuddered, the table of necklaces in front of her shaking as her hands clenched on the edge of the table. Killian was okay, and Henry would be fine.

They were fine. It would be okay. That would be her mantra for the day, she supposed, grimacing at the jewelry.

Emma already had a necklace for her mom in her suitcase, and she’d found a tie for her dad five months ago. Maybe she could convince Killian to go back out with her to get a present for Henry, so she didn’t have to try to hide it during the current shopping trip.

Her parents would have found something for Granny and Leroy. That left Ruby and Graham. Ruby would be tricky—a continuation of the “don’t tell everyone we’re married” bribe. Graham would probably appreciate a watch. She glanced over the watches and found a piece that looked sheriff-like. Success. Killian would probably also like it, since it looked relatively old and did not possess the “digital nonsense that prevents people from reading a simple clock,” as he had ranted on one memorable date night several years back.

With the watch in hand, Emma decided that it was time to return to the little brother. “What’d you find, kid?” she asked when she was a few steps away from Henry. He jolted visibly and Emma mentally sighed. She was wearing her most comfortable shoes, which meant they were perfectly matched to her feet in such a way that she was silent without even concentrating.

“How did you walk that quietly?” Henry half-shrieked.

“Sorry, kid, I think it’s the shoes,” she apologized as succinctly as she could, resolving to walk with a little less finesse for a while. “Find anything good?”

Henry let the shoe thing go after one last glare, then he turned to the blankets he’d been staring at. “Dad keeps complaining about how cold it is in the house, because he’s old. Do you think he’d like the red one or the blue one?”

Emma stared at the blankets. The red one looked more like their dad—a little more professional, didn’t look quite as cushy but was still soft—but the blue one would match the living room better, even though that really wasn’t a big deal in their house. “I don’t know, Henry. Try flipping a coin and, if you don’t like what the quarter says, go with the other one.”

Henry nodded solemnly as Emma handed him the coin. He assigned the blankets and flipped the coin in silence, finally reaching for the red one. “Good method, Emma.”

“Thanks,” she said as he laid the quarter back in her palm. She scrambled for something to say. “Tell me about Violet,” she finally decided on.

Henry flushed bright red and walked as quickly as he could toward the cashier. “Shut up.”

Emma grinned.

--

An hour into the shopping trip—they hadn’t found anything in the next quaint little store, so had switched to the next one in search of things for their mom and Ruby—Emma’s phone blared out its happy ring.

As she glanced at the screen, she handed Henry a twenty and the bracelet set she’d found for Ruby, waving toward the cash register. “Mom?”

“Hi, honey!” her mom’s cheerful voice rang out. Emma watched Henry purchase the bracelet and her mom’s new ceramic bird. “Just calling to check on you and Henry!”

“We’re fine,” Emma replied cautiously. Through the phone, she heard another voice.

“What are you doing? Are you calling her? For god’s sake, I’m fine!” Killian. His voice was muffled, since he was probably several feet away, but she could hear the frustration from miles away.

Emma motioned to Henry, and they abandoned the store for hopefully better reception. “Mom? What happened?”

“Your boyfriend was hanging some lights, and—”

Emma interrupted. “Is anything broken? Hand the phone to Killian.” She turned to Henry. “I think Killian’s broken himself. Do you mind if we head back a bit early?”

“I’m done,” Henry said, wide-eyed. “Is Killian okay?”

“I’ll know if he ever answers—”

“I’m fine, love. No need to cut the excursion short. I just fell off the ladder and twisted my ankle. Should be mended in a few hours with the sheer amount of ice that’s currently resting on the poor thing.” Emma grinned. Killian was probably only barely not glaring at his mother-in-law.

Suddenly, Henry laughed, apparently hearing Killian’s grumbles through the phone. And possibly from miles away, just like the frustration. “We’re on the way home, babe,” Emma added to Killian. “Even if just to save you from the frozen peas.”

And, amid manly protests, she hung up the phone. She allowed herself to seethe for a moment. How was it that Killian Jones, one of the CIA’s greatest on the East Coast, was able to get out of a firefight in Budapest with nary a scratch, or go on a jog through Chicago at night and escape all sorts of trouble, and yet the moment she left him alone with a string of lights and a ladder, he was laid up on the couch? It made no sense.

Emma breathed deeply, leaving the rest of the frustration for the husband’s ears. She turned to Henry, who was being ridiculously patient throughout the whole thing. “Did you find good stuff for everyone? I’m sorry that this hasn’t ended up being much of a bonding experience.”

Henry grinned up at her. “Are you kidding? You’re here, in Storybrooke. This entire Christmas vacation is a bonding experience.” He continued, leaving her to drown in guilt once more. “I think so. I got the blanket for Dad and the bird for Mom. Oh, and I found this for Killian—” he rummaged in one of the shopping bags “—if you think he’ll like it.”

Henry held out a compass, about two inches in diameter. The needle wasn’t pointing north and it looked vaguely like a small child had gotten ahold of it at some point in its life. It was perfect. Emma leaned in and pulled Henry into her side, suddenly overcome with how sweet her baby brother was. “It’s great, Henry. He’s going to love it.”

“Don’t tell him what it is.”

“Of course not,” Emma said, offended. “What’s the fun in that? Did you get anything for Violet?”

Henry blushed bright red again—she really needed to stop teasing him about this before he popped a blood vessel somewhere, but she was curious if Henry thought the friendship warranted a special Christmas present. He pulled out a small notebook, blue and purple colors marbled into a masterpiece on the cover. “She likes my notebooks, and she said she wanted one once even though she doesn’t like writing that much. So… do you think she’ll like it?”

He stared up at her earnestly, begging for some sort of reassurance. “She’ll love it. Haven’t met her, but I’m sure she’ll like anything you get her.” And there was the big sister reassurance and love she could provide.

They walked the rest of the way to the Nolan home in silence. Emma kept her arm wrapped around Henry’s shoulders, but she didn’t feel much need to talk. The faint smile on Henry’s face was more than enough.

--

Emma sat down on the couch next to Killian, trying not to let any emotions except vague concern channel through. Killian wouldn’t appreciate the amusement—but seriously, though, he should have been better than this—and her mom wouldn’t understand and wasn’t allowed to understand her frustration—this was also her partner, and they had important plans for the evening.

“How is it feeling?” Mary Margaret asked, her soft, sad eyes putting the average Labrador’s to shame. “Can I get you anything? How about some hot chocolate?”

Emma patted Killian’s hand as he replied, “I’m just fine, thank you, Mrs. Nolan. I really appreciate you caring for me when most of the house remains undecorated.”

Mary Margaret waved her hand about as she started work on the unsolicited hot chocolate. “No problem, dear! And call me Mary Margaret! You’ve more than earned it.” Within moments, she’d finished the hot chocolate and placed it in Killian’s hands. Emma just as quickly took it away to prevent accidental spills, since that seemed the theme of the afternoon.

“Mom?” Henry appeared in the kitchen. “I can help with the decorations, if you want.”

“Oh, that would be great, honey! You’ll watch Killian, right, Emma? I have more frozen peas if the first ones start thawing. Let me know if you need anything!”

In the blink of an eye, her mom and Henry had disappeared to finish with the lights and other decorations. Emma wondered for a moment how Henry was going to be much help with the whole endeavor, but then she remembered that Henry was taller than she was, and she’d helped their mom with the lights plenty of times.

She sighed. So much growing up had happened while the CIA kept her away.

Finally, she turned to Killian. He turned immediately after she did, no doubt fearing some sort of Emma anger at the fact that he’d managed to hurt himself when she wasn’t there to prevent it. “I’m not mad,” Emma said. She was a little frustrated, vaguely triggered by the last time she was too late, and slightly disappointed that she and Henry had had to come home a little early, but it wasn’t bad.

“Why would you be mad?” Killian scoffed softly, but he settled a little further into the couch cushions, glaring at his ankle. “It’s a two and a half.”

Emma relaxed, leaning into his side. The explosion and its aftermath had been a ten on the scale of Killian-you-have-an-excellent-pain-tolerance-but-sometimes-it-will-fail. The average hangnail made a solid one, and the time he broke his arm while under the influence had warranted a happily-screeched six. A two and a half wasn’t even close to bad by his standards, and he was probably right when he said he didn’t need a doctor.

“What happened, anyway? You’re normally better than this.”

Killian sighed and rested his cheek on her head. “We were having a wonderful discussion about the Christmas lights, my childhood traditions, and my intentions toward you when your mother asked a startling question that sent me to the ground.”

Emma tried to turn her head to see his expression, but Killian didn’t shift enough to allow the movement. They sat in silence for a moment, Emma picturing Killian’s face when Mary Margaret asked the question, whatever it was, that made him fall off a ladder. Or the roof. She wasn’t quite sure. She waited for him to say whatever the question was, but he remained silent. “Fine, I give up. What did Mom ask?”

Killian laughed and took her hand, moving his head just far enough that he could kiss her knuckles. Emma took the opportunity to move, facing him to get the full benefit of Killian’s story, which naturally included his face. “She offered her ring, if you must know.” Emma blinked. Killian laughed again. “Yes, my love. Both of your parents approve of me. Of course, I knew it would happen since I am devilishly handsome and overwhelmingly charming, but—”

Emma stopped him with a finger pressed to his mouth. “If your next words repeat how much of an idiot I was for not bringing you home five years ago, I will hit you. Regardless of damaged ankle.”

“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” Killian grinned. They sat there and smiled at each other for a minute. They were married; it was allowed. “If the ankle turns out worse than I imagine, how many death threats do you think Regina will send me?”

Emma rolled her eyes and stood to check on the state of the frozen peas. “So many. I probably won’t be able to save you.”

“Well, it’s been a nice run,” Killian sighed, wincing as Emma poked at the purple swelling around his ankle. He’d be able to walk on it perfectly fine in a few days, she guessed. She rewrapped it and leaned down to kiss him.

“I’ll avenge you,” she whispered when she pulled away.

Killian smiled. “I appreciate that, Mrs. Jones.”

--

Emma finished wrapping the last present and sighed. “They look fine, love,” Killian called from the bed.

She stood up and stretched, then leaned back down to gather up the gifts to take them downstairs. “But they don’t look as good as my mom’s, and you know it.”

She heard Killian searching for a diplomatic response as she skipped down the stairs to put the presents under the tree. That had been the after-dinner exercise—her dad and Henry went to get the tree, she and her mom moved the furniture around to make room for it, and Killian had limped around to try to help. Mary Margaret Nolan and her appreciation for her daughter’s boyfriend insisted that he and his twisted ankle stay comfy on the couch.

Emma was still reeling from the fact that Killian had been given maternal permission to propose. It’s not like he really needed it—the wedding rings secure in her purse proved otherwise—but it was still pretty awesome. Her dad’s unspoken permission a few days ago had been something, but her mom was a much harder nut to crack.

“I thought you’d be asleep already, Emma.” David’s voice broke out of the shadows and she started, mentally cursing herself for paying more attention to not letting Henry’s box fall instead of her surroundings. How was it that just a few days in Storybrooke, a town that was clearly hiding something, were enough to lower her defenses so much?

Emma finally saw her dad, sitting on the couch before the tree. “I wanted to go ahead and get everything wrapped and under the tree. You know, get something done before—Mom.” Her dad’s smirk gave it away before she even saw the giant pile under the tree. She sighed and started setting everything up, scattering her and Killian’s offerings in with the rest. “How does she do that?”

“I don’t question your mother, Emma,” David said, deadpan. “She’s too magical for that.” Emma leaned over and hugged him, ready to bid a goodnight and head upstairs for strategy. Before she could step away, David grabbed her hand. She glanced back down, just barely preventing herself from snatching her hand away. He met her eyes, searching as only he could. “Are you happy, Emma?”

“Mom’s happily ever after project for me can probably close down shop,” she answered. “Why?”

Her dad grinned, releasing her hand. “Just making sure. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, since we adopted you. That you’d be happy again.”

Somehow that made tears come to her eyes. She leaned down and hugged him again. “I am happy, Dad. So happy.” David kissed her forehead and she stepped away.

“I’m glad. Now go to bed,” he whispered. Emma nodded and took the remaining steps to the stairs, walking up slowly and glancing back down at her dad. He was still staring at the tree, but Emma thought he was smiling.

She stepped into her old bedroom with a similar smile. Killian glanced up when the door closed behind her. He grinned when he saw her. “What’s the smile for?”

“My dad’s pretty cool. All happy I’m happy and stuff.” Emma stepped over to his side of the bed and Killian tilted his chin up to meet her kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

They smiled for another few moments until Emma thought about the clock. “It’s 9 PM,” she said, leaning over her suitcase. She hadn’t bothered to unpack it, even though her mom had emptied out the drawers for them, which really made it look like she’d hoped Emma would change her mind about New York and move back in. Which wasn’t going to happen.

“What’s particularly significant about the time except for indicating the time for sleeping?” Killian asked, stretching and sitting up straighter.

Emma pulled out her grey leggings, loose black shirt, and tighter black undershirt and waved them in Killian’s direction. She closed the bathroom door behind her and changed, wondering how she was going to find Ashley unless the other woman showed up first. Since Ashley supposedly didn’t even live in Storybrooke anymore, Emma didn’t even have an address to go off of. It probably wasn’t even necessary for her to go out tonight, but she wanted to do some scouting and remember the town when it was veiled in shadows.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, ponytail secured and gun tucked into her waistband, Killian was glaring. She leaned back a little, not quite expecting the level of vitriol normally kept for an incompetent rookie who hadn’t learned how to use the safety on a gun. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m looking for Ashley. We need to figure out what’s going on here, Killian, and—”

He interrupted, as expected. Emma mentally slammed her forehead onto a table. “You’re going without me?”

“You may not have noticed, but you can’t fit your foot inside your boots right now! How are you going to do anything useful?”

Killian winced, and Emma sighed. She’d gone too far. She opened her mouth to apologize but Killian spoke first. “I may not be able to go now, or be useful or anything like that, but I don’t want you going alone.”

She finished tying her best shoes. It wouldn’t take much, just a few more steps, and she could be out of the door. She was fully prepared to table the argument for much later, or never again. “I can do it—”

“Of course you can do it alone! I don’t doubt that! I also don’t doubt that without me with you, you’ll get yourself very badly hurt! Do you remember even a little bit of our first mission in Shanghai?”

Emma did. She had wandered away from Killian and gotten shot. The blood loss had been impressive, and they’d rapidly abandoned their mission. She was also not amused by the comparison. “It’s just a run around Storybrooke, Killian! The worst I expect to see is a cat fight, and if anyone sees me, I’ll just be the weird girl who left home more than a decade ago in favor of the big city.” She took another step toward the door.

“I don’t want you going alone,” Killian said, pressing his fingers into his temples. “We work best together, Swan. Or have you forgotten that we’re partners as well as husband and wife?”

Just as Emma realized that their voices had risen beyond what would be considered normal for a nighttime conversation, a door closed. She glared at Killian, who glared right back, and silently opened the door. The do-not-disturb sign that hung on Henry’s doorknob swung gently. She closed the door again and took a deep breath before turning back to Killian.

She pitched her voice far lower. “Henry probably heard most of that last declaration, just so you know. You get to work on the explanation, since you started it. I’m going out to look for Ashley, since there’s a possibility that she’s working for someone who tried to blow you up. Thankfully, you’re incapable of following me.”

With that, she stepped over to the window. She’d escaped out of these windows a thousand times in her less-than-squeaky-clean high school years, and her consequent career hadn’t discouraged such behaviors.

“Emma…” Killian said, almost under his breath. He moved to the edge of the bed, abandoning the latest ice pack. “At least promise me you’ll be careful, darling.”

Before Emma could step to the window, Killian leaned forward and pulled her to him. She met him midway with a furious sort of kiss, still too unrelenting for any sort of intimacy. It was Killian’s admonishment and Emma’s admission that it was probably not the best plan. But she wouldn't wait. She couldn't.

Emma pulled away as quickly as they'd clung to each other. Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. She took the few steps to the window and swung a leg out, hunting for the brick she used as a foothold. “It’s been almost seven years, Killian. Do you really still need to tell me to be careful?”

By the time Killian replied, she was standing on the grass below her window. “Always.” Her window clicked as he closed it.

Regret and adrenaline coursed through her as she jogged to the street. But Emma couldn’t stop to wish that she had waited until Killian understood that she couldn’t stay. She had a woman to find.

[hannahindie]

Country Roads, Take Me Home: Chapter 2

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader Word Count: 3,360 Warnings: Descriptions of violence, angst, some language. I am writing this for @ravengirl94′s 1.5 follower challenge, although the the prompt won’t show up until part 3. (This got out of control real quick; whoops. lol) I’m posting this earlier than intended so that part 3 can come out closer to the due date. I also made the aesthetic for this, so I’m working on those skills too. lol Italics are a flashback in this particular chapter.

This was beta’d by @trexrambling and @pinknerdpanda​

Thank you, my lovelies. You’re the best and help my words make sense.

As always, tags are at the bottom and if you’d like to be added, please let me know. Feedback is always welcome.

The drive east was a fairly easy one. Along the way, we took care of a couple simple salt n’ burns, but otherwise it was uneventful. The closer we got to home, the more anxious I became. It had been years since I'd been there, and as the roads became more familiar and the empty fields and steep mountains turned into old buildings and narrow streets, I felt an ache in my chest that I hadn't felt for a long time.

Dean pulled up in front of my old house and turned the engine off. Sam turned around to look at me, and I gave him a weak smile. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

I nodded, “Yea. I'm good.” I climbed out of the Impala and walked over to the sidewalk, stopping at the edge where the grass met the concrete. It was clear no one had lived in the house since Sam had carried me out years ago. I couldn't blame anyone for that; what happened in that house had put a darkness in it.

I stared at the dingy siding and the vines that had begun to overtake the front porch, the grass that was too long and was probably only cut when someone felt the need to tame it, and the tire swing that still hung from a mildewy rope that looked like it would snap if anyone dared to sit on it. I heard both Impala doors slam shut, but then it fell silent; they were waiting to see what I would do. I took a deep breath and walked down the cracked sidewalk. Time to quit putting it off.

Surprisingly, the welcome mat was still there, and I flipped it up with my foot. The spare key was exactly where my mom had stashed it years ago in case I ever needed it. I picked it up and twirled the silver metal between my fingers, surprised that it had remained untouched and looked as new as it did. I slowly slipped it into the lock, the sound of the tumblers falling into place almost deafening, then gently pushed the door open.

Everything was in the same exact place as it had been when I left. Someone had come in and covered the furniture, but otherwise it looked untouched. I walked down the hall, the pictures on the wall dusty and faded, and purposely avoided looking at them. They were memories of a life that had been ripped away from me; ghosts of a past that I had done my best to forget. I could almost feel the eyes of my family as they watched me pass from their glass prisons, judging me for living when they had been torn apart.

“Get it together, Y/N,” I muttered to myself. I stopped in the kitchen doorway, and my eyes landed on the faded, dark red stain, one of the few reminders that remained of what had happened that day. I walked into the kitchen and paused at the edge of the stain, then I dropped to my knees and ran my hand over the discolored linoleum.

“Mom, I’m home! Mom?”

Nothing.

The house is silent, the absence of my mom’s cheerful voice odd this time of day. “Elliot? Is anyone here?”  My little brother should be home. There’s a sound in the kitchen, a clatter, and then silence. “Elliot? Do you know where Mom is?”  

I drop my bag in the living room, then walk down the hall and towards the kitchen. “Elliot, seriously, why are you being weird-” I immediately stop, my eyes taking in the horror in front of me. My mom, my sweet mother who has been the center of my world since I can remember, is laying in the floor. Elliot is kneeling on the floor next to her, his mouth latched to her arm as a crimson puddle spreads out underneath her and stains his light colored blue jeans.

“Elliot? What….what are you doing?” He turns to face me, and although I can tell it’s Elliot, it isn’t. His skin is pale and oddly wrinkled, and his eyes are an ugly, bloody red.

“Y/N…” He releases my mother’s arm and stands to face me.

“What the hell, Elliot? What...what have you done?” I’ve never been in shock, but I would assume it would feel something like this. “What’s wrong with your face?” I look back my mom, her beautiful blue eyes wide open and full of fear even in death, and I know I should do something, but I just stand there.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...I’m just so hungry. I was so, so hungry and nothing was helping, not even the others, and then Mom came home...” I look back at him, but I can’t tell if he’s truly sorry.

“Hungry...what does that have to do....what did you do, what others?” I repeat myself, still trying to wrap my brain around what I’m looking at. “She loved you, Elliot. She’s taken care of you since before you can remember, she loved you when your own mother...what have you done?” Elliot takes a step toward me and I move away,  “No...no, you can’t...don’t touch me.”

“Y/N, please, you can help me. I’m still so hungry, you can’t leave.” I look down and see that he has a knife in his hand, and I feel a scream building up inside me. My little brother, the boy my mom had brought into our home when his own mother refused to take care of him, the boy I loved with every fiber of my being, was going to kill me.

“Elliot,” I sob, unable to hold back the tears anymore, “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but you don’t have to! I’ll find a way to fix this, just put the knife down, okay buddy? Just put it down, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

He shook his head, and the look he gives me is filled with sadness, “I don’t want to do this, but I have to. I have to, Y/N.”

He rushes at me and I fall, my head cracking against the linoleum. Everything blurs, overtaken by what I always thought were hypothetical stars but it suddenly occurs to me that the movies weren’t lying; all I could see were bright spots, like stars flickering in and out of existence. I can see enough that I notice Elliot’s form looming over me, and a throw an arm up to block him. All I can feel is pain; pain in my head from the fall, pain in my arm where Elliot had cut me with the knife. I scoot backwards, trying to get out from under him, and slip in the blood that is now covering way more area than I would have thought possible. My mother’s blood. If I wasn’t trying to save my life I would probably be getting sick. Elliot’s fist comes down and smashes me in the jaw.

“Elliot, please-”

“I have to, Y/N! You don’t understand.” He has his hand fisted in the neck of my shirt, and I see his other arm come up. He brings the knife down again, but I’m ready this time and shove as hard as I can with my legs. I manage to push myself out of the direct line of the knife, but he still manages to cut a shallow stripe across my throat. I panic as I begin to feel the warmth spreading down my neck. When did my little brother get so strong? He’s angry, I can see it, and I try to stand so that I can run away but my feet keep slipping in the blood. At this point, I can’t tell what’s mine and what’s my mother’s.

He grabs me by the hair and drags me up out of the floor, “Stop fighting! You know I love you, sis, but if you love me as much as you say you do, you’d let me do this. I can make it quick! You’ll never feel what’s coming next, just hold still.” I’m tired, and the pain from him holding me up by my hair is causing the edges of my vision to darken.

Maybe he was right; if I just let it happen, it would be over and I wouldn’t feel anything anymore. The knife glints in the sunlight coming through the window and I barely feel it as it enters my chest. I guess it’s harder to pierce through bone than Elliot thought because he drops me, the knife still protruding from my chest, and shakes his hand out as if the shock of it surprises him. I can’t really feel anything though, so either he actually did hit something vital or I really am in shock. Either way, I assume this can’t end well for me.

I hear the front door open. “Elliot? Y/N? Where is everyone?” Alex...why was Alex home? He didn’t live here anymore, he should be at work. I try to answer, but all I can manage is a soft squeak. Elliot looks at me and smiles, “Stay put. Today’s dinner just got bigger.” I can feel the tears rolling down my face as I quietly sob.

“Alex…” I croak, but it’s not loud enough. Alex is bigger than Elliot, older and stronger, so he should be fine, maybe even be able to call for help before I inevitably bleed out.

“Elliot, what….no, stop Elliot! What the hell are you doing?” I hear a thud, then another, then the sound of an end table crashing, the glass lamp shattering as it hits the floor. “Stop! Why are you-” a strangled gurgle cuts off whatever Alex was about to say and then silence. Elliot is gone for what seems like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. When he finally returns, he’s covered in even more blood, and his mouth is dripping red. He smiles, and it’s a horror show.

“Little brother is stronger now, too bad Alex didn’t realize that.” Elliot kneels down next to me and pokes at the knife in my chest. Pain runs through me like fire, but I don’t have the strength to do anything other than stare at the monster that used to be one of my favorite people on this earth.

“I really am sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean for all this to happen, but it looks like me turning into this….thing….was inevitable. Maybe that’s why my mom didn’t want me, she knew I was a monster.” He drags a long nail across my collarbone, and the faint sting barely registers. I know I’ve lost a lot of blood, I just don’t know if it’s enough to kill me. If no one comes, it won’t matter anyway. He’s watching the blood roll down my chest and wick slowly into my shirt as if he’s fascinated by the process.

“Elliot...I don’t understand.”

He shook his head, “I don’t either. I’m just doing what feels right. I can’t explain it, Y/N...and I wish it could have been someone else. You just had to come home.”

I hear the front door slam open, “Jesus, Sammy, it looks like a damn slaughterhouse in here. I guess we’re in the right place.”

“Yea...I was really hoping we’d make it in time to help him…”

“Well, we didn’t. You go that way, I’ll take the back.” The two sets of footprints go in two different directions and I can hear one pair coming towards the kitchen.

“Don’t come in here, please, it’s dangerous!” I feel like I’m yelling, but I’m aware that the voice in my head is much louder than what’s actually coming out. The steps stop just short of the kitchen and I close my eyes. I can’t watch what’s about to happen. Elliot hides just out of sight, and I hear the footsteps start again and the sound of heavy boots reverberate through the kitchen. To me, the sound is almost deafening. Shock does weird things to you.

“Holy shit…” I hear the person mumble as he takes in the scene. I’m sure it looks like a blood bath, and I can’t even imagine what I must look like right now. Probably dead.

Before I can open my eyes, I hear the man grunt and then the sound of a body hitting the wall. “Dean! Could use some help!” I open my eyes enough to see a tall man with shaggy, chestnut hair punch Elliot in the face, hard. Elliot runs at him and gets him at the waist, throwing the tall man off balance and into the fridge. Magnets rattle and fall off around them, and the taller man ducks just as Elliot goes for his neck. He somehow manages to open the freezer door and slams it into Elliot’s head, crashing it into the wall next to the fridge. He pulls it back and tries to do it again, but Elliot sees it coming and whirls around, grabbing the taller man by the collar and throwing him across the room.

The tall man hits the floor with a bone rattling thud but manages to stand in the same swift motion, his chest heaving and his long hair disheveled and in his face. He flips it out of his eyes with a quick flick of his head, and his eyes fall on me for a moment. It feels like I’m smiling, which is odd considering the circumstances... but those eyes. His eyebrows furrow, but then he’s distracted as Elliot charges at him again. I close my eyes, too tired to watch anymore. I can hear the stomping of feet, glass shattering as they throw each other around, the sound of a chair breaking as someone gets hit with it.

“Dean!”

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Another set of feet enters the kitchen, “I’ve got him, go check on her. Sammy, I said check on her.” I hear footsteps hurry towards me, then the warmth of a large hand on my cheek.

“Hey, hey, can you open your eyes for me?” I take a shallow breath, then slowly open my eyes. The first things I see are the most beautiful hazel eyes I have ever seen. He smiles at me gently, and I’m shocked that the man I just saw pummel what was my brother could be so gentle.

“Hi,” I manage to croak out.

“Hey. My name is Sam.” His eyes move from my face to where the knife is still sticking out from my chest, and I can’t help but mourn the fact that I didn’t meet him in a normal place. Like a coffee shop, with no knife sticking out of me, and where my little brother is not eating my mom.

He looks closely at the blade, worry wrinkles between his eyebrows as he checks how deep it is, then sighs. I feel like that is not a great sign, but what do I know? I’ve never been stabbed, and for some reason I feel like this man has too much experience with that kind of thing. “So, I have good news and bad news….” he raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“Y/N...my name is Y/N.”

He nods, “So the good news, Y/N, is that the knife really isn’t that deep. It hit bone, so I’m pretty sure it didn’t hit anything vital. The bad news is, it’s at an angle so it’s gonna be hard to pull out. It’s...it’s gonna hurt pretty bad. Do you have any towels in here?”

“Second drawer from the left.” Sam nods, quickly goes to the drawer, then comes back.

“I’m going to pull this knife out, and I need you to hold this towel to your chest, okay? It’s going to be hard, but you can do it.” He moves my hand closer to where the knife is. “Are you ready, Y/N?” I somehow manage to nod weakly and he smiles at me again, “Okay, here we go. I’m sorry, Y/N, but it'll be over soon. On the count of three. One...two…”

The worst pain I have ever felt in my life burst through me like a bomb, and I was surprised that anything could hurt worse than the actual act of being stabbed. I can feel Sam quickly covering the wound with the towel, and I move my hand to hold it in place like he had told me to. “Good, exactly like that, Y/N.” At some point I closed my eyes, so I open them again. There’s Sam, looking at me with...is that awe? Maybe it’s surprise. Either way, it’s beautiful and if I could have him look at me like that forever, I think I would allow it.

“Well, there’s one less rugaru on this plane of existence. Winchesters: 3 Rugarus: 0.”

I look towards the source of the voice and see a man slightly shorter than Sam wearing a leather jacket and wiping a knife off with an old shop rag he'd pulled from his back pocket. I tilt my head back to look towards Elliot, “El….Elliot?”

Sam throws a glare at Dean, “Dude.” He motions towards me, and Dean frowns.

“Oh...oh, I’m...sorry.” He shrugs at Sam, his eyes wide.

Sam sighs, then looks back to me, “We’re going to get you out of here and take you some place safe. Is there anyone else here? Anyone we need to call?”

I close my eyes and shake my head, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. Everyone is gone. I was the only one left.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you. Keep holding that towel, I’m going to pick you up, okay?” Before I can answer, I feel two large arms engulf me, one around my back and one under my knees, then slowly lift me from the floor. The last thing I see before everything fades to black are blue-green eyes with just a touch of yellow around the pupil.

“Y/N?” I jumped, the deep voice startling me, and I stood quickly as I wiped a tear from my cheek. “Are you okay?” Sam stood in the doorway, but kept his distance.

I shrugged, “Yea, I’m fine. Just...um...remembering.” My hand moved to the prominent scar currently hidden by my flannel, “I kind of forgot the details.” I sighed, “Elliot didn’t know any better. None of us knew...he was adopted, you know? His dad had disappeared and his mom...his mom couldn’t deal with it.”

I walked past Sam and into the living room where I picked up a photo of my mom that was still sitting on the coffee table, “My mom was an amazing woman. Even after my dad died, she had the biggest heart. It didn’t matter that Elliot wasn’t actually hers, she loved him just as much as she loved me and Alex. We all loved him.” I sat the frame back down, “I guess his dad didn’t really disappear, did he?”

Sam shook his head, “Probably not. He wouldn’t have been able to control himself if he’d tasted human flesh...I’m guessing a hunter took him out. I’ve looked, checked around to see if anyone would have had record of it, but there’s nothing. He’s just gone…” Sam took a step towards me, “You couldn’t have helped him, you know? You didn’t know anything about it. I was hoping we could...if we got here in time, we could have taught him how to control it. I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Sam. You can’t save everyone.” I smiled sadly at him, “I thought that if I came back here, something would feel...different. Like I’d suddenly feel this peace come over me, like I was shutting a door on something. All I feel are ghosts of memories I can barely hold on to. This isn’t home...it’s a tomb.”

I looked around the room one last time, then put my hand on the doorknob, “Let’s go. There’s nothing left for me here.”

I walked away from my childhood home for the last time and towards the shiny black car and men that were my home now.

Read Chapter 3 HERE.

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[coffeesforfuckers]

Our Summers Together Are My Best Kept Secrets And My Biggest Mistakes // Chapter Eight

Ships: Peterick, Brallon, Ferard, Trohley, Jalex, Zian and others in the background

Description: Summers for most kids are spent going to the beach and on vacations with your family but lots are shipped off to summer camps for the whole summer. But the kids at Hempman Summer Camp actually beg to go! Patrick Stump, Andy Hurley and Joe Trohman all met there, they had all known each other for probably over a decade because of this absolutely amazing stay-away camp for kids from the ages of six to nineteen. All the kids that were there came back until they couldn't and they always had the same kids except a few new, younger, kids every year. That is until the year that the weird kid with the jet-black, dyed, black fringe and the crazy piercings and a couple tattoos comes in like he owns the place. That year also happens to be the same year that Patrick Stump gets gum stuck to the new emo kid's face and hair. It was love at first sight... But hate at first interaction for the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy and the complete opposite for the new kid, Pete Wentz.

Chapter 8: Eight: A Meal For Two, A Car Ride For The Damned and A Love To Fool Them All.

Pete

Having Dallon and Brendon as roommates was quite an experience. Brendon was a bit stand-off-ish and from what Dallon says, it’s from a traumatic experience. But he’s been getting more touchy-feely. Brendon is constantly touching Dallon and grabbing him, it’s funny. There’s something familiar about him really but I couldn’t place it, I’d figure it out later, right now I was too busy trying to get Patrick to fall in love with me.

It was still just a lot of fucking and him flipping shit if it got too crazy for him. He’s pulling me out to his car in the parking lot, wanting to go drive somewhere and have sex in his car.

We get out where we won’t get caught and Patrick pulls over the car, fumbling into the back of the car. I stay up front, lost in my own world. I can feel his arms wrap around me from around the seat, Patrick is kissing my neck and I can’t resist. I flop into the back on top of Patrick. He kisses my neck and bites at my ear, I suck at his skin and grab at his crotch. It escalated quickly and soon enough we’re shifting around, slamming into things, things being jabbed into us. Patrick’s elbow jabbing into my stomach by accident, my knee shoved into his side. This had been a terrible idea.

“Patrick you’re probably going to end up with my foot up your ass instead of my dick if we fuck in here.” I sigh.

“Let me blow you then.” He says instantly, his wide, blue eyes sparkle with a weird excitement. I, at first, am hesitant but think, what could go wrong and nod.

“Okay, sure.” I shrug and he pushes me and my back slams into the car door I groan and he starts kissing me, undoing my pants. He lets me struggle out of them before doing anything. I’m already hard as a rock at this point so I didn’t need Patrick to get me hard first.

Before I truly have a chance to process any of this my head is tossed back and I’m gasping. This was new, so new… So good, “Oh, fuck… Patrick….” I breathe and shiver as a rush of pleasure runs over me. It was all moving so fast, pieces were missing from my memory.

His tongue flicks around the head of my dick in a way that causes me to let out a much louder moan than normal, my fists clenching in his bleach-blonde hair, panting and almost choking. My hips involuntarily thrust upward and Patrick pulls away, gagging at the unexpected dick being shoved deeper than he could take.

“Fuck.” Patrick coughs, “I almost threw up, dude, don’t do that.” He groans, rubbing his hand over his chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it just felt so good I couldn’t really help it.” I frown and he smiles back at me.

“Shut up and stop apologizing.” He moves back to hovering just above my cock. I whine at his teasing and he smirks, taking my whole length. I moan and clench his hair within my fists. His tongue runs over my member and I choke back a gasp, throwing my head back.

“Oh fuck…” I gasp and arch my back. This felt really good, so fucking good.

I cum into his mouth and he pulls back, swallowing the mouthful of semen. He kisses me quickly and grins.

“Ready to go back?” He asks as I pull my pants back up.

“What about you?” I ask seeing as he got nothing out of this.

“No, let's go out to eat.” He insists even though I can full well see he has a bulge.

“Um? But, Patrick?” I'm thoroughly confused.

He tumbles back into the driver's seat, “Come on. Where do you want to eat?” He watches me as I fall into my seat up front.

“Wherever you want to go I guess?”

Frank

In the car to the concert Gee blared Sleeping With Sirens and sang the lyrics, well more like shouted them while drumming the air and banging his head. His long red locks of hair flying everywhere. I sing along too, but not as loud and violently as Gerard, he’s crazy into music and he’s actually pretty great himself, he can sing like nothing I’ve ever heard, well besides Brendon and Patrick that is, they’re voices are god-like and so is Gerard’s in my opinion, their like a trinity. A very emo, trinity.

Kellin Quinn was a fucking god . Okay?

He’s so exited to meet them, he’s practically shaking when we pull up outside of the small venue almost two hours from camp. I wasn’t nearly as excited as Gerard but I don’t think many people could be, these were his idols. I also wasn’t like, super into them either but they did have good music.

We make our way out of the car and Gerard is tugging at my arm, trying to pull me as fast as he could go into the building. I’m laughing at his excitement. It was so cute.

“Hurry up!” He whines as I go ‘ too slow ’ for him.

“I am! I have tiny legs!” I defend and he starts chuckling at the statement, knowing full well that it was true.

“Your tiny legs are too slow, get bigger ones.” He teases with a grin and I roll my eyes.

“I hate you.” I groan, continuing to jog after him. He’s so cute when he’s this excited, I haven’t ever seen him so excited before.

Inside the venue, waiting in line was worse, Gerard was so fucking pumped and bouncy. So cute.

I yawn and Gerard smacks me, “What the fuck’s that for!?” I elbow him in the side.

“Stop being bored you fucking loser.” He hip-checks me and I slam into the person walking by, some older man who was probably in his twentie’s or thirty’s.

“Sorry about that.” I apologize and Gerard makes a choking noise, attracting both mine and the guy’s attention.

“You’re Justin Hills!” Gerard coughs, gripping onto me in awe. The man holds a finger up to his lips and smiles at him, ruffling his hair.

“See you two soon.” He nods towards the passes around our necks. Gerard squeals into my shoulder nodding as he hugs me, squeezing his arms around my waist.

“Oh my god, Frank! You touched Justin fucking Hills!” He shakes me and I laugh.

“Dude I didn’t even know his name until you said it, I didn’t even know who he was.” I chuckle, rubbing at my neck, “I like their music and I mean I know most of it but I don’t know any of the members.” I shrug and give a sheepish smile to him.

“Really? You like them but don’t even know their names?” Gerard seemed baffled by my ignorance to the subject.

“Yeah?” I shrug, is that not what people do?

“Weird…”

Rian

I lay on my bed with my eyes closed, not sleeping but not awake enough to function. I’d been like this for probably two hours, I was just trying to nap but my brain was not allowing that. It was running wild with adventures, nothing in particular, just falling between dreaming and real life.

I hear the door squeak open and clatter closed, too tired to even see who’d come into the room.

“Rian, get up.” I hear Zach’s voice which is extremely stern for some reason.

“No, sleep, shh.” I hum but I’m soon being ripped from the warmth of my blankets to the cool wooden floor.

“Get up.” He’s even more serious this time and I groan, sitting up.

“You didn’t have to be so rough, jesus.” I grumble, rubbing at my back.

“I can’t take it anymore!” He shouts, pacing as he tosses his hands into the air.

“Take what? I’m sorry, I’m not awake enough for this, please explain.” I grumble, staggering to my feet and yawning. I stretch and my back cracks, Zach winces at the sound.

“Them! Alex, Jack, Tyler, Brendon, Dallon! Their driving me fucking nuts! ‘ You should date, Rian! You and Rian would be so cute together! Are you together yet? ’” He mocks, “I’m gonna put a gun to my fucking head and pull the trigger if I have to hear it one more fucking time!” He’s yelling as he grabs me by shoulders, shaking me as he says his next words, “Will you fake date me until they fuck off?” He begs.

“Dude, neither of us are gay though, right? I know I’m not.” I say.

“I’m not either but I’m so close to killing myself or all of them that I will do anything to make them stop.” He pleads, “Please, we can break up in a few weeks, just fake an argument and end it!”

“We’re going to have to make out and kiss and touch and shit Zach!” I push him off of me, “No way in hell, I’m sorry Zach, but no way.”

“Please!” He shouts, “Rian I will do anything! I mean it’s just kissing! It’s not like it’s sex!”

“Well, I don’t want my first kiss to be with a dude, Zach!” I yell back and he freezes.

“You’ve never had your first kiss?” He gasps, wide-eyed.

“This is why I never told any of you.” I huff and cross my arms.

“You always said that your first kiss was out at a pond near your house with the neighbor girl though! It was such a pretty story!”

“It’s called being a good story-teller, asshole.” I grumble.

“I won’t kiss you, we could just be like… The type that doesn’t ‘show-off’ around our friends and stuff.” He still begs and I, of course , relent.

“Fine. Not for too long though.”

“Deal.” Zach nods, “Hey, so like have you done anything with anybody before?” He asks.

“I’ve never dated anyone, jeez, fuck off already.”

Asshole.

Chapter Masterlist ~

Previous -

One - The Gum Habit Gone Bad

Two - On the Rooftop with You

Three - I Have a Forehead Texting Me and He’s Kind of Cute?

Four - Memories I Keep Locked Away for Times Like This

Five - Crying into the Void That is You

Six - A New Year and a New Us and Some New Friends

Seven - Abandoning You Was My Worst Mistake but Somehow You’re Still There For Me

Next -

Nine - Falling For You

[hotcoffeeandbreakfast]

My limited library of words seems dismally insufficient when I think about describing the most love-filled week of my life, but the details below are my best attempt at painting the picture for you, and for me. And most importantly, him.

Two weeks ago, at this very time (5:46am) my husband and I were fast asleep yet somehow alive and well in a daydream state. In just a few short hours, I would wake up and leave Neil sleeping so I could chop off roughly 6-7 inches of hair, pack up all the small details of my jaw-dropping wedding wardrobe, and hug my dearest friends goodbye as Mrs. Patel.

I can’t believe it’s been two weeks! Have I been floating this entire time? Probably so.

When Neil and I first got engaged, we talked about eloping. We talked about planning a “half and half” ceremony, though we weren’t sure what that was supposed to look like or mean. We talked forever about where we would host whatever we were hosting. I knew he wasn’t down for the traditional five days, and he knew I wasn’t interested in the big white dress and long, dramatic walk down the aisle. Our options were endless but we both wanted just one thing out of the whole event: to spend forever with each other. With that in mind, we knew the details would eventually sort themselves out. Y’all, everything I thought would be clever and romantic enough to describe this momentous, magical day (week) seems to pale the lustrous paint due to limitation of words.

My interest — now obvious fascination — with the East and all of its ancient traditions is completely pouring out and over the rim of my cup. Of course, it started years ago with my yoga practice and being ever curious about proper thought during meditation, but now it is this whole other thing, a wave of deep devotion to exploring and satisfying this inquiring mind. When I met Neil, I never knew what would blossom in my brain as far as being drawn to culture and practice. During the year between our engagement and wedding, I absorbed as much as I could about the different ceremonies we’d chosen; the ones most important in Gujarat. I read and researched for months what I could online about “multicultural” weddings, searching endlessly for descriptions about what each small ceremony or ritual would entail, looking for answers for what is normally expected of the bride, and lastly, TRYING TO LEARN GUJARATI. Nothing I could Google or Bing or Yahoo or memorize would ever prepare me emotionally and mentally for being the semi-center of these gorgeous events. Everything, and I mean every tiny minutia is met with respect and holds meaning in the Hindu faith and Gujarati culture.

Our first event of the week — aside from Wednesday’s Monsoon themed nail party (that’s totally a joke, however bad the rain really was) — was Thursday morning’s pooja (puja) to bless the Patel house. All immediate family members and a few close friends showed up, and I was simply excited to be there to watch…I had no idea I would end up participating and leave feeling like I too had received all kinds of blessings. The priest and priestess arrived and began setting up the altar. My partner in crime, Ashley Treib, and I watched in white girl amazement as small details of a religion completely new to us unfolded. I took note of the items used during the pooja: fresh food and fruit, various types of rice, petals plucked from fresh flowers, water, and fire. As I was taking this mental inventory, Daksha, my mother-in-law, called me over and asked if I’d like to participate. I blushed and shook my head yes. “Krishna will have to sit between you and Neil since you aren’t married yet,” she said with a smirk, which pinked my cheeks even deeper.

We are getting married!!!  was my only thought as a smile spread across my whole body.

The priest started the ceremony and read and chanted and Neil, Krishna, and I became a unit: Krishna holding on to Neil’s right arm, me holding on to Krishna’s. OMG I AM CRYING AS I WRITE THIS! Daksha was sitting next to me, and every now and then, she would hold on to me, making our line even longer. I was feeling the beat of this ceremony, even though there really wasn’t a specific tempo. At any given time, I could hear the priest, overlapped by the interpretation from the priestess — a huge courtesy for me — mixed with the gentle clanking of pans in the kitchen and soft, Guju chatter. This ceremony was nothing new for most of the family so they were either eating or napping, aside from the handful that sat around the living room in a half circle. I noticed this briefly and it made me smile, but only on the inside; my nerves held my face. I was completely glued-in the entire two hours of rituals, fascinated by what I’d never seen before. I could feel Ashley sitting right behind me, drinking it all up too. I’d never seen ritual performed on a level like this, and I’ve experienced some religion in my days.

I can’t compare what I observed in those two hours to anything else. There was demonstration and explanation and time for honoring all; there was pranayama. It felt old and new, the way an worn wooden pew bench does when I come across one and take a seat. I shifted from side to side, like I did in church when I was young; full of questions and observation, but required to remain quiet and search for the answers in my head.

We read aloud and took small bites and prayed by offering bits of rice and petals; to my surprise I even recognized some Sanskrit words here and there. The pooja concluded and I felt another remarkable wave of peace wash over me. As a person who once loved religion for ritual and reverence, this kind of honoring of tradition stirred me up inside.

A delicious evening of live dosa making followed a few hours later, where we drifted in to a hot August night and woke up to a cool, wedding weekend.

      My adrenaline the week of the wedding was insane, I felt like I was on fire;  Thursday’s pooja fanned my flame, maybe blazed it. I wasn’t hungry, I was mostly decaffeinated, and I couldn’t really tell if I was sleeping or just floating through the nights between the hours of 11 p.m. and 6 a.m. But I was awake, so woke I couldn’t even buzz myself to sleep with wine. Friday morning, I woke up before the world and laid around until I couldn’t any longer. I pushed my floating body in the shower at 8am, waking Ashley and Alex with uncoordinated noise, and chatted up the shower-head about the hours that would follow. Picking up friends and family from the airport, steaming all my clothes for various events, receiving the first part of my mehndi….I was on the “bridal climb” and trying my best not to totally. freak. out!

  In preparation for a week of meeting family, prepping last minute things to pack in my teeny carry-on (an activity I eventually did so many times at 2am on Monday, I started timing myself) and being consumed with all kinds of emotions, I got in about five-ish hours of yoga. Teaching some, moving around at home, taking class; I made it my mission to be able to locate my zen on the spot if I needed to. I stuck to my Veg30 diet to keep my mind and body clean and I made myself as busy as possible. Again…as much preparation as my little Capricorn heart, body, and soul could muster was indeed not enough to properly assemble my brain for becoming Mrs. Patel. My thought for most of the weekend, aside from reminding myself not to lock out my knees, was, “in through the nose, out through the nose.” I literally had to remind myself to breathe. I am unimaginably empathetic, so I sponged up everyone else’s emotions too; absorbing that much love can make you feel a kind of high I wasn’t aware existed. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

My amazing henna artist/ family friend/ hair-growing-goddess, Felicia, arrived around noon on Friday to get a jump on the first part of my mehndi, so I could at very least walk around and greet everyone that had traveled for us from everywhere. It was then, upon Felicia’s arrival, that I — I’ll admit, forcefully — entered my official state of what everyone has since referred to as, “tempered.” I’m not kidding when I say that every person that saw me during the wedding for more than 4 minutes made it a point to tell me how relaxed I seemed…to which I endlessly laughed, internally. She started with my feet and worked her way up to my right forearm, not missing a beat even when I’d shift around or twitch. In through the nose, out through the nose. She finished up after about three hours and headed out to get herself ready for a second night of fun. My feet were mostly dry, but my arm still needed a solid twenty before I could move around and start primping too; all my other limbs would be finished at the ceremony so everyone could check out the process in real life. If I could hold them up. My nerves were…all present, lets just say.

    I felt anything but normal when I saw him. All weekend long he was the most regal thing I’ve ever laid eyes on; a glowing, gold aura beamed off of him constantly.

  I’d been hugging and meeting family when he walked in and I vaguely remember confetti falling around us as we met/ ran / floated somewhere in the middle (? maybe??) of the room, before I randomly sat down to be hand fed and henna-ed. I swear I’m not making this up, it happened! REALLY!!! 

  All night long, I sat lounging on this beautiful, golden chaise and watched my family meet Neil’s family. All of our friends from all over started finding each other and introducing themselves…and I got to see it. I looked up once and saw all of the aunties doing henna on my friends and on each other. I watched everyone laugh together and turn up!! and eventually hit the dance floor together. It was so beautiful and I was nearly in shock from it all, bright light beaming from my eyeballs, no doubt. At one point, my sweet little sister comes up to me, pops a spring roll in to my mouth and whispers in my ear, “are you on drugs or something? You look…euphoric. Your eyes are the size of the moon.” She was 100% right. I was totally, naturally in euphoria, which was currently oozing from every inch of the interior of the room.Well, wasn’t it?  To be completely honest, there was a split second where I was presented with two choices: freak out and be nervous the whole night or just relax and embrace and observe, so that’s what I did. I spent the entire night panning the room, glued to my chair from the wildness of the thought that this was all for us.

Did I, at one point, end up in the bathroom alone and holler out? Yes, of course I did. Only to get out some wild, happy, loud energy. I still feel the joyful, overwhelming happy vibes of that night; I’m living off the entire weekend, but I had never, until that night, ever felt so much magic in one place.

And then I heard the words “party bus,” from three moustached, unbuttoned, feisty firemen (or maybe some cousins?), and I knew the night was about to take an interesting turn. Neil, along with all the fire guys from NOLA, fam from Philly, Boston, Dallas, and who knows where else, piled on to a bus that would take them far in to the morning of our wedding. I slipped out of my mehndi dress and in to a blue silk dress from my little Blayre, and entertained my friends with a gin-induced Lil Wayne rap battle…with myself. I Ubered Ashley, Michael, and me (did that work like I wanted it to?) back to the hotel by midnight and forced myself to sleep, an attempt to be as fresh as possible for the best day of my life. I think my mind finally turned off around 2am, but who can really say?

I “woke up” at 7am on the nose, to a text from my sister-in-law saying she broke her foot on said party bus.

And to the forecast of rain.

And to a very hungry belly that was lightly lined with alcohol and crackers.

But that didn’t keep me in bed and certainly didn’t stop the ear-to-ear smile from practically ripping my face open, eyes and all, the morning of my wedding. I flung the curtains open (more like slowly unzipped them) and apologized for waking the room and informed them about Krishna and said that it was time to get it in gear and where the hell is the coffee??!!! I was awake and so ready to become Mrs. Patel.

Neil’s vidhi was first up on this gorgeous Saturday, perpetual inner sunshine totally dousing the dreariness of the cool August day. This ceremony is typically done at both homes of  the bride and groom, separately, where they are blessed by the priest, their parents, all of their uncles and aunts, and treated to haldi by female cousins, which are lovingly referred to as sisters. The haldi is a handmade paste that is rubbed on the face to make the skin glow. (It smelled amazing from where I ended up sitting) I couldn’t wait to watch this!  How can they possibly make Neil’s face glow any more than it already does?! It is mildly infuriating at times how beautiful my husband is, but his smile truly looks like a glowing, endless sunset, so I tolerate the his annoying wonderful charm and dashing, sassy good looks. (life is hard)

Many more family members and friends had arrived after the mehndi, so I was nervous, yet excited, to meet more people. The squad was impressively dressed and at the hall before most, so I had time to cool my head and find some excitement in the presence of the moment. I felt a tad over zealous by showing ups so early, but was more than anything ready to see my future husband for the first time on wedding day.

I sat quietly as my masi pinned a bhindi to my head just before the vidhi started. Looking down at the color of my henna, I couldn’t help but smile as I heard Baa’s words from mehndi night in my ear: “Beta, dark color means deep love.” She’d said this with a knowing smile I was beyond grateful to see; marrying in to a strong Gujarati family means honoring the strong family ties between the generations. I thank universe daily they everyone had such an open mind and heart when they were presented with the idea of adding a different culture to their family.

  I looked at my hands and studied their color further, deep red; remnants of the paste still clung to my skin. Choosing to focus on my patterned hands other than my nerves seemed to steady me, though I felt like I could see the red hue deepen with each step I took, almost psychedelic and moving. The color seemed to brighten with every hug and touch and there were moments when I thought the design would climb right up my arms and legs. My skin transformed before my own eyes.

I saw actual stars when I finally got to see Neil. We found each other in the open hall way, before anyone saw us, and exchanged a real hug. I was awash with comfort and my nerves steadied instantly though tears welled up in my eyes.

I thought for sure when Neil touched me the henna would magically remain unfading.

  The vidhi came and went quickly, and the afternoon before the wedding and reception went by just the same. I felt like a total maniac all afternoon, completely devoid of any and all chill.

While my moms and sister had their hair and makeup done, my body decided to respond to the sense of overwhelming love by mixing that up real good with the tiny bit of the caffeine I had, and all of the excitement I felt about the wedding. I have NEVER felt so out-of-body. I did everything I could possibly think of to calm my nerves, find my zen without addressing to the crowd that every atom in my body was floating apart. My years-long friend, hair guru, and mom to the dumplin’ I looked after for a while and still just adore to pieces, was finishing up with Mrs. Daksha when some sort of crazy, unbreathable vibe took me over. I sat down, then stood up and turned in a circle and just stopped and stared at all the makeup on the bed. I couldn’t really breathe and didn’t want to admit it.

At this point, I had: laid flat, stood on my head, peed about a dozen times, drank half a gallon of water, nibbled on some pouris, blasted chill, lo-fi beats, drank coffee….I tried it all to keep myself calm. And then, I felt the whole of my body turn in to jello. “Can I take a hot shower? Like RIGHT now?” I addressed this plea to Rhianna while attempting to remain cool. She gave me the most sincere “OH FCK” look and said, “Ummm sure yesokaylove, can we cover it?” responding to my paling skin and perfectly pre-curled hair. “Mmmmm,” was the only response I could muster. I vaguely remember Michael leaving the room, but moments later he rushes to the rescue by providing not two but four shower caps and I was in the shower locating Ujjayi in no time.

Another conversation with the shower head.

When I came out in my long whatever it was I was wearing, I felt collected, and it was my turn to sit in the chair.

It only felt like a few minutes, but I know it was longer. I let the air come in and out of my nose, and only spoke a few times; I can’t for the life of me recall what the last two hours before the wedding was like. All I  knew  in that moment was that my future was about to begin.

  I floated down that aisle, y’all. My mom was floating; I could feel her smiling and that made my heart visible from chest, I just know it did. I feel as though I hovered above the ground during the ceremony and never felt the smile leave my face. I wonder if anyone noticed my feet leave the floor? There are moments that friends have captured that just melt my heart, and there’s so much I could share, but not every detail is meant for the world. If I could put the entire night in a box and keep it forever, I would.

I listened so intently as the priest spoke, yet was busy panning the room with my eyes, in deep observation, memorizing the faces in front of me. I remember squeezing Neil’s hand with every we promise made, and my hand shaking to sign my name, for the first time, as “tj patel.” Always lowercase, with absolutely no explanation.

  Our wedding night whirled on, to the beat of bhangra, bollywood, and everything else under an indoor, evening sun.  A blend of family and friends shared their talents, their words, and most importantly their time with us this night. It all stands out so clearly in my mind, every last little jewel of it. I continuously scanned the room so many times that night just to drink in the amount of people that made the time to celebrate the happiest night of our lives. I could hardly speak at certain points, truly unable to find the gratitude I felt in every inch of my body. I still feel it all.

  It was a starry night indeed, a thick blanket of memories suspended in the sky, for always.

  Neil, I hope every day of our life is filled with memories and tales that take from sunrise to sunset to tell. Thank you for giving me your family, for giving me this day and everything that it represented. Thank you for the love I feel from you every day and the immense joy I have; you are solely responsible for helping me create that daily in my life. To the brightest light in my life, I will always treasure every single moment of this remarkable, sparkling, unforgettable moment. I love you.

  We have so many people to thank and we love you each so so much we are bursting.

            mrs. patel: part 1, the wedding My limited library of words seems dismally insufficient when I think about describing the most love-filled week of my life, but the details below are my best attempt at painting the picture for you, and for me.