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calumcest · 4 years

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you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter seven

[ao3]

did i just pull this entire chapter out of my arse tonight? maybe! not that i don’t write these chapters all in one sitting at like 9pm-1am every single time don’t get it twisted i’m not organised i am a binge-writer

i always do my long ass a/ns on ao3 i dont know why feels more REVEALING to do them here because i know people actually read them and i think probably one person on the whole planet has ever read my ao3 a/ns its a safe haven so i’m just going to say my brief thank yous: thank you to @clumsyclifford for literally everything you do always, thank you to @ashesonthefloor for listening too me bitch about this fic and having the most wonderful thoughts and ideas about it, thank you to @kaleidoscopeminds for motivating me to keep writing this fic w your kind words, thank you to @allsassnoclass for always being so wise and understanding of authors dilemmas and encouraging me w your lovely words, and thank you to my spoiler anon for being so lovely about this fic and holyverse and also for asking about another chapter because i swear to u i would have kept putting it off were it not for u. also big thank you to noel and liam gallagher for writing the SMASH hits i wrote this entire chapter to and for being [redacted] and also to richard madden because i just fancy him and feel like i should thank him for existing and allowing me to perceive him

It’s a twin room, thank God, because Luke would have rather slept in the hallway than shared a bed with Ashton for four weeks.

“I’m taking the window bed,” he announces, before Ashton has a chance to say anything, out of pure spite, because he knows Ashton likes sleeping by the window. Or knew, maybe. He’s not sure anymore.

Ashton opens and then closes his mouth, nods curtly, and puts his carry-on bag on the bed nearest the bathroom. Luke puts Clifford down on the bed first, muttering at him to stop fucking yapping (which Clifford, of course, ignores), and then drops his suitcases next to it with a sigh.

“So,” Ashton says, and his voice fills the entire room, too loud and too much, a jarring reminder that Ashton’s here, in Luke’s space, and Luke’s got no option but to live with it. “Should we go out?” Luke blinks at him.

“What?” he says.

“Well,” Ashton says, with an uncomfortable shrug. “Study doesn’t start ‘til tomorrow, and it’s only nine. Thought we could spend the day exploring?” Luke stares at him.

“Think I’d rather spend my last day of freedom alone,” he says, a little harshly. Ashton blinks, and Luke doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that crosses his face, but then he nods again.

“Have you still got my UK number?” he says, and Luke hesitates, and then nods. He’s not sure why it feels like he’s giving something away by admitting that he’d never deleted Ashton’s numbers; he’d been the one to text Ashton about the tattoos first, so clearly Ashton already knows that Luke still had his Australian number, at least. “Well. Text me if you need anything?”

“Don’t think I’ll need anything,” Luke says, and Ashton sighs, and Luke feels a little small, a little stupid, like Ashton’s a patient parent putting up with a melodramatic teenager.

“I’m going to head off, then,” Ashton says, a touch awkwardly, and Luke just nods, busying himself with getting Clifford out of his travel cage, thinking he’ll ask at reception for directions to the nearest park and let Clifford stretch his legs. He steadfastly doesn’t look at Ashton as Ashton gathers his things together, patting his coat pocket to make sure he’s got everything, and then slips out of the room, door clicking shut behind him.

As soon as Ashton’s left, Luke suddenly feels simultaneously relieved and overwhelmed. He feels like he can breathe a little easier, think a little clearer without Ashton in his personal space, making him feel like he has to be alert, on edge, but the hotel room feels strangely empty without him. Luke shakes his head, tries to get the latter thought out of his mind, focusing on Clifford’s insistent yaps to draw him back to reality and distract him.

“Alright, little man, we’re going,” Luke mutters, fumbling around in his bag for Clifford’s lead. Clifford jumps around at his feet, already panting, and Luke rolls his eyes, clips the lead on, checks he’s got his room key and phone in his pocket and heads out of the room.

He decides to take the stairs, since he doesn’t think Clifford’s got the patience to wait for the lift, which proves to be the right decision when Clifford’s straining at his lead trying to bound down the stairs, giving Luke reproachful looks whenever he tugs him back. They’re only on the second floor, so it’s not long before Luke’s back in the lobby, and Clifford finally pulls himself together and trots smartly at Luke’s heel, giving other people milling in the area imperious looks as they pass.

“Hi,” Luke says, and the receptionist smiles politely up at him. “I’d like to walk my dog. Can you tell me where the nearest park is?” She nods.

“Of course, sir,” she says, and pulls out a brochure. Luke mentally pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s going to look like a massive fucking tourist walking around with one of those. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get mugged.

“You just need to turn left out of the hotel, take a right at the end of the road, take the second left after that, take two rights, and you’ll be at the park,” she says, trailing her pen across the streets and ending it with a flourish, circling a rectangle of green on the map and smiling at him again. Luke smiles back, having taken absolutely none of that in, thanks her, pockets the map and decides he’ll probably just walk around the nearby backstreets for a while until Clifford’s worn out to lower his chances of getting lost.

Clifford, it turns out, is surprisingly tired, having apparently spent all of his energy on pestering Luke to take him out. He only manages about half an hour of walking up and down a few streets around the hotel before he’s flagging, sitting down and staring up at Luke beseechingly when Luke tries to pull him along. A passing couple throw Luke an amused look and titter to themselves, and Luke sighs.

“C’mon, little man,” he says, tugging again. Clifford refuses to budge, just stares up at Luke with a look that Luke knows all too well. “Come on, Cliff, you’re embarrassing me. It’s two streets away. You can walk that far.” Clifford stays put, and Luke rolls his eyes, but bends down and scoops Clifford up into his arms. Clifford immediately nuzzles into Luke happily, licking at his neck, and Luke pulls back, wrinkling his nose. “Gross, Cliff, don’t do that.”

Luke pretty much speedwalks back to the hotel because little though Clifford is, he’s surprisingly heavy after a while, and Luke’s much weaker than he looks. He throws the receptionist a polite smile on his way back up to the room, unclips Clifford from the lead as soon as he’s in there and rummages around in one of his suitcases for the bed Michael had shoved on top of all of Luke’s warmest clothes. Clifford watches him patiently, and hops into the bed as soon as Luke’s unfolded it, curls up and closes his eyes. Luke can’t help but smile fondly down at him, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Clifford’s head and scratching behind his ears.

“I’m going to go out again, little man,” he tells Clifford. “I’ll be back to give you your dinner, though.” Clifford just sniffs, which Luke takes to mean ‘yeah, sure, now fuck off and let me sleep’, and Luke straightens again, throws Clifford one final fond look and heads back out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

He decides it’s probably fine if he wanders aimlessly, since the brochure in his pocket has the name of the hotel on it and Michael had paid for his phone plan to cover the UK for six weeks so he can look it up when he inevitably gets lost. Having spent half an hour in the streets surrounding the hotel already, he decides to get on the tube and head somewhere new, picking a stop name he recognises - Leicester Square sounds vaguely familiar.

Leicester Square, it turns out, sounds familiar because it’s a tourist hotspot. Luke’s ducking and weaving between people, mumbling apologies as he slips through gaps that he doesn’t actually fit through and splits up groups (but seriously, he thinks, slightly irritated as he smiles politely, who the fuck walks in a row of five?). There are countless little side alleys and back roads leading off the main street, but even those are difficult to walk through, filled with the native Londoners who know their way through the labyrinth of twisting streets and know better than to be anywhere near Leicester Square in the first place.

Eventually, half to get out of the crowds and half because he’s actually pretty hungry, Luke ducks into a Costa and buys himself a ham and cheese toastie, balking at the price when the cashier rings it up. Five fucking pounds, what’s that, ten dollars? For one sandwich? Fucking hell. He’s definitely going to be demanding those reimbursements from the university.

He’s waiting for his sandwich to come out of the toaster, only two baristas serving a queue of at least twenty, when someone taps him on the shoulder a little tentatively, making him jump. He whips around, wondering whether he’s in the way or something, and comes face to face with-

Ashton.

“Are you serious?” he demands, before he can think about it. Ashton shrugs, and looks a little uncomfortable. “Are you following me?”

“I was already here,” Ashton says. “I’ve got a table.” He waves his hand in the directions of an empty table in the far corner, and Luke can see Ashton’s coat bunched up on one of the chairs.

“Oh,” Luke says. Ashton gives him a look, simultaneously sad and calculating, and for a brief moment, Luke thinks fuck, his eyes are pretty. Jesus Christ. Maybe he should have stayed at the hotel and napped.

“D’you want to sit with me?” Ashton says. Luke hesitates - not particularly , is the first petulant thought to cross his mind, before his rational side kicks in and tells him sleepily that he won’t find a seat anywhere else - and then nods.

“Ham and cheese toastie?” the barista calls, and Luke steps forwards, takes it from her hand and heads wordlessly in the direction of Ashton’s table, Ashton in tow.

“Sorry,” Ashton says, when Luke picks up Ashton’s coat off the seat and holds it out for him. He takes it from Luke and his finger brushes against Luke’s, and something like liquid gold rushes through Luke, making him giddy from head to toe. It’s the sleeplessness, he tells himself, averting his gaze and snatching his hand away. God knows he’s felt even more unexplainable things on the same amount of sleep.

“‘S alright,” Luke says, sitting down to avoid thinking about the warmth of Ashton’s finger brushing against his own and the way his finger is still burning from the contact. “You didn’t know I was going to be here.” Ashton hesitates, and then busies himself with tucking his coat behind him, like he’s looking for something to do that isn’t stare across the table at Luke. Luke’s not going to complain about that, and takes a bite out of the first half of the toastie so he won’t have to say anything else.

They sit in silence for a moment, Luke eating his toastie, Ashton fiddling with the bracelet on his left hand. The silence is uncomfortable, oppressive, and Luke kind of wishes he’d just sat on the fucking floor or something. Nothing makes him wish that more, though, than when Ashton opens his mouth and says: “I wondered.”

Luke swallows his last bite of toastie with a frown.

“You wondered what?” he says. Ashton shrugs, tension and discomfort visible in the movement.

“I wondered whether we’d bump into each other,” he says. Luke rolls his eyes.

“Not this again,” he mutters, but it’s more tired than anything. Ashton sighs, and drops his hands onto the table.

“Look,” he says carefully. “I don’t think us bumping into each other all the time is a coincidence.”

“Fucking hell,” Luke says, but there’s no heat behind the words. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and squeezes them shut. He’s too fucking tired for this.

“Luke,” Ashton says, like Luke’s being unreasonable. “We’ve lived in the same city for years-” Luke opens his mouth to interrupt, because Ashton was always away half the time when they were together, and he can’t imagine that’s changed much “-okay, on-off, because I’m in LA sometimes - but we’ve not once bumped into each other. Then we get the tattoos, and suddenly I’m seeing you every other week?”

“What’s your point?” Luke says, a little irritably. “You think this is some grand plan from the universe to make us fall back in love? What, I’m Cathy, you’re Heathcliff?” Ashton bites his lip, and Luke’s mouth twists bitterly in a humourless smile. “This isn’t fucking romantic, Ashton. You leaving me was-” he cuts himself off. He’s not quite ready to tell Ashton that , yet. “Awful,” he says, eventually. “This isn’t part of some, like, big romantic redemption arc for you. You fucked up, and you fucked me over, and we’ve just got to find some way to live with the tattoos. That’s why we’re both here, isn’t it?” Ashton’s silent for a moment, and if Luke’s not mistaken, looks a little paler than he had a minute ago, and then nods.

“Can we at least be civil?” Ashton says, and then, seeing the look on Luke’s face, adds: “We’re stuck together for four weeks, Luke. I know you don’t like me, and I’m not asking for- for friendship, or anything. I’m just asking for you to be civil with me.” Luke exhales heavily.

“Fine,” he says tiredly, before he has the chance to think too much about it. “Civil.”

“Civil,” Ashton agrees.

(Luke’s pretty sure civil doesn’t involve thinking God, I’d forgotten how long his eyelashes are, and the way you can see a hint of his dimple when he speaks, but he’s also pretty sure that’s entirely to do with the exhaustion, and nothing to do with him.)

-------

Ashton talks Luke into going down to the Houses of Parliament, with a combination of a sincere look on his face, big, serious eyes as he says look, we don’t want to risk another bumping-into-each-other tattoo, and it’ll just be civil, and the fact that Luke just doesn’t have the energy to argue. Plus, he thinks, Ashton seems to know where he’s going, and Luke had forgotten to take his charger with him so he’s kind of fucked if he gets lost.

The walk down from Costa to the Houses of Parliament is only about twenty minutes, but feels so much fucking longer, both of them all too aware of the awkward silence hanging between them, amplified by the noise of the city surrounding them. They walk through Trafalgar Square, and Ashton tells Luke something about art installations and the fourth plinth and Luke just nods along, trying his best to do this whole civil thing by quelling his instinct to snap I don’t fucking know what a plinth is and you know full fucking well I don’t care about art. Ashton seems to sense it from him anyway, though, because he falters and then says, with an uncomfortable laugh, “You probably don’t care about this anyway.”

“Not really,” Luke admits, because they’d said civil, not dishonest. Ashton smiles wryly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, and Luke just hums, and they fall back into an awkward silence.

It’s easier, Luke finds, when a man in a suit shoulders into him and keeps walking without so much as a mumbled apology and Ashton turns to him, outraged, and says Londoners really are cunts, if they interact with each other through their surroundings. Talking about people, things, even the fucking weather, adds a sheen of superficiality, a layer of removal that they can both look at and pretend there’s nothing more to it, no years of hurt and pain bubbling beneath the surface.

“How is it this sunny yet this cold?” Luke grumbles, shielding his eyes and squinting up at Big Ben.

“You should be here in April,” Ashton says, stabbing the button at the traffic light repeatedly.

“I’ve got no intentions of being here any longer than I have to be,” Luke mutters. “What are we looking at, again?”

“It’s parliament, Luke,” Ashton says, like that’s supposed to mean something to Luke.

“So?” Luke says. “We’ve got a parliament.”

“And? Have you ever seen it?” Ashton says shrewdly, and Luke scowls, biting back the scathing retort on the tip of his tongue. Civil and Ashton are two concepts that he assumes will take a while to marry in his mind.

“Whatever,” he says, stepping out into the road as the light turns green. “Just don’t get why I’m supposed to care about some random country’s government, is all.” Ashton doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, jogging to catch up with Luke, and they walk the rest of the distance to the buildings in silence.

It’s quite imposing, Luke thinks, up close. The buildings are sort of dirty - or maybe they’re meant to look like that - and incredibly intricate, bordering on fussy. It towers over them, looking more like a palace than a place of governance, Big Ben casting a long shadow across the road. He’s not sure he’d want to be governed from this place.

“I don’t like it,” he says.

“Really?” Ashton says, squinting up at the buildings. “I think it’s kind of pretty.” You would, Luke thinks darkly. Old, ornate and overcomplicated? That’s exactly the kind of thing Ashton would get excited about and find unwarranted symbolism in.

“Yeah, well,” Luke says instead, because he’s pretty sure that thought doesn’t count as civil. “Think it’s just a bit too elaborate.”

“It’s Gothic Revival,” Ashton says, like Luke’s supposed to have a single fucking clue what that means. Actually, Luke thinks bitterly, he’s probably fully aware that Luke doesn’t have any idea what that means, and is hoping Luke will take the bait and ask so Ashton can demonstrate his massive intellect, or whatever.

“Right,” Luke says, a little shortly. Ashton glances at him, looking a touch taken aback, but then looks back at the buildings.

“We can go somewhere else,” he says, and it’s an offer. An olive branch.

“Yeah,” Luke says, because annoyance at not knowing anything about architectural styles aside, looking at an old building is just pretty fucking boring.

“There’s an aquarium not too far away,” Ashton says. “I remember you-” he stops himself, and Luke swallows. Yeah. He loves aquariums. He loves them so much that Ashton had taken him to the Sydney Aquarium for their third anniversary, a month or two before he’d broken up with Luke.

(Two months on the dot. Not that Luke has both dates seared into his mind, or anything.)

“Yeah,” Luke says again, to fill the silence of both of them thinking back to that day. “Let’s go to the aquarium.” Ashton hesitates, and glances at Luke like he wants to say something else, a sort of semi-pained expression on his face, and then he sighs, shakes his head, and throws Luke a tight smile.

“Let’s go to the aquarium,” he agrees.

-------

The aquarium, it turns out, is a much better choice.

Despite the odd screaming child, the aquarium has a calming silence to it, an almost pensive quiet that pierces to the depths of Luke’s soul. It settles the air between him and Ashton, means they’re not silent for lack of civil things to say, but rather because they’re both caught up in the muted beauty of the ocean.

They don’t walk together, because Ashton likes to pore over every single placard and study every creature in minute detail and Luke’s drawn to the pretty, colourful fish. It’s Luke, though, who’s always the last to move on, and Ashton waits for him before they head to the next room. It’s almost nice, Luke thinks, as he heads for the door and sees Ashton slip through it when he sees Luke’s ready to move on, that they don’t have to have awkward conversations about it, that they can just understand and fall into it.

(He tries not to think about why.)

They spend hours in the aquarium, dawdling in every room, because they spent so much fucking money on it and they’re both going to be damned if they won’t milk it for all it’s worth. Luke spends an extra long time looking at the clownfish, for some reason, hypnotised by the way they can weave in and out of the anemones. There’s some kind of symbolism to be found there, he thinks, something about toxicity and safety, but he’s too tired to come up with it himself. Ashton would probably correct him if he tried, anyway.

Ashton’s particularly taken by the sharks, it turns out. He’s already staring at the huge tank in awe when Luke gets into the room, barely even blinking as his eyes follow one shark after the other. The room itself is dark, like the rest of the aquarium, but the tank’s so huge that Ashton’s bathed in light, rippling and shimmering and Luke, for the briefest of moments, feels something sharp stab at his heart, something he remembers feeling the last time he’d stood in an aquarium with Ashton. It makes his stomach clench, twist in on itself, because he knows exactly what he’d identified that feeling as before.

“They’re fucking beautiful, aren’t they?” Ashton says, interrupting Luke’s train of thought before it can take the leap off the cliff edge of panic, and Luke looks up at the sharks.

“I guess?” he says, because he doesn’t really see it.

“You used to like them,” Ashton says, sounding a little surprised.

“I used to like a lot of things,” Luke says. I used to like you, he adds spitefully in his head, and sort of hopes Ashton’s telepathic.

“Guess I’ve got to get to know you again,” Ashton says, and it’s a little wistful, a little sad. Luke doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what would sum up I’m not sure I want you to, I don’t think I’ll give you a chance and Good fucking luck in a civil way.

They stand there for a while, watching the sharks, and people filter in and out of the room behind them. It feels oddly hypnotic, being stood there with Ashton, the only two static parts of a moving whole. He wonders if the sharks feel the same, swimming aimlessly in their tank, watching the world pass by and powerless to move with it.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says quietly, after at least ten minutes have passed. It’s so quiet that Luke thinks he might have misheard it - maybe it was the family behind them, or just the sound of the tank - but he can sense Ashton stiffen next to him, like he’s preparing for backlash of some sort.

“What?” Luke says, just to make sure he’s heard right.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton repeats. Luke pauses, waiting for Ashton to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t really have to, though, Luke finds, because he knows what Ashton means.

“I know,” Luke says eventually. Ashton swallows, but says nothing, just carries on gazing at the sharks, but out of the corner of his eye Luke can see that Ashton’s gaze is fixed now, not following the sharks around.

They stand in silence until an announcement blares through the system telling them that the aquarium is closing soon, making them both jump.

“What time is it?” Luke asks, just for something to say.

“Uh,” Ashton says, pulling his phone out. “Five.” Fucking hell. It feels much later than that. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” Ashton adds, like he knows what Luke’s thinking. Luke nods.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” he admits, as they head back up the steps away from the sharks and towards the exit.

“Me too,” Ashton says. “I wanted to stay up until at least ten, but…” he trails off, stifling a yawn, and Luke can’t help but snort. Ashton smiles, small but genuine. “Fuck off,” he says, but it’s good-natured.

“Yeah,” Luke says, as they traipse out into the little shop. “Think I’m just going to crash when we get back.” Ashton nods, pushing open the door to the exit. Luke’s expecting the glare of brilliant sunlight to hit him, squints in preparation for the onslaught of light, but it’s pitch fucking black.

“What the fuck?” he says, sounding kind of perplexed and kind of outraged.

“What?” Ashton says. Luke gestures up at the sky with one hand, and uses the other to pull his coat in closer towards himself, because fucking hell, it’s freezing.

“It’s five o’clock,” he says. Ashton looks up at the sky, and then at him, an amused expression on his face.

“Wrong hemisphere,” he says, and Luke rolls his eyes.

“Fucking miserable place,” Luke grumbles, tucking his arms in and huddling in on himself. “No wonder they invaded the rest of the fucking world, Jesus. I wouldn’t want to stay here either.” Ashton says nothing, but when they pass under a streetlight, Luke sees the corners of his lips tilted upwards, and something warm and pleasant spreads from his stomach outwards.

“D’you actually know where you’re going?” he asks, when Ashton takes a sharp right turn onto a bridge.

“Of course I know,” Ashton says, in that infuriating, I’m-Ashton-Irwin-and-I’m-an-intellectual manner that Luke had never liked. Luke rolls his eyes, not entirely playfully, and jogs to keep up with him.

Ashton leads them across the bridge, past the parliament buildings again, up a long road that a lot of people are ambling down, and then cuts into a small alley on the right.

“You definitely don’t fucking know where you’re going,” Luke says, standing at the mouth of the road, something uneasy in his stomach. “I’m not going down here.”

“I know where I’m going,” Ashton says.

“Where are you going?” Luke says sceptically.

“Charing Cross.”

“Why is that down an alleyway?”

“It’s just a shortcut.” Luke stares at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Why can’t we walk on the main road?” he asks, because it feels right. Something about the alleyway feels wrong.

“We can,” Ashton says. “But it’ll take longer.” Luke makes no indications of moving, and Ashton sighs, and it’s tinged with sadness. “Come on, Luke, are you serious? You think I’m going to, what, murder you in an alley in London?” Well. Not specifically, but something’s telling Luke not to follow Ashton into that alley. Much more than that, it’s telling him not to let Ashton into that alley, but Luke’s trying to ignore that part of it.

“I just don’t want to go that way,” Luke says stubbornly. “Let’s just go on the main road.”

“It’ll take much longer that way,” Ashton says.

“I don’t care,” Luke says. “We’re not exactly fucking wanting for time, are we?” Ashton takes a step further into the alleyway, almost out of Luke’s line of vision.

“Come on , Luke,” he says, and takes another step, and Luke’s stomach tightens uncomfortably as he does.

“Don’t,” Luke says, before he can stop himself.

“Why?” Ashton says, sounding exasperated. “Look, the longer you stand here arguing, the longer it’ll take us either way.”

“I’m taking the main road,” Luke says. “Just- let’s fucking walk on the main road.”

“You don’t even know the way,” Ashton says. “I know the way.”

“I’m not going that way.” Even in the darkness and despite the distance, Luke can see Ashton roll his eyes.

“There’s nothing fucking down here, Luke,” Ashton calls, taking another step into the alleyway, and Luke edges forwards without even thinking about it, needing to keep Ashton in sight. It’s not really working, though, because Ashton’s walking further in and Luke’s at an angle to the alleyway, and it’s making him panic a little.

“Don’t fucking go down there,” Luke says, through gritted teeth. “Ashton, seriously. Just fucking come on the main road with me.”

“What’s your problem?” Ashton says, and even though he sounds genuinely surprised and curious, it makes a flash of anger flare up in Luke.

“Can you stop being a cunt for, like, two fucking minutes?” he bites out.

“Luke, I-” Ashton cuts himself off with a shout, and the anger’s gone, replaced with pure fucking fear and panic and protect protect protect running through Luke’s mind, and Luke’s barely even aware of his surroundings as he takes off, sprinting as fast as he can to the alleyway, getting to the entrance to it just as Ashton comes running out, wild-eyed. He doesn’t stop or say anything, just grabs Luke’s hand as he passes and tugs him hard in the opposite direction. They run to the main road, Luke’s heart pounding in a way that definitely isn’t just from the exercise, and then they run up it, and they don’t stop running until they’re outside the station. Luke doesn’t even realise that they’re still holding hands until Ashton drops his hand to lean on his knees, panting, hair completely windswept as it falls into his eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” Luke spits, fury beginning to set in between the racing heartbeats and gasped breaths.

“Someone fucking-” Ashton waves a hand, like it’s going to explain what ‘someone’ did. It doesn’t fucking matter, because those two words alone are enough to make Luke’s heart tighten, to make his stomach clench

“I fucking said-”

“I know, but it’s fucking five p.m., and I always go that way-”

“I told you-”

“I know, Luke,” Ashton says, breathing almost back to normal, and he straightens and gives Luke a look that looks almost sad. “Why d’you think that was?”

“Why do I- are you fucking insane? Because it’s a creepy fucking alleyway? Anyone would fucking know not to go down there!” Luke says, throwing his hands in the air.

“You were so fucking adamant,” Ashton says.

“Yeah, and if you’d fucking listened-”

“Luke,” Ashton interrupts. “I didn’t sense fucking anything.” Luke stops.

“Are you trying to say this is another fucking soulmate experience?” he says. “We don’t have three. Most people don’t even have one. ”

“No,” Ashton says. “I think it’s the same one. The first one. The protecting one.”

Oh.

It’s kind of a blur already, even though it’s only been like, three minutes, but Luke remembers the haze of protect protect protect that clouded every single other one of his thoughts, that stopped anything and everything else - including his own safety - from mattering, that made him move without even thinking, running straight fucking into the alleyway he’d been so uneasy about because nothing mattered more than Ashton.

“Fuck,” he says, and Ashton nods grimly.

“Yeah,” he says. Neither of them need to say didn’t realise it went both ways, because it’s both written clearly across their faces.

“You got this on the fucking phone?” Luke can’t help but ask.

“Yeah,” Ashton says again. Luke rakes a hand through his hair, trying to organise his thoughts. All he can really focus on is the what the fuck and Jesus Christ and fucking hell swirling around in a mess in his mind.

“Well,” he says. “Shit.” Ashton huffs out a shaky laugh, raises his eyebrows, and nods, and Luke thinks that about sums it up.

-------

They don’t talk much on the journey back to the hotel. Luke snipes at Ashton when Ashton tries to show him how to use his contactless card on the barriers, because he’d much rather use a paper ticket, thank you very fucking much, and Ashton calls Luke back when he heads down the wrong escalator. Luke asks once what their stop is and nods when Ashton answers him, and then they don’t speak again until they’re in the safety of the brightly-lit hotel lobby.

Luke’s not entirely sure how to take the silence between them in the lift up to the second floor. It still feels awkward, stilted, uncomfortable, but there’s something grander now, something bigger than the both of them that they can both feel but neither of them want to acknowledge.

Luke fusses over Clifford when they get back into the hotel room, pulls out the pack of dog food he’d brought with him because he hadn’t been sure what brands the UK would have, and Clifford munches his dinner happily while Luke carefully removes his coat and plugs his phone in to charge, not looking at Ashton. It feels overcrowded, even though the room is made for two people and certainly big enough to accommodate both of them.

He takes his time washing up Clifford’s bowl, refilling his water, but Clifford seems perfectly content to doze back off to sleep after his meal, leaving Luke with nothing to do but think about how fucking tired he actually is.

“I think I might sleep,” he says, even though he doesn’t really have to announce it to Ashton. Ashton looks up from where he is on his bed, book in his hand, and nods.

“I think I might too,” he says. “Do you want the bathroom first?” Luke blinks at him.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” Ashton nods, and turns back to his book, but when Luke turns his back to get his things out of his still-packed suitcase, he can feel Ashton’s eyes on him.

He makes quick work of putting his pyjamas on and brushing his teeth, only hesitating with his hand on the bathroom door handle to leave as he throws a quick glance at himself in the mirror, because he looks so fucking disarmed in his pyjamas, so strangely small and vulnerable. Whatever, he thinks, forcing himself to push the door open, because what the fuck else is he going to do, sleep in the bathroom?

“Bathroom’s free,” he says, because it feels like what he should say, turning his back to Ashton and making a show out of putting his clothes in his suitcase. He should probably just unpack it, he thinks - he is going to be here for four weeks, after all - but not tonight. He’s too fucking tired for that.

“Thanks,” Ashton says, and Luke hears the sound of a book closing and then feet shuffling as Ashton heads for the bathroom. He waits for the door to click shut behind him before tucking himself into bed, drawing the duvet close to his chin to try and keep the cold out. Why the fuck is it so cold in England, seriously?

Ashton doesn’t take long, or maybe Luke falls into microsleep, or something, because it feels like it’s about two seconds before he’s coming out of the bathroom, placing his clothes on the chair opposite his bed, and getting into bed. He’s got plaid pyjama bottoms and a casual t-shirt on, and he looks just as disarmed and vulnerable as Luke had in the mirror, which makes Luke feel simultaneously better and worse.

“Can I turn the light off?” Ashton asks, and Luke nods. Ashton reaches over, clicks the light switch, and they’re plunged into darkness.

“Night,” Ashton says after a moment, and there’s a shuffling sound from his bed.

“Night,” Luke says, suddenly wide awake. He rolls onto his side and stares at the wall opposite him, willing the exhaustion that he’s felt all day to return. Even if he hadn’t slept, like, three fucking hours, he should be tired; it’s the middle of the night in Sydney.

He feels the time passing, times it by Ashton’s shuffling and Clifford’s even breathing and the noises from the street outside, and he’s sure it’s been at least an hour before there’s what sounds like Ashton flopping onto his back and sighing.

“Are you awake?” he whispers. Luke debates saying nothing, but knows if he evens his breathing out now it’s going to be pretty fucking obvious he wasn’t.

“Yeah,” he says, a little reluctantly.

“I can’t sleep,” Ashton says.

“Me either.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Ashton says-

“We could push the beds together?” Luke squeezes his eyes shut, and Ashton takes the silence as hesitation. “Just for tonight. We’d sleep much better, and we probably need it for tomorrow.”

“No,” Luke says. Civil is one thing, but spending an entire night pressed up against Ashton? That’s something else entirely.

“Luke, I-”

“Ashton, I said no.” Ashton’s silent for a moment, and then sighs.

“Okay,” he says, and it sounds a little small. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, like. Push.” Luke inhales deeply, exhales heavily, and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s fine,” he says.

Ashton says nothing, but Luke doesn’t hear his breathing even out until Luke himself falls into an uneasy, dreamless sleep, and when he wakes up in the morning, exhausted and grumpy, Ashton’s staring up at the ceiling again (or maybe still).

taglist: @sadistmichael @callmeboatboy @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @queer-5sos @haikucal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @i-am-wierd-always

if you want to be added to my taglist pls fill in this form!

#lashton #malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfiction #5sos fanfic #i am so exhausted i am gonna answer messages tomorrow i'm so sorry #but i hve seen and appreciate all of them and i LOVE each and every one of u #and i do not deserve any of u #u are all so lovely and sweet to me and then in return i give u This #hmm...helen is cancelled #its confirmed

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yilinglaozu · 4 years

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hello again my valentine sorry this has taken so long! i'm glad you had a good weekend, it sounds super chill! also, i love that you did honourable mentions haha because they deserve it! hm okay my top 3 nil... probably calamity, outside and river road? the whole album just has such a fun sound! how about you? also! how are you feeling about louis postponing? did you have tickets to see him? have you ever seen any of the boys solo/0t4/0t5 together? hope you're doing well <3

hi darling!! 🌷 omg I did honourable mentions bc I’m shit at making decisions ndjsjs and they all deserved a mention yk?

hmm my top 3 are outside, tighrope & windowsill or vibez I think!! and i know, i love that all the songs sound so distinct musically, feels so refreshing and like he just had fun with it!

about louis, I think it’s definitely necessary to postpone it further but you can really tell that he doesn’t wanna cancel it and he’s holding out hope so I guess people should do the same? not much else we can do, is there? I didn’t have tickets to see him bc he only went to stockholm and I was sorta holding out for him to add a date in copenhagen which is much closer to me and like, it’s not such an unreasonable city what with helene being from copenhagen but yeah ndjsjs, probably will get tickets to stockholm once tour actually goes through!! did you have tickets to see him?

and yeah I’ve seen 1d twice, once during wwa with zayn and once during otra without him which like, sorta ruined the experience a bit for me bc I was very dramatic about it (being a zayn girl back in the day and all) but in the end I’m so glad I took the chance to see them once more & went anyway!! I haven’t seen any of them during their solo careers bc I sorta left the fandom back in 2015 and only slowly got back into it last year when louis performed defenceless & habit before the songs were released and then I ended back up here last year. have you seen any of them? <3

#valentine #love you darling!! your asks always make me very happy & I love talking to you and getting to know you a bit better through these <3

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grim-faux · 4 years

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5 - Down the Drain

A trail of red footprints led from the shadows across to an iron door. If it wasn’t locked I might’ve continued through, driven on by my sick curiosity. Beyond the safety of a secured door could await dangers the same as the hall I was now in, but I couldn’t afford not to check. The thought alone brought chills to my spine, that behind any door a new danger could await. How far could I run before I was caught? In this place I welcomed broken lights.

I returned to the lit path now on my left, were another of the countless slain of this place rested. Briefly, I looked over his body, maybe he had a card or something I could use later. The nametag read Doug Jenkins, he was high level security, probably down here to regain control and lost himself in the process. He had no weapons, but he was grasping a walkie talkie. From that I salvage two batteries, there was a chance they would have no power given the drafty chill that slunk in through every corridor.

As I continued through the broken segregation gate, I realized this was where that camera shy freak had made his scene. I was glad he seemed to be gone, but his absence was discomforting. Nothing had changed since I left this area, the gate still locked, but the floor along my right had shattered from some climatic event. A thin edge of cement remained, enough for me to strafe along I gambled. It looked sturdy enough with rebar exposed at the crumbling edge, the drop wasn’t far enough to hurt if I did manage to fall.

The Asylum was shut down years ago, and degraded to a condemned state before the Murkoff Corpotration reopened it for their research. They didn’t even bother with the minimal of repairs to maintain it, they barely shoveled out the collapsed ruble from walls and floors. I could just picture the memo

All staff must use Cell 52-E to reach the other side of the upper floors

I began to wonder if some of the patients locked away were ever looked in on, or if Murkoff only focused on those used in their research. Even a doomed dog was fed up until he was put down. Those affiliated with Murkoff were some of the lowest of the lowest bastards out there.

Carefully I slide my back along the rough wall and tested my weight on what remained of the walkway. It felt more than sturdy, as I continued to slink along little by little. I tried to focus on my footing and not get distracted by the lost souls, locked in their broken routine. The man that had been smashing his skull against the walls had sat down and, I think he was mumbling to himself while he persisted to crack the side of his head on the corner of a pillar.

They could have easily killed me, the opportunity was still there should they decide to pursue - hunt me down. But the humane side of me felt sickened to the core. Something about this, everything that was done here, the way they were left, was all wrong. If there was a way to escape Mount Massive, why had they not left this place? Or had others already fled? The Warrant for Seizure indicated so, before all of this came about.

When I reached the other side, I barely recalled the twins and their sick promise. They were absent.

“You, ah, didn’t wait until I finished.” I sprang back as the man from the room I omitted to shut, sprang across the distance and shoved at the door. “But I saved some for you. Just wait.” He turned and skipped down the steps like a jolly school boy, his voice full of merriment. “Just wait…Mm! Hmm!”

Maybe I should have shut his door AND propped the little chair in front of it, for good measure.

The open hall behind me was the only available route. The lights above had failed in this section, but I could make out dark blood splatters scrawled on the wall across from me, illuminated by an open door. I wanted to avoid using the cameras NV as much as possible, but odd sounds were nearby somewhere in the dark. Beside me was a set of bars, but pressed against them ‘gazing’ up at me was another discarded man tied up in a straightjacket with bindings coiled about his mouth and eyes.

It was easy to feel sorry for him, and attempt to undo the cruelty done to him. But my instincts warned me to hold my ground, and this time I listened. The worst killers of our world could feign normalcy, but the soil in their basement could conceal the bodies of many duped by this illusion. I easily recognized a makeshift muzzle.

From this point on I burned it into my thoughts, if I didn’t I was damned. Speak with no one. Trust no one. EVERYONE wanted to kill me in some way. The MHS cop warned me to hide, well I could fuckin hide.

Ahead, someone, probably their ‘Father’ Martin, scrawled a new message for me in red.

God annoys…

I blinked and read again.

God Always Provides a Way.

Follow the blood

Below the wording was a red streak, another wide mark was on the ground leading into some sort of pressurized chamber. The interior was lined with what looked like foil or thermal material of some type, most likely a fire retardant. I examined the large pipes that ran along the upper corners, connecting into pressurized caps. As I entered my attention dropped to the floor, where there was a pair of bloody shoeprints I recognized. The door hissed shut upon my entry and a shriek of hydraulics spooked me. My mind flashed to Auschwitz, death camps and gas chambers. I knew at once this wasn’t to be my demise, it was a light chemical spray to sterilize the air. Though it did manage to stall my heart for a second.

Once the pumps ceased, the opposite door opened and I stepped out. I was still shaken, but continued on without hitch. Another broken segregation gate and beyond that stairs that curled up and around leading to the next floor. Behind the first set of steps lay the crushed pieces of a wheelchair, I ducked to check behind them for anything valuable to my progress but there was nothing, aside from more low key patient files discussing prescriptions for the none volatile class. The sounds of muttering came to me, and I took the concrete steps softly gazing up at the floor above.

On the wall was a large arrow indicating my route, I touched the edge to certify the blood was fresh, still sliding down the brick wall. A large plate read A Block. The Block I just came from was B Block. Good to know.

The voice grew louder, and echoed as I made the first landing. Another locked grate, but an area I was excused from exploring.

Continuing up the steps I could pick up an overbearing reek of old copper, along with the source of the voice. Another emaciated patient scooted sideways, pressing his knuckles into the weathered cement wall until he had worn the skin away leaving bloody smears.

“Down the drain. With the blood, he said.” He seemed fully lost in the wall and strafed right, then left, repeating his words. “Only way out is down the drain.”

Behind him slouched against the wall was what looked like a doctor, he was dressed in thick white scrubs stained black with blood. My shoes squelched in the fluid as I neared him, and I turned my eyes back to the patient as he continued with his song and dance. I raised the camera and filmed his jargon, then turned to the dead man. It looked as though he had been sliced in multiple areas and all his blood poured out onto the floor, I stepped over the puddle and looked into a crimson bucket across from him filled completely with the thick black clumps.

My stomach did a flip and I retreated to the far side of the hall, another dead end blocked with crap. I sat down on the desk to gather myself while I watched the patient shuffle and repeat. “Down the drain,” he said. I took a shallow breath through my collar and exhaled.

This reminded me of the dead man I found in the lavatory, with “Witness” painted on the wall above him. Down the drain. With the blood. I guess I knew where all the blood scribbles came from. It was never a mystery in the first place.

There was another file on the desk beside me. I checked my friend before I turned to the folder and did my best to record the pages with the night vision.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Patient Art Program / PATIENT “FATHER” MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD

Helen-

Dr. Zeichner gave me your info to contact regarding the cancelation of the arts program. My patient, Martin Archimbaud, has made enormous strides in his therapy on account of his finger painting. Just in the week since canceling the arts program, his schizoaffective assertions of some “higher calling” have accelerated enormously. Please, just let the man finger paint. The few dollars you’re saving on temper paint is more than swallowed by the cost of Clozapine. I can’t imagine the logic at play here, unless Murkoff WANTS our patients to become more disengaged from reality.

Please advise.

Dr. Neil Wolfram

Martin Archimbaud. Yep, sounded like my guy. It felt good to know for certain he was the one leaving all these messages for me.

Fuck you Murkoff. Why couldn’t you just let the man finger paint? It would have saved so many lives.

My heel slipped in the blood as I tried to step over it, but I caught myself before I could lose my balance. I shuffled along the floor following a set of bare feet prints stained thick with blood leading along the same route, to a hole in the concrete and rebar where the drooping arrow on the wall directed my path down into it.

“With the blood, he said.”

Sighing, I eased myself down the opening and looked around. Another corridor, blood stained floor, walls eroded and bleached, the usual. Furniture was crammed down the way with dark streaks across the surface, and another pressurized chamber with blood indicating through a sealed door.

I took note that this was the room I had seen from the other side of the gate, and cursed my bad luck colorfully.

The door failed to open on my approach, it was either locked due to malfunction or just flat out locked. There should be a way around, but the path marked out for me was through there. I wouldn’t rationalize following a blood trail left by a psychotic ‘priest,’ but maybe he would show me the way OUT of this place if I humored him.

I didn’t want to think about his plans if this was all some elaborate delusion of his, right before he or one of the other patients decided to murder me. In the distance I could hear screaming, or someone sobbing, or something between the two. It seemed like there was always someone crying out, for whatever reason. I had a suspicion that for many it was their last cry before death.

Or escape through finality.

Light on my feet. Be observant. And above all else, survive.

I covered my nose as the heavy stench of rot hit me hard. Another corpse, right beside the desk I crawled over. Everyone with a half a mind in this place was dead.

“Just shut up and let me think for a minute.”

The sound of grunts and meaty thwacks came from around the corner. I dove down against the wall and listened as the violence continued. It sounded like someone was sobbing and thumping about with wild abandon. “Quiet! Quiet! Ah!” Then it ended.

This place was horrible. I hated this place. Down the drain. Gotta get out. I repeated these meditations to myself as I crawled under a murky window with trails of soggy red slipping down. The wall would end in a few feet, I would be exposed to whomever was there.

Slowly, I peeked around the edge into what looked like an office, or check station. Another corpse of the asylum, and fresh I presumed. A patient stood over the body with a wet club, droplets still dripped from the desk onto the crushed man. It might’ve been my nerves, but I swore the body jerked as the last impulses left what was left of his brain.

The patient turned his head, then spun fully to where I was. I froze in place coiled in a crouch ready to sprint. I was right in the middle of the opening, there in full view of the murderer.

“I’d like you to stay quiet.”

He remained where he was and I stayed right where I was on my hands and knee. Caught in a stupor, I nodded and scooted away.

That was weird.

I checked a Security door from my humbled position, and he gently reminded me to be quiet. I used the shelf in the next hall to pull myself up and get going. I just needed to stay quiet. That corpse was quiet.

At the halls end waited a metal door which I carefully opened, without so much as a whisper. Inside the room a figure stood tall staring up at monitors mounted high on the wall. Below them was a darkened window, I was between figuring out what was marked on the glass and the man as he spoke to open air.

“Trying to trap us in here.” Camera stupid, get your camera. I lifted it and checked the visor, needed to hit record too. Of all things….

“Not a lot they can do about it lying in their own steaming guts, is there?”

The variants were responsible for this shit hole disaster. But how did they manage to kill the Security personal, and the MHS? As far as body count went (excluding limbs and pieces) those that could be identified had all been staff, very few of the slain had been patients. This statistic should be reversed, unless they moved their dead. I didn’t believe enough of them had the cognitive faculty for that, but I hardly viewed a blood stain that was unaccounted for. I was barely scraping the surface of this horror mystery.

“Who…?” He had spied me when the door creaked as I leaned in a little. “You’re one of Murkoff sons of bitches, aren’t you? I want to show you something.”

He had nearly reached me at the end of that sentence, but I had whirled away to run. He wanted to kill me. Thought I was Murkoff or something, maybe I looked too normal for him. I didn’t feel healthy in thought.

“You FUCKER!”

I tried the metal door across from the librarian, locked. No shit. I darted off as my pursuer skid around the corner. There was no other place for me to go, no place to hide! Maybe I could get back up the drain, it was my only option I could see.

At the halls darkened end, all but invisible was the hairline creep of light from a door! I picked up speed smashing it open with an arm, in the same motion I spun about catching the edge and threw it shut. I didn’t see if he had followed this far, or if his hoots had done him in.

I looked around, another office. There was a desk, filing cabinets that hadn’t found the hall yet, a barred room with lockers and janitorial equipment. I walked the perimeter and found an open cell door, through the NV feed I could make out a bed but little else. I entered and shut the gate and slipped under the bed. Here I lay safely secured by my only ally, the shadows. He would know I had no place to hide, no place to run. If only there was a way I could lock that gate.

The door knob twisted and the door opened. My breath caught as I turned my face into my shoulder and shut my eyes.

“Son’s of bitches.” I heard his footfalls fade. The door of a locker opened and shut, all in the same motion. “Sooner or later. Doesn’t matter.” I pried an eye open as he paced the room, he paused to examine the bars of the room I hid within. I stare at him unblinking, it felt like my heart and blood ceased all at once. If he came in he would find me.

But the closed gate deterred him, and he swung away knocking over the computer monitor out of spite. The screen crashed and flashed out beside my head, I hadn’t flinched from the explosion and saw bright spots as a result. “Doesn’t matter.” Satisfied with his inspection, he turned and exited the room whistling an off tune melody.

Even after his song faded, and the clack of a door echoed to the room, I waited. I could never overcome this icy clutch of feebleness I felt, the overbearing weight that my life was out of my control. I shoved myself a little more under the bed until my back pressed against the wall. For a moment I felt safe.

People live in famine, mothers watch their children starve. Families are torn apart by war, yet life goes on. Men kill children because their leader orders it, then live free and safe because they are still useful.

The world had fucked up shit in it. I was going to get out of here, I was going to survive and tell the story. Others had survived. My will couldn’t be broken, no matter what they did. I hadn’t seen the worst of it yet. There will always be the worst, waiting just around the corner.

I pushed my arms out and crawled from under the bed. A little puddle of blood had stained my elbow, but it was so insignificant. This was probably my most favorite room in this entire place. It was so…tame.

“They weren’t experiments.” His sudden voice didn’t alarm me, I think I knew he was there the whole time. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, staring into the dark and where his shape moved. “They were rituals. A conjuring.”

A conjuring. This seemed along the same lines the Priest was on about. This ‘Walrider’ he called it, same as in the project reports that Murkoff based their studies. And they found it in the mountains.

I rose to my feet and left, trying to find the door so I could shut it, only to recall it was on the other side of the door frame. He was still muttering behind it as I tiptoed through the hall, listening for the echo of steps not my own. It sounded like the patient left through the metal gates, but I hadn’t seen the quiet man yet.

Cautious and quietly, I stepped beside the wall that separated us. He was still there, now staring at the cold corpse. He didn’t seem too interested as I passed by toward the control room, this suited me.

I peered into the open room before waltzing right in. Desk with monitor to my left, control panel where I left it, and lockers with a desk situated in front of them on the far right. I crossed over to the panel where a button sat on the terminal, one that looked important or might shed some light on my whereabouts. I gave it a swat and cringed when the lights behind the glass blazed a nasty yellow, the doors hissed as they opened.

Follow the blood.

I had to hand it to the ‘Father’ Martin, he was getting creative with his grim messages. If I moved side to side I could tell the arrow indicating my path was painted inside the sterilizing chamber, and Follow was scripted on the glass. It would have been more impressive if the message wasn’t written in blood.

My battery was running low on power, best to fix that now while everything was calm. I decided to use one that I had salvaged from the guard and popped it in, but was dismayed to find it only had half strength. Probably because it was some off brand Murkoff had ordered, typical. Better than nothing.

I listened, picking up the faint pats of bare feet echoing from the hall. The doors had made a good deal of noise when I activated them.

The camera went to its hoister, and I moved quickly to the lockers and slipped inside. Two lockers. Wouldn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure out if both were empty….

I held my breath when he entered. Indeed, it was the librarian. He approached my side of the room, checking the brightened window as he twisted the sticky club in his red hands. He was thinking of leaving, there was no one in this room. Just turn and leave, there would be no more noises, at least not until I was safe beyond those doors.

His gaze fell on the lockers. I swallowed as he moved over and pulled the latch on one. There were two lockers, someone was in the second one. That was what he was thinking.

He shut the door and turned to the next, right when I decided to throw it open and flew out. The door smashed into his chest, as a result I couldn’t clear the door and tumbled when my foot glanced the sharp lining of the interior. He toppled to his knees as I rolled into the filing cabinet.

“Come back here!” He had already made it to his feet and was nearly upon me as I scrambled to get up, my vision distorted by vertigo like in a bad dream. I bolted for the open hall dead ahead.

A sharp whistled cut through the air and I felt the crushing blow to my shoulder, causing me to stagger. The walls quivered as my vision warped, the pain began a slow march up my shoulder into my neck. I didn’t know if it was broken, quickly I decided it couldn’t be.

I zipped around the corners and flew over the desk, the patient had trouble keeping up from whatever Murkoff had done to him, or I was just moving too fast for my own good. I skipped across the bloody threshold of the sterilizer’s doors, they shut at once and misted the area with their foul smelling spray. Even after the other door opened I knelt down for a beat, to calm my nerves and test my shoulder. It was hurt, not fractured, but it would bruise up later. Regardless of what could happen, I needed my arms no matter what. Hell, if they were tethered by little tendons, or bloody-butchered stumps I would still use them. I couldn’t afford not to.

Red streaks and an arrow greeted me on the other side. At least it was something. I stepped out, checking around the corner and listened. No sounds, nothing but the occasional distant shriek. I ventured into the decrepit hall and tried the Security door, locked of course. The hall ahead was still inviting and the familiar echoes of cracking came to me, I stepped over a fire extinguisher as I went. I wanted to kick the stupid thing but knowing this place it would spew ice or blood, or something else horrible. The hall took a left, but in an alcove at its end was another dead man, but I wasn’t keeping count. Looked like another one of Murkoff’s Research division, he seemed a long way from home.

In actuality, I was losing my patience with them. I had seen so many corpses, dead and crushed in every way imaginable, and why? Why the fuck did they lose control of this place? Why wasn’t anyone alive? Why couldn’t they have gotten out, called someone, and kept me from joining them in this shithole?

I paused and sighed as I reached the corner. I wasn’t being fair. I had entered under my own terms, though I had misgivings, I ignored them until it was too late. The one to blame here was not the people duped into working the system. It was me. I had to look in the mirror and remind myself, I had climbed into that window. I wanted the story. I was getting the fuckin story of a lifetime.

Just had to survive it first.

“We gave him a chance.”

Oh for Christ’s sake….

“That we did.”

“I’d say we were more than fair.”

“Paragons of patience.”

The voices drifting around the corner sounded amused, or pleased, or every sort of happy I could describe. I glanced around the edge ready to bolt if necessary, but it looked like they had another one of those beautiful metal gates between them and me. I breathed a sigh of relief, and winced. My ribs hated me.

“Job-like in the suppression of our desires.”

“But now.”

“Now.”

“Now we indulge.”

“Yes.”

“His tongue and his liver.”

“Yours.”

“Mine.”

My options seemed unfairly limited.

I stepped out from behind the safety zone and moved forward, keeping eyes locked on the twins. They watched my every move with a morbid fascination I was not comfortable with. The gate between us might have looked locked, or they might wait until I neared and then they would burst through. They couldn’t know I was trapped here, if they had plans they would wait until I was too close that they could catch me with little effort. But I had no idea what was going on here.

Aside from the discussion of how to divide me up. I refused to imagine what those plans entailed.

The first door on the segregation section had been torn off and left in the middle of the floor. I stepped on it as I examined the area keeping a portion of my attention on the twins, always. They were on the other side of the second gate with weapons that could slip through the bars easily to deal fatal injuries. Beyond the frame on the left was another door labeled Security, I didn’t know if it was locked or not and I didn’t plan to get close enough to find out. They said nothing more, content to palm the flat side of their weapons and teeter anxiously as I weighed my ‘options.’ On my right was a smashed out window with a dark crimson stain stretched on the sill, but that presented no better route. Was the mark another indication of my path by the ‘Father?’

I looked out without getting too close, viewing a long drop to Block B where I first explored. The man that had been smashing his skull into walls had resumed his mission, and patrolled, sobbing about voices. From the distance he was easily identified by his blood drenched face, as his actions. I thought he would’ve succumbed to the self-mutilation long ago.

I pretended not to notice the twins as I climbed onto the sill and slipped over, grabbing the ledge on the other side and hung there. My shoes scuffed against the wall, but my grip was firm despite my wounded arm. There were no other areas of interest to the right, but I knew the twins could judge my actions and would wait for me wherever I decided to go. If I slipped under their view I might have a chance to get up on the other side and take off before they could surprise me.

Given there was any place to go once I was there. A locked door could be waiting, or a blocked corridor. The fresh bruise in my muscle alerted me to action, as visions of my body plummeting to certain death haunted the forefront of my mind. I hastened my movements locking it in my mind that I must not let go, no matter what. Was there even a way in, a shattered window that was away from those two?

There was, but it wasn’t far enough to be worthwhile. At this point my arm was burning, I needed to rest it or I wouldn’t be able to pull myself up. From there my only option would be to drop.

I braced my toes against the wall and heaved up over the frame enough to see into the hall.

They were gone.

#miles upshure #outlast novelized #outlast fanfiction #outlast

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veilingofthesun · 4 years

Text

Quarantine tags!

I was tagged by the lovely @starlene to answer these tag games. it took me a while, but I really enjoyed them. It took my mind of other things for quite some time. So thanks a lot for tagging me!:)

Music list tag game

Rules: list ten songs you’ve been listening to recently.

In no particular order:

Carry you - Missy Higgins

You learn to live without - If/Then cast recording

Use well the days - Annie Lennox

My House - Matilda the musical cast recording

Wear it like a crown - Rebekka Karijord

En sång till livet - Så som i himmelen cast recording

Stay Gold - First Aid Kit

En stund på jorden - Laleh

Gold - Once soundtrack

That I would be good - Jagged little pill cast recording

Quarantine Tag Game

Are you staying home from school/work? No, here in Sweden not everyone has to work from home. If you can, you’re advised to work from home. But my job can’t really be done from home..

If you’re staying home, who is there with you? -

Are you a homebody? Yes, definitely. I’m an introvert and and I need my space and and time to just be at home. So this quarantine thing feels kind of surreal to me. For starters, we’re not in lockdown here, so I’m not restricted in the same way that a lot of other people are. Since I’m going to work as usual (except for some schedule changes) my days feel very much as they did before this pandemic. I get up, go to work, come home, do almost the same things as I did before.... I don’t go to stores, cafes or the cinerma at the moment though. The things that I was really looking forward to and love to do (travelling to different cities and see musicals) I can’t do...

An event that you were looking forward that got cancelled? It’s kind of hard for me to write about this, because I’m getting upset just by writing about this. It’s been a long and rough winter and the things that kept me going and gave me something to look forward to was going away with my sister on our musical trips (it’s my favourite thing to do) I’m missing out on both Groundhog day and Next to Normal. N2N pains me the most. I’ve never seen a production of N2N before and I’ve been patiently waiting for many years now. N2N means so much to me (More than I can ever explain) When I found out that they were doing it and with Helen Sjöholm (my dream Diana for years) I was so excited and happy. After seeing bits of rehearsals, pro pics, the trailer and hearing what people thought, my excitement just grew... I’m trying to stay positive and hope that they might bring it back. But the realistic side of me knows that they can’t just pick up where they left and keep going. But the cast wants to do it again, and Uppsala Stadsteater has said that they’re looking into putting it up again in the future, so I’m allowing myself a slight hope... Wermland Opera won’t be bringing GHD back, so I just have to hope that another theatre will put it up some time.

What movies have you watched recently? And then we danced (A Swedish/Georgian movie) and Little women were the last two movies I watched in the cinema. I loved them both and I can really recommend them. I know that Little Women is easy accessible, but if you manage to find And then we danced, definitely give it try. It’s a beautiful and touching movie in so many ways. Most recently I watched an Icelandic movie called Woman at war (I try to broaden my movie watching horizons) It’s a very special movie (kind of hard to explain) but I really enjoyed it. Very well acted, both dramatic, funny and smart.

What shows are you watching? I’m rewatching Good Omens (it’s based on one of my favourite books and a TV show has been a long time coming) I love it so much, it captures the feel of the book and the characters perfectly. It makes me happy and makes me laugh. I’m also watching season 2 of the British show The Split. It’s a female driven show about family, sisterhood and a family law firm. The feel of it is very different from other law shows, because the focus is on family law. I also love how it’s written and the very different, very well written interesting female characters. Plus Nicola Walker is just amazing.

What music are you listening to? See above. Also, a certain audio that a very kind person sent me...

What are you reading? I’ve just finished reading Kindred by Octavia. E. Butler. It’s definitely a new favourite of mine, I love the way she writes. I didn’t want to put the book down and read it almost in one go. I love when I find books like that. At the moment I’m reading The wit and wisdom of Discworld by Terry Pratchett and Stephen Briggs. . Or not really reading, more flickering through and reading bits and pieces.( ( I needed to digest Kindred properly before starting on a new book) It’s filled with quotes and pieces from the Discworld books. Terry Pratchett has a quote for everything.

What are you doing for self-care? Hmm, well I walk and bike almost everyday since it’s part of my route to and from work, so I get some fresh air. During the weekend I try (I don’t always succeed, sometimes I just can’t make myself go for a walk) to go for a longer walk. It usually helps to go somewhere else and see something else. I’ll make it a mini trip and bring something to eat. It doesn’t happen every weekend though.. What else? Reading is self care to me. It’s very important to me, it calms me and gives my brain a break. Also working on @musicals-in-sweden is a kind of self care for me..

Nameless tag game

Top 3 Ships: Hmmm, this is a hard question... I don’t ship characters as much as I used to... I don’t really know why. Plus I find it hard to rank them so this isn’t really a top three... I’ve always had a soft spot for Natalie and Henry from N2N, so they’ll be on my list. Who else? I think I’ll go with Miss Honey and Mrs Phelps from Malmö Operas production of Matilda the Musical. I know that a lot of people ship Miss Honey and Mrs Phelps based on the musical, and I see why. But for me, it didn’t happen until I saw the Swedish production. Their chemistry and the way they acted together and opposite each other was so special. (It was probably the fact that they had some added lines and that their relationship and admiration for each other played a bigger part in this production that did it for me and of course the actresses beautiful and very natural chemistry) Then there’s the If/Then couples (Elizabeth/Josh, Kate/Anne and Lucas/David) but since I love them all, I can’t possible pick one to be in the list and let the others go, so they’re all staying.

Last Song: Hope from the Groundhog Day cast recording. There’s something very special about that song and it seems fitting at the moment. I just love the way Tim Minchin writes.

Last Movie: Since I answered the movie question above I have seen Lost Girls.

Reading: I’ve kind of already answered this, but I’m thinking of rereading Good Omens next, since today is it’s 30th anniversary... I’m about to order a batch of books from my favourite book store since I won’t be able to travel to any of the cities it’s located in for a while. They have a lot of new releases and new parts of series that I’m interested in.

Three Random Things that Make Me Happy: That spring is finally here and the lovely warm, sunny days we’ve had in april, First Aid Kit’s live streamed livingroom concerts and that Cirkus Cirkör (A Swedish new circus company)is streaming a recording of their 2010 production Wear it like a crown. It was the first Cirkus Cirkör production I saw and I was blown away. I’ve been wanting to experience it again ever since. I’m happy to say it was as magical as I remembered it.

I’m tagging @amaliatheartist @mrs-tap-toes @miyacantdecide @thecitykeepsevolving to answer as many of these as you can/want.

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enaidaderyn · 4 years

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Rules: Pick 5 shows, then answer the following questions. Don’t cheat. Tag 10 (or however many) people. Tagged by @reyavie Thanks, lady! :) 1. Vera 2. Inspector Lewis 3. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (with Jeremy Brett) 4. The Brokenwood Mysteries 5. Warehouse 13 Who is your favourite character in 2? Laura Who is your least favourite character in 1? Helen. A bit cookie-cutter. What is your favourite episode of 4? One of faves is 'The Black Widower' in S3. It goes from self-aware poking fun at LOTR tourism to eco-warriorism with a healthy dash of arachnophobia thrown in for good measure. What is your favourite season of 5? S2, I think? Who is your favourite couple in 3? Well, Holmes & Watson of course, regardless of whether one views it as romantic or deeply fraternal love (I tend to the latter but ymmv). Brett's Holmes is nuanced and compassionate, Burke's & Hardwicke's Watsons are intelligent and competent. So well done. Who is your favourite couple in 2? Laura and Robbie. A slow, healthy, believable development over the entire run, that doesn't hand wave the journey of Robbie's healing grief over his wife's death. What is your favourite episode of 1? One of favorites is still the very first one. It hooked me into the characters & setting from the first & has never disappointed since. This is one of those series where I love the show & frankly not particularly fond of the books that inspired it. What is your favourite episode of 5? One of my faves is Pete & Myka body-swap episode in S2, because the two actors nailed each other's body language, mannerisms and vocal intonations. It was fricking uncanny; one forgot any need to suspend disbelief. What is your favourite season of 2? Based on individual eps I seem to cherry pick and a couple faves I like to fall asleep to, probably S2. How long have you watched 1? Since it began streaming, so, 2012 I think? How did you become interested in 3? Showing my age, here. I watched Mystery! on PBS regularly and watched the show on its first run in the US. 1984-ish? Who is your favourite actor in 4? Tough choice! Collin Moy (Hughes) & Calvin Tuteao (Walter) for first tie, with Rawiri Jobe (Kahu) & Karl Willetts (Frodo) close behind. Which do you prefer, 1, 2, or 5? All of them? It completely depends on my mood. Which show have you seen more episodes of 1 or 3? Well, seen all of both. 3 has 41 episodes to 1's 40 episodes (so far). If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be? Jared Morehu. I envy his unruffled 'don't worry, take things as they come' approach while NOT being some stoner stereotype. Plus the man is drop-dead gorgeous. Would a crossover between 3 and 4 work? LOL. My first reaction is a big nope, but I can see Watson, Sims and Breen commiserating over the way Holmes & Shepherd continually go charging after their own thoughts without sharing with the class. Pair two characters in 1 who would make an unlikely but strangely okay couple? Mark and Hicham. Overall, which show has the better storyline: Hmm. I think it's a tie between 2 and 5, depending on what you're looking for. 2 is an episodic procedural, but there are some highly satisfactory, subtle & well written character development arcs. 5 has much more overt sf/fantasy story arcs, which are super imaginative & intriguing. It's a terrible shame the show got canceled & forced them to cram everything into a 2 show final season. Which has better theme music, 2 or 4? Ironically, neither of these really have a recurring title theme. They both have cold opens with background music. 4, however, uses contemporary country songs - primarily if not exclusively NZ artists, I believe - that tie in thematically to the mood. Quite well done, and I like the music enough that I've gotten the show's OST.

This was fun! Tagging whomever wants to play.

#@reyavie #playing tag

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ineffablecolors · 6 years

Note

Got to say, as much as I agree with a few of the points in that post, it's really coming off almost low key sexist to put the onus on Jen for all of it, and I feel like that trend has been on the rise since she left. People have been placing a lot of blame, for all manner of things, on her shoulders. Colin is my fave too, but this new attitude toward Jen feels unwarranted, and is honestly beginning to make me a little uncomfortable.

Hmm, that’s a valid point about the fandom as a whole even though I don’t think I’ve seen much Jen blame for anything other than the cons she cancelled, sorry you feel uncomfortable about it. Gotta say though, I don’t think sexism has anything to do with it and most of the “blame” is rightfully on the Colishits’ doorstep.

I’m a huge fan of both Jen and Colin, I think they are great professionals and individuals and role models. I like completely different things about each of them but I truly love them both. I just think they have very different temperaments and maybe they fit well in private but in public Jen can unconsciously overshadow and stifle Colin a bit sometimes and it often comes across as if she likes him and doing interviews/cons with him more than he does (that is not to say that he doesn’t, I just feel like Jen is more eager about most of everything when it comes to the two of them (e.g. see the head on shoulder thing which was great the first time but then became overdone and awkward in my eyes)).

However, I think Jen very much disapproves of some “fans”’s delusions and unlike other actresses doesn’t surreptitiously encourage them but rather puts an end to it when they go too far. What is more, my personal opinion is that Jen is probably just as close with Helen as she is with Colin and I love that she mostly talks about his whole family when she talks about him.

So I have absolutely no beef with Jen. And if Colifers knew how to behave like human beings and not disgusting nutcases, I don’t think we will have any trouble at all.

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marvelousbirthdays · 6 years

Text

Happy Birthday, khspoetrywizz

February 7-Maria Hill/Daisy Johnson, Something smutty involving avoiding medical, for @khspoetrywizz

Written by @thestarfishdancer

Author note: I originally missed the word “avoiding” and went straight to “involving medical”, but I hope it works for you all the same!

At the subtle buzz of her phone against her thigh, Maria risked a glance down to her lap as the nervous level two agent stuttered through the last of their presentation. A quick look was enough to see it was from Daisy. Keeping her expression unmoving, Maria unlocked her phone to read the text.

Helen finally agreed to spring me. Meet you at home. Netflix and Thai in our bed instead of the medbay twin?

Daisy’s been angling to be discharges since about three seconds after her mission injuries – a torn ligament in the shoulder coupled with a concussion – had her ordered to Helen Cho’s care. The eagerness in Daisy’s message makes Maria smile, and it’s enough to throw the speaking agent off before Fury glares the poor man back on track.

Sounds good to me! Maria carefully inputs into her phone. Might be a bit longer though. Mid-briefing. Mid-boring. Maybe someone will finally make the junior agents take presentation training.

Ha. Good luck with that. Can’t wait to see you! oXoX

Maria texts her own hugs and kisses back before trying to focus on the agent’s next slide, but instead she gets caught up in thinking about having her girlfriend back at home. It deserves a proper welcome. Which gives her an idea.

A little over an hour later, she’s riding up the elevator to her suite of rooms, refraining from tugging at her borrowed lab coat, knowing one is never truly alone in said elevator when the building is run by an AI. She steps out onto her floor, taking quick steps to unlock her door and step quietly inside, closing it behind her silently. She takes the opportunity to slip the little white hat out of her pocket and onto her carefully pinned back hair, hoping it isn’t too crooked though not wanting to miss the chance to surprise Daisy by running to check it.

She unbuttons Helen’s lab coat and shrugs it halfway off her shoulders to better offset the naughty nurse lingerie she’d picked up to pair with stilettos Pepper had loaned her with (thankfully) no questions asked, throws her shoulders back, and strides toward the bedroom.

Pitching her voice to a husky purr, she throws open the door to the bedroom. “Nurse Hill, reporting for duty just in time for your sponge ba---ahhhhhhhh!”

The sentence cuts off a scream as Maria scrambles to pull the lab coat back on and oh god why won’t it button. Because Daisy isn’t alone. No. Instead, her best friend and Captain Fucking America are on there with her.

Daisy bursts out laughing even as Maria is certain she’s going to sink through the floor. Rogers, the consummate gentleman, looks fixedly at anything but her while Jemma begins to chatter mundane pleasantries as though it is going to distract Maria from the fact that she just got pretty close to naked in front of her sometimes-commanding officer.

“Jem, hon, not helping,” Daisy says when she gets her laughter under control. “Alright, you’ve seen that I’m fine, that I am doing the bedrest thing, so go. And take the Captain with you, before he starts calling her “ma’am” and makes this even more awkward.”

“Oh God,” Maria says, even as Jemma tugs Steve from his seat near the bed and all but pushes him out the door, the sound of the hall door closing behind them not as much a relief as it would have been had the earth done its job and opened up to swallow her whole.

“So sorry, babe,” Daisy says, a hint of amusement still left in her voice. “Steve offered to help me home, and then Jemma stopped by because she wanted to do her own assessment, for all she goes on about not being more than field med trained, and you said you’d be late and I was kind of playing matchmaker…”

“Not your fault. Not like you could have known, since I wanted to surprise you with… this.” It comes out slightly strangled, but now that the only audience is her girlfriend, she’s recovering a little. Then the last of what her girlfriend says registers. “Wait, matchmaker?”

Daisy shrugs and grins. “Kind of? He’s jumped on grenades needlessly, she’s jumped on dendrotoxin grenades needless, I figured maybe their self-sacrificing nonsense might cancel each other out. Plus I was really, really bored.”

“Hmm. Might be worth a shot. Maybe you should get Nat on it. She likes playing Cupid for Steve.”

“Noted,” Daisy nods.

“Anyway,” Maria says. “Now that our guests are gone and I’m fully mortified, I’m going to go change and call for Thai.”

“Uh uh, nope. ‘Cause it turns out I got totally got cleared for sex so long as I don’t overexert myself, and I believe I was offered a sponge bath,” Daisy says, reaching out a hand and making a grabby motion until Maria relents and puts her own hand in it.

With a quick tug, she finds herself pulled to straddle Daisy, whose fingers find and undo the buttons of the lab coat in short order.

“Happy birthday to me,” she breathes as she pushes the coat off and down Maria’s shoulders.

“It’s not your birthday,” Maria points out.

“Meh, details,” Daisy waves it away. “Happy get well to me, then.”

“Indeed,” Maria says, pushing her girlfriend back into the pillows on the headboard and rocking her hips into Daisy’s. “Now, I believe I know a place that could use some particular attention?”

“Hmmm,” Daisy smiles as Maria begins work her way down her body, trailing kisses down her stomach as her pajama top is unbuttoned and pushed aside, then down her thighs following the pants down and off. She parts her legs as Maria makes her way back up between them. Maria smirks up at her, then gets to work on making her girlfriend keen in ways worth the night’s embarrassment and the Uber to the nearest adult store.

“Happy get well to meeeeeeee…..”

#maria hill/daisy johnson #maria hill #Daisy Johnson #smut

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fardell24b · 3 years

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18th November 2021 Writings

18th

Excerpt from: Daria in the Background

Her mother, Helen entered the walked through the kitchen. “Hi! Gotta change, dinner meeting.”

“Did something happen?” her father, Jake, asked.

“Hmm… depends on your perspective,” Daria answered.

Her sister, Quinn walked through the kitchen. “Hi! No dinner for me! Emergency meeting of the Fashion Club!”

“I'll make up a nice plate for you and cover it up with cling wrap,” Daria snarked.

“That was Quinn,” Jake said.

“Yes, but you still haven't identified our first mystery guest,” Daria said.

Helen re-entered the kitchen. “Dammit. I just called Eric for directions and he said the meeting's canceled. Well, that just gives us the chance for a family dinner.”

“I'll throw another steak on the grill,” Daria snarked.

“Later,” Quinn said as she walked through again.

“Where’s she going?” Helen asked.

“Crisis at the Fashion Club. Someone woke up with frosted hair,” Daria responded.

Helen sat down. “You know, Daria, it wouldn't hurt if you got involved in some after school projects once in a while.”

“Can't talk now. I'm chairing a meeting of the Resting Quietly Club.”

Words: 177

Excerpt from: Star Trek: The Next Generation: A New Generation

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I mean now, Commander.”

Shortly afterwards, Riker directed the redocking manoeuvre with aplomb.

“A fairly routine manoeuvre but you handled it quite well,” the Captain said shortly afterwards.

“Thank you, sir. I hope I showed some promise.”

“I do have some questions for you though.”

“Yes, sir. I thought you might,” Riker said.

“I see in your file that Captain DeSoto thinks very highly of you. One curious thing, however, you refused to let him beam down to Altair Three.”

“In my opinion, sir, Altair Three was too dangerous to risk exposing the Captain.”

Words: 97

Excerpt from: Daria: A New Kid’s Dance Party While a Tree Grows

“Why not!” Kevin asked.

“You need to keep yourself active, so you aren’t down all the time.”

“But what can I do?”

Words: 22

Excerpt from: Daria – The Youngest Barksdale

“I saw something wrong, I tried to deal with it.”

“There is nothing wrong here, Ms. Barksdale.”

“I would hope that is the truth, Ms. Li,” Daria said.

“I will be keeping an eye on you. That is what I was saying!” the principal said.

“Understood.”

“You are free to go to class now. Here’s your hall pass.”

Daria recognised a dismissal when she saw one. “Later, Ms. Li.”

“Additional note to self,” Ms. Li said into a tape recorder after Daria had left, “keep additional eyes on Daria Barksdale!”

Words: 90

Excerpt from: Doctor Who – Mystery in the Forest

“Of course,” the Doctor said. “And the sonic would be useless.”

“Sonic?” Illiana asked. 'It is some gadget or other?'

The Doctor held up a strange gadget.

'I thought so.;

“Sonic screwdriver. It does everything,” the Doctor explained. “Except wood.”

“I see.”

They soon came close to where Illiana had her encounter. Clara did feel something strange. “Quite creepy,” she commented.

Words: 61

Excerpt from: Daria – Mysteries of Lawndale

“Not really,” Stacy murmured.

“Stacy…” Quinn prompted with concern.

“Yes!” Stacy said. “Not in so many words of course. But in her expressions when I mention it!”

“I’m going to have to talk to her,” Quinn groused.

Stacy was alarmed. “No! That will make it worse!” she said while waving her arms.

“Something needs to be done,” Quinn said. “It’s not right that she’s giving you a hard time.”

Stacy nodded. “Maybe call her out at the next Fashion Club meeting.”

“Maybe,” Quinn considered. She looked at the three bored looking boys. “But we better get going.”

“Please!” Jeffy said.

“Oh, sorry!” Stacy said.

Jane looked at the clock. 3:30. Detention was only half over…

Words: 115

Total: 562

#angela li #cafe disaffecto #clara oswald #daria #daria morgendorffer #doctor who #encounter at farpoint #fanfic #helen morgendorffer #jake morgendorffer #jean-luc picard #kevin thompson #november writings #quinn morgendorffer #stacy rowe #star trek #the next generation #william riker

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lalka-laski · 3 years

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Do you fancy any celebrities? If so, who? Idris Elba, Brandon Flowers, Shakira Shakira

Do you watch any FBI shows? Which ones? Nope

Have you ever been to a festival? Which one? Ugh, I LOVE festival season in my city and I'm so bummed that all my favorites are canceled this year. Rochester has a really great music scene and summer is a great time to experience that.

Do you have a fireplace in your house? Nope

Do you have a hot flask? Also nope

What decade were you four in? I'm a 90s baby!

Do you like the TV show Friends? Love it and will never forgive Netflix for taking it off their platform

Do you like the feeling of cat fur? Uh, not really Do you have a back garden? I don't have a garden, period. Although I think we are allowed to have gardening plots in our complex if we OK it with management.

Do you have a gentle touch? Yes. People LOVE having me stroke/scratch their backs.

Do you like girly programmes like Gossip Girl? I never got into Gossip Girl in particular but yes, that's probably my preferred show genre

Do you ever use gloves? In the winter-time of course. And I use disposable gloves when handling specimens at work.

Do you prefer gold or silver? Silver

Are you a greedy person? What makes you greedy? I guess in some ways, maybe.

Have you ever seen a gypsy? Funny story about that... Do you have any bad habits? What? Letting my anxiety paralyze me. Overthinking. Overdrinking. Making reckless, impulsive decisions.

Do you know anyone called Helen? Hmm I don't think so actually

Have you ever watched a documentary about Hitler? Yeah

Do you put hm in a lot of your survey answers? Funnily enough I just did!

When was the last time you went to hospital? What was it for? Visiting my grandma. Although I wasn't actually allowed in to see her.

Do you like HP (Harry Potter)? Who’s your favourite character? Nah, was never into it.

Do you spell it honey or hunny? Honey

Are you afraid of this Swine Flu Hype? This question is HILARIOUS given the current state of affairs Have you ever been to Ibiza? Nope

Do you take ice in your soda/fizzy drinks? I used to HATE it for some reason, but now I do.

Who do you think is a complete idiot? Myself, prob.

Do you often wonder what if? All the time, about everything possible.

Have you ever seen an Igloo? No but I'd love to.

Do you get ill often? Minor illnesses/ailments, but yes.

Do you ever imagine you were not human? What did you imagine you were? I always pretended I was a mermaid when I'd swim as a kid. But didn't we all?

Do you like sexual innuendos? Uhh... I have no strong opinion either way. I will say I find it a little annoying & childish when people try to turn EVERYTHING dirty though.

What is your IQ? Couldn't tell ya

Do people often call you irrational? MHM!

Do you think the name Isis is pretty? Disregarding the fact that it's now associated with a terrorist group, yeah.

Do you get itchy eyeballs? Allergies, maynnn

Do you know what ix stands for in roman numerals? I only know that it's 9 because of the person who took this before me Have you ever been in jail? Nope

Do you like JD (Jack Daniels)? Nope

Do you get jealous easily? Extremely

Do you tell a lot of jokes? Eh, no. I *make* jokes and humorous comments but I don't tell formal jokes.

Do you finish school/college in June? I graduated years ago Do you know a girl called Karla? Mhm

Did you watch Kenan and Kel? LOVED that show!

Do you prefer kisses or hugs? Both from my honey. Hugs from anyone else.

Do you like Korn? Never listened to them

Do you like watching films with Kung Fu in them? Nope, not my thing Do you like Lady Gaga? Yeah! I'm not as big of a fan as I used to be but I'll always love that bitch.

When was the last time you had lemonade? Lemonade's my favorite drink but it's actually been a few months since I've had any!

Do you ever lie to save your own skin? Sure, we all gotta sometimes

Do you think llamas are cute? Not really. I don't get the llama hype. It seems like something people like because they're so "te-he rAnDoM"

Do you use Lol a lot? Too much

Do you think you are lucky or unlucky? I'm fortunate Do you like Mac and Cheese? Yes, and anyone who says no is a monster.

Do you ever eat at McDonald’s? What’s your usual? Sure do. I love their breakfasts!

Do you like Medieval games like 7elda? Nah, I don't like any kind of games.

What’s on your mind right now? What clothes I'm gonna change into when I get home Is money in your opinion, the root of all evil? No

Do you like Mr and Mrs the show? No clue what that is

Do you read murder mystery books? Which ones? It's not my preferred genre but I've read a couple in the past few months. "Verity" and "The Wife Upstairs," didn't much care for either.

Do you find Mystical stuff fascinating? Oh for sure

Have you ever been called nerdy? Kinda. Glenn was pleasantly surprised that I was "a lot nerdier than [he] expected" haha.

Are you you truly a nice person? I think so. But it doesn't mean I don't make impulsive decisions that can hurt those around me.

Do you overuse nouns in your sentences? I overuse adverbs

Do you know anyone personally who is a nurse? Yeah, and I work with several. Do you obey authority or deliberately disobey it? I'm a rule-follower for sure

Is there anything in your room that is an Octagon? What is it? Uh I don't think so

What odor can you smell in the room you’re in now? My coffee

Do you get offended easily? Ugh, yes

Have you ever been to Ohio? Nope

Do you ever say Oi? No

Do you spell it OK or okay? It depends. They both carry different weight.

Are you older than the number day you were born on? Yep

Have you ever watched the film the Omen? I think at some point

Name one thing you always have taken for granted? Ugh. Several, several things

Have you ever had an operation? On what? I've had my tonsils out

Do you like things in a set order or doesn’t it matter? Some order is good

Do you have a habit of overreacting? Bitch, yesssssss

Do you think Owls are nice? No. I'm terrified of all birds.

Do you know what an Oxymoron is? Uh huh

Have you ever tried Oyster? Nope

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historyrepeatsitself-phff · 7 years

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Chapter Ninety

“We need to talk about hiring you a nanny.”

Harry and Emmy were sat in the offices in Kensington Palace, opposite Edward, Claire and – to Emmy’s surprise – Rick. Grace sat on Harry’s lap, sleepy after her morning feed.

Harry looked at Emmy to see her reaction to Edward’s words – it wasn’t really a shock. In a few days’ time they were attending Emmy’s cousin Bella’s wedding, and they had had no one to babysit Grace. Edward had stepped up, but both Harry and Emmy knew that they couldn’t keep this up for much longer – people were busy, and so were they. They wouldn’t always be able to find someone to look after her. Emmy, reluctantly, had acknowledged that there was no other way.

“We will start searching around and invite some of the best people we can find, advertise in the best institutions,” Claire explained. “I’ll start looking on Saturday, while you’re at the wedding.”

“And I am going to organise hiring a PO for Grace,” Rick added. “So while you’re at the wedding, we’ll be sorting all this out.”

“Nothing for either of you to worry about,” Edward said, with a smile.

Harry looked so good in his three-piece suit, sunglasses on in the early summer sunshine. He walked with one hand in his pocket, his other hand in hers, smirking slightly – almost as if he knew how sexy he looked, or perhaps he was thinking about how she looked. Guests looked their way as they walked down the pathway to the church.

“You know all these people?” Harry asked, as a group of middle-aged women waved at Emmy, cooing about how grown-up she had become.

“Some of them,” Emmy answered, trying to steer him away from any more extended family, knowing they would just embarrass her. “Big family, you know.”

“Hmm, I know a lot about having a big family,” he replied, throwing her a grin.

“It’s so easy to forget, we haven’t seen them in so long,” she said dryly, although he knew full well she was enjoying the distance.

“No need to sound so happy.”

“Pfft, please, as if you’re not dreading seeing my father today.”

His mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

“Is Benedict coming today?” he asked; Emmy’s older brother was the only member of the Farrington family that Harry could stand.

“He should be, yeah, him and Susie flew over especially for the wedding,” she explained. “They’re going to come and see me in the week, while you’re away. They want to see Grace again.”

“Shame I won’t be there, I actually like Benedict,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, but then turned hopeful. “Well, if you change your mind and you want to stay…”

He sighed. “I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t cancel. And then Australia as well-”

They’d come to a stop beneath one of the trees, and its droopy blossom provided some shade from the hot sun. The warmest of breezes ruffled Emmy’s loose curls as she turned anxious eyes to his.

“Australia is so far away though.”

“Let’s not do this again,” he said gently, looking around. “Especially not here.”

“But what if I need you?”

“You won’t, you’re a perfectly capable woman. You won’t need me at all. You’ll probably enjoy not having me around.”

She raised a sceptical eyebrow as he took her hands and tried to distract her. “I doubt that.”

“It’ll be nice for you and Grace to have some alone time. And you can prepare for your visit to Denmark.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better by terrifying me with my trip?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Is it working, by any chance?”

“Of course not,” she said, actually laughing and shaking her head at him. She wanted to try and persuade him to stay some more, or to grovel about how she was going to miss him, but she knew that would sound whiny and so she looked around at the other guests to distract herself.

“Where’s your dad then?” Harry asked wearily. “Why is he not here annoying us?”

Emmy rolled her eyes at him. “You’re so predictable.”

“What?!” He tried to sound innocent.

She giggled at him. “That could be a good drinking game. Take a shot every time you mention my dad.”

“As if you’d be any good at drinking games?” he teased lightly. “Remember that time you got drunk on champagne?”

She blushed, knowing exactly which time he was talking about. “Let’s not.”

“You tried to kiss me.”

“I asked you to kiss me, totally different.”

He scoffed. “Right. And that time you got drunk on Vodka. Taylor’s 21st.”

She blushed somehow even deeper. “Don’t.”

“You asked me to eat you out.”

“And what’s worse,” she replied, scowling. “Is that you did! I was drunk and you took advantage of me!”

“Well I had no idea you felt that way,” he replied dryly, knowing that she was only joking to try and get revenge on him for bringing it up. “If that’s how you feel, I promise to never eat you out again.”

She glared at him, and he chuckled, snaking an arm round her waist to pull her to him. She moved into his hold, her hand going to his chest as they tried to hug inconspicuously – the press had caught on that the Duke and Duchess of Clarence would be attending this wedding, and so dozens of paparazzi were camped over the road, trying to snap as many pictures as possible.

“Ahh, here you are,” said a familiar nasally, arrogant voice, and Harry turned to see Alexander approaching them. Harry’s smile disappeared – he loathed his father-in-law.

“Hi Father,” Emmy said, moving to hug him in greeting. Harry merely nodded once.

“Henry,” Alexander greeted him. “And how is my little granddaughter? Still crawling?’

“Yep, she crawls everywhere now,” Emmy said, with a little laugh. “She’s becoming a nuisance.”

“Oh I can’t believe that,” Alexander replied. “I keep meaning to come and visit but I’m just so busy, you know.”

Harry very nearly scoffed, but stopped himself.

“You look very smart today, Henry,” Alexander observed.

“Father, it’s Harry,” Emmy murmured.

“Do I usually look stupid?” Harry replied coolly.

Emmy shot him a look – after all, her father was being nice.

Alexander looked pointedly at him as though to emphasise that he wasn’t biting, and then turned to Emmy. “Emmaline, have you been and spoken to Aunt Helen yet?”

Somehow, hearing Alexander call Emmy “Emmaline” always annoyed Harry more than being called Henry. He glared at him, thinking back to the time he’d punched him and trying to focus on the satisfaction that had come with that.

“Not yet, we’ve only really just got here,” Emmy explained. “I’ll probably catch up at the reception.”

“You must go and say hello,” Alexander replied insistently. “They’ll be very offended if you just stand with Henry all day. Besides, you see Henry all the time.”

Emmy nodded, trying to get him to get off her case, and finally he muttered something about spotting an old friend of his, and he hurried off to brag to someone else. Emmy let out the breath she’d been holding and turned to Harry.

“Thank you for biting your tongue,” she said, moving back into his arms. “I could tell it was hard for you.”

“I thought about that time I punched him to distract myself,” he admitted.

She giggled lightly into him. “I know he said that I see you all the time, but it’s really nice to just have a day with you all to myself.”

“Unfortunately, you have to share me with your father, apparently.”

“Of course, Henry,” she replied, smirking.

He groaned. “It’s so annoying when people call me that, because that’s what my parents always used to call me when I was naughty.”

“Have you been naughty?”

Harry recognised her playful tone, and he grinned before dropping his voice and saying, “You tell me.”

She fought a giggle, her arms snaking up to drape round his neck. “Are you going to be naughty?”

“Maybe tonight,” he whispered, his hands folding at the small of her back. “If you’re lucky.”

Warmth spread into Emmy’s cheeks, and she leant up on her tip-toes to kiss him in order to spare herself the embarrassment. He chuckled lightly into her mouth, holding her tightly to him.

“Remember when this was our wedding?” he breathed.

“I remember you kissing me in Westminster Abbey, and the Dean walking in on us,” she said, laughing lightly at the memory.

“Our first kiss,” he mused, thinking back. “Everything was so much easier back then.”

She raised an eyebrow, confused. “What? Arranged marriage and all?”

“Back then, that was the only thing that we had to deal with,” he said. “Now, we have to worry about showing Grace off to the public, and we have to worry about upsetting Kate while somehow doing more engagements than most of my family.” He shrugged. “It’s just sad, is all.”

“We are expected to do a lot right now,” Emmy agreed. “But I don’t mind. I like visiting my charities.”

He half-smiled at her. “And that is honestly the most incredible thing. I’m so proud of you for that. Well, I’m so proud of you for everything.”

She giggled lightly. “Thanks. Oh, is it time to go in?”

“I think it might be.”

They walked hand-in-hand towards the church, following the rest of the guests and blending in effortlessly.

Meanwhile, Edward was pacing the living room with a screaming Grace in his arms. She’d been crying for what felt like forever and he couldn’t figure out what was the matter.

“Why are you crying?” he complained. “Your father said that you’re a good baby, he said you hardly ever cry!” Then he scowled. “Somehow, I think he may have just been saying that to get me to babysit. Well I won’t make that mistake again, Grace. Don’t worry, you’re not the only one here who wants to scream. Why are you crying?!”

He sighed, overwhelmed by the noise. This was why he didn’t particularly like children, because they were loud and noisy for absolutely no reason at all. He didn’t even have a tie or his favourite pen to give her to try and calm her.

“Grace, please stop crying,” he said, sitting down and rocking her. Her cries faltered for a moment, and he hastily continued, quickening, but then she started to cry harder and he guessed that maybe he was rocking her a little too hard.

Why had he agreed to this? He had so much paperwork to do!

He decided to try her with her bottle again, and this time she latched on eagerly.

“Was that it? You were hungry?” he asked, incredulous but relieved. “I tried to feed you earlier, but you screamed at me!”

Her blue eyes were wide and big as she peered up at him, one hand going to her bottle. He couldn’t help but smile down at her, now so peaceful.

“Hey, that’s better,” he breathed, stroking her blond hair with his other hand. “Now I can hear myself think.”

She simply stared back at him, and then as he smiled down at her, she broke into her own smile, spilling milk everywhere.

“Oh silly billy!” he gasped, reaching for her bib and wiping her chops with it. She giggled, the fabric tickling under her chin, and he chuckled too.

“That’s a lot better,” he mused.

The phone rang then, and he cursed, expecting it to disturb Grace, but miraculously she barely noticed it. He cradled her with one arm, holding her to his chest, before hurrying over to get it. He saw Harry’s name on the screen.

“Harry? Everything okay?” he asked, as Grace stopped feeding and let her bottle fall to the floor.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, just checking on Grace.”

“And here I thought you wanted to speak to me,” Edward replied dryly.

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, she was crying for about half an hour and then she finally fed and now she’s fine,” he explained, then added playfully, “Do you not trust me with her?”

“Of course I do,” Harry said, laughing. “But Emmy doesn’t. She’s been getting on at me to check on Grace.”

“Well Grace is fine,” Edward said. “How is the wedding?”

“Well, we just finished the service and now we’re heading to the reception,” Harry said. “Unfortunately I’ve already had to speak to Emmy’s father three times. And he’s called me Henry about eight.”

Edward chuckled. “Maybe I should call you Henry, then you might actually do as I say.”

“Or I’ll punch you, one of the two.”

“True, true.” He laughed. “Okay, I’ll let you both get on. Enjoy your evening.”

“Have fun with Grace.”

“As much fun as you can have with a six-month-old and Sky TV.”

Harry snorted. “See you tomorrow morning.”

“Have fun.”

Emmy watched as Harry spoke on the phone, wondering how Grace was, hoping she was okay, hoping that Edward was coping. She hovered somewhat nervously as Harry talked, and didn’t appreciate how she joked.

“Is she okay?” she blurted, once Harry had hung up.

“She’s fine, she’s just fed.”

“Oh thank god, I kept having horrible images of something happening,” Emmy breathed, raising a hand to her forehead. “Edward’s okay with her?”

“I think so.”

“You mean you don’t know?!”

“He is okay, yeah, he’s fine,” Harry added hastily. “He’ll look after Grace like she was his own.”

“But he doesn’t have a child of his own, how does he know-”

“Em.” He cut her off, and she silenced immediately. “He’s fine. Grace is fine. Now let’s go get some food.”

She nodded, trying to force the anxiety from her mind. They were at a wedding, and they should try and have a good time.

They took their seats in the dining hall; there were dozens of round tables there, decorated with flowers and lace and ribbons that matched the bridesmaids. Harry and Emmy found themselves sat beside Benedict and Emmy’s sister Lucy. Opposite them, strangers began to take their places. One of them shook hands with Benedict after exclaiming about having not seen him for so long.

“I went to school with him,” Benedict explained to Harry, as he too his seat beside him. “He’s friends with the groom.”

“Ah,” Harry said, watching as another guy – evidently also an old classmate of Benedict’s – joined them, and started introducing himself to Harry.

“Oh shit, Emmy, look who it is,” he heard Lucy say.

He looked round instantly, wondering who it was, who could induce such amusement and smugness in Lucy’s voice. His eyes went to Emmy’s face as a blush doused her cheeks, and she looked horrified.

“Please don’t be sitting here,” she hissed, and Lucy smirked.

“Who is it?” Harry asked, eyes following Emmy’s to a guy who looked to be about her age. He was tall – although not as tall as Harry, he would like to point out – with naturally good looks. There was a curvy brunette on his arm, who was hanging on to his every word, giggling annoyingly.

The guy stopped at their table and greeted the guys who were Benedict’s old classmates, as apparently they knew each other. Then his eyes flickered round the table; Harry saw his eyebrows rise slightly as he took him in, and then his gaze moved on to Emmy. His eyes widened.

“Well look who it is,” he said, and Emmy could no longer pretend to ignore him. “Hi Emmy.”

“Oh hi James,” she said weakly. She got up so that they could shake hands, and Harry got up too, guessing who this was and knowing that an introduction was imminent. “This is my husband, Harry. Harry, this is James, an old friend of mine.”

“We dated,” James stated somewhat smugly, confirming Harry’s suspicions.

“Briefly,” Emmy added, blushing.

Harry shook James’ hand, already disliking him. He’d heard things about this guy, about how he had tried to pressure Emmy into getting drunk, into having sex, even trying to give drugs to her at some point. So Harry’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed him. “So you’re where Emmy’s issues with men comes from.”

While those around the table laughed, thinking it was a joke, James scowled. “I never got much of a chance to be a man to her. I would’ve, if she’d let me.”

Harry’s mouth was set as he answered. “You would’ve been more of a man if you’d accepted her decision.”

James’ eyebrow raised, and he turned to Emmy. “Been bitching about me to him?”

“I just told him my experience of men,” she replied coolly. “Which wasn’t particularly pleasant. I must say, since you I’ve been pleasantly surprised.”

He rolled his eyes, then turned to his girlfriend. “Shall we sit down, babe?”

The table was now full, and the food was served quickly, to Harry’s relief. He managed to focus on his food and only occasionally join in with Benedict and his friend’s discussion. Lucy and Emmy spoke animatedly to the girl they were sat beside, who had gone to their college. She wanted to hear all about Emmy’s new life as a royal, and Harry couldn’t help but notice that James seemed to be listening in to that conversation. Harry hoped he was jealous.

Before long the speeches were over and it was time for the first dance. Bella and her new husband took to the floor; she looked lovely in her white dress which flowed around her as she was spun, and Harry and Emmy watched from the side with the rest of the guests. Harry’s eyes kept drifting, finding James in the crowd; James kept watching Emmy, and Harry did not like that one bit.

“Let’s dance,” Harry murmured, hand at the small of Emmy’s back, once other couples had joined the newlyweds on the floor.

“Ooh okay,” Emmy mused, letting him lead her on. “Two dances in one month, what is happening to you?”

He chuckled lightly, watching James as James glared at them. “I just really love you, you know.”

Now Emmy frowned up at him, suspicious. “Alright, what is it?”

“What?”

“Why are you grovelling?”

He laughed innocently. “I’m not! I do love you!”

“Oh, I know, but why are you saying it? And why are you dancing with me?” They spun, and Emmy finally noticed James. “Because of him? Are you showing off that you’re with me?”

“No!”

She raised an eyebrow up at him, and he sighed.

“Fine, maybe a bit, but he keeps looking at you and watching you and I don’t like it one bit,” he admitted, turning his blue eyes to her in what he hoped was an apologetic and perhaps slightly distracting way. “He’s obviously angry by how confident you are now. And I think he’s jealous because of it.”

Emmy rolled her eyes. “And you’re jealous because he’s watching me?”

“I’m smug because no matter how much he wants you, I have you.” He reached up from his neck and took her left hand, thumbing her engagement and wedding ring. “He didn’t appreciate you, and now look. He lost you.”

She smiled, resting her head on his chest and sighing. “I think I need a drink.”

He chuckled. “Sounds good to me.”

After the song had ended and the party had started, they went to get some drinks, and then they spent the rest of the evening on the dancefloor. Emmy didn’t want to speak to her family, and Harry was only too happy to cooperate, so they spent the next few hours dancing, and then going out to get some fresh air in the gardens of the hotel.

They went in to get their third round of drinks when the night was unexpectedly brought to an end. As they waited at the bar, the man beside them was talking to one of the waiters.

“It’s awful, I can’t believe these things keep happening,” he was saying. “Second attack in London this year, too.”

Emmy couldn’t miss that. She stopped and stared, trying to hear more of what they were saying, as horror filled her. London? An attack in London? What had happened?!

Harry appeared to have had the exact same reaction, for he looked at the man and said, “What was that? An attack in London?”

“Afraid so,” he man said, after gaping at who he was talking to. “Apparently man just drove car into pedestrians on London Bridge. There’s been reports of stabbings too, and something about explosive vests.”

“London Bridge?!” Emmy quoted, struggling to catch her breath. London Bridge was only about 15 minutes away from Kensington, where Grace was! What if the attack had been close to the palace?! What if something was still going to happen at the palace, what if they were coordinated attacks?! What if something happened to Grace?!

All of a sudden, the alcohol she’d drunk had gone from her head, and all she could think about was her little girl.

As soon as the door was opened Emmy ran inside.

“Grace?!” she blurted, hurrying to the living room. Edward was just getting to his feet from the sofa, with Grace dozing in his arms. He tried to smile reassuringly, but Emmy was too busy trying to take Grace from him. “Oh Grace, baby, you’re okay, thank God you’re okay!”

A hand at the small of her back rubbed reassuringly, and Harry kissed the back of her head. “She’s fine, she’s fine, I told you she’d be fine.”

Emmy couldn’t take her eyes off her, holding Grace tightly to her. “Oh thank God, oh thank God.”

Edward watched, smiling sadly. “It’s awful, isn’t it? I’ve just been watching the news.”

“I’m sorry we messed you about,” Harry said to him. “We just couldn’t bear to be so far away with her here.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he answered. “I’ll just grab my stuff and then I’ll let you three be. She was very good, by the way. When she wasn’t crying.”

Emmy sank into the chair with Grace, holding her close. “I never want to be away from her again,” she whispered, once Edward had gone and Harry had sat down on the sofa beside her.

“That was scary,” Harry agreed, stroking Grace’s head as the little girl slept on.

“I don’t want you to go tomorrow,” Emmy breathed, sounding teary. “That’s the second attack in two weeks. What happens if there’s another one?!”

“Don’t be silly, what difference is it going to make if I’m here?”

“I won’t be as scared if you’re here.”

He wrapped an arm round her shoulders, pulling her into him, and he kissed her forehead. He didn’t like the thought of leaving his girls there on their own, he didn’t like the thought of Emmy being scared, but there was nothing he could do. As hard as it would be, he had four days in Singapore and Australia to deal with, to smile and be happy while all along all he wanted was to be back here and look after his family.

This was going to be a difficult four days.

#historyrepeatsitself-phff #Prince Harry #prince harry fanfiction #royalfanficcentral #prince harry fanfic

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kappasigmalife · 7 years

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Eternal Purgatory: Chp 1, welcome to campus

Eternal Purgatory: Chapter one

Welcome to AU

Today marks the worst day of my life, joining a frat. My dumbass dad is forcing me cause I can't stand to alone forever in my room with my books and writing, even going as far as to take my tuition away if I don’t. my name is Christopher Matthews and I come from a long line of assholes controlling the mass market of industry, and as the next head of the family corporation, he expects me to be part of his alma mater and brotherhood. God do I wish for death right about now.

Christopher begins talking on the phone with his father

“dad you can’t be fucking serious about this, they want me in an initiation and you know frat guys will do something really heinous and I don’t think I can handle that.”

Christopher’s father Joseph talks to him pretty pissed off about the situation.

“Oh I’m so sorry that I’m paying for college while you spend all your time writing those weird stories and keeping yourself locked from the outside world. Get over yourself, you have to venture out on your own and get used to society, how else are you going to take over the company?” Chris responds

“Yeah that’s right dad I got to do everything you want, no use in arguing with it anyhow, I know your minds made up, but rest assured I don’t condone this and something will happen, I know it.” Joseph on the other end

“Jesus Christ again with you bitching about taking risks, hows about you stop trying to be such a little bitch and do as your told, not that you ever proved yourself before.” Chris sighs before hanging up

“Love you too dad.”

Chris looks outside his window seeing a bunch of people crowding around in frat sweatshirts and gets a knock on his door.

Chris rolling his eyes

“gee I wonder who it could possibly be, not that I would know.”

As he opens the door a bunch of guys rush him placing a bag over his head dragging him off. As he has the bag taken off his head, he finds himself feeling bitter cold and notices they are in the basement of the dining hall on campus. The frat guys come forth and welcome chris and several other young college students to the freezer.

Frat guy

“welcome maggots to the initiation, tonight you venture into the freezer for one hour wearing only your skivvies and when the hours up, you’re going to be brothers.”

Chris glares at them and asks

“So you want us to strip down and go into freezing cold as you guys get drunk and wait?” Frat guy

“yes that’s exactly what we want.” Chris strips off his clothes and walks in flipping off one of the frat guys staring at him

“Yeah I know I’m covered in scars get over it, just let us out when your done waiting.” Frat guy

“okay just for that kid, two hours for you”

Chris thinking to himself.

“Yeah I’ll be waiting with bells on.”

Chris looks at his watch as he shivers in the cold, noticing it’s been well over two hours and the frat brothers haven’t come for him. More time passes and Chris notices the lock turning, showing that the dining hall has been closed. Shivering in the back, Chris contemplates what he said and knew the brothers forgot about him and he told his dad so about the risks to going for the brotherhood.

“I told that asshole, I told him I didn’t want to do it, but he made me anyways, god I’m fucking freezing.” As Chris finishes thinking he closes his eyes waiting for help.

As he awakens he notices hes in his boxers in the quad and looks around

“huh, guess I was able to make it out after all, I wonder who let me…, this is not my campus”

Chris looks around quite a bit more seeing different toned people walking around heading to classes glaring at him

“What the hell, it’s not even Halloween, what’s up with the floating and scarred people… oh fuck I’m dreaming.”

As Chris ducts into the bushes he notices a set of feet walking towards him and the person is wearing gold boots that are bejeweled and stands waiting for him to come out.

“Its okay, you can come out, there isn’t anything to be afraid of.” Chris crawls out of the bushes and notices a hulking man with piercing blue eyes and blonde hair slicked back in gold armor carrying a straight sword on his back and lending his hand out to help Chris up. Chris looks at him and immediately questions everything

Chris blinking and seeing if its all true

“okay did I stumble to a renassaince fair, cause your in armor and carrying a qhat I can only presume is the blade Excalibur, nice workmanship btw.” The man stares back at him and shakes his head.

“young man I am Dean Arthur, and this is not a replica of Excalibur, it’s the real thing, your in purgatory.” Chris’s eyes widen and looks around.

“so I’m dead, your king Arthur, and this place is a school.” Arthur

“Yes you died before your time came and so you will continue your education here, at Afterlife University.” Chris sighs and face palms contemplating the situation.

“good god I am in an never ending hell.” Arthur brings chris to his office registering him for classes as chris looks outside and sees a fat guy smoking a bowl outside the window. Arthur looks out and opens yelling at the young man.

“Mr. Stone, I have told you repeatedly no marijuana on the campus, recreational use may be legal, but only off school grounds.” Mr. Stone puts out the bowl exhaling his smoke in the air.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind but had a test coming up and the nerves you know.”

Arthur looks at him getting annoyed.

“my boy, your so bright but yet your careless and lazy, why not be more like the new student, straight A’s and responsible.” Chris looks at Arthur and raising his eyebrow.

“actually after all the stuff that just happened, I could go for some of that.” Stone looks at him up and down.

“honestly dude, I can set you up with my dealer, hes super chill, but maybe get some clothes first.” Chris looks down at himself wearing only his boxers.

“Oh god that’s right, anyway I can get some pants.” Arthur looking at him in embarrassment.

“Apologies I didn’t expect this to happen, most come to purgatory with clothes on.” Chris with a blank expression

“well I didn’t, so get me some clothes before I freeze to death, again.” Arthur gets Chris a blue flannel shirt with a pair of brown cargo pants and has him change. After getting clean clothes on Chris is given a registration number for classes and an address for his housing off campus. Arthur tells him that he is going to meet a lot of nice people around but to be wary of a few unwanted figures. As he walks he notices a bunch of game characters, historical figures, and even people from canceled tv shows hanging around.

Chris looks onward to see everything around him from the students to the teachers

“Huh, so everything that dies comes here, even fandoms, that explains a lot.”

As he walks he suddenly bumps into a chubby goth boy with a black goatee and wearing a dark maroon flannel and jeans.

The boy he bumps into looks at him.

“geez man could you be anymore clumsy.”

Chris dusts himself off and looks back at the young man who looks upset.

“apologies, im new and I gotta get used to things around here.” The young man looks back at him glaring up and down.

“Whatever country boy, just watch your step.”

Chris questioning what he meant.

“do you mean you’ll hurt me, cause I won’t take that lying down.” The young man widens his eyes responding.

“oh no I mean watch your literal step, if you don’t focus, youll fall down the stairs over there.” Chris looks at the spiraling staircase going off campus and sees the point.

“Oh thanks, again im sorry to bump into you but I gotta go move in to my new place.”

as he walks away the young man in the maroon flannel covers his pants with his books.

“damn it hes cute.” An incarnation of link from legend of Zelda comes over seeing what occurred.

“so Brendan, got a nice little surprise there.”

Brendan glares at link with his hair getting fluffed up.

“shut it elf boy, I highly doubt that he plays for the same team.”

As Chris reaches the house he looks at his cargo pants that tore lightly.

“that chubby goth boy owes me a new pair, or a date.” as he opens the door he notices the same fat guy who smoked a bowl outside Arthurs and another man who comes in wearing a Naruto headband and a Tokyo ghoul mask over his face. Stone walks over and offers chris a joint and a shot of rum to welcome him to the home.

“hey there, im paul and this is Robby, looks like you’re the new roommate, your rooms down the hall next to mine, just clean up after yourself and don’t touch my stash.” Chris shakes his hand taking the joint and lighting it up.

“trust me, thank you so much for this I cant believe the day I’ve had, I don’t think I need any more surprises”

Robby takes the mask off tripping over some stacks of naruto manga trying to talk.

Chris looks down at him and sees if hes alright.

“so is this something you get used to at all.” Paul takes a controller out and begins playing call of duty.

“not a chance, just happy to have two new moneymakers in the house.” Chris helps Robby up only to quickly turn around.

“What do you mean two moneymakers.”

Paul just playing his game answering,

“don’t worry about it.”

The door opens to reveal a young woman wearing a pale green tee-shirt, black jeans and brown hair tied in a ponytail walking in.

“well, this is the address and it looks like… OH MY GOD.”

Chris’s eyes bulge out of his sockets and stares at the girl.

“HELEN!!!” “CHRIS!”

The two stare at each other and watch as a robed figure comes out with a clipboard. Checking some papers for the day.

“Paul, can you tell me when the new students arrive…. Oh their here, hmm as yes Christopher Matthews age 22, died of frostbite, Helen Monroe, age 24, died of accidental overdose, my names reefer welcome to the house, er are you listening.

The two of them glare at each other only to say the same thing as they contemplate the situation.

“I’m gonna fucking kill dad.”

#lgbtpride #lgbt #story #comic idea

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

Text

Manwhore chapter 19

Worst of all, I can tell he’s enjoying talking to me. And teasing me. I pinch my eyes painfully shut, savoring it too, “Don’t hang up yet, just say something long and important. . . . Say your name! Your ridiculously long name . . .”

“Justin.” He indulges me. Then, slowly, “Kyle,” then “Preston,” then “Logan,” then “Justin.” Then, more intensely: “I miss you, Selena.”

I wipe away a stray tear and strain my throat to say something in reply. “Okay.”

“That’s all I get?” He laughs, incredulous.

“I love you,” I say. The emotion gets the best of me, and I repeat, “I love you, Justin,” and before he can answer, I hang up and cover my face.

Oh god. Oh god oh god, I just said it. And I have no idea what effect it had! OH GOD.

Shaking from the adrenaline, I put my phone on my nightstand and watch it for a few minutes.

What. Did. I. Just. Do?

I fall back in bed feeling a mix of excitement and dread and . . . disbelief. Well, I did say “I love you” to a man for the first time in my life. Just like that—wham!—over the phone. To Justin Justin.

How silly it must seem to him.

I must seem so . . . gah! Stupid!

Why could you not wait until you talked to him in person, Selena? Why?!

I wish I hadn’t missed his face, his expression. I mean, he must have been completely dumbstruck. Dazed. Was he surprised to hear it? Pleasantly so? Or not-so-pleasantly so? Well, did he laugh? Or frown? Puzzle? Fuck my laptop, what did I do?

I lie awake for a while in full-blown stress mode, in his shirt, my body aching for his, haunted by his eyes and by the last time we were together and every moment in between. Haunted by the dread of LOSING HIM before I can really be his girlfriend.

“Dibs . . .” I remember.

“I’m an only son. . . .”

“Are you coming up, or do you want me to carry you?”

I’m flooded with him.

Remembering the way I could almost swear he caught his breath when he saw me at the Ice Box.

The way he kissed the corner of my mouth first, always, leading into his bigger kiss.

The way he saved an elephant.

The way he saved me.

The way he fed me grapes.

The way he opened up to me.

Please come back to Chicago and let me explain, let me tell you why I don’t deserve you . . . and give me your advice. Give me your wise advice on what to do. Because I should’ve come to you before anyone else. I should’ve trusted that you would help me because that’s all I’ve seen from you—I’ve just never trusted a man before.

I hear my text beep and read:

Sin: I’m going to take that as a yes

TRUTH AND LOYALTY

“Wake up, Livingston.”

I tuck my face into my pillow while someone who sounds a lot like Gina keeps knocking on my door. I groan, “I’m going to kick your ass when I get out of this bed.”

“You’re going to be too busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“Selena, the door’s freaking locked.”

“So?”

“So open up.”

Hmm. Don’t think so. My life’s a mess. My life’s a mess and I need to fix it and I need to think of how to fix it. And the only pleasure I can derive anymore is in thinking and remembering, remembering talking on the phone only a few nights ago; I dreamed he said some things, and that I said some other things, then I remember that, yes, I think it’s true—I said I loved him.

Holy crap.

“Raaaa-chel,” Gina whines. Hard banging at the door. “Open up, Livingston. You need to see this!”

“I don’t want to see anything today. I’m seeing Justin when he gets back from New York and I want some beauty sleep, okay? It’s Saturday,” I grumble, but when she keeps banging, I leap off the bed and whip the door open, then rush back under my warm covers. “What is it?”

Wynn and Gina drop onto my bed.

Wynn is here too?

I’m aware of a strained silence while Wynn goes to open the curtains and comes back. Their stares . . . they look ominous.

A shadow of fear looms before me. “What?”

Their expressions alone set alarm bells ringing throughout my head. Leaping off the bed, I open my laptop and start scouring the Net, and all I can think is no, no no nooooooooo.

Within seconds, dozens of results with the words exposed and undercover and lies and betrayal pop up, tying Sin, my glorious Sin, to me.

“Selena, you’re all over the gossip sites,” Wynn says.

The results come at me with talons. One after the other.

“Go here.” Gina points at a website.

My hands have never shaken so hard on the track pad. I force the cursor to move and go to the site, and my stomach drops. I see Victoria’s byline and realize they went ahead and released her story in blog form before going to press.

I can’t see through my tears.

“That BITCH!” Gina yells.

As though someone else is speaking for me, numbly, in my own voice and with my own lips, I hear: “She’s doing what she has to. She wants to succeed, like me,” and as I speak, my tears keep gathering in my eyelids.

“She can suck my dick!” Gina yells.

I duck to read.

DECEIVED: Justin Justin’s New Girlfriend Really Undercover Press!

If you’ve been waiting for the dish on one of the most unexpected “relationships” to arise with one of our bachelors, prepare to have your mind blown even further when I let it all out of the bag. At least, Justin Justin’s girlfriend’s bag. . . .

I can’t continue. Each word is out there for Justin to read. Snarky, like the words of a real-life Gossip Girl amusing herself while my world is torn asunder.

My eyes well. “He’s read this by now, ohgod.”

“Selena, calm down. . . .”

“You don’t understand! Truth and loyalty are important to him! They’re so important to him . . . I can’t.” I cover my head in my hands as I start to hyperventilate. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Selena.” They try comforting me, both of them slinging their arms around my shoulders, but I’m beyond comfort.

My cell phone is buzzing madly. I suck in deep breaths, and when my phone falls still, the landline starts to ring. Gina lifts the kitchen phone in the air. “It’s Helen, Selena.”

When nothing happens, she waves the phone at me.

“Helen’s calling.”

“Don’t talk to her,” Wynn whispers.

Gina covers the speaker. “Hello? Wynn? She’s her BOSS.”

I know what she wants, what she will say. I grab the phone while my hand trembles and the rest of me starts to grow numb inside. I have disappointed everyone in my life. “You saw?” she asks.

I can’t answer.

Helen growls, “We’ll ride this if it kills us. Get to work.”

I’ve barely hung up the phone when Gina raises my cell phone before me, eyes wide and apologetic. “It’s your mother.”

With a moan of distress, I shoot Gina a “help me” look. What will I say to her? Well, let’s see. That I lost my heart and my senses with it. That I lost the man I loved before I had the courage to let myself truly have him. That I lost a story to my colleague. That I might, if I can’t find my balls soon, lose my job.

That I’ve lost all sense of direction. Of what’s right and what’s wrong. Of who I am and what I want—

“Heyyyy, adoptive mom!” Gina finally picks up on my behalf. “Yes! GINA! Oh . . . Selena? She’s super busy writing the article that will leave this other one in the dust. Oh, pfft! It’s just a blog article! Selena’s will be IN PRINT, and it’s much more important in that format. . . .” She starts to wax poetic to my mom while I go back to the computer and go to Justin’s social media.

I scan a few pictures.

There he is.

I see a picture of him getting out of his Rolls and into M4. A picture of him flipping off a reporter.

A set of slick aviators shield his eyes.

He looks sharp and on top of the world as he gets out of the car and, just like that, flips off the reporter. And a caption beneath the image reads: “When asked by a reporter, outside his offices, what he thought about his girlfriend being undercover press, this is what Justin Justin had to say.”

Justin is back in Chicago. He’s back from his business trip. To find this.

He’s being tagged. He’s being BOMBARDED.

@JustinJustin U deserve much mre and better than a cunt lke her!!

“I’m going to go talk to him.”

I run into my room and change as fast as possible into a pair of black slacks and a professional-looking white button-down blouse; then I quickly gather my hair into a ponytail and, despite Wynn and Gina’s reservations, take a cab to M4.

I cross the pristine lobby. If I’d thought it was difficult to walk up to the receptionists behind the oval desk the first time, it’s even more excruciatingly painful now.

I know that they know what’s going on; I can tell by their pointy stares.

My pulse is dangerously high. I can’t imagine what it will feel like when I see him.

“Selena Livingston for Mr. Justin, please.”

It strikes me, after several heartbeats, that none of them wants to answer me.

“We apologize,” the middle one with the tidy bun finally says. “But Mr. Justin just got into town.”

“Yes, I know.” I can’t believe how calm I sound, considering how twisted up my insides are. “I’ll wait.”

“Miss!” she calls as I walk toward the elevators. “No one is to be allowed to the top without authorization today.”

I stop mid-stride, puzzled. “Oh.” I hesitate, and notice that the elevator bank is, in fact, quite empty today. “I’ll wait here, then.” I try to stay calm as I walk back in their direction. Did Justin cancel all the meetings in his “packed” day? I feel increasingly anxious about it. “Just please tell him Selena Livingston would love to see him. It’s terribly important.”

“Like I said, he’s terribly busy.”

“I’ll wait,” I say, soft but firm.

I head to one of one of the lounges by the window. Huddled in my seat, I wait, feeling cold, remembering the absolute gossip storm taking place online. I shift uneasily from side to side, watching the elevators and the cars outside.

There are two or three people outside the building trying to keep their cameras hidden but occasionally taking snapshots of the building. So they want a piece of him too? Annoyance flares inside me. Annoyance, impotence, and loathing at myself for having caused this. The receptionist approaches moments later, and there’s an intimidating bodyguard with her.

Slowly, I rise to my feet.

“I’m sorry but we can’t have you here,” the receptionist says. “He’s busy, just arrived from out of town.” I see anger in her eyes. My attention flicks to the large man and . . . I just can’t believe there’s a bodyguard. I can’t believe he’s having them escort me out.

“Tell him I stopped by,” I murmur. Then I do them all a favor and take myself outside, using my hair as a curtain to avoid being recognized—glad that my hair can also hide the absolutely crestfallen look on my face. I head straight home, where Gina and Wynn appear to have been waiting by the door.

“How did it go?” Gina takes me by the shoulders and forces me down on the couch.

I’m still numb with disbelief. It takes me a moment to answer. “He’s walling himself up. I couldn’t see him. They . . . I was escorted out.”

“What?” Wynn cries, outraged.

And Gina: “Didn’t you tell me his staff is loyal to a fault? Of course they’d be overprotective of their Justin.”

“But did he know Selena was there?” Wynn wants to know.

They start arguing about whether or not Justin instructed them to kick me out, but I can’t join the speculation. I’m feeling more and more hopeless as I look at my phone. My silent phone.

Locking myself in my bedroom, I call his cell phone and pace around as I leave a message:

“Heyyyyy. Hey . . . will you please call me back? I need to talk to you.” I flounder with what to say next, my thoughts stumbling one after the other.

“Justin . . .” I trail off, but my voice breaks so fiercely, I hang up. I wipe my tears away and dial again. “Sorry,” I whisper. I have never wanted to hear his voice so much. “I want to say that . . . I don’t know. . . . I just wanted to hear your voice.” I think of what else to say when I reach his voice mail.

I dial again. “You value truth and loyalty, and I . . . I need to talk to you, Justin, you need to let me explain. If that’s all you do, please let me explain.”

It’s killing me. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. I have a constriction in my chest and I literally can’t breathe. This time it’s not in a good way. I keep waiting to hear from him, keep expecting him to message me back.

I storm into Gina’s bedroom. “Do you think it’s over?”

She jolts up in bed. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought we had an intruder!”

“Do you think it’s over? Not talking and this shit happening, it means it’s over. Right? Who am I kidding? I wasn’t even his real girlfriend. Not even for a day. There’s nothing to be over.” I laugh sadly and struggle with my tears, and with my conscience, and my desperate need for him.

“I feel bad for you, but Justin’s a powerful man. When Paul betrayed me, I couldn’t look at him, not even a single possession of his. He broke me. And this is . . . this is public, Selena. How would you feel? If he came with something like this, throwing you for a loop? Give him time to assimilate what’s being said. Maybe he just wants to rationalize.”

Maybe he just needs to count to four, I think to myself.

“I have a temper. . . .”

One instant I’m trying to feel positive by telling myself that I will have a moment to explain, eventually, and the next I’m heavy with grief. The next, I’m one big, gigantic knot of regrets. Remembering those few, rare moments when he completely opened up to me makes me even more anxious to be with him right now, to explain. To make it okay. To hold him. To BEG him to hold ME. “Selena, what are you going to do with your article?” Gina asks worriedly.

In my hand, on my phone screen, for the thousandth time, I look at that picture of him arriving at M4 after a business trip. Looking like a true, first-class billionaire . . . but flipping off whoever was snapping that picture. All of that glass and technology in the background, and him, in that killer suit, his dark head bent, his eyes shielded behind his aviators. No comment, the caption says. But the finger said plenty.

RESEARCH

A short while later I slip into my bedroom and stand, in my socks and his shirt, and stare at my laptop.

Inhaling, I bring it, along with my shoebox filled with note cards, to the little rug beside my bed. I sit Indian style on the floor and read my notes, one by one. Notes on him.

Truth and loyalty, I had written.

Traits he probably admires in his best friends. Traits he may never have found in the women who are after him. Truth and loyalty . . .

That’s all I can write about. The rest of what I’ve learned is too raw for me to share.

But truth and loyalty.

Things Justin values above love.

Things he wouldn’t find in me. I read the back of the card, my scribbled note, this one talking about me.

I SUCK SOOOO HARD.

He’d stood there talking about truth and loyalty while I sat there moved by everything we talked about, absolutely knowing that I was falling in love, helpless to stop it.

And still, I was taking notes. Studying him like a lab rat. As if he wasn’t human. As if he weren’t driven by the same things everyone else is: a heart, a mind, a body, hormones; as if he didn’t need air and water and maybe even love; as if he were this robot to be scrutinized and picked apart for the amusement of the world.

Really? What does it matter that he’s been with a thousand and one women? What does it matter that he’s the city’s obsession and now also mine? He’s human. He’s entitled to the little privacy he has. He’s so damn closed off, he rarely opens up to anyone, and I know it’s because he’s always so judged and scrutinized.

My eyes water, and suddenly I grab the cards and start tearing them up, one by one. Then I lie with all the notes scattered around me and cry a little. Then I look at the scattered mess. What did I just do? Oh god.

If I want to save the magazine, I need to deliver something.

I breathe in and out.

“Selena?” I hear Gina call.

She peers inside and scans the mess of torn note cards, and then me. As broken as the paper around me.

“Oh, Selena.”

I start crying.

“I need to write it.”

“Selena, tell him the truth. Tell him the truth. If he knows you well at all, he’ll understand.”

“What? That I’m a liar?”

“Tell him you love him,” she says.

“He doesn’t want my love. He values . . . truth and honesty, qualities I don’t possess.”

“You possess them in spades. You’re loyal and honest with everyone.”

“But not with him.”

“From the moment you talk to him and come clean, you will be. Make him see it from your eyes. Maybe you can have it all.”

“Whoever gets it all, Gina? Nobody. Nobody, that’s who.”

“But yet we all believe that we can. Isn’t that the point of everything we do? We want it all. So write this piece. And if you still want him, then you should go get him.”

I pause. “I do want him,” I whisper, wiping my wet face with the back of my hand. “It’s a million tiny things that, added up, tell me there is no one in this world, ever, who will have this spectacular effect on me but him. Sometimes I just can’t see myself when we’re together, I’m so lost in him.” I wipe my eyes. “He’s the only man I dream about at night, and the only man I want to wake up next to in the morning. Everyone is after his fame or his money, but I love him not because of anything he has but because he has me. . . .”

“Oh, Rache. Don’t cry. Maybe there’s hope for you two.”

“How can there be? He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“He’s fucking hurting, Selena! Even I can tell, because there’s not one picture of him without fucking shades to cover his eyes. There must be hell in those eyes, Selena. I can’t believe I actually feel bad for him now.”

“Because I was the Paul in our relationship. I was the liar.”

“Paul played me. You never played him. Your feelings were real.”

I groan and bury my face in my hands. I remember how Helen warned me from the beginning. That I was too young, playing with adults. I hadn’t seen all of this coming. She was right. I was not ready for this at all.

But I take the Kleenex Gina passes, wipe my tears, connect my laptop, boot it up, and write my heart out.

The day I turn it in, Helen tells me that the Edge email servers are bursting with hate mail for me, and she advises me to take the week to work from home.

The day it’s published, I don’t get out of bed. I don’t answer my phone. My mother stops by, but she ends up chatting with Gina because I don’t want her to see me like this; I’m too sad to fake it today, and she knows me so well. She tells me before she leaves, “I’m going to go paint.”

She’s telling me I should do the same. She’s telling me I’m free to go out there and do something I love.

But what I love hates me.

Twitter:

Did you read your girlfriend’s article? @JustinJustin

On his Instagram:

No way @JustinJustin would give that bitch a second chance!!

And the feminist groups online:

Selena Livingston, our hero! Revenge on the playboys! Want to play with our hearts? Beware the time you will find your own weakness. Revenge is sweet!

Later that week I find enough energy to get out of bed and go to work, and I’m immediately called into Helen’s office.

There’s tension between us. Helen was not happy when I sent over the article. She said, “It’s not what I asked for.”

“No,” I concurred.

Helen took it and printed it anyway.

Today, I’m surprised that she seems pleased to see me, genuinely pleased. “It’s a circus out there,” Helen tells me, waving me forward from behind her cluttered desk.

“I’m not online. Can you blame me?”

“No. But let me fill you in.” She signs to a chair across from her desk, but I remain standing. “Your boyfriend,” she begins with obvious glee, “pulled Vicky’s piece. It can’t be reposted without legal repercussions now.” She eyes me with a new gleam of respect and admiration, and adds, “In case you lost me when I said ‘your boyfriend’ ”—she laughs happily—“Justin Justin canned any print editions of Victoria’s post—and it was removed from the blog.” She nods ever so slowly and somberly.

My eyes widen. “What?” I finally speak.

“Victoria’s article. Your boyfriend owns the rights. It can’t be published anymore—not without his say-so.”

“What? How?”

She shrugs, then leans back in her chair with a little creak of the wheels. “Seems like Justin doesn’t want it out there.”

Ohmigod, he made Victoria’s story go away? “If he canned Victoria’s, why not ours? Why didn’t he can mine?” Why didn’t he read mine?!

My heart is in a fist in my chest and so are my lungs.

“Guess he doesn’t hate you that much.” She shrugs casually, but stops herself when she seems to notice—finally notice—that I’m crushed. That my hair is a mess, my face is a mess, I’m a mess. “Maybe he does like you, Selena,” she says softly. “I’m impressed, did you know? I’m not the only one who’s impressed. The world is impressed too. He hasn’t been seen . . . consorting with you-know-what types.” She taps a pencil absently on her desk, her eyes narrowed on me. “But he’s been skydiving daily. You’d think he has a death wish or has some serious mojo to get out of his system.”

I hardly hear her. I need to get away. From Edge, from her, from this office. “Is it all right if I work from home today, Helen?”

Though I sense her reluctance, she agrees. I go get my things from my desk, aching to my bones.

Justin skydiving.

Justin buying Victoria’s article.

Justin thinking I betrayed him.

Outside that afternoon, I stop when Edge stares back at me from a newsstand, one copy remaining on this side, a few on the other.

“You read that yet?” The man behind the newsstand whistles and laughs. “That reporter’s got her panties in a twist over the guy.”

I lift my head, prepared to scream at the man. Instead, I scan the picture of Justin that Helen used on the cover—those icy green eyes staring back at me. And yes, this man is right. I do have my panties in a twist over Justin. Not just my panties—my entire body. My entire life.

I miss him like nobody’s business.

I want to kiss him.

I want to squeeze him. With my arms. And my thighs. With my whole body until I BREAK or he breaks me, and that’s just fine, as long as he comes after me.

“Smart woman,” I finally whisper, emotion thickening my voice. “I think I’ll take him home with me.”

I buy the copy just because of Justin’s picture. Sharp tie, perfect collar, and that thick-lashed gaze, screaming to be warmed, that gets me. It’s a marvel how those eyes of green ice can so easily melt me.

I sit down on a bench with the magazine on my lap, brushing my fingertips over his eyes, wondering for the thousandth time if he will ever read what I wrote to him.

AFTER THE STORM

It’s over.

There wasn’t rain or thunder when we ended. We just ended like we began. There were no flashes of illumination that told me I would fall in love, that I would meet the one man who would challenge me, drive me crazy. Now it’s ended, my project done. Completed.

My mornings have returned to normal. I still have brunch with my friends on the weekends. I still visit Mom on Sundays. My world is back to ordinary, almost the same as it was before I wrote the exposé. I hadn’t realized how bleak it was. I’m afraid I will pick up the paper and there he will be . . . with someone. Or with three.

The crying spells are bad. You go out and accidentally smell wine and oops, snivel. And don’t talk to me about elephants, that takes me to a whole new level of despair. But the fear is gone. You were afraid of going out and suddenly you’re right there, daring the universe to take that from you or pleading with it to give you an excuse to feel like shit today. Gina passes me the Kleenex.

Some of my coworkers . . . some of them envy me.

“I wish I’d been asked to go after Justin Justin,” Sandy, my coworker, tells me because of the positions I’m being offered, but most importantly because “being paraded around in a yacht and being pursued like that . . .” she says dreamily.

“Fess up, was the sex phenomenal?” Valentine asks.

I think they’re trying to cheer me up . . . but I’m uncheerable.

I still stalk his Twitter feed. I can’t help stalking him, wanting to know how he is. Though the social media around him has been more active than ever, Justin himself has been . . . quiet.

He’s been asked about me—by reporters on live TV, and online. He says “no comment” or ignores the online jabs. Just like he’s ignoring me.

“It wasn’t going to last,” Gina assures me when she notices I’m mopey. “It was a hookup. He’s a womanizer to the next level.”

But it kills me that I’ll never know. I’ll never know if all the times he said I was his girl, he meant to keep me.

I have all these unsent emails addressed to Justin, and very little courage to do anything with them when I know that I don’t deserve for him to give me the time of day.

To: Justin Justin (Drafts)

Status: unsent

I have a thousand and one emails just like this that I won’t send either. I just needed to write to you.

Please forgive me

Do you think about me at all?

Dibs on your mouth and dibs on your eyes and dibs on your hands and dibs on your heart. Even your stubbornness cause I deserve it. Even your anger. I want it all. Dibs on my man. See #Iamsogreedytoo !!!!

Gina tells me that if she could survive heartbreak, I can survive breaking my own heart.

“Baby, I know it hurts. When I found out about Paul, I wanted a meteor to fall on my head so I could go numb inside a coffin.”

“God, Gina, I know. I just want a chance.”

I stare out the window this morning at the street. No more shiny Rolls-Royce waiting outside on Saturday mornings to take me “anywhere.”

Is it funny, though? That I keep waiting to see it? That I wake up with hope every day? For a text, a message, a call, the car, a glimmer of a chance?

Stop being so hopeful, Selena . . . he would have read it by now.

Maybe he did and he just doesn’t care to let you know what he thought of it.

I found out so many things about him during all the time we spent together, but I didn’t really find out if he could come to love me. If he’ll be too proud to ever forgive me. If he’ll seek to ease the pain of my betrayal with other women, or if he’ll shut himself off, like I’m doing. I found out dozens of things about him, but not the dozen ones that could give me any kind of comfort right now.

We saved an elephant together, he took up my fight for a safer city, but all I physically have to remind me of my time with him is his shirt.

His shirt, which sits like a priceless trophy folded away in plastic, inside a box, in the deepest part of my closet, because I can hardly bear to see it now. I can’t bear to wear it now. But sometimes when the melancholy hits, I go into my closet and pull it out, stark white and large, completely male against my frilly items, and still with his scent clinging to its collar. Self-pity washes over me on those days, and it takes one second, two, three, and then I think of him, and so I take four. Four seconds before I let myself breathe again.

EXPOSING JUSTIN JUSTIN

By R. Livingston

I’m going to tell you a story. A story that managed to pull me apart completely. A story that brought me back to life. A story that has made me cry, laugh, scream, smile, and then cry again. A story I keep telling to myself over and over and over until I have memorized every smile, every word, every thought. A story that I hope to keep with me forever.

The story begins with this very article. It was a regular morning at Edge. A morning that would bring me a big opportunity: to write an exposé on Justin Kyle Preston Logan Justin. He’s a man who needs no introduction. Billionaire playboy, beloved womanizer, a source of many speculations. This article would open doors for me, gain a young hungry reporter a voice.

I dove in, managing to get an interview with Justin Justin to discuss Interface (his incredible new Facebook-killer) and its immediate rise to popularity. As obsessed as the city has been with his persona for years, I considered myself lucky to be in this position.

I was so focused on revealing Justin Justin that I let my guard down, unaware that every time he opened up, he was actually revealing me to me. Things I had never wanted were suddenly all I wanted. I was determined to find out more about this man. This mystery. Why was he so closed off? Why was nothing ever enough for him? I soon discovered he was not a man of many words, but rather a man of the right words. A man of action. I told myself that every inch of information I hunted was for this article, but the knowledge I craved was actually about myself.

I wanted to know everything. I wanted to breathe him. Live him.

But most unexpectedly of all, Justin began to pursue me. Genuinely. Wholeheartedly. And relentlessly. I could not believe that he would be truly interested in me. I had never been pursued like this, intrigued like this. I had never felt so connected to something—someone.

I never expected my story to change, but it did. Stories tend to do that; you go out searching for something and come back with something different. I wasn’t looking to fall in love, I wasn’t looking to lose my mind and common sense over the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen, I wasn’t looking to drive myself crazy with lust. But I ended up finding a little piece of my soul, a little piece that isn’t really that small at all: it’s over six feet tall, with shoulders about a yard wide, hands more than twice the size of mine, green eyes, dark hair, and it is smart, ambitious, kind, generous, powerful, sexy, and has consumed me completely.

I regret lying, both to myself and to him; I regret not having the experience to recognize what I was feeling the moment I felt it. I regret not savoring each second I had with him more, because I value those seconds more than anything.

However, I don’t regret this story. His story. My story. Our story.

I’d do it all again for another moment with him. I’d do it all again with him. I’d leap blindly into the air if only there were even a 0.01 percent chance that he’d still be there, waiting to catch me.

FOUR

Saturday.

The fourth one since.

There are still dozens of messages in my drafts folder that I won’t ever send to him.

I’ve still, more than ever, been living in the land of “what could’ve been” and trust me, this is a very sad place to live in. In the zip code of the lost, you breathe in regret with every breath, sadness permeating every space in which your body stands.

Of all the things that drive people to change, it is despair and sorrow that cause it most of all.

Sadness is so disempowering. Anger, on the other hand, demands action and empowerment. But I can’t get angry when it was me who put myself right where I’m standing.

I’ve spent weekends at the window of my apartment, trying to make myself want to go outside and not really feeling like it.

Never let anyone tell you that your life will return to normal after a hurricane.

I’ve got folders and folders with pics I can’t open.

A number I can’t dial.

A shirt I can’t wear.

A name I can’t say out loud.

The memory of a pair of eyes that will haunt me forever.

I live in fear of never seeing those eyes again. And in even more fear of what I’ll see in them if I do . . .

Helen had complained it was not what she had wanted.

She’d said it was “a love letter to Justin.”

But we all know stories are like that. Stories change. Just like people change. We change when we suffer, when we take, when we give, when we love. When you lose the object of your love, your normal will be perennially changed; there’s no returning to the old anymore. You have to rebuild stronger walls, change your expectations, and wait for the sunlight.

There’s nothing like a sunrise in Chicago, the orange-gold light shimmering over the buildings’ mirrored windows. I’ve watched the sunrises and the sunsets and I’ve watched it rain from this very window. I’ve watched Gina go out, and I’ve watched the cars drive by, not really focused on what colors they are, only that none of those cars belong to him.

My laptop hums nearby. Gina went out to lunch with Wynn, but I still can’t seem to work up the enthusiasm.

I’m trying to work on a new story. A story with good stuff. Stuff about people. Loss. And hope. And . . . forgiveness. I’m pouring tea for myself when my phone vibrates. The number is unlisted.

I stop and set my cup aside, then answer.

“Miss Livingston, this is Catherine Ulysses.”

I pause.

Justin’s assistant.

“Are you there?”

My heart. My heart is going to literally leap out of my chest.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“He’d like to see you in his office.”

I close my eyes.

“Should I tell him you declined?”

“NO! I . . . at what time? I’ll be there.” My fingers tremble as I write down the time and start nervously scribbling when I hang up.

The world tilts a little when I force myself to lower the pen. I stare at the hour. The date. The question mark. The heart. And the name Justin, I wrote, with all of that.

I’m finally going to see him. I have no idea what I’m going to say, where I will begin, what can even make this okay.

I picture myself kissing him, having the courage to say I love him.

I picture myself getting teary maybe, too, because this has been the worst month of my entire existence.

I picture him in all his glory, and my chest can’t take it without gnarling up like a live rope.

His office.

M4.

Justin.

I brush my teeth, take a shower, then hurry to my closet and swing open the doors, staring at my clothes, hoping something—the right outfit—stands out and yells, WEAR ME, HE CANNOT SAY NO TO THIS. Instead I see a lot of sleeves and nothing, nothing, fit for this moment. Hidden in this closet is his shirt. How I loved sleeping in this shirt. It engulfed me like his arms did, and I had the best dreams, sometimes even erotic ones, even after I was back from his arms, recently sated. I pull it out and look at it, missing it with an ache, then impulsively hide it in the long-dress section again.

I go for something white, a white turtleneck sweater, a pair of light-colored jeans, my lambskin boots.

I feel exposed, all my walls tumbled down. But I go brush my hair, add a light peach lipstick, and look at myself, my gray eyes staring back at me, as vulnerable as I’ve ever seen them.

Because I’ll tell him the truth—the entire truth.

And I’ll deserve whatever he comes back with; I’ll deserve it, every bit.

At M4, I take the elevator, trembling.

Our every complex human emotion, bottled up inside our bodies, our minds and souls and hearts.

Every member of every ethnicity, every human in the past and the present and every one in the future wants to feel like this. The way I feel right now, just a girl hoping and craving, dying to see him, praying the guy she loves loves her back.

My throat is so tight I can’t talk when I step out. His four assistants lift their heads from their computer screens. “I’m . . . here to see—”

“One moment,” Catherine tells me.

I’m standing here wondering if he’ll smell like I remember, look at me like I remember. If he’ll smile or frown, if he’ll hate me forever, if he thinks of me at all. If he misses me at all.

It doesn’t matter so long as he sees me right now. That’s all I want, to look into his face again. Hear his voice.

Finally Catherine hangs up and nods at me as she walks to the door and pushes it open for me, and I walk inside.

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