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bone-chillen · 2 years

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My Friend Scott

It’s been 13 years since I’ve heard from my childhood friend Scott. Scott was my neighbor growing up and my partner in crime, until his father lost his job as an executive for a company that was going under in our hometown. Scott and his family lost everything and depended on their savings, which didn’t last long. Before we both knew it, they were moving to a more rural and cheaper city to live in, and starting over in a small apartment. I sent Scott off with some of my things and the promise to stay in touch, but I broke that promise.

Today, I was cleaning out the attic for my mom. Recently we lost my father to a virus going around. We were sorting through his things and donating much to charity, reminiscing on the man we dearly missed, when I found them.

Letters tucked neatly in a binder of Pokémon cards called to me. Mostly, I wanted to check out what finds I had curated in my younger days, until I realized the letters were from Scott.

I took the binder home with me, along with a bottle of my fathers favorite whiskey, made a fire and got to reading. As I fingered open my first letter, a photograph fell out. A tiny boy with olive skin and messy black curls leaned against a taller ginger boy with wire glasses and a smirk, who was pointing to something in the trees behind him. A treehouse our fathers had built together for us. I choked up a little and began to read.

May 14th, 2008.

Dear Wren,

We just moved into our new apartment, and I finally got my room set up. Thanks for giving me your old bunk bed, I took out the bottom bed and put my desk there, it makes my room much more spacious.

Luckily, I don’t have to go to school for the rest of the year! The school district said it was too late to start the semester. Early summer!

Our apartment is pretty small, and pretty dull. My parents had to sell my Xbox 360 for the security deposit, along with all of my games, but they said they’ll get me a new one when things are better.

So I don’t have a lot to do these days, I guess I could read but…you know how I feel about that.

That leaves wandering around outside which is what I’m about to do.

Smell ya later, Wren. Write back soon? I’m bored to tears.

Peace,

Scott

May 28th, 2008.

I just got your package man, you did not have to send your old game boy!

Mom has been on a cleaning rampage. She says the guys who lived here before us must have been a smoker which pisses her off but I kinda think it’s cool.

Mom and dad hate living here but I think it’s alright these days. Maybe it’s a bit of a dump but it’s cool to live somewhere where people had their whole lives stretch out and now it’s yours. I wonder what the people who live here after us will think of us. How are they gonna picture me? Will they know I’m a kid?

I’ve been taking your game boy to this pond behind the apartment. It’s quiet there, I crank up the volume and fill the empty space with the 8 bit tunes of Pokemon. I like to pretend a Magikarp is gonna leap out and splash me. When you come here to visit for my birthday, can you bring fishing poles? You and I can fish, and see if we can catch one!

I miss you man. I wish I could show you the pond now.

Write back soon?

Scott

June 5th, 2008.

Wren,

Your letter came quicker this time, it made my day a bit better. Today has been lame, it’s cold and rainy. Mom and dad were fighting about money again and I didn’t want to be inside, so I took an umbrella and went outside to watch the water, but something happened.

My hands are still shaking from what I saw.

It was like the water was blacker than usual, filling the landscape with dark shadows, dancing across the field surrounding the ichor like water. When I looked to the center of the pond, there were white dots swirling around and bubbling, emitting steam from the oil like water.

Then I heard it.

“Greetings.” I heard in a low voice from the pond and I fell on my ass.

I began to slide away rapidly, forcing myself to my feet and hurdling up the stairs to the apartment complex and busting into my small apartment. Dad could barely stop his insults that were flying at my mom at 60 miles an hour to notice I'd come into the space and dashed to my room.

The first thing I noticed in the room was that it gave me a perfect view of the pond I never seemed to notice before. I barged to my window and slammed the curtain shut.

I don’t know what to think of this all, man. Was it all a hallucination? Like maybe heat stroke? I’m just gonna go to bed after I send this to you. Please write back soon.

Scott

June 14th, 2008.

Wren,

You’re right, it’s probably all a dream. Still, I don’t feel comfortable going out to the pond. When I’m at the window, staring into the inky black water, I swear the ripples make it look like the pod is smiling back at me. It feels like it wants me to swim in it, but I have a long list of things I'd rather do than swim in that cesspool.

I’ll have you know I met a girl in the apartment! I know you’ll be so jealous when you read this! Her name is Meadow, and she is the coolest girl I’ve ever met! She said her brother was into trading cards, and gave me his old ones! There are some great cards in his set! I wonder why he was okay with her giving them away, makes me glad I have no siblings! Since you gave me your old Gameboy, I’ll put a couple good cards in the envelope for you.

Scott

June 25th, 2008.

Wren,

It’s been almost two weeks and no word from you man! Did you get my last letter? I hope you did, there are some cool cards in there! Anyway, in case you didn’t I met this girl Meadow, she gave me some old trading cards. Well, turns out her brother went missing 3 years ago. Crazy, right? No one knows where he went. He was hanging out by the pond one day, watching the water, and when Meadow went to get him for dinner he was gone. Vanished. No trace of the guy. Gives me the heebie jeebies thinking about it.

How’re you man? How’s your summer? I wish I could get a letter from you. It feels like I'm drifting off into nothingness with Meadow and that creepy pond. I’ve never felt stuff like this before. Please write back?

Scott

August 27th, 2008.

I get it man, I’m not cool enough for you anymore now that I’m not around, right? You could’ve said something. Meadow ditched me too, some loser from the trailer park across the street is her new best buddy and I’m yesterday's news.

I started drinking the murky pond water, it came to me in a dream and told me the waters of it’s unlife would pour through my soul and purify it. It all makes sense now. You, Meadow, mom and dad are all too weak to withstand the waters of life pooling in the pond. I’m going to have to drown them in it to make them see, and when I’m done, I'll drown you in it’s purifying water.

December 18th, 2008.

Mr.Hadley,

My name is Theresa, we’ve never met but I just moved into this apartment and found correspondence between your son and the previous tenant's child. I looked up your address and found it would be kinder to write to you rather than your son. Along with this letter, I’m sending your son’s gameboy and these trading cards. Your son might want them to remember his friend.

Unfortunately, the previous tenants have moved on following the death of young Scott.

You see, the pond behind our apartment complex had a brain eating amoeba in it, that Scott contracted after swimming in the pond. The landlord informed me of this when I moved in, as they have to disclose this kind of thing to new residents when signing a lease.

Tragically, Scott’s brain deteriorated and he became paranoid that the pond was speaking to him apparently, leading to him drowning a fellow resident's child.

Following this, he was arrested and hospitalized, but it was too late. Scott passed on sometime in September.

You might want to leave out some details until your son is older, it seems like they’re just boys.

I’ll pray for your family, and you’ll be glad to know the pond has been filled in.

With thoughts and prayers,

Theresa.

I snapped back to reality, and realized I had finished that whiskey my father loved so much. I can see why the man was always nipping at it now. Rereading the letters I figured I must have stopped replying sometime in June, or Scott didn’t have the wherewithal to respond to letters I had sent. I have no idea which is the truth.

After a surprisingly short internet search, I found an article from 2008 validating what the stranger had said in her letter. For one reason or another, my father had taken all of my letters, and I’d never noticed. He’d hidden all of this away from me but obviously wanted me to find out the truth eventually. Part of me is glad, but mostly I wish I’d never learned what became of my friend scott.

#horror #horror stories #writing #tw sui implied #tw #tw death #fiction #scary

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starsfallhome · 4 years

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You know what I want to see in sky fan art? Little... skykid nests. Places where kids took some sheets and sticks and found a niche. Everything’s messy and sleepover night is every night. So, two questions:

-which realm would you/your skykid live in

-what would it look like

Treehouses in sunny forest? Makeshift bunk beds in vault? Tents in forgotten ark? Houses in valley, unoccupied for so long, being used again? The possibilities are endless.

#mia and sunshine would live on the first floor of vault #sky cotl #sky children of the light #mine

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 years

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jaliceweek20 day 1: human/vampire

Title: Against A Wall (Part 1)

Prompt 1: Human/Vampire

Word Count: 3,851

Note: I’m going into hospital tomorrow, and I’ve run out of time to get this finished (so, so close but I need sleep). So I cut it in half in the most logical place.

As long as the JaliceWeek Mods don’t have an issue, I’ll finish off Part 2 and upload the whole fic to the AO3 collection around Tuesday when I’m feeling human and have a decent Wifi connection.

Fifteen.

He crouches behind Dewey’s Bar, spitting blood onto the pavement, and trying to pretend that whatever is seeping into his jeans is just water, and not runoff from the reeking dumpster beside him.

It’s Tuesday night, and Tuesdays are always the worst. Tuesdays are his mom’s night shifts at the VA hospital. Tuesdays are pay-day. Tuesdays are the only day his father doesn’t pull his punches.

His left cheek and eye are swollen and split, like overripe fruit. He can’t see real well, and the taste of aluminium foil in the back of his mouth makes him suspect another fracture around his eye.

But was it really a Tuesday night if cerebral fluid wasn’t leaking into his mouth?

He feels bad that his mother is going to walk in at five the next morning, exhausted, to find… well, to find Hettie and Flo asleep in Ava’s bed, as Ava studies and worries. To find Jasper’s bed empty, and Lydia’s too. To find the study door locked, no matter how long she knocks.

In fact, the only thing that Louise Whitlock won’t find when she gets home from work is the god-damned strength of will to leave her fucking husband.

Last time he said that to her face, she started to cry, and that made things worse.

It’s still early, which sucks. There are hours to go until it is safe to move, to drag himself to school, to shower in the locker rooms and get some food out of the vending machine and savour the fact that another Tuesday is behind him. Sheldon isn’t big enough for the other students and the teachers not to notice the bruises on his face, but it is small enough that everyone knows Jeremiah Whitlock, and no one is going to say anything to get him in trouble.

He could go find Lydia, hide in the tree-house, tell someone who wasn’t family or a local. But he always ends up behind Dewey’s. When he was a kid, it hadn’t just been a bar; it had been been Dewey’s Bar and Grill, and his grandfather used to take him there for fried chicken and ice cream. Dewey had been his Grandpa Jed’s best friend, but even in those halcyon days it hadn’t exactly been family-friendly.

It had become a dive bar sometime around the time Jasper finished middle-school, but it didn’t matter - by then, Dewey and Grandpa were dead, and he was too busy trying to protect himself and his sisters to eat ice cream.

He spits blood again, and rests back against the brickwork. Nothing for it; Tuesdays were always hell.

—

He tries to sleep, amongst the noise of passersby, and remain unnoticed - Jasper’s learnt the hard way that his uncles still frequent Dewey’s, and they will march him straight back home for round two, no matter what he says. Even when he came up with the strength to tell them, about Lydia and Jerry and Tuesday nights, his uncles just tell him to shut up, man up, and maybe Jerry wouldn’t have to whoop his ass.

He thinks of Lydia and hopes she’s somewhere warm and clean tonight. Lydia’s smart enough to stay away on Tuesday nights. Home is never Lydia’s first port of call any night of the week, but never, ever on Tuesdays.

He remembers the last Tuesday night she was home, two summers ago, when Lydia stormed upstairs, a twelve-year-old hurricane with fire in her eyes, and called their father a coward for beating the shit out of Jasper.

Jeremiah Whitlock hadn’t liked being called a coward. Not at all.

Now she is transient, a ghost sister who vanishes at day break; one who bunks down on couches and in treehouses before coming back to her own bed. Their mom and Ava worry about where Lydia gets her money, cigar-sized rolls of dollar bills that she keeps in a tampon box, but he knows.

He knows that his sharp and pointy little sister never let anything stop her, least of all hard work, and that a lot of people in town know that Jerry Whitlock has a lot of anger and a lot of disappointment that he tries to drown in cheap beer and cheaper whiskey. It just makes him angrier. If the only thing they can do is give Lydia Whitlock some work, well, that kid’ll cut the grass, paint the garage, and walk the dog for a few bucks and a drink from a spigot.

It’s easy to say that Lydia is the best of them, making it clear that she doesn’t need their shitty father or their tired mother, but they are all strong in different ways. Ava, who smiles and simpers at their father, waiting for that day when she can buckle Hettie and Flo into her car and take them with her to college in Houston with a middle finger raised in the air. Flo stays quiet, stays alert, darting and hiding when the moment comes, but whose slight of hand belongs to a survivalist magician. And sweet little Hettie, who never lived on the ranch and knew their parents when they were happy, is sunshine and laughter and innocence. The one that reminds them why they stick together.

He’s the boy, so his role is obvious and unquestioned: he takes the punches and slaps and kicks that were meant for their mom, for Lydia, for Flo. He mutters things under his breath so that Jerry doesn’t hear what his sisters are saying, forgets that Hettie is sniffling or that Lydia hasn’t been home in ten days or that their mother has burnt dinner.

He knows his place.

—-

If you asked anyone with the surname ‘Whitlock’, they’d tell you that the family was cursed.

Had been since the Civil War; the youngest son had run off and joined up. Tried to desert two months in, crying for his momma, and ran afoul of someone - or something. He was dead a month later, but no one was exactly sure if he’d been executed for desertion, or if he’d just got in the way of a Yankee bullet. Either way, his last letter was rambling and terrified of something he never named, and his cowardice was rewarded with his bloodline’s constant suffering.

Within the Whitlock family lore, the curse was held accountable for numerous failings - from great-great grandmother Edith running off with one of the Wilkerson boys, to little Brian dropping dead as a doornail one summer day after seven years of perfect health. It was the Whitlock Curse to blame the day the bank took the ranch away from Jasper’s own father.

It was the curse that had four and a half strapping brothers (Uncle Wyatt only counted as half since he went to the war in the Middle East and got himself blown up before he was even old enough to drink, and left behind a high school sweetheart with a bouncing baby girl they all called ‘Puddin’) father fifteen girls, and only one lousy boy.

Make no mistake about it, Jasper was a lousy heir to the Whitlock name. All three of his uncles reminded him of this every holiday season. Whitlock men were supposed to live and breathe the ranch, were supposed to be football players and champions. They were meant to knock up the head cheerleader and serve eight years in the army, like their brothers, fathers, uncles, and grandfathers before them.

Not snivelling little momma’s boys, who cried themselves to sleep when Sirius Black died, and could charm the birds from the trees. Not boys who helped their sisters catch rabbits, and keep them as secret pets, or name the house cat Socrates. Not boys who sat up all night when their horse had colic, and sit in the stable with her, begging and praying for her to be okay.

He tried, goddamnit. So hard. He was the best shot in the family (something that Uncle Bo had nearly hit him over, that one Thanksgiving. But everyone knew that Bo had the worst temper in the family.) Before things went to shit, he’d been a good student. He’d been able to convince the animals on the ranch to do anything. He was popular, without having any particular friends or putting much effort into it. He took care of his sisters.

But none of it was ever good enough.

Nothing ever was.

—

It’s Roy Lester that chases him off, before six the next morning. Roy runs the grocer next to Dewey’s, and went to school with his father and uncles - still had beers with them ever so often. The way he threatened Jasper and chased him off home whenever he caught him in the alley made Jasper think that they talked about him, and none of it flattering.

So he has to slink home because he stinks and he’s starving. The security at school won’t let anyone in before seven; he’s tried before; it’s not like he has much choice.

In a town like Sheldon, everyone knew everyone. You started kindergarten with maybe twenty other five year olds - most you probably already knew - and spent the next thirteen years with those same kids. You watched Maude Montgomery transform from the aesthetic-equivalent of Danny Devito to Jennifer Lawrence in a single summer, thanks to a late brush with puberty; you were right there when Casey Atkinson was put in a wheelchair and spent seventh grade learning to walk again. You knew that Ariel Turner was diabetic, Marley Harris was asthmatic, and you’d seen thirteen years of peanut-free lunches and birthday parties because Joey Thompson was highly allergic.

The joy of small towns.

Everyone knew that Jerry Whitlock hit his kids and his wife, but no one talked about it - not to their faces, at least. The adults tended to march Jasper home, to face his father’s wrath. The kids tended to get uncomfortable, and look through him. The few people who tried to reach out were from out of town, and were usually passing through - the odd teacher, a new neighbour, a concerned face on the bus.

Better to go home until school opened up.

Louise is in the kitchen, her face pinched and pale, clutching a cup of coffee. She looks hopeful when he walks in, but seems to crumple in on herself when she sees his bloody, swollen face. She looks old as she puts down her mug, and moves to pull him into a hug. He pretends not to notice her shuddering, as she cries onto his shoulder, before pulling away.

“I’ll make breakfast,” she manages, sniffling. “Okay? You must be hungry.”

He grunts and nods, as he heads upstairs. As if scrambled eggs and burnt toast can fix another Tuesday night.

But Wednesdays are good - the longest possible time until another Tuesday night.

He just has to keep telling himself that.

—

Seventeen.

Another Tuesday behind Dewey’s, but this time he’s puking up the few mouthfuls of food he managed before his father hauled him out the back - only because it was his mom’s week off and they were having a big family dinner. Louise resented those mid-week dinners; after a long day at work, having to make dinner for twenty-three people, and somehow find enough plates and chairs was the last thing she wanted to do. It was the only time Lydia would cross their father’s sight line, skinny and defiant.

If it had been a normal dinner, Jerry wouldn’t have dragged him out of the house. He would have beat him in the kitchen, yelling over Hettie’s sobs and Flo’s screams, and Louise’s pleading. He’s had a serving platter smashed over his head before, as well as a beer bottle, and a ceramic pitcher - one that had been made by Grandma Lillian, and Louise had sobbed over those broken shards.

His head is spinning, and he can’t remember exactly what he said to incite his father’s rage, though he remembers Uncle Bo’s jeers when he tried to stand up. The previous week’s wounds have reopened, and are bleeding onto his last decent t shirt. There’s vomit and alley-juice all over his jeans, and he wonders if he should drag himself to the hospital because his world is still spinning.

He wonders what will happen if he dies tonight; if Roy Lester finds him here in the morning, cold and dead. Most of the cops in town are from old families, and they’ve taken Lydia and Jasper back home enough times to know what goes on. It’s easier to picture the cover-up, that they’ll blame him and a make-believe schoolyard fight. Just a tragic accident.

Maybe then someone will help Lydia, help all of his sisters. Maybe it’ll be the thing that makes his mom leave.

He falls asleep facedown in the alley, and wants to cry when he wakes up the next morning to the bellow of school kids heading to the bus stop.

He was so goddamned close to it all being over.

So close.

—

“Do you need some help?”

It’s another Tuesday night, one that has come with busted ribs and possibly a dislocated shoulder. He missed lunch because of an English project, and his father had been drinking early, so he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. It’s making him feel sick, and wondering if anyone will notice if he sneaks in the back door of Dewey’s and grab some food.

And then someone is there and talking to him.

Her voice is high and sweet, and he expects a high school girl, maybe a sorority sister.

She is neither.

She’s only as tall as Flo, with uneven black hair curling around her cheeks. She’s one of the prettiest girls he has ever seen, with huge amber-coloured eyes that remind him of Hettie’s dolls and Lydia’s manga. She’s wearing a ragged button-up over a ruffled mini-skirt and leggings, with boots that look a size too big, a heavy man’s watch that hangs from her tiny wrist, and an ancient looking cadet’s cap - the entire effect makes him think of Oliver Twist as a female circus performer.

She walks over to him, and crouches in front of him, her head cocked to the side like a bird’s. He can only stare; other than the dark smudges under her eyes that speak of many sleepless nights, she is beautiful.

“Are you okay?” she asks, looking worried.

“Yeah,” he croaks, and winches as he jars his ribs. He doubles over, and cries out. She reaches out towards him but backs off just as suddenly.

“You’re hurt,” she says, looking bewildered and frightened. “Where?”

“I-It’s okay,” he manages, trying to reclaim his dignity in front of the prettiest girl. “I’ll be fine.”

The girl huffs. “Ugh, boys,” she mutters. “Hold on a second.” She gets up and slips out of the alley before he can beg her not to get help. In reality, going to the hospital is the last thing he should do - they can’t afford the bill, and they’ll call home and… no. Just no.

His head is spinning, so he finds it hard to tell how much time has passed, but eventually she returns. She’s clutching two bags, and marches right up to him and crouches back down.

“This will help,” she says, holding out painkillers and a bottle of water. He fumbles with the lids of both, but eventually swallows the pillows down. She watches him carefully. “Don’t drink too fast,” she advises. “Now, I can put your shoulder back in now, or we can wait. It’s up to you.”

He blinks at her slowly. “Now,” he decides.

“Okay,” she looks nervous, but moves forward. It’s all blurry in his mind, but there is something cold, then hot, angry pain, and then he’s blinking up at her again. “Sorry. But trust me, the worst is over now. At least I didn’t break it worse. Hungry?”

He blinks as she reaches for the other bag - a bag of Skittles, a packaged sandwich, two oranges, and a bag of potato chips. He’s not sure if he has a concussion or it’s an odd selection, but he’s also hungry enough that he doesn’t care.

“I nearly had to call Bella, to ask what to get - Edward never let me buy her food after the chicken incident - which was entirely Emmett’s fault - but I think I figured it out okay,” the girl jabbers, taking a seat beside him, and smiles at him. “Better no one knows where I am, anyway.”

“I… thanks,” he croaked, as he reached for the sandwich. She beams at him again, and then frowns.

“Eat, then we’ll finish patching you up. I’ve come too far to watch you die in this disgusting place,” she stretches her legs out in front of her.

The sandwich is dry, but he wolfs it down - an orange too, before he takes a breath - that hurts - and takes another look at the tiny girl beside him.

“Who are you?” he finally asks, and she looks up from her watch.

“Oh! I’m Alice,” she says. “Sorry, I forgot you didn’t know. Do you want your ribs taped now, or are you going to open those?” She points to the Skittles.

“Um, I…” he looks at the bag of candy. “Do you want some?” This feels like a fever dream; maybe he’s passed out and this is just what his banged-up brain has provided him with.

“No,” she shakes her head, and the cadet’s cap tilts a little on her head. “I can’t. They just looked nice. Happy.”

“Happy,” he echoes, looking at the red package.

“I hear that sometimes little things can help,” Alice says. “Come on, cowboy, take that shirt off and let me see those ribs.”

His side is mottled black and blue and purple, and moving in basically any direction is a new adventure in pain. Alice gasps at the sight, and then coos at him in a way that is oddly comforting as her fingers trace his ribs - the coldness of her fingers is actually wonderful against the pain. Then comes the painful stage - as she, not entirely gently enough, begins layering tape over the pain, his head is spinning.

“All done,” Alice says, and her voice is soft, and when he slumps against her shoulder, she doesn’t move away. She smells like old fashioned things, like roses and linen. It reminds him of the old family homestead. He finds his eyes closing, and his side aches in time with his heart, and then Alice’s gentle fingers are running through his hair.

“Sleep, Jasper,” she murmurs, “I’ll keep watch.”

He’s asleep before he realises he never told her his name.

—

She’s gone when he wakes up, and the Skittles are in his pocket - along with the painkillers. Happy.

It’s Wednesday morning, and it’s not exactly ‘happy’ he’s feeling, but he’s got candy in his pocket and time to go home for a shower and more food, so Alice was right - the little things do help.

—

She never turns up two Tuesdays in a row, but he does see her again. She’s always more prepared than the first time, with a bag that always seems to contain exactly what they need - in his less lucid states, he is reminded of Mary Poppins’ magic carpet bag as she produces snacks and first aid kits, and even clothing.

Her attempts at first aid are, at best, rough and she accidentally breaks two of his fingers and nearly ends up in tears when he yells in pain, and hugs him so tight, weeping into his neck, that he ends up trying to comfort her.

Sometimes he sleeps. She’s so thin and tiny that her shoulder isn’t a good pillow, and he feels like a shit man, letting such a tiny girl keep watch behind a bar. It wouldn’t take much to break her, and he can’t defend anyone in this state.

But some Tuesdays, he falls asleep anyway, breathing in that scent of fresh roses and linen, and listening to her chatter away about people he doesn’t know, about places he’s never visited, about books he’s never read.

Alice sounds like she’s living a really nice life. One week, she quizzes him on his Spanish before his examine the next day, and her accent is flawless. When her phone buzzes and buzzes and buzzes, and she ignores it, she usually swears - he doesn’t know in what language, one of the Eastern Asian ones he thinks - but it’s definitely a swear.

He wishes he could see her, talk to her, out in the real world and prove to her that he’s not just a beat-up kid. But she’s always gone on Wednesday mornings, and he doesn’t even know how to contact her anyway.

All in all, he met Alice in the reeking alley behind Dewey’s with a concussion, broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder, and now she’s the best friend he’s ever had in the world.

He’s getting closer to that ‘happy’ concept that she mentioned the first time they met.

—

The last time he sees her, he’s bleeding and he’s pretty sure his eye socket is fractured. He’s pissed with himself because he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, to stop his father from going after Flo. So he’d thrown a punch at his old man for the first time because Flo is his baby sister and all haunted eyes and he’ll never forget the sounds of her wailing after the belt struck her, but hitting the bastard back just fuelled him and … fuck.

Then Alice is there, in jeans with stars on the knees and a billowy purple top that is just opaque enough to obscure the skin underneath. She looks angry and frustrated, and doesn’t just sit next to him and open her bag like she usually does.

“It’s a stupid fucking decision you’re about to make,” she stamps her foot, “and I am so mad at you right now, but Carlisle and Edward have made me promise not to interfere. Carlisle says that everything I’m doing now is enough. And I’m already in enough trouble, honestly.”

He can taste foil again - definitely a fractured eye socket.

“What?” he manages, snappish and tired. He doesn’t need this. He wants sweet Alice, who helps him patch himself back together, and gets him food, and talks him to sleep. The one who makes him laugh, even when it hurts, and seems to be light-years ahead of him but that’s okay because she’s always so happy about whatever she’s telling him.

“I’m going to say this once,” she enunciates carefully, still glaring. “I will be here every Tuesday. Don’t make a dumb decision. There is always another choice.”

“You’re making less sense than normal,” he retorts. “Either help me, or go away - I’m not in the mood.”

“Happy freakin’ birthday,” she snaps, unbuckling her giant watch, and throws it at him before she storms back the way she came, leaving him behind.

#jaliceweek20 #alice cullen #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #vampire alice human jasper #my fic: against a wall #my writing: against a wall #alice is so unhelpfully helpful

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bright-eyes-strawberry-lies · 4 years

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I recently read The Camp Half-Blood Confidential for the first time and while most of it made me cringe, there was one story in particular that really made me cringe: Space Could Be An Issue.

For those of you who haven’t read it, the premise of Space Could Be An Issue is this: Annabeth is in charge of designing and building the cabins for the children of minor gods/goddesses but it appears that there’s no space for all of them!

What is an architect to do?

Annabeth suggests treehouses or houseboats and both are shot down by Chiron, who says the nature spirits would never allow it. Good thing that there’s no spirit of grass or open field, otherwise they’d never be able to build anywhere, right? Annabeth suggests caves; because why not just dump all those extras in a cave. Chiron shoots her down again; there’s only one cave and it belongs to the Oracle. Damn. Well what about stacking the cabins on top of each other? Parents associated with the sky can be on top and parents associated with the ground can be at the bottom. What? That seems a little bit...classist? No. Of course not. The real reason that won’t work is because demigods can’t cohabitate. You heard it from Chiron! All of your ships are invalid because demigods of different “families” can’t live together in peace.

Never fear! For Annabeth is here to save the day! Her latest idea is for small and low profile tiny houses. Her words, not mine. (I was going to make a sarcastic comment here about how, after fighting a war for equality, it’s a good idea to put the “lesser” demigods in places that are small and low profile...until I realized that Annabeth wasn’t fighting a war for equality, she was fighting for the continued reign of the Gods and therefore inequality because she ultimately privileges from the system no matter how often she cries mommy issues).

Anyway...The tiny houses are two stories; with a living area that sleeps two, a bedroom loft that sleeps two, and a bathroom. So four demigods per tiny house. Somehow there’s storage beneath the beds in the living area, which are the kind that pull out of the couch. Not sure how that works since normally the bed goes in the “storage area” when it’s in couch mode. And there’s a single closet beneath the stairs for more storage. The bathroom is the coolest part of the whole thing but it’s never mentioned if there’s a shower in those bathrooms or just a toilet and sink.

If you put four of these tiny houses together, they’re the size of one major demigod cabin. Isn’t that so funny. How you need four tiny houses for demigods but can’t build a regular sized cabin. Ha! Hilarious!

Which brings up a question. How big are the original twelve cabins anyway? The Hermes Cabin is so over crowded that kids need to sleep on the floor. Poseidon’s Cabin has nothing but six bunk beds (and later a small saltwater fountain) in it. Meanwhile, the Athena Cabin has multiple smart boards, work desks, a library, and a small armory on top of the beds. They’re clearly not all made equal (and that’s not even getting into the fact that the Hermes Cabin is literally falling apart).

Why does the size of the Athena Cabin matter, though? It matters because none of the other cabins are used for anything other than sleeping and chilling when there aren’t activities. The Athena cabin is so disproportionately huge and ironically high tech compared to the other cabins (WHY DOES RICK HATE THE HERMES CABIN?!). Okay, but they’re using it as a school. Why would you use a cabin as a school room?! Because those kids are supposed to be “geniuses?” So they don’t have anywhere in camp to just relax? It’s always work, work, work for the Athena kids, huh?

Where would you put the school? Oh I don’t know. Maybe the Big House, which only ever has two people living in it despite being three stories tall and super wide and easily the biggest building on the property. Ah, the Big House, where the occupants are always outside on the porch and the only interior mentioned is a living space with a ping pong table, Chiron’s office, and the attic used to stash the Oracle and other useless shit no one wants to look at. Why in Hades would you put a school room there? Think of the ping pong table! Relax! It was just an idea.

Hang on, we’ll come back to this. Now I want to bring up the decorating of cabins. The tiny houses also have the ability to be decorated however the occupants want, with only a single touch, which means that maybe the demigods of Nemesis want neon green walls despite Nemesis having nothing to do with neon green. Or the children of Iris are going through a Goth phase and decide all the walls should be black. Why does that matter? Because all of the other cabins are decorated according to godly parent. The demigods who live in the major cabins are extremely limited in what they can do with decorating because of “tradition and respect.” In fact, Percy and Tyson only add two decorations to their cabin: the aforementioned saltwater fountain and hippocampus figures on the ceiling. Which are both related to Poseidon. Despite some of the major cabins having been rebuilt, they were rebuilt to be exactly the same as before.

Which leads us to two points:

1.) The cabins aren’t shrines to the gods. These cabins aren’t sacred temples to the gods. The gods don’t care what happens in them or to them. They don’t care if they’re broken or overcrowded. They don’t care if the kids are fucking in them or if they’re digging tunnels underneath them or putting curses on them. The gods already have statues of themselves everywhere and most of them have a separate place in Camp that could be considered to be “their” place (Hephaestus and the forges, anyone?).

2.) Hera and Artemis’ cabins should both be nixed completely. Hera, as a goddess who will never have demigod children, doesn’t need a cabin on principle. She only has a cabin out of politeness, not necessity. And I can hear your protests already but no, Artemis shouldn’t have a cabin either. Her hunters have magical tents that they live in every other day of the year except for the one day out of the summer that they stop by Camp Half-Blood. That’s two cabins that regularly stand empty - one 100% of the time and one 99% of the time - and take up valuable space for people who actually need it.

Speaking of cabins that are usually empty: Poseidon and Zeus dont have more than one or two kids at a time (despite Zeus being a slut) so their cabins don’t actually need to be as big as the other cabins. Percy mentions that upon arriving at Camp Half-Blood, there are a couple hundred kids. More than half of them “disappear” during the first winter. Some die over the course of the series. Then the camp gets a huge influx of demigods; both the ones that came from Kronos’ army because they were pardoned and the previously unclaimed demigods.

Annabeth suggested stacking cabins on top of each other, which is a stupid idea for so many reasons (only one of which is pointed out to her and I listed another one), but she was actually on to something.

Except instead of making each floor for a different group of Godlings, what if, hear me out now, you bulldoze every single Cabin. (You get a tent! You get a tent! No, just kidding about the tents unless you’re a hunter of Artemis.)

Bulldoze the existing Cabins so that you’re starting from scratch (Annabeth, take some damn notes). Rebuild without Hera and Artemis’ Cabins. You never know when Zeus and Poseidon are going to get horny now that they’re technically allowed to reproduce again, so make their Cabins the same size as all the others (if you must). Rebuild the Cabins so that they’re a smidge narrower and a lot taller. That’s right! Slap two or three floors on top of those suckers! Make! Everyone! Fit! Give! Them! Space! No! More! Sleeping! On! The! Floor!

But what about the disabled - THERE ARE NO DISABLED DEMIGODS. Not even a single one! Everyone can climb stairs! Everyone! All the time!

Well that’s...true (and ableist) but what about Chiron? Shouldn’t he be able to get into the cabins? Chiron already can’t get into the cabins. He couldn’t get into the original twelve, he can’t get into any of the new ones.

Which brings me to the final, and possibly most important point. GIVE THESE KIDS PRIVATE BATHROOMS FOR FUCKS SAKE! If everyone thinks it’s a good idea for the tiny houses to have “personal” bathrooms, then give them to all of the cabins. No more communal showers! No more hazing other campers in the public toilets! No more getting eaten by harpies because you had to pee after curfew!

This way everyone is equal. No one has a better space or more space than anyone else. Everyone gets to decorate how they want. No one is going to die on the way to the bathroom. Because even though the war was ultimately about maintaining the status quo, Percy and Luke both said “no, this isn’t right and too many are suffering because of it and things need to change.” One traded his life for it, the other traded immortality for it.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#percy jackson #percy jackson series #riordanverse #annabeth chase #camp half blood #long post #text post

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myshittybrainwontshutup · 4 years

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I had a dream where I was wandering in the woods and I found some weird abandoned facility. The Dream Works logo was painted on the side and the door was open, so I just sauntered inside. There were tons of big, drab concrete rooms all full of toppled over desks. Giant pillars held up the ceiling and plunged down into the earth. I thought that this place would be a magnet for graffiti artists, or just delinquent teens in general, but this place looked untouched by everything except me. There wasn’t even rat poop or cockroaches to point to a sign of life. Like the dumbass I am, I started walking down the staircase that wrapped around one of the concrete pillars. On the forth or so level down it stopped being the same old rooms full of desks and started being bedrooms and showers. There were literally hundreds of bunk beds, all with the same cheap white sheets. I investigated the bathrooms and found that the showers still worked and even better, they still had hot water. I guessed this place had an independent generator and the dim ceiling lights supported my hypothesis.

I decided I needed a shower and scrubbed down, then wandered over to one of the beds for a nap. (Yeah, sleeping in your dream is kind of weird, but I do it rather routinely. I guess I’m just that tired.)

My thought process for using the beds is that they may be dusty, but I hadn’t seen any evidence of any other life, so bedbugs were unlikely.

After I woke up I pulled on my clothes, which I vividly remember being a burnt orange tank top patterned with tiny carrots, high waisted jorts and my three-sizes-too-big black jacket.

I kept going all the way down to the bottom level where I was confused to hear talking. I crept around the corner and saw this old dude in a lab coat and these two blond collage age girls drawing a circle on the ground. The amount of sigils inside the circle made me think that this couldn’t be anything good, but before I could really do anything about it one of the girls spotted me. She shouted, “Hey!” and pointed at me. I didn’t waste any time getting the hell out of dodge, and I heard the old dude yell, “Stop them! No one must know!”

The two girls started chasing me. Because I don’t ever skip leg day, not even in my dreams, I made it up the stairs before they could. I made it through the door and almost made it back to the woods, but instead of going forward and disappearing into the flora I was suddenly going up. Out of freaking no where, I was caught in a tractor beam and being towed up into a space ship. I didn’t get to see if the girls had seen me getting abducted, but my prior circumstances were quickly ripped out of my head as I was blasted with water. Even though I’d just taken a shower I guess I was too dusty for these aliens to handle. I was “disinfected” and my wet clothes were confiscated and replaced with a very unflattering blue-gray jumpsuit. These particular aliens were very octopus like, but slightly taller than humans and their version of an invasion force was capitalism.

Instead of being forced into hard labor I was forced into a job that is actually hell to me. An “internship” as they called it, where I had hours of paperwork to do. Paperwork is a punishment worse than hell to me, so I did the absolute minimum effort I could get away with. I was set up at a station with three other people. One was Merida from Brave, one was Miles from into the spider verse and one was Stanford from gravity falls. I didn’t let on that I knew them, but I did become pretty close with them. While we were just doing paperwork together time was sped up, but as soon as we were called out to test a new piece of tech that the squid aliens had invented time resumed its normal pace. We were brought out to this floating asteroid that seemed to have an atmosphere that I guess was their testing site. One squid alien on a three piece suit came along to supervise us. The thing we were supposed to test was a Portal esc wormhole gun. I had to keep from laughing my ass off for reasons that will become apparent later. The squid fired it off, setting of each side of the portal in mid air about twenty feet apart, gave Merida a rope and instructed her to walk trough it. Reluctantly she agreed and walked through. The portal didn’t immediately close or collapse as she entered and she wasn’t lost in some in-between place, so the squid was ecstatic. However, Merida and the squid pulling on the rope was apparently enough to rip a hole in space and time. The rip started to drag Merida and the squid in, but Miles, Ford and I were standing far enough away. Miles managed to pull Merida out of range of the rip’s suction, but the squid fell into the gaping black maw. It was growing larger by the second and I knew we would be consumed before long unless I did something.

One of my recurring powers in my dreams is that I can open my own portals, in addition to some others. I turned around and opened my own portal back to the woods I was wandering earlier and had everyone run through. I closed it off as soon as we were all through. We landed on a dirt road that was at least sixty percent mud. It must’ve rained since I was abducted.

Ford immediately turned to me, his eyes wide.

“How did you do that?!” He demanded. I shrugged.

“I just... can?” I said. I actually have a reason, but I didn’t feel like telling him. I opened another portal to the room where our stuff was being kept on the ship and let it just fall through into my arms. We each headed into the woods to suit up in our normal clothes, though Merida forwent a dress for jeans and a tee shirt. We started walking down the road as quite the marry band until we found a homestead. No electricity, no generator, just one small shack and the sound of a lot of voices. Out back was a pigsty and it looked like this place hadn’t been up kept in years. The others wanted to take the stealthy approach, but I just kicked in the front door. There were a bunch of middle aged men sitting around drinking, about fifteen children ages nine to four and six toddlers, all huddling together in the corner around the one teenager who seemed to be about sixteen. Most of them didn’t have clothes any more sophisticated than a potato sack, and all of them had bruises. The teenage girl had a black eye. Cold rage bubbled up within me. I have very strong opinions about how children should be treated, namely, they should be treated with dignity and respect, no matter what age they are and no one ever has the right to hurt them. Something told me that there used to be more older women, but they’d died due to either violence or childbirth.

The biggest beefiest guy stood up and demanded to know who I was and what I wanted. I could tell he wasn’t seeing me as a threat due to my appearance. I mean, I’m exactly five feet tall, very feminine and not exactly buff. I demanded to fight him for the children and he laughed. Until I summoned my weapon. In my dreams I also can summon quite the arsenal. This time, I summoned my whip made of razor wire and cracked it right across his face. He immediately grabbed a huge black iron sword off the table and rushed me. I sidestepped out of the front door and cracked my whip again. It happened extremely fast so I’m not sure on the specifics of the fight, but I do know it ended with my whip wrapping around his throat. One quick tug and his head was on the ground as his body slumped to the side. All the other men, enraged that I’d killed their buddy grabbed their own swords. My whip is an awesome weapon, but it’s only good against one opponent. I tossed it aside and it burst into glitter, just before I summoned my sword.

I really like my sword. It’s a short Damascus steel blade with a gold gilded hilt and a ruby pommel. I’ve been using it for a really long time and I’ve gotten really skilled with it.

These guys clearly didn’t expect me to hold my own against all of them, but in combination with my portal magic I’m a formidable fighter in my dreams. For some odd reason the thing that ended the fight was a misstep from one of the men that lead to me accidentally chopping off the toe of his boot and the toe of his foot. He fell to the ground crying and demanded that everything stop. They agreed to leave and wandered back down the road, carrying their now toeless friend.

I went inside and found a yellow construction paper crown sitting on the table. I picked it up, put it on my head and muttered, “I’m the king.” With a big fat smile. I was mobbed by the little boys that demanded I teach them how to sword fight, the sixteen year old thanked me for getting rid of the people who hurt her, Merida asked where I learned to fight like that. Everyone else hung on the sidelines, not exactly liking that I’d just straight up killed and maimed on a whim. Ford was mostly interested in how I could summon and dismiss weapons on a whim.

“That’s not all I can do!” I grinned and stepped back outside. I told the teenager to release the pigs into the woods and told the kids to grab any items that they would want to take with them. Then with the three other interns watching, I waved my hand and an oak tree started to grow out of the ground. It grew so big that at a glance you could think it was hundreds of years old. With a snap of my fingers a massive treehouse constructed itself in the cradle of the tree’s uppermost branches. I subconsciously made it Halloween themed because it’s my favorite holiday. There were leaf streamers and grinning jack-o’-lanterns all over the place. One more wave of my hand and it was fully stocked with food and clothes and solar panels for its own electricity. I instructed the kids to climb up. The bigger kids carried the toddlers up. After we were all on board I snapped again and the tree started moving, walking along on its roots. I headed up into the main dining room and tried to add a little more decor, but it wouldn’t work. The plate of Halloween themed sugar cookies started laughing at me.

“What the-“ Ford started.

“I’m loosing control. I’m waking up.” I interrupted.

“What? Waking up?” Ford asked. I pulled him in with an arm around the shoulders.

“Listen, I don’t have much more time, so you’re in charge. I may be the most powerful here, but you’re the smartest. Keep them safe.” I said and put my paper crown on his head.

And that’s when I woke up.

#dreams #dream journal #dream #slight gore #true story #you could probably do a whole psycological analysis of this and come up with a compleate personality prophile #but i dare you to tell me something i dont already know #short story #all critques welcome

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onewfantaesy · 5 years

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One thing taemin and Jongin get to do because of the whole twin fiasco thing though is a photo shoot together, and they do really enjoy that. The set is super playful, and on one of them there’s a huge pillow fort with blankets and fairy lights and everything, and taemin and Jongin are given toy crowns and capes and cardboard and tinfoil swords and shields and everything.

And they’re just told to play. The photographer wants everything to be very candid and whimsical. He wants it to be like how they may have been if they played together growing up.

And at first it’s kind of weird, because they’re in sort of childish clothing and everything, but if ends up just being fun. They do end up just playing together on this huge, amazing set. Then they go outside, and there’s a treehouse built for this shot specifically, and it’s just so cool. It’s like a kid’s dream playset.

They end up toppled on top of each other in a heap of giggles more than once. The crew is very glad they’re also recording everything to make a video. they’re just too cute together, especially since they’re in matching outfits the whole time. It’s very twin-inspired.

There are of course times when they’re told to pose a specific way. Sometimes it’s just holding hands, or pretending to whisper secrets to each other, or sitting a certain way. Taemin somehow almost always ends up on jongin’s lap or cuddled against jongin’s chest.

There’s also a set with bunk beds and matching pajamas. It’s all space themed. It’s very cute. Very boyish. Very pretending-to-stay-up-late-past-bedtime themed.

Just them being cute and happy and having fun bc I luv them.

#taemin #kai #shinee #exo #fraternal twins au

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shipppersrus · 6 years

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The Kids Are Alright- Chapter 1, part 1

Contains spoilers from Take Us Back.

Clementine’s POV

Clem’s POV~

I was ready to say goodbye, though I wasn’t ready to leave him. I prepared myself to finally be with Lee again, to see my mother and father, Sandra, Omid, Duck, Kenny… at least that’s what I hoped happened when I got to the other side. I took one last deep breath and closed my eyes, this was it, this would be my last moment with Aj; at least for awhile. As I prepared to die a surge of pain raged through my body, I screamed; he didn’t aim for the head Aj chopped off my leg. The walkers roar matched mine as tears ran down my face, my leg was gone in two strikes. Aj was fuzzy through my tears I tried to mumble words the pain was agonizing, it was too much, I blacked out. Aj? Black out. Louis? Black out. Ruby? Black out. Blood? Black out.

I kept fading in and out, I could barely hold onto any consciousness. I just remember a pain like no other, and how I still wasn’t dead, yet. My eyes felt heavy with sleep, and there was a tingling pain coming from my left leg. The sound of classical music played lightly in the background, my eyes slowly split apart as I stared at the top of the bunk bed. I started to wiggle my fingers just a bit as my body felt stiff. As I moved my leg I felt a pain like no other coming from my left leg, I yelped with pain, what happened? “She’s up! Ruby she’s awake!” I heard Aj’s voice as he ran out the room. I tried to get up but as I sat up the pounding in my head played on repeat, I fought through it. Next, I flipped the covers and saw one leg but not the other. The door busted open before I had a moment to react. “Clementine! Whoa, take it easy. Come on lay back down.” Though I couldn’t take my eyes off the stump that was now my leg, I recognized his voice: It was Louis. He lightly touched my arm and helped me back down. My head was banging and my body was sore, it was easier not to move. “My leg!” I started to panic a little bit. “Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, breathe.” I looked at him and started to breathe. “I was bit…” “Shh, Clem, you made it. Aj saved your life, you lived.” He caressed my face. The door busted open as Aj busted in with Ruby. “Clem!” Aj ran to me as I accepted his embrace. It caused me pain but every second was worth it being with my goofball again. “How long have I been out?” I asked. “4 days.” Ruby held onto the ladder of the bed. “We kept you medicated and watered, but I bet your starving.” “That’s an understatement.” I felt my stomach. “I’ll get you something to eat, so I can give you something for the pain.” Ruby smiled. “It’s good to have you back with us Clementine.” “It’s really good to be back.” I shared her smile. “Aj why don’t you come help me get some things for Clem.” As reluctant as Aj was to leave my side, he still willingly left to help Ruby.

I sat up off my elbows as I supported my weight against the back of the bed. Louis helped me adjust then took my hand in his. “I thought I lost you.” He held my fingers close to his lips. “Me too.” I closed my eyes, not trying to think about how heartbroken I would of left him. “Clem, I know we haven’t been… well… a thing for long, but I care so much about you and ever since I met you a month or so back, you’ve been the best thing to walk into my life since forever and the thought of losing you-“ he choked on his words as I saw him wipe a quick tear away. His words slightly took my breath away. I didn’t have words to comfort his pain, so I kissed him. It was something I didn’t know I needed till now. He lightly touched my face, I could tell he was being as gentle as he could, but I held onto him with as much strength as I can offer. The kiss lingered between us for a few minutes before my hands fell on top of his. I still don’t understand how I cheated death, I was bit, I was gone, how did I live? “Louis.” His eyes slowly met mine. “Hmm.” I loved the affect my kiss had on him. “What happened?” His face dropped with mine following his. “I just remember we were all searching for you guys, when we heard a scream. We followed it, then heard another one. It led us to the barn. We all fought so we could get you guys out. I just remember seeing your leg and all the blood… Aj told us you were bit but he cut it off and that you need a doctor. I picked you up and him and I ran the whole way back, I didn’t stop for a second until you were in Ruby’s care. Luckily she had just finished helping Violet and was able to help before you lost too much blood. When Minnie cut your leg, ironically she saved your life. She got you patched up, and a fever set in. We all thought you weren’t going to make it, well all of us except Aj. You ended up pulling through and let me tell you, he never left your side. I came and stayed for as long as I could, but the other kids needed me and I knew you were in good hands.” I took my time taking in all the information. Aj made a call and he saved my life. “I’m just glad you’re still with us, with me.” I smiled as he kissed my forehead. The door slowly opened and Aj entered. “Are you guys going to be doing that all the time now?” He said as he brought me some food. “Yup pretty much.” Louis smirked while Aj rolled his eyes.

“How do you feel Clem?” Aj asked as he sat the bowl of soup beside me.

“I’m in a lot of pain, but I’m happy to still be alive.” I looked at the stump that was now my leg.

“I knew you’d live, you’re still the toughest person I know.” I moved over so Aj could take a spot next to me.

“I don’t know Aj, I think you’re becoming more tough than me. What you did was very brave.” I smiled as the soups flavor overtook my senses.

“ No ones as tough as you Clem.” seeing Aj’s face was everything in this moment. I started to eat the delightful soup, I could tell it was getting cold, probably from sitting outside for awhile. I wanted to eat slow but I was starving and couldn’t help myself.

“I think you’re going to need a little more, i’ll be back.” Louis stood from my bedside.

“No it’s okay, the others need to eat.” I grabbed his arm.

“Clem it’s okay, we have enough. What Willy stole from the raiders will keep us going for at least a month or so, we’ll make due.” He touched my hand then left the room with my bowl, he’s amazing.

I turned around to see Aj staring at me. I took him into my arms and held my little goofball.

“I love you Aj.” A tear slipped out of my eye.

“ I love you back Clem.” He held onto me.

The door opened and Ruby came in with some medicine and what looked like supplies to clean my fo- I mean stump.

“Hey Aj would you mind giving us a moment.” Ruby started setting things up on our dresser.

“But-” I Immediately cut Aj off.

“It’s okay Aj, as soon as she’s done you can come back in the room.” I squeezed his hand.

“Okay.” Aj left the room, but not without a fit.

“Alright let’s get you cleaned up.” Ruby said.

First she cleaned my stump and replaced my bandages, it hurt like hell. Next I had to take my shirt off. The bruises on my ribs and arms were ferocious, those hurt like hell. She sponged the hurt parts of me and gave me some medicine for the pain, then wrapped up. I could tell she wanted to ask about my brand, but refrained from doing so. Once she left Aj and Louis both entered in all at once with food and Aj with a new drawing of me. I happily took the bowl and beautiful artwork and watched the two change the music to jazz. Louis and Aj danced and were jolly, I laid there and watched the two before drifting to sleep.

I was swinging in my treehouse tire swing, I could see my house 5240 S Grover St., the pool covered up and the high fence behind me. It was quiet, no walkers, only the sound of nature. I took in the fresh air, it felt nice to be back.

“You did it Clementine, I knew you could.” Lee gave me a push on my swing.

“I almost died, but Aj saved me.” my head dropped, understanding the pain I put him through.

“Yeah sweetpea, but you’re still here.” He continued to push.

“Still not Bitten.” I repeated those words as both my legs were high in the air.

“Still not bitten.” He repeated after me.

“I found a home Lee. I really like it here.” I thought about Louis, mine and Aj’s room, our friends.

“I’m glad Clementine, I’m glad you found people to love you and look out for you. You found gold in this hard life, that’s all I ever hoped for you.” He stopped pushing and I got out my treehouse.

“Thank you Lee, thank you for saving me and teaching me how to survive.” I hugged him as tears poured down my eyes.

“It was you that saved me Clementine.” He hugged me back. “Now go Clem, we’ll see each other again soon.” He stood at my level.

“You can count on it.” I smiled as i wiped the tears from my eyes.

I turned around and climbed up my treehouse. I have a new home now.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Thank you guys for reading and all the other talented fic writers for inspiring me to write! I hope you guys enjoyed as I plan to come out with many more parts to this. Before I continue I just wanted to ask if you guys prefer James to be in this story or not depending on how you felt towards him after the last episode, please let me know! Also check out “ Don’t be Afraid” by @sweetsimblr28

Also still searching for some lovely artist! Let me know if you’re interested!

#clouis #clouis fanfiction #louisentine #louisentine fanfiction #still not bitten #take us back #Still Not Bitten- Chapter 1 #the walking dead game

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shippingtheswann · 6 years

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FOOLS RUSH IN:

Summary: Emma Swan has been married since she was five years old. Under the old oak tree, she wed Killian Jones, her neighbor. Then, he moved away, but made one final promise, that one day he would marry her for real. See what happens when he returns to make good on his promise.

Read Chapter One Here

Fools Rush in Chapter Two

Rating: E - there will be smut later on! Chapter warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of cancer.

A/N: Thanks to @captainswanbigbang for once again organizing an amazing event. I've been missing Captain Swan for the past year, and having this has helped so much! Thanks to Lana @high-seas-swan and Kaitlyn @spartanguard for their beta help. Go check out Lana's story when you get a moment as well – it's amazing! Thanks to Rachel @ladyciaramiggles for the art she has provided which you can find here (link will be provided later) Also, thanks to Kris @sambethe for the cover art for the story and for beta hel ! All of you have made this story what it is! Enjoy Chapter Two - I really enjoy writing from Killian's POV! Also, thanks to all those who gave reviews! Keep them coming!

He took in a big long breath before hitting send on his computer. He was taking a huge chance on this message and he hoped that it wouldn't be wasted. Initially, he didn't want to even send the message, wanting to keep everything the same as it had been for years. But fate was a funny thing and he couldn't put it off much longer; also Liam, his older brother, wouldn't let him.

It was finally time to see Emma again after so many years.

Since he could remember, Killian Jones had been obsessed with Emma Swan. At first, when they were little, she really was just his best friend. They did everything together. Some of the boys made fun of him when they were four or five because his best friend was a girl, but he didn't care about that. Emma was more adventurous, more daring, and more fun than any of the boys he was in school or sports with. Plus, she lived next door, which meant he didn't have to go very far to find someone to play with him.

Emma's mother and his were best friends, too. In fact, he always felt like Emma's mother, Ingrid, was a second mom to him. He knew that if he couldn't talk to his mom, she would be there for him. So while he enjoyed her friendship, he also knew that in the end, they would have been forced to be friends.

Not only was Emma the best friend a kid could ask for, she was also his wife. He didn't remember exactly how or why it happened, but he was glad that it did. When they were five, out of the blue, he just asked Emma to marry him. He remembered saying something along the lines of wanting to be with his best friend forever, and marriage was forever. He could remember some moments when he would look at Emma and just smile. He knew that he didn't want to live in a world where Emma Swan didn't exist.

She wore a bright red dress that day, and he was dressed up in a nice shirt and little bow tie. He was pretty sure it happened to be picture day at school, too, as his mom had a photo of him with those cheesy backgrounds in the same outfit. She had a little crown of flowers that accented her wavy blonde hair perfectly. He was pretty sure that if he got up the courage to look through his mother's things that were stored at Liam's, he would find a picture of Emma that immortalized what she looked like that day. It was something he remembered growing up; his mom kept just as many pictures of Emma as she did of her own boys.

After their wedding, Killian gave Emma her very first kiss. Five year olds are weird in that they aren't quite sure what a kiss really means or could stand for. Also, it was very well known that at that age, girls carried cooties – or, as he was sure the girls of that day would say to Emma, that he carried them. He remembered their officiant; a little red headed boy named Archie that was in their class and whose father was a pastor, gave them cootie shots and told them that they could kiss. Most boys his age would steer clear of kissing a girl, but Killian wasn't like most boys his age. He went in for the kill. It was a very short kiss, a quick peck with both of their eyes squeezed shut in a mixture of concern and surprise. When he stepped back, Emma was blushing, staring down at her feet. Yet, there was a slight smile on her lips.

For the rest of the school year, things didn't change. He found it funny at the time, because his mom and dad used to say that marriage changed everything. Yet, he still played with Emma on a daily basis. She still beat him at soccer, and he still beat her at dodgeball. They still raced home after school and ate their afternoon snacks together in her treehouse. She still made fun of the way he spoke sometimes and he still made fun of her for the way her hair frizzed when it rained.

Nothing really changed. They were still Emma and Killian. They were still best friends.

However, while things with Emma and school were good, things at home weren't. He didn't quite understand what was going on at the time, but Liam was angry all the time, his dad would leave for days and when he was home, he was drunk, and his mom just seemed off. She tried to hide the drama away from Killian, but he knew something was wrong. Her eyes just didn't sparkle like they used to.

About a year after Killian and Emma got married, he was told they were going to be moving to Ireland. It was devastating. It was also rather quick. Their house didn't get packed up, their belongings stayed in their spots. All that was packed was their clothing, stuffed into suitcases and duffle bags. The next morning, they left for the airport. Killian knew Emma wanted to go with him – he didn't even have to ask, he just knew that she would follow him anywhere. And truthfully, he would do the same for her.

The night before, he even asked his mom if he could stay behind, and live with the Swans. Ingrid was Alice's best friend after all, and he liked Emma's father James way more than he liked his own father. His father never looked at him the way James looked at Emma. His father yelled at him constantly, whereas James spoke to Emma with kindness and patience. He wished he had a father like Emma's. But his mom said she would miss him too much and he needed to go with her.

Things were weird to say the least. He also asked his mom where his dad was, since they were leaving in such a hurry. She told him that is why they had to go. They had to go get their father from Ireland; they had to be a family again. He was so angry. It had been three weeks since his dad had gone away on business, and truthfully Killian didn't care if his dad came back or not.

But there he sat, next to Emma, with tears slowly streaming down her face. He didn't want to leave her. She had become so much more than a best friend to him. She was his rock, his anchor. She made him feel better when everything else sucked. He didn't think he would be able to deal with life if Emma wasn't there by his side. Who else would understand when he got angry over his mother crying? Who else would understand that he was self-conscious about his ears? Still, nothing he did, no matter how much he pleaded with his mom or Liam, they wouldn't let him stay with her.

They sat quietly at the airport. He didn't want to let go of her hand. He had held Emma's hand as long as he could remember. It was their thing. People used to say they were attached at the hip, but in reality, they were attached at the hands. When they would walk anywhere, it was hand in hand. It was just natural for them. He wanted to tell her so much, wanted to make her feel better, but the words never came. He wanted to make sure she understood he would come back one day, but he somehow knew he couldn't make that promise to her.

He could hear her screams as he boarded the plane. He had a window seat, but couldn't bear to look out the window, because if he even got a glimpse of a blonde haired girl, he wouldn't be able to hold it together. He was a mess on the inside. He just wanted to go home, and not Ireland.

Slept overtook him on the flight and once they arrived and settled into the two bedroom apartment in his mother's hometown, he fell into despair. He had promised Emma that he would write to her, and he wanted to write to her so badly, but there were no paper or pencils in the apartment - just a musty old twin bed in the master bedroom and a crappy, probably now unsafe, bunk bed in the other. There wasn't even furniture in the living room or a TV. They had to use their suitcases as plates to eat the food they got from the airport after they landed.

Over the next three weeks, things went from bad to worse. Their dad was in town and he did come by to see them, but he was drunk. He was rude and crass and Killian didn't want to spend another minute in the room with him. He ended up staying the night and the following day, when his mother emerged from the bedroom, his father nowhere in sight, he could see bruises on her skin. At that time, he thought that his father may be beating his mother, but he found out that it was much different later on.

He was finally able to write Emma when he started school. He kept his first letter short, since he was still practicing with writing and didn't do too well at it – he didn't have his best friend supporting him and encouraging him, after all. But he had Liam, who helped him. He didn't like that Killian mentioned that he was crying, but he didn't protest. Liam was good like that. He knew that if Killian wanted Emma to know that, then it was important.

When he was finished, he drew some pictures for her on the back, with the crayons he stole from the school. He knew stealing was wrong, but he also would do anything to see Emma smile and he knew his pictures would do that. They didn't have any crayons at home, so he had to take them. They were brand new - another kid had brought in a couple of boxes for the class, and Killian just took one and put it in his backpack. So he spent hours drawing those photos. He wanted Emma to really see that he was missing her.

He kept writing Emma through the drama that unfolded. A few weeks after his first letter went out, his mom came home from a doctor's appointment looking worse for the wear. She came into the boy's bedroom and sat down on their floor. By this time they had some toys and items to make the apartment seem homier, but he missed his room at his old house. From his room, he could see Emma's. He could watch her sneak out and race over to his house. He would know exactly when to meet her at the door to let her in. They would then lie in his bed together and listen to the crickets chirp.

She took a hold of his tiny hand and told him a long tale. She told him of a young knight who was scared of the world, but found solace in a princess. She told him that the princess would always be there for him, even if she was far away. She also told him that the knight had a family that he had to take care of first, and that the princess would understand. She told him that she loved him very much, and it was then that he noticed the tears in his mom's eyes.

"Ma, what's wrong?" he asked in a shy voice.

"Killy, I'm sick. I am going to try my hardest to get better, but I may not get any better. Do you understand?" she replied, large circles were clearly noticeable under her eyes.

"Kinda, why are you sick?" he had to know.

"I have cancer, my darling," she said back, pulling him closer. He knew what cancer meant. There was a boy in Emma and Killian's kindergarten class whose mother had cancer and passed away. Tears picked up in his eyes as the realization that his mom may die hit him.

"I promise, I am going to fight as hard as I can, and I need you to be strong while I try to get better, can you promise me that?" She looked into his eyes.

"I'll try, mama," he promised.

The next couple of months were rough. He saw his mother go through hell. He had been gone from Emma for almost a year. He hadn't told her that his mom had cancer. He didn't want to worry her. He knew how much Emma loved his mom. She claimed it was the accent – that Alice had an accent that could make everything wrong in the world just disappear when she told a story. But Killian knew it was more than that. Everything about his mother was good. Yet, all that good was slowly starting to disappear from her body. She got skinnier; her hair thinned out then completely fell out. And while she was bald, she was still beautiful in her son's eyes.

He saw her go from having a good appetite to barely being able to keep down soup. He watched as her strength to do simple activities, like walking around the park or sitting up in bed, diminished. He watched as the breath in her got shallow and hard.

But through it all, he stayed strong. He had to be strong.

Even though the cancer was bad, his father was worse. Right after his mom was diagnosed, right after she held Killian in her arms and told him the truth, after she held him while they both cried, afraid to say what may happen to her, his dad left for good. Killian and Liam sat in their room while their mom begged their father to stay. He heard his mom claim that she would lose the will to live if he left her. She said she couldn't beat this without him. She yelled that she needed him to be there for the kids if things got bad. Still, through all the begging and pleading, Brennan Jones took his leave.

He claimed that he didn't sign up for any of this. He claimed he still had living to do and he couldn't do that with a sick wife and two bratty kids. He said that she was holding him back. He said he regretted even being with her and them.

Liam was angry. He had never seen his brother get so upset. After Brennan walked away for good, Liam took the lamp from their dresser and threw it against the wall. He swore that Brennan would regret the day he hurt his mom and left them in the dust.

Still, with hell coming down around them, he never told Emma anything. He always tried to keep the letters bright and sunny. Not for his sake, but hers. But in one letter, he did let his emotions show just a bit.

It was a week or so after Brennan left them, that he wrote Emma the most personal letter. It was difficult for him to write, because he was only six and his vocabulary and pencil skills were poor, but he just had to tell her something. He spent days writing it out, making sure to spell each word correctly and making sure each word was written clearly. He wished he could show his mom, she would be so proud, but he knew the letter was too personal for that.

Emma,

I hope you are doing well. Your letters make me smile. I am going to move back to Storybrooke soon and when I do, I'm going to marry you for real. You are my best friend – forever! I promise I won't be like my dad and we won't get divorced like Regina's. I promise I will be your best friend forever.

Love, Killian

Looking back now though, he hates himself for that letter. Not because he didn't mean what he said; but because he didn't keep that promise to her. He turned out to be a pretty shitty best friend. When his mom finally passed away after a long battle, he couldn't find it in himself to send her anymore letters. He just wanted to hide from the world and cry over his mom. He was angry at everything. He was pissed at his dad for being the reason he had to leave Emma and his home. He was pissed that his dad up and left them to fight alone. He was pissed with God for giving his mom cancer and taking her away too soon. He was angry at Liam, because his older brother took custody of him and essentially became his parent instead of a brother.

He didn't want any of that anger exposed to Emma. He didn't want to involve her in his crappy life. He knew she was happy at home. He knew she had made new friends and was doing OK. He didn't want to ruin any of that. So, he stopped sending the letters.

But, he didn't stop writing them.

Whenever something bad would happen - whenever he was angry, upset, or emotional in any way - he would write to her. He would then place the letter in an envelope and seal it up. He stuck it in a box under his bed and they never saw the light of day again.

Throughout his life, he had kept up that act. Whenever something happened, Killian would get out a paper and pen and write to her. When he graduated from elementary school, when he got his first girlfriend, when he lost his virginity, when he graduated from high school and college, and almost everything in-between, he wrote to her. It was therapy for him. He knew that even if Emma couldn't physically be there, and even though she wasn't actually reading the letters, she would still be there for him, and she was in terms of those letters.

Of course, she was upset that he stopped writing to her. For a couple of weeks after his mom died, she sent him letters, begging him to write her back, begging him to come back. But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

For years, he wondered if he had done the right thing by not involving her, and he knew he did when she found him on MySpace during their sophomore year of high school.

It was a couple of months after her sweet sixteen when he got the friend request. It actually surprised him. He hadn't been a big MySpace user, but created the profile when Liam mentioned connecting with an old friend from the states. He had hoped that she would find him, or he would find her. But for months, he searched and searched and couldn't find a profile for her. Of course, it was possible that she just didn't have one, but it worried him that she didn't. He was also pretty sure that even if she did have a profile, she wouldn't want to be friends with someone who turned their back on the best thing that had ever happened to them.

He immediately friended her back, needing to see just what had been happening in Emma Swan's life. He spent what felt like hours just staring at her picture. He wondered how long it took her to choose that picture and where it was taken. She was standing in front of what looked like water, her hair flowing in the breeze. It was much longer than it was when they were little. Of course it would be, they had both grown up, but it still surprised him at how long and beautiful it actually was. It seemed brighter, too.

Her eyes were the same though - still bright with all of the joys of life. Sure, she had a gorgeous smile that could command everyone's attention, but it was her eyes that kept him there. They were really where her smile was coming from. He could just feel the joy that she had. While staring at the picture, Killian felt like no time passed at all. Plus, he was one lucky son of a bitch to have a wife as good looking as Emma.

He read through her profile, looked at every single picture she had, and memorized all of her favorite information. He was glad to see that their favorite movie was still listed. To that day, he had still dressed up as Westley anytime a costume party came up. It was his little homage to her.

She was into the more popular music, but he also knew that she could listen and enjoy almost any type of music. As long as it made her friends smile, Emma would listen to polka music.

Liam came home to find Killian still sitting at the computer, pouring himself over Emma's profile.

"Just message her, you prick; tell her you miss her," he commented, punching his brother in the shoulder before going to put away the food he picked up.

Liam got a job straight out of high school in order to take care of Killian, forgoing his dream of college for his younger brother. So Liam worked at a construction company nearby. It paid great money, and Liam was now the foreman at another company, so he was happy, and so was Killian. But, it still wasn't anything to brag about. He was a lanky loner in high school, with a dead mom, a runaway dad, a brother who was just a construction worker, and he was pretty sure he was going nowhere good in life. Why would she even want to talk to him? He was pretty sure she only friended him out of guilt or nostalgia.

"Maybe later," he said. And that became Killian's go to answer for the next decade.

It was always "maybe later". Maybe later, he would get the courage to reply back with more than a short sentence. Maybe later, he would get the courage to say something more than "happy birthday" or "merry Christmas". Maybe later, he would finally tell Emma that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her.

Liam was pretty sure that maybe later would have come sooner. Especially with Facebook. Yet, Killian was stuck in his little bubble, still thinking he wasn't good enough for Emma Swan.

When Killian graduated from college, he was finally able to do something good with his life: he joined the Navy. Thankfully, he was a dual citizen, and he was able to join the US Navy. So, between basic training, officer school, and pretty steady deployments, Killian didn't have the time to update his Facebook the way Emma did. But, her constant updates and photos kept him going during long deployments and obnoxious times.

She seemed to have the perfect life. She appeared to have friends that truly cared about her. She was so happy in all her pictures. Her smile radiated in each new one that appeared. He saw pictures of her playing sports, pictures of her and her friends at the mall and at the beach, pictures of them at formal events. There were even pictures of her with some guys, which didn't exactly make Killian happy, but he was happy she seemed happy.

Seeing her so happy made every bad thing that happened to him better.

The Navy had taken him all over the world. He had been to Japan, to Australia, to Iraq, and even to Antarctica. He didn't have a family, so anytime there was a chance to deploy, he took it. But he couldn't keep playing that card anymore. The Navy has a limit and Killian had reached it. It was time for him to stay in one place for a while.

Call it kismet, call it destiny, call it luck - but no matter what you call it, when it came time for Killian to choose orders, Storybrooke was the only option.

Liam had moved back to Storybrooke right after Killian went to college. He had missed Storybrooke almost as much as Killian did. Killian, being ten years younger than his brother, never really understood what Liam had to go through, but he knew he would be eternally grateful to his brother. Not only did he leave a life behind in when they moved, but a potential career, too.

Liam had been the star baseball player, and had been actively scouted for a few years. Any college was up for grabs. He had a wonderful girlfriend, who meant just as much to him as Emma did to his little brother. Yet, he gave it all up to be with his brother and mother.

He gave up college to take care of Killian. He sacrificed everything just so that his little brother could do sports, or go on a field trip, or even eat food some weeks. He was the father Killian never had.

But, in the years since Liam moved, Killian never truly visited Storybrooke. Something always came up. Liam could see through his bullshit though. It was simply because Emma was still in Storybrooke and Killian was still too scared to see her. Instead, he would visit a nearby town and Liam would come and visit him. Killian never ventured into Storybrooke.

While Storybrooke was big enough to house a Naval yard, it was still a pretty small community. It wasn't like San Diego or Norfolk, where the base was so large that you didn't even know your own neighbor. But it wasn't so small that you knew everyone. It was truly the perfect size town. But Killian knew that if he visited, he would run into Emma and he just wasn't ready for that.

Of course he wanted to see his best friend again, wanted to hold her in his arms, wanted to make sure she knew just how much being separated from her killed him. But he was ashamed. Ashamed at how quickly he hid from her, how quickly he let go of the most important friendship in the world just because he was embarrassed and scared.

But he couldn't hide anymore.

He had been in Storybrooke less than a week and he had already caught glimpses of her four times.

Each time, his heart stopped and he forgot what he was doing. He first spotted her as he was driving through town on his way in from the airport. He hadn't even been in town an hour and he already saw her. She was walking on Main Street with a couple, one with short black hair, and the other with short blonde hair. He recognized them from her photos on Facebook. They were standing outside the ice cream shop with a teenage boy. Emma looked so happy and Killian was so memorized that he accidentally ran a stop sign.

The second time was grocery shopping. He was just pulling into the parking lot as Emma walked out with two bags in hand. She must have just gotten off of work, because she looked different than her pictures. She was in a dress with her hair pulled back, exposing her neck. He hid in his car until she left, driving a yellow bug that looked identical to the one his mom used to drive.

The third and fourth time happened on the same day, and he knew that he couldn't go much longer without reaching out to her. He was out with Liam on Saturday night. Their first stop was the Mad Hatter, a bar in the center of town. It wasn't a tourist place, and only the locals hung out there. He was sitting in a darkened corner booth when she walked in.

At first, he was a bit worried that she would be on a date, but he let out a sigh of relief when he saw she was alone. She looked beautiful though. Her jeans were tight and hugged her in all the right places. Her shirt was just a bit see through, showing the outline of her bra. Her hair fell down her back in large waves.

He couldn't move, couldn't speak. He was glad Liam had gone outside to call his wife, because he wouldn't have let Killian live it down. He knew that if Liam saw Emma, he would call her over almost immediately. So Killian held his breath waiting to see what would happen.

Emma took a shot that the bartender gave her, winked and walked out.

"Hey little bro, looks like you've just seen a ghost," Liam said as he slid into the booth.

"Younger brother," was Killian's traditional reply, "and I think I did. I just saw Emma."

"Really? I didn't see her," Liam said looking around.

"She came in, took a shot and left," Killian explained.

"Oh, she must be going to the club then," he replies, like he knew everything and that was supposed to explain what just happened to Killian.

Thankfully Liam added some more information when he saw the confused look on his brother's face.

"There's a club across the street. Their drinks are outrageously expensive. Ladies get in for free and can come and go as they please, so they tend to come and go from here to get their drinks, then go back over to Ruby's to dance," he explained.

"Oh," Killian responded unsure of how to actually respond to that.

"Want to check it out?" Liam asked.

Killian did want to see Emma again, but a club was different. First, it wasn't really his scene. He stood out like a sore thumb in places like that. Secondly, he didn't want Emma to see him, not yet, not before he was ready.

He was about to say no when Liam didn't leave him an option.

"We're going. And I think it would be the perfect opportunity to say hello to an old friend," his brother added, pulling him from the booth and pushing him towards the door.

The line to get into the club wasn't bad. The price, though, was outrageous! 20 bucks a head if you were a guy.

"How in the bloody hell can this club even make money? Twenty a head, and you said the girls all leave to drink, so how does it stay in business?" Killian asked.

"Ruby. It's really as simple as that. Ruby owns the place. Everyone knows her. Guys pay to get in cause the girls are gorgeous and the bar is nice. Girls come cause they know Ruby lets them drink for cheap across the street and she gives them a place to dance. Unless Jefferson opens a dance floor, Ruby will keep making the money," Liam explained.

They finally got in and he immediately spotted Emma on the dance floor. It was like a spot light shone just on her. Her entire body was shining bright, welcoming him in. He was drawn to her. Yet, he was frozen in his spot. He was awestruck, watching her move to the music so intently that he didn't even notice someone knocking into him, spilling a bit of their drink on him.

"Well, go on, little brother," Liam urged.

But Killian didn't move. He wasn't sure if it was physically possible.

He also knew, in that split second moment that he couldn't let the first time he talked to Emma Swan in over 20 years be on a dance floor. She deserved better than that.

He turned and ran out of the club.

The whole way back to Liam's, where Killian was staying until he found a place, his brother made fun of him. He knew he was never going to live it down.

As they pulled into the house, Liam finally said something that wasn't giving him a hard time.

"Eventually, you are going to have to talk to her. Man up already. Remember, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets."

And that stuck with him for a few more days. He would stare at her photo on Facebook, trying to will himself to send her a message. He kept telling himself that it didn't matter what he actually said, she would be happy to hear from him. At least, he hoped she would be.

Liam finally got annoyed with his behavior and took things into his own hands, which as hard as it was for Killian to admit, was just what he needed to get over everything and reach out to her.

Killian walked in from an early shift to see Liam had written a message to Emma for him. He hadn't hit send, but there was a sticky note saying that if he didn't get his head out of his ass and send it to her, Liam would soon. Killian knew that he needed to be the one to reach out, and with the fear of Liam being Liam, he edited the message a bit, and hit send.

Hey Emma, So I'm back in town. I wanted to know if you wanted to meet up for dinner soon and catch up. I know it's been a while - a really long while - and you may be pissed at me for losing touch, but I would really like to meet up, give me a chance to explain. Let me know. I've missed you Swan

He sat in front of that computer for what seemed like days. His emotions were all over the place. He was scared as hell as to what her response was going to be. And with each passing minute that she didn't respond, his internal monologue got worse.

She thinks you're crap. You were a shitty friend and she knows it. You left her alone for over 20 years; what kind of person does that? Do you really expect her to care now? Do you really expect her to write back? She knows better, her life is better off without you.

Finally, the Gods took pity on him, and Emma messaged him back. He was scared to look at first, but when he saw just what she wrote he was ecstatic. Something in him changed in that moment. All of a sudden, nothing in the past mattered anymore.

Hey Killian. Sure, let's meet. 6PM tomorrow, Granny's (I hope you remember where it is!) our old booth. See you then.

With those words, Killian vowed to himself that he was going to right things with Emma one way or another, and he had the perfect idea of how to start - by making good on a promise he made so many years ago.

#csbb #captain swan big bang #captain swan #captain swan fan fiction #captain swan ff

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