#wanted to get this done at least by start of November so I’m thrilled

[thatsonehellofahabit]

JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME

[gynandromorph]

i guess it’s time for a new year retrospective thing since it’s almost a new year

this year sucked and not even in like a notably bad way, it’s just one big haze of nothing where nothing matters and nothing has any meaning because there’s literally no break in between all the stress. groceries are as expensive as ever and they’re just gonna stay that way forever while the cost of living limit for welfare stays the same so now i’m stuck between being unable to afford food AND having no healthcare. mawkish continues to get older and she has more health issues. it takes up an unspeakable amount of my time and money, but she’s happy and not declining right now. every time she skips physical therapy for her arthritis due to a cancellation i can see how it affects her, though, so i don’t know if i’ll be able to cut costs there. a lot of this is about money, huh? i just feel like i can’t even DO anything without it. i can just Be At Home which just makes me feel like a wild animal pacing in a cage. i’ve been single for a while now and i’m REALLY feeling it and i know it’s partially my fault for not wanting covid more than not wanting to be lonely but like what the fuck would i do if i put myself out there huh? tell some girl i don’t have enough money to buy lunch or a coffee so we’ll have to just sit outside at a park? yeah i’ve sat outside at parks to meet and chat with people but as like a first impression it’s not great!!!

and my art has gotten worse, of course. it’s stiffer, and i feel on edge because my hand is either always on the cusp of hurting again or it IS hurting again. i’ve gotten it back to normal again, and then i slack off on my exercises and we’re back to square 3 (i haven’t gotten so bad that i go back to square 1) because the exercises themselves are wildly time-consuming and god knows if there’s anything i don’t have enough of it’s time. i hate the tablet i’m using and i can’t even find the old ones i brought with me because of the move, but even then they’re very small and that’s why i like them and it’s also why i hurt my hand in the first place. still, the curves this tablet makes are just not the same, there’s tons of issues with it that aren’t technically issues but certainly things that impact how the art comes out and how much i enjoy making it. not really related but about a week into the new year i’ll be getting a new computer, also, and a new desk chair, since both of those are fucking falling apart. i want to do other things that i’m not going to say here because if there’s one way to make sure you never ever do a project it’s just announcing it publicly before you’ve done literally any of the work. still, we’ll see if anything changes. it feels like it won’t simply because my brain is too depressed to do anything anymore and even when i do do the thing it turns out like shit or i don’t retain it at all. these are at least things that will not require the intense use of my dominant hand.

oh and the last huge negative is i just have like functionally no religious community now because this friend i made at my last synagogue was a great friend!!!!! super friendly!!!!!!!!!!! too friendly in fact!!!!!!!!!!! and i tried reasserting that i was not interested in a relationship multiple times, i tried tolerating advances i wasn’t going to reciprocate and it just kept getting more physical, eventually i decided to get my rabbi there involved and i gotta say the response i got was disappointing at best!!!!!! this was maybe like november 2021 but it’s literally functionally cut me off from that community altogether here because i wasn’t thrilled about the drop in covid protocols and i’m certainly not more enthusiastic now that i’ve been sexually harassed just to have it brushed under the rug knowing this is an all too common reaction for jewish authorities to have!!! i literally feel like i can’t say anymore about it besides that but hey it kinda sucks!!!!!!!

that’s it dude, that’s all, i started a new comic way later than i should have but i did start it, and i’m living somewhere that kind of sucks the soul out of me but i won’t be investing a lot of time and money into a move this year not only because it’s tolerably under my sister and her husband’s roof instead of my mom’s but because rent is too fucking high for me to jump ship too. sure hope 2023 is a great year cuz it’s the last one i’ll have as a 20-something and the bar is certainly low after this one, i can’t even be more thoughtful or humble about this retrospective, i’m so tired of feeling like shit and having functionally no way to fix most of these problems

[mirrorballwhoistrying]

I recall November holding my breath (23/12/2023)

I'm so late, late to the November reflection and it's almost 2024. It's so good to finally able to sit and look back on what I've done instead of rushing to finish one thing to another, which is basically what happened to me in November.

I feel like I've lived so many lives this November (am I saying this to every month?). Why am I still living for this thrill?

At the start of November, I was finishing my Chevening application. Then I got an email that I got shortlisted for the interview again for AFP on the 13th. That time, I lowkey knew I was giving up on Chevening (why do I always give up on things when it's almost the end? What kind of sabotaging behavior is this?) When the interview email came, I had to readjust my whole plan. I mean it was at least better than the interview falling during the time I was in Jakarta for real. I planned to visit HCM during the 2nd week to watch the Eras Tour. I readjusted immediately just so I had the 2nd week for interview preparation.

It was expensive traveling solo for real. For the I could save some 30% if I have companions. I was panicking about finding the Eras Tour ticket because I couldn't access the website in Cambodia. It ended okay. I wish my theatre was more lively though.

Then the usual thing was I went to G sauna. This sauna is not as good as the previous two. I'd make sure to go to the other 2 next time. Then I went to the G Club. I don't know where my confidence came from, I started talking to several people, making some Singaporean friends and got one Columbian & Filipino to connect to my IG and kept messaging me, ended up kissing the VN guy that caught my eye and the whole night. Damn! I felt very bejewed!

Then I have to come back to reality. Preparation for the interview, it was so emotionally torturous. It was likely reliving all the trauma and my fear of failure and rejection all over. I'm glad I asked P & K for help. I even did a coaching session about it and cried my heart out.

The topic I raised was about the confidence to live the life that I want to. She asked me whether I have a reason why I always use “I guess” or “maybe” in everything I say.

It clicked with me on how often I use downgrader words in my everyday sentence. In a way, it opens the door for further disagreement from others and means that I’m not absolute with my answers, but the thing is it also makes everything I say sound not confident, and somehow it also makes me feel not confident unconsciously as well.

She also asked me about the interview this time and how the progress I’ve made so far from last time. That’s when I reflect on how isolated those journeys I did before as well. I prepared on my own, scared to ask for help and to be judged. This time, I dared to reach out to my friends for feedback for improvement and did the mock interview. It gave me so much assurance that I’ve improved a lot. I got the courage to be seen and to receive feedback for improvement. Looking back I guess a lot of it was in my head. Maybe it was all perception in my head all along. Nobody is perfect and no one expects me to be. I’ve tried so hard to look confident and appear flawless, but at the same time, I locked myself out of any opportunity I had to improve myself or connect with people. Real confidence is the courage to be vulnerable and ask for help, to be seen. It gave me control, power, and comfort I know that I had it all along. 

Looking back to the program I applied for YSEALI AFP, and also other programs I applied for, or interactions with people that I have, I always look for what they are looking for and mold myself to fit their needs and narrative, but have I ever asked myself what exactly do I look for? Who I am? I might get selected or be liked initially, but in the long run, it’s just so, so exhausting. 

Still, after the session, I can’t control 100% how I’m going to be selected for the program or not, but that’s not important. I’m going to show up as my authentic self and if they don’t select me, it doesn’t determine my self-worth, or maybe it’s not what they are looking for and the program doesn’t fit me and that’s okay.

Energy attracts like energy. This is what my couch told me, and it’s just so powerful. I have to exude the energy that I want or like so that people with similar energy can join in. I can’t pretend to be something else and expect to find like-minded people. 

I did the interview and it was okay. nothing good, nothing exceptional. I tried my best and that's what matters.

Now I had a few days left before going to Jakarta. The few days, I spent on revising applications with my mates to apply for a grant. I really didn't rest at all. The application was done but it wasn't perfect.

Then the in-person forum in Jakarta. I needed a whole blog to write about that experience. What I can say is how different it felt with these people. They gave me so much comfort and safe space and assurance that we provide to one another. I love how it just doesn't end once the program ends. We still keep in touch.

Coming back from the in-person forum, I was so exhausted. The 4AM flight back home really messed up mentally. I rejected going to the SR marathon because I was so exhausted and had to prepare for the ERASMUS+ application. hmmm, all the hectic schedule of mine was really made by me!

After the in-person forum, I just spent the Water Festival trying to complete the Erasmus+ essays. That's it. That's how my November went!

I feel so fulfilled for this month. One thing I want to keep from these months is the perspectives I gained and something I want to carry into 2024 as well!

[internetaddict104]

I really just need somewhere to vent, or someone to talk to

(I put a break bc this is super long but I really need to vent)

Back in August my mom and I decided that I would go to cosmetology school so I could actually be independent and do something with my life.

The school we chose is great, and I’ve been really excited to go. They have a rolling admission, so new classes start every month. My mom said I could start in September, even though we’d be cutting it close with the paperwork and stuff we needed to fill out beforehand. I was more than thrilled- finally I could get out of the house, and get a job! I could actually maybe have a social life?!?! For context- I haven’t had a social life since 2017, when I was a college freshman, and that only lasted a few months. I have no irl friends and my 2-3 Internet friends live in either a different country or the opposite side of my country.

The September start date rolls around and I’m not there. Fine, okay, whatever, we only decided this like 10 days ago, it’s way too soon for me to start. I get it, totally okay. Mom says, okay, let’s do October since we’ll have more time.

Classes started October 4, and I didn’t go. I spent the last 2 weeks of September fighting with my parents about this, since they decided October was also too soon, but neglected to tell me that information. I needed certain financial info from my mom (she’s the finance person in the house) and she kept telling me “remind me later, we’ll discuss it tomorrow” whenever I brought it up, so I literally couldn’t move forward even if I wanted to. Whenever I brought it up, and I would do so respectfully and calmly, my dad would start yelling at me to calm down and stop overreacting. And just so you know I actually did speak calmly, and I’m not twisting words, my dad also yelled at me to stop overreacting when I accidentally dropped a knife and it almost cut me; I had gasped in shock because I wasn’t expecting a sharp blade to almost cut my hand while doing dishes. I don’t think I’m alone in saying having a knife almost cut me would shock me a little. (All the shit my dad’s said/done over the years could be it’s own separate post tbh). But hopefully now you get the idea that I was actually trying to have a normal conversation about this more than once.

Admittedly, I did actually get upset when I figured out I wasn’t going to stay in October, because again, I had to figure it out myself. And the way I figured it out was essentially by giving up hope and making petty remarks until my mom got mad and yelled at me. I know, not the best way to get info but it’s the only way that worked.

So yet again we planned for the next start date, November. Classes start on the 2nd, so I should be going this week. But nope! For the third time in a row, my mom fucked me over! And she expects me to be ok with it and not get upset!

I did everything myself this time. I set up all the meetings, I sent out all the paperwork (except for the parent stuff, which I made my mom do by pestering her and basically hovering over her until it was done), I made all the phone calls, everything. I have never been so proactive in my entire goddamn life.

The last thing that needed to be done was the financial aid. My student loans went through, but we were still waiting on the parent loan. My mom submitted everything last week, last Friday she finally checked her email to see that she was missing something, so her loan couldn’t be completed yet. She sent over what else they needed, and the financial aid lady fast-tracked it so I could start this week because it was literally one sheet of paper and it was the end of the day on a Friday. And it still wasn’t enough. This woman checks her email at least once an hour, I don’t understand how she missed this for over a week (the email was old when she found it).

Because of that, I can no longer start school this week. I now have to wait until at least December. I say “at least” because I just know something else will come up and I’ll have to change my start date yet again.

I feel awful feeling like this but I also feel like I’m justified? It’s my mom’s fault for not seeing the email. There’s no way I could’ve known about it to check, or look at her emails for her. This is the same way she cheated me out of my college experience in 2017 and I’m still bitter about it. I know I sound like the absolute worst person ever right now, but I don’t have a therapist (and if I did my mom would be in the waiting room the whole time and ask me about the session when it’s over, she’s done this before) and the only people I can talk to about this are my parents, who I can’t actually talk to about this. My dad will tell me I’m overreacting again, and my mom has already told me she feels bad about this and I don’t wanna make it worse. I’ve been holding back tears all day because I’m so upset and frustrated.

It’s like holding a treat in front of a dog’s nose, but just out of reach, so it keeps crying and reaching for it but it’s always just too far away.

This is the first thing I’ve been excited about in over 6 years and it’s not fair that right before I can get it, it gets taken away from me at the very last minute.

My parents keep getting annoyed with me because I’ve started saying that I should just find something else to do, or I’ll just start in January. They keep yelling that I’m being such a pessimist and to stop, and while they’re right that I’m a pessimist (I always have been, it’s nothing new), there is literally no precedent for me to be optimistic here. Every time I get to the finish line the universe places another boulder in my path. Why should I be optimistic that the fourth time will actually work, when we were all set to go for the third and that didn’t happen. We’ll be in the exact same position for December as we were for November, so why can’t I start in November?

If my mom had checked her email even 1 hour earlier, I could’ve been starting this week. Now, who knows when I’ll finally get to start school.

It’s not fair that I keep getting shafted because of other peoples mistakes and oversights. The one time I’m actually excited for something, and the one thing that’ll help me be a real adult (I’m almost 24, no job, no degree, no license, still lives at home, no love life, nothing).

Also I really need a therapist but I’m not sure how to bring it up to my parents without them asking why. And we don’t have a lot of money so we probably couldn’t afford one anyway (and I’m not doing online therapy since we live in a small house where sound travels).

Oh, and you should keep in mind that this is the same mother whose been telling me to get a job since the day I turned 16, and then got mad at me for getting a job, and has been telling me to go back to school since 2018.

[thatbritishactor]

Adventures in Success (part 10)

Adventures in Success (part 10)

Paring : Ben Barnes x Reader

Summary:  Ben’s agent is retiring and the firm wants you to represent him. It’s going to be hard for you not to mix work with feelings.

Warning: None, language (cursing).

Words: 3,300

Type :  Fluff

Part 1     Part 2       Part 3       Part 4       Part 5      Part 6    Part 7   Part 8  Part 9

I.

You’ve been officially dating for two months, but it feels like you’ve been together for longer. You’ve met all of Ben’s close friends, and you’ve introduced him to a few of yours. You’ve had to deal with feelings of betrayal on their part: how dare you keep your relationship a secret for so long? You’ve been scolded and met with incomprehension, but as soon as they met him, they were instantly enthralled by him. Ben knows how to win people over: his effortless charm, wits and kindness conquer everyone around him.

You still spend most of your time at his place, finding it unbearable to be away from him. Thankfully, he seeks your company as much as you seek his, and time flies by when you’re together. It’s taken a toll on your work, you’re not as dedicated as before, and your boss is starting to notice. Before, your job came before everything else. You worked an average of fifty hours a week, dividing your time between script reading, meeting your actors, callings producers and casting directors.

Today, Ben comes before your work, even before your friends. You know that some of it isn’t healthy, and that you shouldn’t prioritize your relationship over everything else. But you can’t resist him, and you’re at your happiest when you’re with him. He seems to struggle as well, avoiding castings, not reading as many scripts as he used to. Whenever you start to get anxious about it, you quickly dismiss it, one glance at Ben is enough to dissolve all your fears. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and you intend to hold onto and fight for your relationship with everything you’ve got.

By the end of November, Ben has to leave for London, and the heart ache induced by your imminent separation keeps growing. You’ve spent the better part of a year wanting him so badly it hurt you, and now that you finally have him, you can’t imagine how you’re going to be able to go back to a life without him.

Your feelings for him scare you, for they seem to get stronger every day. You thought that you were already done for when you weren’t even dating him, but it’s getting even worse. Somehow, waking up next to him every day is even better than what you had ever imagined. Although, you know that this is the easy bit: the honeymoon phase. The part where you love everything about the person you’re newly dating and can’t imagine ever picking a fight with them. You know that someday, his flaws will get to you, and that you’ll find him annoying. But today, you just can’t imagine that you’ll ever come to hate anything about him.

Sure, he’s a distracted person. He forgets things, he daydreams a lot, and he’s a people pleaser. Something inside him pushes him to accommodate everyone around him, and you can see that it might trigger your insecurities someday. But for now, you simply adore him, and you want to indulge in those feelings as much as possible. You’re incredibly nervous about the upcoming separation: Ben has to be in London for at least four months, and you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle it. You’ve come up with a plan though, but you haven’t told him, wanting to surprise him.

The night before his departure, you’re lying in bed with him, tightly pressed against his chest. He places soft kisses on your forehead, and you can feel the regular pounding of his heart, lulling you to sleep.

You’re tired and your eyes close by themselves, but you refuse to drift away, because when you’ll wake up, you’ll have to take him to the airport, and you’ll be apart -again- for months. You’ve realized that apart from your anxiety, it’s the separations that pose the biggest threat to your relationship. But this man is so worth it, you think, his fingers slowly caressing your bare back; you’d do anything for him.

“Do you want me to turn off the light?” he murmurs, and you sigh, closing your eyes and rubbing your nose on his chest.

“No… I don’t want to sleep” you lie, and Ben chuckles.

“I can see you’re totally falling asleep, love” he says, and your heart misses a bit at the term of endearment. You haven’t told him you love him yet, although the words are demanding to escape your lips. You haven’t loved anyone the way that you love him, and your feelings for him are so obvious, it’s embarrassing. Something’s keeping you from uttering the words though: the fear that it’d scare him away. You’ve been together for two months, it’s too soon. You’re so deathly afraid of losing him, you don’t completely allow yourself to surrender to your feelings yet.

Ben calls you love though, and sweetheart, sometimes dear, and it’s the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard, making you melt into a puddle every time. You wonder if he wants to tell you he loves you too, but you dismiss the thought, distracted by Ben moving against you.

“All right, I’m shutting the light” he says, and you lift your head to protest.

“Nooooo” you whine, and he laughs, his arms holding you impossibly closer to him.

“What is it?” he asks, “I can see that you’re incredibly sleepy.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep, because I don’t want to be tomorrow” you reply, and you bury your face against his chest to hide your face. He sighs and rubs his cheek on your hair, and you raise your head to meet his dark eyes.

“I know, me neither” he admits, and you can hear the longing in his voice.

“It sucks” you reply, and he gently pushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“Tell me about it” he replies, pensive.

You let go of him and lean back, and he slowly lets you go, looking curious.

“At least you’re going to meet Phoebe Waller Bridge” you say, trying to change the subject, resting your head on your hand.  “I’m so jealous” you add.

Ben smiles, his eyes soft, and your heart clenches in your chest. He’s eerily beautiful, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to that. He takes your breath away twenty times a day, and you still can’t believe that you’re the lucky woman who gets to be with him.

“Want me to ask her stuff?” he asks, his beautiful black eyes appraising you.

“I’d have to write it down” you joke “I have so many questions for her”.

“Go ahead” he replies, sliding a hand through his hair. “I’ll ask her.” He says with a smirk on his lips.

“You’d do that for me?” you mock in a high voice, putting a hand on your chest and dramatically batting your eyelashes.

Ben lets out a laugh “Anything for the one I love”, he replies, and you instantly stop breathing. Ben doesn’t seem phased at all, getting back to slowly caressing your arm, his eyes following the movements of his fingers, while your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat. When the silence thickens, he glances back at you, frowning.

“Is everything all right?” he asks, seeming worried.

You blink stupidly, a lump in your throat.

“Y… yeah” you reply, lowering your eyes, your heart beating fast in your chest.

“C’mon, I know you by now” he sighs “I know when something’s bothering you” and there is that smile again, the one that could make snow melt.

“You’ve just said you loved me” you mutter, putting a hand over your eyes, unable to meet his gaze. He laughs again, before placing a hand on the side of your face, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been in love with you for a year now, don’t tell me this comes as a surprise” he says in an incredulous voice, and you close your eyes, unable to handle the storm of emotions overwhelming you.

When you open them again, he’s still gazing at you, the softest expression on his face, and you lean in to kiss him.

“I love you too” you whisper against his lips, and his hands cup your face before they slide in your hair. You roll on your back, his weight on top of you, your heart seeming to burst in your chest.

II.

It’s become a ritual now: you play the music from Bo Burnham’s Inside in the morning while you’re both getting ready, and the two of you sing along to the soundtrack, knowing each song by heart. You’ve made the coffee and helped him finish packing his suitcase, something he’s told you before he struggles with. Being an organized, neat person, you secretly love packing and tidying things up, so you’re thrilled to help him. Ben has joked about you being perfect for each other, your orderliness completing his messiness, and you’ve laughed, pretending to be chill about it, ignoring your accelerated heartbeat and the warmth spreading in your chest. He could ask you to marry him right then and there, and you’d accept immediately. You’re so done for, you think to yourself, rolling your eyes as you watch him slide his backpack on, wearing his usual cap and sunglasses.

You sing in the car, and he teases you when the song “Sexting” comes on, taking you back to the time you got drunk and sent it to him. You were embarrassed at first, blushing and hiding your face away, before owning it and deciding that it was unintentional sure, but a badass move nevertheless.

The ride to the airport goes fast, and you hold hands while you walk through LAX. You’re less skittish than before about public displays of affection, thinking that if the world must find out about your relationship, so be it. You’ve lost so much time before because of your insecurities, you’ve promised to yourself that you wouldn’t let anything get in the way from now on. Ben registers his bags, and you arrive at the security gates when he turns over and holds you tightly in his arms. You hug him back, feeling like your heart is getting crushed with a hammer, struggling with yourself not to cry.

“It’s four months”, you say against his chest, “We can do this”. He nods and cups your face with both hands, staring into your eyes.

“I’ll call you as soon as I land?” he asks, looking uncertain.

“Yes, please” you reply, oddly out of breath. You stare into his deep obsidian eyes, your hands resting at his hips, and he leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes, surrendering to the soft feelings of his lips moving against yours, silently wishing for time to stand still.

“All right, I have to go” he whispers against your lips, and you smile, nodding.

“I love you” you breathe, looking back into his eyes, and he grins, making your heart drop in your chest. How is it possible for a person to be that beautiful? This should be illegal, you think to yourself, frowning.

“I love you too, sweetheart” he replies, and he kisses you one more time before he lets go of you, squeezes your hand, and turns over to go through the gates.

You stand there for a few minutes, your heart pounding hard in your chest, the sounds of the airport muffled around you before you find the strength to go home.

III.

“You wanna do what?” Rebecca asks, looking puzzled.

“I’ve been in touch with actresses in London for a few weeks now, and I think that I should go meet them to try and win them over” you explain, straightening your back against your chair.

You’ve asked for a meeting with your boss this morning, eager to submit your plan to her. You’ve been thinking about it for a while, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t accept the fact that Ben’s departure for London had been the incentive.

Although your agency is always looking for new talent, and you’re currently managing some of the hottest British talents in Hollywood, you know that they’d trust your judgement.

“Which actresses?” Rebecca asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Michaela Coel and Daisy Edgar Jones” you reply without breaking eye contact.

Rebecca arches her eyebrows, seeming impressed, before she purses her lips and turns a bit to glance out of the window.

“Honey, you know that you’re one of our most successful agents” she starts, and you brace yourself, knowing that a “but” is imminent.

“But I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed distracted lately” she adds, looking back at you.

You look away, crossing your legs, feeling uneasy. Yes. You can’t deny that.

“I know, I’m sorry” you reply honestly, knowing that lying wouldn’t take you anywhere.

“You know that I try and pay no mind to gossip” Rebecca says, the ghost of a smile dancing on her lips “But I couldn’t help but notice that ever since you dropped the Barnes account, you’ve been a little… elsewhere”, and she looks into your eyes, a kind expression on her face. You try not to blush, a warm feeling spreading over your chest, and you decide not to reply anything.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled for you” she says, still smiling “And Andrew was more than happy to take over as his agent.” You nod, not knowing where this is going.

Rebecca takes a breath and straightens her back before she leans against her desk, joining her hands.

“You were working too much before, anyway” she says, “But I’m wondering if taking new actors would be the right fit for you right now”.

“Oh.” You reply, taken aback. “I see.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d never say no to new clients, especially the ones you’ve approached. Promising, promising new talent, these two.” She says pensively, looking away.

“I know that I’ve been distracted lately” you start, wanting to be sincere “But I’m genuinely excited to meet them, and I know that I’d be the right fit for them”.

Rebecca glances back at you: “Are you sure? You already have a lot on your plate” she replies, seeming skeptical.

“Perhaps I just need fresh accounts” you venture, “Something new and exciting”.  

She stares at you for a moment, searching your expression.

“You know what” she starts “Go to London, try and broach them, and if you succeed, we’ll find a way to make this work” she proposes.

“Deal” you say, offering her your hand, and she shakes it.

“You’re going to London” she says gleefully.

“I’m going to London” you reply, smiling widely.

IV.

Ben was more than thrilled when you announced that you’d meet him in a month, impressed by your scheme. He told you that it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for him, and you had blushed and put your face in your hands, shaking your head.

“You don’t think that it’s stalky or creepy?” you had asked, watering your plants while you were talking to him on the phone.

“I mean, it totally is” Ben had laughed “But if it means that I get to see you, I don’t care” he added, and you hummed in agreement, distracted by the fact that you’d soon be in his arms, where you seemed to belong now.

December went fast, and you were glad that Ben was his family to celebrate Christmas. You’d fly two days before New Years Eve, and you’d meet Michaela on January second, and Daisy the next day. You’d spend a total of seven days with Ben, and you couldn’t wait.

You arrive Sunday morning in London, feeling tired and jetlagged, but seeing Ben’s face at the arrival gates fills you with more joy than you have ever experienced before. He joins you in quick strides and grips you tight, exhaling loudly and snaking his arms around your waist; raising you in the air like he had done months ago, before you had admitted your feelings to each other. You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him passionately, you heart threatening to jump out of your chest.

“God, I’ve missed you” he says against your lips, putting you back gently on the ground, his hands moving from your hips to your face.

“Tell me about it” you reply, out of breath, staring into his beautiful eyes.

“Ready to explore the city?” he asks, smiling widely.  “Or do you want to go back to my place and get some sleep?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

You think for a split second, blushing a bit “I mean… We’ll have time to chill later” you reply, “Let’s do some sightseeing” and you smile widely.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and he puts a strand of your hair behind your ear, looking down at you tenderly.

“I’m up for anything as long as I’m with you” you say, shrugging, and you know that the answer is beyond cheesy, but you’re unable to restrain yourself. He chuckles and gently pokes your nose with his, and you distinctively feel butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“First, an English breakfast” he says, and you wince, dreading the British food “Then, let’s be tourists” he says, and he kisses you gently. You sigh, melting under his touch. He’s worth enduring British food, for sure.

Ben takes you to the Naval Royal College in Greenwich, wanting to show you the Painted Hall. It’s known as the British Sistine Chapel, and he plays the tourist guide again, like he had done in Venice. You hold hands throughout the whole visit, stealing kisses and being amazed at his extensive knowledge of art history.

“Did you research all this to impress me again?” you ask, teasing him. Ben rolls his eyes, smiling.

“Of course, I did, what’d you expect?” he replies, kissing your cheek, and you giggle, endeared.

He shows you the Millennium Bridge, asking if you want to go inside St Paul’s cathedral, but you’re starting to feel a bit tired from all the walking and the flight.

“All right, one more place I want to show you, and then you’ll take a nap” he suggests, and you nod, reaching for his hand to hold. You walk for fifteen minutes when you reach a pretty street, and you enter what seems to be a park with a church in it. You frown, perplexed, when you finally see why he’d want to take you there. The church is in ruins, vegetation growing everywhere. It looks beautiful and romantic, and you understand why Ben wanted you to see it so badly. You walk among the ruins, gasping at the shady trees and the quietness of the place. It doesn’t seem like you’re in the heart of the busy city, the place looks magical with the sun setting in the distance.

“Oh, this is so pretty” you whisper, and Ben takes you to a bench for you to sit. He throws an arm around your shoulder, and he places a kiss on your temple.

“This place reminds me of you” he says quietly, and you look at him, surprised.

“How so?” you ask. He seems to ponder for a while before he replies.

“It makes me feel safe, quiet, like nothing else exists.” And his voice is soft, making your stomach clench. You blush, feeling overwhelmed. What did you do to deserve him again? This is crazy, you think to yourself, looking away, feeling crushed with too many emotions.

“What is it?” he asks, still gazing at you.

“I’m just tired” you reply, and you put your head on his shoulder, breathing deeply and closing your eyes.

“What’s our plan for New Year’s?” you ask, opening your eyes. Ben has teased you before that he had a plan but wanted to surprise you. You feel him chuckle and look up at him.

“I was thinking… It might be time for you to meet my parents” he says easily, and your heart stops in your chest. You look at him, your breath shallow, and Ben laughs at your expression, seeming satisfied with himself.

“It’ll be alright, Love” he says, caressing your hair. “I promise.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Heyyyy heyyyyy!!!! Look who’s updating after two months ?? It’s meeee.

Hope you like this part, it’s just pure fluff. I want them to be happy and to explore the next step of their relationship.

Tell me your thoughts and feelings about this ? It might inspire me to write part 11 !!

Byeee <3

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[pastelavender88]

Right Person At Maybe The Wrong Time- Chapter 12

Summary: The events of 5x6.

Series Masterlist

Alex, Buck, and I were having a little movie night since Evan was off of work. Alex had just gone to her room when I decided to approach Buck with a matter. "Hey, Buck. Before you go, can I ask you something?" "Yeah, sure, go ahead." "Well, Alex's 10th birthday is next month, and I wanted to have a birthday party for her." "Oh, that's great. What kind of party are we thinking of?" Buck asked. "Well, I wanted to invite everyone, Bobby, Athena, May, Harry, Hen, Eddie, and more. Also, since it's her double digits party, I was thinking we go all out. Like this:

”

I showed him pictures of a party theme I got off of Pinterest. "That's a good theme. I can't wait!" Buck seemed genuinely happy to help me plan the party. "Me either. The only thing is I want this to be a surprise. Alex always says I never do anything fun for her birthday. So when she asks, we just tell her we're having a nice family dinner." "Alright, I can do that. When exactly is Alex's birthday again?" "November 16. Also, I have the guest list pretty much done, but I was wondering are your parents coming?" Buck looked shaken by this. "Umm... no. Well, not no. It's just that I haven't exactly said anything about Alex yet." What the hell does he mean he hasn't told them yet?

"You haven't told them yet!" I started to raise my voice when Buck pointed in the direction of Alex's room. "I mean, why haven't you told them yet? I know your parents weren't the best, but I want her to at least meet them. My dad is flying from Pennsylvania." "It's a lot more to it than that. I don't want them being passive-aggressive towards you and Alex. I don't want her to go through that. Plus, our parents never liked each other." He was right about that last part. "Buckley. Listen to me. Our parents can't get in the way of us raising our daughter. Do you think my dad was thrilled when I told him you were back in my life? Of course not! He literally hated you, but it was what was best for Alex." "Your dad hates me?" He seemed surprised by this fact. "You broke our window, nearly burnt down our house, you were reckless, and you got me pregnant. Let's just say he isn't your biggest fan." He just nodded at this.

"Okay, that's fair. Alright, I'll talk to my parents about it soon." He started to head towards the door. "I'm gonna run. Taylor is waiting for me at home." "Oh, at home, you say? Sounds like things are getting pretty serious." "Whatever. Maybe if you get some, you wouldn't be so noisy." He said teasingly. "You're right. You think Eddie is still up?" To which I stuck out my tongue after saying.

"Later, loser." He said as he walked out the door.

Eddie's POV

It's been a few days since the park but only a few hours since I saw Y/N. Things between us have gotten better, and we've become closer. True to my word, I put the picture of the four of us on my lock screen. Y/N and I look so in love in the picture, and the kids are both beaming. Honestly, since Buck brought up me having feelings for Y/N, that's all I could think about. I never felt this way about Ana, and I don't even think Shannon and I were this close. Except, I was confused. What if I did give us a try, and it didn't work out? What if she didn't feel the same? It could ruin everything between us. So, for now, we just continue to be friends.

The 118 was called to help put out fires at an active riot. While we were there, we saw two prisoners that needed medical attention. While on the way to the hospital, suddenly, Buck turned off the light and sirens. When I noticed something was off, I looked over to the "guard" and noticed he had a gun drawn. We're in for it now. When we pulled over, they emptied our pockets. Buck and I tried to create a plan of attack when one of the prisoners started talking.

"Cute family, you got here," He showed me the picture on the lock screen. "That wife of yours is a cutie, but I think she might have slept with your buddy over there cause there is so way this kid isn't his." He was obviously talking about Alex. "They live with you at 4995 South Bedford Street, right?" Buck went over to say something when the other guy attacked him. "Now we're going to do things my way, so no one gets hurt, alright." We both nodded. 10 minutes into the ride, the blond started speaking to me. "Hey, pretty boy. You got a text from someone named Y/N. It says, "Christopher's staying at mine tonight. Carla isn't feeling too well." I'm guessing she isn't your wife then, huh?" I continued to work on the patient. He turned to Buck. "So she's your baby mama and his girlfriend. Wow, you firefighters are weird. If she was mine there is no way she could get away with that."

“You watch your mouth!” Buck quickly barked back.

“Easy there tiger! We wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt. I obviously struck a nerve. So what’s she like in the sack because by the look in her eyes in this picture, she looks ready to pounce on you.” Evan was bothered by his words and was giving me a sideways glance but he tried to keep it to himself. “Looks like someone is getting jealous over there. I’m sure there’s enough of her to go around.” We both continued to ignore him. My mind was on Christopher, Alex, and Y/N. I needed to make it out of this.

After the aftermath, I rushed over to Y/N's house. I texted Y/n to let her know I was outside so I wouldn't have to ring the doorbell and wake the kids. She opened the door, and she was wearing a sexy pajama set.

"Eddie, why are you so late? What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It was just a hostage situation." She looked at me like I was speaking a different language. 

"Nothing I can’t handle. How was he?" 

"He was great. Worried, but he eventually went to sleep." She moved closer to me. "Are you sure your okay?"

"Yeah," and for the first time, I'm the one who initiated the hug. "Just glad to see your face again."

Y/N's POV

I looked up at Eddie, and I noticed he had that same look in his eyes he had when we first kissed. The next thing I knew, our lips were connected. He wrapped his hand around my back, and my hand found his hair. This kiss started to deepen when...

"Mom, can you come here. I had a nightmare." Eddie and I are choosing to ignore her until, "MOM!" "I'm coming, sweetheart." What a cockblocker! 

"Umm... it's really early, and I guess late. You should just spend the night,” Eddie seemed amused by what i was saying. That’s when i realized how it sounded. “In the guest room with Christopher, of course! After you get some sleep, I need to talk to you." "Yeah... alright. Night, or morning I guess." He headed towards the guest room. It should be my room he's walking to.

Eddie's POV Walking to the guest room, I realized I got to stop thinking with my head and start thinking with my heart, and maybe, something else.

Halloween episode is next can’t wait. The poll decided what Eddie and the gang would wear for Halloween. I know it’s a little late but I had to finish the other chapters before this one.

Taglist: @capswife​ @navs-bhat​ @champagnesugamama​

[headinthestaticsky]

Frozen Within the Night Wind: Jasper Hale x Fleur Swan, Chapter 10

None of the characters in Twilight belong to me, all rights go to Stephenie Meyer.

"Having you close My head is damaged I get closer, everything trembles me

Now I have the certainty That I have not lost the desire Wake up with you in the morning But I'm looking for your gaze And your eyes, baby, don't tell me anything."

Nuestro Planeta by, Kali Uchis Featuring Reykon. Translated lyrics.

Jasper, Jacob, and I were all standing in a large field awaiting the arrival of Bella and Edward. The very field we were standing in would be the battleground between us and the newborn army.

"Hey, le... Fleur?" Jacob asked."

"Hmm?"

"Why haven't your diluted eyes at all? They still look like a rose." Jacob observed.

"I mean it hasn't been a full year yet."

"Yes, darling but... they should've at least diluted a little by now, amber should start to peak through." Jasper added.

"That's strange...I haven't had any human blood I swear."

"Yeah right..." I heard Jacob mumble.

"Oh shove it, Jacob, at least I'm not in the middle of a toxic, manipulative, love triangle."

"Can it leech. You know nothing about Bella."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Before Jacob could rebuttal, Edward and Bella finally showed up. Edward didn't look thrilled at all and Bella had a blank look on her face.

"I don't like this idea at all." Edward grumbled.

"And we need you for the fight but you aren't coming to that so...tough, get over it." I rebutted.

"Leave him alone Fleur...he's doing it for me. Bet Jasper hasn't done that for you." Bella said a dreamy look was in her eyes.

"Uh...he didn't have to, because I didn't cause chaos where ever I went and didn't piss off nomads you dumbass." I heard Jasper let out a short laugh.

"Wait, pretty boy isn't fighting, aww did you pull a muscle?" Jacob mocked.

"Can we get on with this... I wanna be anywhere but here." I interrupted.

"Whatever, just tell me the plan." Jacob said.

"Edward and I are going on a campsite, even if he carries me they’ll still pick up our scents." Bella explained.

"Your stench, however, is revolting." Edward interrupted

"Dude, you really don’t wanna start comparing stinks." Jacob snapped

"What he means is that your scent will mask mine if you carry me," Bella said.

"Done."

"This is not a good idea."

"You've already established that Edward," I said.

"Edward, they won’t wanna get anywhere near his... odor." Jasper carefully.

Jacob picked Bella up before saying... "Odor-de-wolf comin’ up."

Edward glared at me when Jacob was gone. Jasper noticed this and tensed up.

"You need to stop talking to her like that!"

"Like what? Truthfully, honestly?"

"It's not truthful it's insulting!"

"Dude...have you been living without any of your senses? The amount of shit she has said and done to me is a lot more disgraceful than how I am acting. Like I am petty, I know I am, but her pretending to be all innocent is hilarious."

"Oh please..."

"Okay so when she insults me and brings up that my mother completely hates my guts it's fine but when I rebuttal it's like I'm opening the gates of hell huh?"

"You don't know anything about her... she isn't malicious!"

"You sound just like Jacob."

"Don't even compare me to that...fleabag."

"What are you gonna do about?" I said he then got up close to my face, he looked like he was going to hit me.

"Don't test me Fleur... I will put you in your place if I have to."

"I'd love to see you try...boy." Jasper said getting between the two of us.

Edward snarled at us and walked away, stalking off to the far side of the field.

"Man... being a vampire has definitely amped up my attitude. Good thing you're here to stop me from doing something stupid." I joked.

"I think you're spending too much time with Rosalie darlin." Jasper said, smiling at me.

"This whole love triangle thing makes me want to set myself on fire. I kinda feel bad for Jacob...I know she's just manipulating him."

"I wouldn't put it past her darlin."

"I really wish we didn't have to do any of this...we should be getting married right now... not fighting a battle they could possibly be getting us killed." I confessed.

"Well one, we just have to wait until November... and two we will be fine, we've been training all this time."

"I know but...it's still a terrifying thought, this is the first fight I've ever been with another vampire."

"Did you forget about James love?"

"Well... with me as a vampire."

"You're going to be fine... Alice told me the vision she had of you fighting James, you cracked his skin by throwing a rock.... if you're that strong as a human I'm scared to see what you can do as a vampire."

"Okay, okay... stop trying to boost my ego." I said smirking, I pulled him in using some of my strength. I kissed him before pulling apart, biting his lip to tease him."

"You're cruel darlin, just cruel... Oh forgot to say something..."

"What is it?"

"Bella and Edward got engaged."

"Oh my god... are you serious?"

"Yeah, and Alice said they planned on eloping in Vegas."

"She must be really angry with those two..."

"Actually, she isn't really that mad."

"Okay, what happened to Alice?"

"I think she's starting to get a little... annoyed with Bella."

"It was bound to happen... Dad is going to kill Edward."

Edward ran toward us again and told us to be quiet. Before I could ask why Bella and Jacob came back into view.

"Well Jasper and I will do a quick sniff check... you three can stay here and.... mingle." Before they could protest we took off into the woods.

"The stench is revolting."

"It is pretty bad."

"I can't make up any Bella though, so the plan worked."

We quickly ran back down to the field, both of us had stepped down off of a broken tree laying on the ground.

"Just picked up wolf stench, no Bella." Jasper stated

Timeskip: 2 hours later

I was waiting for Alice in the Cullen's house, knowing that Alice told dad we were all going on a camping trip. I thought it would be good if we all hunted before the battle to power up. I needed all the strength I could get.

"I swear if Bella and Edward do anything in our room I am going to kick Edward to the moon." I grumbled.

"Don't worry Fleur...I'm sure Edward won't do anything." Jasper reassured, a guilty look was on his face, however.

"You threatened him didn't you?" Not buying his innocent act.

"Yes, yes I did."

"Alright everyone, we can go!" I heard Alice say outside, Dean, Jasper, Rosalie, Emmett, Esme, Carlisle, and I all made our way outside quickly.

Timeskip: 6 hours later

"Damn Emmett, at this point you're going to put bears into extinction."

"Serves them right short stack."

"Dude I am 5'9, that's pretty tall for a girl."

"But pretty short for someone who's 6'5."

"Oh shut it and hit your head in the doorway again."

"Darlin, if he keeps doing that the support beams are going to give out in the house." Jasper added.

"Nah they'll be fine, he's as tall as a support beam." I joked.

"Can't wait to kick some newborn-vampire ass," Dean said, jumping up slightly in excitement. Alice giggled and wrapped her arms around him

"Are the newborns still making their way to the field Alice?" Carlisle asked.

"Yes, they should be here at 5:15 pm tomorrow."

"We'll be ready," Carlisle said.

"You guys go ahead in, I need some quiet. I'm going to try and track Victoria."

They all nodded and went inside, I saw them all however observing me through the glass walls."

I got into my trance, rolling my eyes behind my head and I was flying through the city once again. I stopped in an underground tunnel, the likes of which was located in Seattle. I finally found her, she was talking with that man that turned me... the name I finally found out to be Riley Biers.

"You’re not coming with us?" He asked angrily.

"It’ll be a last-minute decision. I told you how it works." Victoria replied she seemed bored.

"The Cullen’s have powers according to one of your friends," Riley said skeptically.

"Yes, my friend told me... my DEAD friend. Don’t underestimate them, Riley. One of them made me have hallucinations of my friend. You’ll have the numbers, but they’ll be able to anticipate your every move. You don’t trust me do you?"

"I trust you with my life. I’m just saying…"

"I’m doing this for us so that we can feed without their…retaliation and I can’t live in fear anymore waiting for them to attack."

"I won’t let them. I’m going to end the Cullen clan. I swear."

I broke out of my trance before I could get anything else out of the conversation. I rushed inside, eager to tell them what I found.

"It was Victoria guys!" I said.

"What? I would've seen it." Alice replied.

"She was hiding behind that kid, Riley... She's letting him lead the army to us..."

[none-but-y0u]

i'm lying (because i love you)

saw this post by @draculcid a few days ago and couldn’t get it out of my mind. then proceeded to write 1k words of a fic but then my motivation to write left because of school and then i suddenly got a burst of inspiration last night and i'm almost probably gonna polish it up for ao3 later but for now, here's a continuation of this beautiful headcanon tw: abuse, bruises, billy went back home to neil's after star court bcuz it works for the purpose of the story. ------------------------------------------------------------------------

So billy drives max over to steve's every few days because steve's place is the unofficial meet up for the party's D&D nights. and max comes in and she's angry and brash and everyone is like ??? and mike yells at lucas to calm his girlfriend down and max yells back that she's not lucas' girlfriend anymore and lucas is like wait whaaaa???

and its one of those nights when steve’s really tired and every loud noise is making him jumpy and anxious and he just can’t deal with them today. So ofc he yells at the boys before turning to max. Goes to yell at her too but she’s hunched over and folded in on herself and this is a different type of angry than usual. It’s laced with fear this time. And she looks up at him when he asks her what’s wrong, but nothing comes out, so el moves to sit next to her. Squeezes her hand before turning to steve with those round eyes of her and says “old billy”

And that news just...hits him for some reason. Settles uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach because it’s been a few months since Starcourt and Billy’s lost all that Californian thrill that he used to parade around town with.

And steve used to see billy often after it first happened because he was max’s designated driver, so his name appeared on the hospital guest sheet almost as often as Max’s, and ten times as more than Neil’s. And it’s not like he and billy really ever spoke. More of a head nod at the beginning and end of each visit while max’s rambles filled the space between them.

But once Billy healed enough to leave, he just went back to Neil’s because apparently the government doesn’t care too much about a traumatized teenager in a small town in the middle of bumfuck indiana leaking military secrets to the press.

And Steve hated the idea of Billy going back to Neil’s because, well, because he had just gotten used to seeing Billy without the bruises, and he realized he kinda liked seeing the blues of billy’s eyes sparkling during his rare moments of happiness. And he definitely wasn’t ready to see the old bruises start to make their appearance again.

And yet. For whatever reason, his worry never seemed to come true. The bruises never returned and everything was normal.

But months passed and steve didn’t have a reason to be around billy anymore which meant he went from “billy hargrove who steve saw almost every day” to “max’s step brother who drives her around” and steve hates to admit it but he misses the old billy. The one who would sometimes stare at steve from his bed when he thought steve wasn't watching. But Steve was always aware of billy. Has been from the moment he first set foot in town.

So when he hears this news, that “old Billy” has returned, he hates it because old billy was angry and scared all the time, and old billy didn’t look at him like he was important. Like he saw something else in him. Like he was worth it.

So steve nods at max. Tells the kids he’ll be back, and musters up what little courage he has left before trudging outside. Thinks about how if Robin were here, she’d tell him to turn around and go back inside. Let Billy be the angsty teen he tries so hard to come across as by himself. But his mind and nerves don’t seem to agree on logic too much these days, so he goes anyways.

And when he finally gets to the camaro, billy straightens up as if he wasn’t just hunched over, head in his hands, and breathing heavily. Looking exactly like his sister, not sister. And billy looks up at steve with a bored expression. Answers really dryly like he’d rather be anywhere than here cuz he’s cool for this.

But steve can see the bruises decorating the side of his face. Can see the unblemished skin on billy’s knuckles, and steve just knows. Old billy.

So steve, shaking and scared himself, finally works up the guts to ask billy to come inside. Says something like the kids just started a new D&D game and it won’t be done for a while, so billy might as well come inside so he doesn't freeze even though billy has always run hot.

And billy stays silent, narrows his eyes at steve, which makes steve’s heart beat in his chest because the knows they’ve moved past that night in november, but this is old billy and old billy is really good with his fists and steve doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of that again.

But eventually, billy agrees. Says something snarky like “i’ve always wanted to see how the other half lives.” Shuts the camaro off and opens the door, hitting steve on the leg because he’s still a boy who doesn’t know how to properly accept love and care with his words.

Inside, the party barely spares them a look, but he knows they’re doing it out of a respect thing because max is still frowning and closed off. And billy sees her, starts off ignoring her as he walks around touching things. But his eyes keep finding her and she keeps shivering because she still has some of that california blood in her. And eventually he walks over. Yells at her for leaving her jacket at home before yelling at steve for having a cold house. And steve says he can put the heat on or get her a blanket, but billy waves him off before shrugging off his prized leather jacket and throwing it at max.

And something warm flutters deep in steve’s stomach as he watches their interaction. Something he hasn’t felt since nancy and it builds and builds inside of him.

And then he sees the bruises on billy’s side. Sees the small splotches of red peeking through billy’s white shirt. Watches billy wince as he continues his exploration of steve’s house.

Eventually, steve tells billy to follow him. Has to say it with faux authority because billy loves to argue. When they finally do get to the bathroom, steve forces billy to sit, so he can clean his wounds because “you’re gonna get blood all over my mom’s new carpet, and she’s gonna kill me” which is a lie ofc because it’s not like she’s ever home, and even when she is, she’s only sober long enough to point out whatever flaw of steve she can pick at.

But they’re focusing on billy tonight, so steve brushes off the slight overshare, and billy seems to understand because he lets steve clean him up. Lets him run a warm rag over billy’s abs. Even let’s steve wash his hair (which is a whole other argument). And after, steve gives billy some of his clothes. They have different body sizes so the only thing that fits are a pair of sweats and one of steve’s old sweaters. But watching billy come out from the bathroom wearing his clothes sparks something in him, and he thinks that old sweater might just be his new favorite now.

After, billy starts looking around steve’s room. Says something like “so this where the magic happens” as he waggles his eyebrows. And steve goes to roll his eyes but there’s something about billy looking soft and cozy as he sinks into the cushion of steve’s bed. And that warm feeling is back, and it’s spreading this time. And he has to look away because he’s starting to think of scenarios of billy sleeping in his bed not just for one night but for forever, and...yeah he can’t think of that right now.

So he uses this moment of billy being slightly distracted to go to the kitchen. Makes up another lie about billy having to stay in his room for whatever reason and billy agrees because “your bed feels so good, harrington.” and steve can’t take it anymore and he runs out blushing.

He comes back a half hour later with slices of pizza but billy protests because he’s on a strict diet of not eating whatever the fuck they put in Sal’s pizza. But steve is prepared this time, so he counters saying they had extra and they have to eat it all or else the racoons will get it and everyone is full, so billy has to eat the rest of it.

And steve has already been really weird tonight. Doesn’t want to make it weirder by watching billy eat. So he grabs the closest thing to him which happens to be some romance book from the 1800s that he took out for a school assignment and never returned.

But he’s made his grave already, so he starts reading it. Or at least tries to, but soon the words start blurring together because he keeps getting distracted, and he resorts back to an old trick of reading everything out loud to help him stay on track. And then he remembers billy’s still in the room, and he’s looking at him with this curious look. And steve feels like he’s in grade school again, about to get scolded for being disruptive, so he stutters out an apology, but billy cuts him off, saying he can’t hear the book when steve’s sitting so far away.

and there’s plenty of room on the bed.

So somehow, steve finds himself, sitting on his bed, one side of his body pressed to billy’s, reading an 18th century romance book. and there’s heat being passed between them, but there’s heat filling inside steve too.

Time passes and they get lost in the story, but then suddenly, there’s a loud bang followed by screaming coming from the living room, and steve immediately jumps up, reaching for his bat, but then he hears dustin yell out a “sorry steve” followed by a chorus of “sorry, steve.”

And it takes a second, but his heart rate is slowing back down, but then he looks over at billy, and his eyes are wide and his fingers are digging into his side and he’s breathing really heavily like he’s on the verge of crying or something and steve gets it...old billy.

So steve waits with billy. Helps him calm down by pressing billy’s hand to his chest, to help ground him. Once he’s a little better, steve says he better tell them to quiet down, and billy protests saying “don’t be such a mom, harrington” but the jumpiness is still slightly there in his eyes so steve shrugs him off saying “they’ve already had the cops called on them once because the kids were being obnoxiously loud” and he doesn’t need it to happen again. He doesn’t tell billy the incident was an argument over a video game or that the cop was hopper who didn’t even drive over because it wasn’t serious and it didn’t involve el.

Later, when it’s getting late, nancy and jonathan show up to take the kids home. As Steve talks to them, he notices max and billy arguing in the corner of the room. Eventually he works it out. Billy can’t go home tonight, but max doesn’t want him sleeping in his car because who knows what’s out there.

So steve offers, well more like agrees, to max’s question of letting billy spend the night. Billy protests and steve shrugs it off, saying he has multiple rooms in his house and he can sleep in any of those.

After everyone leaves, steve goes to set billy up in a guest room, but he notices him being hesitant about sleeping alone. And steve’s been lying all day, so he figures that one more can’t hurt so he says that billy’s gonna have to sleep in his bed tonight because the other rooms are filled with his parent’s souvenirs from their many adventures. And it’s so obviously a lie because they were just in a perfectly clean room, but billy smirks anyways and says something like “if you wanted me in your bed, just say that.”

They get back to steve’s room and curl up under the covers. And it’s so cold in steve’s house, so obviously they have to conserve heat by practically spooning each other. And it’s steve’s bed and he’s the one that’s cold, so he gets to be the big spoon this time. Which grants him a “you planning on there being a next time, harrington?” steve hopes billy can’t feel his heart fluttering.

A few minutes later, they’re laying there, both still awake. Because the worst part about living in the middle of nowhere is the constant sounds of nature. Steve’s used to it for the most part, but billy keeps tensing in his arms. So steve lies one last time and says something like “i hate the sounds of outside so i have to sing myself to sleep. Do you mind?” and billy shrugs, saying no. and steve starts singing something that’s not a bedtime song and his voice is bad, but it makes billy laugh which makes steve’s chest flutter and that warm feeling is back with a vengeance. But this time steve welcomes it.

As the song ends, billy’s breath starts getting slower and quieter, and steve thinks he’s asleep so he whispers a “goodnight hargrove” into billy’s hair.

But his calculations are off, and billy stirs in his arms, and steve freezes, nose still touching billy’s curls. And then billy turns around, still wrapped in his arms and whispers a “thank you, pretty boy” into his chest before snuggling deeper into steve’s arms.

[bbhyeoliskooks]

.- : ✧ 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 ✧ : -.

➶ TXT’s Reaction to Seeing you Excited for Christmas Like a Little Kid

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Genre: 5 cups of snowflakes and fluff~!

Warnings: None~~

(omg, watch me post every day now for christmas ?? i haven’t been working on stuff because of assignments and stuff so i’m sad, i really wanted to write a lot for the holiday this year :(( but iss okay~! We have now and hopefully you guys will like it hehe)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

. ⋅ ˚̣- Yeonjun:

*’. All year you had been begging to do so many fun activities with him for your first Christmas together as a couple

*’. Every time though, he would boop your adorable lil’ nose and say with a teasing tone, “just be patient and wait~!”

*’. But how could you be patient when the best time of the year was coming???

*’. Yeonjun knew how excited you were for this when you counted down the days starting from November, so he guessed he was really in for a ton of screaming when the first day of December came

*’. When the month of December finally arrived, you were on your toes for all of the holiday cheerings and greetings !

*’. It was just pure happiness wherever you went- you saw everyone with big smiles painted on their faces, little children running around the store to look for Santa, and especially the couples who gifted each other surprises every week

*’. Yeonjun woke up at 12am on Christmas morning because of how much you were screeching and screaming to the top of your lungs

*’. “Will you calm down for a second? We have the rest of the day to spend, but I need some sleep first.” “Jjunie, but it’s Christmas already! I just wanna-” chuuu <3

*’. When he saw the stars sparkle in your eyes, he couldn’t help but instantly pull you aside and gift you with some pretty early passionate kisses

*’. It was the least Yeonjun could do for you, really~! You’re his adowable, widdle baby of course hehe

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

. ⋅ ˚̣- Soobin:

*’. The Christmas Tree was exceptionally stunning this year ! With all of its gleaming ornaments that hadn’t broken down from the past few years, it wasn’t that hard to believe

*’. It honestly was quite a journey to get the tree inside of the house, but luckily both you and Soobin were able to scuffle enough with the struggle to decorate it from home

*’. Seeing how you happily placed ornament after ornament on the pine tree warmed his heart

*’. “Soobders! Doesn’t this one look so pretty?! I think we should shop for more so that I know which ones you really like.”

*’. He absolutely couldn’t say no, okay…

*’. “Ai, love. You’re the prettier one here, be quiet.”

*’. It seemed that you didn’t hear him as you gazed in wonder at your favorite one- his heart was going crazy because of it

*’. Poor him, he couldn’t concentrate on getting the task done since you were so alluring under the Christmas lights hehe

*’. And poor you, didn’t know what kind of effect you had on Soobders here !!

*’. Needless to say, you didn’t get finished decorating the Christmas tree :// but no need to worry, you couldn’t complain because Soobin flung you over his shoulder to have some cuddly times <3

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

. ⋅ ˚̣- Beomgyu:

*’. Voila! You stared at yourself in the mirror with satisfaction, adoring how gorgeous you were in your favorite winter outfit

*’. It was actually for a party, you never dressed up quite this much unless there was an important occasion.

*’. Excitement brought itself up from your jumping feet to your trembling arms… in complete realization that it was just a few hours 'till Christmas morning and you’ll definitely be the happiest person ever !

*’. Beomgyu saw how happy you were dancing around in the mirror, and just had to stop his movements- only to stare and coo at you from behind

*’. He truly couldn’t resist giving you a gift from how thrilled you were in front of him

*’. “Princess! I brought you something!”

*’. You immediately looked behind you once you heard the word ‘princess’ to see him rummage under the pocket of his suit, trying to get something from out of there

*’. He walked closer to you, snatching out a tiny box with bright, red wrapping paper on it

*’. You hurriedly opened it with just a little touch of hesitation from how happy he was to give it to you, not expecting that

*’. Oh my gosh :o!! It was the prettiest golden necklace with a letter of B on it ( )

*’. Once he said that it was something to remember him by whenever you miss him, you knew at that exact moment you were so incredibly whipped that it was laughable

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

. ⋅ ˚̣- Taehyun:

*’. Oh. No. Oh. My. Gosh. No.

*’. As much as Taehyun loved the Christmas holidays, he was NOT ready to hear that Mariah Carey song blast in his ear 24/7, especially from you who knew he absolutely despised whenever the radio played it

*’. Actually, back in June when you were getting sad about it not being winter, he made you promise you wouldn’t play this in the house, not even once

*’. Guess what

*’. You didn’t let him live one second without hearing it

*’. Who could blame you??? You were so exhilarated that the holidays had come !! Which meant so many gifts and sincere love to give to the love of your life !!

*’. He made sure to appease every single one of your efforts of playing that song by a few encouragements like cuddles or subtle kisses on your hands

*’. BUT NO, THAT DIDN’T WORK EITHER CRIIII

*’. Cue the puppy eyes he totally has no control saying no over

*’. Although… you were so cute and tiny despite your height that girlie, he fell in love with your stunning spirit over and over again ~~

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

. ⋅ ˚̣- Kai:

*’. If someone said the word Christmas from a mile away, you would sPRINT out of wherever you were, throwing hands on the streets because of the happiness that simply overwhelmed the rest of your emotions

*’. We can say that Kai hit you with his plushies to make sure you wouldn’t get away from him any longer :DD and good thing he succeeded because you were going crazy over the idea of hot chocolate with marshmallows

*’. Gifts only made your want stronger unfortunately, the need to wrap a few gifts getting on your nerves from how itching your hands were to prep up some happiness

*’. The week before Christmas, you were getting sad since you hadn’t gone shopping with Hyuka yet :((

*’. Okay, he just couldn’t say no to your cute grin when you asked him to accompany you to the stores >3< he needed to go shopping with you now~~

*’. You basically dragged him everywhere- to the Christmas tree perched in the middle of the mall to the decorations section where snowmen were singing their own merry tunes

*’. His feet and legs were aching, but hey !! You were so happy with him that he could say his body didn’t hurt one bit <333

*’. You made it up to him later by making a few cookies you knew he adored

*’. He’d return the favor- would definitely calm you down during night by singing a few Christmas carols or even putting on a movie~~

*’. Not before giving you your early Christmas gifts… which were some sweet kisses okay

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Posted: 12/18/20- 9:55pm

Tags:

[pendragonsandbuckleys]

Oh it felt so easy then.

My @malexsanta​ fic for @manesguerin​​, Merry Christmas Sarah!! ✨

This is the first time I’ve ever been given a prompt so I really hope I’ve done it justice. I’ve gone with the prompt ‘lost decade’ and as you may notice by the length of it, it kind of got away from me… but I really hope you like it!

[Also on AO3]

Summary: Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for? 

A look at the lost decade through Michael’s eyes.

Word Count: 21,499

❄️👽🎄💌

Ten years was a long time.

Five hundred and twenty-one weeks to be filled with laughter and tears, friends and family, old secrets and new opportunities. 

Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days to get over a stupid high school crush that was never going to last.

Michael closed the door behind him, furious at the sudden emotions raging inside him. He hadn’t heard from Alex in a long time, hadn’t see him in even longer. So why was his heart racing at the mere sight of the man he once loved.

Glancing at the many whiteboards and notepads filled with scientific scribble and spaceship blueprints reminded Michael that there was so much more than just the thin wall of the airstream keeping them apart. They’d been kidding themselves to even try to make it work. They were two different people with two different lives.

His eyes wandered to the other end of the trailer. He should have thrown out the box long ago, burnt it even.

He had been so proud of the fact that he hadn’t looked inside in months, hadn’t given in to the temptation to see Alex’s delicate penmanship and carefully chosen words. He had most of the letters committed to memory, but re-reading them after a difficult day used to help calm the chaos in his mind.

It had been a long time since he’d forced himself to forget about the box and all it contained but one look at Alex and all the feelings he’d spent months suppressing had come flooding back. The feelings of hope and happiness. Of love.

He slowly walked towards the closet and crouched down to rummage through his belongings. There were a few things piled inside but right at the bottom was what he wanted.

A simple shoebox. The writing on the front was long worn away and the lid was practically falling apart but the box itself wasn’t important. He lifted the lid and a stale scent of roses immediately filled the air. His hand brushed the dried petals to the side before hesitating above the first envelope. 

Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for?

September 2008

It started with the hubcaps.

Well, really, it all started seventy years ago when one innocent eyeliner wearing, music loving boy’s ancestors began a lifelong mission to destroy Michael’s family.

But those goddamn hubcaps. I mean, if he was going to steal anything from Kyle Valenti’s car it could have been something useful. His truck needed a new battery after all.

The thrill of the theft hadn’t quite overpowered the pain in his heart and a night in a cell, alone with his thoughts, definitely hadn’t helped the way he thought it would.

Ever since Alex had told him that he was enlisting, Michael had been acting weird around him. Getting into more and more fights, drinking and smoking and doing all he could to cause trouble, regardless of how much he could see it was hurting Alex.

And every time Alex begged him to get it together, Michael was reminded of the fact that the only person he had ever had feelings for would soon be leaving him. That Alex was choosing to leave him to follow in his father’s footsteps.

So he pushed Alex away. He got himself arrested all for the sake of self preservation which should have felt like a win but really all he had done was waste the last day he could have had with Alex.

It had been a few weeks since Alex had left for Texas for Basic Training and Michael hadn’t heard a single thing from him. Though he couldn’t blame him. Michael had made it very clear that their short lived relationship was over.

And maybe that’s really all it was meant to be. Maybe it was just some summer fling that meant nothing in the long run. Simply a way for two broken people to just breathe for five seconds.

And maybe it was stupid for him to believe it could have been anything more.

As he stared up at the starry night sky from the back of his truck he felt his phone vibrate inside his trouser pocket.

Another text from Isobel no doubt.

She had been trying to get in touch with him all evening. All week in fact. And he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it today.

After graduation she had been adamant that Michael wasn’t going to drift away from them. Not seeing each other just because they were no longer forced to share a classroom was not an option.

So she had taken to texting him. A lot. Mainly mundane things, little updates about her life like a job interview she’d managed to secure or a new boy she was possibly seeing. She’d always try to ask about what he was up to or encourage him to come over for dinner, but that was usually his cue to stop replying. A dead battery or no credit was his go to excuse but there’s no way she really believed him.

He just couldn’t face seeing her or Max, not yet. The horror of Rosa, Kate and Jasmine’s deaths and their decision to cover it up was still so fresh in his mind and any opportunity to not remember it was preferable. 

It was strange, thinking about it. That night was one of the worst nights of his life for two wildly different reasons.

A very personal, homophobic attack that left his hand crushed beyond repair and a triple murder that no one would ever know the real truth about. Not even the person responsible.

And while he just wanted to take his mind off the people involved in one of these for a little while, he never wanted to forget the person involved in the other.

He had no idea if he would ever see Alex again, but just hoped that he was okay. That he was happy. That he was safe. 

And that would have to be good enough for now.

November 2008

Michael’s truck jolted to a stop in the Wild Pony parking lot. 

It was earlier than he’d usually be here but the day drinking was a new thing he was trying. 

He’d been having regrets lately about not taking up the UNM scholarship. He was fully aware that he was more than smart enough to continue with his studies and yeah maybe the courses would be far more mundane than he’d like, but at least he could do something worthy with this life. But then every time he considered re-thinking his decision, his hopes were brought crashing back down to earth with the reminder of why he didn’t go to university in the first place.

He had slowly begun letting Max and Isobel back into his life, a coffee date here and a shopping trip there, but sometimes all the friendly conversations in the world couldn’t stop his desire to just be numb every now and then.

The excessive alcohol consumption was a recent development, but hey, a town drunk has to start at some point, right?

There was a clerk at a gas station a few miles away that had no problems turning a blind eye to his clean shaven baby face and he’d managed to get a fake ID for the more difficult purchases. Such as the Wild Pony. A typical Roswell bar without the added green alien decor. Every local knew the Wild Pony and unfortunately the Wild Pony knew him - or more importantly, his age.

Maybe he’d get lucky today and it would be a new bar tender but if not, then he’d just slip some acetone into a soft drink. That would have to do the trick for now.

It was mid afternoon so there was a decent amount of people inside, but no sign of the rowdy drunks that tended to emerge after dark. The only person working behind the bar was currently wiping down the surfaces as a pair of customers walked away with their drinks.

Michael swaggered confidently past the men at the pool table and the group of girls in the booth that he vaguely recognised from school and perched on one of the stools at the bar. “I’ll have whatever’s cheapest.”

“You got ID?” The bar tender gave him a look that just screamed I don’t have time for your bullshit, but Michael was nothing if not persistent. She walked over, arms folded neatly across her chest, cloth still gripped in one hand, and came to a stop in front of him.

The badge pinned to her denim jacket spelled out her name in thick capital letters but Michael didn’t need to read it. Everyone knew who Maria Deluca was. With her beautiful curls and disarming smile, she was a friend to almost everyone at New Roswell High.

And though she was one of Alex’s oldest friends, Michael had barely said two words to her during their many years walking the same school halls but right now she was his best chance at scoring a drink.

“C’mon Deluca, we don’t have to bother with all that.” He mustered up as much charm as he could manage as he leant forward on the bar but Maria wasn’t swayed, her face set in a clear display of annoyance.

“I told you last time, I’m not getting fired just to help fuel these little angsty life choices you’ve been making recently.”

“Your mom’s not gonna fire you for helping a friend.”

“Oh wow,” Her eyes widened, feigning surprise, “Sorry I wasn’t aware we’d become friends.”

“Well,” Michael shrugged, “Every time I come in, it’s like you’re here waiting for me, so I just thought…” 

“I’m stuck this side of the bar Guerin. I have no choice but to put up with whatever you think is going on right now.”

Michael sniggered as he raised an eyebrow. The chances of him getting drunk anytime soon were dwindling by the second but he was enjoying the banter nonetheless.

“One day. One day I’ll get you to admit how much you love seeing me.”

Maria rolled her eyes as she flipped the cloth over one shoulder. “I am glad you’re here actually.”

“Really?” 

“Yes. It means I don’t have to spend my time trying to track you down.” She rummaged through a bag sitting behind the bar before pulling out an envelope. “Someone clearly knows you well.”

Michael took it from her with a frown. One quick glance at the front confirmed that it was indeed labelled to him, only with the Wild Pony’s address neatly scripted underneath his name.

Who would be sending him a letter? Who even sent letters anymore?

He looked up to ask Maria when it had arrived but she’d already made her way over to the customers at the other end of the bar.

Without hesitation he carefully ripped it open and pulled out the piece of paper inside. Impatient as ever, his eyes immediately darted to the end of the page to see who it was from and he almost fell off the chair at the name signed at the bottom.

It had been four months since he’d seen Alex. Four month since he’d heard his beautiful voice or seen his perfect face. And yet here, in his hands, was a letter from the one person he honestly thought he’d never hear from again.

Someone on a nearby table cheered loudly and Michael was suddenly reminded of where he was. It didn’t feel right, reading Alex’s first words to him in months under the harsh neon lights of the bar so without sparing a second glance at Maria, he practically sprinted all the way to the parking lot, yanking the door open as soon as he reached his truck.

Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper and began reading.

Dear Michael,

I’ve debated writing this letter for a while now, mainly because of how we left things. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep in contact but I’ve been missing some people back in Roswell and I think I just needed to get a few things out of my head. I might not even send this letter, but if you’re reading this then I guess it means my sentimentality won out.

I’ve been thinking about how peaceful the desert is back home. How quiet it would be when we’d park the truck in the middle of nowhere and just lie under the sun for hours. It’s surprising the things you notice yourself missing when you haven’t been somewhere in a while.

There’s so many people here it feels like school all over again. I tried to distance myself from everyone in some last act of defiance, but I’ve ended up making a few friends. Honestly I think it would be impossible to get through this alone.

I’ve finished basic training now. It was harder than I thought it was going to be but I got through it and I’m onto the next phase. We get to choose the specialism ourselves so at least that’s a positive and who knows, maybe I’ll be quite good at it.

I’m going to be here for a least a few months to complete my training before I find out where I’m being assigned so I’ve included my address incase you want to write back.

Whatever it is that you decided to do with your life, I hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

P.S. I’m sorry for sending this to the Wild Pony, I hope Maria got it to you okay. I would have addressed it to ‘Michael Guerin’s Truck’, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t quite reach you.

Michael re-read the letter another three times before he could bear to take his eyes off the page.

Alex had written to him. Amongst all the training and hard work and confusion over how they’d parted, Alex had taken the time to sit down and write to him. 

It was brief and simple and Michael couldn’t stop smiling.

He fumbled trying to get his keys in the ignition before putting the truck in gear, already planning his reply, all desire to get drunk suddenly forgotten.

February 2009

“I don’t pay you to sit around doodling.” Sanders called over gruffly from under the hood of the car he was working on.

“I’ve already finished with Campbell’s jeep.” Michael replied distractedly as he continued to scribble in the notepad.

The repair had needed longer than he had expected so he was taking what he deemed as a well earned break. If the old man had a problem with it then he could go ahead and find a better mechanic. Michael didn’t earn nearly enough to put up with his attitude anyway.

Sitting under the barely put together shelter that Sanders had the audacity to call his workshop, Michael started to scrawl a reply to Alex. Letter number four had arrived just under a week ago and he had yet to come up with a response.

Again addressed to the Wild Pony, Alex had talked about the latest shenanigans of his fellow airmen and how he’d been missing his guitar lately. He never went into detail about the work he was doing but he always made sure to mention that it was going well. Michael could practically visualise him picking out the words very carefully to make sure it didn’t sound like he was boasting, but sometimes it made writing a reply hard.

He was so pleased for Alex. Every letter he received had a more and more happier tone to it and honestly, he was glad that Alex was finding his place in the Air Force. He will always hate that he signed up, but considering he was going to be a part of it for a long time, Michael was just relieved that he had settled in. 

It did mean, however, that his life felt very boring in comparison. What was he supposed to say? Hey Alex, I fixed another car today. I’ll probably be hanging out with Isobel later to spend hours listening to her moan about something before going to sleep in my truck and doing it all again tomorrow.

He was just about to jot something down when something small and hard bounced off his forehead.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Michael rubbed his head and glared at the man.

“Are you listening to me?” Sanders waved the wrench in his hand as he tried to punctuate his point.

“Obviously.”

“What did I say?”

“…words?” Michael replied innocently, throwing his hands up in defeat when Sanders looked ready to throw something else. “Alright, alright sorry, what did you want?”

“The Johnson's SUV needs its engine looking at and when you’re done with that you can change the brake pads on that pickup that came in this morning.”

“On it.” Michael gave a halfhearted salute as he grabbed the closest toolbox and headed out into the sun.

He wasn’t really in the mood to be working in the heat today but at least this way the vehicles were far enough away from Sanders that he wouldn’t have any distractions from his real task.

He’d been grabbing odd shifts at the junkyard since he was fourteen, but last month he’d finally persuaded Sanders to hire him properly. If he was to have any hope of moving out of his truck, he needed to start earning some proper money doing something he was half decent at.

He’d been trying to find a way to work this news into his letter but he couldn’t quite find the words. He didn’t want to admit to himself that it was because he was ashamed, but that’s exactly what it was. Alex was at the start of a prestigious career that would take him across the world, learning new skills and earning decent money.

Michael was a mechanic. Barely.

And he knew that Alex wouldn’t care about the difference in their jobs, he’d just be happy that Michael was a step above wasting his life. It was just so hard to fit everything he really wanted to say into one letter.

Maybe he was struggling so much with the words because he’d much rather say it in person. He hadn’t seen Alex in forever and he missed the simple act of just being with him. Of sitting in the back of the truck, shoulders touching and hands intertwined. The amount of serotonin a short handwritten note could produce was ridiculous but it in no way replaced the feel of having the real thing in front of him.

Though if Alex was feeling anything near the way he was, then maybe it didn’t matter what he wrote. The mere fact that he had replied would hopefully be enough.

April 2009

Isobel looked at him disapprovingly, switching her many bags from one hand to the other. “Really Michael? Just because you live in the desert doesn’t mean you need to actually start dressing like a cowboy.”

A shopping trip with Isobel wasn’t Michael’s first choice for a Saturday afternoon, but he’d had no good excuse to refuse as she practically dragged him to the mall.

For someone who liked to try on almost everything in a single store, Isobel had chosen what she wanted to buy pretty quickly. Now it was Michael’s turn but he honestly wasn’t sure what she expected of him. He’d been living in the same clothes for years now, he didn’t know how to do the whole shopping spree thing.

“You’re the one who wanted to buy me new clothes.”

“Yeah, because I wanted to make you look cool. Not like a nineteen year old version of the Lone Ranger.”

Michael looked in the mirror again. The black cowboy hat resting atop his head was working well with the rancher aesthetic he had going on. It hid his curls and made him look slightly older, giving him more of an edge than his baseball cap could usually muster. 

It just felt right. 

Growing up, he’d never had the chance to really figure out his own identity besides angry, rebellious orphan and going full-on cowboy felt like a good place to start. 

Besides, he looked damn good.

“You’ve already chosen the rest of my wardrobe for me Isobel. You can’t let me make one big boy decision for myself?” Michael gave her a pointed looked as he took the hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

“Fine. Just don’t show Max, he’s already started a godawful belt buckle collection, I don’t want him getting any ideas.” She happily snatched it out of his hand and strutted elegantly to the till.

He had missed these moments with Isobel. The familial feeling of her bossing him around.

No one ever talked about how easy it was to drift apart from people after high school, how the close bonds you thought you’d formed over the lunch table could so quickly disappear once you’re all thrown into the real world.

But the three of them were different. Michael, Max and Isobel, the three children found wandering the desert all those years ago. He hadn’t been able to rid himself of them then and turns out he still couldn’t now. Despite his best efforts to distance himself, they had managed to completely worm their way back into his life over the past few months and honestly he was better off for it.

Today wasn’t the first weekend outing he’d endured and it definitely wouldn’t be the last, but his heart felt a little lighter from having spent it in good company. With the bags heavy in their hands, they grabbed some food at a nearby burger place before calling it a day. He dropped Isobel home and drove to his usual night-time parking spot.

Climbing effortlessly onto the back of the truck, he looked inside the singular bag Isobel had gifted him. He’d come away with a new pair of boots, a few t-shirts and the cowboy hat. Nowhere near enough in Isobel’s opinion but after the reminder that he didn’t exactly have a closet right now she had conceded.

He shoved the bag into the corner and leant forward to pulled out the letter that had been burning a hole in his back pocket all day. He grimaced at the sight of it, with its crease down the middle and its crumpled edges. Isobel had ambushed him coming out of the Wild Pony before he’d had a chance to read it - or put it away - which meant it had been hidden in the only place available at the time.

As much as he loved her, he wasn’t quite ready to share it with her yet.

He unrolled his blanket and threw it around his shoulders, settling back against the truck before opening the envelope. He’d finally told Alex about the junkyard in his last letter and he’d been waiting to hear back for a few weeks now.

Dear Michael,

That’s amazing news about the job! You really are the best mechanic in the whole of Roswell so Sanders is lucky to have you.

You shouldn’t put yourself down though. You used to always be fixing things when I was back home (annoyingly effortlessly from what I remember) so to get paid for doing something you enjoy is kind of the dream, right?

Plus I’m sure the drivers of Roswell will be very grateful to have someone with two eyes checking their brakes are working correctly. I mean, should Sanders even be fixing cars anymore? I swear he can’t even see three inches in front of his face!

Speaking of work, I was thinking about the Emporium yesterday. Have you been inside recently? I wonder if they ever noticed the alien with its head on backwards. Still definitely your fault by the way.

I kind of miss that uniform too, even the visor. I have to wear my uniform all the time now and it’s nowhere near as comfortable. I feel like it’s becoming a part of me, like I’m never going to be able to go home after a long day and forget about everything for a while, it’s just always going to be there.

I’m sure I’ll get used it.

I think we’re being moved in a couple of weeks so I’ll give you my new address when that happens. But for now, I hope you’re okay.

Speak to you soon,

Alex.

Michael leant his head back and watched as the sun slowly began to set behind the trees.

Alex always knew how to make him feel a million different emotions at once. He felt an unfamiliar sense of pride at the praise Alex had offered but reading the boy’s words about his own work made Michael long to have him back with him, away from all the regimented days and looming risk of danger.

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning though, thinking back to the alien statue standing in the corner of the crop circle exhibit. That had been a good day. And yeah, it was definitely his fault.

He was about to put this latest letter away with the rest when an idea came to him. He grabbed the bag that Isobel had lovingly handed over and pulled out the shoebox that had been squeezed inside amongst the various clothes.

He ran his nail across the tape keeping the box sealed, breaking it easily in a single movement, and took off the lid.

He pulled out the new boots, followed by the scrunched up tissue paper intended to keep them somewhat preserved, until he was left with an empty box. It was a decent size, not too big that it would be a pain to store under the passenger seat and not too small that he would run out of space anytime soon.

He’d been keeping the letters in his glove compartment for now but it didn’t quite feel safe enough for something so precious. But this shoebox was perfect. 

He placed the letter inside before heading to the front of the truck and retrieving the rest, slotting them in neatly and closing the lid to keep them secure.

Tonight he’d sleep thinking about the last day he and Alex had shared in the UFO Emporium and as soon as the sun was up, he’d write his reply.

July 2009

Dear Alex,

You’ll never guess what happened today.

I’ve been working every shift Sanders will give me just to save up some cash and like some crazy act of luck an old airstream got dumped at the junkyard last week. It took some convincing but Sanders actually let me buy it off him!

It’s small and pretty run down but I figured it could be a fun project. I am very good with my hands, as you know.

It’s not as glamorous as a house or anything like that, but at least this way I can move out of my truck and into a place with an actual sink. Plus, I reckon I’m the smart one here. No rent to pay? Less space to clean? It’s perfect.

Do you think you’ll be able to visit Roswell soon? You’re probably working hard, getting your geek on and saving the world, but it’s been a while. A year actually, next month.

No pressure, but I look forward to the day I get to officially invite you inside my new place.

Stay safe out there.

Michael

Michael careful wrote his new address on the back, then sealed the envelope and left it by the door as a reminder to post the next time he was in town.

He hadn’t even started to unpack yet, his first priority being to share his big news. He figured that’s what he would have wanted to do if Alex was in Roswell anyway.

The airstream had been dumped a few days ago and though Michael wasn’t aware how much Sanders had paid the guy for it, he was pretty sure it must have cost more for Sanders than it had for Michael. Which was strange.

Since spending almost every day with Sanders, they had definitely worked up some form of workplace bond to some extent. Although some days, it was a wonder Michael could be bothered to engage in the conversations that were mainly a mix of complaints or disinterested grunts.

He must be rubbing off on the old man though because he had given away the airstream at a bargain.

As soon as he’d agreed it with Old Man Simmons that he could park it at Foster Ranch - along with the offer of earning his keep by working the land - he had brought all of his belongings inside and now the next task was to find a place for everything. There may not be much in the three boxes currently sitting on the bed, but they were his. They were the few things that he had been able to actually buy for himself over the past few years and really call his own.

And now that he had a home to put them in, he wanted to do it perfectly.

It felt bizarre to think about. His home. A place he could finally call his own. A place to cook and wash and sleep, safe from the cold and desert dust. The group homes and fosters parents of the past had never let him decorate his own space but now he had the opportunity to make everything his own.

And he knew exactly where to start. The clothes would go in the closet and the limited toiletries would be given their place in the bathroom. That was all obvious, another decision made for him.

But something he could choose for himself?

He picked up the shoebox and peaked inside. It had gained a few more letters since he had started filling it and they were all piled neatly in order.

Looking around, there were several places it could sit.

On the desk would make it the first thing he’d see coming home. But would therefore be the first thing Isobel and Max would go snooping through when they visited.

The drawers next to the closet would keep it safe but they were just too small for the box.

The closet itself felt too impersonal. Like he was hiding it away from himself as well as everyone else.

His eyes were drawn to the bed - his mind instantly jumping to the thought of him and Alex sharing it together - and then to the overhead compartment above it.

Lifting the latch, it popped open with a click and when Michael slid the box in, it fit perfectly. Safe, sealed and close to him where he would sleep.

Feeling happy about the very important decision, he closed the compartment.

Now, onto the rest.

November 2009

It had been a very quiet morning.

Sanders was away for a few days and he’d banned Michael from working in the junkyard without supervision after a recent accident that had pissed him off. He hadn’t meant for the hammer to hit the window of the Davis’ land rover, honest. He’d been aiming for the toolbox.

He’d get the old man to change his mind soon enough, but in the meantime what better place to spend the morning than in bed.

The recently bought sheets were soft against his bare chest as he stared up at the ceiling. The box was still tucked away in the cupboard above him, taken out frequently with every new visit from the mailman. It’s not like anyone else ever sent him post.

Alex had been getting very sappy in his letters recently, reminiscing about the previous summer. Though compared to the past year of writing, the days they had actually spent in each other’s company were few and far between.

It was practically the end of the school year when Michael had borrowed Alex’s guitar from the music room. A decision which he would never regret. And though they had barely spoken during their many years at the same school, when Alex had offered him shelter it hadn’t really mattered. They had clicked so instantly that the few months that they did manage to share felt like they spanned an eternity.

A lot of bad things happened that summer, but he’d do anything to go back just to relieve those good days again.

A knock at the door interrupted his daydream. He sat up, confused, and tried to peak through the newspaper taped to the window. He wasn’t expecting visitors and he couldn’t quite make out enough of the shape to work out who it was.

He rolled sleepily out of bed and grabbed yesterday’s pants, hopping the short distance to the door as he tried to yank them up.

Pushing the door open revealed a sight that had Michael’s breath catching in his throat.

The boy in front of him looked different. Gone was the dark eyeliner that used to frame his eyes and the nail varnish that would stand out against his skin. No more septum piercing or earring, and the chain that Michael would play with as they kissed was missing from his neck.

His hair was much shorter and so not him.

But he was here.

Alex was here. Standing in front of him. And Michael hadn’t said anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything? It was like his brain had short-circuited at the mere sight of the one person he’d been longing to see.

“Hi.” Alex nervously broke the silence, playing with the zip of his hoodie between his thumb and forefinger. “I hope you don’t mind me showing up like this.”

Mind? Did Alex really just ask that? He’d been dreaming of this moment for months now.

He also didn’t really know how to put that into words in his current state of shock, so he did the next best thing. He stepped down onto the dry ground and immediately pulled Alex into his arms. 

Alex took all of a second to reciprocate the hug as he melted against Michael’s chest.

It was cold outside, winter drawing to its peak and showing its first signs of snow, but being in Alex’s arms was the warmest he had felt in a while.

“You’re here.” Michael mumbled against Alex’s shoulder and he felt him chuckle.

“Well, I have a few days leave and I was promised an invite.” Alex replied softly.

Oh god. This was it, the official house warming personally tailored to Alex. And everything was a mess. Turns out getting a new place doesn’t stop old habits from taking hold and barely a week after he moved in there was paperwork all over the desk and clothes strewn across the bathroom floor. It hadn’t exactly gotten better since then.

Michael reluctantly broke the hug, bringing his hands down to gently link with Alex’s.

“It’s a bit of a mess.” He muttered playfully causing Alex to giggle, the enormity of the moment getting too much for him.

“I don’t mind.” 

Nodding to himself, Michael turned and led Alex into the airstream, waiting for the boy to close the door behind him before he spoke. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s…” Alex hesitated, glancing around at the cluttered desk and the half opened drawers and Michael felt so embarrassed. It looked so much worse than he remembered it being before he opened the door two minutes ago.

“I know it’s not much.” He offered grudgingly.

“No it’s…very you.” Alex said, smiling widely as he stepped closer. “I really like it.”

Really? Michael was going to ask. But it only took one look to get lost in Alex’s eyes and all words were suddenly forgotten.

Alex took another step to close the gap between them and slowly leant forward, his eyes not leaving Michael’s lips. Talking could come later, this is what they had really been missing.

It’s their smiles that touched first, excitement rushing through them making them giddy. But then as Michael’s lips parted and Alex leaned closer, it was as though time stood still. They had been waiting for this moment, longing for it for months.

Michael’s stomach fluttered at the familiar feeling of Alex’s hair under his fingertips, the soft lips against his own. He could practically feel Alex reflecting back at him every feeling of want and desperation that had occurred with every new letter and he had to half open his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

However long Alex was home for, Michael planned to make the most of every single second.

May 2010

Michael took another swig of beer as he watched the last rays of light disappear beyond the horizon. He had driven out into the desert hours ago with the strong desire to get so blackout drunk he wouldn’t be able to remember his own name.

He couldn’t do it at the Wild Pony with its many prying eyes and the airstream just felt too small tonight.  So instead, he had parked the truck at a spot that he and Alex used to frequent when they had wanted to be alone.

Alex had taken longer than usual to reply, but Michael understood - between the two of them, Alex’s duty to Uncle Sam would have to take precedence. It just made the warmth that each letter provided that much stronger.

But today’s letter was different and all the wrong feelings had taken root. Fear, sadness, loss. They were swirling around his mind and sitting on his chest and no amount of alcohol seemed to banish them.

Because for the first time since they had begun writing, the return address on the envelope had not read United States, but Afghanistan.

Michael had barely registered Alex’s words during the first read through with his imagination going into overdrive, but taking a deep breath he had sat on the bed and forced himself to focus.

I can’t really give you any details, Alex had said.

I’ll be okay, he was brave enough to promise.

But he couldn’t promise that. Not really. Michael had done his research over the past two years, frantically gathering every measly scrap of information that the search engine could offer. He had seen the number of deaths to come out of every combat zone, read the stories of those whose lives would never be the same again and had the nightmares of every worst possible outcome.

The Air Force doesn’t deploy as long as the Army, but every second that Alex was on war-torn soil increased the risk of him not making it home. It was going to happen at some point, Alex’s first overseas deployment. Michael had just really been hoping for Spain or Turkey. Not this.

He had convinced himself that he would be prepared. That he would be rational and calm and wouldn’t jump to conclusions or freak out. Clearly he was better at lying to himself than he realised.

He didn’t know why he was feeling so sorry for himself. He wasn’t the one being sent halfway across the world to dutifully serve his country. No, Michael was stuck at home, waiting for the outcome.

It was dark now, his mini camping lantern emitting the only glow of light, but he had plenty of beers to keep him going through the night. He’d reply tomorrow - or the day after once his head had cleared. But for now he just wanted to forget everything and let the world fall away.

And maybe if he was inebriated enough it would keep the nightmares at bay. 

August 2010

To anyone who asked, Michael was a stoic twenty year old who didn’t engage in something so pathetic as having emotions.

But to himself, he would reluctantly have to admit they often played a part in many of his life choices. 

Like the big choices that had been fuelled by pain and confusion, standing in the middle of the desert with his two remaining family members standing by. Or the smaller choices made in the dead of night encouraged by a sappy romantic notion he had witnessed in one of Isobel’s romcoms.

Small, but no less important.

Like the decision to fill a shoebox with dried petals to help rid it of the musty smell that often accompanied any container that had been closed for too long.

He dedicated an entire day to researching flowers, finding out how to preserve them and which ones gave off the best scent.

Hydrangeas were a strong contender. Their pastel hues of purple and blue would add a nice drop of colour to the box and they were one of the easiest flowers to preserve. But they would last less than a year and Michael didn’t want to run the risk of the petals flaking into a hundred pieces and ruining the box.

Chrysanthemums were next on the list. The drying method seemed simple enough and though the petals were fairly small, they came in a whole host of vibrant colours. They were also the official flower for mother’s day in Australia and though the country itself meant nothing to him, it would give the petals a bittersweet double meaning. A way of keeping two separate loves alive alongside each other. Everything about them seemed perfect and several nearby florists even had them in stock ready for him to collect that day but when he stumbled upon a website stating that they also symbolised death they were instantly scratched off the list.

Pansies or larkspurs or little cuttings of lavender were all possibilities but they just didn’t feel right.

He didn’t want to become a stereotypical old romantic but his mind kept wandering to the roses. The elegant petals would sit nicely atop the letters and the sweet, fresh scent would be a pleasant addition to the box. Their frequent association with all things love and romance fell alongside the lesser known connotation of secrecy and confidentiality, words that all seemed to sum up the box completely.

The drying process would take time but it would be time well spent. Not to mention the intricate symbolism linked with each soft colour would add an extra touch to the box.

Red was a given with its instant connection to love.

Pink meant grace and gratitude and though he most certainly lacked one, he was definitely filled with the other. Every letter that arrived at his door was further proof that Alex was still alive and as long as they kept coming he would be eternally grateful.

Oranges roses were the symbol of passion and enthusiasm and while you could definitely use both of those words in relation to the last time he had seen Alex, the letters felt more innocent than that.

That didn’t necessarily mean that white roses were the way to go though, with their implication of innocence and purity. Not even he could kid himself that much.

With his mind made up, he grabbed his hat and headed out to engage in a spot of criminal activity.

Was it technically a crime though to cut someone else’s flowers? I mean how could Mrs Wilson really own her rose bushes when they belonged to Mother Nature first.

He wouldn’t have even thought about taking someone else’s, but the internet had very clearly specified that home grown roses were much better than shop bought flowers and who was he to argue with that?

It was mid-morning on a Wednesday so no one was around to see him attack the hedge with some clippers. It would have been a lot easier to literally be a thief in the night, but roses were best picked before the midday sun had a chance to warm their delicate petals. Any later in the day and they would lose their fragrance, so daylight robbery was the way to go.

He snipped at the branches, grumbling as his fingers caught the sharp thorns protruding from the stems, and once he had retrieved the optimum amount of red and pink flowers he headed back to the airstream to begin the lengthy drying process.

It would take a few days but the outcome would be worth it.

February 2011

The sight of one man should not leave Michael freezing in his tracks. He was an alien for God's sake. A superior species with actual powers.

Who the hell was Jesse Manes compared to that? An old man with a limited wardrobe and receding hairline? A divorced father of four kids who hated him? A nameless soldier overshadowed by his peers?

No, Jesse Manes was a respected member of the community, known and loved by all. A loyal airman with several commendations under his belt. An intimidating man prepared to brutally disfigure the hand of a child and easily get away with it.

Why Alex would choose to follow in his footsteps he would never understand.

Michael hadn’t seen Alex’s father since the night in the toolshed. The night he ruined what, up until that point, had been a perfect day. And he destroyed so much more than Michael’s hand that night. He destroyed the memory of his and Alex’s first time together, the possibility of him using a guitar to quiet the world around him, the opportunity for a roof over his head.

He had destroyed the chance for Michael to heal and move on and gain some faith back in humanity.

And three years later, here he was across the street from Michael’s truck, sitting at the window of the Crashdown, keeping Michael frozen to his seat.

He was supposed to be meeting Max for lunch in ten minutes, but there was no way he could go inside now.

Maybe Alex’s father wouldn’t even remember him. He had only seen him one time, several years ago. He couldn’t possibly have committed Michael’s face to memory in the three minutes they had shared a space together. But then again, Michael couldn’t imagine he went around hitting kids with hammers all that often so maybe it had been a memorable night for him. 

Whether it had had impact on Jesse Manes or not, Michael still remembered it vividly.

The way the door slammed open and Alex flinched away from his touch. The quiver in Alex’s voice as Manes picked up the hammer. The sight of Alex whimpering as his father’s hand squeezed around his throat. The pain filled shout Michael could barely make out over the sound of his own bones cracking.

In shock and in agony, he vaguely recalls being thrown out of the shed and staggering to his truck, but admittedly that part was still blurry.

To this day though, he still didn’t know what happened to Alex once he’d gone. They had never really talked about that night, not properly at least. Alex had been very eager to check how his hand was healing or offer to take him to a doctor, but always reluctant to discuss what he’d endured.

In all honesty, Michael still didn’t know if Jesse had done anything to Alex but it was always his suspicion. He’d recognised the fury in the older man’s eyes to know that that anger needed an outlet and Michael’s hand probably hadn’t been enough.

His hand ached suddenly at the memory and he clenched it hard in a useless attempt to make it stop. It had been hurting a lot lately, seizing up and making it impossible to do anything.

Max had offered to heal it a number of times but he still refused. He’d tell himself that it was because of Alex. How would he explain a perfectly healed hand to the guy who had witnessed the brutality it had suffered?

But if he ever decided to admit the truth to himself, he’d accept that really it was all for self preservation. A constant reminder moulded under his skin of what humans were really like. A way of reminding him not to get too close to people, not to let them into his life.

Clearly, Alex was the exception to this rule and Michael honestly couldn’t explain why. Right from the start their connection had just been something else. Something unexplainable.

Feeling the panic starting to bubble in his chest, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He could text Max. The I’m held up at the junkyard excuse would keep him busy long enough for the police officer’s lunch break to end. He could dodge the bullet completely that way and just make it up to him tomorrow.

Or would that be like letting Jesse Manes win? What would he even be winning? There was no way that man remembered who Michael was.

Looking over to the window again, he watched as Alex’s father handed something to the waitress.

Was he really going to let his past trauma dictate where he could have lunch?

At the moment? Yes.

Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he unlocked it quickly and opened the messenger app, his thumb hovering over Max’s name but then he had an idea.

He clicked on the little notepad icon and began to type.

Alex’s latest letter arrived last week and was still awaiting a reply and what better time to write one than when you’re freaking out slightly at the sight of a man who had once attacked you.

He barely noticed the autocorrect working hard to fix his many mistakes, he just needed to get the words out.

He didn’t mention Jesse, deciding to steer clear of the man entirely and focus on the positives instead. Alex was free from his father’s harsh rules and strict parenting for the time being so there was no point wasting his words on a man he most likely didn’t want to hear about.

It was overly sentimental and he’d probably edit it massively before writing it up, but for now he impulsively typed up everything he wanted to say. Everything he would say if Alex was sitting next to him right now.

 Dear Alex,

Glad to see that you’re stateside again, it stressed me out every day you were overseas.

I’m really happy that you’ve settled in with the work you’re doing and I’ve almost come to terms with the fact that your job is going to be dangerous at times, but that still doesn’t stop me worrying about it. And even after all this time you’ve been away, it’s still weird to not have you here. 

Everything has been reminding me of you recently, which is both beautiful and horrible because at least you’re here when you’re not here. But you’re not here and I really wish you were. Like when a song by that band you like comes on the radio, or if I walk past the Emporium, or I order a milkshake at the Crashdown or even just seeing Maria at the Wild Pony.

Max was telling me the other day about this kid who reported his guitar stolen and I couldn’t help but think back to when I stole yours. Well, I say stole, I promise I really was just borrowing it. I knew it was yours though and part of me definitely wanted you to find out that I had taken it, anything to get you to notice me. The offer of somewhere to sleep was completely unexpected though and proves just what a good person you are. I took your belongings and in return you gave me shelter and I don’t think I thanked you enough for that.

You’re in every corner of this town for me Alex and I know we didn’t have long but the time that we spent together before you left were some of the best days of my life.

I miss you.

Come back soon.

Michael

As he reached the last sentence, a knock on the passenger side window made him jump.

Max, in his uniform and hat, lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave and tilted his head towards the Crashdown as if to say are you coming?

A quick final glance through the window showed no sign of Jesse Manes and Michael slowly let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

September 2011

“This is a good look for you.” Michael whispered.

“What, naked?” Alex smiled softly, peering sleepily back at him. 

Michael began to lightly trail his hand down Alex’s chest, watching Alex close his eyes at the sensation. “Naked. In my bed.”

Alex had shown up at his doorstep late last night, this time with some warning in his latest letter, and they hadn’t wasted any time. So fuelled with longing and desire, Michael couldn’t remember a second of last night where their bodies hadn’t been touching.

Looking at Alex now, with his perfect bed head and sun kissed skin, Michael wasn’t sure he was going to be able to let him leave.

He did have something important to talk to Alex about though. Something they had never really discussed that had been leaving Michael feeling very confused lately. He was twenty-one years old having the awkward teenage thought of are we together or is this just a bit of fun? Is this guy my boyfriend? Can I even say the word boyfriend without freaking him out?

“There was something I meant to talk to you about last night-” He began, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Did we actually talk at all last night?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” Alex smiled, holding his lip between his teeth. “Go on, what did you want to say?”

“You know I do have a phone, right? An actual expensive one and everything thanks to Isobel buying it for me. So you can text me, instead of spending weeks waiting for a reply.”

Alex paused for a moment. How was it best to tell Michael without looking weak? How during Basic Training one nosy guy thought it would be fun to take his unlocked phone and look through his messages. How he was terrified of being outed that day and that fear had followed him through his few years of serving. How even though his letters are technically much easier to read, the lock on the box they were kept in is so thick you would need to have a bolt cutter handy to break it. Or the key, which was kept in a very secure location.

“There’s something more…personal, about writing a letter. ” He decided to go with. “Besides, phones can get hacked.” 

“Who the hell is gonna want to hack into your phone?”

Alex shrugged with a smirk, “I’m just saying, after learning what I have in training, hacking your phone right now would be a piece of cake.”

“Right, and these hackers would want to, what? Use all our discussions about broken alien statues and nights out in the desert against us.”

“There are some terrible people out there.” The fake sincerity in Alex’s eyes as he nodded his head made Michael chuckle.

Alex pushed himself up fully in the bed, letting the sheets pool around his naked hips. He leant forward and Michael didn’t need to be asked twice to drop the subject and meet him halfway. As much as he loved last night, their slow morning kisses were even better. Soft and all smiles, filled with the gratitude that they were still sharing this moment together.

“I’m sorry I was late last night, the move this week has been busier than I expected.” Alex whispered between pecks.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad you made it. Where are you based now?”

“Maryland. Probably just for a month or so though until I get more permanent orders.”

Leaning back, Michael could see the weariness in Alex’s eyes. He knew that being in the military was a hard job - even harder if you had been forced into it - and Michael hated just how much responsibility had been put on Alex’s young shoulders.

His eyes twinkled as he got an idea, a way of lightening Alex’s load for a few hours. “You fancy going out tonight?” 

Alex’s face dropped and Michael’s heart along with it. “Like, together?”

“No, I figured we’d go to different bars and get drunk separately.” Michael replied sarcastically. 

This is not what he had expected. Alex saying no to a night out? Fine, not a problem, wouldn’t have been that surprising of an answer. Maybe he doesn’t fancy a drink, maybe he’s just not into partying anymore.

But was Alex saying no to them going out together?

“Is it because of me?” Michael could hear the anger beginning to grow in his tone but he couldn’t help it. This conversation had flipped completely out of nowhere. “When I told you about the whole drunk cowboy reputation I’ve gained, it was meant to make you laugh. Not make you ashamed of me.”

“I’m not ashamed!” Alex defensively shook his head.

“Then what is it? Cos I like doing this Alex, but I need to know what it is that we’re actually doing, where we’re going with it. Are we going anywhere with it?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say Guerin! Things are complicated right now.”

I want you to say you want to be with me! I want you to tell me you love me as much as I love you! Michael hadn’t expected for this to turn into an argument, but he was prepared to cause one if it meant getting answers.

But as he took a breath, he looked at Alex. Like properly looked at him. He had grown up so much since they’d last seen each other. He’d changed so much. But for the first time he was the one who was looking unsure about what to say.

The defensive hunch of his shoulders, the nervous look in his eyes. It reminded Michael so much of when Alex had first told him he was leaving. And those goddamn hubcaps.

This was the second time he had caused that look in Alex’s eyes and if he never saw it again it would be too soon. He still had a few days before Alex was going to leave him again and he should be making the most of them instead of pushing him away.

If Alex was unsure of what they were doing then so be it. They would have to discuss it at some point this weekend, for Michael’s own sanity more than anything, but for now he would have to let it go if it meant keeping Alex happy.

January 2012

Earth wasn’t his home.

He knew that. He’s known that since he woke up in a glowing alien pod. But it’s only through life’s lessons over the years that he’s really learnt that.

He didn’t belong here, with an inferior species that enjoyed hurting others simply because of who they were. He’d seen it happen in shops and on the street. People targeted for being different. It was such a human response and he shuddered at the thought of what it meant for them if their secret ever came out.

And who was keeping him here? Max and Isobel? Alex?

Him and Isobel were close, but she had her own life. Parents that loved her, a boyfriend she was besotted with. She didn’t need Michael hanging around, bringing her down.

His feelings on Max were like a sliding scale of rage. The other man had been acting like his father for most of his life, telling him what to do and how to live. Max says they should cover up Rosa’s death. Max says they should keep what they are a secret. Max, with his fancy job and respected standing in society. Michael didn’t need his help anymore or his pity.

And then there was Alex. The boy who made him believe there was a place for him on Earth. But now, Michael wasn’t so sure.The last time he had seen Alex in person, things hadn’t ended that great and though they’ve still been writing to each other, something had definitely changed. They had changed.

Michael reminded himself of all this as he climbed down the stairs into the junkyard’s fallout shelter.

He had discovered the hidden bunker one day after slipping away from Sanders during work hours to hunt for some more copper wire. The opening had been covered by a beaten up truck that had been sitting in the junkyard for years, he wasn’t sure if the old man even knew it was down there.

From that day on he had claimed it as his own, making sure it was covered every time he left.

His collection had started off small. A few legit pieces of alien artefact that he had stolen from the Emporium and the odd dark web purchase, but after a few stealthy ventures to the UFO crash site he had begun to discover even more fragments. Considering the people of Roswell had been obsessing over the crash since 1947, Michael was honestly surprised that not every piece of the ship had been excavated already.

Luckily for him, his latest night time search in the desert had proven successful and he had made it back to the bunker with two small glowing pieces.

Building up the secret bunker’s workshop had taken time and a few stolen supplies, but now there were tools and shelves and bulbs in the mismatched lighting decor that had thankfully already been installed.

Littering the worktops were sketches and blueprints of the measurements and calculations he had spent months working on. There were spools of tubing and a portable generator sitting on the shelf. But his prized possession resting on one of the tables was his slowly forming alien spaceship. He was pretty sure what he was building was the console, but maybe one day it would turn into the entire spacecraft.

Covered in alien symbols and shimmering to the touch, it could be his way off of this stupid planet.

Michael gently took the pieces out of his pocket and held them close to the ship. One did nothing, staying stubbornly in his palm, but the other rose into the air and delicately travelled to one of the broken sides, a faint blue glistening the surface as the sharp edges knitted together like they had never been broken. 

Placing the remaining piece on the table, Michael sighed. One day he would find all the pieces and finish this. And when that day came, there would be nothing to keep him here.

October 2012

“You’re staying whether you like it or not.” Isobel gave him a pointed look as she rummaged through the crates of decorations piled on the table in front of her. 

“Yeah Michael, it’ll be fun.” Max said enthusiastically, holding a fist under his chin and batting his eyelids. A move they had both seen Isobel pull several times when mocking her mother. 

She smacked Max on the arm, furious that he would belittle all of her hard work, before shoving a large plastic box into his chest. “The crop circle exhibit needs more bats.”

Her brother took the box with an exaggerated sigh but obliged nevertheless. He had learnt long ago that when Isobel was running things you either got on with it or got the hell out of her way. 

With one brother now busy, she moved onto the next. “Right, there’s a few banners that need putting up and then you can go get changed.”

Her demand was met with silence which worried Isobel greatly and when she glanced up from her checklist, she didn’t appreciate the confused look in Michael’s eyes. “Please tell me you have a costume. It’s Halloween Michael!”

“I didn’t exactly plan on staying, Isobel!” he retaliated. He’d been asked to come and fix the glitchy projector in the knock-off Men In Black room, not spend all night with a bunch of people he didn’t know, surrounded by dumb gimmicky aliens. “Why did you choose to have it here anyway? Isn’t it a bit degrading to us as a species?” 

“I didn’t choose it. The Emporium wanted a Halloween event and I’m just part of the committee running it.” She ticked off another item on her list, not rising to his provocation. “Now, go help Max.”

Accepting an easy defeat, Michael took the closest pile of decorations and headed to the exhibit. There were several people milling around each room of the Emporium, all engaged in one task or another. A group of middle aged women were rigorously dusting the artefact cabinets and two guys he vaguely recognised from around town were fixing lighting rigs to the ceiling. 

His heart skipped a beat as he reached the UFO room, his eyes drawn immediately to the spot where he and Alex shared their first kiss. He had been so nervous that day, tentatively grabbing the other boy’s face before he could talk himself out of it, praying that Alex wouldn’t pull away.

Through the red fabric curtains at the back of the room was the crop circle exhibit. It was completely empty of people save for Max attempting to loop a small fuzzy bat around one of the hanging lights.

Taking pity on him, Michael willed the creature to float the extra few inches and fasten itself around the wire. It had been a while since he’d used his powers in a public setting and it gave him such a rush to get away with it unseen. It was quite embarrassing really. It’s not like he was committing a crime in the middle of a police station. Unless you were looking closely, the fact that some objects floated when he was nearby was actually surprisingly easy to miss.

Max’s head immediately whipped round, eyes wide with trepidation. “Dude, what if someone walks in?”

“Chill, Deputy. We’re safe.” Michael rolled his eyes as he began to stroll around the room. He hadn’t been in here since Alex’s last day and literally nothing had changed. I mean, fair enough, there hadn’t exactly been any more alien encounters since then to add to the exhibition. But they could have put some effort in and switched things up a bit.

As he turned to speak to Max his foot caught something, but without hesitation his telekinesis acted fast to catch the alien statue mid-fall. Settling it back on its two feet with his mind, Michael chuckled to himself as he realised exactly what it was that he had knocked over. Turns out the little guy did still have his head on backwards.

It had been four years since Alex’s last day working the ticket booth, when they had sneaked inside during his lunch break to passionately kiss in the dark corners of the museum. If Michael hadn’t been so distracted that day he would have caught the alien before it had a chance to decapitate itself and ruin his make out session.

They had frantically tried to re-attach it, getting their fingers covered in the glue. But alas, as an excitable eighteen year old, Michael had been too focused on the boy he was with to notice he was putting the head on backwards.

Four years and nobody had dealt with the owl impersonating alien. The Emporium really was going downhill.

“You know, if you don’t want to stay I’ll cover for you with her majesty.” Max interrupted his thoughts as he took a banner from the pile still bunched in Michael’s arms and surveyed the room to decide where best to hang it.

“Nah, it’s alright. Can’t leave you without a wingman, can I?” Michael playfully raised an eyebrow as he dumped the pile on the floor and grabbed the other end of the banner.

“I’m serious Michael. You don’t actually have to do as she says you know.” Max grinned at him, hooking his side onto one of the picture frames hanging on the wall and watching Michael do the same.

Michael looked over at his friend. When the day began he had planned to end it in the airstream, drunk on whiskey and in bed with a beautiful stranger. But standing in front of him was his chance to do something different for a change, to spend some time with the only family he had left and maybe even remember it all in the morning.

“I know. But maybe you’re right. It could be fun.”

March 2013

So it was letters like these that made Michael feel guilty about how he’d been spending his time. Or more specifically who he’d been spending his time with.

For the first time in years he could go entire weeks without thinking of Alex once and the odd drunken hookup definitely helped to keep his mind off the boy who barely wrote to him anymore.

It had become a recurring thing for him, much to the chagrin of Isobel who vehemently disapproved of his life choices. She couldn’t understand why Michael wouldn’t want to find someone special and settle down with them. But he wouldn’t expect any less from the girl who was so head over heels in love with her boyfriend.

Isobel had Noah, and Michael?

Michael had Vicky. Last night.

They met at the Pony, as these stories often started for him, and had enjoyed a very long, very sensual night together within the small confines of the airstream.

She made him coffee in the morning, engaged in an appropriate amount of small talk, then left. A perfect night by all accounts, so why couldn’t the rest of his day be perfect too?

When the mailman loudly interrupted his work on his latest batch of sketches he had been tempted not to answer. When he immediately recognised Alex’s handwriting on the front of the envelope he had been very tempted not to open it.

One day he would stop giving in to his feelings for Alex. Today was not that day.

Dear Michael,

I saw someone die today.

I feel kind of numb right now which doesn’t seem right to me, but it’s like I can’t tell what emotion I should be feeling, so I’m just hoping that getting the words onto paper might help get them out of my head.

I don’t know whether I’m supposed to have been prepared for it or not, I mean it’s an occupational hazard that I signed up for so I should be fine, right? I’ve been in Iraq for almost two months now, on my second deployment, and yet this is the first time I’ve actually seen someone get killed right in front of me. So does that make me lucky to have gone this long without it happening?

I could have saved him. If I had just been closer, if I had gotten there quicker, he probably wouldn’t have died. But then if I was closer I probably wouldn’t be writing this right now so I guess I am the lucky one.

I hadn’t known him long but he was a good kid, always hard at work, always looking out for everyone. He was younger than me.

The guys are so quiet. Nobody knows what to do with themselves and this bit I’m strangely used to. It’s not the first time someone I know has been killed and things can’t come to a stop while we’re out here no matter the circumstances. But for a short while after something like this happens it’s like the light inside of everyone just disappears. Like we’re reminded all over again of how quickly things can change here.

We’ll be okay though, we’ll pick each other up and move on. But we’ll never forget him.

They’ll never forget his service. And I’ll never forget what I saw.

I’m sorry, it’s selfish to burden you with this but I just really needed to tell someone.

Hope everything is okay in Roswell.

Stay safe,

Alex.

And just like that Michael was drawn back into the little Alex loving bubble he had been desperately trying to pop.

Stay safe. He writes an entire letter about seeing someone die and he tells Michael to stay safe. And if that didn’t sum up Alex he didn’t know what did. Always trying to look out for other people, even if it hurts him.

Michael re-read the line about being quicker, being closer and something tightens in his chest. He could still remember how guilty Alex had felt after the incident in the toolshed all those years ago, so Michael knew exactly how much Alex would be putting his colleague’s death on his shoulders right now. And if he had been close enough to help, Michael was well aware of how willingly he would have sacrificed himself to keep his teammates safe.

He didn’t even know that Alex was in Iraq. Their communication had slowed so much recently and this entire time Michael had chalked it up to him no longer wanting to keep in contact but maybe this was why he hadn’t been writing.

It reminded him yet again of how little he really knew about Alex’s job and the things he had to face. As much as he would love it, he could hardly expect constant letters with updates of every little part of Alex’s life.

But he could support him. From the safety of his airstream where there were no bullets flying and people dying around him, he could listen to what Alex had to say no matter how long it took to arrive.

His sleeping around had been a poor attempt of cleansing Alex and the war he was fighting from his mind, but Alex would never get that luxury. Not until he was out of the Air Force and back home at least.

The fear of Alex dying was at the forefront of his thoughts once more, but maybe it was a good thing - the kind of fear that propels you forward and gives you hope that things will change. Habits were hard to break but maybe he would take Isobel’s advice and wait for his someone special to make it home.

August 2013

Friday night at the Wild Pony brought out all manner of locals. Friends reuniting after being away for months, married couples taking the time to cool off after a long week at work, the happy drunks, the racist drunks, and already at the bar being served his first drink of the evening, the lonely cowboy.

Max’s shift didn’t end for another hour, but Michael figured there wouldn’t be any harm in getting to the Pony early. He had a higher tolerance than Max anyway so it was better to get a head start.

As he was lifting his first alcohol filled glass to his lips he heard the voice of someone he hadn’t seen in five years. He barely suppressed a groan as he sneaked a glimpse to his left.

“More tequila’s please, Maria.” The man’s voice dripped with confidence.

Michael watched as he placed a tray of empty shot glasses on the bar top before leaning forward, his forearms dropping heavily onto the wood.

Maria took the tray with a smile and got to work.

“Guerin. Still in Roswell, I see.” He said casually, turning to look at Michael. 

“Valenti. Still a dick, I see.” Michael replied, giving his best fake smile.

Kyle’s brow furrowed in surprise at the attitude being directed towards him. He must have remembered Michael’s reputation from school, but he clearly hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of it half a decade later.

“How have you been?” He continued regardless, somewhat optimistic in the face of Michael’s pre-drunk demeanour. Maria unscrewed the bottle cap and Michael could see her watching them carefully as if they were the main feature of her Wild Pony nature documentary.

“Since when do you care?” Michael remarked tightly, smile still plastered on his face and when Kyle scoffed and looked away, Michael was almost disappointed. The guy from high school would have had him on his ass by now.

“Whatever.” Kyle muttered just as Maria filled the last glass. He slapped some money onto the bar, sliding it forward to meet Maria’s waiting hand and she took it gratefully, put it straight in the till.

“See you around.” He spoke to no-one in particular before leaving with the tray, though not fast enough in Michael’s opinion.

Maria rolled her eyes as she put the tequila bottle back on the shelf. “What did Kyle ever do to you?”

“Do you not remember him in high school?” Michael asked, glancing over his shoulder at where Kyle was handing out the shot glasses round the table. It wasn’t a surprise to see that he was still Mr Popular with the big group of friends.

“Oh no, I remember him. I just don’t remember you ever talking to him.”

“Didn’t have to talk to him to know he was an asshole.” Michael muttered as he downed the last of his drink.

He’d witness enough of his taunting to know exactly what kind of person Kyle Valenti was. He was the cliche jock surrounded by a constant posse of football players, using his popularity to get away with bullying innocent kids.

Nerdy kids whose fear of authority and eagerness to please everyone would be taken advantage of.

Poor kids whose worn down shoes and too small clothes would be an instant target on their backs.

Gay kids who did absolutely nothing to deserve the brunt of Kyle’s torment for so many years. Gay kids who could also pack a mean punch when it really came down to it. 

Kyle had made it his mission in high school to ruin Alex’s life and Michael would never forgive him for it. Simple as that.

“What is he even doing here anyway?”

Maria picked up the closest bottle of whiskey and refilled his glass. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed at how well she knew his drinking habits.

“He’s been travelling to visit family but now he’s back for a few weeks to see some friends before his next year of med school starts.” Maria answered easily, letting out a huff of laughter as Michael narrowed his eyes in confusion. “When you’re this side of the bar, people tell you everything…like I’m sure you’ll be doing soon enough.”

Michael smirked as he took another swig of whiskey. It burned in his chest before settling uneasily in his stomach. “You love it Deluca, don’t try and deny it.”

Taking another look behind him, Michael watched as Kyle spoke, gesturing wildly with his arms as his words held the attention of everyone circled around him. He looked no different from high school, same dark quiff styled neatly with gel, same bulging muscles on show under his tight fitting top, same punchable face.

Watching Alex take a swing at Kyle during prom had been a very proud moment for Michael - and he had barely even known Alex by that point. If he hadn’t been worried that Alex would get hurt, Michael would have gladly watched him punch Kyle for the rest of the evening.

“I think he’s changed, you know.” Maria interrupted his thoughts as she wiped down the bar top in front of him. Her bracelets jangled noisily with every movement. “College has been good for him.”

Michael watched as she ran her necklace between her fingers and went about collecting the empty beer bottles sitting at the end of the bar. “Kyle Valenti will never change.” 

Deep down a tiny part of him would admit that Maria was right. Since leaving high school everyone he’s known has changed in some way or another - normally for the better as they grow out of their ignorant, childish ways. But he just couldn’t imagine golden boy Kyle Valenti turning his life around that much. And even though one day Alex, with his heart of gold, will probably end up forgiving Kyle, Michael never would.

June 2014

“I’m just saying, if Noah expects me to take it easy with this wedding organisation, he’s got another thing coming.” Isobel spoke animatedly as the three of them walked down the street. “I am practically the unofficial Roswell party planning committee after all.”

“Isn’t a committee normally a group of people?” Max quizzed, moving out of the way for a little boy on his bike that was riding towards them.

“Not what you’re supposed to be taking from this conversation, Max.” Isobel glared at him. “I got proposed to guys!”

“Yeah, we got that from the first fifty times you told us.” Michael remarked, righting the cowboy hat that had slipped down on his head.

“Well, I’m allowed to be excited!”

Max gave his sister a fond smile. “Of course you are. But I think any more wedding talk today will literally melt Michael’s brain.”

It had been over a week since Noah had gotten down on one knee and Max and Michael had heard every possible recounting of the evening along with every guest list suggestion, every wedding hairstyle idea, even every floral arrangement possibility. As a couple, they had barely had a chance to set a date, yet Isobel was now firmly stuck in wedding planner mode.

It was Max who had put forward that the three of them meet up. It was his first day off after a busy week of shifts and it was warm out, though the suggestion to make the most of the sun was also a ploy to force Isobel to take a break from her obsessing. But unfortunately the wedding seemed to have followed them.

It didn’t really bother them though as they strolled through town, soaking up the warmth of the rays and enjoying each other’s company. Isobel was happy and in love and it was exactly what she deserved.

As they neared the end of the road, they reached the Crashdown. The cafe was a hubbub of happy, smiling customers and servers in their uniforms and antennae, but it was hard to miss the derogatory, racist words spray painted across the windows. Michael didn’t envy the poor waiter who was desperately scrubbing at them with soapy water.

Every year on the anniversary of Rosa Ortecho’s death the Crashdown was vandalised and every year it hurt more and more to witness.

Arturo Ortecho didn’t deserve the hate he got because of what happened to his daughter. He didn’t deserve for his livelihood, his home to be wrecked every year because of a choice Isobel made. A choice they all made.

After the fateful night six years ago, they had sworn to each other they would not set foot in the Crashdown again, to separate themselves from the Ortecho’s completely. But over the years, whether it be from guilt or concern, they had never been able to keep that promise.

“Let’s go in,” Max said after a moment of staring inside.

“Max-” Michael warned. He was all for keeping up appearances but today of all days they ought to be keeping a low profile when it came to the Crashdown.

“We should show our support. It’s the least we can do.” Max turned to look at him pointedly. And as much as Michael hated it, he was right. They had managed to keep the events of that night a secret for so long now. Avoiding the place once a year wasn’t really going to have as big an impact as they liked to think it would.

And being the cause of Mr Ortecho’s suffering, it was the least they could do.

Entering with a smile, they found a booth in the corner and Michael was made designated ‘seat saver’ as Max and Isobel went up to the counter. They all knew each other’s orders off by heart, but neither sibling wanted to run the risk of potentially running into Arturo alone for fear of not knowing what to say.

Michael watched as the waiter outside finished with one window and moved onto the next.

He was lucky in a way. He could go months without thinking about what they chose to do to those three girls. How they covered up the murders and framed an innocent for it. He doubted Arturo ever had the pleasure of forgetting about the death of his eldest daughter.

And now, as he tried to forget once more about certain events of that night, his mind was drawn to the other life changing incident and his worry for Alex reignited all over again. He had been able to protect Alex from his father back then, but whilst they were on two separate continents, Michael was powerless.

Not that he thought Alex needed his protection. Michael knew just how strong he was, but the job of an airman was unpredictable.

In an attempt to calm his mind, he thought back to the letter he had received yesterday and tried to recall the words it contained.

Dear Michael,

I can’t believe you managed to find work on Mr Anderson’s ranch! Or more specifically, I can’t believe he willingly hired you after the amount of trouble you caused him. I’m guessing you didn’t tell him that it was you that drove straight through his crop field or let all those horses out when we were younger? Because you know as well as I do, that man holds a grudge.

I’m glad you’re finding all this work. I used to worry that you wouldn’t realise how skilled you were so it’s nice to hear that people are actually appreciating your hard work.

I’ve spent the past week updating security measures here and the all-nighters are reminding me of high school before a math test or something. I think I actually used to go days without sleeping sometimes if I was trying to cram in revision and I honestly don’t know how I managed it back then. Teenage me was obviously a lot stronger.

There’s rumours that we could be heading back to North Dakota next month, but I’m not getting my hopes up. Germany’s not too bad, the people have been great and the food is delicious. On our down days we’ve been going to this cafe just outside of base. They have this type of iced coffee that tastes amazing and I’ve definitely had it far too much judging by the amount of teasing I get from my team every time I order it.

As nice as it is here though, it would be good to be back on home soil. I feel like I’ve been away from America for so long.

I’ll let you know if we do end up moving bases and maybe I’ll visit Roswell again soon.

Hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

Michael was pulled out of his thoughts as Max and Isobel took their seats. They were bickering about something or other and the familiarity forced all his worries to the back of his mind.

Alex would be home soon and Michael would be able to hold him in his arms and everything would be alright. And for now, he would make the most of his time with the rest of his family.

October 2014

Michael was warming himself by the fire when a car pulled up by the airstream. He had managed to find the old burn barrel at the junkyard a few months ago along with some mismatched chairs and lighting the fire had become a calming night time occurrence for him.

He brought the beer bottle to his lips and took a sip, wordlessly watching as Alex stepped out of the car and wandered over to him. He wasn’t sure why Alex was even here. The letters had been getting infrequent again, the enthusiasm dwindling, and Michael had been starting to suspect that their hearts were just no longer in it.

Alex had informed him that he was on leave for a few days and Michael had been happy, excited even. But at some point between this morning - where he had been frantically trying to calm his nerves as he tided up the place - to this evening, something had changed. He’d managed to overthink everything he’d been wanting to say to Alex for a long time now.

“Hey.” Alex smiled politely as he came to a stop by the fire. If he thought it strange that Michael hadn’t greeted him he didn’t mention it, but he did pause, hands clasped behind his back, almost waiting for permission to take a seat.

Michael took another gulp of beer, watching Alex carefully. “You can sit down you know.”

Alex didn’t need to be told twice, dropping into the seat closest to him. He looked older, the years of service catching up on him, hardening him against all that he had seen. 

“How have you been?” He asked. His voice was calm but Michael could see the wariness in his eyes. So he had noticed Michael’s rather frosty welcoming.

“Same as always.” Michael muttered, looking off into the distance.

“Are you okay-”

“What are you doing here, Alex?” Michael blurted out before he lost the nerve.

Alex’s eyes widened at the outburst, “Sorry, I thought you said I could drop by when I got back.”

“Okay fine, what are we doing here?” Michael rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, “I mean this thing we’re doing, is it real or just some hookup for when you come home?”

Alex recoiled at the accusation and Michael could feel the guilt creeping in once more at the hurt in Alex’s eyes. Okay so maybe that was a bit harsh, but there was no point dragging out this conversation for the next three days. Plus, he suspected his veins were filled more of alcohol than blood right now and when he was on a roll there was no stopping him.

“Last time you were here I tried to have this conversation with you and we got nowhere. That was years ago and we’re still dancing around it.”

“You know it’s not like that. The sex I mean. I don’t come here just to sleep with you, I come to see you.” The fire crackled loudly, the flames casting an orange glow over Alex as he spoke. “I’m sorry I haven’t been writing much lately. Your letters mean everything to me and I like doing this with you, but I just…”

“Just what?” Michael demanded. He could see Alex take a breath as he tried to word the next sentence correctly in his head.

“Anything could happen while I’m in the Air Force and I just don’t think you should pin your hopes on this.”

If Michael could stop with the tunnel vision for two seconds he would realise that Alex was trying to protect him, but all he heard was that Alex didn’t want to be with him, not properly at least. Not as his boyfriend, his partner, his other half.

Michael didn’t have an answer and Alex had no more to add.

They had barely spent five minutes in each other’s company after years apart and they’d already been rendered quiet. It isn’t how either of them had expected it to go. They sat in the uncomfortable silence, their gazes fixed on the fire but barely registering the flames licking the air. Neither wanted to make the first move.

The beautiful boy he had been in love with since they were seventeen had practically just told him that they would never be together and instead of feeling sad or desperate, Michael fell back to his default emotion. He was filled with so much anger he could practically feel it burning under his skin.

The moment he kissed Alex in the museum all those years ago he had seen the future they could have together, but now, in the cool autumn evening as he watched the tips of the flames reaching up to the sky, that dream was crumbling.

“Do you want me to go?” Alex asked faintly after a few minutes.

Yes! If you walk away now then I’ll have my final answer and it will make all of this so much easier.

“No.”

Alex had only just gotten there and as pissed off as Michael felt, the thought of him leaving again suddenly hurt like hell. “I miss you.” He whispered, struggling to make eye contact at the admission.

In his peripheral vision he could see Alex pause uneasily, almost waiting for another outburst, and when none came the airman replied with a wary smile. “Me too.”

May 2015

Another soda can went flying into the air and Max shot it down with trained precision. It almost hit Isobel on the way down who couldn’t hold back a squeal as she moved out of the way.

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here for this.” She huffed at the boys as she righted herself in the chair. Her plans for the weekend had involved shopping, TV and sleeping. It had been a long week and it was what she deserved. Instead, she was getting sand in her shoes and cans flung towards her face.

“You’re the one who said we should practice using our powers more.” Michael smirked, concentrating on the unopened can sitting on the desk inside the airstream. With barely any effort, he watched as it floated through the doorway and over towards Isobel.

“That was an excuse to get into Old Man Simmons’ head and you know it.” She narrowed his eyes at him but grabbed the can anyway. “Besides, isn’t there a more productive way to train?”

“What are you talking about? We used to do this all the time.” Max lifted the gun and signalled for Michael to throw the next can into the air.

“Yeah, when we were like seventeen. Don’t know if you noticed but we’re not kids anymore.”

“Tell me about it. Did you know Sheriff Valenti let me assist on another murder case last week. She said I’m showing potential.” 

“Bit of a morbid thing to brag about there, Deputy.” Michael grinned as he used his power to send the next can flying, trying to catch Max off guard with its speed. Max was too slow to hit it during its ascent, but before it touched the ground he had sent a bullet clean through it.

Michael whistled in amazement and clapped Max on the back. They may be adults now but hitting a target was just as exciting as when they were kids.

Isobel was less than impressed if the furrowed brow was anything to go by. She honestly couldn’t understand the desire to shoot things. “Great, you hit it. Can I go now?”

She made a point of checking the time on her phone with a sigh and Max gave Michael such a sibling look. The kind of look that clearly conveyed annoyance, irritation and the simple question of will she ever stop complaining.

“Will you lighten up Iz, it’s just a bit of fun.” Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. “Now hurry up and drink that, we’re gonna need it soon.”

He was about the throw another can when he noticed a white van driving up the path, recognising it immediately. He felt bad for the guy, having to come out to the middle of nowhere every month or so just to drop off a single letter.

He walked over to meet the mailman as he parked in front of them and gratefully took the letter passed to him through the open window.

“Who the hell is sending you mail?” Isobel leaned forward in her chair as the van drove off and Michael was worried for a second that she would get up and take it from him before he could stop her. She never did have good impulse control.

“It’s probably just junk.” He said dismissively, staring down at his name and address. He didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. He had literally never received a single letter from anyone else in his life.

He tried to plaster on his best nonchalant face as he jogged over to the airstream and prayed that the others wouldn’t ask questions. “It’s fine, I’ll check it later.”

Bypassing every surface entirely, knowing full well that if Isobel saw it on the desk she would open it, he opened the compartment above his bed. The cupboard had gotten more crowded over the years, but the shoebox still had its special little place inside. He looked down at the letter in his hand one more time, debating whether to just rip it open then and there, before sliding it on top of the box.

He’d read it later when he wasn’t busy.

September 2015

“Ahh Deluca. It’s been while.” Michael grinned as he took a seat at the bar. It was early evening on a Friday so the place was pretty packed, but luckily for him there was always a stool empty.

Maria grabbed a glass from the rack and the bottle of whiskey from behind her and began pouring. There were other servers behind the bar so she could afford to take her time conversing with this particular regular.

“Yes, surprisingly I did notice your absence from my bar recently and honestly I’m not sure who that looks worse for.”

“You. Definitely you.” Michael said dryly as he picked up the nearest coaster and began to twirl it between his fingers. “Besides if you were that desperate to see my ruggedly handsome face you wouldn’t have skipped your shift last Friday.”

“The fact that you know my shift pattern is not a good look for you Guerin.” Maria raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “Besides, I’m allowed a night off every now and then.”

“Oh yeah? To do what? Paint your nails? Have a nice little bubble bath? Some other girl related activity?”

“To see a friend actually. Because I have those.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” He muttered playfully and she moved forward to dramatically knock the coaster out of his hand.

“We had a lovely time, thank you for asking. He hasn’t been back home in ages so we decided to make a weekend of it.”

Michael froze at her words. There was really only one person she could be talking about but he asked the question anyway. “What friend is this?”

“Alex? Manes? He went to school with us. Former emo kid turned airman.” 

Michael’s mouth suddenly felt very dry and he couldn’t get his words out. He grabbed the drink that Maria had poured and took a large gulp. “Alex was here?”

“Yeah he had a few days leave so he came to see me. It was really sweet of him, I mean he’s worked hard for that time off and he could literally do anything with it but he chose to come here. I think he was missing home a bit actually.”

Michael bit his lip, almost enough to draw blood. He was suddenly filled with so much hurt he didn’t know what to do with it. “Was he okay?”

“Yeah. I think his work has been a bit tough recently but he seemed happy.” Maria smiled gently.

Seemed happy? Did that mean Alex was happy because he was home? Or because he was spending his time with someone other than Michael?

Michael was glad he was happy, of course he was glad. Alex’s happiness is all he’s ever wanted. And of course, he has a right to visit other friends, it was never Michael’s place to tell him not to. Even when he had stayed with Michael in the past, he had always made time to say hello to other friends before he had to leave again.

But this time he hadn’t even mentioned to Michael that he was coming home. Not a single word in any of the intermittent letters.

And maybe Michael was to blame. The last time they had seen each other hadn’t exactly been perfect. And recently he’d been putting off replying for weeks which Alex must have noticed. But he still always replied in the end! So that must have meant something, right? It must have proven to Alex that he still cared, that he would still want to spend time with him.

There was no way Alex could have known that he would find out. Michael had never properly mentioned the little love-hate friendship he had struck up with Maria over the years, so really Alex could never have predicted this. And that’s probably what he had wanted, to spend time in Roswell under the radar, away from Michael.

Should he be angry about this? Was he angry? Yes. He was probably being overdramatic but this seemed like the final nail in the coffin of their unspoken relationship.

Suddenly, he had the desperate urge to take his mind off everything he’d just heard so without thinking he turned to what he did best. Paying Maria half of what he owed for the drink, he locked eyes with a cute girl at the other end of the bar and eagerly slid off the stool, ready to make a night of it.

January 2016

Isobel grabbed his face and kissed him on the cheek before he could stop her. The fireworks exploding into a hundred sparks above their heads were loud, but the cheering from the mass of people crowded outside of the Pony seemed louder.

“Happy New Year!!” Isobel practically screamed in his ear before turning to plant an overly enthusiastic kiss on Noah’s lips. This was probably the most drunk he had ever seen Isobel and every second of it was brilliant.

Max clapped a hand on Michael’s back and they tapped glasses in a less enthusiastic celebration. When Michael had suggested that the four of them go to the Wild Pony for New Year’s he had expected to be shot down instantly, but now that they were here he was glad they had actually agreed.

It had been a good night. There was plenty of alcohol, loud music and he’d won several games of pool - all without using his powers! Even Deluca had seemed almost happy to see him but he put that down to the Christmas spirit she’d been radiating for the past week.

Watching the fireworks felt like such a cliche way to end it. It was perfect. The colours lit up the sky, the bright blues and pinks of the explosions reminding him of the alien console that was slowly coming together beneath the earth of the junkyard and the booms were so powerful he could practically feel them reverberating in his chest.

He had drunk far too much to be able to quite remember how he made it home, but closing the door behind him, he noticed how lonely the airstream felt after spending the evening in a crowd of people. 

He threw his hat onto the desk and his shoes into the nearest corner and dropped onto the bed with a sigh. He clenched his left fist a few times as the ache became noticeable again. Even after all these years, the cold weather still wreaked havoc with his injury, making it cramp or stiffen up at the worst times.

As he stared up at the ceiling he had an idea. A truly terrible idea. And if he was sober he would have realised that, but sensible Michael had taken a break for the night.

He rolled off the bed and stumbled the short distance to his desk. For a messy person, his supplies were surprisingly organised with the paper stacked in one draw and a few envelopes scattered in another. He grabbed the closest pen to him and tested it worked on a scrap design that he hadn’t had the heart to throw away yet.

His uneven lettering would probably give away his drunken state but he didn’t care. This was probably the most honest he would ever be with Alex so why not take advantage of that.

Dear Alex,

I guess I should wish you a happy new year.

You know we’ve never spent a new years together? I know you’re really busy in your super important job but it would have been nice for you to celebrate it at home one year. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t tell me.

I’ve been thinking about leaving Roswell. 2016 has officially begun and I’m stuck doing the same thing I’ve been doing my entire life, living in some tiny metal box and getting paid a measly amount at a job I only half show up to.

So maybe I should just leave. Get out of the town that’s filled with heaps of bad memories. Like all the shit that happened with Max and Isobel, all the stuff with your dad. Everywhere I look in this town has been tainted by bad people and bad choices.

So you know what they say, new year, new start.

I might go to Vegas and try my luck there. Or Texas. It’s not as far but at least I’d fit in. Or maybe I’ll just leave America completely! Europe sounds nice and I bet it isn’t just miles of sand.

I used to wish we could leave together. I’d save up enough money and as soon as you got out of the Air Force we’d just leave. It wouldn’t matter where, just anywhere away from this town. And we’d probably run out of money and it would be an absolute disaster but that would be okay because at least we’d be together.

I don’t think you want that though Alex, I think you’ve already moved on and that really hurts. So maybe I should just move on too.

Enjoy the new year with your boys.

Michael

Without reading it over, he folded the paper into an envelope and sealed it before he could second guess anything.

In the morning he wouldn’t remember what the letter said, but he’d post it anyway.

November 2016

Roswell always did go all out for Veterans Day. There were banners hung in every building, flags flying proudly from every window and it was as though every Roswell born member of the Armed Forces - past and present - had returned for the annual celebration. All except one.

The evening’s event was held at the drive in, organised by the one and only Isobel Evans-Bracken and that was the only reason Michael was there. To support Isobel and that’s it.

This day was hard most years. The constant reminders of Alex everywhere he’d go, the odd sighting of Jesse Manes being thanked for his service when that man was the entire reason for Alex’s absence.

He had always believed that he would get used to it the longer Alex was away. The town was very pro-military and there always seemed to be some parade or other so the constant reminders should have made him accustomed to the feelings it brought up.

But wishful thinking strikes again.

And this year seemed to be the worst of the lot.

He and Alex had hardly spoken all year and the letters he did receive sounded like Alex was just checking if he was still in Roswell more than anything else. He never quite worked out what gave the airman the impression that he would be leaving anytime soon.

To be fair though, all of his replies had been short and vague with a rather blunt tone that he couldn’t help. A small part of him knew that he was pushing Alex away and it was screaming at him, begging him to stop, but he didn’t listen. Unfortunately, when he was hurt his self preservation kicked in big time.

Grabbing another beer from the cooler, he took a seat next to Max on the back of the truck and watched as Master Sergeant Jesse Manes took to the stage to give a speech about duty and sacrifice and how those who had lost their lives had done so proudly in the service of their country.

It made him wonder if Alex would feel proud in his last moments. If the worst happened, would he be glad to die for his country or would he be afraid? Would he be filled with fear as he lay in the dirt, cold and bleeding, waiting for help that wasn’t going to arrive on time? Would he be with his team, surrounded by love and friendship and people begging him to be okay or would he be alone? 

Or maybe it would be quick. A swift bullet to the head or heart. A nice clean shot and a point to the enemy. There one minute and gone the next.

Would Alex even feel it?

Would Michael?

As the townsfolk and various uniformed men and women began clapping loudly around him, his mind was brought back to the present. Manes gave a wave to the crowd as he ended his speech and passed the microphone over to Isobel to announce the evening’s agenda.

As she listed the live music and entertainment that was in store, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on her words instead of the thoughts circling his head. He didn’t know why he still cared so much. Alex wasn’t Michael’s to protect or worry about. Not anymore.

Michael had moved on and maybe if he drunk enough tonight, his heart would finally believe that and his mind would stop reciting the latest letter that had arrived at his door.

Dear Michael,

We were shipped off to Baghdad two months ago.

I wasn’t going to tell you because I don’t want you to worry and it’s not fair for me to force this onto you when you’re off living your own life now. It’s just a lot has happened on this tour already and I’ve been getting this feeling that I should probably let you know that I’m here.

All things considered, I’m actually quite lucky that this is only my third deployment bearing in mind how many years I’ve been serving. I’ve heard stories about some people who are on tour after tour and I don’t think I’d be able to handle the never ending missions.

It turns out I must be quite good at my job though because the team I’m with requested me. They needed someone with my specialist skillset so I guess its rather flattering but it makes me think that this job is going to be harder than the others.

It’s crazy to think about how much I’ve accomplished since I first joined. Seventeen year old Alex would hate that I’m still here but I guess he didn’t know the world like I do now. I still think about him sometimes though, the rebellious kid who wore too much eyeliner.

I know I don’t say it much but I’m really grateful for the time we spent together back then. And since then. They’re some of my favourite memories.

But I’m glad you’ve found your own path in life. You have a job that you love, a place to live that you can call your own and friends and family that you can always turn to.

I hope everyone is okay back home. I hope you’re okay. 

And more than anything, I hope that you’re happy. It’s what you deserve and I’m sure one day you’ll find someone who sees that and makes you even happier.

From, 

Alex.

He hated that Alex was back there.

And he hated that the letter sounded like a goodbye.

February 2017

Dear Alex,

I know it’s taken me a while to reply. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I’ve just been thinking about everything that’s happened and I didn’t want to say something I would regret. You’d probably tell me that I was overthinking and I’d dramatically disagree of course. But you would be right.

I’ve been thinking a lot about where you are right now and all of the bad things that could happen. I’m not going to go into how many soldiers have died over there because I’m sure you know more about it than me, just make sure you’re not added to that list, okay? I haven’t acted like it recently but it worries me that you’re somewhere so dangerous, so please be careful.

I know we’ve drifted but I still care about you Alex so I need you to be okay. I’ve been distancing myself from you these past few years and I’m sorry for that. I thought you were pushing me away so I did all I could to push you away first. I know I can’t change that now but maybe it can be different going forward.

It’s been almost three years since I last saw you in person and in a weird way it feels like yesterday. Three years sounds like a long time but looking back, it’s flown past way too quickly. So much has changed since then. I see Sanders occasionally but I haven’t worked at the junkyard in years, Isobel is married, the Wild Pony has starting having open mic nights and the Crashdown has gained about ten new milkshakes.

But I suppose the one constant is that you haven’t been here. You’ve been off being an American hero and that’s such an incredible achievement. You’ve travelled to places that I will never go, accomplished things I will probably never understand and been involved in so much that I can never know about. 

I’m sure it hasn’t always been the positive experience that people make it out to be, but I’m so happy you’ve been able to make something of your life.

You’re probably on some super secret mission right now with your little carefully selected team, but if you’ve got a minute, let me know that you’re okay.

Michael

July 2017

Alex hadn't answered. Five months and four goddamn letters and Alex hadn't answered a single one. And Michael was pissed. 

Well, first he was terrified. He had made up all manner of excuses. Maybe the letters got lost in the post. Maybe Alex was too busy to reply. But the never ending weeks of radio silence soon left Michael thinking the worst.

He had scoured the news headlines for any reports of American deaths in Iraq, he checked the obituary lists for any updates and he kept an ear out for any locals discussing the untimely death of Alex Manes.

He didn’t want to find out but he needed to know the truth.

Maria hadn’t mentioned anything in the many nights he had spent drowning his sorrows at the bar, so he took that as a good sign but then again she could just be as in the dark as he was.

After a while though, when no bad news had surfaced, he accepted the sad fact that Alex had chosen not to reply.

That the man he once loved had read his letters and hadn’t cared enough to respond. That he’d read the carefully selected words that conveyed Michael’s love and gratitude and worry. That he’d held the paper in his hands, each letter more honest than the last, and had decided to leave Michael hanging.

And if it proved one thing, it’s that he was right to stop waiting for Alex. 

He had woken up that morning missing Alex desperately. Missing his face, his voice, his laugh, his words. But when, once again, no letter arrived, his anger tore through as he finally decided to face the cold hard truth that had been waiting in the back of his mind for weeks.

Their relationship had been going downhill for a long time and now the airman had clearly made the choice for the both of them. Alex had ended whatever it was they had going on and so now Michael would do the same.

That night he went to sleep, vowing to never think of Alex again, so painfully unaware that Alex, now with half a limb cruelly taken from him, had read the letters. In fact he'd read over every letter in his metal box, mourning the end of their relationship with each one. 

Waking up in the hospital bed five months ago he'd seen his future. The future filled with therapy, physio, phantom pains, decreased mobility, the constant awkwardness from other people. And he refused to burden Michael with that. His beautiful cowboy deserved so much better.

Soon the letters would stop completely and Alex would accept that because why would Michael keep trying when he was receiving nothing in return? And maybe they’ll never see each other again and maybe they’ll never reconcile, but that would be okay because at least this way, Michael would be free.

December 2017

It was two weeks until Christmas and Isobel was on his case about a present. Why do you have to make my life difficult, Michael? You’re the only person I haven’t bought for, Michael. Can you find some actual hobbies so that I know what to get you, Michael?

The queen of organisation was getting very stressed at the mere thought of having to do any last minute shopping but how would Michael tell her what he really wanted for Christmas when obtaining it was impossible?

And yeah, yeah, he said he was going to stop thinking about him. But let’s be real, that was never going to happen.

Instead he drank. A lot. And gambled and hooked up with pretty girls and committed enough petty crime to make Max consider a very early retirement.  

Anything to get his mind off Alex. But as blissful as the forgetting was in the night, it always came flooding back in the morning. Because every morning he woke up and stared at the compartment where the box was stored and every morning it reminded him of Alex. Well, no more.

Sitting on the edge of the bed as he tried to ignore the cold winter wind raging outside, he made the decision to move it. If he hid it away and promised himself that he would never look inside again then maybe, just maybe, he would finally move on.

Standing up was a choice he instantly regretted as the room spun slightly and the sun blaring in through the newspaper covered window immediately fuelled the hangover burning behind his eyes. But as soon as everything settled he wasted no time in opening the compartment and taking out the box.

His fingers were itching to lift up the lid and peek inside but that would only make it harder. Instead he clamped the sides tightly in his grip and headed straight for the closet.

It was ironic really, hiding Alex in the closet - a thought that only came to him as he was opening the door - but it was the only place in the tiny hamster cage of a home where it would be safe from prying eyes, Michael’s included. 

There were a pair of boots at the bottom alongside some old clothes Max had given him years ago and a cardboard box of blueprints, photos and spaceship pieces he had yet to take to the junkyard.

He lifted them out easily and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor next to where he was kneeling - they had been shoved in the bottom of a closet for god knows how long, they could manage a bit of manhandling.

With the space now empty, the shoebox went in first, being pushed as far into the corner as possible before he gave himself the chance to change his mind. The larger box went back in next, taking up the remaining floor space, then the boots and bag of clothes were thrown in afterwards. As long as they didn’t fall out, he didn’t care where they landed.

As he closed the door his phone rang and looking at the caller ID the timing couldn’t have been more perfect as he’d finally thought of an idea for what Isobel could buy him.

Because why spend your own money to fuel your drinking habit when someone else could do it for you.

March 2018

Michael was shocked awake by a loud thump. Sitting up too quickly, scrambling to get his brain in gear, he noticed Max standing on the other side of the cage with a large pile of files on the desk in front of him. That explains what caused the rude awakening then.

“Thanks.” He groaned, lying back down on the metal bench. His head was thumping and he was not in the mood for the conversation that was bound to follow.

“Is this gonna be a regular thing with you?” Max asked as he took a seat at the desk. The chair scraped horribly on the floor and it made Michael wince.

He stared up at the ceiling and took a few breaths before talking. He didn’t normally feel this bad after drinking but he’d forgotten to grab a bottle of acetone before heading to the Pony and it had been a long night.

“I thought you wanted to spend more time together.” He replied impudently after a moment. 

He heard Max sigh and could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“It’s not funny, Michael.”

“It’s a little funny.” He smirked, attempting to sit up again, groaning as it became clear how much his back hadn’t appreciated his drunk tank sleeping arrangements. Max didn’t even glance up at him from the file he was reading. “Right, are you gonna let me out or not?”

“Nope. Valenti’s just outside and she’ll know if I go easy on you.” 

Michael scoffed and debated just lifting the keys from the desk with his powers. Why did Max have to be such a rule-following little Deputy? It was as if Max was the mind reader of the trio though as he grabbed the keys without looking and put them straight into his pocket.

“I’m just trying to help you.” Max gave him a pointed look that Michael just wanted to punch right off his face sometimes.

“Like always…” Michael muttered under his breath.

“I’m surprised Maria hasn’t barred you yet. You cause her more trouble than it’s worth.”

“The fight wasn’t even that bad, everyone just overreacted. Besides, the other guy totally started it.”

Max shook his head as he got back to his work. Michael wasn’t lying, he hadn’t started the fight, he had just been rather eager to join in. Sometimes punching things felt good.

Max was clearly not letting him out anytime soon and it was well before noon so no-one was expecting him to be at work for a good couple of hours. He could try to negotiate his freedom but Max had this whole save Michael from himself agenda going on recently so it would probably just be a waste of breath.

Instead he could take the easy route and catch up with a bit more sleep.

June 2018

“Quick Alex, run and tell your daddy.”

Michael instantly regretted his words the second the door had closed behind him.

But he hadn’t seen Alex in four years, hadn’t heard from him in months. He had every right to be angry. Right?

Except he wasn’t angry, not really, that was just a façade he was forcing forward to help protect himself from the heartache threatening to break through. He never could stay angry at Alex for long.

Looking through the shoebox filled him with a cautious kind of hope. Just because Alex was back didn’t mean anything was going to change between them but Michael just couldn’t help it.

He sat on the floor for a while as he read over some of the letters, his legs getting cramped in the small gap between the bed and the closet. He had forgotten how happy the earlier letters were, the ones sent before Alex had had a chance to experience combat. They had both been so young back then, so unaware of how life would turn out.

Once he was finished, he left the shoebox on his desk, feeling too nostalgic to put it back in the closet but not yet ready to commit to the overhead compartment again. Thoughts of Alex followed him well into the afternoon of the next day and they didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. Twenty-four hours since Alex had been standing right in front of him and he had completely fallen for the airman all over again.

But that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let Alex in again. Not if it was just going to end the same way.

So when Alex approached him at the reunion, suggesting that he had turned his trailer into a meth lab, Michael did all he could to put the wall back up again. He was sarcastic and aggrieved and did his best to rile Alex up. You trying to hold my hand, Private?

And when he shoved past Alex he pretended to himself that it felt good.

But the heart wants what the hearts wants and all evening his eyes kept being drawn back to Alex. He barely noticed the girl at his side as he watched Alex smile politely and engage in conversation with people they had both gone to school with and when Alex ducked into a side room, he couldn’t stop his feet from following.

Watching Alex check his prosthetic broke Michael’s heart. He wanted to ask a million questions, how did it happen? When did it happen? Does it hurt? Are you okay? Alex was walking on it, albeit with a crutch, so it must have been at least a year since he was injured and Michael had been oblivious to it all. Although an entire year of unanswered letters were suddenly provided with a devastating explanation.

To lose a limb must be unimaginable, but whatever had caused it, Michael was just so glad that it hadn’t taken all of him.

He leaned against the doorway as his eyes roamed over every part of the man in front of him, taking him in completely. His beautiful face that Michael was desperate to put a smile on, his soft hair that had grown since he had last been home, the checkered shirt that looked so much more Alex than the uniform, the way he glowed under the coloured lights.

They had both been through so much this past decade but Alex was back, potentially for good this time, and Michael was about to dive headfirst into the possibility of them rekindling whatever it was they once had.

“Nostalgia’s a bitch, huh?” He spoke up, hoping beyond anything that Alex wouldn’t walk away. He allowed a gentle smile and when Alex dropped his leg to the floor and faced him properly, he felt his heartbeat quicken.

Alex took a moment to reply and when he did his face gave no hints as to whether he was happy to see Michael or not. “I thought for sure when I got back from Iraq you would be long gone.” 

“Is that what you want?” Michael avoided eye contact, suddenly not wanting to witness the moment Alex turned him away but still, he walked closer.

“We’re not kids anymore.” Alex whispered, the words catching in his throat, and still Michael kept walking. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

They were so close to each other now, barely an arm’s length away from touching and the close proximity gave Michael all the courage he needed. He drew his longing gaze away from Alex’s eyes to his soft lips and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

One moment they were two separate people and the next they were crashing together like waves that had been parted for an eternity.

Michael’s entire body tingled, the feeling of Alex’s palm on his back, Alex’s lips against his own. He was hardly aware of what his hands were doing, cupping Alex’s face and pulling him closer, hungry and intense and desperate to reclaim what they had lost. He barely breathed as the rest of the world fell away until it was just them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

His anger at Alex and his year long desire to banish any thought of him was long forgotten. He was back, he was here and Michael didn’t ever want to let go. 

As they parted, foreheads still touching, Michael couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the man in front of him, convinced that if he closed his eyes for even a second it would all disappear. The moment was so perfect, part of him felt like he was dreaming.

Their relationship over the past decade had been a complete rollercoaster but now, feeling Alex pressed against him, Michael was convinced that things would be different now.

And maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

The End.

Thank you for reading ❤️✨

[thanksjro]

Dark Cybertron Chapter 1: Welcome to Comic Event Hell

You know what readers love? When the stories they’ve gotten invested in over the course of a couple years get interrupted for some pseudo-crossover bullshit.

And you know what writers love? When the story they’ve been crafting over the course of a couple years get interrupted for some pseudo-crossover bullshit.

Did I say love?

Because I didn’t mean it.

“Dark Cybertron” was penned by John Barber and James Roberts, with collaboration with comic writer and artist Phil Jimenez, and was published from early November, 2013 to late March, 2014. Atilio Rojo, James Raiz, and Livio Ramondelli did the art, each responsible for scenes in specific locations, with Robert Gill filling in as needed. Alex Milne, Andrew Griffith, and Brendan Cahill would also contribute pencils to the first issue and the back half of the series. It was a celebration of the 30th anniversary of the franchise, and the second birthday of Phase Two... which went on for over four months, but never mind that!

Both "Dark Cybertron” and its preliminary materials were made to go alongside the Transformers: Generations toy-line, each issue being included as a toy pack-in with whatever character was being featured… or, at least, that was the plan. Sometimes it didn’t work out. Regardless, this storyline was created to sell toys directly, as opposed to the MTMTE/RID series being made to sell toys more through the power of suggestion. It’s a small distinction, but important, because it will help explain any lack of soul one may perceive while they read “Dark Cybertron”.

“But Hannz!” you cry out, reaching to grab me by the throat and shake me like a rag doll, because to you I’m merely a faceless voice on the internet. “Surely by calling this specific storyline soulless, you’re completely ignoring the very nature of this franchise that you’re almost uncomfortably invested in!”

To which I’ll say this: look, I’m pretty realistic about where my giant space robots came from; Transformers as a franchise would not exist the way it does without Ronald Reagan introducing the Free Market to literal children and fucking up how we interact with media for the rest of time. There is no ethical consumption under capitalism, and that rings especially true when I’ve got a Spinister on my bookshelf staring me down as I write this, that was likely made out of plastics which either involved blood oil or unethical labor practices, if not both.

However!

The choices of a company to have their comic license holders to cook up an entire plot that derails what they’ve already got planned out for toy tie-in comics is a completely different animal than what IDW had had going on up to this point. Phase Two had been about exploring different ideas that hadn’t been able to be explored during the war, and seeing what happens when you take away a third of the logline for Transformers G1 as a whole. Being a part of a brand of toys was almost inconsequential to how the stories were being told; even the Spotlights, which were also toy tie-in comics, had plenty of charm to them, if only because there weren’t quite as many constraints placed on the writers, and they were stand-alone issues.

Of course, being tie-in comics isn’t the only reason that “Dark Cybertron” is a bit of a slog, considering everything IDW itself was trying to get done within this storyline, but we’ll cover the publishing company’s/Simon Furman’s/Transformers’ tumultuous relationship with the concept of gender identity and expression later on, when it becomes relevant to the story proper. This point also ties into the interesting origin of Windblade, who we’ll meet in a few issues, and what happens when you let your fanbase have a taste of power and forget that people might like to see themselves represented in the media they consume.

“Dark Cybertron” is what ended up making me stop reading MTMTE the first time I tried it in 2015. A big part of it was because it forced the reader to need so much information from RID and even events prior to Phase Two, it wasn’t very fun to try to parse what was going on, on top of the writing beginning to flag because of obvious constraints to what Barber and Roberts could actually do, both within their deadlines and the rules put in place by their higher ups for the event.

 “Dark Cybertron” is the result of the sort of executive meddling that kills reader enjoyment by requiring writers to cram their two worlds together as quickly as possible, without the option to go for nuance because there simply isn’t time. The reason we have four separate artists for the front half of this story is because Milne and Griffith didn’t have time to draw both their current workload and “Dark Cybertron” at the same time... but sales probably went up due to the nature of how the story was published, so I’m sure they didn’t really see a problem with it.

That’s a general “they”, not a Milne and Griffith “they”.

In short, we’ve got license contract obligations, fan-poll obligations, and gender stuff fighting for space within the next 12 issues, which will be published in the span of roughly four months. Things are probably going to be a little bloated and sloppy.

Regardless of any of these points, this is what we’ve got. It’s not like it’s all bad- “Dark Cybertron” has the benefit of being written by two people who had been working closely before it had even been conceptualized. Barber was the senior editor for MTMTE, and IDW as a whole until he left in 2016. It also isn’t a proper crossover- y’know, where two completely separate titles get mashed together for a bit. MTMTE and RID exist in the same universe, just have their own things going on, so a decent amount of things still carry over without you needing to have read every single thing in both. The writing, while not quite up to par with pieces that had more creative freedom and breathing room between scenes, is still recognizable as being Barber and Roberts’. Their voices are still here, they’re just strained under the weight of everything that has to be said inside of 12 issues.

With all THAT out of the way, let’s dive in to Dark Dawn: Dark Cybertron Chapter 1.

We get a quick rundown of the most basic information you’ll need for this entire story to make sense, as we reintroduce the fact that Shockwave is an ecoterrorist with more agendas than a daily planner factory on meth, and also that he grows magic crystals. I don’t care what he says, the Ores are fucking space-magic. If you don’t want to read through all of RID for everything else, please see Robots in Disguise (2012), #1-22- A Recap, For Reference Purposes.  We also get a quick rundown of the Lost Lighters’ deal, as Swerve potentially has a meta-episode.

Be careful what you fucking wish for, bucko.

Our story proper starts with a flashback to the shittiest road trip Cyclonus ever went on, as the Ark 1 finds itself at the edge of a mysterious portal. This is likely why he wasn’t super thrilled when the portal to Luna 1 showed up- portals are probably a touchy subject for him.

Jhiaxus doesn’t know what this portal is- surely this means that science has failed us, and it’s time to call in the religious crowd to try and suss out what’s going on here.

It’s moments like this that make me wonder what exactly happened in the Dead Universe that made Cyclonus’ cheek meat just pack up and leave.

Now, we know that Cyclonus is correct here, because we as readers have more knowledge than the characters at this point, but Jhiaxus tries to write off this theory as hogwash, because he is a man of rationality and science. This is a slight removal from his character in the present, whose most notable traits seem to be a lack of ethics and screaming.

Everyone here seems to be slightly different from their current iterations, actually; Galvatron doesn’t say a word as he steps between Jhiaxus and Cyclonus, only using his body to communicate that the scientist might want to back off. Cyclonus himself is certainly the wordiest we’ve ever seen him to be, droning on through his actual thought process before he comes to a conclusion on what exactly they’ve found. Compare this to the Cyclonus of today, who only deigns to grace everyone with his voice if they outright threaten him, have something he wants, or are Tailgate. If he were to ever pull this verbal meandering on board the Lost Light, people would probably assume he’s having a stroke.

Nova Prime- you remember him, don’t you?- gives not a fuck about the Dead Universe, only what it means for him personally. And what it means for him is more locations to subjugate, because he is cartoonishly evil. His character is the least removed from his present-day iteration out of everyone. He tells the crew they’ll be getting a little closer, only for the portal to do the work for them, by way of dark energy tentacles.

Wow, the pilot for the Ark 1 really is just straight-up named Butt, isn’t he? And what the fuck is that face you’re making, Cyclonus? Are you- oh my god, are you emoting? Oh my god, he’s emoting.

As the Ark 1 is pulled to its doom, Jhiaxus makes a quick phone call to Shockwave to tell him he’s his favorite, and to keep up the good work.

In the present, Shockwave reflects on just how friggin’ long this whole ordeal has taken. Fortunately, Waspinator and the Titan are almost here, and he can hardly wait.

Not, uh, that he’s got emotions or anything. It’s been established that he doesn’t have those anymore. Is impatience an emotion? Does that count?

Shockwave seems like he’d be really frustrating to write for.

Anyway, the Titan shows up, the Ore inside him and the Ore in the underground Crystal City combine, and the Titan starts screaming because everything hurts. Shockwave’s about as thrilled as he can be about the situation, given his lack of emotions.

Above Crystal City, we finally get back to that nonsense about the early sunrise, as someone- maybe Starscream, given the color of the narration box- waxes poetic on the planet of Cybertron, wartorn and wild in its rebirth, ruled by paranoia that has nothing to bounce off of, and so creates its own walls.

Then we get a detailed shot of Rattrap’s mug, and the moment is broken.

Rattrap’s character is a lot of fun in everything he gets tossed into, but you’re a goddamn liar if you think he’s pretty to look at. You are lying to yourself, and I won’t apologize for saying it.

Starscream walks out of his room in his hot new body, feeling fine and ready to take on the world. We’ll check in on him later in the day to see how that positive mentality is working out for him.

So, the sun hasn’t moved, and it’s way too early for the sun to even be up right now. That’s weird. Because I guess he didn’t know how the sun works, Starscream’s only just realized that this is perhaps a problem. He does some computer work and realizes that this is indeed a very bad thing, and asks that Rattrap call the Autobots. Not the ones who fucked off into the wilderness, the other ones. The gay, space ones.

Up in space, Orion Pax and his pals have found themselves in dire straits, the collapsing Gorlam Prime sucking their ship back down as the Death Ore consumes everything.

That’s not how engines work! And I think it really says something about the “Prelude” issues that I completely forgot why Wheelie was down an arm for a solid five seconds.

It turns out that Orion was the narrator the entire time, which I should have known- since when is the once and future Optimus Prime not the primary voice in any media he appears in?

It’s looking rough for the fellas, but luckily we’ve got to get the plot rolling, so the Lost Light VZZZZTs into existence and picks up the Skyroller to place it gently into its belly.

Orion isn’t exactly jazzed about the fact that Rodimus didn’t listen to what he told him, not even bothering to thank the guy for saving his life. I say y’all keep going on your Thunderclash Quest and leave this ungrateful loser behind. No space yachting for you, Orion.

The rest of the Pax Posse enter the Lost Light proper, and Hardhead reveals that he nearly joined the Quest, before he saw who all would be coming with, while Garnak has a tearful reunion with Rodimus. The fact that he’s calling him Sir- which I don’t recall him doing in Transformers (2009), at least not in a way that seems reminiscent of an unfortunate Antebellum Period Romance- feels rather weird, but I’m glad someone’s fucking happy to see Rodimus at least. Ultra Magnus asks Orion if he’ll be assuming command of the vessel, as Rodimus tries not to look horrified by the thought alone, but fortunately Orion’s not going to pull his “I’m Optimus Prime and I Can Do What I Want” Card just yet.

Smash cut to the bridge, as Rodimus tries to make himself sound competent, when Starscream calls. Orion doesn’t like that Starscream has their number, Perceptor almost reveals the fact that this ship technically doesn’t belong to a faction, likely due to being purchased after the war, and Cyclonus gets brought in for his professional opinion.

As it turns out, that early sunrise isn’t a sunrise at all, but a portal to the Dead Universe. This is a problem, because the Dead Universe really sucks, and you don’t want to go there, especially if you enjoy being alive. Orion seems more concerned about the fact that Starscream is ruling the planet, and Bumblebee is nowhere to be found.

Speaking of Bumblebee, he and all his camp buddies are psyching themselves up for a confrontation.

Swoop, please, this is hardly the time for crudeness.

The Dinobots, sick of Bumblebee’s dithering about, decide they’re going to fight the fucking sun and gear up. Prowl, though generally disliking their brand of problem-solving, does share his begrudging respect of their can-do attitude.

Their can-do attitude over fighting the fucking sun.

Then an earthquake happens and the ground rips open to reveal that Titan that Waspinator showed up with.

Shockwave takes over the narration at this point, and we get artsy, as we see events that haven’t transpired yet over musings on the nature of... time? Maybe? It would be in line with Roberts’ go-to topics, but honestly the whole thing’s kind of vague so I couldn’t give you a solid answer. Shockwave gets awfully introspective for a guy who shouldn’t care, I know that much. The point is, he is inevitable and is super good at logic and science.

Also, Nova Prime and Galvatron are back, which is cool, I guess. Not sure where Galvatron had gotten to exactly after the events of “Chaos”, but he’s back now, so it doesn’t matter too terribly much. Shockwave serves them, which we’ll probably get an explanation for at some point.

God, you can practically taste the desperation to pin all these plot points together before the entire thing implodes on itself.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Steamed Up

Summary: After a date night, Belle and Gold have an intimate encounter in the Cadillac, calling to mind the earliest days of their relationship.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling November smut prompt: steamy windows, half-dressed, temptation, rain.

Rated: E

Steamed Up

It’s been a wonderful evening, and Belle doesn’t want it to end. The rain is steadily coming down on the bonnet of the Cadillac, and through the rivers on the windshield, she can see one dim light on in the front room. She wonders if the children are in bed and asleep or if Tilly let them stay up until their parents returned. It’s the first time that both of them have not been there for bedtime, but after six years, they felt that it was time for a date night.

It’s been good to get out, just the two of them, heading off to all the places they used to haunt before they were married and had children, starting with dinner at Marco’s Italian and ending with shots and pool at the Rabbit Hole. Well, Gold didn’t partake of the shots, saying that losing his licence with a DUI would not be a good way to end their first post-babies date night, but Belle had made up for him, and still managed to beat him at pool for all that.

She glances across at him in the darkness. The windows are starting to steam up around them.

“We’d probably better go in,” Gold says, although there’s a distinct reluctance in his voice as he wipes a streak through the condensation on the window. “Tilly will start to think that we’re up to no good in here.”

Belle dances her fingers up the inside of his thigh and squeezes his crotch. “Who’s saying that we’re not up to no good?”

He gives her a look, but Belle can tell that he’s already given in to temptation. She gives him another gentle squeeze and he grunts, shifting in the driver’s seat with his head thrown back. 

“Come on,” she wheedles. “The Cadi won’t be scandalised. It’s not the first time we’ve done it in here.”

Gold huffs with laughter. “It’s not the first time we’ve done it on the outside either.”

Belle gives an appreciative sigh at the memory of Gold bending her over the bonnet, the thrill of being outdoors only a little tempered by the isolation of the cabin by the lake.

Presently, Gold pushes his seat all the way back. “Come here, my little minx.”

Belle wastes no time in scrambling over into his lap, pressing her lips up against his in a fierce and hungry kiss. Maybe it’s the fact they’ve been reliving their earliest dates and it’s reawakened that first flush of passion in them, maybe it’s the fact they’ve got a babysitter on the clock, but there’s a sense of frantic urgency in their messy kisses and slipping, fumbling fingers as Belle wrestles with Gold’s tie and collar buttons and he yanks her dress and bra straps down to let her breasts bounce free. OK, so the dress is a bit tight now after carrying and breastfeeding two babies, but Gold certainly doesn’t mind at all. He cups her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples. Belle groans as they pucker under his touch, carding her fingers into his hair.

It’s at times like this, gasping and pawing like newlyweds, when Belle can’t believe that they’ve been together for so long. Together for ten years, married for eight of those, parents for six of those… And they’ve been engaged in mutual pining for who knows how long before that, until Jefferson and Ruby had finally got them to get their act together and admit to themselves and each other that they had feelings.

Still, however long they’ve been together, Belle thinks the fact that they’re still this insatiable and this desperate for each other after all this time is testament to just how perfect a fit they are for each other. They’ve had sex so many times – becoming parents definitely did not have the impact on their intimate life that everyone warned that it would – but the thrill of it is never dampened. It’s never boring. Gold’s touch never fails to send an electric shock of pleasure through Belle’s veins, and she can see for herself the effect that she has on him now, his erection clearly visible against the front of his trousers.

He slips a hand between her legs, one long finger outlining her sex through the gusset of her underwear as his other hand continues to play with her nipple and he presses soft kisses to her neglected breast. Belle throws her head back, trying not to make too much noise. Not that she thinks Tilly will hear them from inside the house, but it pays to be cautious when there are potentially small, curious children about. Luckily, the windows are so misted now that although it will still be very obvious what they’re doing, it won’t be quite as visible.

Gold captures her lips again, and in the pause for breath, she regains a little control over herself, starting to work the buttons on his shirt and slipping her hands inside, dancing her fingertips over his chest and flicking at his nipples, grinning at the soft hiss of pleasure that he gives. His hips buck up against hers, his hard cock straining at his zipper, and Belle takes pity on him, unfastening his belt and fly and taking him out. Gold swears softly at the first stroke of her palm up his shaft, and then his own hands are back under the hem of her skirt, scrabbling for the waistband of her underwear. There’s a lot of ungainly fumbling then, that ends with Belle’s panties hanging off one ankle in their haste, but it really doesn’t matter. They’ll have plenty of time to take their time later, in the luxurious comfort of their own bed. For now, everything is quick and raw and needy, reminding Belle of the desperation of the very first time they slept together. No doubt they had both been planning for it to be a lot more romantic than it was, but with so much tension in the air, having gone unresolved for so long, desire got the better of both of them.

Gold slips two fingers between her folds, rubbing along them and smearing the juices already pooling at her entrance, circling her clit, and making Belle gasp and dig her fingers in. He found his way around her body so quickly and easily, and although they enjoy exploring every inch of each other, it’s an entirely different kind of intimacy to know someone and their body so well that it only takes a moment to build them up to the heady heights of pleasure.

She curls her fingers around Gold’s cock again, lining them up and sinking down onto him, his eyes fluttering closed as she welcomes him inside. It’s a rhythm they’ve long since fallen into over the years, and there’s no less intimacy in the act for its quickness. Gold’s fingers touch her clit in time with the rolling of their hips, and Belle’s orgasm is sweet and intense, her inner walls clutching at Gold’s cock and bringing him over the edge with her.

Gradually, Belle comes back down to herself, resting her forehead against her husband’s. It’s such a strangely chaste gesture after what they’ve just done, and she has to laugh a little at it. Gold joins in, and she feels the rumble in his chest more than she really hears it.

“We should really get inside,” he says eventually, and although Belle would be quite happy to stay sitting here in this sweaty and debauched mess, she knows he has a point.

“We should really make an effort to look decent before we get inside,” she points out. Although it’s going to be impossible to hide what they’ve been doing – the sheer amount of time they’ve spent sitting in the driveway without opening the car doors will have acted as a giant flashing warning sign to Tilly if nothing else has done – they might at least try to act innocent, and going into the house half-dressed will do nothing for that perception. So, it’s with reluctance that Belle scrambles back out of Gold’s lap, allowing him to set his trousers to rights and refasten his shirt. He doesn’t bother with the tie, and he raises an eyebrow as Belle opts to shove her panties in her coat pocket instead of putting them back on properly.

“You’re a demon sometimes, but I love you.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” Now looking decent, if a little dishevelled, Belle doesn’t dare check her make-up in the rear-view. There’s lipstick on Gold’s collar; that tells her all she needs to know. Still, she can’t resist leaning in for another kiss before they dash through the rain towards the house, and it’s all Belle can do not to collapse into fits of giggles that might wake the children once they’re inside. The run through the downpour has certainly helped in terms of their post-coital state of disturbance, but as Tilly comes out from the living room and gives them a onceover, it’s not enough to have washed away the evidence entirely.

“You know, I think it might be best if I just left right now,” she says. “The kids are in bed. They were perfectly well behaved all evening.”

Gold nods and gets out his wallet, thanking Tilly for her time. The younger girl’s expression is undecided, as if she can’t work out whether to be amused or unnerved by her employers’ antics, but then she’s rushing through the storm to her own little car parked on the road, and Belle and Gold are left alone in the hallway.

“So…” Gold’s smile is utterly insatiable as he pushes Belle back against the front door and goes in for another kiss, hooking her panties out of her coat pocket. “Shall we continue where we left off, Mrs Gold?”

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Mr Gold.”

[aurorawest]

⭐️⭐️Hi! Can you give a commentary for anything at all you'd like to talk about? 😊

Thanks! I’ll talk about far away from here and closer to somewhere else. I wrote this fic for Froststrange Week 2021. This fic is about Loki and Strange running into each other in Hong Kong. I did a lot of Google Streetview-ing of Hong Kong, and just a lot of random googling to get some sense of what the place looks like. I’ve never been, clearly. And now I want to go! It looks really cool. I decided to set it on Lamma Island, which is right offshore and has regular ferries. There are two towns on the island and a hiking trail that goes between them.

I went through a couple different iterations of what I wanted the plot of this to be. I knew Loki and Stephen would get drunk and play truth or dare, because those were the prompts, but one of my ideas was that they actually went to a restaurant and ate dinner together. Then I was just going to have them go to a bar. In the end, I settled on them basically having a picnic and drinking the booze Loki had earlier bought to share with Thor.

Throughout this fic, Loki is real thirsty for Strange. There is a lot of innuendo (if you thought to yourself, ‘did she mean to word it that way...?’ the answer is almost certainly YES). As he gets drunker (on baijiu, which I also researched, and have never had), he keeps having these really vivid fantasies. This is kind of the first time, chronologically in my verse, that Loki really confronts that he has feelings for Stephen. He starts out the fic sort of reveling in his sexual attraction, but by the end it’s freaking him out, because he’s kind of realizing that it’s more than that.

This is the section where they play truth or dare to the end. Loki chooses dare. Stephen thinks really hard about it.

He breathed out slowly. “Are you thinking of something?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Strange said. “I don’t—” He swayed. “—don’t want it to be boring. Like, I could ask you to sing. I’ve never heard you sing.”

“You don’t want to,” Loki said. “‘S’not good. 

My head canon is that Loki has a truly terrible singing voice. He also hates singing.

Also!” Coup de grace—Strange couldn’t dare him to sing after this. “I am far too…too…too plastered to remember the words to any of the songs you like.”

Womp womp. Shouldn’t have admitted to that, Loki. I just wrote a bit in an upcoming fic where Loki actually thinks about the lyrics to a song Strange played a lot and about how they apply to his situation (that fic takes place shortly before this one).

“You know them?” Strange asked. There was surprise in his tone.

Stephen is a way better actor than Loki gives him credit for. Loki thinks that Strange doesn’t give away what he’s feeling. And while that’s true...it’s kind of more than that. This thrills Stephen. Absolutely thrills him. It’s a sign that Loki knows his favorite songs. It’s a sign that Loki is interested in music.

“Maybe,” Loki said, only realizing at the last second that he shouldn’t have admitted this. “Or maybe I’m lying,” he added. “That’s why I didn’t choose truth, you know. Because I’m a liar.”

I both love and hate writing drunk people. This line makes me laugh because Loki sounds like an idiot.

“Uh huh.” Strange’s hands were resting on top of his thighs, twitching now and then. “Okay. How about this. I dare you…to tell me the truth about something.”

At first, Loki laughed. But Strange just watched him, looking smug, and Loki’s smile faded. “That doesn’t really seem in the spirit of the game, Steph—St—Strange,” Loki slurred.

This was one of the first exchanges I thought of once I had the plot of the fic nailed down. Strange basically cheats, Loki lets him...and also nearly calls him Stephen.

With a sloppy looking shrug, Strange said, “That’s the dare.”

Loki stared at him in consternation. Then his eyes flicked down to Stephen’s mouth, set into a crooked smirk, and he couldn’t help thinking, The truth is that I want to kiss you right now, but even as drunk as he was, he wasn’t drunk enough to say that. Was it even true? Or was it just…alcohol? Probably just alcohol. He was sure, quite sure, that if he were sober, he wouldn’t want to kiss Stephen Strange. So what if his lips looked full and soft; so what if Loki had always had a weakness for the feel of a well-groomed beard against his face? Just alcohol. And heatstroke, probably.

Does Loki even believe himself here? That’s kind of the question throughout the entire slow burn. Does Loki actually, really believe the bullshit he keeps telling himself, that he’s not in love with Strange? The fun thing with Loki is that he’s perfectly capable of lying to himself. In fact, he often elevates his lies over the actual truth, because he would prefer the lie to be true. So even when he knows it’s a lie, he almost gets into this state where he thinks if he just repeats it enough, he can will it to be the truth. This is actually something that Loki thinks about Thor sometimes - that Thor can just mold reality to his will if he wants something enough. Loki sees himself as telling stories, and he desperately wants the stories he tells about himself to be true. The fairy tale that he isn’t in love with Stephen, though, that’s a losing battle.

His mind turned to the ‘dare.’ There were many things that Strange didn’t know the truth about, some innocuous, some much less so. Some, they had talked about haltingly, but never in great detail. 

This was me hedging—when I wrote this last November/December, I knew that I was going to have Loki and Strange talk about their respective tortures at the hands of the Black Order in an upcoming fic (I’d already written some of that dialogue, in fact).

He could say, I know what Ebony Maw did to you because it was done to me too; 

Somehow, despite shipping Loki and Strange for over a year and adoring both of them, it didn’t really occur to me that they have this in common until like, six months ago.

he could say I understand what it’s like to think you’re someone and find out the opposite. He could tell him about sneaking Jotuns into Asgard, about the fact that he had delighted in being wicked during the Battle of New York because it was exactly what everyone had always expected of him and he was giving them the performance of his life. He could tell him how he’d hated Thor so much, but loved him with an equal fierceness.

But Loki thought Strange might know that last one already.

Strange doesn’t know about sneaking Jotuns into Asgard, but he actually knows both of the other two things Loki lists here.

Taking a deep breath, Loki said, “I think you have a nice singing voice.”

Strange actually looked stunned. That was worth something. For a full thirty seconds, he stared at Loki, a comically befuddled expression on his face. Finally, he asked, “You do?”

Loki compliments Strange very rarely. This is one of the most uncomplicatedly nice things he’s ever said to him.

Loki rubbed at a smudge of dirt on his pants. “Yes.” Flicking his eyes to meet Strange’s, he said, “Nicer than mine. But actually just…nice.”

It would have been so much easier for him to stick with the comparative here. This is character growth, that he admits that Stephen has a good voice, full stop.

There was another long pause. Then, Strange said, “Thanks.”

With a shrug, Loki looked out over the sea. “You dared me to tell the truth about something.” Clearing his throat, he said, “Well then? What about you? Truth or dare?”

Strange rubbed at his beard and Loki wondered what internal debate he was having. What the pros and cons of each choice were. Because Loki knew Strange. 

You can really see the absurdity of Loki’s repeated assertion that Strange and he aren’t friends right here. Loki is absolutely right - he does know Strange; he knows him so well that he can guess what he’s thinking, even though Strange tries pretty hard to hide what he’s thinking from Loki.

He knew that was the reason for the hesitation. Strange was trying to guess how far Loki might needle him.

Another few seconds of silence passed, and then, Strange said slowly, “Truth.”

Oh.

Oh. No jk. Believe it or not, the Oh. Oh. trope doesn’t appear in this series, because Loki never really has that moment of realization about his feelings.

Loki had assumed he would choose dare. Dare was easy. Loki would have dared him to do something stupid, like create a barbershop quartet composed of himself and invite the Avengers and their new young acolytes to a special performance.

I really struggled to come up with a stupid thing that Loki might dare Strange to do, for some reason.

But truth? Oh, he wanted to ask, is that something you want to talk about? The truth? 

This was one of the prompts for the event.

Which he supposed would have been a question that Strange could have told the truth in response to, and Loki could call it done, but…even that felt like opening a box he didn’t want to open.

Questions flickered through his mind. Impossible questions. Does the way you look at me sometimes mean anything? Do you even like men? 

Loki still thinks Strange is straight at this point.

Do you find me attractive? Do you want to kiss me? Do you know what a spectacularly bad idea that is? Do you understand why I can’t?

Loki doesn’t even quite know why he can’t. This moment is almost like...please tell me why I can’t, because I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t quite come up with a good enough reason.

He was so drunk. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, he clearly couldn’t drink this much, ugh, no, not around Strange, not when it was so hot and it had been so long since he’d had—since he’d been with—since he’d had any kind of romantic partner except his own hand.

The last time Loki had fully consensual sex (where he reached climax) is at least decades in the past. Possibly longer. In The Real Asgardians of the Galaxy, Kalmsh goes down on him, but Loki stops him.

That thought made him giggle a little. He had made supremely poor choices today. He was just sensible enough not to make another one.

Strange was staring at him. There was an odd look on his face. Loki couldn’t identify it.

But if he had to, he’d call it…expectant. No.

Hopeful.

Loki knows and tells himself he doesn’t.

Loki’s fingers curled into fists and he asked, “How did you and Wong meet?”

@mareebird suggested this for the question.

The change on Strange’s face was subtle. Nearly imperceptible. Loki was surprised he was able to detect it, considering the state he was in. The hope, if that was even what it had been, dropped away, replaced by…resignation. “I wanted to borrow a book from the library,” Strange said. He smiled, though it seemed joyless. “In Kamar-Taj. He took it too seriously.”

I wanted this moment to be absolutely devastating. To be honest, I don’t think I really pulled it off. C’est la vie. I plan on rewriting this and adding it to my series, so maybe I can fix it then.

“As always,” Loki said. His voice felt like it was coming out far too heartily. As though some line had been crossed and they both needed to retreat, but Loki was acutely aware, horrifically aware, that he had done something wrong, or if not wrong, then something that had wounded Strange in some way, and that was…idiotic. It was stupid. Nonsensical. There was nothing Loki could do to emotionally wound Strange. The man had proved that time and time again. He didn’t take Loki seriously. If you didn’t take someone seriously, they couldn’t hurt your feelings.

It really, really bothers Loki that Strange doesn’t take him seriously. He’s wrong about that, of course, but it’s something that’s driven him absolutely insane from the moment they met. At first it’s more of a like, dick measuring contest, lol. But it becomes much more than that, and the anger turns to this kind of...desperate hurt. Loki wants Strange to take him seriously. His unhappiness over the perceived slight appears many times.

Which was why Strange had never hurt Loki’s feelings, incidentally, because Loki didn’t take him at all seriously, 

Uh huh yeah sure.

this human sorcerer with his lovely eyes, blue or green depending on the light, and his soft-looking lips and neat goatee.

Riiiiiiight.

The two of them lapsed into silence. The drunken buzz had gone out of Loki’s veins entirely. Alcohol—it was fun until it wasn’t. Now he just felt foggy and slow. The world was spinning unpleasantly. How the hel was he going to fly back to New Asgard like this? He couldn’t. Sourness sloshed in his stomach. He’d probably be lucky not to be sick.

Now, this, I felt I described pretty well. It’s such a distinct feeling when you’re drunk and having fun and suddenly you cross some line that you didn’t know was there...and you’re not having fun anymore. And there’s no way to get back.

Loki’s legs felt stiff and he extended them. That other buzz had gone from Loki’s veins, too. It had been stupid. Stupid fantasies. [...]

His mouth was starting to feel dry. The sourness in his stomach was gaining more bite. The humidity in the air wasn’t helping, either. Loki felt like he couldn’t get a breath. He wasn’t quite nauseated, but the possibility didn’t seem far off. If he could breathe some cool, crisp air, he was sure he’d feel better. Everything would probably be better if he could just do that.

Me, writing this: Think back to all the times you’ve felt like shit walking around Disney World!

Strange shifted. Their shoulders had been touching, Loki realized. And now they weren’t.

“I s’posp…s’posp…” Loki grit his teeth. “I…suppose you need to get back to Yew Nork. New York.”

Realistically there would be a lot more slurring in both of their speech, but who wants to read that, honestly. I use that sort of thing sparingly.

There was a silence, so Loki turned his head to look at Strange. He was staring out over the sea, his gaze faraway, like he wasn’t here at all. Not thinking about Loki at all, let alone what had just happened. 

IDIOT. Obviously, Loki is exactly wrong here. Stephen is absolutely thinking about Loki and absolutely thinking about what just happened. His heart is breaking.

Whatever had just happened. Stupid thought. Nothing had happened.

Since nothing had happened, the barren hollowness inside him was just an illusion. And Loki knew about illusions. He was good at them. So that made sense.

I wrote Loki’s internal monologue in a simpler, almost more childlike way here to try to capture his inebriation. And also his sadness. He’s sort of like a kicked puppy here.

“Guess so,” Strange finally said. Without looking at Loki, he laboriously climbed to his feet, swaying alarmingly. Norns. What if he stumbled right off the cliff into the sea below? Flashes of that played out in front of Loki’s eyes, intrusive and horrible, and something that felt awfully like panic clutched at his chest. The idea of Stephen dying suddenly seemed so terrible, so very terrible.

Foreshadowing. Stephen will die in about fifty-five years. Loki will be devastated and never get over it.

Loki got to his feet too, ready to grab Strange if he wobbled too close to the edge of the cliff. But Strange seemed steady enough on his feet, now that he was standing. Silently, Strange unhooked his sling ring from his belt, shakily slipping it onto his fingers, as Loki vanished the empty food containers into his pocket dimension. They were a problem for a future version of him.

Just like Future Emily often has to cover for freaking Present Emily. She’s the worst.

The empty bottle, though—he bent over to pick that up, sliding his fingers over it. He was seized by a sudden, violent urge to fling it into the sea. Except you couldn’t fling a bottle into the sea on Earth without putting a message into it. That was a cliché here. A message in a bottle. A message you couldn’t send any other way because you were stranded. A message that had no hope of actually reaching its intended recipient. What kind of message would he send?

I hate you. I hate this.

Even if it was the opposite.

They’re caught in this limbo where neither one of them has the guts to tell the other how he feels. They quite literally have to resort to games, but even then, they both chicken out. Loki can’t even imagine being able to be honest with Strange about this. He can’t even be honest with himself.

Loki closed his eyes, then vanished the bottle into his pocket dimension, as well. Where had he actually landed his ship? Would he be able to find the way back? Everything seemed murky in his mind. And—this thought hadn’t occurred to him until now—was the ferry even running anymore?

This is your author realizing at the same time that Loki took a freaking ferry to get here.

Perhaps he’d have to spend the night here, leaning against the rocks until he nodded off into fitful, drunken sleep.

As though Strange was reading his mind, he said, “Let me bring you back to your ship before I go back to the Sanctum.”

“Oh.” Right. Stupid. Strange could bring him anywhere, instantly. “I…” It felt as though his head was full of wool. “Yes, that would be…thank you. Don’t think—don’t think the ferries are running anymore.”

Strange finally looked at him. “You think I’d let you walk back to your ship like this? Even if they were?”

His ship is the same one from The Real Asgardians of the Galaxy, The Bifrost, but I don’t name it in oneshots because I don’t like to assume that people have read that fic.

“Like what?” Loki asked. Drunk off his arse, clearly. Why was he even asking? Just to hear Strange say it? Even an Asgardian could be taken advantage of in a compromised state.

Loki has been sexually assaulted many, many times. He’s not really too concerned about it here on Earth, but it’s certainly something that would occur to him. His most recent experience is with the Grandmaster.

But Strange didn’t answer this question. Instead, he asked, “Where is it?”

There had been ships. Big boxes. Loki knew the kind of place. He knew the word. “Um, docks,” he said. “Container ships.” He closed his eyes. “It was Container Terminal 8.” Complete sentences—look at that.

Yes, this involved more Google Streetviewing.

“Okay,” Strange said. He extended his arm and circled the other. The portal started to bloom in front of them, swelling a little before it shrank back down. Orange sparks sputtered weakly. Loki stared blearily. There was a joke here, but the idea of making it seemed devastating in a way that he couldn’t articulate.

I checked with @mareebird before I made this erectile dysfunction joke because quite honestly she’s the queen of sexual innuendo, and I needed to see if it passed muster.

But Strange tried again, and this time it worked. [...] Uninvited, Strange followed him on board, where he stood as Loki drifted to the bridge. Loki mostly just wanted to lie down. He didn’t know why Strange hadn’t left yet.

Clearing his throat, Strange asked, “You’re not going to fly home right now, are you?”

Part of him wanted to say yes, just to see the look of horror on Strange’s face. Would Strange go into Good Guy mode and tell him he couldn’t? There were signs on some of the roads in Norway admonishing people not to drive their cars while intoxicated. Imagine what they’d think about flying a spaceship when he could barely walk in a straight line! 

A stylistic note - I almost never use exclamation points in prose like this.

The thought amused him and he started to giggle.

The feeling faded quickly and he swayed on his feet, then took several unsteady steps to his berth. As he flopped down on it, he said, “I’ll stay here. I’ll sleep it off. That’s what you want me to say, right? You want me to be good. Good Loki, he’s so well-behaved, doesn’t put a toe out of line. Can’t really, can I? I’m a guest here on Earth. We’re all guests.”

This is also me vagueing, because I knew future plot points but didn’t have them totally nailed down. Now that I’ve almost finished with the fic that will directly precede this in the timeline, this was actually pretty spot on. It completely calls back to that, which I didn’t really do on purpose. Gonna pat myself on the back for that.

He stared up at the underside of the other berth. A hard, swollen feeling rose into his chest, a feeling of wanting. Just…wanting. He didn’t know what he wanted. All he knew was that as good as things were now, as much as Thor and he had repaired things, there was something gaping inside him. It would be easy to say it was New Asgard, stupid tiny ugly reeking fishing village New Asgard, but it would be a lie.

Then again, he liked lies. Well, he didn’t like them. They were just easier. Lies were so much easier. The truth was hard.

Lies are easier, which was why he just repeatedly lied to himself in the paragraph above. Doesn’t know what he wants? Right.

He turned away from the raw ache and rested a wrist on his forehead. “Well?”

There was a metallic scrape as Stephen’s feet shifted on the deck. “I don’t want you to crash into the ocean and never be seen again.”

Loki snorted. Suddenly, he felt as though he was going to cry. “I’m sure you’ll see me again, Stephen.”

Every time Loki thinks of Strange as Stephen or calls him Stephen, it’s very intentional.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Strange take a step closer. He looked unsteady, too, swaying, his gaze unfocused, his hands shaking. Mentally, he dared Strange to come closer. Truth or dare.

Why the hel had Strange chosen truth?

The truth was too much. The truth was difficult. The truth was impossible. It was vulnerability and pain and handing your heart and soul over to another person. The truth was something Loki had no interest in. Certainly not whatever truth Strange would tell.

Deep down, Loki knows how Strange feels about him.

Slowly, Strange nodded. He was starting to look a little wan, as though he wasn’t feeling well. Wouldn’t be much of a shock. Loki didn’t feel well and presumably he could hold his liquor better, even with the heat. “Hope so,” Strange mumbled.

Head canon: Stephen actually doesn’t hold his liquor well at all. He never has. Because he sometimes takes painkillers from his hands, he’s even worse at it (I have to thank @nonexistenz for that one). Presumably he hasn’t taken a painkiller in several days in this fic, since he’s still conscious after drinking half a bottle baijiu.

The two of them looked at each other. Loki’s vision kept fuzzing around the edges, but he concentrated on Strange, Strange in his t-shirt and his jeans, looking so human.

In earlier fics, Loki admires how Strange looks in his Master of the Mystic Arts get-up. That shifts over the course of the future fics and Loki begins to find Stephen’s everyday clothes much more endearing and attractive.

Terribly human. Stay, whispered a traitorous voice in his mind. It was a voice that would have him move over on the berth and hold out an arm. An invitation. An acknowledgement.

This is the closest Loki has ever come to an admission of his feelings.

Impossible. Loki closed his eyes and rolled over onto his side, facing the bulkhead. “Good-bye,” he said, knowing he sounded pitiful. He had officially reached the stage where he wondered why he’d ever touched any alcohol ever in his entire life.

It’s a cliché but it will never not be funny.

“Thanks for dinner,” Strange said.

“Welcome.”

“Thanks for…” But Strange trailed off.

Strange probably doesn’t even quite know what he’s going to say here. He’s just stalling, hoping Loki is going to make the move that he (Stephen) is too afraid to.

“Strange.” Loki’s head was starting to hurt. “Good-bye.”

There was silence, then the sound of a portal, which spit, hissed, and closed.

The truth. The truth could go to hel.

Loki hoped he didn’t remember any of this in the morning.

He does remember a lot of it, but he’ll pretend he doesn’t, or chalk it up to drunkenness.

Thank you for asking!! Hopefully you liked what I chose 😊 

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

[kiwilana]

TouyaMight

sdkfjhsdkf listen don’t judge mE

this is a thread ive been writing on twitter since november,,,,, 

--------------------------------------------

     Pissing off his father always gave Touya the greatest thrill. To know he was the one to put the angry scowl on his face and the furrow between his brows, well, it brought him a sense of sadistic joy.

What? He deserved to give his old man shit considering all the fucked up shit he had to go through

So whenever an opportunity came up to fuck with the number 2, Touya took it. 

Painting over the billboards that had his dad’s face? Kids play. 

Ruining his costumes with bleach in very strategic areas? Amateur hour. 

Bulk ordering All Might Merch to his agency? Done and done.

So when Touya joined his father and siblings at the most recent Hero’s Gala and saw the number 1 hero was also in attendance well…. He couldn’t just /miss/ a perfect opportunity like this! It would practically be a crime!

Fuyumi of course knew him all too well, he could see her bee lining to him, and he just /smiled/ and gave her a jaunty little wave, ignoring her calling his name as he sidled up to where the number 1 hero was conversing with others.

Touya could practically feel the heat of his father’s stare as slides in close to the blonde, one scarred hand delicately placed on a deliciously muscular arm. 

“Hey, I don’t think we’ve met before this, the name’s Touya Todoroki, it’s a pleasure to meet you All Might.” Touya flashes him his best smile, a soft curl of his lips and a fluttering of his eyelashes. 

He knows he’s a sight, white hair styled back, slinky black dress with high slits, heels, and of course the multitude of burn scars covering a majority of his body. 

Endeavor had nearly blown a gasket when he showed up like this, it was only the fact they were in public that kept him from scolding Touya. 

“Young Todoroki! It is a pleasure to meet you! It’s certainly unfortunate we haven’t been able to meet before now, I do not often attend these sorts of functions!” All Might’s smile was wide and bright and Touya kinda wished he had a pair of sunglasses damn those pearly whites were shining in his eyes. 

“It /is/ a shame huh? We could always meet up afterwards, I know a few restaurants.” The temperature in the room rose by several degrees and Touya could hear his sisters groan and Natuo’s muffled snort. 

The conversations around them had fallen into startled silence at the fact the son of Endeavor, All Might’s biggest rival, had just asked the number 1 hero out. 

All Might could only stare at Touya in shock, the offer of a date was unexpected and the hero couldn’t fight the flush that burned the tips of his ears, “I appreciate the offer young Todoroki but unfortunately I will have to decline.”

Before the white haired man could reply Endeavor is there, large hand wrapped around the slim arm and pulling him away, face positively thunderous. 

“Maybe next time All Might!” 

Touya laughed even as Endeavor dragged him out of the event.

Mission accomplished.

--------

The argument Touya and Enji got into once they reached home almost made the spectacle not worth it. Especially when the argument got heated enough and accusations thrown around that Touya’s tenuous control on his quirk slipped. 

The dark burn across his arms didn’t even hurt, not really, and that was the bad part. It meant that he’d burned straight past a 2nd degree burn to 3rd and he was going to be stuck in the hospital /again/. 

He hated being stuck in the hospital, he practically lived at the goddamn place. The whole staff knew him since he'd been coming there since he was young, how fucked up is that. 

 The pitying looks as they gave while they looked over his burns and decided whether or not he’d need another skin graft were so fucking annoying. 

He hated all of it. 

If he snarked more at the staff then necessary it wasn’t his fault really. The place was boring and stressful and he hated being stuck here. 

There were never that many other patients for him to talk to, the hospital was a private one for top heroes and their families, so Touya rarely saw other people. Most of his day was spent chatting with doctors and nurses and bitching about the extra meal replacement drinks he had to take. 

So when he noticed the frail looking blond man, he couldn’t help but be interested. The man was sitting outside in a hospital gown, and Touya took a seat next to him. 

“Damn, what’d happened to you?”

At least the guy didn’t look offended, a win in Touya’s books honestly. 

No, the guy snorted a laugh and gave Touya a surprisingly soft smile that made the gauntness of his face soften and Touya couldn’t help the thought that he wasn’t bad looking when he smiled. 

“A fight with a villain unfortunately. He got a lucky shot in and damaged me pretty bad.”

“Damn that’s gotta fucking suck. Especially since you’re stuck in this boring as hell place now.”

That earned him another smile. 

“Oh I don’t think it’ll be that bad, after all you’re here no? The man who asked out All Might is quite interesting I think.”

“Damn, so you saw me get rejected! Well, then you already know me, what’s your name? Since it seems like we both might be stuck here a while.” “I am Yagi Toshinori, it’s a pleasure to meet you properly Touya.”

-----

The next time Touya meets Yagi several days have passed by. He finds the older man slumped over in one of the comfier chairs, IV line in his arms and he looks absolutely /miserable/. 

Touya can’t help but feel bad for the poor guy, he looks worse than usual, his tanned skin unhealthily pale and breathing laboured. 

So he settles in next to Yagi, arms and legs thrown over the arm rests of his chair. 

“Damn, you’re lookin’ worse today Yagi-san, what happened?”

The tall man blinks at his new companion, a small smile stretching across his face. 

“Ah, we’re trying a new treatment today and well… it’s a bit taxing. I’m afraid I won’t be very good company today Todoroki-san.”

“Ah man, don’t call me that, makes me feel like my brothers or dad. Call me Touya.”

“Touya-san then.”

Touya fixes his eyes on bright blue ones and grins, he thought it would’ve been more of a struggle to get the blond to call him by name. 

“Well, since you’re feeling bad, how about a story? Natsu and the nurses used to read me some when I was stuck in bed.”

He doesn’t even really wait for a response before starting.

“So you like, remember how I told you I asked out all might yah? Lemme tell you about it. So like, there’s this party, and dad wants us all to go because the public has been asking about his family and all that. And so I came to the party, dressed amazingly right. Like I got this bOMB ass dress. Dad nearly blew a gasket when I came in it."

Touya wiggles his fingers and arms, making motions as he tells his version of the events. The growing smile on Yagi’s face just made him be more dramatic with his storytelling and movements. 

-----

"And there he is. There's All Might. The big kahuna himself. And my little brain gerbils start moving. And I get the idea. ‘How else should i make dad mad today?’ And that’s when it comes to me. ASK OUT ALL MIGHT."

“Wait was this before or after you kicked the guy who whistled at you?”

“After- so anyWAYS-”

-----

"And then the car explodes."

"What????!"

"Okay not really. Figuratively. Dad burned the roof again."

"Okay so maybe a little literally? I dunno english is hard."

"Touya were speaking japanese"

"Fuck"

-----

By the end of the story they’re both laughing and Touya feels light and happy as Yagi chortles at the selfie he managed to take while being dragged out of the party.

It was nice to see Yagi smiling again instead of hunched in on himself in pain and discomfort. 

“Thank you Touya-san, your story really did help. You’re quite the story teller. I’d love to hear more of them from you.”

“Sure! I always love having a captive audience, it’s the drama queen in me. “

-----

Yagi is the one to find Touya next time. 

He finds the younger man pressed in a dark corner under a staircase of all places. 

He wouldn’t have even noticed him if he hadn’t heard the soft sound of sniffling, and his heroic heart couldn’t just leave someone that’s so obviously in distress alone. 

It's a bit uncomfortable to climb under the staircase to settle next to Touya, listening quietly to his sniffles. It makes his heart squeeze a little and Yagi has to fight the urge to give the younger man a hug. 

Touya eventually notices him, big turquoise eyes meeting his own blue ones, there's tears clinging to the corners of his eyes. 

“Do you want me to call your nurse Touya-san?”

Touya shakes his head, lips pursing together before he drops his head down onto his arms.

“No. ‘S okay. ‘S nothing they can do. ‘M not allowed any more pain meds until tomorrow.”

The confusion on Yagi’s face has the unscarred parts of Touya’s cheeks flushing. 

“I.. had some issues with getting a/ddicted a few years ago. They’ve kept a tighter control on my medications since then. ‘S kay tho. The pain’s not too bad.. I’ll get over it soon.”

“Then.. how about I tell you a story? Let’s see… there was this time when I was in America…”

By the time Yagi reaches the end of his crazy tale Touya’s smiling and laughing, pain forgotten for the moment. 

“Honestly Yagi-san! How do you accidentally steal a penguin!”

“Ah well! That’s a mystery not even I know! And I was there!”

The tears on Touya’s cheeks were from laughter this time, and Yagi smiled so softly, a big hand reaching up to gently brush them away from Touya’s cheek.

And Touya /leans/ into his hand, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed into the warm and calloused palm. 

Yagi can feel his heart race faster and his ears burn red at the serene face. 

“Thank you Yagi-san… will you tell me another one…? It’s.. it’s a good distraction from the pain.”

“Of course Touya-san.”

The two of them spend hours like that, sitting under the dark staircase, Touya eventually leaning against Yagi’s bony shoulder, eyes shut as he listens to the deep voice rumble out tales of his times in America. 

It’s how their nurses find them.

They’re practically frantic with worry considering the two have been missing for hours. 

They get scolded thoroughly and before they separate Touya wraps one hand around one of Yagi’s own and gives him another one of those smiles that makes the blond’s heart race. 

“Let’s have lunch tomorrow Yagi-san.”

“I would love that Touya.”

-----

It becomes a new part of their routine, meeting up together to have lunch. 

The both of them were on pretty similar dietary plans, both meals were full of high calorie foods. Yagi explained it was to keep his weight up as he adjusted to the loss of his stomach. While Touya told the blond that his quirk burned through his calories so fast that if he didn’t constantly eat he’d easily end up malnourished. 

They end up closer as the days turn into weeks. It wasn’t uncommon to find them together, sitting and chatting, even occasionally finding them leaning against each other, the fatigue taking hold as they napped against each other. 

You could say the nurses had a field day with that one and took quite a few pictures. And if Touya and Yagi might’ve asked for their own copies well.. That was their business. 

If Yagi had a picture of them tucked into his wallet no one needed to know. 

And if Touya had his tucked into his desk drawer, that was for him to know. 

Occasionally visitors would come for Yagi, a small old man, a rather plain looking man and occasionally a man he recognized as All Might’s sidekick, Sir Nighteye. Those days he wouldn’t see much of Yagi, his lunches were spent alone in his room craving the presence of the other man. 

Yagi asked him about it, the day after he received Sir Nighteye as a guest again, and asked him why his family never seemed to visit him. 

Explaining to Yagi that his father didn’t let his siblings come visit was… awkward. The frown that crossed the normally jovial blond’s face at his explanation made Touya feel…. Ashamed? Awkward? 

He wasn’t quite sure honestly, but his cheeks burned and he rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to look into those piercing eyes. 

So he didn’t notice when Yagi moved closer to him. 

Not until those bony arms were wrapping around him, pulling him into a gentle hug, his bony chin resting atop the fluffy white mess that was Touya’s hair. 

And Touya just /melted/. He slumped into those arms, cheek rubbing against Yagi’s shirt as he clung to the older man. He could feel the pressure building up in the back of his throat and had to blink back tears. 

How long has it been since someone’s held him? 

“It’s alright Touya. I’m here.”

The soft voice and warm hands resting on his back, it was enough, and Touya shook in those deceptively strong arms, soft sobs leaving him as his tears soaked into Yagi’s shirt. 

They spent hours like that, Touya curled in Yagi’s arms, the blond never letting him go, even when his tears ran dry. 

It was so warm.

Touya never wanted to leave his arms. 

-----

Then the day came for Touya to be discharged. 

He’d stayed in the hospital for over a month now. The skin grafts on his arms had attached properly and had healed enough that he could go home. Fuyumi told Touya that she’d be the one coming to pick him up, Dad was going to be at work and unavailable. 

She told him she’d be there after school let out. 

Touya felt something sink in his chest as the nurses removed his bandages for the last time. His arms were… hard to look at and he avoided it as he slipped on the loose long sleeved shirt. Touya packed away the few clothes he had, fingers pausing over the picture of him and Yagi sleeping against each other. 

His chest squeezed tight at the thought of leaving. He didn’t want to leave the blond man. Ever since that breakdown in his arms Yagi had been so kind, the blond man was always touching him, lingering touches on his hands and shoulders, bringing him into hugs more often. 

Touya didn’t want to lose that. 

He… didn’t want to lose what connection he had with Yagi.

He didn’t want the blond to forget him.

He….

He liked him. 

Touya had to find Yagi before he left. 

-----

It wasn’t hard to find him. 

When Yagi wasn’t in his room or with his nurses and doctors, it's a safe bet to say he’d be outside relaxing, and he was. Seeing him sitting there made Touya’s stomach flutter and fuck he felt /nervous/.

The smile Yagi gave him when Touya stepped towards him made his heart beat faster, he could feel his palms getting clammy with sweat. Fuck.Touya had never felt like this before. It was.. Overwhelming. 

“Touya! It’s good to see you!”

How could one man be so adorable?

“Yagi… you’re.. You’re looking good today.”

Touya could feel the nerves twisting up at his insides as he took the offered seat next to the blond, the hot cup of tea Yagi gently pressed into his hands helped ground him a little. He could do this. He didn’t know if there’d be another chance. 

“I’m being discharged today.”

Yagi’s smile shrunk and he sighed deeply, “So soon..? I’m going to miss seeing you. I’ve greatly enjoyed your company here Touya. It’s made my stay much more bearable.”

“Yagi. I…” 

Touya trailed off as those bright blue eyes stared into his own, and he couldn’t help himself. 

His scarred hands gently cupped sunken in cheeks and Touya leaned up, pressing his lips softly against the older man’s, just a soft press of their lips that made Touya’s stomach flip flop in joy and dread. 

“Yagi, I really like you.”

Yagi’s stunned silence filled the small courtyard, beautiful blue eyes wide with surprise as a bright flush grew across the tops of his cheeks. 

Touya thought he looked gorgeous. 

“I. Well, I ah, I’m flattered Touya but.. I am many years older than you. I’m older than your father.”

/That wasn’t a no./

“So what? I don’t care about that Yagi. You /know/ that. I like you. I really really like you. I want to spend more time with you Yagi. I want, I want to hold your hand, I want to kiss you again, I want to eventually take you out on dates. I. If you really don’t, feel like that. It’s /okay/. I just. Fuck-”

He was rambling, his eyes squeezed shut and hands gripping his pants. Touya couldn’t put into words all the things he wanted. He just.. Wanted Yagi.

Larger hands gently wrapped around his own and Touya blinked watery eyes up, and Yagi was much closer now, mouth quirked in a small smile that made the white haired man’s stomach flip pleasantly. 

“Touya. Is this.. Do you really want this?”

“/Yes/.”

And those lips were pressing to his again and the dread in his stomach disappeared as those big hands held him so gently, like he was something fragile and /precious/, and Touya clung to the taller man, pressing kiss after kiss to his mouth. 

By the time they stopped they were both flushed and panting, lips swollen and wide smiles on their faces. 

“Well then, I suppose you should call me Toshinori now.”

Touya laughed and kissed the man again. 

“Whatever you say Toshi.”

[carelessgraces]

@valiantsword​ said:   “brush”   ( scars | accepting )

"Disgusting habit,” says a voice she knows, and a familiar shape settles beside her, hand held out expectantly. “You should quit.” 

     She’s smiling even before she’s gotten a look at him. “I thought you weren’t due in until Thursday.” There’s a lightness to her voice; his presence is soothing, more so than it has any right to be, and she’d be a liar if she said she hadn’t counted the hours until his scheduled arrival at least twice today. ( Sixty-two and a half hours, for anyone curious. It takes more effort than she cares to confess to keep herself from figuring out the minutes. ) 

     “Finished early,” he says, and she holds out the lit cigarette for him; he collects it and takes a drag before holding it back out to her. “Should I leave? Come back in a couple of days, when you’re expecting me?”

     “Don’t.” There’s an earnest tone to Astoria’s voice that she doesn’t like. That’s not enough to stop it. “I love a good surprise.”

     There’s something comfortable about this — Arthur in Boston with her, writing himself into her space. He’ll leave an imprint of the breadth of his shoulders leaned against the shop door when he’s gone and she’ll pretend she isn’t imagining him there in the days that follow and disappointed when he isn’t. November rolls into New England in browns and greys and he is a burst of color. ( Warm. He’s warm. Not like a summer’s day — warm like a well-loved scarf on that first weekend of real sweater weather in the autumn. Comfortable. Comforting. ) 

     He eyes the cigarette between her fingers, looks at the empty shop behind her. “Rough day?” he asks, because she only smokes when she’s stressed and he knows that, now, like he knows how she takes her tea, and like he knows that she doesn’t like poetry ( except for that soft spot for Yeats, which she won’t confess to anyone, which he knows about all the same ). Astoria lets out a quiet hum, and she flicks a bit of ash from the end of her cigarette. 

     “Better now,” she says, and she shrugs one shoulder. “What are you doing next week?”

     “Why?”

     “I’ve got a potential buyer in Reykjavík. Someone interested in that seven-league boot I got last month? Anyway, I’ll be there ten days, and at most I’ll be dealing with the buyer for two of them, so — you should come. I’d like the company. Think about it.”

     She catches sight of a grin from the corner of her eye, and she lifts the cigarette to her lips for an excuse to cover her mouth so her own smile is a little less obvious.

     “I’m done for the night,” she says instead, and she reaches into the bag slung over her shoulder with her free hand, withdrawing a set of keys from one of the inner pockets. “Lock up for me while I finish this? We can head back to mine.”

     Arthur takes the offered keys, fingers brushing across her wrist, her palm, lingering a moment longer than they have to. As he turns his back to her, she murmurs a quick spell, fingers glowing for just a moment. The keys shimmer for an instant, only an instant, looking for all the world like a reflection of the streetlights and the lone car that passes them. When he’s finished he turns back to her, and she lifts one booted foot to put out the cigarette against her heel.

     His touch lingers again when he hands her the keys, and she takes advantage of the contact to tug him closer to her. His fingers slide over her palm, over a raised line. Immediately, Astoria tucks herself into his side, pulling away from him only long enough to drop the ground cigarette butt in a trash can on the corner. 

     “It’s been raining all day,” she complains, and she shivers for effect. “It’s that wet kind of cold. I can never get warm, this time of year.”

     “That explains why home is here or Ireland,” he drawls, and she laughs as he squeezes her shoulders lightly. “What’s the scar on your palm from?”

     She’s shown off a few of her scars — the thin little lines across her fingers from snapped strings when she played violin as a kid, the magical experiments ( carelessly explained away as the result of high school chemistry classes and not, say, sparks coming to life in her hand or her botched attempts at alchemy when she was in her early twenties and bored stiff the summer before she started grad school ), the faint claw marks on her right forearm from when she’d tried to give the cat her first bath two years ago. She hasn’t mentioned this one.

     ( The summer she turns sixteen, the weeks after her arrival in Boston. Her mother, nervous and hovering the way that good mothers do after tragedy. Her aunt, insistent that what she needs is space, normalcy. She doesn’t notice that she scratches her palm when she’s nervous until she leaves a little bloodstain on her pillowcase, a crooked half-inch raw and red near her life line, the night before her birthday. ) 

     She thinks about lying. She thinks about lying for long enough that the silence is uncomfortable. 

     “I was anxious as a teenager,” she says instead, and that much is true. “Especially when I moved here. There was some death in the family.” I don’t want to get into it. She’s going to get into it. “My godparents. I’d been living with them for a little while, at that point, and it was —bad. My parents wanted me to stay in Dublin, but my aunt was here and I needed the distance. Anyway. Nervous habit. I think it was the repetitive motion? Half the time I didn’t realize I was doing it. Healed cleanly most of the time, but that’s right where my middle finger reaches, and I think I just drew blood one too many times. Nothing exciting.”

     For a moment he looks at her, his expression unreadable in the dark, and when the moment passes he simply tightens his arm around her, the gesture subtle enough that she almost misses it. It’s too easy to tell him things. He’s a burst of color, the warmth that comes with making a choice and being a little safer than she’d been a moment before, the glow of a little magic or a lit cigarette in the dark. ( He is writing himself into the fabric of her life, into the mundanities and the day-to-day. It leaves her palms tingling, pins and needles in the arches of her feet and her chest. It shouldn’t be thrilling. It’s not. It’s not. ) 

     She’s almost waiting for him to pry, to try and unlock another chapter in her tragic backstory, but instead he simply keeps her close and he says, “Reykjavík, next week? Should work. I’ll come.”

     ( She thinks of it, months later, when it’s been weeks since she heard from him and all she knows is something about a job — she doesn’t pry, she never pries, it’s not any fun to get anything out of him that he doesn’t want to share. She thinks of his arm around her shoulders in the damp November chill and she imagines she sees him out of the corner of her eye when she locks up the shop in the evenings, when she’s missing Reykjavík and Dublin and Venice and Bucharest and Helsinki and him and him and him. )

[virtchandmoir]

Tessa Virtue steps off the ice and into kinky boots, among other worthwhile endeavours

November 16, 2019

There’s Tessa Virtue. And whoa, gobsmacking, there’s Vicky Vice.

The alter ego will come as a shock to many who have watched Canada’s ice dancing sweetheart transform over the years. From the demure Tessa of Gibson Girl days — her debut silver medal at the 2008 worlds in Gothenburg with Scott Moir, a feathery rendition of “Umbrellas of Cherbourg” that knocked judges for a loop — to the dynamically athletic Tessa of Vancouver Olympics gold (The Goose lift), to the mature and sensuous Tessa of “Roxanne” and “Carmen” and finally “Moulin Rouge’’ — Games gold times two in Pyeongchang.

But wet-look black latex pencil skirt, cleavage-squeezing bustier, leather gloves and ankle boots, with drag queen makeup, pulling on a rope, suggestive of a dominatrix — that’s breaking kinky new ground.

With a simple “Hold on tight’’ caption, the spread sprang from the imagination of Toronto-based photographer Nikki Ormerod.

The new and emboldened Tessa‚ unshackled as her skating career winds to a close on Rock the Rink, a 27-city cross-Canadian tour with Moir — was game.

“I was thinking about the opposite of virtue,” Virtue explains down the phone line. “Sometimes when we were performing, I’d channel her. You know, how Beyoncé has Sasha Fierce?”

While there is poignancy to this stage in Virtue’s career — she and Moir have announced that’s it, not even any more shows after the tour concludes in St. John’s on Nov. 23 (“though never say never”) — she’s also excited about whatever comes next. The possibilities are endless.

Since the couple retired from competition, Virtue has been everywhere: magazine covers, talk shows, TV commercials promoting this product and that. Which is as it should be, translating on-ice success — three Olympic medals, four world championship golds (one junior), eight senior Canadian titles, 55 international medals — to off-ice fortune.

At 30 years old, she’s earned it. Although, it’s unsettling that Virtue will now be forever partitioned from Moir. Twenty-two years together, most decorated Olympics figure skaters in history.

We all pined for the romance they invoked on the ice to be real. Lord knows they faked it good, that deep, intimate connection, if always making it clear that no, they weren’t a couple away from the rink. Moir, in fact, is engaged to marry next summer. But what will they be to each other now and in the future unfolding?

“The more important factor that will shift for us is just the fact that we won’t be skating together,” Virtue explains. “We’ve been through everything together, partners included. But it’s a really neat time for us. After this long, sharing such a singular focus and common goal, it’s fun to support one another as we launch ourselves forward and into other projects that are closely aligned with our values and close to our hearts, respectively.

“I can’t wait to watch him flourish in whatever he takes on next. We’ll always be there for each other. We’ll always be a part of each other’s lives. I think it will just be a natural evolution of a beautiful friendship. Taking the skating element out of it will allow some freedom for us to relish the beautiful friendship we’ve created. Now we get to reap those benefits of really just being in one another’s corner, supporting each other from the sidelines every step of the way.’’

Virtue is picking her projects carefully. This past week, it was announced that she and Benoit Huot have signed on to a joint partnership between the Canadian Olympic Committee and the Canadian Paralympic and Classroom Champions. Teach Canada Champion Chats, in the 2019-20 school year, is a nationwide program designed to empower students, with a focus on mentoring, achieving goals, embracing challenges — in or out of sports — mental wellness, diversity and inclusion, via virtual live chats.

“What’s so beautiful about this is, it’s taking the lessons we’ve learned in sport as athletes and really creating a personal connection with students who wouldn’t otherwise get to learn about those experiences, and help them apply it to their lives,’’ says Virtue. “It’s so cool … We’ve been able to learn so many unique things that are so applicable to every facet of life, especially when it comes to kids who just don’t have access to those kinds of resources, physical activity and sport.”

So many hours to fill that used to be spent at the rink, training daily or rehabbing from injury, which has been a theme for Virtue more than Moir, including surgery to her shins and calves.

And she’s still coming to terms with the absence of competition, the thrill and stress of performing for judges.

“We’re competitors by nature,’’ says Virtue, of herself and Moir. “We inherently miss that fire that comes with striving to be the best. The biggest challenge has been taking off that perfectionist hat and putting on an entertainer hat. Realizing that entertainment, in a broad view, is so different than what we’d been striving for, for 22 years, which was perfection in four minutes. Which doesn’t exist anyway.’’

The tour has been a farewell and a mutual thank you for all the skates, all the medals, all the adoring audiences. “Letting that percolate, digesting it, that this is the end of something really beautiful and we’re able to savour it every single night. I just feel so fortunate. Every night, I’m very cognizant of the fact that we’re able to walk away exactly on our own terms. The programs that we want to do in the way that we’ve dreamed of doing, and in a way that really feels like it does justice to the career and the partnership that we’ve had.”

Without the fussy rules that have historically stifled ice dancing. Though Moir and Virtue, with their signature athleticism and artistry, always found a way to punch through boundaries.

Without Moir and Virtue, without Patrick Chan, without Meagan Duhamel and Eric Radford, without Kaetlyn Osmond — all formally retired from the sport since Pyeongchang — the figure skating landscape looks rather bleak in Canada. They dominated for so long.

“It will be tough to follow this generation,” Virtue reluctantly admits. “But if we’ve done our jobs, then it won’t be too long until there are some shining superstars in Canada. But yeah, it’s a tough changing of the guard.”

Unlike Moir, Virtue has no interest in coaching, at least not yet. With a psychology degree under his belt, she plans to pursue an MBA at Queen’s University starting next fall. She’s also keenly drawn to an entrepreneurial career. Virtue is already quite the businesswoman, working with sponsors since the Vancouver Games. “I’ve always had a passion for business. I’ve been fortunate to have been exposed to so many facets of the business world. And I’m used to being my own boss as an athlete.

“We were sort of CEOs of our career.”

—The Star