#he drove for miles is he not permitted a moment to stretch his legs?

[dumpsterd1va]

okay you know this video with the French guys and the kitten in the road? my heads been doing this thing lately where everything i see lately is andreil so uh... have this little fic based on that lmfao im so sorry

curiosity and the cat

Andrew Minyard had grown up learning to appreciate quiet spaces. The bleachers during 3rd period. The back shelves of the library. The park at 1 AM. He was never truly alone but it was enough to pretend that nothing else existed except him, the ground beneath his feet, and the sky above his head.

It wasn’t until he got his first car that he understood true solitude. Four walls, four wheels, two arms, two legs, a tank of gas that would take him anywhere, and endless stretches of road. He’d run the tank dry and then do it all over again. It didn’t matter if it was rush hour or the dead of night. Everyone else existed in their own metal cocoons, at a distance and irrelevant to him, and he existed in a space that was fully his. All his. If threads of promises unkept weren’t holding him back, Andrew sometimes thought he could go and never come back, living in his car and driving circles around the country until the inevitable.

He always came back though, to the makeshift home he and the only two people he permitted to call him family had made for themselves in Columbia, but when sleep refused him, he would drive for miles and miles on empty roads towards an empty head. The hour and destination didn’t matter, only the feeling of the road churning beneath his tires and the smooth leather of the steering wheel gliding against his palms.

For Andrew taking a long drive to nowhere was like getting a haircut or drinking a tall glass of water on a summer day, so it was no surprise that he found himself on a forested highway just after dawn, letting the frigid morning breeze tangle in his hair.

No, the surprise wasn’t the drive nor the time nor the place.

It was the kitten.

There was nothing notable about the beginning, but then again beginnings are never terribly interesting. It began with the neon glow of 4:36 stabbing his eyes through the dark, a low throb in the back of his head, a parched throat, sweat dripping down his back and pooling uncomfortably just above where his hips connected to the mattress. His sweaty clothes, his matted hair, and the damp sheets clung to him like old memories. He was shivering.

So he drove.

He drove and he kept driving, down abandoned freeways and up windy mountain roads. He stopped for a cigarette at the peak of one, leaning back on the hood of his car and watching the muted pinks of the waking sun struggle against the pitch of night.

The storm inside him stilled.

The drive back home wasn’t as lonely as the drive out, but by that time Andrew didn’t need the silence anymore. He zipped past cars, weaving in and out of the lanes, ignoring the belated honks and indignant faces reflected in his rear view mirror.

He was coming up behind a motorcycle now, but he didn’t bother to pass it. Passing a motorcycle always felt like issuing a challenge and it was one Andrew didn’t have the energy to follow up on.

Which was why he was on autopilot, windows rolled down, radio humming low, going at least 20 miles slower than normal when it happened.

The facts didn’t make themselves immediately apparent. A small lump illuminated by the haze of his headlights, a flash of orange, an impossibly tiny face. Andrew only had just enough time to process what he had seen when he pulled over to the shoulder with a jerk of the wheel that probably would’ve earned him another honk if there had been more people on the road.

He was already flinging his door open and jumping out before he could even think when he noticed someone running towards him. The motorcyclist ahead of him had parked too and was sprinting at impossible speeds towards and now past Andrew. He could hear the helmet rattling against their skull as they hurtled towards the tiny orange speck on the road.

Another car was speeding towards them, but the motorcyclist either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Slamming his door shut and running up the road, Andrew held his hand up in front of him, gesturing for the car to slow down before it killed them. Miraculously there was no honking, only a curious gaze at the strange scene unfolding on the highway at just past six in the morning.

The motorcyclist remained ignorant of Andrew saving their lives, crouching on the ground and scooping the kitten up, cooing sweet nothings.

“How’d you get here little one?” The voice that escaped the helmet was a warm tenor and just a bit hoarse. The motorcyclist was walking towards the shoulder now. “Ah, p’tit loulou, you couldn’t have gotten here on your own. Where are you from?”

For a brief moment, Andrew basked in that jittery butterflies in your stomach feeling of standing in the middle of a road before trailing behind the motorcyclist who was still making embarrassing noises at the cat.

As he got closer, Andrew actually heard something that echoed his own train of thought, “Who would fucking leave a kitten in the middle of the road?” The helmet was bowed down now, gloved hands scratching the kitten’s head. “Some asshole abandoned you… when you’re this tiny.” A defeated sigh. “I’d take you but Sir doesn’t take kindly to strange cats and I don’t wanna upset her, but I can’t just leave you here.”

“Stop whining and give me the damn cat.” The motorcyclist seemed to register his presence for the first time and that’s when Andrew realized he’d said that out loud.

“Really? You’ll take it?” The voice had brightened considerably and even through the tinted glass of the helmet, Andrew could see a smile.

Andrew shrugged and rubbed the kitten’s head right between the ears, its large eyes staring up at him as he did so. “Just another stray.”

“Thank you,” the motorcyclist said as the kitten transferred between their hands. “You take in stray cats often?”

“Not cats.”

Hands finally free, the motorcyclist ripped off the helmet and rested it against their side. “Oh, so dogs then?”

Andrew drank in the sweaty red hair that stuck up from the motorcyclist’s head like an explosion, the frigid blue eyes that were so clear they looked like glass, the elegant nose, the strong eyebrows, the thin lips, the freckled cheeks. All things that would have made a classic beauty, had it not been for a trail of thin scars and burn marks criss crossing through those striking features that revealed a life not easily lived. They took that face from classic to once in a lifetime.

“People.”

A quirked eyebrow. A relaxed smirk. “Is that so? I’m glad you have experience then.”

Andrew didn’t miss the sarcasm dripping from their voice like molasses. “Whatever I’m taking the cat.”

Hands raised in surrender. Eyes amused. “Hey, it—” A cursory glance. “Sorry, she’s all yours. You’re gonna want to get her checked out at the vet first though. Ringworm in kittens can be deadly. And super contagious.”

Andrew’s grip on the kitten must’ve tightened because she mewled with some discomfort. He loosened his hands and stroked her behind her ears.

“Hey,” the voice was softer now, velvet smooth. Blue eyes peered down at him through thick lashes. “I can help you make a drop in appointment. I just can’t risk possibly exposing my own cat to diseases. I’m probably already going to have to burn this whole outfit.” Taking in the worn jeans and the flaking leather jacket, Andrew didn’t think that’d be such a bad idea.

He said as much and earned himself an eye roll. “Sure, criticize the guy who’s trying to help you out.” Said guy rubbed a finger against the kitten’s face. “Be glad you’re so cute or I’d never go through all this trouble.”

Andrew had to agree.

Pulling an ancient phone out of his equally ancient pants pocket, Andrew’s second unexpected companion for the day pressed a few buttons before putting the phone to his ear. After a few rings he said, “Hi, I’d like to bring in a kitten I just found.” A beat of silence. “Not sure. Yeah.” His fingers idly stroked the kitten’s back. “Yes, I can be there in an hour. Tell the doctor it’s Neil Josten. Yep, thanks so much. Bye.”

Strapping his helmet back on, Neil said to Andrew, “Just follow me, I’ll take you to the clinic I take Sir to.”

They strode along the shoulder until they reached Andrew’s car. “Fine, but don’t pull any trick shit, I’m in a car remember?”

“From the way you were driving, I think you need to remind yourself first.”

Unlocking his car, Andrew sighed. Motorcyclists and their attitudes. “Hold this.” He handed over the kitten to Neil before yanking his sweatshirt off. He wrapped his hands in the hoodie before taking her back and swaddling her in it until only her face was showing.

“Oh, you’ll make a great cat mom.”

“Shut up.”

“Should I get you a baby on board sticker?”

“I will leave you and the disease carrier on the street to rot if you don’t quit it.”

An easy grin was hidden behind the helmet but Andrew managed to see it regardless. He chose to ignore it and instead clambered over the driver’s seat, setting the kitten on the ground on the passenger’s side. He slid the seat all the way up and found a few more discarded jackets for padding to prevent the kitten from sliding around. She was still gazing up at him with those huge eyes, but didn’t seem unhappy with the arrangement.

Giving her one last head scratch, he muttered. “If you even think about peeing or pooping or puking in here, I will toss you out the window.”

When he was satisfied, he turned back to Neil and said, “Lead the way.”

Neil’s expression was unreadable on the account of the helmet but the gentle tone of his voice was unmistakable when he murmured just loud enough for Andrew to hear, “I’m glad it was you.”

He walked off without another word and straddled his motorcycle, leaving Andrew to climb back into his car a little dazed.

Beginnings are boring. Monotone, colorless, unoriginal. But it only takes one change in routine, one chance encounter, to make a beginning move towards a different starting line. A new norm. It’s that shift between the old and the new when things really start to get interesting.

And on that particular morning, Andrew had not one but two surprises.

The kitten.

And Neil.

[dekutevo-blog]

Geneva Rusden

I thought it was great after it finally happened. I am an average white heterosexual male, so I thought, who has been out of the loop since my wife left me. My sex life with her was so-so at best because she was getting her satisfaction from a guy that she met while looking for a draftsperson to draw up the plans for our new house. After a long time without pussy, I had been fantasizing on what it would be like to please a man. I had been looking at a lot more porn than usual and I was always drawn to were a guy was getting a blow job. Being only small to average sized myself, I was practically mesmerized looking at giant cocks, and watching them being devoured by willing mouths. I wondered how it would feel to have a guy's cock grow in my mouth, how the precum would taste, and more importantly, if I could make it explode and be rewarded for my efforts. So, one day after months of servicing myself I was camming on an adult site. A guy (we'll call him Bob) messaged me and we started chatting. About 5 minutes into the chat we realized that we had been exchanging emails from an ad that he posted on craigslist. We had been emailing each other for the past few weeks so we felt that we kind of knew each other. After about 20 minutes, he told me he was really horny and wanted to suck my cock. I told him to come over, walk in, and go to the back bedroom and I would be sitting in my chair with only a T-shirt on. He came over and I was still on cam so I turned off the cam and he got on his knees next to my chair. He started sucking my semi hard cock, then stood up and pulled his pants down. His soft cock which was about 5 inches long, and big low hanging balls were hanging out. He pushed his hips forward and it was all hanging about 2 inches from my face. Bob asked if I wanted some and I told him no because I had never done that and was really nervous. So, he got back on his knees and continued sucking my cock. A couple of minutes went by and I wasn't getting hard so Bob grabbed my free hand and placed it on his now semi hard cock. I started stroking it and rubbing his shaved balls, and that made him get hard. He was at least 7' long and very thick. I had never felt another man's cock or balls before and I thought it was really hot so my cock got hard as a rock. As he sucked, I could feel the tingling building up in my balls and I knew I was going to cum if he continued. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to unload in his mouth so I told him I was about to cum. He kept sucking, nodded his head, and tried saying something but since my cock was in his mouth I could only feel a vibration. That felt so good that it took me over the edge to the point of no return. My cock was about half way into his mouth and I grabbed his head and held it in place, and shot about 5 or 6 shots into his mouth. He swallowed most of it but some ran out on his chin then he asked for a rag, wiped his face clean, and left. Bob runs a small business about 3 miles from my home and one day, we made arrangements to meet at his place. I went there, opened the door and nobody was in the room. Bob told me that he would be waiting in the back room so I closed the door and made sure that it was locked then walked into the back room. He was sitting at his desk and told me to have a seat. Here I was, never having sucked a man's cock before, but knowing that was what I wanted to do. I was so nervous that as I was talking, I started stuttering. He turned his chair toward me, grabbed his crotch and asked if I wanted to suck him. I told him that I had never done that before and would give it a try. Then he pulled his pants down and his big cock and balls flopped out and rested on the seat of the chair. I got on my knees and licked the head of his soft cock. It felt really good and didn't taste bad either so I sucked the tip into my mouth and continued about half way down the shaft and smelled a musky smell as my nose got closer to his pubs. I felt the head touch my tongue so I started spinning my tongue around it and rubbing his loose hanging balls with my hand. He grabbed my head and said "that feels really good". His balls started to tighten up, and the shaft started to stiffen and the feeling drove me crazy. I felt so empowered that I could make a man feel so good with my mouth and feeling a big cock grow in my mouth for the first time that my own cock started getting hard too. After several minutes of licking and sucking him, he began to moan and his big cock continued to grow bigger. He was so big yet I was determined to tackle as much of it as I could, then the head started to touch my throat and I started gagging so I pulled back. I felt the shaft twitch then tasted a stream of salty yet sweet precum. Bob was apparently just as pleased because he kept saying, "Suck my big cock," and "That's it," and "Don't stop that feels great." I loved hearing his encouragement and it made me go on more. Then he asked me "do you want me to shoot my cum in your mouth", and I couldn't talk with his manhood in my mouth, so I nodded my head. As I started to relax more, I was taking his shaft deeper and deeper and with that he held my head and started face-fucking me. Evidently, I wasn't causing him any discomfort with my teeth. I was gagging, gasping for breath and had to pull back a few times for air and wondered if I could ever take the whole hunk of meat down. Choking on a cock is a strange sensation that makes you feel like you are dying, yet at the same time I didn't want to stop! Bob continued fucking my face for about 10 minutes then pulled my head off of his engorged cock, then he grabbed it and started stroking it. As he was stroking he said "I'm getting close do you want to stick out your tongue and I will cum on it?" I told him no I want to suck your big cock from hanging soft, to getting hard, then feel it pulsate and blow a hot load in my mouth so, go ahead and finish yourself off." Maybe experience will make me better, and that it did. After several attempts of me gagging and choking on his cock, I learned how to deepthroat Bobs man meat. We had hooked up several times and sucked each other but I wasn't able to make him cum in my mouth because I would always cum first then it was over for me. But, one day after we had sucked each other about 100 times and he took my load almost every time, I went to his place. After the routine of me going down on him in his chair, he said that he wanted to lay down so he could suck my cock too. We laid on our sides and started sucking each other in the 69 position. We sucked and fondled each other for about 15-20 minutes, and he started humping my face. He continued pumping and pushed hard enough to were his big balls were pressing against my nose and his cock went down my throat. He moaned a few times and I knew the he was getting close. He told me, "If you don't stop, I'm gonna cum. Well, I didn't want to stop, and I wanted him to cum in my mouth! He pulled back a little and the head of his cock was at the edge of my throat. As I swirled my tongue around the big mushroom head of his cock I felt him clamp down with his thighs so tight I couldn't move my head. Then he clamped down even harder and I couldn't hear anything. The head of his cock was at the back of my mouth and his legs started shaking. I felt his big cock swell up, watched his balls tuck up, and felt the shaft pulsate. It exploded and I felt a thick warm liquid hit the roof of my mouth then run down onto my tongue, and it felt fantastic! His cock started recoiling like a howitzer and he started to unload and his balls were bouncing with every shot of jizz. I felt three or four more massive shots hit the roof of my mouth and run down. Then he pushed in a little and I felt about 3 more shots that went down my throat. After catching most of his man juice on my tongue, I started to appreciate the taste of his huge load. There was a big puddle of his cum on my tongue and It tasted a little salty but not horrible. As he relaxed, he pushed it deeper into my mouth and the big head started going down my throat and made me gag. When that happened, I pulled back and swallowed his hot load. My first taste of cum and it was awesome. My mouth was filled with a cock that even as it started to shrink, it was still bigger than my own. I continued sucking until his balls were dry and swallowed every last drop of the cum that came out of them too. I felt so empowered to make a guy cum in my mouth and It was so hot and powerful for me that after about 2 seconds I shot my load in his mouth and he swallowed it then sucked me dry. I knew that After I sucked his cock from limp to stiff and made it blow a hot juicy load of man seed then swallowed it, I wanted to do this again and it wouldn't be my last. I told him I'd do that again anytime he asked me to and he assured me there would be plenty more to come. Please let me know if you like this story.

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[gretchensinister]

Burgess Wilderness Recreation Area 9/?

And so continues the story I began for the Black as Pitch Halloween event. It’s the kind of story I’m sure you know well. Five college kids, a cabin, and a state park that just doesn’t get many visitors any more… (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

“Oh, fuck,” Nick said. After seeing the radio, he hadn’t expected anything good when he opened the hood, but it was one thing to suspect, and another to see his engine overgrown with vines.

His first impulse was to follow the agreed-upon plan. He’d seen that his engine had been attacked by the same strangeness as the radio, so he obviously should just go tell the others so they could go back inside and wait for daylight to make their next move. But Nick didn’t want to give up. He’d already given up on Jackie, earlier. He couldn’t do that again, not when there might be some chance.

He would tell the others the situation, though.

“Hey!” He knocked on Bunny’s window. Three faces turned toward him. “There are vines all over the engine, but I don’t think it’s broken like the radio. I think I can get it to work if I just clear the plants away.”

“What? No!” Bunny rolled the window down an inch or two. “The whole point of this was to spend as little time out in the dark as possible. Fix it in the morning. We’re going back inside.”

“You can go back inside,” Nick said. “As long as you wait for me to call you back out. I can fix this. We can get out of here tonight.”

“Nick! That’s even worse! We’re not going to abandon you here while you work on the engine. Come on. Just come inside.”

“No, I really don’t think I should,” Nick said. “We have no idea if what can be fixed now could be fixed in the morning. All of this happened so fast. I don’t want to risk a really good chance of escape.”

“And I don’t want you to risk your life,” Bunny said. “Tooth, Sandy, help me out.”

“We agreed we’d stick to the plan,” Tooth said. “Come on. It’s only a few hours till dawn.”

“And things around here could change in a few minutes,” Nick said. “In the time we’ve been having this argument, I could’ve had us up and running.”

“Five minutes,” Sandy said, and Tooth and Bunny turned to him in shock. “Come on,” Sandy said. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but this argument isn’t going anywhere. It’s not getting us inside any faster.”

“Thank you,” said Nick. “I’ll be back. Five minutes. Then I’ll know.”

“I’m timing you,” Bunny said. “And anything weird happens, you get inside.”

“Thanks!” Nick said. “Get ready, we’ll be in Burgess in half an hour.”

Bunny pressed his phone against the window so Nick could see the timer counting down.

“I got it, I got it,” Nick said. He moved back to the front of the van and started pulling vines away from the engine. It wasn’t as easy as he’d assumed it would be—the vines were actually alive and rooted to the ground, not just wrapped around the engine parts as they might have been if people had been the ones doing the tampering. Luckily, he had his pocket knife with him, so he could cut away vines as he went, even if it did make his progress slower than he’d expected.

 ***

 “They are hurting me again,” Pitch’s companion said. She pressed against his side, and he stroked her hair.

“I got the light-haired one,” Pitch said. “I will get the big one soon. I just want to make sure of the best way to hunt it.”

“I know, I know,” she said. “But they are hurting me.”

“You are sure they will not be able to escape in their machine?” Pitch asked. “No matter how much the big one fusses with it?”

“I am sure as I can be,” she said. “I have forgotten a lot about machines.” She grimaced, and Pitch continued to stroke her hair. “If it does move, I will stop it. I will stop him.” She paused. “I know that would take away a hunt from you, but I would still do it,” she said.

“I understand, I understand,” Pitch said.

 ***

 It wouldn’t have worked to just drive away with all the vines in the engine compartment, but now, Nick was starting to feel much more hopeful. The cylinders were clear, the belts were fine…yes, they might be all right. Yet even as he grew more hopeful, he also grew more fearful. He’d check as much as he could, of course, but it would always be impossible to check everything. To account for everything. He’d learned that even before he’d gotten his license.

Ugh, why did he have to think about that now? It was almost six years ago, it was over and done with. Completely over and done with.

But it could happen again tonight, couldn’t it? Tonight, when he had to drive through the woods to get his friends out and away from that thing that killed Jackie. And wasn’t that just the cherry on this shit sundae?

Nick had driven fast as soon as he’d started to learn to drive, and this was a habit he would never break. But, while Bunny would tell you now that Nick was extremely heavy-handed with the brakes, he hadn’t always been that way.

His parents had let him take the old car that was eventually to be his, all by himself. He wasn’t supposed to drive alone on his permit, but his parents wanted him home early in the morning. They wanted that—Nick couldn’t remember why anymore—and Nick wanted to stay out at a friend’s house until who knew when, building a utopian city in minecraft. So he got the car keys and his parents got to go to bed early.

It was nearly dawn before he and his friend reached a good stopping point. Perhaps he should have given up and caught a few hours of sleep at his friend’s house, but at the time it seemed more important to get home and pretend that he’d been asleep longer than he really had.

He started driving back home just as the sky started to brighten. The drive back was half an hour on back roads, a half hour that was perhaps possible to shave down to twenty minutes if he drove as fast as possible.

His journey started off smoothly—smoothly enough to make an exhausted teenager forget everything he’d ever heard about what to watch out for when driving at dusk and dawn. Along the sides of the road, barely-tamed stands of trees stretched tall towards power lines they’d only recently been beaten back from, their fall colors just beginning to awaken in the new sunlight. Even nearer the road, the undergrowth was nothing but a tangle of gray-brown unevenly illuminated by his headlights. The deer that jumped in front of his car had been beautifully camouflaged until the moment it wasn’t.

In the instant it blocked his path, Nick could barely comprehend anything about it. It was huge and alive and present, bringing as much shock and awe with it as an old-time miracle. Nick didn’t have time to think any of this before his car collided with the animal.

Later on, Nick couldn’t provide much of a narrative of the follow few seconds. The insurance investigation concluded that the car had hit the deer head-on, car grill meeting flank of deer at fifty-five miles an hour. Nick remembered this being loud. The bang of the metal, crunching and buckling. After the impact, the car swerved wildly—in shock, Nick couldn’t find the strength to grip the steering wheel, and while he did take his foot off the gas, he told his parents later that it seemed like the brake had disappeared.

The airbag deployed, breaking his nose.

Eventually, the car stopped, and Nick either managed to shut it off or some hitherto unknown safety feature kicked in and did it for him. In the new quiet, birds started to sing, and the car ticked to itself, cooling down for a long rest.

Nick fumbled himself free of the seatbelt and fought his way past the airbag and out the door. Outside the car, his legs wouldn’t hold him, and he slumped against the side, shaking with adrenaline. He knew he had to do something, but not right now, not quite yet.

The birds continued to sing, but an odd scraping noise now pushed its way into Nick’s awareness. It kept going, and going, and Nick had the thought that, despite all contrary evidence, the accident had killed him and the scraping was the shuffling of the bony feet of the grim reaper coming to get him.

But, of course, the sound had a more physical source. A fair distance behind him (but then again, not far enough) the deer was still alive. It struggled on the road, bloodied, but not bleeding much. The blunt force of the car had given it less obvious injuries than a sharper weapon would have. But, obvious injuries or not, it couldn’t get up, and though Nick didn’t move closer to confirm, he guessed that its legs were broken. And still it struggled to get off the road, its hooves scraping and scraping on the blacktop, weakening but not stopping.

Finally, as his mind flitted around, trying to escape that scraping sound, Nick decided that he had to call his parents. He found his phone still on his car charger, and, wonder of wonders, his parents answered on the second ring. “I hit a deer,” he said.

Honesty to anyone other than his parents would have jeopardized Nick’s path to a driver’s license and wreaked havoc with their car insurance. So, when both his parents showed up, his dad driving the pickup truck he used for work, they had a slightly different narrative prepared.

Nick had never been driving, they agreed. Nick’s mom, who usually drove the old car, had driven him to his friend’s house last night and had picked him up very early this morning. When they hit a deer, they’d called Nick’s dad for help.

Nick would break his nose at the beginning of his next football practice. No selfies, and no treatment but a bag of frozen peas until afterwards.

Nick understood that the lies and the secrets were utterly necessary. Nick needed to be able to drive sooner, rather than later. And if that meant that he couldn’t talk about the accident with anyone his own age, so be it.

No one needed to know that Nick had gotten in an accident at all. He was, after all, young enough to be subjected to plenty of parental rules. So when he stopped driving for a time, to just say that his parents wouldn’t let him was a complete answer.

He got his license at the expected time, and as the years went by, he stopped worrying so much about people finding out, but he still never told anyone. Because people hit deer all the time, right? So why should his experience feel so bad? He’d been hurt worse playing football.

But it was still bad, no matter how much he avoided thinking about it.

But, damn it! Usually he was so good at not thinking about it! Why was tonight so different? Shouldn’t he hardly be thinking of anything but the present moment, when he was elbow-deep in his engine and his arms were covered in the sticky goo that had oozed out of the weird vines that had been tangled over the mechanics? Whatever, whatever, his five minutes had to be almost up, they were almost ready go, and there probably wouldn’t be any deer around, because what kind of self-respecting deer would hang around in the woods where a monster lived?

[onemilliongoldstars]

most ardently- chapter five

Clarke Griffin has been forced to abandon her name and her family. She is desperately hiding in her new role as lady’s maid to Lady Lexa, fumbling through her duties and hoping to become invisible, when she realises that her heiress mistress is caught firmly under the thumb of her overbearing uncle. As Lexa suffocates under the expectations of her remaining family, she and Clarke slowly realise that they may be each other’s safe haven.

or: Clarke is hiding a secret while struggling to seem like an experienced lady’s maid for Lexa, who is painfully glad for a friend.

5/6, 8k words

Read on ao3

“You’re very accomplished, Clarke.” The voice startles her so much that the brush falls from her fingers and lands on her apron, leaving a wide green smudge behind it.

She tuts under her breath, collecting the brush and depositing it safely on the table before twisting in her seat to look up at the lady stood behind her. Lexa is soft in the morning light, smiling slightly, the dark blue skirt of her dress brushing against Clarke’s arm, and Clarke momentarily feels her heart shudder at the sight.

“You could have spoilt my painting,” she scolds, grinning, and Lexa bends down to get a closer look at it, peering over her shoulder.

“My sincerest apologies,” she doesn’t sound repentant in the slightest and Clarke rolls her eyes, “it is a beautiful picture.”

“It isn’t finished yet,” Clarke points out, unable to tear her eyes away from the smooth line of Lexa’s jaw and the long curve of her neck.

“It is still beautiful,” Lexa’s voice is soft, and when Clarke turns to tease her, she finds that Lexa is so close that she can smell the delicate lavender soap she had rubbed into her skin only that morning.

Lexa’s eyes flick to meet hers and a small, secret smile tilts her lips, a kiss perched at their corner and Clarke can’t help but stretch forwards and press their lips together in an attempt to catch it. Lexa is still for a second, before her lips move against Clarke’s and her fingers trace over Clarke’s neck and sink into her twisted hair, sliding beneath her cap. Her lips part and Lexa’s lets out a gentle sigh against their kiss, before Clarke reluctantly pulls away.

Lexa is flushed, her pupils blown and a pretty flush is creeping up into her cheeks, but she doesn’t move away as Clarke collects her brush again.

It is a new experience, kissing Lexa, but Clarke finds she cannot stop herself. Lexa is like a fine wine; each time Clarke kisses her, she feels as if her head is spinning and the room is moving beneath her feet and yet the feeling is addicting. She craves it; even the sight of Lexa in the morning, dishevelled and groggy, is not enough to push her away.

Lexa slips away a few paces to sink into the chair beside the desk, collecting letters into her hands. She glances up and catches Clarke’s eyes on her, and her blush darkens.

With a heavy heart, Clarke forces her eyes back to her work, swirling her brush into the carefully selected colours at her side.

“If Mrs Dewry catches me, I expect I shall be thrown from the house with no reference or wages,” She says conversationally, and Lexa scoffs quietly at her side.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lexa tell her, absent minded, “I would never permit such a thing.”

“She may write to your uncle.” Clarke chances another glance, but Lexa only pauses for a brief moment before continuing to slice through an envelope.

“Mr and Mrs Dewry are not under my uncle’s spell; they have known me since I was a child. They would not betray me to him.”

Clarke’s brush stills and she swallows. “So… you know what your uncle is doing? How he is manipulating your service?”

“Of course.” Lexa gives her a wry look, arching an eyebrow skeptically. “I am mistress of my own house, Clarke. Do you not think I know what is going on in it?”

“Then why keep them on?” Clarke demands, setting down her paintbrush again to swing her legs around her chair and face Lexa properly. “Why allow them in your house? Myborn, Darby, any of them?”

“I am not a fool, Clarke; if there were any better way, I would be long rid of them.” Lexa finishes scanning through her letter, setting it to one side and taking up another as she continues, “if I were to be rid of them, Titus would only capture the next collection of people I brought in. At least this way I know who I can trust and who I cannot.”

“Titus is a monster.” She can feel her anger stirring again, like a slumbering beast. “You should not allow him in your company or anywhere near your person.”

“I cannot do that,” Lexa answers succinctly, “I owe Titus for his help when I was younger.”

“Whatever he did when you were younger can’t atone for his crimes to you as an adult- Lexa, he drove you from your own home!”

“Clarke, please, I don’t want to talk about Titus any longer.” Lexa gives her a pleading look, breaching the gap between them to grasp one of Clarke’s hands in her own. “I came here to get away from him.”

“Fine.” Clarke turns back to her painting, pouting. After a moment of silently mixing colours she adds, quietly, “I am not under his spell, just so you know.”

“Oh, Clarke.” Lexa’s eyes are tender. “Of course I know. You are far too good to be his.”

Clarke can’t help the smile that stretches her cheeks, and she turns to her painting with a lighter heart. They sit in peaceful silence for some time, broken only by the tick of the clock on the mantlepiece and the whisper of Clarke’s brush against the paper. When Lexa lets out a soft chuckle, Clarke lifts her gaze to watch her smile down at the letter in her hands.

“Letter from an admirer?” She teases softly, and Lexa looks up to give her an exasperated look.

“Hardly. It is a letter from Anya.” She smooths out the paper against the desk. “She reminded me that it is my birthday soon and I am obliged to celebrate.”

“Your birthday?” Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and she eases herself out of her seat to stand at the back of Lexa’s chair, running her fingers over her shoulder. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I’d rather it not be known, but apparently my uncle has seen to it that I will not be overlooked this year.”

Clarke’s nose wrinkles at the sound of Titus’s name and she runs a hand soothingly down Lexa’s arm. “How so?”

“He has taken it upon himself to organise a ball, here.”

“Here?” Clarke’s mouth drops open, and Lexa twists in her seat to look up at her, fingers rising to interlace with Clarke’s against her shoulder. “When?”

“In a few weeks time. He writes that everything is arranged.” She taps a different letter on the desk and sighs softly. “But Anya writes that she will arrive a week before to try her hand at shooting and help me organise.”

“That’s kind of her.” Clarke tries for a convincing smile, but Lexa only laughs at her attempt.

“She wants the sport and she will be more hindrance than help, but it will be nice to have her here.”

“I suppose we shall soon be overrun with help.” Her heart sinks at the idea, and Lexa clearly senses her drop in mood because her hand snakes around her waist and drags her a step closer until she can press her cheek against Clarke’s stomach.

“Until then, we are blissfully alone,” Lexa soothes her, “and they shall soon be gone.”

----

The arrival of company is alarming and sudden in the peace of the past few weeks. It has been many weeks since Lexa received unexpected visitors and it feels off to have their peaceful little paradise disturbed. As the lady of the house, however, it is not unusual that Lexa should have callers from the passing gentlemen and it is just such a disturbance which knocks upon their door that sunny afternoon. They are sat on the patio together when Mr Dewry appears at the french doors. Clarke startles up so quickly that she almost knocks over the chair and Lexa’s cheeks are deeply flushed when she turns to nod at Mr Dewry.

The butler doesn’t bat an eyelid at them. “There is a visitor here, my lady.”

“A visitor?” Lexa frowns, eyes flickering to Clarke. “I am not expecting anyone; who could it be?”

“Lord Marcus Kane, my lady.”

“Oh,” Lexa’s eyes light up slightly, lips lifting into a smile. “I didn’t know he was in the country. He and the family usually go to Ireland at this time of year.”

“Shall I show him in?” Mr Dewry asks and at Lexa’s nod, hesitates. “I shall send for Mrs Dewry to act as chaperone, my lady.”

“Don’t be silly, Mr Dewry. Lord Kane will not be any less than polite.”

“Even so, my lady,” Dewry frowns, looking from Lexa to Clarke.

“I can act as chaperone,” Clarke offers and Mr Dewry nods as Lexa smiles.

“Of course, excellent idea. Could you fetch us some tea too please Clarke?”

Clarke nods and hurries after Mr Dewry. She passes through the hall and catches a glance of the man waiting, no older than fifty and with a kind, interesting face, holding his hat in his hands and examining one of the pictures on the wall. He sees her staring and nods, touching a finger to his forehead where his hat should have been and she smiles back.

In the kitchens Mrs Dewry busies herself making up a tray, speaking as she goes.

“Lord Kane is a very nice man. It’s excellent that he’s come to see Lady Alexandria.”

“Do you know him well?” Clarke leans against the kitchen table, watching her with interest. “Her ladyship said he has a family.”

“Yes, he’s the owner of Redbrook Park, a few miles away. Good stock, a good family, slightly below her ladyship but they’ve always been some of our closest neighbours and they’ve known her since she was a girl.” Mrs Dewry bats her away when she tries to steal a cooling bun from the tray before her. “Yes, nice folk indeed.” She hums in satisfaction and nods to the finished tray. “Off you go then.”

Clarke diligently collects the waiting tray, the china trembling against itself in a faint ringing as she walks. Lexa is sat with the man from the hall when she arrives on the patio, talking animatedly, and she pauses to smile at Clarke when she deposits the tray on the wrought iron table at Lexa’s side. Lord Kane steps forward, offering to pour their tea, and Clarke retreats to the French windows to stand out of the way, watching on quietly as Kane offers Lexa a china cup before taking one for himself.

He is a well dressed man, Clarke observes as the pair talk, in a smart coat, a gold and mahogany walking stick propped by his chair. He is kind and respectful towards Lexa, and the pair exchange friendly conversation about their families and mutual friends, the goings on in the village and their respective estates. As pleasant as their conversation is, Clarke stops listening after the first few exchanges, which are filled with names and places she does not know, and her attention only returns when she hears Kane say,

“I saw your uncle when I was recently in London.”

“Oh really?” She can see the tension sliding into Lexa’s shoulders. “How did you find him?”

“Fairly well.” Kane eyes her wryly. “He worries about you, I’m sure you know that.”

“I do,” Lexa responds after a beat of silence, and Kane’s lips purse slightly.

“He informed me that you were back at the estate. I hope I’m not an imposition?”

“Oh, not at all,” Lexa rushes to insist, placing her cup and saucer back on the tray, “I’m sorry Marcus, I should have sent a note-”

“My dear girl,” Kane shakes his head, “don’t worry yourself. I know what it is to want to keep to yourself after a trip to London.”

“Thank you.” Though still strained, Lexa sounds infinitely more relaxed. “How was your time in the city?”

“Excellent.” Kane nods happily, clasping his hands together. “I paid several calls, found out all the latest town gossip through my lovely wife.”

“Really?” Laughter laces through Lexa’s voice. “I’m sure it was all fascinating to you.”

Kane laughs, rolling his eyes at her words, “Yes, just riveting. Although I did learn something rather interesting: did you hear about the Griffin family?”

Clark almost falls over. Her eyes widen with shock and she straightens, staring intently at her feet. Her stomach sinks at Kane’s words, sending dread rushing through her.

“I knew they had arrested Lord and Lady Griffin, although there is no sign of their daughter? Miss Griffin?”

“Miss Griffin seems to have disappeared into the mists,” Kane agrees, “but Lord and Lady Griffin have been released from where they were being held on house arrest.”

“Released?” The word escapes Clarke’s mouth before she can stop herself and both Lexa and Lord Kane turn to stare at her in surprise. A hot, embarrassed flush blossoms over her cheeks and she bows her head. “Sorry, my lady.”

Lexa says nothing, turning back to Kane, and after a moment of quiet Lord Kane continues, his eyes darting uncertainly to Clarke. “Yes, they were released last week. They have been found not guilty and the police have dropped all charges.”

“What changed?” Lexa wonders aloud, “Last I had heard the authorities were certain Lord Griffin was to blame.”

“Letters were found, an exchange between Mr Johnson and one of the leaders of the gangs he was rumoured to be connected with.”

“What was in them?”

“The exact contents aren’t suitable for certain company,” Lord Kane frowns, “but from what I hear, my dear, they were of a very violent and disagreeable nature, apparently the two men set up a duel.”

“So it was the gang leader who killed Mr Johnson?”

“So it seems,” Kane hums in agreement. “And Lord Griffin met with him the day before and saw how agitated he was. Apparently he was very close to working out what had actually happened.”

“That would explain why the London gangs seemed so set on assassinating the family.” Clarke’s heart is thudding so hard in her chest that she almost misses Lexa’s next words. She remembers Mr Johnson’s visit–yet another stuffy old man in her father’s study–and his quiet and reserve in the days after the politician’s murder. It feels as if everything is clicking perfectly into place. “Are the family safe now?”

“Safer than they have ever been, I expect,” Kane almost smiles, “with the amount of police that have been assigned to watch their home.”

“I am glad to know that they are innocent,” Lexa muses, “I always liked Lord Griffin, though we only met once. We exchanged several letters.”

“Yes, I believe he’s a fine gentleman. At least now he will have a good story to tell at parties.” Kane laughs. “The only problem is finding their daughter.”

“They have no idea where she is?” Clarke feels her stomach swoop again and the blood in her veins runs cold.

“No, it seems Miss Griffin has simply… vanished.”

---

“Clarke?” Lexa’s voice is soft and slightly slurred from beside her. They are sat together on the settee in Lexa’s bedroom, pulled up close to the fire to keep warm. Clarke’s feet are curled up beneath herself and Lexa’s head is resting so close to her shoulder that she swears she can feel the heat of her skin. Mr and Mrs Dewry are long gone and the night sky is dark outside, clear and peppered with the silver lights of stars.

“Hmm?” Clarke turns so that she can glance at Lexa from beneath her eyelashes. The girl’s skin glows in the hazy candlelight and dark ringlets fall temptingly down her neck and across her cheeks. The night feels warm and safe and soft, though that could be attributed to the empty decanter of wine before them that makes Clarke feel as if her head is stuffed with cotton.

“Have you ever been to a ball?” Lexa rolls her head around where it is resting against the back of the settee, her eyes wide and openly curious.

Clarke swallows, considering her words for a moment. “Not really; there were dances in the village I grew up in, but I’m not sure you would count those.”

“I’m sure they were more fun than the dances I grew up going to.” Lexa laughs softly, a slice of bitterness cutting through her words.

“You don’t like dances?” Clarke shifts in her place, twisting her body until she is facing Lexa properly.

A flush creeps up Lexa’s cheeks. “I don’t like dancing,” she corrects her. “I’m not… good at it.”

“Surely your parents had you taught when you were younger?” Clarke’s brows furrow.

“Yes,” Lexa is fidgeting uncomfortably now, unable to meet her gaze. “But I was not a very… attentive student. Not during dance lessons at least. Now I feel ridiculous when I try to dance, as if I am sure to make a fool out of myself.”

“I’m sure you can’t be that bad,” Clarke can’t help the small, tender smile that she gives Lexa, even as the girl pouts. “Here, maybe I can help.”

She swings her feet off the settee, standing and holding out a hand to Lexa, who is still perched elegantly, watching her with amusement.

“You want me to dance with you?” Lexa cocks an eyebrow, shaking her head. “I could never risk your affections that way, Clarke.”

She lets out a soft laugh, rolling her eyes at the obstinate girl as she leans forwards to take her hand and tug her unwillingly to her feet. “Stop it; you could never risk my affections. Now,” taking both of Lexa’s hands in hers, she guides one to her shoulder and brings the other up before them. Then, she slowly wraps a hand around Lexa’s waist to draw her closer. Her fingers splay out and run over demure, silk covered buttons and the traitorous criss cross of the laces that she knows lie beneath them and she feels her heart catch in her throat. Clarke’s eyes flicker up and she catches Lexa’s stunned gaze, her parted lips and feels herself struggle against leaning forwards to kiss her soundly.

“You’re being the man?” Lexa finally breathes and then seems to cringe at her own asinine commentary.

Clarke smiles tenderly again, “I cannot teach you to lead, can I? What would the gentleman say?”

“What indeed?” Lexa’s lets out a shuddering breath and draws her eyes from where they have been securely fixed to a spot just over Clarke’s shoulder to look her in the eye. “So?”

“You have to learn to relax,” Clarke gently runs the hand around her waist up and down her back and feels the wound muscles beneath her touch slowly unravel. “Much better. Dancing is about… flow.”

“We don’t have any music,” Lexa points out and Clarke grins.

“We won’t need it.”

Carefully, she draws Lexa a little closer, until they are so close that they are nearly pressed together and she feels Lexa shiver.

“Now… move your feet… backwards, then to the side, then together.” She mirrors the movement until they have fumblingly completed the first step and smiles up at Lexa, who is staring at their feet with a furrowed brow. “Now again, the other way, forwards, then to the side, then together.” Lexa haltingly follows her lead. “Then do it again.” They complete the six steps again as Lexa watches her slippered feet with frightening focus and Clarke attempts to keep herself from feeling like a complete fool by saying, hurriedly. “Now that we know the basic waltz step, we can move with it.”

She steps back, curving her right foot around to allow them to move away from the fire before she brings her left foot to join it. Lexa does not let go of her, but her feet do not move until she is forced to stumble along with Clarke’s body.

“You can do it,” Clarke encourages, “just follow me, so when I bring my left foot backwards, your right comes forwards and vice versa.”

She begins to lead them in a circle, but Lexa’s eyes are so focused on her feet that she stumbles and falls headlong into Clarke, almost sending them both crashing to the floor. Clarke lets out a soft cry of surprise, but her arms wind tightly around Lexa’s waist to keep them both upright and Lexa struggles away from her after a moment frozen in surprise. Hot shame is colouring her cheeks and Clarke reaches out to grab her hand and draw her back towards her, before Lexa can rush away.

“Hey, don’t worry,” she lets Lexa bury her face into the crook of her neck and runs a soothing hand down her hair. “It takes time to get it.”

“Why do I even need to learn this?” Lexa grumbles, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment.

“Because your uncle is throwing you a ball for your 21st birthday,” Clarke points out, unapologetically and Lexa’s arms loosen their hold on her slightly so that she can lean back in her embrace. “Do you know what might help?” She says softly, after a second of silence. Lexa glumly shakes her head. “Looking at me,” she fits her fingers beneath Lexa’s chin and tilts her face up until their eyes meet.

“But…” Lexa’s gaze darts down anxiously, before shooting back to Clarke’s.

“It’s not about the steps, not really.” Clarke drops her hand back down to Lexa’s waist, running over the thick material of her dress, the layers of petticoats beneath it and the soft, feminine flair. “It’s about trusting me. Do you?”

“Of course.” Lexa is so close that she can feel her breath warm against the skin of her neck, fluttering against the yoke of her dress.

“Then let’s dance.”

With Lexa’s eyes fixed to hers, Clarke guides them in a slow, careful circle, her arms pulling Lexa in so closely that she has no choice but to follow each step. They move fluidly, their steps going from halting and uncertain to graceful. Clarke feels Lexa soften as she relaxes within her arms and smiles down at her. Giddy joy slides through her like bubbles in champagne and she feels transfixed by the tentative, curious smile that Lexa gives her.

“What?” She asks at last, still grinning.

“You're smiling,” Lexa quirks an eyebrow. “Even though I'm likely to stand on your foot at any second.”

“I like dancing,” Clarke retorts, then adds, “especially with a beautiful partner.”

The comment has the desired effect: Lexa flushes hotly and cannot meet her gaze for a moment. “You dance very well,” she compliments at last, “and speak very boldly.”

“I find that speaking boldly tends to get me what I want.” Clarke spins them in a tight circle and Lexa’s fingers curl up to clutch at the back of her neck.

“How fortunate you are,” Lexa speaks quietly, almost distractedly for a second. “Where did you learn to waltz? I don't think it's known for being common at village dances.”

A flurry of panic bursts her bubbles of happiness momentarily, before she regains her wits enough to answer with a sly smile. “A girl needs her secrets.”

Lexa eyes her curiously again. “Indeed, you know so much about my life and yet to me your past is still a mystery.”

“Is it not part of my charm?” She enquires softly and Lexa opens her mouth to respond when their feet tangle together again and they stumble back, falling in a heap across the bed, giggling madly.

Lexa’s head is heavy against her shoulder, their legs tangled and Clarke’s arm is trapped beneath Lexa’s slight weight. She doesn’t attempt to move, even when Lexa heaves herself up a little to look down at Clarke through the soft firelight. Laughter lingers in her eyes, her lips are still stretched into a smile and Clarke can’t help but lift a hand to brush back the strand of stray hair that’s fallen across her cheek. Lexa’s eyes widen slightly and flicker from her eyes to her lips and back again. Clarke barely has time to suck in a surprised breath before she reels forwards, pressing their lips together. Clarke lets out the softest sound against the kiss, but when Lexa tries to pull away, concerned, she winds her arms around the girl’s trim waist and holds her close.

Lexa’s lips are soft and she tastes of wine and sweetmeats. Her nose brushes against Clarke’s, the smallest and most intimate of touches and she wriggles one arm out of Clarke’s close embrace to slide her fingers along Clarke’s chin and trace the path over her cheekbone, cradling her. Clarke feels engulfed by Lexa, surrounded by her, almost overwhelmed and it’s only when Lexa pulls back and asks, anxiously, “what’s wrong?” that she realises a few tears have rolled down her cheeks.

Lexa wipes them away before she can, the tender brush of her thumb sending love swelling through Clarke’s chest and Clarke heaves in a shuddering breath.

When she speaks, her voice shakes just slightly. “I just… I love you.”

Lexa’s brows crinkle slightly and she frowns down at Clarke, still running soothing fingers along her face. “I love you too, what’s wrong?”

Clarke struggles against her words, against the flow of honesty bearing up against her teeth. “Do you ever feel as if the world is against us?” She whispers at last, running a hand up Lexa’s back and enjoying the slight shiver it sends through the girl’s spine.

“Sometimes,” Lexa admits, still frowning worriedly. “But after we get through this ball everyone will leave and we will return to normal. We’re safe here Clarke, and we can be… forever if we want.”

“How can you be so sure?” She feels almost sick with the lies coating her stomach and throat, her hands are hot against Lexa’s skin and her heart is racing.

She must look as frantic as she feels because Lexa hums quietly and draws her eyes up with a soft kiss to her nose. “Because I love you Clarke, most ardently, the sort of love that stories are made of, the sort that can’t be denied.”

Tears well in her throat against, swirling with her nausea and it’s suddenly all she can do to pull Lexa back to her lips again, fearing that she will see the dark truths hidden behind her eyes.

---

Anya arrives in a flurry of excitement and activity. With her come three new maids, the first of a whole battalion Lexa assures her, to help air out the rooms in preparation for the ball and Anya watches them scurry about the place with a sneer and wafts them away when they attempt to help her. Lexa offers Clarke’s services as a lady’s maid, but her cousin laughs her away and Clarke shares a small, secret smile with Lexa.

With Anya’s arrival their time together suddenly diminishes. Mr and Mrs Dewry may have turned a blind eye, but the new maids certainly do not and Clarke is obliged to unstick herself from Lexa’s side and help them when Lexa does not need her. For her part, Lexa is suddenly greatly occupied with the ball, fielding letters and visitors and giving instruction and direction to the new help. When the ball is not consuming her time, Lexa is with Anya; they spend the day together, go out together and eat together, and Clarke is once more relegated to meals in the kitchen with the new maids, who watch her from the corners of their eyes but do not address her.

It would be an abruptly lonely life if she was not then able to trudge up the servants’ stairs, slip in Lexa’s room and be greeted by a fire and a warm smile. Slowly, she and Lexa undress each other, stealing a kiss or a touch, and when they are in their nightgowns they have taken to sliding into bed together, heads close, arms entwined.

“How was your day?” Clarke asks quietly one night, as she unbuttons the back of Lexa’s dress.

“Enjoyable, thank you.” Lexa reaches back to help her with the final few buttons and then slides her arms from the sleeves. “Anya made me take her shooting.”

Clarke laughs softly, drawing the dress down over her hips until it lands in a puddle on the floor. “Was she dangerous?”

“She is actually a worryingly good shot.” Lexa steps out of the dress and pulls a few pins from her hair. It unwinds in a heavy dark tangle across her shoulders. “She has been spending hours in the library. I’m slightly worried about her.”

“That doesn’t sound in character.” Clarke tosses a smile over her shoulder, folding the dress and draping it over a chair to launder the next day. She pauses for a moment, watching affectionately as Lexa begins to run her fingers through her hair, golden green eyes creasing when she encounters tangles. “Here,” she grasps a brush from the table and ushers Lexa onto the bed, perching behind her to run the brush through her hair.

“Thank you.” Lexa’s fingers slide over Clarke’s idle hand and bring it to her lips to press a soft kiss to it. “And yes, it is very out of character for Anya. Tomorrow she has errands she wants to run in town, but I am not required to accompany her.”

“She does not want you there?” Clarke’s hands hesitate over silky dark hair, but Lexa only shrugs.

“It appears not.” She gently pries herself away from Clarke’s brushing, twisting so that they are face to face and Clarke can see the soft golden light flooding across her cheeks from the fireplace. “Which means I have all morning to entertain myself.”

“Really?” Clarke’s eyes brighten and she smiles. “You have no other duties to see to?”

“None that can’t wait a morning,” Lexa assures her, reaching out to brush a touch to her cheek. “And I expect I will have great need of my lady’s maid.”

“You think so?” Clarke can feel the heat spreading to her cheeks, the smile that she can’t help lifting her lips and brings her hand up to trace Lexa’s fingers against her cheek.

“Indeed,” Lexa leans forwards and when their lips press together Clarke feels as if her feet may never touch the earth again.

---

The night of the ball looms like a shadow, distant and ignored for so long that when it suddenly appears to cast them into darkness Clarke is almost startled. Lexa is nervous for the impending social niceties and from the unexpected arrival of her uncle the night before, and Clarke runs a hand down her shoulder, hoping to soothe her as Lexa looks between jewellery choices on the dressing table before her. Her hair has been piled elegantly behind her head, pinned into a beautiful nest of dark curls studded with diamonds and emeralds and Clarke leans over her shoulder to gesture to the golden pendant on the dressing table.

“I think that one would work the best.”

“You do?” Lexa turns to look at her, eyes wide with uncertainty and Clarke smiles, nodding and pressing a reassuring kiss to her cheek.

“You’ll look beautiful.” She takes the necklace in hand, fingers brushing against the delicate skin at the back of Lexa’s neck to fasten to clasp.

Lexa catches her eye in the mirror. “I’m nervous.” She admits, quietly.

“That’s alright, but you have no need to be.” Clarke’s hands slide over her shoulders again and she smiles. “I promise, this will go well.”

She holds out a hand and helps Lexa stand in her tight corsets, leading her to the end of the bed. They both turn to gaze at the gown spread out across it, a mass of green silk, with a trim of golden lace and golden beads embroidered down the skirt.

“Shall we?” Clarke gives her a small smile of solidarity and at Lexa’s unsteady nod, takes the dress into her arms and begins to help Lexa into it.

It is a long process, with many tangled limbs and missed buttons, but when Clarke is finally able to step back and admire her, Lexa looks resplendent. The colour of the silk brings out her eyes, they seem to glow from beneath dark lashes, and the golden necklace sits high on her throat, the green pendant nestling into her collarbones. She runs anxious hands down the skirt, which flows downwards into an elegantly draped train, patterned with detailed, intricate golden embroidery and Clarke can’t help but cross the space between them and place a kiss to Lexa’s lips.

Lexa’s hands wind around her waist, holding her close even after they break away to catch their breath and she stares down at her, surprised and pleased.

“What was that for?”

“I just…” Clarke’s eyes flicker down to the magnificent dress and then back to the wide, uncertain gaze fixed on her and she shakes her head, dazed. “You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

Lexa’s cheeks heat at the words and she smiles bashfully, sliding out of Clarke’s grasp. “I am not beautiful, you are beautiful.” She slides the pair of long white gloves waiting for her over her fingers. “I have something for you.”

“For me?” Clarke’s brows furrow and she follows a step behind when Lexa leads her to the hanging cupboard in the corner of the room and opens it to reveal another gown, sky blue taffeta embroidered with pink roses, trimmed with lace and blushed velvet, a sinking neckline and slight sleeves, easily one of the most beautiful dresses Clarke has ever seen.

“I wanted you to wear this.” Lexa steps back to allow her a closer look and Clarke edges closer, reaching out a hand to touch hesitantly at one of the velvet roses on the sleeve.

“Wear it? Where?” She can’t quite tear her eyes away from the gown long enough to look at Lexa.

“Tonight.” The word gets her attention and she turns, blinking to clear the fog from her mind.

“Tonight?” She echoes and Lexa smiles anxiously.

“I would like for you to be there, if you want to. No one will question it, you may sink into the background, enjoy the music and the food, dance.”

“Lexa… I can’t... “ her heart stutters at the thought of the ballroom, filled with the aristocracy of the country, but Lexa takes her hand ever so gently and her fears flee her. “It’s not my place,” she tries, weakly.

“Clarke,” Lexa’s eyes are wide and sincere, “there is nothing I want more than to be with you tonight, on my birthday. Please… come to the ball.”

She is rendered breathless by Lexa’s earnest pleas, and she can only hesitate for so long in the face of her kindness.

“Alright, I will.”

“Oh, Clarke!” Lexa’s hands wind around her waist again and she giggles, sliding her arms around Lexa’s neck to keep them from falling. “Thank you!” Lexa kisses her, chaste and joyful and when she pulls back her eyes are shining.

It is only when Lexa has gone downstairs to greet her guests that Clarke finds a pair of white silk gloves, a white lace fan and the silver and sapphire hair pin she had been admiring in Polis weeks before laid out on a shelf below the dress.

---

Clarke’s dancing shoes, soft leather and a fine heel, click against the wood of the servant’s stairs as she hurries down them. She feels odd in her attire, strangely out of place; though she had grown up in similarly beautiful gowns, she suddenly longs for the feeling of plain, dark cotton and the comforting support of a crisp muslin apron. The dress, while beautiful, is heavy and confining and though she had tried to fashion her hair into something respectable, stray curls still escape to tickle her cheeks and neck. Her fingers, in white gloves, trail along the whitewashed wall of the servant’s quarters and when she turns a corner she nearly runs straight into Octavia, who has a pile of linens in her arms.

She stops short, eyes widening and mouth dropping open and her friend blinks at her for a moment.

“Clarke?”

“Octavia!”

They close the gap separating them and pull their arms around each other, crushing the linens that Octavia clutches to her chest.

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks, unable to stop her smile, “I didn’t know you had come.”

“I arrived this afternoon, a few of the maids from town have taken ill with the pox and they needed somebody, so I caught the morning train.” Octavia takes a halting step back to stare at her ensemble, mouth gaping as she touches at the velvet trimming. “What…?” She gestures wordlessly, and Clarke can feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

“Lexa wanted me to be at the ball,” She explains lamely after a moment of hesitation, and Octavia’s brows shoot up. “To assist her, if she needed me.”

“Assist her dressed like that?” Octavia gestures again, a bit more wildly and the linens almost fly from her arms.

“Yes… well…” she stumbles over her words, her flush darkening and Octavia takes pity on her.

“Clarke, what will you do if someone recognises you? There’s a whole hall filled with landed gentry out there!”

She chews anxiously on her lip, “I know, but I saw the guest list when Lexa was sending out letters and there is no one too close to the family on it, barely any names I recognised.”

The pounding of feet comes from upstairs, descending rapidly and they both twist to stare upwards.

“You should go; if anyone else sees you like this, they’re sure to stop you going!” Octavia ushers her down the final few steps and through the door, all but pushing her out into the great hall.

Clarke stumbles a few steps forwards, before finally regaining her footing and instantly pressing herself back into the wall to make space for the footmen carrying silver trays filled with sparkling champagne flutes high in the air. She steadies herself against the wood panelling and her eyes, wide and flustered, swivel around the room to take in the mass of bodies crowding the edges. The room is a filled with colour, the bright flash of ladies’ dresses offset by crisp, dark suits; diamonds adorn every waving hand and fans are fluttered. Excited chatter rises up to the high ceiling and the usually dark, sombre room is illuminated by hundreds of candles and filled with large vases of flowers. Footmen swoop through the room, silver trays filled with crystal glasses and a string band is playing lilting, gentle music from a small platform set up close to the empty fireplace.

Clarke scans the faces of those closest to her and recognises none of them. Hesitantly, she edges away from the wall and leans up on her toes to catch a glimpse of the couples twirling in the middle of the hall.

Her eyes continue to search and unerringly find the only person in the room that she really cares about. Lexa is stood to the edge of a large crowd of people, watching the dancing with a fond smile and making polite small talk with the people around her. Lady Anya and Lord Titus stand close by and occasionally the former will lean over to whisper something in Lexa’s ear that Clarke suspects is less than appropriate judging by the way Lexa bites back her laughter. Lord Titus watches her from the corner of his eye and occasionally nudges her into adding a new partner to her dance card.

Lexa's eyes meet hers across the dance floor and she smiles widely, her eyes lighting up like a shooting star as the song ends and the dancers take a moment to applaud the musicians. Clarke gives her a shy smile in return, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and Lexa begins to untangle herself from her group of admirers when a figure suddenly steps between them. Clarke brows crease and she slips between quietly talking people to get to the front of the small gathering and watch the gentleman point to Lexa’s dance card and then hold out a hand invitingly. Lexa’s cringe lasts for only a moment before she gives a gracious smile and allows him to lead her away towards the dance floor.

“Please, don't be perturbed my lady.” The voice from beside her makes her startle and she turns to see a tall young man, light haired and smiling, looking down at her. “A beautiful woman like you must have plenty of opportunities to dance.”

She flushes slightly at his boldness, “you're actually the first man to ask me.”

“Really?” His brows shoot up and a mischievous smile lights up his eyes. “Then may I have the honour of this dance?” He gives a flourishing bow and holds out a hand and Clarke can't help but laugh at his antics, happily sliding her fingers over his and allowing him to lead her out to dance.

His hand slides around her waist and he gives her a winning smile as the music begins, leading her around the dance floor. He is handsome and quick footed, though rather forward and she finds that she would be enjoying herself were it not for the green eyes watching her over another dark shoulder. Lexa's dancer is far less elegant than Clarke’s and she looks intensely uncomfortable in the face of his attentions, but when their eyes meet she manages a small smile. The music swells and they swing around the dance floor. Their eyes seek each other out at every turn and Clarke’s fingers itch to slide around a smaller waist and into silky dark hair. If she tries she can forget the man before her is there and imagine Lexa in his place.

The dance finishes too soon and yet not soon enough at the same time. Clarke gives her partner a polite smile, but hurriedly excuses herself and follows Lexa where she is disappearing into the crowds.

“Clarke,” a hand slides around her wrist, pulling her into the safety of the gloom behind one of the tall columns edging the room and she loses her footing, stumbling into Lexa. Two strong arms circle her waist, pressing her close against the girl’s body and her palms come to rest against Lexa’s chest, steadying herself. Her breath is stolen from her throat and when she looks up to meet glowing green eyes and a small, half smile, she has to pull herself forcibly away so as to stop herself from kissing Lexa. “You came,” Lexa breathes, her fingers trailing away from Clarke’s waist like the curl of smoke rising from a blown out candle.

“You asked me to,” she can hardly stand to be so close to Lexa in the glow of the candle light, it feels far too intimate for the eyes she is sure are fastened to them.

“I still wasn’t sure…” Lexa’s eyes dart to the other guests and Clarke swallows, reaching out to pluck two flutes from a passing footman, pressing one into Lexa’s hands.

“You wanted me here,” she tells her firmly, “so here I am.”

“Thank you,” Lexa’s fingers reach out, disguised in their full skirts, and tangle with Clarke’s. “You look beautiful.”

Clarke smiles, unable to help the flow of joy that runs through her chest like a wave, “thank you, so do you.”

Lexa smiles at her, quiet for a moment, as if she can’t stand to tear her eyes away and Clarke squeezes her fingers gently, opening her mouth to tease before she is interrupted by the sudden arrival of Lady Anya.

She comes to a halt a few steps away from them, eyeing Clarke with surprise but refraining from comment. “Lexa, Marcus Kane is here. He brought a guest and Titus is beside himself, you may want to smooth the situation out.”

“Oh,” Lexa’s fingers fall from Clarke’s and her eyes dart from her sister to the girl beside her, before she nods reluctantly. “I suppose I ought to, Marcus is too dear to us to have Titus run him from the property with hounds.”

A ghost of a grin tilts at Lady Anya’s lips and she nods, gesturing for Lexa to follow her.

Lexa takes a step away and then hesitates, turning back to Clarke as if yearning to stay with her.

“I’ll be close by,” Clarke promises and watches her go with an ache in her heart. Taking a long sip from her champagne, she edges out of their quiet nook and back into the crowds. People move like the tide, shifting automatically from one small group to the next and Clarke is happily unbothered as she moves through the ballroom, smiling at those who nod their head in her direction. She is unknown here, a foreign entity and shrinks into the crowd, hidden behind quivering fans, elaborate curls and silk ruffles, at least until she hears the shout of her name.

“Clarke!”

Her heart almost stops at the sound and she freezes in place. She can hear the blood thumping past her ears, her palms breaking out into a cold sweat as the hair on the back of her neck rises. Eyes scanning the room, she searches frantically for the source as her name is called again. The people around her are beginning to pause and turn to look, eyes creasing unsurely and she can feel their gazes burning into her skin like the press of a hot iron.

“Clarke!”

She spins, searching and her dress twists around her, skirts catching underneath themselves. Impatiently, she tugs them free, hands reaching to yank at the taffeta and in the second her eyes are averted she is almost bowled over by a heavy body colliding into hers and arms wrapping around her shoulders.

“Wells?” She mumbles into the arm half obscuring her face and Wells’ laughter is loud and joyful in her ear. Her friend pulls back enough to look her in the eye and suddenly he is there, joyful smile, sparkling eyes, cropped hair: exactly as she remembers him.

“Oh Clarke,” he holds her by the shoulders, stares at her in amazement and she is so overwhelmed that her throat goes suddenly tight when he says, roughly. “I missed you so.”

“I missed you too,” she squeezes his hands where they rest on her shoulders. “So much, my friend.”

“You look so well!” He laughs again, clearly delighted and takes a glass from a nearby tray to clink with hers, “oh darling, you’re absolutely beautiful. And here I am worrying I’ll eventually find you holed up in some town house or hotel in the north somewhere, indeed no, you’ve been taking in the society in the north!”

“Y-yes,” Clarke is aware, abruptly, of the eyes watching them and of Titus’s enraged expression as he crosses the hall to where they wait. “Wells, please, let’s talk in private.”

“Oh no Clarke, I must have the honour of a dance before we exchange our tales.” Wells clasps their hands together between them and then Lord Titus is upon them before she can entreat her friend away.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Titus seems as if a thunder cloud has descended around his shoulders, cheeks blazing red in his fury. “What are you doing up here?” He demands of Clarke and reaches out if to shake her. Clarke can see Wells’ frown and flounders for some sort of explanation that will not horrify her friend and humiliate Lexa before the whole ballroom, when Lexa appears as if from thin air.

“What-?” Wells steps forwards, frown deepening when Lexa glides between the waiting company.

“Forgive my uncle,” she places a placating hand on Titus’s shoulder, but Clarke can see the way her fingers dig into his skin. “He was hoping to present Lady Clarke later in the night, as a sort of surprise, but I tempted her downstairs earlier.”

“A surprise?” Wells’s expression clears almost instantly, innocent eyes turning to Lexa to smile curiously. “How so, Lady Alexandria?”

“Well, not many people are privy to the presence of Lady Clarke Griffin in our midst, with the re-entry of her family into society we thought that tonight may be a suitable and safe way of presenting her.” Lexa speaks smoothly, a wan, polite smile on her face and Lord Marcus appears at her shoulder, smiling uncomfortably.

“I’m afraid it may be my fault that your surprise is ruined then, as it was I who brought Wells along.”

“Oh no!” Wells shakes his head passionately, “it is all my doing! I’m ever so sorry, Lady Alexandria.”

“Don’t fret, please,” Lexa refuses to meet Clarke’s gaze, her eyes fixed to either Wells or a spot on the wall just past Clarke’s shoulder. “Perhaps instead we could celebrate with a dance?”

“I have just offered my hand to Clarke,” Wells admits, “though I fear it should have been yours first, as this is your birthday?”

“Nonsense,” Lexa shakes away his apologies, smile still firmly in place, “you are reunited at last, I could not possibly stand in the way. I’m sure Lord Marcus will offer me his hand if I ask him very nicely. Besides,” her eyes finally fall to Clarke and she can see the flash of fear and hurt and betrayal running through them before her smile is firmly back in place. “Lady Clarke is a far better dancer than I could ever hope to be.”

---

[stophookingatmeswan]

Guitars and Scarred Hearts 5/?

A CS Rockstar!Killian AU

Also on AO3 - check the new tag, loves

Super huge shoutout to @lenfaz​ for carrying my ass to the finish line. Tagging @teamhook​ and @galadriel26​, too. 

****

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit!”  

Emma scrambled to get herself back to rights in order to help Henry. The sundress she’d stripped off was tossed five feet away and even in the dim light, she could see it was inside out. Killian was holding up one half of her bikini sideways, clearly trying to determine whether it was the top or bottom. As another heave and telltale splatter came from the rear of the boat, he all but threw them at her, quickly doing up the three bottom buttons on his shirt and stuffing the tails down into his boxers, jostling his hand a little to try and clean himself off. 

“Swan, I’ll go see to Henry.” He was already on his feet, moving away from her. “You take a moment.” 

“Killian you don’t have to-“ Cursing under her breath, Emma found the two halves of her bikini and made quick work of tying the bottoms back on, stretching to reach the last piece of discarded clothing as she heard him speak to Henry.

“Come on. We’ll hit the head and see if there’s anything left in that stomach.” 

Emma tied on her top and worked her dress right side in, watching Killian pick Henry up, sidestep what looked to be a pretty spectacular puddle of barf if his wide berth was any indication, and descend down the steps to the cabin. She couldn’t remember the last time she wasn’t front, center and on her own dealing with a sick kid, and there was no small twinge of multi-flavored guilt as Emma stood and finished getting dressed.

She felt bad she hadn’t taken Henry home, not that she could have predicted everything he’d eaten would make a splashy reappearance. And felt even worse that her motivation for not doing so had been completely selfish. Add in the fact that she’d taken for granted that Henry slept like the dead and had indulged in some highly illicit sexcapades with one of her oldest friends out in the open on a fucking boat, and Emma was certain she’d hit the jackpot on some sort of Shitty Parenting trifecta. 

Mumbling as much under her breath, she took stock of Henry’s christening on the deck and ducked down into the cabin, following the faint sound of Killian singing. The tiny bathroom was crowded even with just two people in it and Emma leaned against the jamb, her heart tugging at the sight before her. 

Killian sat cross-legged in front of the toilet, Henry in his lap. A soothing hand, bare of its usual array of flashy rings, rubbed over the sweaty shirt sticking to Henry’s back. 

“I think we’re just about empty, Swan. Nothing’s come up since we came in here.” 

Killian’s shirt had a darkened mark up and over the shoulder; Emma realized that her kid had probably chucked on him while being carried and she fumbled out an apology to which Killian held up a hand. 

“No need, love. I have ten years in bars and backstage under my belt with countless people who can’t hold their liquor. Pizza and ice cream is a nice change from Jell-O shots and Jagerbombs.” He murmured something in Henry’s ear and they both started to shift. 

Killian untangled his limbs and stood, stepping out into the cabin and gesturing to Emma as he stepped into the main part of the cabin. 

“So here’s the deal. I can call Anton – or not,” he finished as Emma couldn’t help the flash of contrition on her face. 

“Since your bleeding heart won’t allow me to do that, you can either stay here and hope the wind doesn’t pick up and toss Henry’s already touchy stomach, or I can ready the sails, pull anchor and have us back at the docks in twenty minutes. You can get that one,” his chin jutted in the direction of the bathroom, “home and in a proper bed. And one that won’t move under him.” 

Trying not to stare at Killian’s abs as he did an oddly intriguing body roll shrugging his soiled shirt off, Emma teased him to distract herself. 

“You can do all of that in twenty minutes?” She blurted it without thinking just as her eyes slammed shut and she desperately tried to not allow a sudden highlight reel of everything he’d proven he could do to her body in just half that time race through her head. 

Congratulations, Emma. You played yourself.

When her eyes opened, Killian was looking at her with an amused and altogether knowing smile on his face. 

“I’m a hell of a captain.” He dragged a clean tee shirt over his head, purple-tipped hair managing to dishevel even more, as his voice dropped into a deeper register and he leaned in toward her ear. “And you’ve experienced first hand how nimble my hands are, haven’t you, love? A few sailor’s knots are nothing.” To put an exclamation point on it, he ghosted his fingertips across her upper chest, and looked entirely too pleased when her breath hitched. 

Smug bastard. 

“So what will it be?” He stepped away and leaned his ass against a built-in stack of drawers, bending a knee to rest a bare foot against the wood, looking every inch the suave motherfucker he was until the boat lurched, sprawling them both onto the bench seat behind her knees. A heaving noise and a groaned, “Moooom” had Emma bouncing up to see to Henry, the thought of spending the rest of the night huddled with him in the tiny bathroom as he yacked making her decision for her. 

“Let’s get him home.” 

Killian’s sincere “as you wish” was background noise – and Emma knew he didn’t mind – as she rushed to help her kid. Settling behind Henry, she smoothed his hair back when his head dropped back onto her shoulder and, taking a cue from their Captain, started telling him the story of Wesley and Buttercup to keep his mind off the rolling waves. 

 ****

“I told you land legs are a thing, Swan.” Killian tried not to laugh as he watched Emma walking ahead; her arms comically out to the side for balance on the wide pier. Her shuffling reminded him of a pregnant woman and, for a split second, he had a strong mental image of her with child – his child – and it caused a rush of emotion that started with an ache in his heart and ended with an eye roll. They’d just traded orgasms on a boat deck after spending the last decade of their lives at a distance that, if he was being honest, was emotionally safe for both of them and his stupid brain was already knocking her up. 

Talk about putting the fucking cart before the horse. 

He hefted Henry into a more comfortable position on his shoulder and followed Emma up the ramp to the access gate and through it, eyes sweeping the darkened recesses of the area as they made their way past the permit-only parking reserved for house boat residents and slip owners to the visitor’s lot. 

Only two cars remained; the rental Emma had driven and a white van that screamed “free candy”. Killian caught a whiff of cigarette smoke almost hidden in a gust of wind that came from the direction of the van. 

The driver’s side window of the van was open, an arc of orange light falling to the ground as the occupant flicked the cigarette out onto the pavement. It joined a pile of other discarded butts on the ground and Killian’s stomach reeled just as the vehicle’s door started to open. 

“Emma, go. Run!” He nudged her just as the first flash went off, putting himself between her and the photographer and shifting Henry into a bridal-style carry with his face tucked into Killian’s neck so he wasn’t visible. 

“What?” Turning instinctively to look, another flash illuminated her face, horror and panic flooding her features when she realized what was happening. “Oh, fuck!” 

The lurk-for-hours-smoking habit didn’t keep the photographer from keeping up with them and Killian tried to block out the wheedling pleas begging him for a pic. 

“C’mon, man, I’m a big fan. I just need one clear one and then I’ll leave you alone.” The rapid click of the camera’s shutter as the man tried to get a shot of Henry over the top of Killian’s shoulder almost managed to drown out the bullshit but did nothing to mute the indignant, “HEY!” shouted in Killian’s ear when his elbow connected with the asshole’s ribs just as they reached the Mercedes. 

Killian knew the nudge would only buy them a little time, so he shoved Henry into Emma’s arms. 

“Get him out of here. I’ll handle this.” 

He barely had time to see Emma bundle Henry in the backseat and shoot him a fearful look, hesitating just a moment. 

“Go!” 

She sat down into the car, legs swinging in at the same time the engine roared to life. The tires squealed as Emma hit the unfamiliar gas pedal and peeled out of the parking space, nearly colliding with a second van as it raced into the harbor parking lot. Before he could register what was happening the shove he was expecting for throwing an elbow came. The words, on the other hand, were something for which he was not prepared and they had him seeing red. 

“You assaulted me first and my buddy here has it all on camera. I’m gonna sue your ass for everything you have. I hope that whore and her dumb kid is worth it, pretty boy. “ 

He wasn’t sure which split first: his knuckles or the skin under the photographer’s eye when Killian’s fist made contact. 

**** 

 Moving around the kitchen bleary-eyed and thanking the Vomit Gods that Henry had been sleeping uninterrupted for a while, Emma brewed a strong cup of coffee designed to counteract the four hours of sleep she’d had. 

The drive home consisted of two stops – one for ginger ale and crackers at a gas station convenience store and one two miles down the road when the few bites and tentative sips he took hasn’t stayed down. A car slowed to a crawl as it passed their spot on the side of the road, the driver’s neck craning. On edge and paranoid she was being followed, Emma drove exactly the speed limit the rest of the way, eyes darting to the rearview and side mirrors every time another vehicle’s headlights came into view.

Instead of picking up her own car, she drove straight home, huffing as she carried Henry inside. Getting him changed out of his sweaty, barf-flecked clothes had been like trying to wrestle a wet tee shirt off a tranquilized monkey and by the time Emma got him in bed, she was sweaty herself. 

What was going to be a quick shower turned into a long one, her back turned to the water as she let the sharpest setting on the showerhead help beat back the headache she had from the tense drive home. By the time she checked on Henry one last time and collapsed into bed, the dawn of light was already seeping around edges of the blinds hung in the bedroom windows. 

She blinked against the full light of day now, scowling at the brightness coming in over the kitchen window, taking her cup to the kitchen table and opening her laptop. Just because she’d taken the day off yesterday her business hadn’t, and Emma gulped coffee as she accessed her four usual tabs: Gmail, the Swan Bonds, L.L.C. banking books, a shared Excel spreadsheet of their current outstanding bonds, and MSN’s homepage. 

Catch up with a few emails, check to make sure payroll had deducted properly, look to see if the band of hooligans one of her bondsmen had dubbed the Seven Dwarfs were going to – once again – collectively pay her bills next month via their latest bout of fuckery and felony, and catch up on the news. 

Waiting for the other programs and pages to load, Emma clicked over to the MSN tab and took a few more sips of coffee, holding the warm cup in both hands as she let the slideshow of headlines scroll, perusing them with varying degrees of interest. The sponsored ad for building a Halo army on Xbox one got the least amount of attention. A story about a couple that converted an airport cargo van into an 80 square foot home earned a single-too-long scoff at the claustrophobia of living in such cramped quarters with someone. 

With her eyes rolling, she missed all but a glance at the next slide. A shock of purple hair caught her eye right as it was replaced with an article about must-dos for this month’s budget. Emma’s coffee sloshed out over her wrist as she tried to put it down and banged against the edge of the table instead. Wiping her hand on her leggings, she quickly clicked the back button and stared. 

Killian Jones Arrested.  

A quick Google search showed the media was going apeshit over what one site dubbed his “latest bout of bad boy antics.” 

The photographs were much clearer than the ones of them by the tour bus; Killian swinging wildly at the paparazzo that tried to get photos of Henry, getting tackled by a second, larger man and being bent over a police car as a cop read him his rights and put him in handcuffs.

Clicking through the more salacious gossip sites, Emma learned a source inside the police department revealed he’d been booked on assault charges thanks to the paparazzo’s broken eye socket.

TMZ had footage of him coming out of the of the county lockup in plain-ish view of a huge crowd of media and onlookers, and Emma couldn’t figure out why the hell he hadn’t called her to bail him out. She didn’t know what bond office he had used, but it was clearly one without the connections hers had. She would have been able to get him into a car in one of the underground garages to save him the perp walk. 

Rewinding the video, she scrutinized his face as one of the cameras zoomed in. He had a black eye and a split lip and Killian gave a half-assed wave to the screaming crowd as he hopped into a Suburban that inched forward when it cleared the gates until the crowd parted and then sped away. 

Emma picked up her phone, ready to unleash hell and thumbs of fury texting him when a gravelly voice came from the doorway of the kitchen. 

Henry was leaning against the wall, looking a tragic mix of better and forlorn. Put to bed in just underwear, he was dressed in a kick-around-the-house tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants; her first sign he was on the mend. Emma had a firm “no nips at the table” policy and when Henry had those growing boy days when he woke up ravenous, food and the necessary clothes to partake came before anything else. 

“I’m starving.” He brushed past her and opened the pantry, perusing his cereal options. Sighing heavily when Emma tossed out a “nope” as he reached for the box of Lucky Charms he’d begged her to buy with his allowance money, Henry settled for plain Cheerios and brought the box to the table. 

Thrust into mom mode, Emma put her phone down, figuring she’d text him later to find out why the hell he hadn’t called her to bail his ass out of jail. Or, better yet, she’d wait for him to call with an explanation. Closing out all the tabs on her computer that mentioned his name, she turned her attention to Henry and tried to push Killian out of her head for the moment. 

 ****

That moment turned into a week. A week of going through the five stages of I’m Not Obsessing: worry, backspaced text messages, feigned indifference, anger and the drowning of the sorrows. The very pissed off sorrows.     

Okay, maybe she was halfway between the fourth and fifth steps. 

Being was at home alone on a Saturday night with nothing but her own thoughts and a generous second pour of Pinot Grigio wasn’t helping. Henry was away for the night at Violet’s house and Emma’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. 

Wine glass in one hand and laptop in the other, she settled onto the couch and started reading articles. They ranged from a think piece put out by Rolling Stone musing on the career longevity musicians had after a scandal to pure gossip about what had transpired in the last week that made the photographer drop the assault charges. The leading theory was a big-ass payoff, and Emma had her suspicions it was probably correct considering her name and face hadn’t been linked to the story. Not even once. Killian may have gotten his punches in but his checkbook had been the one to get his point across. 

She still couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t called her and with each passing day, and regret from not reaching out right away built up. Common sense said he was probably embarrassed over ending up in the clink. Overthinking and a bottle of Pinot told a different story. One of regret over the near hook-up on the boat or dipping a toe in the dating waters when there was a kid involved. Maybe she’d read Killian’s vibe with Henry all wrong. Hell, maybe she’d read Killian’s vibe with her all wrong and things were better this way. 

Head fuzzed with wine, Emma shoved the laptop aside and leaned forward to pick her phone up from the coffee table, the wide neck of her off-the-shoulder sweater gaping. Her hand automatically came up to preserve her modesty even though nobody else was home and, as she brushed against the skin of her upper chest and pulled the material up, a faint pull of arousal hit low in her belly at the memory of Killian’s fingers tracing the same spot. 

His fingers were nimble, the asshole.

The thought of texting him for a booty call flew out of her head as quickly as it had flown in. Even tipsy, she knew that shit was a bad idea. Plus, she didn’t think she could handle rejection of the direct variety. No, this passive-aggressive avoidance was about all she could hang with.

But…

**** 

 Fucking hell. 

He was pretty sure he’d said it out loud. He was pretty sure at the girl on his left with one hand so far up his thigh her pinkie was brushing his cock had heard him. He was certain, however, that he didn’t give a damn. 

The photo was stunning; all blonde curls, red lips, dipping collarbones and the soft swell of a breast just barely covered by what looked like a sweater. It was unlike anything she’d ever posted on Instagram and it took him by surprise just before it started to arouse him. He shifted abruptly as he felt himself start to thicken against his thigh, knocking the girl’s hand loose so she wouldn’t think she had anything to do with him becoming half hard. 

Killian hadn’t stopped thinking about Emma all week. In the most honest of moments, he was angry. Angry with himself for putting her and Henry in the position to be ambushed by paparazzi and thrown into his public fucked up life against their will. Angry with himself for not texting her. Angry with himself for being weak and wanting, for remembering how she looked coming on his fingers and jerking off in the shower until he spilled over his fist, steam swirling around with his final exhalation of breath, her name on his lips. 

And here she was. Taunting him. 

His thumb hovered over the little heart. Apparently, the bottle of British Royal Navy Imperial rum he’d downed since his publicist and a crisis management team called upon by his record label had arrived that morning and the current moment didn’t him quite enough liquid courage to press it. Instead, he started to trace the curve of her breast in the photo and stopped, erupting with a drunken, chortling laugh he cut short when those within earshot looked over at him. 

Feeling up a photograph. That was bordering on a level of desperation that made him cringe even in his rum-soaked state. 

“Ah, fuck it.” 

Press. 

The minute the heart turned red and his named joined Mary Margaret’s under the photo’s likes, he regretted it. What if it wasn’t for him? What if she was seeing someone else? Killian gripped his phone close to his face, glaring at the app, mentally daring anyone else with a dick to acknowledge the exquisite creature on his screen. The vibration from an incoming text message startled him and he stared in disbelief at the name on the screen. 

It was a single line that was all Swan. 

What the hell, Jones?  

So she had been taunting him. Waiting for him to react. Toying with him. 

Well, two could play at that game. 

Standing, Killian dialed her number and held the phone to his ear, thumb hooked in his belt loop as he leaned against the wall, his alcohol-heavy head lolling a bit. It barely rang before she answered and launched into a tirade.

“You didn’t even call to let me know there was trouble. Or to bail your ass out even though it’s my damn job. I haven’t heard from you in a week and I didn’t know if I should call or if I did something-“ her voice hitched like she was choking back a sob, “something wrong. Just…tell me what you want.”

This was exactly the shit he was trying to avoid. Things were so much easier when they were miles away from each other, both figuratively and literally. It was easier to send flowers and an occasional text, to be linked somehow but still keep her at arm’s length. To not invite her into his complicated life, a life he’d stopped trying to keep private because the fight to keep anything for himself was exhausting and a never-ending battle. But he’d slipped and hoped and ended up coaxing her out with him for a day. To do something she hadn’t wanted to do because she felt like she needed to protect her son and he’d pushed her anyway. And it had backfired. And if she didn’t hate him now, she would soon, so why not just help it along? 

“You’re the one who posted that photograph with one of your tits practically out. What do you think I want?” 

The gasp on her end of the line was a mix of shock and pure indignation. 

“Fuck you, Killian,” 

“Oh, no, darling. If we were in the same place right now, I assure you that I’d be fucking you.” Rum spurred on his tongue and he continued. “If you think I was satisfied with just a taste before I’m done with you, you’re mistaken. Why don’t you stop by? I think I can fit you into my schedule.” 

Emma laughed humorlessly, the precipice of hurt she was perched on just a moment before gone at his crude words. 

“And what? Line up with the rest of the Blowjob Brigade to entertain you before you get liquor dick and can’t keep it up anymore? I’ll pass.” 

“Oh, don’t be like that, love. I’d be happy to send most of them home and just keep one as a backup if it meant feeling you come on my cock.” 

“You’re a pig,” she seethed, and Killian cut the last thread holding them – and himself – together. 

“Yeah, well, you were more than willing to lay down and get dirty with me, sweetheart.” 

Click.  

Clenching his fist around his phone, Killian scrubbed his face with the other hand feeling his jaw flexing under his fingers. 

You stupid bastard.  

The sound of the phone shattering against the floor when he smashed it in a rage barely registered in the crowded room. Heart pounding, he stepped back to the couch, reaching for two of the three things he knew would quiet the chant inside his head. 

The woman he’d been sitting next to hadn’t moved and he plucked the rum bottle she was holding out of her hand and took a healthy swig, making eye contact with her when she looked up in surprise. 

“You look familiar.” It was a bald-faced lie but the suggestion he remembered them from somewhere worked every time, especially when he shifted on his feet and thrust his pelvis forward. The erection he’d been working toward a few minutes ago was gone but there was still plenty to entice without it. 

When her eyes dropped, he chuckled. They were all so easy. 

“I was here before. With my friend.” She looked around and pointed to a blonde coming out of the Glitter Room with white powder around her nose and a glassy look on her face, the sizeable bag of blow she’d swiped disappearing into her clutch. At first glance and through an intoxicated haze, the curls and red lipstick looked close enough and as she spotted them and came over, he saw her eyes were green. 

Reaching a gentlemanly hand out to the woman on the couch, he asked, “How would you and your friend like to go someplace more private?” It took half a second for her to slide her hand over his and Killian pulled her to her feet, gently pushing her in front of him. He walked her out of the room, his front pressed to her back, mouth fused to her neck and a hand snaking down the front of her dress while she snatched the bottle back with one hand and grabbed her friend with the other. 

She breathed her name along with her friend’s into his ear as he maneuvered them through the throngs of people, reaching back to snake a hand up around the back of his neck. Her pointy nails scratched through his hair hard enough to hurt and it took every ounce of self-restraint he had to tell her he didn’t give a fuck what their names were. 

He needed this. Just for a moment. Just long enough to push the ghost from his past back where she belonged.  

They broke apart at the bottom of the stairs he led the way up and down a hallway to the double doors Anton guarded. 

“No one comes in,” Killian ordered and ushered the girls into his bedroom. 

They pounced the moment the door closed, pushing him against the doors and falling to their knees. The dark-haired one – the one with the giant fake tits that felt like water balloons – went to work on his belt while the other one fumbled with his zipper, their drunken, high-pitched giggles grating over his nerves. From his vantage point, he could see the blonde was a cheap imitation of the woman he was using her to replace; the hair color from a bottle and the green eyes a product of contact lenses. His head swam with rum and regrets, and he decided he needed a moment to get his shit together. 

Batting their hands out of the way, he pushed past them and walked over to the small table in front of the window and gestured to the blonde still on her knees by the door. 

“Get the baggie out of your purse.”

The girls exchanged looks and Killian grew impatient. Maybe these two were a mistake. He snapped his fingers. 

“Look, I don’t give a damn that you took it. Just bring it over here or get the fuck out.” 

Apparently the threat of losing bragging rights after a night with Killian Jones was enough to kick her ass into gear. The baggie was produced along with a razor blade and a short straw. He dropped into one of the chairs and tore the rum bottle from the other girl’s hand and tipped it to his lips. The glug became a chug, his head tipped back and throat working as he drank. 

When he put the bottle down, it was an inch away from empty and the room was spinning. Running his fingers over his lips, he looked at the rows being expertly lined up and stood, swaying so much he had to brace himself on the window. 

Killian pressed himself against the one girl just as he’d done downstairs. It helped stabilize him and, since her heels were still on, had the added benefit of putting her ass at the perfect height to cradle his cock. He thrust into her lightly, savoring the floaty feeling the rum provided, and took her hand and brought it up to his mouth, slipping her index fingertip into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. 

Her breath hitched and he rewarded her responsiveness with a quick, filthy kiss as he guided her hand back down to the table top and dipped it into one of the lines before bringing it back up to his lips. 

The cocaine was bitter and familiar as it numbed his tongue. The blonde held out the straw and Killian took it without hesitation. 

He did two lines in quick succession and fell back into the chair. As he waited for the high to hit, his companions took turns with the straw, wiping the backs of their hands across their noses to wipe away any excess powder as they stood before him. 

Killian allowed them to pull him to his feet, four hands making quick work of his clothes as well as their own. One pushed him onto the bed and as a pair of lips closed around his cock, the coke high hit and he was flying, unsure if he was closer to heaven or hell. 

****

She was cried out after an hour. Exhausted. Depressingly sober. Alone. 

And mad as hell. 

Emma recognized a defensive move when she saw one: the lashing out. Granted, it was usually her move, but the perpetually walled off tend to recognize their own. 

Pacing in her living room, she weighed her options. Calling Killian back would be a waste of time if all he was going to do would be to drunkenly invite her to hop on his dick again. So she could either let it go or grab her keys, make the drive to his house and force him to look her in the eye while being an asshole that would probably still drunkenly invite her to hop on his dick. 

“Fuck!” 

The empty room echoed the epithet back to her and nothing else.

Cursing again, she headed to the bathroom and made quick work of wiping off the red lipstick and pulling her curls back into a stark ponytail. A quick change of clothes – the guys at Swan Bonds referred to the red leather jacket as Emma’s armor – and she was ready for a fight.

**** 

 Pinching the bridge of her nose, Emma tried to be polite to the veritable mountain of a man standing outside the door of Killian’s bedroom. 

“Please let me in, Anton.” 

A look of something akin to pity, or maybe understanding, flashed on his face before Anton moved to the center of the double doors and crossed his arms. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Swan. No one goes in. Captain’s orders.” His voice dropped. “Besides, you might not like what you see in there.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s the fucking point.” 

Emma sighed, her face scrunching with frustration. What Killian did behind closed and heavily guarded doors was his own damn business and she suddenly felt foolish driving all this way with the hope that he would be waiting for her so they could work out whatever shit had hit the fan between them. Instead, she walked into a rager, picking her way through the drunk, glassy-eyed throngs on both floors until she spotted Anton. 

Clenching her fists, Emma squeezed her eyes closed and when she opened them, she put a hand on Anton’s arm and offered him a tight-lipped smile. 

“I understand you have a job to do. I shouldn’t…it’s not my place to –“ 

Cut off by a muffled scream coming from the bedroom, Emma’s eyes met Anton’s and they both stood silent, listening intently. Another scream came, followed by shouts and Anton moved his ass into gear, punching a code into the keypad and nodding to Emma when the lock disengaged. 

She burst inside the room to find two women standing by the bed freaking the fuck out. They were both naked, babbling and letting out shrieks as they looked at a prone, nude figure sprawled out on the bed. 

Killian was on his back convulsing, a white foam pouring out of his mouth. Emma catapulted onto the bed and turned his head to the side so he wouldn’t choke and grabbed the arm of the closest girl. 

“What did he take? HEY! Quit screaming and tell me what the fuck he took!” The girl ignored her as she and her friend gathered their things and high tailed it out of the room. Emma’s eyes swept around the room, taking in the residue on the table by the window and a small mound of white powder on the nightstand that looked like it had been much larger at some point.

Cocaine. 

She cradled Killian’s head as Anton called 911 to report an overdose. Bending down, she whispered in his ear as his body shook uncontrollably. 

“Stay with me, Killian. Stay with me.”

[sleepy-skeletonsblog-blog]

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

Also posted on Reddit in r/nosleep

We had recently moved to a new town. My mother, father, and I.

I got accepted into the college of my dreams; however, the college was across the country, and my parents didn't want to leave me alone.

They loved me very much.

They loved me as if they were my actual parents. I was orphaned at the age of seven due to my actual parents' deaths. My adoptive parents said that my father, a drunk, wrapped our car around a tree one night, killing off both himself and my mother. I couldn't really remember much, though. My doctor said that my memories were repressed due to trauma and it would take a lot for them to resurface.

Now, we didn't live together. Hell no. I was twenty years old for Christ's sake. As much as I loved my parents to death, I needed my own space.

So with the money I saved from many summer jobs and part time jobs, I rented out a shitty apartment not far from my university. I already owned my own car, so it wasn't as bad as it seemed. It wasn't like I was coming from a poor family, either. My parents were rich from some sort of ridiculous invention my father came up with. They always tried to slip me money, but I refused nearly ninety-five percent of the time because I wanted to try and make it on my own in the world.

It wasn't like they'd be there forever, anyways.

I finally finished taking all of my belongings out of the many boxes that took up way too much space in the small two bedroom apartment about a week after we moved. One of the rooms turned into a study and held the many books I collected over the years.

I decided that I wanted to celebrate. I called up my parents and they arrived within ten short minutes, having lived not too far from my apartment. I ushered them in. I was excited to show them my new home.

"Welcome to my humble abode!" I said at the time while raising my arms with a huge grin on my face. I gave them the short grand tour and they seemed pleased with how I set up my living space, but I knew something was off as they enhanced glances. "Like it?" I asked.

My mother hesitated before saying, "It's lovely, sweetie." I noticed how she played with the ring on her finger; that was a nervous habit she had.

I left them in the study to go grab drinks for the two, but I hovered next to the door as I heard them whisper.

"Do... Do you think he'll remember- or- or worse, do you think she will find him?" My mother worried. I pictured her spinning her wedding ring on her finger.

I bit my lip as I leaned in closer.

"Hush Martha! No one will find out anything!" My father scolded. I pictured a deep frown on his face as he looked down at her.

I stepped into the room and cleared my throat, "What're we whispering about?" My mother smiled nervously and my father chuckled, looking anywhere but me as he said, "Ohh, nothing." I clicked my tongue.

That's when my suspicions began to creep up from the back of my mind.

My parents were always sort of odd and overly protective.

As I settled into my new home, I needed to buy myself food, of course, and needed to apply for a job somewhere. There was also my wandering thoughts. I wondered about what they were talking about and who She was.

I needed to stretch my mile long legs for once and get a little exercise, so the grocery store seemed like a good start.

I made my way through the aisles and thought to myself about just what exactly did I need when shopping for myself. While searching the racks of food aimlessly, I noticed a shorter, older lady struggling to reach for a can on the top self.

Being a generally tall (and nice) guy, I decided to grab it for her.

"Oh, thank you so mu-" She began but froze mid sentence as she peered up at me. Shock was etched into her features as she gazed at me.

I smiled nervously as she looked me up and down with eyes the size of saucers.

"You're- You're-" She stuttered out as I dropped the can gently into her basket before backing away slowly.

I shuddered; I wasn't expecting that at the time.

As I made my way through the store, the strange lady followed me. I could feel her eyes burn holes into my back and it made me squirm slightly. The way her eyes widened upon seeing me made me feel extremely uncomfortable.

I set my full basket down at the self checkout before peering behind my shoulder for a moment. My eyes caught hers and she froze. I furrowed my eyebrows down into a scowl as if saying "Leave me the hell alone" and then proceeded to check out.

As I grabbed my receipt she called out, "Jackson! Is-Is that your name?"

I froze. My hairs on my arms stood up as I turned slowly. "Do... Do I know you?" I asked, tilting my head slightly at the woman.

Her eyes poured tears over her cheeks and she jumped onto me. She wrapped her arms around me tightly as I let out a shriek.

She hiccuped through tears, "Jackson! Oh, Jackie!"

"Get off me!" I screamed as I shoved her off myself, my breath ragged.

That nickname made me shiver.

I backed away and stuttered out, "Stay the hell away from me, lady. I don't know you!"

I then ran to my car. I jammed my keys into the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot. The lady ran after me, yelling words that I didn't bother to process as I drove away.

When I was a good couple of blocks away I stopped my car to catch my breath. My heart was racing within my chest and I wheezed quietly as I rested my head against the steering wheel.

"What the hell?" I whispered between breaths.

I was always scared easily as a child and still easily get freaked out. Even though I was a grown man who towered over nearly every person I'd meet, I still got the chills from uncomfortable situations.

My anxiety didn't help matters much, either. My doctor said it was a side effect of my parents deaths.

After that event I did some research late at night, my mind racing. The town's crime rate wasn't high, but it wasn't low either.

I started to have nightmares.

Very lifelike nightmares.

I was running on under four hours of sleep a day.

I decided that it was time to learn how to use a gun. I needed to protect myself.

I never told my parents about it, though. They would of told me I was being far too paranoid.

I took a class and surprisingly I was great at it. It gave me a thrill I wasn't used to.

It made me feel safe knowing I could use a gun. All I needed was my permit and an actual weapon.

My hands shook slightly from the copious amounts of caffeinated beverages I put into my body, but I learned to work around that.

So, I worked very hard to correct my sleeping pattern and towards my permit and licence to carry. My grades were exceptional so a little bit of slacking wouldn't hurt.

Finally, I had gotten my permit and licence after a while. Then I made my way down to the small gun shop in the not-so safe part of town that sort of gave me the creeps, but it was the only gun store around for miles.

I was so very excited as I peered through the glass casing, having done my research on the multiple handguns a person could own and what would be the best for self defense.

The owner of the store watched me with curious eyes as I pointed out the multiple guns. I didn't feel the slightest anxiety as I peered through the glass.

I had found a new hobby. The very first gun I settled with was a basic 9mm pistol. I wasn't sure if I should get it despite having been a very good shot in the class and the research I did on other guns.

"Do you want to hold it?" The store owner asked, a smile stretched across his wrinkled face.

"Could I?" I asked after a moment of thought. My hands started to sweat lightly as he pressed the gun into my open hand. I allowed my fingers to wrap around it, avoiding the trigger.

I eyed it carefully, taking in all the details of the pistol before turning and holding it out. I squinted slightly as I looked at the back of the gun. Then my eyes focused on the corkboard I was aiming at.

My whole body froze and my blood ran cool.

"Sir?" The store owner asked.

I dropped my arms, turning back to the store owner murmuring, "I'll take it." I paid and then walked over to the corkboard. Missing persons' photos were pinned all over the board.

What had caught my attention was a picture I'd seen many times. It was in both of my parents wallets. There I sat, young with a huge grin on my face. It was a simple school picture that was taken years ago.

My fingers shook as I tore the old sheet of paper from the board.

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

JACKSON EVANS

AGE: 7

EYE COLOR: BLUE

HAIR COLOR: DARK BROWN

I blinked down at it with confusion as I read through the information.

I silently folded the paper, my mind crowded with thoughts as I exited the store.

What the hell? I'm not a missing person.

That night I paced my apartment, my mind sorting through possibilities.

The next morning I skipped university and went to the library. I asked for the newspapers or any information from thirteen years ago.

The librarian watched me sip from my coffee as I looked through the scans, my knee shaking constantly. At first I found nothing.

I spent an hour looking through the papers before finding an article the made me choke on my own spit.

MAN MURDERED, WOMAN SURVIVES GUN WOUND, AND YOUNG BOY KIDNAPPED

I read through the article, my hands shaking and my mouth dry as I scrolled through the pages.

My eyes were fixed on the photograph of a young woman. She looked like the one in the store.

Then it hit me. The vivid memories.

I remembered how my parents car was rear ended and my body was violently jerked forward, causing me to squeak slightly.

I remembered my father getting out of the car, anger written all over his face as he grumbled something about exchanging information.

I remembered the gunshot ringing through my ears and my mother screaming as she scrambled out of the car and how my eyes trailed after her. I remembered the second gun shot and my mother's body falling to the ground.

I remembered the way my hands gripped at the chair as I watched the strangers walk towards the car.

I remembered the back door being opened by a middle aged woman and being dragged out of the car. I put up quite a fight but was later hit with the butt of a gun.

I rubbed my forehead, feeling the scar on the edge of my hairline. That scar was supposed to be from falling off a trampoline.

I slammed my hands onto the table, earning shocked stares from the people around me.

I ran out of the library, tears burning in my eyes as I tried to think through what I just read. My hands shook and my heart raced.

I was lied to for basically my whole entire life.

I bit my lip when I finally laid in bed. My blood ran hot as I dug my nails into my skin. I felt the warm blood trickle down my palm and drip onto the sheets.

I felt the cool metal of my gun as I rested the back of the barrel against my forehead, tapping my forehead lightly as I scrunched my eyes shut, breathing heavily, feeling betrayed. I sat up, gingerly feeling the gun up and down with my forefinger.

I remembered hearing about my "mother's" previous miscarriages.

I screamed into the dark as I pulled at my hair and then curled up in my bed for a short period of time.

After laying in bed for two days, I shot out of bed, having made a decision.

I grabbed my keys with haste.

They were monsters. Killers.

I decided to visit my parents and then I took them on a very long drive up to a lake deep in the woods that was said to have beautiful scenery. Also, it was pretty much uncharted and bears were common.

My body shook with rage as I gripped at the steering wheel, muttering to myself as the skin around my knuckles turned white.

My parents weren't very fond of the idea of a sudden road trip. They didn't appreciate the tall trees that loomed over us as I had them kneel in the dirt in a dark corner of the woods.

The next day, I stayed home. My ears rang slightly and I had a headache, but my racing heart had finally calmed down.

I slept all day after a long shower that cooled me down from my previous hot rage.

The day after that, I called the police and filed a missing persons case. I explained how my parents haven't called in a few days.

After a week of searching and being interviewed countless times, I finally was able to walk back into that shitty gun store. I walked over to the corkboard with an eerie smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

I took the pins and pinned downed two separate sheets of paper that showed pictures of my adoptive mother and father.

On both they read in large bold letters,

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

(Sleepy Skeletons Club)

[slipperysidewinder-blog]

Around the bend #CrashPalace

Troy: /I was less than an hour away from the place I’d begun calling The Crash Palace and seeing a couple of great people I left its care in, the question on my mind was how pissed they might be with me. During the drive I kept thinking to myself that heading back after all this time was gone would prove to be interesting, considering what Kitty and Thrax would easily see…..me abandoning it all, which is anything but.

The night sky was cloud free and the luminous glow of the moon was well lit against the two-lane highway my matte black Maybach was comfortably cruising down. After months of being gone visiting different countries for the business promotions, bought media time, bringing lots of samples back to come in privately, and now having all the permits in place, I was hopeful that Thrax would be interested in getting this going with me. But time would soon tell.

The highway seemed to get more narrow as I drove along, the yellow line dividing the two lanes now seemed like the only thing that was visible outside of the silhouette of trees flying by….. and that’s when it happened.

I slammed on the brakes hard, my imprint was like heavy lead causing the car to come to a screeching skidded, smoked out halt after the impact shattered my windshield, the airbag deployed and blasted me to my seat. Whiplash like a motherfucker. What the fuck just happened?/ 

Tess:  [The winding narrow mountain roads were hugged by towering white-barked pines. Their trunks glowed almost ethereal in comparison to the darker terrain behind them. Down in the dark valley beyond the lights of the winding down Colorado town flickered in a sea of black.

The Wrangler’s tires rode soothingly quiet over the paved road as I headed back up to the cabin. I’d spent more time than necessary just being around the others buzzing around the center of the small valley town, and gathering supplies in town. The wolves and Vi were my only companions out in the seclusion of the mountain so it was a nice change.

Mali, an old trusted contact, had offered me a small hideaway when I’d been looking for the perfect escape. A place off the grid to get my head straight. The woods offered me the sanctuary I needed while I was taking a breather. Vi kept close of course. My magickal companion kept me guarded and was ever vigilant for any possible dangers. He’d remained in his bulldog familiar form while we were around the townsfolk. Now traveling the dark road he’d allowed his magickal shroud to dissipate and reveal his true form. The hairs on the back of my right arm stand on end at a low current of electricity washing by me and around the cabin of the jeep.

I’m half paying attention to the winding curves of the road while lifting my tanned arm away from the steering wheel to pet along Vi’s muzzle and head. I was still feeling the haze from the blunt I’d just tapped out and enjoying the leisure night drive and hefty high.

My wheels were drifting slightly over the center yellow line as the jeep flies around a blind turn and my twin headlights meet a wall of red. I swerve off to avoid a collision and narrowly miss rear-ending vehicle sitting off the shoulder. Fat rugged tires skid raw over the paved road until my grill bumps the rail across the way and screeches to a halt. I’m cursing up a rage, Vi howling as he attempted to get free from the jeep. I snatch my arm out and hook my fingers onto the door release. No sooner had the latch been disengaged, Vi was darting out the interior to investigate. I crawl over the center console and half hang out the door to find out what the fuck just happened.

There was thick smoke wafting through the air, which made it difficult to see through but I catch sight of the front end of a completely fucked high-end car. Twisted metal and streaks of blood become more visible as the wind clears the burnt rubber clouds more.]

Troy: /I opened my eyes slowly and wince with a groan as a warm trickle rolls from the side of my head down my cheek, I reach up to touch it and hiss as the throbbing pain spears my head. I felt some kind of hard pebble lodged in my flesh, with a slick grip I pull it out and see it’s glass from the shattered window.

The front end was totaled from what I could see through a glassless windshield, smoke billowed out from under a mangled hood, radiator fluid was spewing, and as the dust cleared I could see the bloody remnants of a big fucking animal. Son of a bitch I thought angrily as I rub the nape of my neck, shake my head clear and grip the doors handle to get out of the car. 

It was a forceful shoulder shove against the panel to get it open but once I was standing on the gravel outside the wreck, I scanned around me best as I could and contemplated several things. 

One: It was clear that I hit a huge fucking buck. Bambi’s snapped antlers and splayed body parts stuck out of the front grill and all over the mangled hood of my obviously non-salvageable Maybach.

Two: I would need a tow truck for my car and a damn ride out of here. I reached into my black blazers breast pocket to retrieve my cell and make arrangements but what do you fucking know, no service.

Three: As I curse a string of obscenities under my breath, I look over and start paying attention to the jeep sitting against the guardrail on the other side of the road. Almost got clobbered by it from the rear, would have made my night so much more interesting, and that’s when she came out of the dark with an animal of sorts. It was hard to make them out under the smoke and dust but they were coming my way./ 

Tess: [I scan the bloody scene for clues but it doesn’t take long to fill in the blanks. A deer must have wandered out in the road. It happened here all the time, but the question rising up most was…what was a car like that traveling around the mountain?

Shutting the questions down I pull myself up and out the door. My palm braces the door’s armrest and I climb free from the jeep after making sure no one else was headed down the narrow road toward us.]

You doing okay there? Do you need medical assistance?

[I cough out to clear my airway as my voice catches some, my hand waving the smoke away from me and wonder for a brief moment where Vi had run off to.

I stumble as steadily as I could, on somewhat shaky legs, toward the vehicle. Who in their right mind would drive a car like that out here? I breach the wisps of remaining smoke clouds and come within touching distance from some slicked up dude scrubbing over his nape and checking his cell. I didn’t get a good look at him at first, only taking in the scene more fully as he fumbled with his phone.]

You’re not going to get service out here.

[I skew my lips and then grimace when he spins around. There was a slow trickle of crimson running down his temple. He’d taken a head impact into the windshield when that deer must have darted out and I just began moving into action. My fingers working on the knot on the white and black plaid overshirt I’d had wrapped around my waist before I stretched it out, and wound in my hands as I offer it to @MrTroyWarren.]

Here, this will help the bleeding for now. We should… [My mind scrambles for what we should do next. Move the cars and maybe the deer off the road in case anyone else came down the road?] get you looked over and…

Troy:  "You doing okay? You’re not going to get service out here"

/The woman’s voice, soft and concerned cut off my thoughts from trying to operate a useless cell so I turn to face her and the look on her face said a lot. I assumed it was the blood running down the side of my face from inside my hairline that gave her such a look, but it was her genuine care as she offered me the flannel fabric that had me shaking off the dizzy swim in my head and accepting the overshirt so I could use it to apply pressure and stop the bleeding. 

She skidded off the side against the rail so she must have been shaken up too, so I cleared my throat and started talking./ 

Thank you for the shirt. I do apologize for ruining it. I will replace it as promptly as possible and I’m alright considering I just killed Bambi and destroyed a beauty of a car. What about you and your companion? Are you two alright, Miss?

/Dark or not I did my best to look her over while keeping pressure applied to my head, and she appeared to be okay. Shaken up some if anything./ 

I have an emergency kit in the trunk we can use? It’s got road reflectors and flares in it. If you don’t mind, can you put them around my car while I do my best to drag the body parts off the road? I’d greatly appreciate it? 

/This kind young woman didn’t even hesitate to help me out as she said yes and followed me to the trunk. I open the back and pull out the red zip-up mini duffel with the contents she needed inside and gave it to her. Our fingers barely brush, both our concentrated heads whip up to meet eye to eye briefly, and I swear I felt a flooded rush of ease wash over me as if the chaos around us was nothing more than a dream.

She moves away quick but with a smile and proceeds to round the car with caution signs and flares to strategically place while I let the flannel go for now and start dragging heavy ass deer parts off the road, like antlers attached to a head without a body, and a hind leg with half its ass and innards dragging behind it. The rest was chunky tomato soup on the road. I do my best to brush my hands clean before approaching the back of her jeep where she stood./ 

I hate to trouble you more than I already have, but do you think I can hitch a ride? My residence is about 10 miles up this road. It’s the large property over the next hill if you have ever seen it before. I was on my way back to start renovations for a business I’m opening there. But I get it if you can’t or won’t, me being a stranger and all… which by the way, my name is Troy Warren and I’m sorry for the late introduction.

Tess: [The deep timbre of the stranger’s voice before he cleared his throat, oh my did it cause me to drift off somewhere other than right where we were; Which was on the side of the road with fresh deer guts and engine smoke and smell of antifreeze wafting through the night air.]

Yes, I’m shaken some and my pup seems to have run off but we’re better than your night appears.

[I’d moved almost on autopilot after nodding when the taller gentleman handed me the red hazard bag and asked me to set up safety flares. How he got me in a knelt position and igniting the flare sticks and pop up cones, I didn’t know. This night wasn’t turning out any like I’d originally thought. So strange, but what could you do? I listened as he spoke, taking in everything for now. It was going to be a long night.

I stand with a swipe of my hands down my denim thighs and shift around to scout out any signs of Vi. He was gone for now. Probably keeping an eye from the shadows. I must have just been standing there staring into the woods like some mad woman when my mind goes off track. I’m broken away from my thoughts on Vi and I take @MrTroyWarren’s hand when he offers introductions, exhaling a light laugh with a slight drop of my head. My hands absently brush back the errant dark strands dancing over my forehead and tuck them behind my ear before answering.]

No worries, @MrTroyWarren, we’re both scrambling around here. It’s nice to meet a…neighbor.

[I laugh small again. Fuck. Stop with the giggles. The guy is here covered in deer guts and blood and stranded. I internally shake myself and continue speaking]

I’m Tess De la Vega and yeah, no problem with giving you a ride. I’m not going to just leave you out here for the wolves.

[Vi finally had ambled back once he’d investigate the surroundings. He has shrouded again in his bulldog form and must have been keeping watch just in case anything kicked off. After lowering his mostly white and tanned head to sniff and check in on me he’d found his way into the back of the jeep with the other supplies. Soon enough @MrTroyWarren and I were on our way. We’d made small conversation on the short drive, even in the low dashboard lit interior of my jeep @MrTroyWarren appeared as if he’d just left a massacre with all the red smears over his fine clothing. Like a hotter version of American Psycho, but it didn’t scare me off from giving him a hitch. I could handle myself if needed and he was…in theory a neighbor so I lend @MrTroyWarren a hand. When we turn into the long private drive leading up to his residence I’m stunned with what greets us after the trees open up. How the hell did I not know about this place?]

Troy: I do appreciate all of your help and not leaving me for the wolves or any other woodland animals, Ms. De La Vega.

I think we’ve both had our fair share for one evening.

/I took a look back in the passenger side mirror before she started the jeep and watched my cars hazard lights flashing, well one bloodied and mangled flicker up front but the glowing red flares that rounded it front to back fade off now in the distance as we leave the scene. 

The routine of getting to know your local stranger was a simple conversation between us, one that made the trip back to the crash palace seem quicker than normal especially in the middle of the night…. Which prompted my next question the moment Tess put her jeep in park at the massive, well-lit entrance./

Again I can’t thank you enough for all of your help tonight and as you can see this place is obscenely large, meaning there are lots of rooms, 20 to be exact and each has its own full bathroom. I mention this because it is 2:47 in the morning so if you don’t want to drive anymore tonight, you and your companion are. /I could see how exhausted Tess was and the uncertainty in her hazel eyes which was to be expected but I also think my credibility as to who I am and what I am proved valid enough because she said yes but damn this night for not being perfect. I get to show Tess to her room all gentlemen like in a suit covered in deer splatter and carcass chunks. Great. Tess and her bulldog exit the driver side at the same time as I move and locks the jeep up, rounding it to follow me up to the 12ft mahogany double doors. I slid my key into the lock, gave it a turn and inside we headed. She had a look of awe as we stood for a moment in the foyer, letting her take in all her surroundings before guiding them through the living room and taking the hallway off to the right, so she had a private room of which the window inside faced the main entrance, just to give her some added comfort. I open the door and step just inside enough to turn on the light and show Tess around before speaking./

The bathroom has everything you’ll need in it, linens are fresh, and if you are hungry please feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen which is across the other side of the foyer. If you need me for anything I’ll be upstairs in my room, it’s the first door at the top of the stairs. 

And again, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. Please know you’ll rest comfortably here. Goodnight. 

/Man she was breathtaking. Handled herself very well, smelled great, her smile hinted to more than its innocent curve of the lips, her body looked great, even her thanks and goodnight came out so soft that it washes me with ease again but it was time to leave her be and that’s what I did as closed the door behind myself and went to drop down on the crash couch. I needed a moment to call a tow before I cleaned up and called it a night./ 

#StoryTime #SL #CrashPalace #Tess #Troy

[e-ellis-allen-is-girl-on-stilts]

Puppy Love and the Anxiety it Breeds

Jan.9, 2017

I feel a pair of eyes peering at me from behind a corner, between table legs, or underneath blankets. I am being watched and monitored. Every move I make is being anticipated to head me off. I am being stalked by my dog.

  Zoe is a five-year-old Chiweenie, a phenomenon made of Chihuahua and Dachshund molded parts. She has a protracted body which balances on four extended poles for legs. Her Chihuahua head, complete with bat-like-wing ears, is supported by a broad giraffe neck. She came into the family by way of PetSmart, who periodically hosts adoptions through the Humane Society of Utah. My daughter, having been afflicted with a head trauma and teenagedom, spotted the animal housed with another Chihuahua-mix at the store. Zoe had wrinkles around her eyes, which made my daughter laugh. Zoe was black with marks of white on her mussel, her chest, and paws—resembling the Chihuahua we loved for ten years, who died six years previous, suffering a heart attack while I held him in my arms. I did not want another pet. I loved the one I had. I couldn’t face that kind of love and loss again. But still, I went to the store.

My daughter’s struggle came a year and a half earlier, at the end of her Sophomore year in high school. At a friends-of-a-friend’s house, she tripped down a flight of stairs, hitting her forehead on the way, resulting in a mild concussion. After five days of resting her brain, her doctor released her back to school, under the condition of no computer, no math or foreign language, and no participation in her physical education class.

Her first day back, the P.E. teacher moved those students sitting out during the period, to the bleachers where a volleyball competition was in progress. Within moments, while turned, she got a volleyball spike directly to the back of the head—a second concussion within a week meant a double concussion, one that came with stabbing headaches, violent outbursts, and incessant ideas of suicide.

With a drastic personality change, my daughter was diagnosed with Bipolar 2, not to be confused with Bipolar 1, associated with extreme manic high and low episodes and to celebrities who shoplift or have substance abuse problems. No, hers was the type where she was depressed, and then really, really, depressed. She was wounded, without any indication of when or if her condition would resolve. She required medications, therapists, Home Release Time from school, and a tutor once a week. Her emotional peril, forever spiraling and pitching, was harsh and demanding on the whole family, and then came that dog from PetSmart.

  My daughter dragged me to the store and pointed me to one of two small breed dogs. Zoe had stretches of fur missing from her front two legs and the top of her head and would not look at us. The other dog was a seven-month-old Chihuahua-Shitzu mix who wagged his tail and stuck his tongue out of the pen to lick our fingers. He was adorable and sweet. We asked to take both dogs for a walk around the store and outside where the loving little puppy bounced and snuggled against my feet and licked my daughter’s legs and hands.

Zoe was indifferent and froze when we tried petting her. Although leash trained, she refused to walk once we went outside. She sat on the cement blinking in the bright September sun. Back inside I noticed Zoe’s information card; Name: MIM, Age: 4 (approx.), transferred from Los Angeles, Weight: 7 LBS, Health: Shots up to date, Spayed, and Housebroken. At the bottom was the date a Utahan family had adopted her and the time they gave her back. Under the comments section was written, Not Friendly.

I asked the pet handler about the dog’s unusual name. She explained it was probably the name of the transport crate. This poor pathetic dog was a designer-breed from California without a name, and without a family. According to my daughter, she was perfect. But, we went home, empty-handed.

A few days passed and my daughter’s anxiety exploded. Another new quirk via brain injury was a paralyzing fear of being left alone. As radical and irrational as it was, for months we couldn’t convince her that loneliness would not result in her death. I did research, asked professionals, read Bipolar blogs, and tried every single notion to help the very complicated person my child had become. So many experts recommended taking on a pet, particularly a dog, who are naturally affectionate and loyal, to help, however, buying a pet was the very last of all exhausted resorts.

  “Come on,” my husband said,” let’s check out those dogs.”

  We drove to PetSmart. The same two canines remained in the same oversized cage. I thought as soon as the cute puppy wagged his tail and licked my husband’s fingers through the metal, he would come home with us. To my astonishment, the aloof, balding, and bazaar looking one raised up on her two hind legs and swaggered, front paws out, to my husband, all the while gazing at him with two huge sad eyes, begging him to lift her up. He did. We brought Zoe home.

  She didn’t like us. She wouldn’t permit any of us to pet her when on our laps, and she’d jump off if anyone tried.

At her first Veterinarian visit, the doctor said the baldness on Zoe's paws was from obsessive licking.  Her bald head was a result of dragging it across the carpet. He told me Zoe suffered from severe allergies, had OCD, as well as depression. Fantastic!

  My family went about trying to make our new pet one of the family. As it turned out, Zoe was hard. She was finicky, going five days straight refusing to eat dry dog food. To curb her obsessive compulsive licking we had to keep her calm. Nothing worked. After a while, Zoe realized she was going to stay, and that the house, as well as the people inside it, was her new home. That’s when she got awful.

  No one could visit. Zoe would growl, bark herself hoarse, and attempt to eat the faces off any stunned friend my son brought home. I took her on drawn-out, six mile walks in the morning and thirty-minute walks every evening. We bought a calming jacket, a gray doggie body suit that gave her the illusion of being a well-trained service dog. I tried videos, reward treats, disciplines, and the clicker. I checked into professional dog training, the cheapest of which was over $300  for six, thirty-minute sessions. I concluded, what she needed was a doggie straight-jacket. I have yet to find one.

Over the year and a half of owning a dog, my daughter is better. She graduated from high school and is already in her second semester of College. However, Zoe seems to have gotten worse. She shakes whenever I reach for my purse or put on shoes. She has begun stealthily following me, and I often trip over her, and she's always on guard. Zoe will position herself to face any entrance of the room I’m in, especially while I’m taking a shower, or in my office writing. She’s got my back. That’s evident. But obviously, inexplicably, I don’t know how to have hers. I’m a bad pet parent.

  I’m back to researching how to combat depression, anxiety, and Monophobia, only this time it’s for my dog!  So why in the world of poop bags and dog biscuits do I do it? I blame my kids.

  For most of my life, I’ve been a mother or caregiver to someone. My career was in raising my children and now that they’re nineteen and fifteen-years-old, they don’t need me the same way, anymore. I'm a woman who doesn’t know where I fit. But, in my dog’s disfunction, I’m easing into who it is I want to become, next. It’s terrible. It’s terrifying. It’s wonderful, and it’s because of her; in not abandoning what I know, I can be comfortable in exploring something else.

  I'm sitting at my desk eating lunch. It's raining outside, melting the snow. Zoe is on the prowl, making sure I haven’t gone without her knowledge. She smells my food, scampers to my feet, and stares up at me with sharp canine Jedi-mind-trickery, “Give me the potatoes, you will.”

She makes me smile. My little wreck of an animal is irritating and most days fills me with anxiety, but still, I love that bitch! And I believe, for the first time in the last eighteen months, she’s beginning to trust that.