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kmomof4 · 3 months

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Orphan Girl- A New Fic by @kmomof4

I am sooooooooooo excited to finally share this fic with y'all!!! It has been a LONG time coming!!! It was inspired a year ago by a song our community chorale sang for our spring concert. The song Orphan Girl was written by Brendan Graham for the Annual Great Famine Commemoration in Sydney in 2012. The ceremony commemorates the relocation to Australia of over 4k female orphans after the famine took its toll. The song is told from the perspective of a 16yr old Irish famine orphan longing for a better life in Australia.

I am an orphan girl,

In Westport I was found,

The workhouse is my world,

Since the praties took us down,

What time in life is left to me,

If I don’t leave Westport town,

But the crown is sending girls to sea, for far Australia bound.

Sail, sail, sail me away,

Sail to Australia;

Sail, sail, sail me I pray,

Sail me away to Australia.

They say Australia’s fine,

They say Australia’s fair,

Australia’s on my mind

And the fields of praties there

I pray when this inspection’s done, that they’ll say me fit to sail,

For they don’t just send out anyone, oh Lord, don’t see me fail.

Sail, sail, sail me away,

Sail to Australia;

Sail, sail, sail me I pray,

Sail me away to Australia.

I am scarcely turned sixteen,

But I’m ready now to go

I’m decent and I’m clean,

Fit for any man to know.

And I will be some good man’s wife,

If there I’ll settle down-

And find myself a better life,

If I get to Sydney town.

Sail, sail, sail me away,

Sail to Australia;

Sail, sail, sail me I pray,

Sail me away to Australia.

Sail me away, sail me I pray

Sail me away to Australia.

I am an orphan girl, oh I am an orphan girl

And now thanks to whom thanks is due! Hollye helped me research and also betaed this monster, Joni helped me with plotting, and the discord ladies kept me sprinting until the dadgum thing was finished!! Thank you all!!!

Summary: Irish potato famine orphans Emma and Mary Margaret Swan hope and pray for a new life in Australia.

Rating: T

Words: 14K Make sure you have snacks and drinks readily available if you read this in one go... 😜

Tags: Period Piece, Irish Potato Famine, Australia Setting, Implied Sexual Assault/Rape, Minor Character Death

On ao3 if that's your preference.

New Tag List for the New Year! Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

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Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

September 19, 1849, Westport Workhouse, County Mayo, Ireland

I am an orphan girl, but my new life begins on the morrow.

Emma Swan sat on her straw pallet, the moon shining in the high window over her sleeping place in the female dormitory of the Westport workhouse. She could barely see as she wrote in the small notebook on her lap.

The day car departs at 4am for Dublin. From there, we will journey by ship to Plymouth, where awaits the Panama to transport us to Sydney. I cannot help but feel afraid, yet hopeful as well, for what the future holds for myself and Mary Margaret. I know the Lord holds my life, my future, and looking back at what He’s already brought us through, I know I can trust Him. He’s provided an education for myself and Mary Margaret at Achill colony, and preserved my life through the loss of Mam and Da to the great hunger, and during my time here in the workhouse, where so many die every day. I can only expect that He will preserve me through the journey and days, weeks, and months beyond as well.

As I look around myself, I feel more hope than anything. The workhouse has been my world for 4 years. How I’ve survived here that long is beyond me. This is my only escape and if the provisions we’ve been furnished with are any indication, we will be quite well off indeed. I’ve never owned a bonnet, or stockings, or a separate gown just for sleeping. My time of indenture will be 5 years. I’ll only be 24 by then. I’m going toward a better life. A life of hope and promise. Oh, Lord, be with me, I pray.

~*~*~

January 12, 1850, Immigration Depot, Sydney, Australia

Ruby Lucas opened the door to the room Emma and Mary Margaret, along with other girls from the Panama, would be staying in until they were assigned employment outside the depot in and around Sydney. They looked around wide eyed and slack jawed.

“Would you look at this?” Mary Margaret breathed. Emma joined her frank appreciation. She’d never seen a room this fine. The ceiling was high and the walls were lined with many multi paned windows, shades half drawn, but still letting in an abundance of light. The beds were lined up along the walls with a small dresser in between each one. And it was cool. After the heat of the Australian summer outside, it was a relief to be indoors.

“It’s not much, I know,” Ruby said. “But this is where you’ll sleep during your time here. We do hold to a daily schedule. Rise at six, meals at 6:30, 11:30 and 5:30. Bedtime is strictly observed at 8:30. And you’ll have daily chores to attend to as well. Most girls are here for a month or less, but some have been here for as long as three months. It just depends on what you’ll be employed doing.”

Emma looked at her sister, who smiled back at her. The schedule wasn’t anything different from what they’d experienced in the workhouse, but already, Emma could see the hope in Mary Margaret’s eyes and she responded in kind. Their education and the training they were to receive here at the Depot, made their prospects of employment high indeed. Emma hoped to work as a domestic, where she might fall in love with another servant in the household and have a family of her own someday.

“Thank you so much, Miss Lucas,” Mary Margaret said, turning to the young woman. “We are so grateful to be here, you have no idea.” Emma nodded her head in agreement.

“Oh, we don’t stand on ceremony around here,” she said, grinning widely and waving her hand around dismissively. “You can call me Ruby. And Granny will have your head if you call her anything but Granny. We’ve seen hundreds of girls come through here over the years and that’s what they all call her. Not that we see many of them once they leave, but when we do…” She trailed away, still with a broad smile on her face and Emma felt an immediate kinship with her. She had a feeling they were going to be great friends.

The following weeks passed quickly and Emma and Mary Margaret were both assigned to occupations within a month of their arrival. Mary Margaret was to be a teacher in a boarding school in Sydney for the children of landowners who lived outside the city proper and Emma was going to work in the home of shipping magnate and sheep farmer Killian Jones. He had a young daughter in need of a governess since her mother had passed away the previous autumn. Mary Margaret would be taking up her employment tomorrow and Emma would be traveling to Killian Jones’ home for a final interview. She understood that he wanted to meet her personally to determine her fitness for being his only daughter’s governess.

This was their last night in the depot, and they lay on their beds, facing each other in the darkness.

“I’m going to miss you, Mary Margaret,” Emma whispered.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Emma could hear Mary Margaret’s smile in her words. “But we’ll still see each other. I’ll have the weekends off and hopefully, you’ll have the Sabbath off as well. We’ll make it a priority to see each other then. And we can always write to each other.”

Emma pressed her lips together in a small smile. Mary Margaret’s hope was contagious and she felt her spirits lift at her sister’s words.

“Can you believe how far we’ve come?” Emma asked.

“No,” Mary Margaret said, her voice tinged with wonder. “God has truly blessed us. We would have died in that workhouse eventually. But here, we’re going to be productive members of society. Not dependent on it. We have a chance to make new lives for ourselves. Fall in love, get married, raise children.” She paused for a moment. “The headmaster is very handsome.” Her voice was even softer now and Emma had to strain to hear her.

“The headmaster? Of your school?” Emma asked.

“Mmhmmm,” Mary Margaret agreed. “David Nolan.”

Silence fell between them and Emma got lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t know what to expect from her assigned position, or even if she’d receive Killian Jones’ final approval, but the position of governess to the daughter of a wealthy landowner would be as favorable an outcome as she could have expected. She’d be well paid and have higher status within the household than she could have hoped for. Perhaps there she’d meet some good man who would love her and care for her. Someone she could love and care for and raise children with. She smiled in the darkness. Perhaps this David Nolan would be that person for her sister. Only time would tell. She closed her eyes and slipped into dreams.

~*~*~

Emma stepped down from the carriage that brought her from the Immigration Depot to the home of Killian Jones. The house was a single story ranch style home that was finer than anything Emma had ever seen. Granny was right behind her as a chaperone since this wasn’t yet a permanent position. Off to the side of the house, there was a paddock with horses and several men working. Emma inhaled sharply as one by one, the men approached the fence to stare at the newcomers. Emma straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly as she stepped boldly toward the house. It wouldn’t do to show her nervousness at their blatant appraisal.

As she approached the house, a tall and very handsome man emerged from inside. He wore pressed khaki trousers and a blue chambray shirt with a black vest over it. His six-shooter sat on his hip and Emma gulped thinking about the reason why he’d need to have it on him inside his own home. He had dark brown hair whose gently tousled style seemed to match the rest of him- controlled but just untamed enough to be interesting. He had piercing blue eyes and dark scruff lined his jaw with just a hint of ginger in the morning sun. Emma felt her heart rate jump when she saw him.

The man was literally breathtaking.

“Emma Swan?” he asked, descending the steps toward them, his hand outstretched.

Emma stopped with Granny beside her and dropped a small curtsey before rising and meeting his gaze.

“Yes.”

“And you must be Ms. Lucas,” he said, shaking her hand. “Killian Jones.”

Granny shook his hand and then waved aside his greeting. “Everyone calls me Granny, young man. And I’ll expect you to do the same.”

The man laughed good naturedly. Emma took a deep breath, hoping it would bring her heart rate under control.

“Very well, Granny. Please, come in,” he said, gesturing behind him toward the house.

Emma struggled to keep her mouth closed as they entered behind him. Like the Depot, the ceilings were high and it was blessedly cool after the nearly two hour journey in the carriage. It was rustic in a way the Depot was not, the walls a little rougher and exposed beams up above. She tried not to stare as he led them into what could only be his office. He shut the heavy double doors behind them as she and Granny settled themselves in the leather chairs in front of the huge wooden desk that dominated the room. He sat down behind the desk and folded his hands on top of it, leaning forward just a bit.

“Welcome to Drogheda Station, Miss Swan,” he began. “My name is Killian Jones, and I am in need of a governess for my young daughter. She lost her mother closing in on a year ago now, and I just wanted to meet you myself before introducing you to my Alice and make sure you’d be a good fit with our family.” Emma nodded, but remained silent. His crystal blue eyes remained on hers as he spoke and she had to give herself an internal shake to keep herself from getting lost in them.

“So, tell me about yourself.” He looked down at a small stack of papers on his desk for a moment before looking back at her again. “I have quite a bit of information about you from your file provided to me from Granny, but I’d like to hear some of it in your own words.” He smiled and Emma instantly relaxed as she returned it.

“Ah,” Emma began, “the name… of the station? Drogheda? That’s Irish isn’t it?”

His smile lit up his face and Emma thought she would swoon at the pleasure she saw in his beautiful eyes.

“It is,” he affirmed. “My father was from Drogheda in County Louth on the east coast of Ireland. He immigrated here when he was a teenager. He died when I was small, but when I bought this land, I wanted to honor him and the roots he left behind by naming the station after his hometown.”

“I see.�� She smiled back at him. “That’s a lovely tribute to your family. Thank you for sharing it with me. I’d never been to County Louth, but I had heard of it. I’m from County Mayo on the west coast.”

Killian smiled softly at her statement and nodded for her to continue. He watched the young woman in front of him intently as she continued speaking. Her manners were impeccable and her appearance was most pleasing. Her long golden hair was gathered at the nape of her neck in a ponytail against the summer heat, but it positively glowed in the sun shining through the windows of his office. There was a sadness in her green eyes that Killian found himself responding to. It was the look that he himself saw in the mirror every day. The look of an orphan. Given her circumstances, and where she came from, he wasn’t at all surprised.

What did surprise him, however, was how strongly he was responding to it. He wanted nothing more than to care for and shelter this lovely young lady. Her education and decorum were obvious in her comportment and Killian was sure she’d be a perfect fit for the position. He rarely had trouble discerning the character of a person upon their first meeting, and after just this brief introduction to Emma Swan, he had no compunction whatsoever in bringing her on as Alice’s governess.

“Thank you, Miss Swan,” he said when she finished telling him about herself. He turned his attention to Granny. “She’ll do fine. Thank you,” he continued with a short and decisive nod. “Now, do either of you have any questions for me?”

Emma glanced at Granny for a moment before turning back toward Mr. Jones.

“I had a couple of questions, actually, Sir.”

He waved aside her statement. “You don’t need to address me as Sir, Miss Swan. As a member of the household, Mr. Jones will do,” he said, his blue eyes meeting hers.

Emma was surprised, but nodded. “Well, that was the first one,” she said with a smile. “The second was concerning time off. I do hope this isn’t presumptuous. My sister remained in Sydney as a teacher at a boarding school and I’d like to be able to visit her occasionally.”

“Of course,” he agreed immediately. “We are pretty strict about observing the Sabbath here, so you’d be free to spend that day however you saw fit. Whether you spent it reading in your room, catching up on correspondence, or visiting your sister in town. You’d, of course, have access to a carriage to carry you to and from.”

“Thank you so much.” She looked at Granny again, who’d opened her mouth to speak.

“I have a question as well.”

Mr. Jones encouraged her to continue with a wave of his hand.

“I noticed the men in the paddock next to the house paying special attention when Emma climbed out of the carriage.” Granny was fierce and she wouldn’t tolerate any untoward behavior toward her charges. She fixed him with a glare that had Emma questioning if she’d actually remain behind when Granny left or not. “What guarantee do I have that Emma will be safe here?” “I run a tight ship here, Granny,” he said, meeting her stare with one of his own. “I can’t fault the men for noticing a pretty lass, but there is a line and they know not to cross it. Not to cross me. Emma will be safe here. You have my word.”

Granny was motionless for a moment before she nodded her head sharply and stood. Emma stood as well and turned toward her caretaker for the last month before embracing her fiercely.

“Thank you so much, Granny,” she whispered. “For everything.”

Granny held on to her upper arms as she drew away from her. “You make us proud, Emma. And I will expect a visit when you come to town to visit Mary Margaret.”

Emma smiled through the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once they’d escorted Granny back out to the carriage that would carry her back to Sydney and watched it disappear over the horizon, Mr. Jones showed her back inside. Emma noticed the men in the paddock didn’t pay them any special notice this time, not while he was with her. As they passed through the house, Mr. Jones pointed out various rooms as he led her directly to her quarters. Her trunk had already been deposited inside, as he had instructed before they saw Granny off.

“Dinner is at seven. You’ll meet Alice then,” he informed her. “Until then, feel free to unpack and rest. I’ll have a lunch tray brought to you here in a few minutes so you won’t be disturbed.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate a rest after the journey and I’ll look forward to meeting Alice this evening.” Emma smiled and nodded as he backed out of the room and shut the door.

~*~*~

Emma rushed into the dining room hours later to find Mr. Jones and a young girl already seated at the table. Emma quickly curtseyed and apologized for her tardiness before sitting down in a vacant chair opposite the girl.

“It’s your first evening in a new environment,” Mr. Jones said. “And I didn’t exactly take you on a full tour of the house so you’d know where to go. So no apology is necessary.” He gave her an appraising look as their meal was served. Emma’s mouth went dry, wondering if she’d done something wrong already.

“This is the same dress you wore this morning, is it not?” he asked.

Emma looked down as a blush heated her cheeks. “It is,” she said. “I only have one other.”

“I see,” he murmured. “We’ll have to make a trip into town sometime soon to furnish you a suitable wardrobe. You can’t be expected to wear the same two dresses day after day after day. People would think you weren’t being paid a suitable wage. I’ll need to clear my schedule a bit, so we can take a couple of days for the trip. I still have some of my wife’s garments you can make use of until then.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary…”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted. He glanced at his daughter who watched the exchange with wide blue eyes, just like her father. “I am trying to raise Alice to be a lady, with the manners and comportment to match, and that is difficult enough out here in the bush without a good example for her to follow.” He raised his eyebrows at her with a significant look and Emma nodded her understanding before smiling across at the girl.

“Alice, this is your new governess, Miss Emma,” he introduced. “Emma, may I present to you, my daughter, Alice.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Alice,” she said.

“You as well, Miss Emma,” Alice replied, a wide smile lighting up her entire face.

Once the introductions were out of the way, Alice proved to be a delightful chatterbox. She was inquisitive, attentive, and very observant and it was clear to Emma that Mr. Jones loved his daughter dearly in the way he spoke to her and gently steered the dinner conversation.

As the meal came to an end, Mr. Jones rose from the table and spoke once again. “It’s time to ready yourself for bed, my Starfish.” He turned his attention to Emma. “I’ll see to her bedtime routine tonight, and give you this first evening to yourself. You can take over tomorrow evening.” Emma smiled and nodded her agreement. “Goodnight, Miss Emma.”

He held his elbow out for Alice to take and Emma’s heart melted.

“Goodnight, Mr. Jones. Goodnight, Alice.”

“Goodnight, Miss Emma,” Alice replied. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

As they walked out of the dining room, Emma smiled softly at the obvious affection between father and daughter. It was wonderful to see a father take such an interest in the care of his child. Once they were gone, she thought back to all the circumstances that had brought her to this place. This truly was the beginning of a new life for her, and she had the feeling it would be a good one.

~*~*~

The next morning, Mr. Jones took Emma on a full tour of the house. She met Robin Locksley, the overseer at the station, and the other household staff. They were all friendly and polite and Emma felt completely at ease among them. Once the tour was finished, Alice joined them as they entered the stable to collect a buggy for a ride around the station, for when the ladies might take excursions around the property.

“Cassidy,” he called, once they were inside.

A man with light brown hair emerged from one of the stalls wiping his hands on what was once a white cloth. He wasn’t as tall as Mr. Jones, and was a bit stockier, too. The look in his eye as he took her in reminded her of the way the hands had stared at her when she’d arrived the day before. She did the same thing now as she did then, raising her chin just a bit and squaring her shoulders. A quick glance at her employer told her he’d noticed his appraisal as well, and wasn’t pleased. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he silently clenched his teeth in apparent irritation.

“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” the man said affably. “What can I do for you?”

“Cassidy, this is Alice’s new governess, Miss Emma Swan,” he introduced. “Miss Emma, this the stablemaster, Mr. Neal Cassidy. Whenever you and Alice want to go for a ride, or need a carriage for going into town, he’ll take care of getting your horses ready.”

Emma curtseyed politely, even if she’d rather stay far away from the man in front of them.

“I’ll be accompanying Miss Emma and Alice today, Cassidy, but in the future, if they are traveling by buggy or carriage, I want a stable hand to accompany them.” He turned to Emma, sincerity shining in his eyes. “I know you’re able to drive a buggy, Miss Emma,” he said, “but in the case of an emergency, whether that’s dingos or a broken wheel or axle, I’d feel better knowing you had an armed man with you and my daughter.”

“Of course, Mr. Jones,” she agreed quickly. “To be honest, I’d feel the same way. There’s too much out here that I’m unexposed to and unfamiliar with. I’d feel much better having someone with us who could handle whatever the bush throws at us.”

Killian smiled, relieved she’d agreed with his edict so quickly. Turning back to Cassidy, he gave the man’s back a hard stare as he went about preparing the carriage for them. He hadn’t missed the blatant appreciation in his eyes when he saw Emma. Cassidy was relatively new to the ranch- he’d only been there since the new year- but he’d come very highly recommended. Just as he’d told Granny the day before, he couldn’t fault the man for noticing Emma, but he hadn’t been here long enough to know what was expected behavior around a lady. Killian had a feeling he was going to have to keep a close eye on the stablemaster and make it very clear to him that Emma was under his protection. Anything less than gentlemanly and respectful treatment of Emma and Alice would not be tolerated. And would be dealt with immediately and decisively. Killian’s honor would allow nothing less.

~*~*~

Emma had been at the station for two weeks when Killian was finally able to take a couple of days away from his work to accompany Emma and Alice into town for a new wardrobe for Emma. Alice was quite excited because she’d been promised new hair ribbons.

The bell over the door rang as Killian opened it before allowing the ladies to precede him inside. Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. The sunlight pouring through the windows at the front of the store drew attention to the soft fabrics and rich, vibrant colors. They nearly made Emma’s eyes dazzle. She’d never seen the like.

She couldn’t help reaching out and trailing her fingers along the edge of the dress in front of her as Killian approached the counter. The material was soft to the touch, and nearly exactly the same color as her eyes. A small sigh escaped her as she pictured herself wearing it. A soft gasp beside her brought her out of her reverie and focused her attention on Alice.

“You’d look so pretty in this, Miss Emma,” she breathed. “Don’t you think so, Papa?”

Emma was astonished to find Killian standing in front of them. She’d been so lost in her daydream, she hadn’t realized he’d returned to where she and Alice were looking around at the clothes on display.

He had a soft smile on his face as he looked at her and his hand joined hers as it continued to stroke the soft fabric.

“It would look lovely on you, Miss Emma.” His eyes never left hers as his hand gently cupped hers, so that the back of his fingers also ran along the material. Emma could hardly breathe.

A third voice joined them, startling Emma again. A tall, somewhat plump woman dressed in pink was looking her up and down.

“Ah, yes,” she said. “And I believe this day dress would need very little in the way of tailoring. It seems to have been made for you.” She pulled the dress down and held it up to her. “Yes,” she said, nodding decisively. “Go in the back and put it on. I’ll be there in a moment to make sure no alterations are needed.”

Emma, seeking his permission, looked at Killian who was scratching behind his ear. He nodded gently at her.

“Miss Flora and her sisters, Miss Fauna and Miss Meriweather,” he began, motioning at the other two women who’d also joined them, “are master haberdashers. I’m sure Miss Flora is correct in surmising your size and if the dress will fit.”

Emma nodded and took the dress from Miss Flora. She moved toward the back of the shop and took a deep breath trying to bring her heart rate back under control. The way he was looking at her as they both touched the material of the dress made heat rise to her cheeks and sent her heart into overdrive, beating a staccato rhythm that she could only hope wasn’t obvious to the people around her.

Once she got the dress on, she could plainly see Miss Flora truly was an expert. It fit her perfectly. Just then, Miss Flora came through the drapes that hung over the door to the front of the store and Emma could just see Alice poking her head through.

“May I come in and see, Miss Emma?” she asked, shyly.

Emma smiled widely. “If Miss Flora doesn’t mind,” she answered. “It is her shop after all.”

The woman smiled indulgently and turned toward the child. “Of course not, my dear! Please come in.” Alice came through the drapes as Flora mumbled under her breath about other items Emma would need to round out her wardrobe.

Alice’s eyes lit up at the day dress Emma wore. A soft smile touched Miss Flora’s lips as Alice came closer.

“You were absolutely right, Miss Alice,” she said. “This dress is perfect on our lovely Emma. It really brings out your eyes,” she said, turning her attention back to Emma again. Her eyes twinkled and Emma smiled softly at the complement.

After that, it was nothing but Miss Flora measuring Emma every which way she could be measured. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine all that went into making a lady’s wardrobe. Miss Fauna brought in swatch after swatch of fabric for Emma to choose from and also helped settle her sisters when an argument arose between them about which color- a soft sky blue, or a blushing pink- would better compliment Emma’s fair complexion.

By the end of it all, Emma was ready for a meal and a bed. She’d been on her feet for hours as the ladies brought out dress after dress- with all the accessories that went along with them- for her to try on both before and after slight alterations were made. The first day dress they’d found when they entered the shop was the only one of the bunch that needed nothing done to it and Emma planned to wear it when they traveled home the next day.

In addition to Emma’s full wardrobe, Killian also made arrangements for Alice’s measurements to be taken as well. She’d grown so much over the summer- much like plants, Miss Flora and Miss Fauna agreed- she was going to need new clothing to see her through the winter. But for now, Alice was simply thrilled with beautiful new ribbons for her hair that matched many of Emma’s new dresses and hair accessories.

It was much too late in the day to try and make it back to Drogheda Station before nightfall, besides the fact the sisters needed a bit more time to complete a few pieces of Emma’s wardrobe. They would be ready in the morning. So the trio made a surprise visit to Misthaven School where Mary Margaret taught.

The sisters embraced joyfully before Emma introduced Killian and Alice to Mary Margaret.

“Mary Margaret,” she began, “This is Mr. Jones and his daughter, Alice. Mr. Jones, my sister, Mary Margaret.”

Killian extended his hand for Mary Margaret to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Mary Margaret. My daughter, Alice,” he said, motioning toward Alice, who dropped a slight curtsey.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Mary Margaret,” she said, smiling shyly.

“And you, Miss Alice,” she replied with a nod, her smile warm and welcoming.

They spent a pleasant evening in one another’s company. Once they were past the introductions, Alice blossomed under Mary Margaret’s attention, telling her new friend all about everything Emma was teaching her and how much she enjoyed it. Even with as tired as Emma was, when their time together was drawing to an end, she was loath to leave her sister’s presence, knowing it would be a long while before she’d be able to visit again.

The sisters embraced warmly and even Alice threw her arms around Mary Margaret’s middle in a surprise hug that was completely unexpected by all the adults.

“It was lovely to meet you, Miss Mary Margaret,” Alice said, releasing her. She turned unsure eyes upon her father, not quite certain how he’d react to her lack of decorum. But the smile on his face told her all was well. A relieved smile broke over her face as she turned back to her new friend and dropped a curtsey before returning quickly to her father’s side.

“You as well, Miss Alice,” Mary Margaret replied, her attention then turning to Mr. Jones. “Thank you so much for this wonderful surprise, Mr. Jones. It’s only been a couple of weeks since we’ve seen each other, but I’ve missed Emma so much.” She placed a hand over her heart, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, matching her sister’s as she glanced at her. “I had no idea how much I was going to miss her.” Mary Margaret’s attention returned to Mr. Jones as she extended her hand. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss Mary Margaret.” He took her hand and shook it before glancing at Emma and Alice. “And now we must take our leave before these two collapse. It has been a very long and tiring day for us all.”

“Of course,” Mary Margaret agreed, reaching for her sister one more time. “I’ll see you again soon and we can write in the meantime.”

Emma nodded, too choked up for speech. She pulled back and turned to where Killian stood with Alice, her arm looped through his. He smiled gently at her and Emma returned it, licking her lips that had suddenly become dry as she approached and looped her arm through his offered arm before they walked out toward their waiting carriage.

Mary Margaret smiled as she watched them go. Thankful that just as her life had turned around since leaving Ireland, it appeared her sister’s life had done the same.

~*~*~

“Goodnight, Alice,” Emma murmured, rising from the child’s bed in the hotel room Mr. Jones had booked them for the night.

“Goodnight, Miss Emma,” Alice replied as she snuggled down under the homespun quilt that covered her bed. Emma was too wound up to sleep just yet, so she crossed the room to where a small sofa sat near the door and sat down. She picked up her journal that lay on the small end table and began to write.

What a wonderful day it was. Our visit to F F & M Haberdashers was like a dream. The clothing on display was simply beautiful. The fabrics were so soft and the colors so bright and lovely. I thought we were abundantly blessed with the items we brought with us from Ireland, but the wardrobe Mr. Jones purchased for me today is so much more than I ever dreamed.

Emma tapped her quill against her chin as she thought about her next words. Her mouth opened slightly and she took a deep shaky breath as she told herself that these words were hers alone. No one else would ever be privy to them, and so she could write down exactly what her thoughts and feelings were as she tried on the different dresses and showed them to Alice and Mr. Jones. She licked her suddenly dry lips and continued writing.

I felt a bit like Cinderella in her beautiful ball gown, with Miss Flora, Miss Fauna, and Miss Meriweather as my fairy godmothers, and Mr. Jones standing in for the prince. Emma’s cheeks heated as she wrote those last words. She cut her eyes over to the bed where Alice was comfortably in the arms of sleep before she re-inked the quill and put it to paper again. Mr. Jones is obviously not a prince, but the way he looked at me with each new garment I tried on made my heart stop. His eyes are so clear and so blue. They’re beautiful and I could get lost in them. She shook her head, trying to banish the fanciful musings from her mind. He was an established landowner and she was only a governess. There’d never be anything between them. But the parallels between the story of Cinderella and my life are clear. A girl with nothing is suddenly given everything. Oh, how I wish… She stopped again, utterly unable to put those deep and hidden desires of her heart into words on the page.

Music reached her ears as she closed her journal and laid it back on the end table. It had been a very long day, but thinking back on all the joy the day had brought, Emma knew it would be some time before she’d be able to sleep. She rose from the sofa and glanced back at Alice, satisfied to see her still sound asleep and slipped out of the door. Mr. Jones was in the adjoining room in case Alice cried out and she’d only be gone a few minutes. Just long enough to find where the beautiful melody was coming from. She descended the stairs to the main lobby of the hotel, following the lovely music to a grand ballroom.

As Emma entered, she saw many couples dancing out in the middle of the floor, while several tables laden with all kinds of sumptuous looking delicacies lined the walls of the room. There appeared to be about a hundred people in the lavishly decorated room, soft candlelight illuminating the space, giving it an almost otherworldly quality. Then her eyes landed on the obviously newly married couple in the center of the dance floor.

They were a truly beautiful couple. Both with blonde hair, hers was piled on top of her head in an elaborate style, held together with strings of pearls woven throughout that echoed the ones sewn on her gorgeous white gown. His countenance appeared to be chiseled from marble, the lines of his face perfect in every way. Normally, Emma would think of marble as cold and unyielding, however, he was anything but as he gazed at his bride. They had eyes only for each other. Their matching smiles were full of joy and love and her heart melted inside her.

“They’re a beautiful couple aren’t they?” a voice whispered from behind her, startling her. She turned, a gasp on her lips and her hand pressed to her heart, to find Mr. Jones standing just behind her, a soft smile on his lips.

“I didn’t see you there, Mr. Jones,” she murmured before glancing back into the room. She smiled as her eyes found the bride and groom again. “Yes, yes they are. Do you know them?” The question flew out of her mouth before she really had a chance to think about it, but she couldn’t think of any other reason for him to be down here. Perhaps he’d been invited to the lavish affair and he’d come down to offer his congratulations since he hadn’t been able to attend the ceremony.

Mr. Jones chuckled in amusement. “No,” he informed her. “This is old Sydney money. I’d never be invited to something like this.” He scratched behind his ear just as he had that morning at the haberdashers and his cheeks turned red. Emma couldn’t help but smile at the nervous mannerism. “My money is much too new for me to be considered a part of the upper echelons of Sydney society. Which this clearly is,” he said, motioning back toward the room. “But I heard the music, and wanted to see where it was coming from.”

“I see.” She paused for a moment as they both continued to watch. “It was the same for me. Alice was asleep, and I only planned on being out of the room for just a few minutes, so I followed it down here.”

They were both silent for a few minutes, simply enjoying the soaring melody of the string quartet and harpsichord.

“This reminds me of my wedding day to Milah,” Mr. Jones said softly. She turned confused eyes on him as he continued. “Not the setting obviously, we were too poor for that, but the way they’re looking at each other. Like there’s no one else in the world. They could be in the outback, surrounded by sagebrush and dingos and they would still be looking at each other the way they are now.”

A sigh escaped her as she nodded her agreement. “After all the blessings I’ve enjoyed these last few months, it seems almost selfish to hope that I may find a love like that someday.”

“Blessings?” he echoed quietly. “Losing your family and traveling thousands of miles to the other side of the world to face an uncertain future… I’m not sure I’d call them blessings.”

“No disrespect, Mr. Jones,” she replied, “but if you’d seen the workhouse, you might think differently.”

“Point taken,” he said, a genuine smile on his lips.

“But, yes, the blessings,” she emphasized the word with a small smile on her lips, “of a good education before coming here, meeting Ruby and Granny at the Depot, and then coming to work in your home, meeting you and Alice… it’s the best outcome I could have hoped for.”

“There’s nothing wrong with hoping to find love one day, Miss Emma,” he said. “You’re young and beautiful.” His cheeks flushed and he scratched behind his ear again before his eyes settled on hers again. They were the deep blue of the sea, and the way he was looking at her made the butterflies in her stomach take flight and her breath catch. “You’re kind and very intelligent. And just seeing you with my daughter the last couple of weeks, I know that your heart is good. You will make a very blessed man a fine wife someday.”

Emma dropped her gaze from his and she could breathe again. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before she looked up at him again. The intensity she found there was the same as before and she could positively drown in them without a whimper of complaint.

“Th- thank you, Mr. Jones,” she stammered. “I should probably be getting back,” she said, motioning toward the stairs. He smiled and nodded, holding out his elbow to her. She took it and allowed him to escort her back to their adjoining rooms. Being this close to him was doing nothing to calm her racing heart and heated cheeks, but his words downstairs had touched her in such a way that she could hardly say anything in response. When they reached her door, she turned back to him. “Thank you again, Mr. Jones. For everything.” She hoped the gratefulness in her heart showed in her eyes and that he saw it and took her meaning. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Miss Emma.”

She smiled softly as she closed the door, unaware that he lingered there for a moment longer before returning to his own room.

~*~*~

The next few months passed happily. The bond between Emma and Alice only strengthened, and Emma loved her as if she was her own child. They settled quickly into a routine of studies during the morning hours with the afternoons being filled with lessons in manners and comportment, drawing and painting, dancing, and learning to play the pianoforte. Killian was a frequent observer of Alice’s afternoon lessons and Emma couldn’t help the little stutter her heart gave whenever he joined them.

He was the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on and even though he was nearly a decade her senior, she couldn’t help but wish that perhaps someday he might come to see her as more than just his daughter’s governess. A personal relationship between a landowner and a lowly governess was very much frowned upon, but she’d been so welcomed into the family by both Alice and Killian himself, she couldn’t stop her imagination running away with dreams of a happy beginning with Killian and Alice.

The only dark cloud in her new life was the stablemaster, Neal Cassidy. He’d never done or said anything overtly inappropriate, but she’d have to be completely blind to be unaware of his lustful gaze whenever she had need to come to the stable. His words and actions toward her were polite, but she could feel his eyes on her whenever he was near, whether that was inside the stable or not. And the shiver of trepidation she felt in his presence warned her to never be alone with him.

Alice’s 8th birthday was soon approaching and she found herself intimately involved in planning a special dinner and party for her young charge. Being so isolated from other children her own age living so far out of town, Alice didn’t have any friends to invite over, so Emma was determined to do what she could to make the day of her birth memorable.

On the Sabbath before Alice’s birthday, Emma traveled into town to visit Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Granny, and also to do some shopping for Alice. She’d made such wonderful progress in her art lessons, Emma thought it was high time for her to have her own set of charcoals and sketch pad. When she’d discussed the idea with Killian, he’d wholeheartedly agreed. He’d been unable to leave the Station to do the shopping himself, so she’d offered to do it for him during her visit. Since the sketch pad and charcoals would be given to Alice by her father, Emma decided to gift the girl a new bonnet and hair ribbons.

She left immediately after breakfast with Will Scarlet, her usual companion when she and Alice had need of the buggy. Thankfully, she had time to complete her shopping before meeting her sister at a local inn for a meal. It had been over two months since their last visit and they embraced warmly before settling at a table in front of the windows.

As they sat down, Emma’s eyes were drawn to a beautiful peridot ring that sat on the third finger of Mary Margaret’s left hand. One hand flew to her mouth in shock as she took her sister’s hand with the other in order to bring it closer.

“Is this what I think it is?” she breathed.

Mary Margaret giggled with delight. “It is!” she exclaimed. “David asked me to marry him! I didn’t want to tell you in a letter and so just waited until our visit!”

At their surprise visit two months ago, Mary Margaret had told her more about the handsome headmaster of her school she’d mentioned their last night in the Depot. He’d made his interest in her clear, but hadn’t yet begun courting her. In the subsequent weeks in between that visit and this one, Mary Margaret had written faithfully to her every week with new developments in their relationship. And now to see the beautiful ring on her sister’s finger, Emma was overjoyed to share in her happiness.

“When is the happy day?” Emma asked.

“August eighteenth,” Mary Margaret gushed. “Once worship is finished, the wedding will take place.” She grabbed both of Emma’s hands in excitement. “Tell me you’ll be able to come.”

“Of course, I will! I wouldn’t miss it for anything!” Emma exclaimed. “I’m sure Killian wouldn’t mind. In fact, I’m not sure he wouldn’t want to accompany me. Alice as well,” she said.

“We’d make them most welcome,” Mary Margaret assured her sister, speculative thoughts swirling through her mind.

She was so excited to share her joyous news, that she almost missed the longing and hopeful look on Emma’s face when she mentioned that Killian might want to join her for the wedding. When they met two months ago, Emma introduced him as Mr. Jones and in her letters, she always referred to him the same way, but that little slip of the tongue made Mary Margaret wonder if there was more between them than what her beloved younger sister had heretofore expressed. Perhaps some subtle questioning was in order.

“Killian, huh? When did you start calling him Killian?” Emma’s mouth fell open, clearly just realizing she’d called her employer by his first name instead of Mr. Jones. The blush spread across her cheeks and her eyes cut away making Mary Margaret smile indulgently before continuing. “It’s clear from your letters that you are happy there, and that you love Alice, but tell me more about Killian. We only had those couple of hours together when you were here last time. What is he like?”

Emma’s face took on a faraway look. One that told Mary Margaret definitively that her sister was in love. She’d been teased about her own similar look quite enough by her colleagues the past couple of months. Her heart melted at the knowledge and she could only hope Killian Jones shared her sister’s regard.

Emma began telling her about him in fits and starts that only made Mary Margaret’s certainty about her sister’s feelings for her employer all the more steadfast. Emma told her how kind he was, how honorable he was, how well she was treated in his household. The attributes she described reminded Mary Margaret very much of her David and she sent up a prayer that Emma would find love with Mr. Killian Jones. It may have been frowned upon in society, but Mary Margaret believed in love with her whole heart and that love was a part of all happiness. She didn’t want societal norms to get in the way of true love, and so she happily ignored those norms and hoped and prayed for that happiness for her sister, no matter what society thought.

The rest of their visit flew by, including tea with Granny and Ruby back at the Depot. It was the first time the sisters had been back to visit with them since leaving three months prior. Ruby had her own news to share as the General Store owner, Graham Humbert, had finally begun courting her and she was hopeful he’d ask for her hand in the next few weeks.

All too soon, the sisters had to take their leave and Emma had to journey back to Drogheda Station. Tears and hugs between the four were had in abundance as well as promises not to wait for three months before coming back for another visit. Once Emma was safely ensconced in the carriage that would carry her home, she waved out the window at her sister, Ruby, and Granny. When they were out of sight, she settled back and closed her eyes for the long journey.

It had been a wonderful day, but she was ready to return home to her charge and prepare for Alice’s birthday on Tuesday. Killian would be leaving Wednesday morning for an extended trip into Queensland, New Guinea, and New Zealand to look for new shipping markets for the wool and meat Drogheda Station provided. Robin would be standing in Killian’s stead with the day to day operations of the Station while he was gone. She hadn’t had much occasion to really interact with him over the months she’d been there, but he always treated her like a gentleman should and Emma felt no unease about him with Killian gone. She’d certainly miss Killian though. Which was why she wanted Alice’s birthday celebration to be so special. Both for the child and for her father.

~*~*~

Alice’s birthday was as perfect an autumn day as one could wish for, much like the actual day of her birth. It was Killian’s favorite time of year, both for celebrating Alice’s birth and the change of the seasons. The heat of the Australian summer was now fully behind them but the cold winter months were as yet a way off. Losing his wife, just over a year ago now, had obviously cast a pall over his daughter’s birthday last year, but Emma was determined that they’d make new, happier memories to replace the sad ones from their loss the year before. She wanted to make sure Alice was fully celebrated, as she deserved to be.

Emma had begun the day foregoing Alice’s regular studies for the special day, and had instead enlisted her help in the kitchen to assist with the preparations for tonight’s celebratory dinner. Alice was thrilled to help and Killian had been unceremoniously shooed out of the room, his ladies insisting he’d only be in the way.

His ladies.

Dangerous thoughts, those.

But Killian really couldn’t help them. Since Emma had joined his household three months prior, he thought of his beloved Milah- Alice’s mother- less and less. His heartache at losing her had finally begun to heal.

As he watched Emma with Alice during their lessons, his heart would be fit to explode with happiness at seeing the clear love and affinity between them. Alice positively blossomed under Emma’s gentle tutelage. She was so smart and eager to learn that she excelled in every subject she and Emma had undertaken. Just last week, Emma had come to him to discuss accelerating her studies to keep Alice’s insatiable appetite for learning appeased. He couldn’t have asked for a better governess for his precious daughter.

The more time he spent with them, and Emma in particular, the more he realized that the regard with which he held Emma was not entirely of the type a man like him should have for a woman like her. Her beauty never failed to make his breath stutter and his heart rate to increase dramatically. Her grace and mannerisms endeared her to him in a way he’d not experienced since he’d met Milah. Her love for his daughter, her quiet and gentle spirit, in spite of the circumstances she’d faced in her short life spoke to a strength of character that was astounding in one so young. His heart was in imminent danger of becoming hers forever, but societal norms wouldn’t look kindly upon a romantic relationship between them. He’d be more than willing to throw off the conventions of society- he didn’t have much contact with society in the first place- if he knew for sure what her feelings were toward him.

She’d never turned him away when he requested to watch them during their lessons, though he would have expected her to be a little nervous to have him as such a frequent observer. Thinking back on the last few months, he realized his requests had become progressively more frequent as time went on. Why, this month alone, he believed he’d observed them just about every other day. And as he did, his own regard for the lovely young woman in his employ only grew. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Emma seemed to be quite pleased when he did request to join them. Her smile seemed wider, the sparkle in her eyes just a bit more apparent. Perhaps she did hold some affection for him- and not of the familial type.

Perhaps tonight, after Alice’s birthday celebrations, he could have a private word with the lovely Emma Swan.

~*~*~

The birthday dinner was a complete success. Alice told him all about the different things she’d done to help prepare the meal. Of course, Cook and the other kitchen staff took care of the heavy lifting, so to speak, but Alice was thrilled when she’d been allowed- with Emma’s close supervision of course- to help chop the vegetables for the lamb stew they dined on, and then Emma had taught her how to make the Irish soda bread native to her homeland. The meal was completed by plum pudding that Alice helped prepare by doing all the mixing of ingredients before pouring it into the mold. The single candle in the middle of the pudding for Alice to blow out was as bright as her smile and Killian and Emma, as well as the other staff, all cheered when she successfully blew it out after shutting her eyes for a moment and making a wish.

Once the pudding was consumed, Killian and Emma gave Alice their birthday gifts. Alice was delighted with the new bonnet and hair ribbons and asked if they could have a picnic the next day so she’d have occasion to wear it. The sketch pad and charcoals were received with utter shock. Tears gathered in the corners of the child’s eyes and Emma worried for a moment that she wasn’t pleased with the gift. When Killian explained that it had been Emma’s idea given how well she was doing in her drawing lessons, Alice flung herself into first Emma’s and then her father’s arms sobbing out her joy and elation at having her very own sketch pad that she could use anytime she wanted, to draw anything she wanted.

As Emma and Alice were leaving the room to prepare for bed, Killian cleared his throat drawing both their attentions.

“Yes, Papa?” Alice asked.

Killian smiled softly at them. “Happy birthday, Starfish.”

Alice let go of Emma’s hand and ran to her father, throwing her arms around his waist. “Thank you, Papa. It was the best birthday ever.” Killian lifted his eyes to Emma’s and mouthed Thank you to her. She nodded and smiled before turning back towards the door of the room.

“Uh, Emma?”

Emma turned back toward Killian and Alice, who’d released her father and was walking back towards her.

“Yes, Mr. Jones?”

“Could you join me in my office after our evening prayers?”

“Of course.”

Emma couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to see her. She’d have to curb her curiosity for the next hour as she and Alice went through her bedtime routine before Killian would join them to kiss his daughter goodnight and pray with them. Could he perhaps wish to tell her goodbye personally before he left for six weeks? She’d find out soon enough.

~*~*~

Emma preceded Killian into his office and he shut the doors behind them.

“Please, sit down, Emma,” he invited. She sat down in front of his desk as he moved behind it. He sat down and clasped his hands on top of it, just as he had the day they met.

“You may be wondering why I’ve asked you here,” he said. “I, ah…” he paused and scratched behind his ear. It was a terribly endearing gesture and Emma couldn’t help the smile that broke over her lips at his action.

“I do have to admit, I am curious,” she replied, still smiling softly.

“Well…” he cleared his throat and reached up to loosen his collar just a bit. “As you know, I’m leaving in the morning and will be gone for about six weeks.” His eyes finally met hers and Emma felt her breath leave her completely. His gaze was so intense. So clear. So blue. She could happily drown in them. She was shaken out of her disjointed musings when Killian rose and came around the desk to kneel next to her chair. Emma gasped as he took her hand in his own and met her gaze again.

“Emma, since you’ve come to Drogheda Station…” He looked down at their joined hands before beginning again. “Emma, your presence here…” he paused again, at a loss of how to continue, “...has been most welcome. You came to Drogheda Station and became a part of my family. Mine and Alice’s. You have fit in with us seamlessly and I have difficulty remembering a time when it was just me and Alice.”

Emma didn’t know what to say, but after a shaky exhale, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve become my family, too. You and Alice.”

He looked down at their clasped hands again, a light blush coloring his cheeks.

“Alice loves you dearly, and I…” His clear blue eyes met hers again and Emma’s chest tightened so much, the gasp she released was more of a sob. “I never thought I’d be able to let go of my Milah. Until I met you.” His voice was just above a whisper and Emma could see tears gathered in the corner of his eyes as he raised his hand to her face. He cupped her chin, and drew her face close to his. “Emma, may I have your permission to court you when I return from my journey?”

Emma’s breath left her on a sharp exhale. She couldn’t believe it. He wanted to court her. All her hopes and dreams were right in front of her and all she had to do was reach out and grasp them.

“Yes, Mr. Jones,” she whispered.

He looked down and chuckled. “Perhaps under the circumstances, you should call me Killian,” he said just before his lips captured her own. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of. It was fire and ice, sweetness and passion, strength and vulnerability all wrapped in a single sensuous package. She’d never been kissed before and had no idea how it could melt her insides and send her soaring at the same time.

This was affection and tenderness.

This was yearning and devotion.

This was hopes and dreams for the future.

This… was love.

Long moments later, Killian pulled back and Emma could breathe again. They remained close, the warm breath from his lips caressing hers just as his mouth had moments ago.

“I must insist that you retire to your room now, Emma,” he said. “I am a gentleman, but you are already testing my resolve.” Emma felt a thrill of feminine pride go through her at his words and she rose to her feet, Killian following.

He took her hands in his own again and raised them both to his lips, kissing the backs of her hands and her knuckles before turning them over and kissing her on the center of each palm.

She lifted one hand to his face and gently cradled his chin. “Goodnight. Stay safe. Come back to me, Killian.”

“I will come back to you, Emma,” he promised her. He turned his face into her hand and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, sending a sweet shiver up her spine. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving. Goodnight, my love. Until we meet again.”

He released her hand and she walked to the doors of the room, turning back one last time to look at the man she loved. She left the room, determined to keep the gathered tears from falling until she was in the privacy of her room, where she would begin counting the days until she’d see him again.

~*~*~

Wednesday was another perfect autumn day. Just right for Emma and Alice to be able to enjoy a picnic by the creek at the edge of the pasture. They were up early enough to bid Killian farewell, but once his carriage was out of sight, they returned to the house and began Alice’s morning lessons.

Having Killian gone was proving to be quite a distraction to her young charge and Emma had to refocus Alice’s attention on her studies more than once throughout the morning hours. When she finally deemed Alice getting close enough to finishing her work that she could be left alone for a few moments, Emma rose.

“I’m going to go gather up our picnic lunch and head on out to the stable to inform them to get the horses ready so we can head straight out as soon as you’re done with your work, alright, Alice?”

Alice looked up and smiled, nodding her head enthusiastically. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Can I trust you to attend to your work without me here? You’re almost done.” Emma hated to ask the question, but with the level of distraction present this morning, she had to have an affirmative answer before she’d leave Alice alone.

“Yes, Miss Emma,” Alice promised. “I’ll be finished in just a few minutes.”

“Very well, come to the stable as soon as you’re done. Don’t forget your new bonnet,” Emma teased with a smile.

Alice patted the bonnet that sat on the side of her desk and smiled widely. “I won’t.”

Emma left Alice alone and went down to the kitchen to find the picnic lunch Cook had prepared for them. She found boiled eggs, roast mutton, and root vegetables inside the sturdy basket. There was also the left over soda bread from the party the night before.

She picked up the basket and walked out the back of the house toward the stable. She sat the basket on the ground outside the door and stepped inside.

It was quiet in the stable and Emma wondered if the stable hands were all at lunch. It was no matter. She had watched the hands prepare their horses many times over the last few months and was fairly confident she could saddle the horses herself.

She’d just finished saddling Alice’s pony when she turned to see the stablemaster standing in the door of the stall. Her breath caught, very much aware they were alone in the stable.

She dropped a small curtsey and then met his gaze. Fear skittered across her skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

“Mr. Cassidy?” she asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. One thing she’d learned out here in the bush the last three months, when a predator smelled fear, they attacked. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, raising his eyebrows slightly, “I need something all right.” His voice was pitched low with an edge of something Emma couldn’t identify. It made her heart rate pick up even more than the initial fright his appearance had caused. He looked out into the main area of the stable. “Where’s Alice?”

Emma swallowed thickly. “She’s just outside waiting for me to saddle our horses for a picnic. She wanted to wear her new bonnet I gave her for her birthday yesterday.”

“Really? I didn’t see her outside when I came in.” He turned back toward her and took a step into the stall, his gaze now lewd, his smile lecherous. “I think you’re lying to me, Emma.”

His use of her name instead of Miss Swan sent Emma into a panic. Alice would be out here any moment, and if she could placate him somehow, perhaps she’d be able to escape with her innocence and dignity intact.

“Yes, you’re right, Mr. Cassidy,” she admitted on a shaky exhale, her stomach rolling with her fear and anxiety over the situation she found herself in. “Alice is inside finishing up her morning studies. She’ll be out for our picnic lunch any moment.”

“Oh, a moment is all I need,” he muttered, a sneer on his lips. He lunged for her, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her outside the stall, slamming the gate closed so the pony couldn’t escape. He spun her around and pressed her up against the side of the stall. Emma tasted blood and closed her eyes, lifting a prayer that Alice would be delayed just a few more minutes… for both their sakes.

~*~*~

Alice skipped out the back door of the house toward the stable to see Miss Emma running towards her. She couldn’t see her very well because of the distance, but Alice realized immediately something wasn’t right. Once she was close enough to really see, she saw Miss Emma was hurt. There was a dark bruise high on the side of her face and her lip was split and very swollen. The beautiful golden hair that Alice so admired was falling out of the braid they’d worked on so carefully this morning, and there was a rip in the bodice of her dress, exposing the shift and corset underneath. Her eyes were red and swollen, like she’d been crying.

“Miss Emma, what’s wrong?” Alice exclaimed. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she gasped. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. I tripped and fell inside the stable, catching my face on the side of Dinah’s stall. I just need to go inside and get this all cleaned up. We’ll have to do the picnic another day. I’m sorry, Alice.”

“Of course,” Alice agreed. She’d been looking forward to their picnic, but taking care of Miss Emma was more important. She took the basket from her and turned back toward the house.

“Don’t say anything to anyone about this, okay, Alice?” Miss Emma asked in a low murmur. If she hadn’t been standing so close to her, she probably wouldn’t have heard it.

Alice looked up into her beloved governess’ face. There was a look in her eyes she’d never seen before- it almost made Alice afraid- but she knew that Miss Emma loved her and would do anything to protect her. Just like her Papa. In the last year, Alice’s memory of her mother was beginning to fade. She could no longer remember her voice or the color of her eyes. But the feelings provoked in her by thoughts of her mother were now wrapped in the golden light of memory- hazy at the edges, but sharp in their recollection. In the absence of the woman who’d raised her, the love and loyalty and obedience given to her was now being transferred to Miss Emma. If Miss Emma didn’t want anyone to know what had happened in the stable, then Alice would obey her.

Alice nodded her head slowly, willing to do anything she asked. “Yes, ma’am.”

~*~*~

The six weeks were finally over and her Papa was coming home today! He’d never been away from home so long, and while, of course, she had Miss Emma caring for her, she’d missed her Papa desperately. Getting letters from him every week helped some, but she couldn’t wait to actually see him and hug him and hear the tales of all his travels and everything he’d done and seen. She was absolutely beside herself and Miss Emma finally gave up trying to keep her focused on her studies. Alice glanced at her and saw the paleness that had been so evident the last week or so was even more pronounced today.

“Miss Emma, why don’t you go lie down and rest?” she asked. “I’ll draw in my sketchbook and I promise that I’ll wake you as soon as Papa arrives home.”

Miss Emma put a hand on her stomach, closed her eyes, and sighed. “You know, my sweet Alice, I think I will do exactly that. As excited as I am that your Papa is coming home today…” Her statement was interrupted by a huge yawn, “I am exhausted. You’re sure you’ll be ok on your own here for a little while?”

Alice grinned, eager to set Miss Emma’s mind at ease. “I’m sure. You go rest.”

She nodded and moved into the next room, leaving the door open so she could wake quickly if she was needed. Alice could see her lie down on her bed from where she sat and in moments, Miss Emma was snoring softly.

Alice got out her sketchbook and charcoals and began to sketch as she waited for her Papa to arrive.

Suddenly, there was a loud commotion outside. It may have felt like it was only a few minutes, but it must have been at least an hour given how much of the picture she was drawing was completed. Miss Emma always laughed at how caught up she’d get in her sketching that she wasn’t aware of any time passing at all, and that had certainly happened again today. The picture of Miss Emma asleep on her bed was nearly finished, but the sound of a carriage outside was difficult to miss. Alice looked out the window and flew from the room, her promise to wake Emma completely forgotten.

“Papa, Papa!” she cried, bursting from the door and flinging herself into his arms. He laughed and spun her around, hugging her tightly.

Killian pulled back and looked into his daughter’s face. Oh, how he had missed her. It had been a productive and successful trip, but he couldn’t tolerate being away from the ones he loved that long ever again.

“You know, Starfish,” he said, “I do believe you’ve grown a foot since I left!”

Alice smirked, recognizing his teasing tone, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks.

“Oh, Papa,” she scolded lightly. “ You know I haven’t.”

“Where’s Miss Emma?” he asked, searching the front of the house for her, eager to see the woman he loved again.

“She’s lying down and resting, Papa,” Alice informed him.

“Resting?” he asked, confused. “At this time of day?” He looked at his daughter and caught her furrowed brow. “What’s the matter, Starfish? Is there something wrong?”

He moved toward the front of the house and Alice clung to his neck as he carried her inside. He walked straight to his room and deposited her on the bed. He pulled off his boots and sat next to her.

“Did something happen, Starfish? Why the furrowed brow?” He smoothed his thumb over her forehead until the lines disappeared and she looked up at him with love and happiness at his return shining in her eyes.

“I missed you so much, Papa,” she said, hugging him tightly again.

Killian returned her embrace. “I missed you too, my love. Now tell me what’s troubling you.”

Alice pressed her lips into a thin line, almost as if she was hesitant to say what was on her mind.

“Alice,” he urged, using her name instead of her nickname to impress on her the seriousness of his words, “You can tell me anything.”

Her blue eyes met his and Killian found himself a bit nervous to hear what she had to say. He hadn’t said anything to her about courting Emma before he’d left. Could Emma have said something to her? And perhaps Alice wasn’t as happy as he’d thought she’d be?

“There’s something wrong with Miss Emma,” she said. It was the last thing he’d expected to come out of her mouth and Killian had to double check to make sure he’d heard her correctly.

“Something wrong? With Miss Emma?” Alice nodded. “What is it?”

“She hasn’t been feeling well.”

“How has she not been feeling well?” Alice shrugged, and Killian pressed. “What exactly makes you say she hasn’t been feeling well?”

“She’s tired all the time,” she explained. “She hasn’t been waking up with me in the morning, I’ve had to come in and wake her to help me with my hair. She’s been sick, too. She tries to hide it, but I know that she’s been sick in the morning after breakfast. And sometimes after lunch and dinner, too.”

“How long has this been going on, Starfish?”

Alice shrugged again. “Since not long after you left.”

“And you say she’s asleep now?”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded.

“Ok, as soon as she wakes up- don’t wake her up yourself, understand, Starfish?- tell her I’d like to see her in my office.” Killian gathered his daughter in his arms and hugged her tightly. “Let me get unpacked, and you go down and ask what Cook has planned for dinner.”

“Yes, Papa.” Alice skipped out of the room and Killian frowned.

After stating his intentions before leaving, he was sure she held him in the same regard as he held her. He had a lot of trouble believing that she would betray him. But, if what he suspected was going on with Emma was correct, he was going to need some answers. Answers that only Emma had.

~*~*~

It was another hour before a knock sounded on his office door.

“Enter,” he called.

The door opened and Alice bounded in followed by Emma. It was a very good thing that Alice was here to distract him slightly, because if she hadn’t been, his jaw would have dropped in shock and dismay.

Emma was sick.

There was no doubt.

She looked to have lost a stone since he’d been gone. The dress she wore hung on her overly thin frame. Her skin was pale and her hair hung limply around her face. Even though she’d just awoken, it was clear that she was utterly exhausted. She looked like a stiff winter breeze would blow her over.

“Thank you, Alice,” he said, giving her a big hug and kiss. “Would you go ask Cook to prepare some ginger tea and some sandwiches for myself and Miss Emma?”

“Yes, Papa.”

She skipped out of the doors of his office leaving Killian alone with the woman he loved.

“Emma,” he breathed, moving toward her, his hand outstretched.

“Killian.” Her smile trembled, her tear filled gaze holding all the love and longing he hoped to see. She took his hand and he pulled her close, enveloping her in his arms. He held her tightly, turning his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent, imprinting her on his soul. This was his Emma and whatever had happened, he was sure she hadn’t betrayed him.

He gathered her in his arms and sat in the chair in front of his desk, still holding her closely on his lap.

“You’re with child.” It was a statement, not a question. With the evidence in her body before him and Alice’s observations, Killian had no doubt.

Emma buried her face in his neck, unable to meet his piercing gaze. He may have said he loved her and wanted to court her, but with the reality of him knowing that she carried another man’s child, there was no way under heaven that he would still want her. That he would still allow her to remain as governess to his daughter.

“Emma, look at me.” She felt his finger under her chin, exerting subtle pressure, urging her to lift her gaze to his. She allowed him to lift her chin, but once he stopped, she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. To tell him the truth. “Emma, please.”

It was the pleading in his voice that finally broke her resolve. She opened her tear filled eyes to behold the same in his.

“Tell me what happened.”

Taking a deep breath, the entire thing spilled out of her. She’d kept it bottled up, buried, never again to see the light of day. But with the growing certainty that she was with child, she knew it was only a matter of time before Killian found out and her life as she knew it would be over. Killian would surely send her away and she’d lose her family again. But as she told him everything, he continued to hold her close, stroking her hair tenderly even as his eyes cycled through sorrow, fury, dismay and finally settled on controlled fortitude.

He looked her in the eyes, love and devotion swirling in their depths, and cupped her face in his hands. “Emma, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this happened. I never should have left. If I’d been here, this never would have happened.”

“Killian, no,” she replied. “You can’t blame yourself. This trip was necessary for your and Alice’s future.” She paused for a moment, her unsure gaze meeting his. Did he still love her? “For our future,” she stuttered, haltingly.

He smiled gently. “Yes, Emma. For our future. I love you and you have nothing to fear. Either from the future or him. I will stand by you. I will marry you, and claim the child as my own. If you’ll have me.”

At his words, Emma could hold back her tears no longer.

“I love you, Killian,” she sobbed. “And yes, I will be yours forever. I want nothing more than to be your wife, and a mother to Alice.”

“You can stay here with me while I confront him, or you can wait outside,” he told her. “I will not force you to remain in the room with him, unless you wish it.”

Emma shook her head. “I’ve stayed as far away from him as I could since it happened. And I’d just as soon as never lay eyes on him again.”

“Very well, then. Wait in the parlor while I send for him. I’ll come to you when he’s gone.”

Emma nodded, rose, and left the room.

~*~*~

Killian sat behind his desk when there was a knock on the doors.

“Enter.”

The door opened and Neal Cassidy walked in.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”

Killian didn’t look up, but continued to peruse the correspondence in front of him. After waiting for several long moments, he finally met Cassidy’s gaze with a hard stare. He didn’t invite him to sit. He wanted the man to be on his feet for what was about to happen.

“I understand from Miss Emma…” He paused for a moment to see if the mention of Emma’s name provoked any reaction from the man in front of him. He wasn’t surprised to see nothing but a slight widening of his eyes and a muscle tic in his jaw. “That you violated her in a most disgusting and vile manner. What have you to say for these charges?”

Neal snorted in derision. “You’re going to believe some Irish whore…”

Killian rose from behind his desk and slammed both his fists down on the surface. The move was so sudden, Neal choked on his words.

“Don’t you ever say such things about my intended.” His words were low and deadly and Neal Cassidy got just a glimpse of how much trouble he was truly in. “Yes, I believe her. Because she is the epitome of honesty and integrity. The authorities have already been notified. They’ll be here within the hour. If you are not off my property by then, they’ve been given leave to shoot to kill. I’d hurry, if I were you.”

“I’ll hurry all right.”

Neal reached for the gun at his hip, but Killian was ready for him. He got his shot off first, hitting Cassidy in the gut. He fell to the floor, but still got his own shot off, just grazing Killian’s left bicep. A hiss of pain left his lips as Killian walked around his desk to see the man writhing in agony before him, his pistol on the ground. He knew the wound he’d inflicted was deadly, but that it could be hours, perhaps even days before it would eventually kill him. And as pleased as that would have made him- for Cassidy to have just a taste of the suffering he’d inflicted on Emma, and thus on him- he knew that as long as that gun was within reach, he was still a threat. Killian leveled his own pistol in front of him and shot Cassidy right in the middle of the forehead. A thin trickle of blood leaked from the hole, down the bridge of his nose, his sightless eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The door to his study crashed open as Emma ran in, followed by Robin.

“What the hell happened?” he cried.

Emma flung herself into his arms and buried her face in his neck.

“I’m alright, Love. You’re safe now.”

Emma sobbed into Killian’s neck barely conscious of him lifting her in his arms and going around to his desk chair where he sat down, holding her close and murmuring words of comfort in her ear. She only knew that when she’d heard two gunshots in quick succession, she’d feared the worst. She’d run from the parlor and had heard the third gunshot just as she’d burst through the doors. She was hardly aware of Robin wrapping the body in a white sheet and dragging him out as Killian continued to hold and comfort her.

She felt something wet under her hand. She drew back, her mouth dropping in a horrified Oh when she saw the tear in Killian’s shirt from the bullet and the blood soaking into the fabric.

“You’re shot!” she cried.

“Tis merely a scratch, darling.” He smiled disarmingly at her. “I got him first.”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, quickly unbuttoning his shirt so she could get a better look at the wound. Once she got the shirt open and off him, she looked at the injury with a critical eye. “It doesn’t need stitches, but it does need to be cleaned and bandaged.”

She turned to Robin who’d returned from disposing of the trash and asked for a few items that would help her accomplish that. As soon as he left, she turned back to Killian.

“I wish it hadn’t come to that, Emma,” he said, sorrow and apology obvious in his eyes and tone. “But there’s nothing I won’t do to keep you safe. To keep the ones I love safe.”

“I know, Killian,” she breathed. She dropped her forehead down to his and closed her eyes. “And I’m so thankful to be counted among those you love.”

Her lips found his in a gentle caress designed to show him everything in her heart that she couldn’t put into words.

As he held her close and deepened the kiss, Emma’s heart soared. This was her Killian. The man she loved. She was his forever and an orphan girl no longer.

The End ~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading and sharing! I'd love to know what you think!

#orphan girl #krystal writes #art by krystal #inspired by the song

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paradisepoisoned · 1 year

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I'm drunk, and work is consuming my life, so I give you the Death Note tattoo AU no one asked for.

-L was a world-famous tattoo artist, but no one really knows what he looks like except his clients and disgruntled employees, but his work is well recognized. Moved to New York to open his own tattoo shop but he's kinda a mystery in the industry and he's one of those owners that doesn't really show up to his own business anymore he rarely tattoos and when he does its only things he wants to do. Will fuck off to Cambodia for a month or something and then randomly show up to collect money and sleep there for a week.

-L has only ever took two apprentices and they were Mello and Near. He took them on at the same time and it was a complete disaster. L refuses to take on an apprentice ever again

-Near specializes in sacred geometry, mandalas, and all that tedious crazy shit. Line work is impeccable. I feel like he'd be great at lettering and that fine line bullshit that everyone else hates. No one takes him seriously as an artist cause he looks like he's fucking twelve. He has amazing work but is absolutely horrible with clients due to his non existent social skills.

-Mello is the black and gray guy. He's one of those guys who just whips out a 23 mag and goes to town and bangs out a half sleeve in a few hours. I can see him doing crazy horror shit and those big crazy religious pieces like praying hands statues and all that good shit. He doesn't do color and doesn't like anything with a lot of linework. Looks scary but kinda a softie.

-Near is great at linework. Mello is great at shading. They compete and fight on a regular basis. They have an ongoing silent war stealing each other's supplies,clients, etc. (They're secretly in love tho, deal with it)

-Matt definitely the anime bruh I could see him doing some super colorful new school anime type shit he's a street shop kinda guy at heart tho hell do the dirty jobs no one else wants to do and he's FAST he can bang out your little infinity symbol butterfly feather clusterfuck matching finger tattoo with your 13 friends no problem. He wears goggles while tattooinglmaoaoa idk why, but he also gives me big piercer energy, lol

-I'm sorry but I can't leave out Linda. I feel like she's the color girl. Specializes in cover ups and botanical tattoos but shes well rounded and can take mostly anything that walks in. Probably the most organized artist out of all of them and keeps the shop from falling apart on a daily basis. I feel like L also trusts her to be the one to manage the shop while he's not there since the others are all completely unhinged, lol. Shop mom 100%

-Matt and Mello hit the bar at least once a week after work and talk shit till 4am

-B Specializes in trash polka fucking fight me on it.

-B and L apprenticed together and were working together when L opened his own shop but B kinda went down a dark path and him and L drifted apart and now have beef so B is the artist no one talks about (except Mello cause I feel B woulda played a big part in his apprenticeship)

-B also kinda legitimately tried to burn the whole shop down before he left soooooo...

-L has kept B's room open for years, hoping he gets his shit together one day and comes back.

#death note #death note headcanons #tattoo au #wammys boys #wammys house #wammys kids #Mello #mihael keehl #nate river #meronia #mello x near #Near #Matt #mail jeevas #Linda #L #BB #Beyond birthday #headcanon

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shuicheese · 2 years

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sometimes,,, I lowkey really miss roleplaying-

#.....#....#...#..#.#IT'S 4AM I SHOULD BE ASLEEP BUT insomnia is hitting me and #tBH ROLEPLAYING IS FUN AND I WANNA DO IT AGAIN???#but setting up a blog is . uuuu- it's fun but sometimes i just rlly wanna get to just writing orjKSJJS #i swear when it comes to canon characters though i research and analyze every speech and scene it's like i'm writing a science report #mOTIVATION THO.#when it comes to some of my main OCs tho im always down like i will literally throw them at any given scenario and it will work out kgkKJ #canon charas tho.. we discuss bc i miss roleplaying as succi sighara and i also wanna give enmu a shot--#tBH ITS AN OPEN DISCUSSION AND--#this is an open invitation to my pals//mutuals if they ever wanna RP in our DMs w me >'D #I'm sleep deprived if youre still reading this thank you for listening to my ted talk ilysm /p #we pray i sleep now #dove.txt #// long tags

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junicai · 3 years

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Relationship with NCT Dream

➣ MARK ☾ mari

½ of the best friend crew

honestly at the beginning, mark and aria weren’t very close, having only really seen each other in passing or with johnny

but after being dropped into training together the two quickly became fast friends, and now they’re borderline inseparable

you thought you knew pain? watch aria’s reaction to mark’s graduation from dream :)

mark’s the reason why aria felt confident enough to pitch some of her lyric ideas to the team, after staying up until 4am to help her make some edits so she was as confident as possible

kinda just, rests his head on her shoulder? and wraps his arms around her waist when he’s tired

mari being confused in foreigner: ???

aria said once in a vlive that she finds mark really comforting to be around - when she feels stressed or worried about something she’ll go to mark’s room and just sit on his bed for a while

aria is so close with his parents - “ahh, how’s my favourite child” “i’m doing great mom.” “no not you, how’s aria?” “wh-hu-MOM?”

you’d swear sometimes mark is younger than her, considering the pout he puts on and how much he whines when they’re not on the same team together for promotions

mark big protecc boi but also little small cuddly boi

they’re so soft for each other ( ╥ω╥ )

in one of the fancams for mark’s solo stage during superm, someone zoomed into aria singing along with him in the wings and dancing to herself with the Proudest Smile™

he’s! so! proud! of! her! constantly! she could be walking and he’d be like “omg get it”

when aria refuses to get up and make herself food (this happens way too often, she just gets into the groove of her work and doesn’t want to move) mark gets her to by threatening to do it himself

consistently caught by czennies just standing behind her and holding her hand in crowded areas - airports, waiting rooms, etc.

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

mark and aria were standing off to one side as the mc explained the rules of the game they were about to be playing. mark looked totally confused, and elbowed aria in her side before looking down and mouthing “what?” to her. aria opened her mouth, before closing it and looking down at the ground, muttering to herself, “결합… 結合….. le chéile…. le… le.. oh oh - combined! we have to put them together, markie.”and thus, a new confusion meme was born

➣ RENJUN ☾ renjaria

renjun and aria room together while she’s promoting with dream

they were so awkward around each other at the beginning :(

only really spoke in passing, or when they had to

it was renjun that broke the ice at first, asking if she wanted to go shopping for the dorm together

now it’s their thing

“no aria, we can’t get more ice-cream we’re all supposed to be on diets.” “but ｡ﾟ･ (>﹏<) ･ﾟ｡ please”

he’s lowkey soft for her but he’d rather throw himself off the roof then tell her that

piano pals

he started teaching her how to properly play once he found her messing around on a keyboard in the studio one day

they actually argue quite a bit

not about big things, but about smaller things that push each other over the edge because of stress

the first time he yelled at her, aria spent the night in hyuck’s room

hyuck yelled at renjun for making her cry

now they’re probably the best pairing for talking through their emotions instead of blowing up on each other

they’re both quite opinionated people, and they’ve learnt to navigate that well so fights don’t happen as often

does that stop renjun from teasing aria an within an inch of her life? absolutely not

“i’ll kill you” “can you, reach?” “LISTEN HERE-”

he acts like he’s 10ft tall, excuse you sir you are barely 5′6″

renjun was her mandarin teacher for a while, but then kun kindly told her that her “introduction” was actually calling herself an idiot

aria has a bad problem with saesangs go away bitches and renjun is iconic for going off on them for her because she doesn’t like to make a big deal out of it all

he gets so angry on her behalf

that was actually a topic of one of their biggest arguments smh

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

aria was leaning on a pile of books to prop herself up as she leant forwards to try and hang a string of lights on her bedroom wall. renjun walked in, and immediately came to her aid, speaking with a teasing tone. “need a hand?”

aria, without ceremony just elbowed him in the stomach and used his then folded up figure to push herself up higher. “yes, thank you!”

she got hate for that one, but it was all in good fun and renjun was laughing after it

➣ JENO ☾ nori

aria is his princess and everyone else can fight him

like they’re both doyoung’s children, but if it comes down to it he will lay down his life for her

and not even in a romantic way, just a “you’re too precious i have to protect you” kind of way

czennies thought he was in love with her for the entirety of nct 2018 promotions

this boy was hanging off of her at any given second, and there was an edited video of jeno “glaring” at lucas’ back when the taller boy walked away after hugging aria

it was faked, stan twt needs to chill out

he drags her to the gym

he’s basically her big brother? but they’re the same age - its a weird dynamic but they make it work

they’re so LOUD together

not chaotic, but he makes her laugh so hard

vlive 191030: “nono-ah makes my cheeks hurt so i can’t spend too long around him. my sides hurt too ~ ♡(｡- ω -)”

any and all fanfictions written about the two are definitely either coffee shop, university or library AUs

this man walks like a bodyguard around her - boy got the arm over the shoulder, tucked her head into him, covering her face, its a whole ordeal

dispatch released some pictures of aria one day and accidentally blurred out jeno’s face because they thought he was her bodyguard

is so. so mindful of how long aria spends in the training rooms

like, yes everyone else expects her home before midnight (long story)

but jeno actively makes sure to ask people what time she left the dorm at, and texts her to remind her to take water breaks and to come home at a good time so she can sleep

these two are the creators of so many iconic vlives - they have a bad habit of going live at 1 or 2 in the morning, just doing random things

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

“hi hi! so, nono and i- jeno stop it, stop it! - nono and i are walking down to the park to go feed the birds - yes we’re going to feed the bird- no! we are not going to feed the ducks, bread can kill the ducks! why did you bring brea-”

jeno pulled the camera from aria’s hands. “ari and i,” he looked at her purposefully, “are going back to the dorms because someone forgot to bring the bird seed, and apparently we can’t give bread to ducks anymore.”

*sounds of aria intermittently hitting and scolding jeno ensue*

➣ DONGHYUCK ☾ arichan

the other half of the best friend crew

absolute heathens to be around when they are together

donghyuck is the person aria is closest to, and someone she’d call her best friend (only when she was sure he wouldn’t hear her)

she calls him “the demon child i can’t get rid of” but will, and has definitely pouted when he ignored her for too long

generally aria is a pretty soft spoken person, but not with hyuck around - he brings out all her chaos energy (please pray for the patience of dotae)

the pair have a little tradition of kissing the back of each others’ hands before going on stage for good luck. they can’t even remember how it started, but now its an unnegotiable pre-show ritual

he’s so clingy with her absolutely everywhere its painfully adorable (ಥ﹏ಥ)

interviews? hyuck has a hand on her knee, or if she’s wearing a skirt he’s tucked his hand in between their chairs so she can hold it discreetly. in the dorms? full body tackle onto the couch, where he proceeds to lay on top of her completely.

because of hyuck’s nickname being the sun, and aria always being around him, czennies gave her the nickname “moon” to go with him

fans thought that aria was older than hyuck for a good year and a half before she released her birthday on a vlive, because she’s normally the one tasked with reigning his chaotic energy in during promotions (that is, if she hasn’t already joined him)

but off-camera, aria is absolutely hyuck’s baby there is no disputing that. aria’s sad?he’s there with ice-cream and a blanket and a baseball bat.

the winnie the pooh character that is on aria’s bed was a gift from hyuck for her 17th birthday, after she made him watch seven episodes of the show on netflix with her one night

yes he complained, but he slapped her hand away when she went to change it to something else

a twitter thread of a czennie comparing their horoscopes together went viral when people realized that it was quite plausible that the pair were each others (platonic) soulmates

after an incident involving blueberries, donghyuck took it upon himself to check the ingredients of every. single. food item in their dorm to make sure it was ok for her to eat

hyuck clowns her for her irish accent, and aria curses him out in japanese

tldr: they cute or whatever

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

donghyuck was doing a vlive in his bedroom, sitting and talking to czennies when aria opened the door to his room quietly. she didn’t say anything, just waved slightly with almost closed eyes before she crawled underneath his covers and tucked her plushie underneath her chin. hyuck didn’t even blink at it - so it must have been a regular occurrence.

➣ JAEMIN ☾ nari

jaemin highkey flusters her

not in a oo you’re so cute, cute boy make nerves go eeee

but he’ll wink at her and teasingly compliment her and now she looks like a firetruck this isn’t fair

he absolutely takes advantage of this where ever possible

“riri, can i have some?” “no, i just made these you should have helped me (-_-)” “riri~ but you looked so cute making them i didn’t want to interrupt you~” *aria.exe has stopped responding*

but when aria isn’t trying to get her cheeks to stop being red, they’re really cute together

you’d swear aria is older, by how much jaemin whines for her attention

the mighty battles between jaemin and hyuck

hyuck’s just biding his time for the rooftop fight

kinda panics around her when she’s crying, but is always the first to offer up a hug

has a period tracker on his phone but no one knows about it

he doesn’t like to coddle her because they’re so close in age, but that doesn’t stop him from getting protective in certain situations *cough cough the fansign cough cough*

jaemin and aria cuddling when they’re drunk? more likely than you’d think

he definitely professed his undying love for her at one point while being drunk, and chenle caught it on video

“noona we’re playing that at your wedding”

designated blanket/pillow hunter at award shows, and if he can’t find one then he usually just gives her his jacket

the amount of coffee these two consume should be illegal

aria prefers to call him nana and he prefers to call her riri in the dorms, so when either of them get called by their first name by the other it means A: they’re on a schedule, or B: someone’s about to die

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

nct dream on idol room were trying out jaemin’s death-in-a-cup (his coffee) and as the cup got passed around, aria grew more and more concerned with each face the members made. “jaemin if i die from this-”

he only smiled at her while passing over the cup. aria held it up to look at the black liquid skeptically, before sighing in resignation and bringing the cup to her lips to take a sip.

and then another.

“wait this is good i like this”

➣ CHENLE ☾ leri

hide yo kids and hide yo wives because leri is entering the chat

*cue aria and chenle wearing 2000s rapper clothes with backwards baseball caps*

these two are so chaotically calm

its like the energy cancels out or something

aria with hyuck is just so loud and obnoxious, and the same with chenle with jisung

so when you put those two together it just turns into le positive vibes

you ever meditated to those 132 hertz sounds? thats them in a sound

aria will hold him like a baby kitten she’s expecting to try wriggle out of her grip at any moment and its comical because he’s a good head taller than her

aria definitely has a knack for making her groupmates’ parents fall in love with her

every two weeks or so she goes for dinner in chenle’s house upon his mother’s request

they have a mutual understanding of the mental toll it takes to be around the rest of the dreamies constantly

chenle and aria sitting peacefully, watching a cdrama:

the dreamies, throttling each other: AAAAAAAAAAA

will never admit it but he misses her the most when she goes away to promote

he thinks of her as a big sister and the dorms feel empty without her there

aggressive proud hugs

so aggressive, he legit tackles her

he had to tone it down after knocking her over once backstage and she narrowly missed clocking herself on a nearby soundboard

“YAH ZHONG CHENLE YOU HAVE TO BE CAREFUL!”

he always gets a little bit anxious when they eat things outside of the dorms because he’s never seen her have an allergic reaction before and he’d like to keep it that way (`皿´＃)

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

chenle was particularly restless that day, constantly shuffling about in his seat to the point where renjun forcefully tossed an arm over his shoulders to hold him still while the vlive was still playing.

not one to be defeated, chenle then turned to press his lips to renjun’s cheek playfully, laughing when the older boy turned away in disgust. he turned to do the same to aria, coming closer to her cheek before aria turned her head to face his.

“AAA-” “EW CHENLE WHY”

➣ JISUNG ☾ jiri

oh god oh god oh god

if aria could take this boy and wrap him in a blanket and keep him in her pocket she would - no questions asked

jisung knows she loves him the most out of dream sorry markhyuck and takes advantage of it every second

she used to coddle him a lot when he was smaller, but now that he’s older aria tries to rein it in as much as possible

that doesn’t mean it goes away completely though

“noona can you cook for me?” “of course jisungie! what do you want?”

*jeno gobsmacked in the background* “you just told me you were too tired to cook tonight”

aria: big baby, must protect

jisung: tiny noona, must protect

jaemin and aria are really the only people jisung is ok with seeing him be super emotional - and he flip flops between the two depending on the reason why he’s emotional

self-esteem, feeling poopy side of it all? straight into aria’s bed, letting her roll him onto his side so she can tuck his head into her shoulder and covers the two of them with her duvet the way she used to do when he was shorter

this boy cannot curse around her unless he wants to get his ass Beat

dancing bros

they go so hard in their NCT Dance duet videos

he keeps band-aids in his bag for her in exchange for her keeping an extra bottle of water in hers because jisung always forgets his own

jisung rests his elbow on her head a lot

but only briefly because the last time he stayed there for too long she stamped on his foot

tldr: aria is jisung’s emotional support gnome

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

jisung and aria were doing the chicken leg battle (this one) to fight for first dibs on the rooms they were going to be sharing for the next week or so. just before they were about to start, mark started laughing and pointing at how high jisung’s leg came up on aria’s, with aria’s knee barely hitting jisung’s mid-thigh

“this is an unfair advantage! this is cheating!”

226 notes · View notes

marybethsjournal · 3 years

Text

The Past was Hell

Summary: The story of Abigail joining the gang and subsequently bonding with John. This is a divergence of canon fic where she left an ab*sive family, most characters are in canon besides Jenny, who in this fic has been with the gang since she was very young and Grimshaw, who has 4 sons and is in a relationship with Dutch. Also took some liberties with Arthur and Eliza’s relationship. Enjoy :)

Warnings: mentions of abuse, rape, and incest (obviously not in a condoning way). Vague talk about being a prostitute under the age of 18, but none of that actually takes place in the confines of the story. Just like in canon, Abigail in underage at the start of her relationship with John. Lastly, in this fic, Abigail is religious so religion is vaguely mentioned several times throughout the story, so skip if that isn’t your jam. Overall a very heavy story so keep that in mind before reading.

Word Count: 6488

Here’s the fic on ao3 for your reading pleasure if you prefer consuming content on there. https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766132

Abigail opened her bedroom door quietly and staggered to the kitchen. She saw her brother, but not her mother or father. Good.

“Where is father?” she whispered. He could be in the house and who knows the wrath he would force upon her if he found out she was out of her room and worse, talking about him.

“Passed out in the parlor. I don’t know what mama gave him but he’s sure to be mad about it when he wakes up” Rick, her brother, told her.

“I’m going to make biscuits then. Haven’t eaten in three days. I hope he won’t wake up before I finish ‘em.” Abigail turned her back from him and started towards the drawer with the bowls in it, but Rick grabbed her arm and turned her around quickly.

“Abigail,” the gravely serious tone of his voice frightened her, “You need to get out.”

“Why?” she asked, laughing lightly. “I haven’t offended you, have I?”

“I’m being serious. It’s gotten worse and worse with father and you. He takes you multiple times a day now, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Besides, he beats you so badly you can hardly walk anymore. You can’t keep saying you’re waiting until your wounds heal. He’ll kill you before then. Now’s your chance. Leave.”

Abigail knew Rick was right. She wouldn’t have another chance like this. She wondered if him and her mother had conspired together and she had purposefully put something in their father’s dinner. It would have been the most considerate thing she had done for Abigail for a while.

“Come with me then.” Abigail grabbed Rick’s hands.

Rick shook his head.

“No I have to stay here and look after mama. I’m not a target like you are. Here, I’ll prepare a basket of food for you. You go get some stuff packed and then leave immediately.”

Suddenly the two teenagers heard the sound of a head hitting a wall and a gruff “Fuck!” come from the parlor. Abigail froze in terror. Their father was awake.

“Go. Now!” Rick practically shooed Abigail out the door and proceeded to throw her shoes out the door behind her. Great, these had heels on them. Between that and the great pain in her side from where her father had beat her earlier, she was not going to get far. She was determined to try, though. If her father caught her attempting to escape, there’d be Hell to pay. Besides, the thought of never being taken advantage of again was a big enough motivator of its own. So Abigail ran as fast as she could, the splintering feeling in her side disregarded, praying every step of the way. She was going to need it.

It was dusk of the second day that Abigail had left her home that she had decided she needed food. She had walked into a little town and she swore that she was getting so hungry that she could smell the food that was inside the townsfolk’s houses. Abigail pulled a bobby pin out of her hair without thinking and walked towards one of the houses swiftly before stopping in her tracks. What was she doing? Was she really about to rob somebody’s home? Was she going to walk in and invade someone's privacy like that? Abigail’s father, when he wasn’t spending time being an abusive bastard sent straight from the fiery pits of Hell itself, was a very successful businessman and she never ever had to even think about robbing a house before. But I’m hungry, she thought, before putting the bobby pin into the lock and working to get the damn door to open.

Abigail realized she had enormously miscalculated her criminal abilities when she opened the door and was greeted by a man holding a shotgun to her face. Of course these people were still awake! It couldn’t have been past 7pm, not that Abigail had been completely sure of the time since she had left her home. She would have scolded herself for being so utterly foolish if she wasn’t focused on the immediate danger the man and his shotgun posed.

“Who the Hell are you?” The man yelled. Abigail flinched. She was more than used to being yelled at, but not by men that weren’t in her bloodline.

“I said” the man repeated “Who the Hell are you? Answer me now, girl!” he waved the gun in her face.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll just leave. I really am sorry.” is all Abigail could make out before the man was dragging her in the house.

“Oh no you don’t. You don’t just break into my house and then get to leave Scott free.”

A woman who Abigail presumed must have been his wife walked into the room cautiously. It was clear she had been hiding and was listening to the heated exchange.

“Honey, she’s just a kid. Look at ‘er.” the woman reasoned with the man.

The man did not lower his gun.

“Oh fantastic, a delinquent is trying to rob me, that’s SOOO much better!”

The woman rolled her eyes.

“Gerald, honey, show some compassion. Let me just talk to her.”

“Compassion,” Gerald emphasized, “runs in your family and look where it got ‘em. Your Gran Gran died from armed robbers just two weeks ago.”

“Why were you coming in here?” The lady addressed Abigail directly.

“Because,” Abigail sniffled, “I’m hungry and I don’t have any money. I don’t know where to get any food. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear”.

The woman noticed Abigail kept holding on to her side and upon further inspection, her face looked pretty bruised up, although the bruises seemed to be fading slightly.

“Are you hurt?”

Abigail nodded.

“Who hurt you, sweetheart?”

“My father.” Abigail was crying by this point and continued to issue apologizes for entering the home uninvited.

The lady looked at Gerald as if to say “I told you so” and started guiding Abigail up the stairs.

“Come. We have an extra bedroom. You look exhausted. I have some soup left from dinner, I’ll bring it up. I’m so sorry all this happened angel. We can talk about this in the morning. For now, rest. No one can hurt you here.”

It had been several hours since then. The lady’s name had turned out to be Betty and she was true to her word and brought Abigail a bowl of potato soup and then another after she had finished the first bowl. Betty was one of the kindest souls Abigail had ever met, she felt safe with her. Gerald wasn’t all so bad either. He just had his guard up, rightfully so. Before Abigail had gone to bed, they had told her that she could stay with them as long as she liked. However, after about 3 hours of sleep, Abigail awoke and realized that if she stayed here, she’d have to tell them exactly what her father had done and worse, she’d have to say who he was. Despite all the horrible things he had put her through, she still had a sense of loyalty to him. She could never do that to him. His whole career, Hell, his whole life would be over. Besides, she couldn’t just leech off these people. Abigail decided around 4am that she had to leave. She tiptoed down the stairs and went through the kitchen, stuffing as many rolls as she could in her dress before sneaking out the back door. She didn’t know where she was heading, only that she couldn’t stay where she was.

It was pitch black outside and although Abigail’s eyes adjusted rather quickly, it was still hard to make out exactly where she was going. Before she had completely exited the town, Abigail’s feet crunched on something. She looked down to see it was a newspaper. The Western Times, it read in big letters. Abigail picked up the dirty newspaper and thought that maybe this could be her out. Her father read the local newspaper every day and she knew there were always people putting out ads in there for job listings. Maybe somebody needed a nanny or a housekeeper or someone to sew for them or- well she’d see later when the sun came up and she could see better. Yet again, Abigail found herself praying that things went her way.

As luck would have it, someone actually had put out an ad for a housekeeper! Some man named Mr. Greensboro. She hadn’t heard of him before but he apparently lived a short way away from the town she had passed earlier and if she was fortunate enough, she could get there before he hired someone else. Abigail was aware she looked ragged and dirty, something one wouldn’t like to see in a housekeeper, but perhaps the man would take pity on her. Abigail needed money and a place to live in order to survive. She really needed this job.

Things were going Abigail’s way yet again! She had met with the man and after about an hour and a half interview, he hired her. She was ecstatic. Mr. Greensboro was a kind man, although his selection process was kind of odd. He had asked her if she knew her bust size and if she was a virgin.His face contorted in an odd way when she regretfully told him that while she had never engaged in consensual sex, she had been taken against her will more times than she could count. He apologized to her for asking, saying he only asked just to know if she was married or would have an unexpected pregnancy while working for him. Seemed a bit of an odd way to ask, but she let it go. Beggars could not be choosers and she most assuredly was a beggar now.

Abigail had just shut the door to Mr. Greensboro’s sizable cottage when she heard some women calling to her from the side of the house.

“You there!” Abigail turned her head and saw a woman with a Nigerian accent calling to her. She was beautiful, with short black hair and soft brown eyes. “You came here for the job, didn’t you?”

Abigail glanced between the woman speaking and the two girls behind her. One had pale, freckled skin and strawberry-blonde hair and the other looked a little older than the other women and seemed more worn by life as well. She had skin weathered from the sun and wispy brown hair pulled into a braid.

“Uh yes, I came for the job. I need the money.”

“How old are you?” The speaker of the group came closer.

“Sixteen but I can work hard.”

“Not like he wants you to. He’s a bad man, does bad things to us. We have people that we have to take care of. We all have kids to feed and we’re already in too deep. Trust me, you’d be better off being a working girl on your own terms.”

After several more moments speaking with the women, Abigail was convinced. She left with her head hung down low, disheartened. Why were all the men in this world such creeps? It was heartbreaking to know that she would most likely have to make a profession from having to do the thing she was running away from: being touched by men she didn’t want to touch her. It wasn’t fair. All the girls in the town she came from were going to be housewives and socialites and she was going to be Abigail the Whore. Abigail never hated prostitutes, she just always thought herself to be above them. That’s what privilege does, she supposed, makes you so far removed from poverty that you can’t imagine that people are doing what they have to do to survive and that doesn’t make anyone better or worse than anyone else.

Abigail was contemplating all of this several days later as she hid behind a tree near a path running through the forest. She was thinking how wrong this was. She was only 16, but she was hungry, she had no choice. Her thoughts subsided instantaneously when she heard hooves gallop across the path. She was sure what she was about to do was a very shady way to pick someone up, but there weren’t any prostitute hangouts nearby that she knew of. She had no idea how to do this. It didn’t matter how she did it, she decided, as long as she got it done.

Abigail peeked out from behind the tree she was hiding and saw the person that was riding through was a man. That was great for her, she was getting fed tonight. If all went well, that is. The man was handsome enough, with greasy, rather long black hair, brown eyes, a mustache and stubble, and whatever Abigail referred to as “angry brows”. He was riding a small white Arabian.She took a deep breath and stumbled onto the road.

“Mister! Mister!” she waved him down, not that it was hard to get his attention when she was blocking the path.

“Yes?” he asked impatiently, cocking his brow.

Abigail froze. She hadn’t gotten to this part in her mind yet.

“Do you need company for the night?” It all spilled out of her mouth so quickly that she wasn’t even sure what she was saying.

The “angry brow” man laughed. “Y’all are getting a bit desperate, aren’t you? Advertising out in the forest? That or you ain’t a real lady of the night.”

Was she really that bad at this?

“I’m not one yet, you would’ve been my first, errr, client. I’m just hungry, you know?” Abigail admitted.

She could tell the angry brow man was sizing her up. She tried to look more tall and confident and he chuckled at her yet again.

“Sorry ma’am, I got me an old lady. I do have some boys, though. They’re sloppy as all Hell and have no manners, the lot of them. Tell you what, you come back to camp with me and I might have a business proposition for you.”

It took a lot of convincing for Abigail to get on the man’s horse and leave with him. What if he was a murderer or something? But in the end, she was hungry.

Angry brow man chuckled when Abigail hesitated. “Some whore you are.”

The words stung. It was silly at this point, really. She knew she would have to get used to it but that didn’t make it easier and it certainly didn’t make her feel like it was right. Despite everything that happened to her, she still felt like a child. Probably because she was; plain and simple.

“Here, you can hold my gun. That way, I try anything you don’t like, you can shoot me.”

Abigail took the shotgun gingerly. “I don’t know how to shoot a gun, never held one.”

Angry eyebrow man chuckled again. “Probably not the best thing to tell someone you’re afraid of, for future reference.” he paused as he helped her up onto the horse. “You don’t come from the streets, do you?”

“I told you that I’ve never been a working woman before.”

“Yes I know, but I meant that you aren’t poor.”

Abigail laughed. “Look at me, do I look like I have any money? If I did, I wouldn’t be out here.”

“Usually how it goes. You weren’t poor before, though.”

“Sure. this horse is rather aggressive.” the white Arabian, despite having been calm with just its owner on it, was trying to buck Abigail off. It was quite a strange thing for Abigail, she had seen a horse become upset when a person besides their owner rode them alone, but never had she seen a horse be so aggressive when it was carrying both its owner and an outsider.

“Ah well, The Count doesn’t take kindly to strangers. He won’t even let my boys ride him. It’s nothing personal, trust me.”

“Your horse has a name?”

“Of course. All of our horses at camp have names. Do you rich people not name your horses?”

“I don’t know about rich people, but no, I’ve never met a horse with a name. We just call them by their breed and color where I’m from.”

“Seems a bit barbaric.” The angry brow man told her, huffing. She couldn’t quite tell if he was offended because of the way they treated their horses or that he wasn’t assimilated with he presumed to be “rich folks” culture. It wasn’t exactly a secret, just by looking at him, that he wanted to have an austerity look about him. He wore a velvet vest with gold chains hanging from his sides and steel boots Abigail had sworn she had seen at a speciality store for almost $60. And then there was the fact that he had this White Arabian, which was about $2000 for the horse itself, not including any equipment. He sure did have equipment for the horse, too. Gold saddle and everything: the works. Yet, he spoke of the rich as if he was far removed. It was odd but she didn’t have much time to figure the man out before he started talking again.

“My name is Dutch, Dutch Van Der Linde. And yours?”

“Uhhh, Abigail Roberts. Your name sounds like royalty.” Abigail was yet again taken aback by the contrast between the way this man presented himself to who he really seemed to be.

Dutch laughed. “I wish. If I was any sort of royalty, people wouldn’t live like you. We’d all be a huge family, this nation. Everybody would earn their keep, but nobody would ever go hungry.”

“You’ve got dreams, Mister Dutch. You sound more like a cult leader, though, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“You know, strangely enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that. I don’t mind. America is one big cult that makes you think the difference between the good guys and the bad guys is clear cut. Well let me tell you, the answer isn’t as clear as people would like it to be. Lines get blurred among all people.”

Abigail didn’t care much for this philosophical talk. She had never been to school or learned how to read, philosophy went right over her head. And she didn’t quite appreciate being talked to about things that made her feel dumb.

“So, you said you have boys?” Abigail changed the subject, partially to be spared of looking like a fool and partially because she was both interested and worried about what she was getting into. “How many?”

“Uh I can’t give you a count straight off the top of my head. I don’t know, maybe a dozen? At least?”

Abigail was extremely taken aback. This man had 12 kids? Abigail had never heard of a man that had both 12 kids, wore ostentatious clothing, and still talked about the US like it wasn’t doing them justice. Nothing about this man made sense so far.

“You have 12 sons? And you’re just going to give me to them? I’ve never heard of a father that does things like this.”

Dutch lit a cigar, balancing it in his mouth while he kept his hands on the reins of The Count.

“Well, I’m not exactly a ‘by the book’ type man. And besides, I fear I might have led you astray. I have four sons, but my gang is a sort of a found family sort of thing.”

Abigail's mind went fuzzy in terror when she heard the word “gang”. A gang? Oh God, what had she gotten herself into?

“What do you mean, gang? Do y’all go around and kill people?” Abigail thought of jumping off the horse at that point. Either they were to kill her when she got there or she’d be party to murdering others. Abigail didn’t care how hungry or hurt she was: she was not going to go around and start killing people for sport. This life felt like Hell, but she surely was not going to sign her spot in everlasting Hell. It simply was not worth it and besides, the thought of looking someone in the eyes and killing them made her sick, even despite her religious convictions.

“Sort of, but only bad men.” Dutch retorted, sensing she was getting worried and trying to calm her.

“Didn’t you just say the line between good and bad people is not clean cut?”

Dutch laughed nervously. Abigail could already tell he didn’t like to be questioned.

“You’re a good listener, aren’t ya? I’m not used to that. But not to worry, these people really deserve it. And we don’t usually let the women do the killing. Besides, it’s not mainly about the killing. More about taking from the rich and giving to the poor. Like Robin Hood. Do you know Robin Hood?”

Abigail nodded. She wasn’t so sure about his overall sentiment, however. Nothing should give someone the right to take another’s life. That was God’s job and to an extent, the law. “And so who are the poor, hmm?” Abigail was pretty sure that she already knew the answer to that one.

“Well us, mostly.” Dutch admitted nervously.

Abigail scoffed. This man sure was a prize. He felt bad for his lady. She probably had to listen to this all day.

“Mister Dutch, I understand I’m not in a position to be making demands, but with all due respect, I’m not sure I’m gonna want to service these boys. What if they hold a knife to my throat or something?”

“They’re not like that. Look at how society has caused you to judge. You don’t even know my boys and you are already thinking bad things about them. Now-”.

Abigail didn’t fancy hearing any more of this man’s straw man spiel. She could tell that he had a silver tongue, but it wasn’t working on her. “Is it that big of a stretch when these men have murdered people?”

Dutch tutted her impatiently. “Killed, not murdered. There’s a difference. Besides, they treat ladies real nice. They don’t hurt ‘em. Especially a doll like you.”

The last sentence made Abigail uncomfortable to no end. “If they treat ladies so nice, why don’t they have women already?”

Dutch seemed to not have a response to that. The trip continued largely in silence. Abigail kept trying to decide if she wanted to jump ship or not, but ultimately decided against it.

Eventually, they made their way to a clearing behind a forest. Abigail could see at least a dozen tents and lean-tos. It was lively with music and laughter. But it was not lost on her that she could smell a stench from dozens of meters away.

“This is our place, Abigail. You will be safe here. No one will hurt you.” Abigail remembered hearing those same words from Betty and suddenly wished that she had just stayed there.

Dutch helped her off the Count and practically dragged her to a soap box to the side of the camp. It was a bit overwhelming for Abigail, she was trying to take everything in. It was rather hard, however, when several pairs of eyes were on her.

“Everybody, listen here!” Dutch yelled. It didn’t take much, however, there was already a crowd gathering to catch a glimpse at her. Abigail guessed they didn’t have outsiders in their camp often. Abigail looked through the group of what she assumed would be leering faces. To her surprise, no one looked especially mean or murderous. The face looked curious, some even looked concerned, but none looked particularly dangerous. Abigail found herself wondering if Dutch had overstated the harm that his “gang” had done. There were several women with kind expressions, some even seeming to be younger than her, and this made her feel at ease. Not that women had stopped what had happened to her in the past.

“This is Abigail. Poor thing, I found her off the side of the road on my way back here from my meeting with Colm. Update on that: it did not go too well and for the time being, I think we should post at least two people on guard duty at all times. Nothing to be concerned about, though, we will pull through no problem. But I digress. Abigail here has been a victim to the ruthlessness of American capitalists. The ‘rich man’ raised her and then tossed her aside, poor and defenseless. And they think we’re the ones needing our throats sliced-” Dutch droned on and on and Abigail tuned him out, silently thanking herself for not sharing all her life details with him, for her surely would have repeated it all to everyone to prove his point. Abigail snapped back to reality when she heard Dutch order the boys to “meet their new lady”. Again, being referred to that way made her very uncomfortable.

A gaggle of men stepped towards her before a scowling woman with graying hair stepped forward, clanked two bowls together and yelled, “Dutch Van Der Linde, what the Hell do you think you’re doing? She must be scared out of her mind and you want her to meet the boys already? You’re insane.” The group of men laughed at the sight of the woman scolding Dutch.

The woman with the scowl walked towards Abigail and her expression softened as she held out her hand to Abigail “I’m Susan. Guess I’m the mother of sorts to all these fools. Let’s go set you up an area for you to live and be comfortable. Trust is important in a space like this and you can’t trust us if you don’t feel safe with us.” Abigail took Susan’s hand and walked with her towards the north side of the camp.

“These men are idiots, don’t understand feelings. But don’t mind them, they don’t bite, and it’s okay to yell at them if they overstep their boundaries.” Abigail nodded, knowing full well that she would never be comfortable yelling at those burly men. “Here’s where the girls sleep. There’s Jenny’s tent, Tilly’s tent, Mary Beth’s tent. Bessie sleeps in her tent with Hosea and I sleep in my tent with Dutch. I’ll send Uncle into town as soon as I can to get you a proper tent, but I’m sure any of the girls wouldn’t mind sharing in the meantime.”

Abigail’s head was spinning. All these names and information was a lot to take in at once.

“Uncle? Who’s Uncle is he?” she asked

“Oh that’s just his name.” Susan answered, matter-of-fact, as if men named Uncle were a normal occurrence.”

Susan spent the next few hours introducing Abigail to the women. First she met Bessie, a sweet woman who appeared to be quite a few years older than Susan. Bessie was kinder than Abigail remembered any woman ever being towards her, offering her candy and giving her constant words of assurance. Abigail immediately felt a daughterly sort of bond to Bessie, feeling that Bessie would never let any harm come to Abigail. After speaking with Bessie, Susan brought Abigail to speak with Mary Beth, Tilly, and Jenny. Mary Beth and Tilly seemed to be around her age, maybe slightly younger, but still had a youthful joy that Abigail had lost long ago. Jenny was clearly several years older than the other two but still seemed young enough to be Susan or Bessie’s daughter. All three girls were very kind to Abigail, but Mary Beth seemed to warm to her the quickest. She quickly invited Abigail for a “sleepover” in her tent, showed her all the books she had, her new journal that she worked in daily, and pointed out all the men in the gang that she had a crush on. Susan scolded Mary Beth for “overwhelming” Abigail, but Abigail felt herself smiling and being grateful for her friendliness. Tilly was sweet but cautious, telling her some of the camp rules and showing her where they washed clothes and did other camp chores. In what seemed to be an attempt to relate to Abigail and make her feel at ease, Tilly told her the story of how she had been rescued by Hosea from a nasty gang. A part of Abigail wanted to tell Tilly her own story, but felt it was too soon and that she wasn’t ready just yet. Jenny smiled at Abigail a lot but didn’t say much besides introducing herself. All in all, the ladies seemed very nice and Abigail enjoyed their company.

At nightfall, Dutch approached Susan gingerly, as if she was a dangerous animal, and asked if Abigail could meet the boys now. Susan agreed as long as Abigail was okay with it. Abigail, still feeling terrified of the gang members of the opposite sex but not wanting to anger Dutch, nodded and went with Dutch to the camp fire where all the men were huddled together singing some song with vagina euphemisms.

Most of the boys stood up when they saw Abigail and Dutch walking towards them. Two men, however, an old man who was very clearly drunk, and a lean man with extremely greasy hair, stayed sat down. Dutch went through all the men and introduced them all. The names spun around in her mind. Reverend, Davey and Mac Callender, Bill, Pearson, Dutch’s sons Henry, Frank, Robert, and Thomas. The list of names went on and on until there seemed to be only two more people to introduce. The old man, who Abigail was told was “Uncle”, had passed out, and the other man who had been sat at the camp fire had slunk away to his tent. The last two men introduced themselves as Arthur and Hosea.

“Don’t worry about these two, Abigail. They’ve both got women.” Dutch informed her.

The man called Hosea rolled his eyes and told Dutch in a strict voice that there was more towards this gang than an orgy house and Abigail was allowed to have friendly relationships. With the way Dutch seemed to almost cower at Hosea’s words, Abigail wondered if Hosea was the true leader here. Abigail would be very happy if that was the case, Hosea both looked and sounded more kind and sensible than Dutch.

The other man spoke up, trying to dissipate the escalating tension between the two men before him. “Hello miss Abigail, I’m Arthur. Like Dutch said, I have a girl and a son, actually, his name is Isaac and he’s the best little boy anyone could ask for. I bring him to camp sometimes and you’ll see he’s the cutest buckaroo in the world.” Arthur beamed while talking about his son. Abigail knew far too well that being a father didn’t automatically make you a good person but she couldn’t help but feel safe with Arthur. He was big and muscular, but spoke with such kindness.

The four of them sat down at the campfire and talked for an hour or two. Abigail enjoyed herself more than she had in a long time, listening to Hosea recount his heists in his youth and embarrassing stories about his three “kids”, Arthur, John, and Jenny, who had been with the gang the longest. Her sides hurt from laughing when she heard the story of Arthur trying to teach John to swim.

“Speaking of John, where is he? He didn’t introduce himself to you tonight. That’s not like him, to be shy.”

Arthur scoffed, “he’s not shy, just a bastard. Thinks he’s too good to have to introduce himself like everyone else. He thinks that way because you treat him special, Dutch.” Arthur’s brows furrowed as he focused on crushing the cigarette butt beneath his shoes.

Dutch opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Abigail was too tired to hear any more arguments.

“I’m sorry, y’all, I better go to bed. Mary Beth is waiting on me.”

Abigail walked to Mary Beth’s tent and was greeted excitedly by the girl. Mary Beth wanted to share stories and gossip all night long; Abigail politely obliged. However, the excitement seemed to be all too much for Mary Beth and she collapsed of exhaustion within the half hour. Abigail didn’t have the same luck falling asleep, not at all. She gave up on the idea entirely after a few hours and crawled out the tent silently to get some fresh air. Abigail assumed no one would be up at this hour but as she was pacing around, she saw John sharpening a knife at the second camp fire at the back of the camp. She didn’t want to disturb him, he clearly hadn’t wanted to introduce himself to her in the first place, so she started walking back to the tent. Her attempts to go unnoticed failed when she got too close to one of horse and spooked it, causing it to winnie loudly. John turned around to see the commotion and noticed Abigail.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m heading back to Mary Beth’s tent, just needed to clear my head for a moment.” Abigail apologized. John stared at her blankly and she awkwardly began to step backwards towards the tent.

“Come sit.” he said flatly, as if he was reciting a line to himself.

Abigail was taken aback and unsure of what to do. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to talk to John, especially alone. But, acutely aware that she was alone with this man and knowing what men in her life did when they were angry, she walked over to the campfire and sat next to him on a log.

Abigail hadn’t seen John’s features properly until now, but seeing him in the light from the fire, he took her breath away. He was beautiful. Rough and tumble, sure, but still beautiful. He had deep brown eyes that had a softness to them, giving away that he wasn’t all so tough as maybe he wanted to be. He was clean shaven and had a slight smirk that didn’t seem to drop. He had various scars on his face and Abigail wondered exactly what trouble this man had gotten into.

“Uhhh hi.” John greeted, bringing Abigail to reality and making her realize that he knew she was staring.

“Oh, yes, hi. Sorry about that.” Abigail was thoroughly embarrassed.

“It’s fine. Used to it. I’ve always been ugly.” he told her solemnly.

“No no no, that’s not it at all. I- well, I don’t know.” Abigail cursed herself when she started to blush, knowing that she had a habit of turning tomato red.

John noticed that she was blushing, it was hard not to, and seemed to realize why she was actually staring. His smirk grew a bit and he sat up a bit more. The smirk, however, didn’t last very long when he started to speak again.

“I think it’s fucked what Dutch is doing. Making you be a whore just for you to survive and all,” he said seriously before quickly addinh, “Not that I care who you fuck. Fuck everyone for all I care.” John’s eyes darted to Abigail nervously.

Abigail laughed despite the overall sentiment of his original comment. “ I didn’t think you cared, John.”

John seemed satisfied in her answer and continued with what he had been saying. “You know, I heard you telling some of the guys what had happened to you with your dad in all and well, don’t tell anyone this, but I understand. I went through it too, being exploited before my dad died. And Dutch picked me up and ain’t never made me do what he’s making you do. And it’s just like, how are you supposed to heal when this is your life now?” John struggled to get his words out; it was clear that he was having a hard time being vulnerable.

Abigail nodded, not knowing what else to say. She knew what he was saying and she agreed. She also appreciated his words, she knew it was hard speaking about trauma with total strangers. They sat in comfortable silence for a while before John blurted out, “You know, it’s a shame. You’re so pretty, you could be an actress instead.”

Abigail giggled at the words that came out of nowhere. Was this flirting? She wasn’t quite sure, she had never been allowed to speak to men outside of her family.

“I- well thank you. That means a lot.”

John seemed frustrated with the response he was getting, so he continued.

“No, I’m serious. They should put your name up in lights in those fancy cities with the picture shows.”

“You’re real sweet, John Marston. You don’t seem to be the type that should be running with a gang.”

John scoffed. “You don’t know me like that, Miss. I’m a bad man. Maybe an evil man. Although Arthur says I’m too stupid to be evil.”

“You are no such thing!” Abigail gasped.

John’s smirk had now grown to a full grown smile. He was basking in the attention he was getting from Abigail.

The two of them spent a few moments playfully arguing over whether John was stupid in which John told her of some stories that were compelling to his argument that he was, in fact, stupid. After the laughter dissipated, John started digging in his pocket nervously. His face lit up when he found it. He pulled out a pearl necklace.

“Hey, I was wondering if maybe you’d like this. I’d usually sell it but I noticed that you’re not wearing any jewelry and I think you would look nice in jewelry so maybe you could take this and put it on your neck.” John rambled, scared to death of being laughed at for the gesture.

“Yes, I know how necklaces work, John. Maybe you are stupid.” Abigail smirked. When she saw John’s face fall, she added, “I would love the necklace. Thank you for thinking of me.” She took the necklace from John and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, causing to duck his head so Abigail couldn’t see that he was the one blushing now.

“Well then, since we’re friends now, I was wondering if you’d want to go to a saloon and get something to eat sometime. It’s better than Pearson’s cooking, at least.” John fumbled through the sentence.

“I think if we’re going to go on a date, we should do something a bit more romantic than going to a saloon. Maybe we can have a picnic on one of those hills down the way. I saw them on the ride up here.”

“Well I didn’t mean it like that. But I guess if you want to…” John shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant but couldn’t contain his smile.

The past was Hell, but Abigail was starting to think that maybe the future wouldn’t be so bad.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption #John Marston #abigail roberts #marstongail #john x abigail #susan grimshaw #arthur morgan #tilly jackson #Dutch Van Der Linde #hosea matthews #mary beth gaskill

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

Text

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - Operation Overlord

Dad, Mum, and Evelyn,

I never know what to write to you before going into another battle and this one is no different. By the time you receive this letter, Operation Overlord will be long into fruition. It’s 4am right now and no one can sleep…we’re all up and anxious. I miss you three so much right now, it’s unbelievable. I’m not going to pretend I’m not scared out of my wits but I also don’t want to worry you. It’s been four years…what’s just one more day, right? Nothing we haven’t been dealing with between the Battle of Britain and the fights in Malta. I just miss home – so much so that I’m tired of even complaining about being away for so long. I’m just so, so tired of all of this fighting and this hostility and this world we’re forced to live in. We’re going to be flying right into enemy controlled territory in two hours…flying right into Hitler’s grasp and ready and willing to look death in the face.

Nothing’s guaranteed anymore; that’s one thing that I’ve learned these past few years. I don’t expect this to be a goodbye letter and I pray that it won’t be, but it very well might be. Just know that I’m grateful for you, the life you have given me, and I hope the three of you know how much I cherish and love you. I have our family photograph tucked in my uniform pocket. You’re already with me.

All my love, always,

Charles Christian

June 6, 1944 – RAF Deanland Base, 0545hr

The flight prep was oddly quiet that morning. The ground crew worked to finish the routine checks of the planes with the pilots following for a second look over, the officers taking attendance as pairs of pilots arrived from the bunkhouses, and everything was getting set. Charlie and Richie hadn’t slept much the night before, taking up their time writing a letter home before they were called through the lightening sky towards the runway. The Spitfires and a few Hurricanes were lined up at the ready, each painted in thick black and white stripes around the wings and Richie ran his hand over the dried paint that coated their deep green jet.

He glanced up at the hand that was held out to him, Charlie standing on the wing and offering a lift up to join him. Richie sent his best friend a small smile and let him pull him up as well and they walked the few steps carefully towards the cockpit. They tugged their helmets on in perfect silence as the ground crew helped them get their parachutes intact and helped to shuffle them into their seats. Richie fell with a strained sigh into his spot behind Charlie and he found it hard to set his goggles on with how terribly his hands were shaking.

Their commanding officer climbed up on the wing to make sure they were accounted for, eyeing their crisp unforms and brand-new plane they were in, “Seavey and Besson.”

“Yessir.” they both answered in unison.

“Looking good, men. Few more minutes and we’ll head for takeoff once we get word from the Air Marshall.”

Charlie and Richie offered a salute to him as he moved onto the next plane in the lineup. Charlie checked his watch, signaling ten minutes before takeoff. He sighed and drummed his fingers against his knees anxiously.

Richard’s hand weaseling its way between his seat and the window had Charlie cracking a small smile and he reached back to give his best friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze as they shared a formal handshake.

“Kings of the Clouds, Charlie.” Richard said.

“That we are, Richie.”

At promptly 0600, each refueled Spitfire was lined up at the runway and ready to head for France, propellors whirling and the base filled with the steady familiar drone of engines. The control tower soon gave the go-ahead and one by one, the jets took off into the sky. It was still mostly dark at the first glimpse of the clouds and Charlie and Richie found their prior assigned spot between two other planes, making their way steadily out of England, leaving their unaware families behind.

The two best friends stayed quiet for a bit, just gathering their thoughts and processing what they might be flying right into. They stayed low in order to be able to see the incoming targets along the heavily fortified coast as well as the first glimpse of the British and American navies and armies below them making their way along the calm water. 156 000 clueless men ready to stare death in the face.

“Charlie.”

“Yeah, Richie?”

“Look at the sunrise.”

Charlie looked slightly to the left out of the front window to see the orange pink smudges of the rising sun along the distant horizon. He smiled lightly, “Sure is beautiful.”

The calm and the quiet before the storm.

But the storm came quickly.

Down on the water, the army was mowed down like sitting ducks by the Germans on the higher ground, barely even able to step out of the ships before they were shot back by machine gun fire and shells. The ring of bullets flying could nearly be heard by the men in the sky but their resistance came a few moments later.

“Alright, Richie?” Charles asked as they spotted the incoming Germany air force.

“Yeah…alright, Charlie.” Richard answered shakily, slowly shifting his hands to the controls. “Aim it?”

Charlie took a moment to find a target and locked it in, “Landed.”

“Let’s go.” Richie breathed.

The battle seemed to break out all in unison as the air was filled with machine gun fire and the roar of propellors. They couldn’t worry about the men on the beaches with the enemy right in the air with them but after four years, Richard and Charles worked more than well together.

“Take it up, Charlie. Too many around us. Let’s dive them.” Richie said loudly over the noise, keeping his eye out as Charlie pulled them up closer to the clouds before sweeping around and they shot a nice clean curve of bullets along a streak of German jets. One was a direct hit and exploded right in mid air.

“Holy shit! That’s the stuff, Richie!” Charlie laughed as they pulled up again.

They turned around to head back around towards the beaches, sharing orders and supporting solid fire to help their other squadron members when they needed it. They were truly the kings of the clouds. But the Germans put up a solid fight and they weren’t making themselves easy targets, making the RAF’s job much more difficult.

“I can’t land this guy, Rich. Gimmie another.” Charlie said after yet another failed attempt of targeting one of the Luftwaffe. “We’re going to waste all our ammo on this one guy.”

“One’s on our tail. We gotta loose him first.” Richard said quickly.

“Alright, pull up.” Charlie said, easily using the Spitfire’s most well-known quality of easy ascension and it pulled them right up towards the clouds before curving around to try and retaliate.

“He’s still there. Might have to flip backwards.” Richard suggested quickly.

The fire of machine guns had them flinching, especially as their plane was hit, the clanging of the bullets on the metal really shaking them into gear. Charlie didn’t even wait before pulling right back and flipping them upside down over the German plane to try and get out of the line of fire. That only worked for so long because the other pilot anticipated that move and met them halfway with another sheet of bullets.

“Can someone give us some damn backup?” Charlie asked loudly to no one in particular as they tried to sweet around to get a few shots at the enemy.

“Just get him gone, Charlie!” Richard encouraged, gripping tighter onto the joystick as the plane rattled with another round of shots from the opposing jet.

Charlie tasted something salty and it was only then that he realised he was sweating, thick drops trickling down his temples and cheeks and onto his lips. The sweat of pure fear and it was disgustingly salty. There felt like no way out and they were nearly flying in circles. Charlie tried to turn them around back onto the enemy but they were hit from the side by a second jet, igniting their right wing into a burst of flames.

“Bleeding fucking Christ!” Richie shrieked, raw fear apparent in his voice, “Charlie, what do we do?!”

Charles couldn’t even answer as the next wave of bullets nearly knocked their propellor clean off and in mere seconds, they were nose diving towards the cost of France, unable to steer the plane nearly at all. They were going to crash.

“Parachutes, Richard! Now!” Charlie screamed, throwing off his belt and forced open the top window of the cockpit, the hot air from the flames tumbling into the tiny space.

Richard struggled to unclasp his belt with his hands shaking and his clammy palms slipping over the metal buckle and it was hard to concentrate on anything else but his loud heartbeat in his ears. “Charlie-”

The ground was coming closer and closer by the millisecond and they didn’t even have time to jump it if they had wanted to…there wasn’t enough distance.

“Brace for it, Richie!” Charlie ordered loudly, throwing his arms over his head helplessly as their plane crashed nose first into the cold French soil.

Taglist: @randomlimelightxxx @hopinglimelight @jonahlovescoffee @hiya-its-amber @chanelwonders

#✉#daniel seavey #corbyn besson #why dont we #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic #corbyn besson fanfic #historical fiction

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babybuckleydiaz · 4 years

Note

Can you write something where Buck deals with all the trauma that came from the thoughtst of losing his family. Like he thought he lost Chris in the tsunami, then he thought he is gonna lose Bobby bc he is gonna get ill, then Maddie when the dispatch center was taken,and finally he thought he was gonna lose Eddie too. And it was just all too much and he started falling apart but firefam notices and helps him through

Warnings: swearing, insomnia, mentions of the therapist from season one, nightmares, spoilers. established buddie, hurt comfort.

Okay, so it’s currently 4am and I’ve finally finished this after so long. It’s a long one, my guys. Its about 6k words long. And I’m not happy with some of it, but I haven’t posted a prompt fill in ages so I really wanted to get this out. I really did enjoy writing it though, in more of a 5 +1 style. So, thank you so much for the prompts and I am so sorry if it’s not at all what you wanted, but I really hope that you like it. Thank you so much for reading, guys

also on ao3, since this is a long fic

BOBBY

“Hey, kid. Go get some rest.” When the order comes, Bobby voice is nothing but gentle and concerned with a hand resting on Buck’s shoulder, eyes searching the younger’s man face with something akin to worry. The team wasn’t even half way through a twenty four hour shift, and today has been nothing but exhausting call after exhausting call; it was obvious to even the untrained eye that the younger firefighter was overflowing with a bone deep tiredness. And for a moment, Bobby thinks that Buck is going to agree with him and do as is asked; but all he receives is a small shake of the head.

“Nah, Cap. I’m not tired.” The excuse is weak to even Buck’s ears, and it’s obvious by the raised eyebrow that he gets that Bobby doesn’t believe a word that he is saying; the worry growing tenfold. The circles under Buck’s eyes are dark and deep, movements still as his limbs screamed for a moment of anything similar to rest; mind already having gone into overdrive. “I slept earlier.” Bobby isn’t stupid, he’s far from it, and he’s able to see exactly what the younger man is doing. Buck knows that Bobby is able to read him easily, can see when he’s lying but he’s giving his Captain a chance to just forget about this conversation and sweep it under the rug. No way in hell was Bobby going to do that though, not when it would put lives, including Buck’s own, in risk by allowing an exhausted firefighter on the front line.

“We both know that’s bullshit, son.” Bluntly expressed Bobby, and he sees how Buck’s shoulder’s sag and his entire body seems to deflate at the breath of laughter that escapes his lips. “Talk to me, Buck. What’s going on?” Buck looks up from where he had shifted his attention to the ground, and he’s searching Bobby face for any sign that he doesn’t mean to concern that is obvious in his voice when he speaks. But he finds nothing but worry on the face of his Captain, but he shakes his head as he paints a sad and small smile across his face.

“Its fine, Bobby. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

Bobby wasn’t going to let it go because he could see as clear as day that whatever was going on in Buck’s head was affecting him, and as someone who loves the kid like family he can’t allow him to continue like this. “It’s a bit late for that, kiddo. You’re family and I’m always going to worry.” Explained Bobby in a tone that he didn’t regret letting this firehouse become a home, that he loved being able to come into work and being around people he loved and he knew loved him. And he worried about each and every one of them; nothing would or could ever change that. It was his job, as a Captain and as a friend to each of them.

“It’s stupid; I’m gonna go take that nap.” But Bobby could see straight through the lie that Buck had just told, that the younger man wouldn’t sleep and would instead be staring at the ceiling until the alarm blared through the firehouse. “Buck…” Bobby didn’t want to drop the conversation when something was obviously wrong, but he knew that if he kept pushing that Buck could completely close off; and that was something that he didn’t want to happen. “Look, Bobby.” Began the younger man, an understanding yet strained smile on his face, and Bobby misses the ones where Buck smiles as brightly as the sun.

“I know you’re concern, and I appreciate it, but I’m okay. I’m dealing with it.”

Bobby had no idea what ‘it’ would even begin to be, but whatever it was, it was clear to see that Buck wasn’t dealing with it at all; at least not in a way that could be considered healthy. Bobby was certain that even a blind man would be able to see that Buck was struggling with whatever was going on in that head of his. And the older man won’t lie, it’s killing him to know that Buck feels as though this is something he can’t get help for, that he feels like he has to bury and pretend that it isn’t there. “You’re not dealing with anything, son.”

Buck freezes as he sighs, because Bobby’s tone isn’t even remotely judgemental or annoyed at the brick wall he’s seemed to hit in this conversation; instead it filled with an understanding and worry for the younger man. There’s nothing but silence between the two men for a moment, Bobby praying to anyone who would listen that the man in front of him would reach out for the help that he so obviously needed but wasn’t going to seek out on his own. “I’ll be fine, Cap.” And when Buck had spoken his tone was tired, sounded far too wrecked for someone of his age but Bobby can’t blame him, because Buck has seen far too much and been through more in his short life.

“Just…” Bobby begins, pausing and allowing his voice to trail off for a moment as he thinks about what to say, what could he possibly say anyway to help the man he loved as his own son? “Just try and get some sleep, please?” It what he settles on, because there isn’t much he can do when Buck won’t open up to him, but the most he can do is allow the kid to know that he cares and he’s in his corner should the younger man need him. And Buck can understand what he means through the words, Bobby can tell. Because the smile that Buck sends him may be small and tired, but it’s real and shows his appreciation for what his Captain was trying to achieve here.

“Sure thing, boss.”

Watching him go, Bobby doesn’t even bothering admitting to the younger man that he can tell Buck wasn’t going to even begin to try and allow his mind the peacefulness of rest; he remains silent. “Damn it, kid.” Bobby curses silently, wishing that there had been something more he could have done or said that would have allowed the kid to feel as though he could share whatever was troubling him.

Because whatever that was bothering the firefighter was drowning him, and it’s was clear to the captain that Buck was struggling to stay afloat of his own thoughts; they we’re ruining him. Briefly, Bobby finds himself wondering if Athena would have had any more luck had she been in this conversation, if anyone else would have gotten the other man to open up and share what was holding him down.

HEN

“Come on, man. Talk to me.” There’s a pleading done in Hen’s voice when she speaks, taking the time to wait for a moment where it could just be her and Buck alone. They’re currently in front of their fire truck, restocking the medical supply when Hen decides that she’s finally try and get to the bottom of whatever was weighing the younger man down. In response to what had been said, Buck just sighs as he stops whatever he is doing, placing the bandages that he had in his hand onto the truck; barely looking at Hen when he faces her.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Hen.” That’s a lie, and Hen knows that Buck is aware that she isn’t dumb nor would she fall for what he had said to her. “I’m perfectly fine.” He added on, seeing her disbelieving look when he finally raises his head to meet her eyes, giving her a smile that would convince anyone who didn’t know him as well as she did. Buck is her best friend, someone that means the world to her and she was able to read the younger man like an open book without ever really trying. “I’m not blind, Buck. I know you, and I can see something is killing you, man.” She explained in a tone softer that what she would usually use, but this is serious and Hen wants Buck to know that he can talk to her about anything plaguing his troubled mind.

“Hen, I’m fine. I don’t need to make everything about me.”

That silences Hen for a moment as she frowns deeply at the other man standing in front of her, because there was more meaning behind his words that what Buck was even aware of. And all Hen can think about is the number of times people have accused Buck of making everything about himself; and how fucking wrong they were to event think that.

But Buck is allowed to be selfish, to do things simply because he wants them for himself. There is nothing wrong with that and it’s so perfectly human of him to do for once. She inwardly winces; because the last time Buck had done something to benefit him had been when he filed the lawsuit; something she strongly sided with him about. He was being kept from his job and he had every single right to fight like damn hell to get back to it. “It’s not selfish to unburden yourself by talking to a friend.” Responds Hen, not really knowing what else she could have said to try and get her point across.

“Look Buck, I love you.” She adds on, stepping forward and reaching out to take one of Buck’s hands tightly within her own, not mentioning that she can feel them tremble in her grip. “And I know that something is going on, okay? And I want to help you because you’re my family.” Buck is looking at her now, the faintest trace of a frown on his brows as he bites into his lower lip in thought. “I want to help you because I love you so much.” She concluded gently, an encouraging smile gracing her face as she pulls her friend into a hug.

She can feel how Buck seems to melt into her touch, body completely sagging as he wraps arms around her in response to the action.

“I-I’m fine.” And this time when he says it, Hen can see that he is talking to himself instead of her; forcing himself to believe it the more that he said it. “You’re not, and you’re allowed to not be okay.” Whispered Hen, something that only Buck could hear because it was meant for his ears only. “And it’s okay to ask for help, to reach out to someone else.” Buck nods against her shoulder, sighing as he pulls away from the safety of his friend’s arms and gives Hen the tiniest and saddest smile she has ever seen on his face.

“It’s just… I-“ Shaking his head and laughing something humourless, reaching up to rub angrily at his eyes when he felt tears burn in them, he stops himself speaking.

“I’m scared.” Buck’s voice sounds so broken at his own admission, choked up and small. Hen looks at him then, really looks at him and sees the tears in his eyes and the trembling of his hands. “Scared? Of what, Buckaroo?” She pries patiently, her words free of judgement and waiting for Buck to gather his own thoughts. But Buck stays silent for a while, for a long moment that Hen thinks he’s going to clam up and brush off his own declining mental health like he’s being doing for so long now. But still, Hen waits.

Buck Hen never gets to hear what Buck as going to say when he opens his mouth to speak, because it’s in that moment that the alarms decide to sound, jolting the both of them out of their moment. “Forget it, I’m fine.” Buck quickly brushes off, closing up the truck against and making his way towards his turnout uniform with hurried steps, and Hen can’t help but curse every God in existence for that. She knows that had been the only chance she had for Buck to talk to her, and that moment had been taken away before she could get any answers.

“Fuck!” She hisses angrily, the annoyance on her face as she runs up to get prepared as well while thinking about what Buck was going to admit; what would he be scared of?

CHIMNEY

“Hey, did you get any sleep?” The concern is clear in Chimney’s voice when he sits up in his bunk, eyes having gone straight to Buck’s and seeing the man in the same position as hours ago. On his back, arms behind his head and eyes staring at the ceiling but unseeing; the clear need for sleep written all over his face despite it all. And it worries him, because it’s clear that the man he loves like a little brother is struggling and suffering; and despite his nature of jest and laughter, Chimney found himself so concerned.

At the sound of the sudden whisper, being mindful of the still sleeping Hen and Eddie, Buck shifts his eyes to find Chimney looking at him with a deep frown. Shrugging his shoulders, Buck pushes himself into a sitting position, running a hand down his face and through his hair. “I don’t know, I don’t think so.” Frowning deeply at what had been his answer, Chimney moves to sit on the vacant space on Buck’s bunk; wanting to talk about this while he had the chance. “Hey, what’s going on? What do you mean, you don’t know?” Chimney presses, unsure if he’s asking as a friend or as a paramedic concerned about someone’s health. He doesn’t know, maybe it could be both.

“I dozed off, I think. But I just… can’t sleep.” There’s more to it than that, Chimney is well aware. But for now, he’s going to work with the information that Buck is giving him and dig a little deeper to try and find some more. “Come on, kid. Talk to dear old big brother Chimney.” The older man smiled, and he feels some little sentiment of relief when Buck snorts at his joke and rolls his eyes with something akin to a happy expression. “Oh shut up, man.” Responds the younger, leaning over and shoving his friend on the shoulder that Chimney barely reacts to, because now that he’s looking at his friend he sees the thinks that Hen had been talking about.

Buck looks absolutely exhausted, skin paler than normal with permanently tired eyes and dark circles to match.

“Jeez, buckaroo. When what the last time you actually slept?” And just like that, Buck’s smile drops from his face and instead is replaced with a deep straight line; the younger man sighing as he shakes his head. “Honestly? I have no fucking clue.” Buck’s honest, it’s clear that he’s tired of struggling with whatever is going on in that big old head of his. “I… I’ve tried! But I can’t sleep because every single night is filled with fucking nightmares, Chim.” Chimney nods his head to show that he is listening, wants Buck to see that he can talk and someone will take in what he is saying.

“What about? It might help to talk about them.” He offers, being the ear for Buck to rant in if that’s what he needs to feel better. Buck smiles softly as he leans back against the wall, letting his head fall back against it as he takes a deep breath. “Losing everyone.”

That throws Chimney into complete silence, and he isn’t ashamed to admit that the tone in Buck’s voice breaks his heart right in two. Because he sounds so lost and so small, and in that moment all Chimney wants to do is wrap him up and make sure that nothing can ever hurt him. “Sometimes, it’s Bobby being sick. Or you’re stabbing. Or the rebar incident.” Whispers Buck, not looking at Chimney when he speaks now, head tipped back against the wall and eyes shut when he speaks. “Or… Or it’s Eddie stuck under the ground, a-and I can’t save him.” When Buck mentions Eddie, Chimney doesn’t seem fazed or even mention how Buck’s voice cracks.

He watches as Buck instead turns his head to look at his boyfriend asleep on the other bunk, and it’s obvious that he’s taking in the fact that Eddie is still breathing and beside him. “Chris gets taken away from me in those, and… and I can’t lose you guys.” Buck pauses as he looks back at his friend. “Or when Doug took Maddie, that fear that she’s going to die is constantly replaying in my head.”

Chimney now finally understands what has been troubling his friend, that he’s being drowned by the memories of almost losing those that he loved. Briefly, Chimney wonders if that is something that should have been obvious to the team from the start. Chimney is quiet for a moment as he leans forward, placing a hand on Buck’s knee and looking his friend in the eyes with an encouraging smile. “Hey, you’re not going to lose any of us. You’re not going to be alone.” The tone that Chimney uses is confident when he speaks, because he knows that everyone here would never leave each other if they could help it.

“You can’t promise that, though!” Harshly whispered Buck and Chimney can see that it isn’t anger that he’s speaking with, it’s fear and desperation that causes his eyes to fill with tears. And Chimney remains silent as he thinks about what to say to Buck’s outburst, because he can’t promise that with the job that they have and the dangers that come hand in hand with it.

“Look, it’s fine. Forget I said anything.” Buck quickly brushes off when Chimney remains silent, knowing that the older man doesn’t know what he can say right now. Pushing himself up, Buck gets up from the bunk with the intention to do something else to distract his own mind. “Buck, wait. Talk to me, man. You can’t keep burying this hoping it will go away.” Chimney pleads, not wanting Buck to bury an issue like this and pretends that something is eating him alive; his friend is in mental pain and he doesn’t know what he can do to help right now. “Chim, don’t. I’m fine, I’m always fucking fine.” Once again, Chimney can’t sense nor hear any anger when he speaks despite sounding like it’s there, and that is enough to make his heart clench to painfully in his chest.

He can only sit there, watching Buck walk away from him with a sad and worried expression.

MADDIE

“Oh Ev…” Maddie voice is so quiet when he walks into her living room, finding her little brother asleep on the couch, wrapped so tightly under blankets she gave him. She notes that he doesn’t look peaceful either, his face scrunched up as he pants out roughly, hands tightly gripping the blanket as he makes a something akin to a whimper of fear. Quickly, she moves over and kneels beside the couch as he places a hand on her little brother’s shoulder, waking him up from whatever nightmare he finds himself trapped in.

“Hey, Buck. You gotta wake up, buddy.” She instructs softly, shaking the younger man’s shoulders with a frown of her own; hearing Buck mumble something out but not being able to understand what he’s saying. He sounds scared though, so scared that it breaks Maddie’s chest to hear such a tone come from someone who everyone sees as so strong. And he is, oh god is he so strong and brave, but he’s also human. “Come on, you’re okay. You gotta wake up, Buck.” She insists, shaking Buck’s shoulder just that little bit harder when he doesn’t respond to anything that she tells him. Maddie doesn’t want to scare him into waking up, not when he was already trapped in a nightmare that seemed to be doing that just fine on its own.

With a gasp, Maddie watches as Buck bolts up right with drastic breaths and eyes wildly looking around his surroundings. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re okay, you’re with me. You’re okay.” She sooths, moving forward and cupping either side of Buck’s face with hands so gentle, Buck’s eyes snapping to his sister’s face. “I though… I-“ Maddie is never going to hear whatever Buck was going to say, but he cuts himself off with the shake of his head as he puts a hand against his chest, taking deep and calming breaths to sooth his racing heart.

“Sorry, I’m good.” Buck quickly brushes off, sending his sister a shaky smile as he moves away from her touch and swings his legs over the edge of the couch, laughing at himself pathetically. Maddie shakes her head, having no idea why her little brother would apologize for having a nightmare; that’s not something that he needs to be sorry about. “Hey, don’t apologise, Buck. Are you okay, that seemed pretty bad?” Notes Maddie, brows pinches together as she pushes herself up from the ground and takes a seat beside her brother.

“Hey, I didn’t wake up screaming, so that’s pretty tame.” Buck says it as a joke to lighten the mood, but instead Maddie just cocks her head when he looks at him for a moment. “Wake up screaming?” She questions, and Buck can’t help but groan for making her more worried than what she already was. “Does that happen often, Buck?” Shaking his head, Buck pushes himself up from the couch and makes his way into the kitchen to get a glass of water, already prepared for Maddie to follow him with questions and concerns she won’t let go of. “Evan, talk to me.” Maddie begs when she does, in fact, follow her brother into the kitchen; not wanting to let this conversation die just yet.

“Mads, I’m fine. Just drop it, please.” Buck’s voice is pleading, begging, for her to just drop the subject but he’s known Maddie his whole life and knows how stubborn she can be. He inwardly snorts, that’s the one trait that she ever got from their father. “No, I’m not gonna drop it, Evan. I’ve watched for weeks as something has bothered you, I can’t keep letting you pretend that nothing is wrong.” She shoots back, and Buck sighs as he places the glass back onto the bench and leans forward, taking a moment to just breath. “I’m here, okay? And I’m not leaving, Evan. So talk to me.”

“But you’re not always gonna be here, Maddie!” Buck isn’t entirely sure what he means when he yells those words, turning around to face Maddie who looks shocked and taken aback. “I-I’m not leaving, Evan. I’m not leaving you again.” She promises, and Buck just shakes his head quickly as he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head for a moment. “You can’t promise that, though! You can’t promise that you’re always gonna be here!” Maddie is silent for a moment, knowing that Buck is talking about when they were growing up and left for college, or when she left after meeting Doug; there’s more to what he’s saying.

“So what is the point of any of you saying that you’ll always be here when the reality is you can’t promise that?” Maddie can see the tears trailing down her brother’s face, that he angrily scrubs away with a scoff. “I am so sick of fucking crying!” He hisses to himself, beyond worked up and stressed about whatever has been bothering him for the last few weeks.

“And I am sick of not sleeping because every time I close my eyes, I’m losing you or someone from the team. Or Eddie and Chris. I am so fucking sick that I can’t just ‘get over it’” When Buck utters those last three words, Maddie notes the use of quotation marks with a frown; it’s obvious that they have another meaning to Buck when he says them. “Evan, how long has this been going on?” Maddie questions, tears burning in her own eyes at the thought of her brother suffering so terribly alone. “Why haven’t you told anyone?” Maddie jumps onto the next question when Buck just shrugs when his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the kitchen sink.

“Because, Maddie, I’m getting over it my own way, I’m fine.” He says once again, wondering how many times he’s said that in the past few weeks; and he’s wondering why he can’t force himself to believe it yet.

“You’re not dealing with it, though. And you don’t need to deal with it on your own.” Maddie’s voice is soft when she speaks again, and Buck doesn’t even respond to what he had said. “You’re hoping that if you keep saying you’re okay then it’ll come true.”

“Look I gotta go.” That is how that Maddie knows she’s hit the nail on the head, because Buck just does what he can to get out of the conversation; running away from his own problems so they won’t hurt him. And it causes her to sigh, because when Buck doesn’t think she’s knows she’s hit a dead end and Buck isn’t going to open up any more; despite how much she wishes that he would. “Just…” Maddie allows herself to pauses, because no matter what she says next Buck isn’t going to admit anything else, he’s done with this conversation. “Just drive safely, and text me when you get home.”

Buck nods his head as he grabs his jacket from where it was sitting on the kitchen island and his shoes before he allows Maddie to pull him into a tight hug, allowing her to hold him for a few moments longer than normal. “I love you, Evan.” She says gently in his ear, pulling away and taking a moment to place a hand on the side of his face; smiling so sadly up at her brother. “Love you, too.” Buck says back, and then Maddie can only watch as her brother walks out the door; a frown on her face the entire time that she watches him go.

EDDIE

Riddled with sleep, Eddie reaches out to pull Buck’s body closer to his own only for his hands to be met with the cold sheet on the mattress, lacking a certain someone. Opening his eyes tiredly, Edie looks over to see that Buck’s side of the bed is empty and has been for a while, causing the older male to frown in confusion. Groaning as he rolled over, and he looks at the clock that reads three in the morning, far too early for anyone to be up yet. Sighing, Eddie pushes himself up from the bed and begins his trek down the hall, searching for his boyfriend.

The first place that Eddie thinks to check is the living room, having found Buck there a handful of times in the past when the younger male wasn’t able to sleep; watching whatever was on to distract himself. But when he reaches the room, he’s greeted with the darkness and quietness that shows it’s empty, not even able to make out Buck asleep on the couch. It’s obvious he’s in here and for a moment Eddie frowns, he had really expected his boyfriend to be in here watching television. Biting into his lip, Eddie makes his way into the kitchen in hopes that his boyfriend would be in there, only to be once again proven wrong by no sign of Buck.

For a moment, Eddie stands in the dark kitchen confused because he doesn’t have that many options left as to where Buck could be; and he can’t help but be worried.

The firefighter is about to make his way back into the bedroom so he could retrieve his phone and call his boyfriend, only for something to catch his eyes when he begins to walk. He looks over to the direction of the front door and sees it slightly open, the outdoor light flicked on, and he makes his way towards the direction with a frown.

Opening the door, he sees that Buck is sitting on the steps with a jacket wrapped tightly around his body, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee as he takes calming deep breaths. “Buck? What are you doing out here, baby?” He questions as he moves to sit down on the steps beside his boyfriend and wraps arm around the younger man’s shoulder to bring him closer to his chest. Buck doesn’t hesitate to lean his head on Eddie’s shoulder and close his eyes, soaking in the comforting that his partner brings him.

“Woke up an hour ago, couldn’t get back to sleep.” Simply explains Buck, and Eddie can hear the tiredness that drags down Buck’s voice, can hear the roughness in it. “Nightmare?” The older man questions with a light tone, soaking in the cool night air as he holds his loved one close to his body; everything around them is calm and quiet.

“Mhm.” Is the only confirmation that Buck gives Eddie, the way his response sounded was clear that he didn’t want to talk about his nightmare, and Eddie wasn’t going to pressure him into talking if he didn’t wish to. So he allows them to just sit there in silence, knowing that if Buck wants to talk about his nightmare than his boyfriend was here to listen to him. But Eddie was going to allow his partner to deal with this at his own pace right now, the most he can do and is just be by his side to comfort him.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s head back to bed.” Eddie voices up a few minutes later, looking down and pressing a soft kiss to Buck’s head and waiting for his boyfriend to nod in response. “Okay.” Is the worded answer he gets, but neither of them move for a short moment. Finally, Eddie is the first to move and pulls Buck to his feet by his hands. Eddie smiles when he pulls Buck��s body against his own, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s lips when the younger man wraps one arm around his neck and the other gripping the front of his shirt.

Eventually the two make their way into the house, Eddie keeping Buck’s hand tightly within his own as he takes a second to close and lock the front door before they make their way down into the bedroom. On the way, Eddie looks back when he feels how Buck pauses in front of Christopher’s door, biting into his lower lip before sighing and shaking his head to himself. He’s about to walk forward toward their bedroom when Eddie stops him, sending his boyfriend a knowing look as stopping him from walking away. “You wanna check on Chris?” Buck only hesitates for a moment, biting into his lower lip before he nods his head and smiles at his boyfriend gratefully.

Eddie had guessed when Buck had stopped in front of Christopher’s door that his boyfriend must have had a nightmare about the Tsunami, and he knew that checking on the young boy would help Buck a lot. Eddie can’t even count the number of times he’s found Buck in Christopher’s room, just making sure that the kid was really here after having a nightmare about the Tsunami; it would always help to just make sure that Christopher really was here and safe. “Alright, we can do that.” Eddie says, quietly opening the door and allowing Buck to poke his head into the room.

The reaction is instant, Eddie watches as Buck’s body seems to melt as the stress and worry leaves his body at the sight of Christopher sleeping soundly, and safe, in his bed. “Come on, you need to get some sleep, love.” Eddie’s voice is filled with nothing but love and patient as he directs the younger man out of the room, Buck following his boyfriend after him without a word.

Eddie lays down first, allowing Buck to take his time as he crawls into the bed; taking his place curled up against the short of the two men. Eddie lets Buck rest his head against his chest, using the hand of the arm holding Buck to run fingers through his hair, his other hand rubbing up and down Buck’s arm.

“I’m sick of not being able to sleep, Eds.” Buck suddenly speaks up, and all Eddie can do is holding him just that little bit tighter and closer. “I know, love. I know.” Whispers the older man, because this was a conversation that needed to be have tomorrow, when both of them were more aware and awake. “For now, just close your eyes and listen to my breathing, okay?” Eddie instructs, feeling the younger man nod his head against his chest when the other man moved to lie on his back. “Match my breathing, close your eyes and take some deep breaths.” Eddie’s voice is extremely soothing, and Buck allows himself to close his eyes as he does as is asked of him; taking deep breaths that matches Eddie’s own.

It takes a while for Buck to be soothed off to sleep, but Eddie doesn’t fall asleep until he feels Buck’s breathing even out and his body sags against him.

While Eddie wishes that he could have spoken to Buck about everything that’s been going on but he knows that Buck needs all the sleep he can get. So for now, he forgets about everything that he wants to talk about and allows himself to follow his boyfriend to sleep.

EVERYONE

Athena had been expecting something like this to happen sooner or later, because every time that she saw Buck she could see that the young man was one step closer to just breaking down. And even though the woman had expected it to happen, it doesn’t mean that it didn’t break her heart when she watches Buck sob onto the decking of her backyard.

The day had started off so nicely, the team being invited over to the Nash-Grant household for a bi-weekly dinner; and everything had been wonderful. And Athena can’t be sure what had started it, or why it was even a conversation. But they were talking about their near death experiences, the entire time Buck had been silent and seemed to have zoned out while everyone jokes and laughed about it. That had been followed by Buck excusing himself as tears slid down his cheeks, only making it to the decking before he had burst into a fit of sobs.

Everyone seemed to freeze in shock and surprise while Bobby and Eddie moved quickly, the duo running to either side of Buck’s side when the younger man collapsed to his knees as he sobbed. “Hey, shh, shh. Just breath, love. You’re okay.” Eddie whispers, allowing the firefighter to fall against his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around his boyfriend. “I-I can’t lose you guys! I can’t!” Hen moved forward as Buck spoke, eyes filled with compassion and sadness as she sat in front of the fallen man, taking one of his hands tightly into his own, not saying anything but allowing the man to know that she was here for him.

“We’re all right here, Buckaroo.” Chimney explained as he also moved closer, sitting between Hen and Bobby and placing a hand on Buck’s shoulder, whose crying hasn’t eased up. “We’re here, buddy. We’re still here, we’re with you.” Chimney says again, thinking back to the conversation that he had with Buck and everything the younger man had admitted, his heart breaking when he thinks about how long this has been weighing Buck down.

“We can’t promise to always be safe, not with our job.” Bobby begins, and places a hand on the back of Buck’s head that coax’s the younger male to look to him with red rimmed eyes. “But we can promise that we’ll always fight to back to this family, come back to you, kiddo.” Smiles Bobby so lovingly, and Buck sniffs as he takes Bobby’s hand that was on his head into his own hand, not moving from where he was leaning against Eddie. Maddie walks over now, tears sliding down her face as she sits behind her brother and presses a kiss to the back of his head.

“You’re not alone, Evan. Not anymore, you’re here with family.” She whispers, Buck’s crying still having not eased up despite him nodding his head at the words she had uttered. “I-I know, it’s just… You guys are all I have, I can’t lose you.” Buck finally admits everything; explain what had been weighing him down. “And every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is how close I’ve come to losing each of you. It fucking terrifies me.” He sobbed, Eddie holding him closer and rubbing a soothing hand across his back and he pressed a kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s head.

“Kiddo, how would you feel about going back to therapy? Meeting with someone else?” Bobby questioned, asking that last bit after seeing that small bit of panic in the younger man’s eyes when he looked up at him. “We can chose the therapist together, but I think seeing someone about this would really benefit you, son.” The Captain’s voice is filled with understanding when he speaks, and his eyes hold nothing but concern and love for the man sitting in front of him.

“I might know just the person for you, Buckaroo. They’re wonderful and might be the best fit for you.” Athena said suddenly, walking over and standing behind her husband; smiling down so encouragingly when Buck looks up at her. After a moment of silence, and briefly looking at his boyfriend who just smiles so softly and patiently, he nods his head as he looks back up at the older woman. “Y-Yeah, okay. Yeah.” He whispers, releasing a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as he allows his body to sag back against Eddie; drained and tired.

“But right now, you and Eddie are going to go into the spare bedroom, and you’re going to get some rest.” Athena says, everyone stepping back when Eddie helps Buck climb to his feet; holding him close still. He only lets go of the man that he loves when Athena steps forward and bring the younger man into her arms, holding him so tightly as if letting go would mean him disappearing. “You’re running on fumes, and you need rest. So go, we’ll wake you both up when dinner is ready.” Bobby added on, placing a hand on Buck’s shoulder when Athena pulls away from the hug.

“T-Thanks, guys. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting.” He utters, feeling a little guilty about how worried all of them have been about his wellbeing lately, but it does make him feel so loved that they cared so much about him. “Hey, don’t apologise for this, okay? You’re allowed to have feelings, you’re human. And you’ve been through a lot.” Hen says seriously, smiling at her best friend as she pulls him into a hug of her own. “You’re feelings are completely valid, Buckaroo.”

Eddie, who had been watching with a smile, can easily see that Buck is feeling a little overwhelmed with everything that had happened so he excuses them and says that they’re going to go take up that offer to get some sleep; he can see Buck badly needs it. Leading a tired and sluggish Buck into the house, Eddie holds his hand so tightly as they make their way into the said spare bedroom.

“I would be so lost without you guys; I love you all so much.” Buck whispers despite only talking to Eddie now, who sits him down on the edge of the bed and begins kicking off his own shoes and jacket while Buck does the same. “And therapy might be the best idea; I’m just worried about it.” And Eddie understands why Buck is worried, and everything he is scared about is completely justified and valid; and Eddie isn’t ashamed to admit that he would be the same as Buck.

“I know, love. But if Athena trusts this person, then I’m assuming they’re a safe bet. What happened with her won’t happen again, sweetheart.” Eddie feels like he can promise this, especially if Athena had been the one who was going to give them the name of someone that she trusted; especially after the event with Buck’s previous therapist taking advantage of him. “And we’re here for you, because we love and support you.”

And for the first time in so long when Buck smiles up at his boyfriend it’s genuine and real, even though it’s something small and tired. But it’s real and that is enough to make Eddie feel as though everything is going to be okay soon. Not now, maybe not within the next year, but things will be okay.

#anonymous #prompt fill #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #bobby nash #athena grant #hen wilson #howie han #maddie buckley #buck x eddie #i am so tired now #but i hope this is ok #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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lu-undy · 4 years

Note

A-Another one?😌😣❤️ There's days in which Sniper feels confident and talkative. They are strange days, but still, they happen. He talks, a lot compared to normal days. And talking that much leads to being flirty with Spy, instead of the other way. And this leads to flirtying fights. Who would win? 🤔 -❤️🐑

Alright, I hope this checks out. It is now 4am to me and I enjoyed writing this maybe a bit too much. ^^

The Frenchman recalled the events at the end of dinner. Through the racket of the cutlery on the plates, one of his colleagues had been particularly more talkative than usual; and thank God it wasn’t Scout.

“Did I tell you about the time I lost my parents chickens at the market?”

“You did what?” Spy asked, thinking his misheard or misunderstood. “Is this an expression in English that I’m not aware of or should I understand it literally?”

Sniper laughed and wiped his mouth.

“Nah mate, I’m bein’ serious. So, picture this, we were out on the marketplace with my parents cause obviously, it was market day and my parents bein’ farmers… Y’know, it’s a big day. But here’s the thing…”

Spy listened while eating his yoghurt, a smile on his lips.

“... They had left the truck’s keys with me and asked me to keep my eye on it while they settled out tables and stuff. So I thought to meself, alroight, why not open the truck and get the cages with the chickens out.”

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know, about 12 or somethin’. So yeah, I opened the back of the truck and started unloading the cages. Thing is, I hadn’t anticipated they’d be that bloody heavy. So I lifted the first one, my jacket got caught up in the lock on a second one, I tried to move it, ended up tumbling like a rock down a hill and falling!”

“Oh, it must have hurt..!” Spy chuckled.

“The cage in my arms obviously escaped my hands and its door broke, the chickens spilled everywhere, cacklin’ as they darted off!”

Spy could hardly contain his laughter. He hunched his back and hid his face in his hand as he laughed, catching his breath in short snorts.

“How many chickens did you lose?” Spy asked, trying to calm down and catch his breath.

“That’s only a dozen between the two cages. But wait for it, wait for it!”

The kitchen had emptied meanwhile and it was only the two of them still at the table, under the light bulb. It was Sniper’s turn to wash the dishes so there was nowhere he was going until he had been done that.

“Here’s the craziest thing! I was there in the truck, covered in bruises, I had no idea what to do!”

“That’s terrible, Sniper, absolutely dreadful!” Spy was holding his sides and Sniper had joined him in the laughter.

“Oh, Lord, Spook,” The Australian put his arm on the back of Spy’s chair. “And I thought when my parents find out about it, they’d kill me for it. So I put a hand on my face and that’s when I realised I was covered in bruises, blood dripping off the cuts and scratches the chickens left. And it hit me! I got a brilliant idea!”

“What in the name of God did you think about…?” Spy leaned his head back on his friend’s arm. He raised his eyes to Sniper and the latter looked down at him. Oh that sight… Those light blue eyes, eyelids half-closed and their attention fully devoted to the Australian. Sniper loved it more than he could say. He raised his eyes to the door and saw that the door was closed.

Sniper smirked and raised a devious eyebrow.

“I won’t tell you what happened next.”

“What?!” The Frenchman straightened his back and head right away. He frowned when he saw his friend’s smile widen.

Sniper closed his arm around Spy’s arm and pulled him closer.

“I’ll do it like Shereherazade. Y’know what she did, that sheila? It’s in the One Thousand and One Nights. The Prince or whatever married her but she knew he’d kill her the next morning cause that’s what he’d done with the previous tons of sheilas he’d slept with. So she told him the beginning of a story and stopped right before the best bit. She’d tell him the rest the next day. And then she kept on saying that, night after night, that’s how she survived!”

“I didn’t know you were familiar with the story.”

Sniper wiggled his eyebrows proudly.

“Oh but I am. You’re the only bloke with some fancy bits and bobs in his head, eh?

“Do remind me though, how was she called that princess?”

“Shereherazade or somethin’.”

“Pfffhahaha!” Spy burst out laughing, holding his sides harder.

Sniper frowned.

“What the hell’re you laughin’ at?”

“It’s Scheherazade, or in Arabic, Sharhazad, not the nonsense you just invented!”

Sniper’s eyebrows jumped. He didn’t know his colleague could speak Arabic...

“Ooh, look at you, gettin’ clever in Arabic, eh?” Sniper tapped the tip of his friend’s nose with his index finger playfully and Spy pulled his nose with a smile. “You really are like a cat.”

“What?!”

“You’re arrogant, but deep down, you love the attention.”

“I cannot complain. But tell me, Scheherazade-who-shsoots-heads-from-far-away, what shall I do for you to finish your story, hm? And please don’t tell me I have to wait for the next night!”

“Oh no, you won’t…”Sniper’s face got even closer to the Frenchman. “Not when you’re bein’ like that.” He whispered and given his hoarse voice, it almost sounded like a growl. Spy couldn’t hide his pleasure and smirked. He looked Sniper straight the eye.

“Not when I’m like what exactly, hm? Pray explain.”

“Oh you bloody know what I mean.”

Spy’s smile widened. Their faces were a few inches apart and they could just about breath each other’s air. Both felt the thrill and the tension of it.

“Tell you what, Spook: I’ll wash the dishes and then pop to your room.”

Sniper stood up and rolled up his sleeves. The Frenchman stood up too and headed for the door.

“Will you tell me what you did with your parents’ chickens then?”

“Yeah, we’ll see!” He answered loudly before murmuring to himself “As if that’s what’s your lookin’ for…” Sniper started the tap and got on with the dishes.

Spy walked back silently towards his friend and, pushing himself to the tip of his toes, he put his hands on Sniper’s shoulders suddenly.

“Huh?!” The tall man got startled and gasped.

“You’d better tell me the end of that story and not leave me hanging like that, Bushman…!” Spy threateningly whispered down his friend’s neck, from behind.

“Oh you…!” The Australian grabbed the nearby hand towel and turned to slap Spy with it.”You scared me, I thought you were gone already! Bugger off!”

Spy dodged the towel easily.

“What if I stayed and didn’t bugger off…?”

Sniper leapt at him with the towel in his hand, to try and slap him again, but Spy darted away faster, giggling as he saw his provoking of his friend had the intended effect.

“Tsss, bloody Spies, I swear…”

Half an hour later or so, Spy got out of the shower. He put on his bathrobe and combed his hair back. He liked it particularly when Sniper was having one of those days. It didn’t happen very often, but what a delight. He would be more talkative, share more of himself with his colleague. And it seemed to be only with him, which flattered Spy beyond what he could imagine.

As soon as he finished lacing the bathrobe belt around his waist, a knock on the door resounded. Spy put on his mask. He knew who was coming and so he opened the door, paying attention to still hide behind it, not for anyone else to see him in his bathrobe. He quickly shut the door and Sniper turned to face him.

“Been waitin’ fer me, I see?” The Australian raised a devious eyebrow as he eyed the Frenchman from his bare feet, slim legs, all the way up to his chest, his neck and his face.

“You wish…” Spy arrogantly replied and turned his back to head to the sofa.

But it wouldn’t do for Sniper. The Australian leapt in and grabbed the only thing he could, which turned out to be the bathrobe belt. It slid out of the rings around the Frenchman’s wait and the bathrobe pans flew open.

Spy froze, his back still to the Australian. Sniper was confused, the belt in his hand, at the crossroad between two very opposite emotions. On one hand, he wanted to apologise profusely, turn on his heels and leave, but on the other hand…

The Frenchman looked down and back up.

“Well, this seems very unfair, Sniper.” Spy’s voice purred as he turned, holding his bathrobe closed with his arms crossed on his chest. He took the step that separated him from his taller friend and stuck himself to Sniper’s chest, holding on to his shirt collar.

Sniper saw it in Spy’s eyes. The Frenchman was asking him to not apologise, and to be honest, he didn’t want either.

“Go on,” Sniper opened his arms left and right. “Make it even then.”

Spy’s eyes shone brighter as his pupils dilated. The Australian giggled.

“You’re really nothin’ but a cat, Spook, you purr when you’re in a good mood.”

“And you growl, what does that make you…?”

“I’ll show you when we get fair and equal. Although, I have to say, Spook.”

The brown hat and the sleeveless jacket were on the floor already. Spy had unbuttoned the polo shirt slowly, taking the time to enjoy every moment but stopped sharp and looked up.

“To really be level, I’ll need that mask o’yours… off.”

Spy raised an eyebrow.

“Ambitious…” He pulled the polo shirt up and removed it. “I’ll tell you what, come back more often for this, and I might.” He winked at the Australian.

“Playin’ the Sheherazade trick on me? You can’t do that!”

Spy chuckled.

“I can and watch me, I will.”

Soon, the rest of the Australian’s clothes would fall, but before that, Sniper had put his hands on Spy’s sides and what a sigh the Frenchman let out… The tall man had to bend down and kiss him right there and right then. Needless to say, the night of sleep was short.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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looselucy · 5 years

Photo

Guilt

July 15th “I don’t really remember the first time I started work on the Blood Sun.” Styles tells us, sitting in his quiet New York gallery whilst sipping slowly on a glass of wine, a deep red. “I don’t know if I’ve blocked it out. I know it started with the idea of thunder and lightning, but it veered from that pretty quickly. I had an idea what I wanted from the painting emotionally. I don’t know if I got that with the end product, but I knew I couldn’t get that from thunder. It had to be a sun.”

I was sat in PJ’s in silence, scrolling through a relatively recent article about Harry on my phone as I waited for my breakfast. I had always tried to avoid going online to read about him, because I knew whatever I saw was likely to be monitored and watered down, not even by those reporting on him, but by Harry himself. He was never going to share intimate truths so publicly, so there was nothing real for me to learn, but it had been so much harder to avoid since he’d sent me the painting. I wanted to know what he’d said about it, if he’d mentioned anything about selling it or not. I needed to know everything I could. Styles must be bored of answering questions about his most celebrated work at this point, but it is by far his most intriguing. Not only is the painting spectacular, with stunning mixes of oranges, yellows, and the artists own blood, but it’s a piece he seems to be refusing to sell – no matter how high the offer. “I don’t make art for it to be sold. I make art to express. If selling was the reason I painted, I would have given this up a long time ago. I never saw that as a reason to paint, it was always to do with the feeling, the emotion. I guess the therapeutic side of it, too. I’m not going to sell a piece for the sake of it.” I should have known he would have started painting again when he’d left, but that seemed like confirmation, what with him saying he would have given it up. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Of course I wanted him to continue with his passion, work in a way that showed his talents, made his life beyond comfortable, but it was what came with his painting that made me uneasy. I hadn’t seen anything expressing that he no longer used blood, and I thought that would have be a focal point had it been the case. I cursed his agent, leaping viciously to the conclusion that it was him who kept Harry in the frame of mind, convinced him that he had to paint with blood or people would lose interest. I was sure of it. I took a deep breath in and continued. “That painting means more to me than any number, I don’t think I’ll ever sell it, per se. I’m not even accepting offers anymore.” I question if his new work that he will soon reveal is a way of distracting people from the painting, moving on. “Partially.” He admits. “But it’s also a new time for me. It’s new work, paintings I’m really excited to share. I’m looking forward to seeing how I end up feeling about all this new stuff. What I want to sell, what I don’t. We’ll see.” What Harry has managed to achieve with his art is remarkable. It’s not merely the power of his paintings, something that is preposterously palpable if you’re lucky enough to be in the same room as one. And it’s not limited to the success he’s had, the respect he’s received from his peers ever since he was granted a scholarship when he was still a teenager. It’s the emotions that his work inspires. He is quiet, but with purpose. He doesn’t talk about the inspiration behind each of his pieces, what makes him paint – instead, he throws you in head first to figure it out alone. You are never told what to see or how to feel, every brush of paint open to interpretation. Styles never ties you to the idea of what his work should be, instead his art is open, free of chains, exposing you to the truth of your own emotions rather than lumbering you with the truth of his. There is something magic in his secrecy that allows you to feel personally connected to his work, your feelings valid. In his less is more approach, you are left feeling as much a part of his art as he is. He connects with his consumer by saying so little, a truly impressive feat. Harry Styles is not ours to know, but his masterpieces are, and that’s exactly why our relationship with this extraordinary artist works. Reaching the end of the article, I locked my phone, leaning back in my chair and taking a deep breath inward, the words resting heavily on my chest. It wasn’t even necessarily what they’d been saying in the write-up, not really, it was more the strange sensation of reading about him that way at all. The Blood Sun was still sitting where I had found it. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it, I didn’t even have the space in my flat, not that I thought it would even get through the door. It was almost as though I didn’t dare move it, fear of damaging it, fear of admitting it was mine to damage. It had been almost a fortnight since I’d received it, touched it for the first time, breathed it in, but it hadn’t moved and inch and I was still perfectly clueless. I’d cried that night when I’d got home. Once we were back on the shop floor, I’d managed to get through most of the day at work without talking about it, without really even thinking about it, but the second I closed my front door, I burst into tears. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and just allowed myself to completely shatter, freeing whatever emotion had felt so imprisoned. I hadn’t really stopped thinking about him since, slowly driving myself insane with wild thoughts of the boy I’d once known, the boy who’d left my life and then re-entered it in the most spectacular and elaborate way. I didn’t want to think about him because it didn’t help. Even with him sending me that painting, it didn’t give me any leads, any answers; I still felt entirely powerless. But what was playing on my mind relentlessly was the knowledge that he had been thinking of me. Since he had departed from my life, I’d managed to convince myself that he no longer thought of me at all, that I would never cross his mind. I had been sure he was simply getting on with his life and I had become a hazy memory of his, another girl he had once been with for a few months of his life, another mistake. It was one of the things that had helped me to get over him, to know I wasn’t even beneath his skin enough for him to have dig me out. I told myself that I’d barely scratched the surface. Him sending me that painting made me feel differently. To know he had sat and thought of me, gone out of his way to make sure I became the owner of his most personal work. He wouldn’t have done something so grand on a whim, meaning without doubt that I had been playing on his mind. I wondered how he felt when he thought of me. I wondered what emotions I might stir. I hoped they were positive, and judging by the nature of his gesture they may well have been, but then again maybe his feelings towards me were as complex as mine towards him. Some days I’d think of him and feel happy, grateful we had what we did, that I experienced love in its truest form, even though it wasn’t reciprocated. I had loved him, and I was fortunate to have been able to feel that way about someone who so rarely let people into his life. Yet other days, the thought of us produced anger. Others, upset. Others, longing. It seemed impossible to look back on something so formidable with limited and lax emotions. I knew I wouldn’t find the answers to any of my questions in any article, but it was the only option I had. “Here we are.” Paula approached cheerily, placing my Eggs Benedict down in front of me. “Do you want me to top your coffee up?” “Please.” I sighed as she started pouring the dark liquid from the old-fashioned compressor into my mug. “You look knackered.” She sounded concerned. “Everything okay?” “Couldn’t really sleep.” I looked up to her. “Think I’ve only had a couple of hours.” “Any reason?” “Um… Dunno. I don’t think so. My minds just been working overtime recently. I can’t seem to shut off.” I hadn’t been sleeping well for what I felt was a variety of reasons. No matter how much I tried, how tired I was, it was like I’d get into bed and my head would just start spinning, conjuring up all these questions and ideas and worries that simply didn’t allow me to drift off. And the longer that lasted the worse it got, gradually becoming alarmingly aware that I should have been fast asleep. I’d start counting how many minutes and hours it would be until I had to get up and face another day on so little sleep, tossing and turning and losing my mind. That morning, I must have only drifted off at around 4AM, and yet still I awoke just before 7AM, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. That was why I’d headed to PJ’s, getting in a good meal and an abundance of coffee before I opened the shop for the day. “How longs that been going on?” “Couple’a weeks.” I tried to shrug it off. “It’s nothing, really. M’fine.” “Alright.” She griped, unsure. “I’ll always have free coffee here for you, if you need it.” “Thanks, Paula.” She squeezed my shoulder encouragingly before getting back to work, leaving me to tuck into my meal and pray that the coffee would be enough to see me through the day, because the amount of sleep I’d had certainly wasn’t enough on its own. I was only a few mouthfuls into my first meal of the day when the front door to PJ’s opened, my eyes instinctively lifting upwards to see who’d walked in. It was Chloe and Sam. Though things were okay between the three of us, it still felt awkward then. It was early, there was only one other person there, an old bloke who was sat in the corner keeping himself to himself. It was like it was just the three of us, which made for a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. There was no anger there, no hatred, but that didn’t mean we were at ease. “Hey.” I smiled to them both after swallowing my food, grateful I hadn’t started choking on it the second they’d walked through the door. “Hiya.” Sam greeted, straightening his back out. “Hi.” Chloe barely whispered. I felt bad for her, in some ways. She had never quite figured out how to be around me, weighed down by her guilt even though she shouldn’t have been, and I’d expressed that to her more than once. They shuffled past me, going over to the counter to order some food, whispering between themselves. It was so stupidly awkward, so much worse than it should have been. They’d been together for well over a year at that point, it shouldn’t have been that bad! I sat thinking to myself, knowing it was likely that the reason it was so bad was because we’d let it be. We hadn’t put the effort in to make sure we were all okay with each other, we hadn’t put the effort in and gone out of our way to avoid the awkwardness of our affiliations. We had to get past it. I took another bite, regretting my decision before I’d even voiced my thoughts but I knew what I wanted to do, and as long as I’d put the effort in, that was the best I could do. Once I’d heard that they’d finished ordering, I turned around, closing my eyes and blurting it out. “Do you wanna sit with me?” I opened my eyes to find them both looking at me like I’d gone mad. They were probably right. “Are you… I… Wh-what?” Sam blundered. “Do you wanna… sit… with me?” I said again. “We could just… y’know… talk, or whatever.” “Are you serious?” Chloe dazzled, dumbstruck and emotional. “Have we… done something wrong?” Sam asked me. “No! Nothing, I just… I can’t stand this.” I exhaled. “I hate being this awkward with you both, we need to push past it. So would you just… fucking sit down so we can get over ourselves and just be normal? We’re too old for this bullshit.” Sam just looked amused, sniggering to himself as he sat down on one of the chairs across from me, Chloe following close behind. She was different. She looked as though she could burst into tears at any moment. She sat down, biting her lip to hold back tears as Sam dove straight in with questions, asking about me, about my dad, updating me on how his mum was. I kept catching her from the corner of my eye and she wasn’t settling. She couldn’t ease at all. It was clear she still struggled, with all of it. It was hard for her to sit there with a friend she’d lost, knowing it had happened because of choices she had made. I knew that was why she got upset when she was around me. There’s nothing quite like love, the power it holds over you. I had to be conscious of the reasons why she chose Sam, even when that meant losing her friends. When love is that strong, it doesn’t care about anyone else, who it hurts, what it breaks. When love is that strong, it’s a force to be reckoned with, its pawns powerless to its forces. I’d seen throughout my life that most people would do anything to save love, to keep it in their hearts for as long as possible, whatever the cost. It might have seemed odd, the abundance of sacrifices she’d had to make just to be with him, but their love had told her to do that, to fight for him. I hoped he was worth it. I hoped that every loss paled when she looked at him, when that love took over. The only problem was that when she was around us, and me specifically, it didn’t feel that easy. She’d get upset, she’d realise how much she missed us, how much she missed how things had been. She hadn’t just lost me when her and Sam had gotten together, it had slowly picked a lot of her friends out of her life, but it centred around me. It was so difficult to admit that we’d never be the same again. It was gutting to come to terms with the fact that we’d lost something so good. My only comfort was knowing that she’d gained from it in some way or another. That morning with her was a quiet one, conversation mainly being held between Sam and I as she put most of her energy into holding herself together, not breaking, reminding herself of the reasons things had changed so much. But as far as I was concerned, anything was better than how we had been for the past year or so. Anything was an improvement.

“Here she is!” Niall yelled when I stepped into The Tin Mouse that evening, everyone greeting me cheerily; all except Lin, who didn’t really do anything, staring blankly at me as I cautiously approached the table. I was feeling rather anxious, my hands dug into the pockets of my denim jacket, pressing my lips together tightly. I didn’t really want to be there, to be honest. “Hi.” I just about smiled, taking a deep breath inward before I spoke. “Shall I get a round in?” Quite purposefully, I’d been running rather late, meaning they were all at the end of their drinks by the time I got there. They put in their requests quickly, all rather distracted and chirpy, meaning it took longer than it should have. Lin still hadn’t said a word by the time I was heading over to the bar, but I knew he’d grab at his opportunity. I’d only just put in the large order when I noticed him leap up to his feet and storm over to me, his voice leaden and irked when he spoke. “Why’ve you been ignoring me?” “I haven’t.” I protested. “Well, that’s fucking weird, because you haven’t answered any of my calls or my texts. You didn’t come to watch the match on Monday, you haven’t been at the pub.” He was angry, and I was fighting tears. “Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot, Alf, I know what’s going on.” I hadn’t meant to avoid him. I didn’t want to create an atmosphere. I didn’t want him to be angry with me. I didn’t want a lot of things that had come into fruition of late. What I had wanted, was to continue being honest and upfront with him, but receiving that painting and that note from Harry had somehow made everything with Lin feel twice as difficult. Because I knew it had to end. It had been hard enough to admit to him that I wasn’t sure on my feelings and what was happening between us, so it would have been even harder to be blunt and really end things, to tell him that I could finally make sense of the mess in my own mind. I knew it wasn’t right, that’s what my head was telling me, that’s what my gut was telling me. That’s what my heart was telling me. I just didn’t know how I was supposed to tell him. He waited for me to say something, my throat dry and tight as I tried to figure it out. “Please don’t be mad at me.” I whispered. “I don’t want to be mad at you, Alfie, I’m just frustrated!” He whelped. “Because if I knew asking you out would have led to this, I wouldn’t have fucking done it. I don’t think you understand how much I don’t wanna lose you, Alf! I can’t!” I looked right past him, staring over his shoulder and concentrating on the back door that would lead out to the beer garden, because looking in his eyes summoned too many emotions, ones I couldn’t supress. He made being opaque sound so easy, like it wouldn’t involve hurting his feelings and choking up over every single wrong word. I didn’t know how to handle it, what I should or shouldn’t say, and I certainly didn’t want to tell Lin that the main thing that had driven me away from even thinking about him in a romantic way was the delivery of a fucking painting. “Don’t avoid me, please!” He went on. “Just be honest. I can take it.” “It’s not as easy as that.” “It is! I’m telling you, it is! Because by not saying it, you’re saying it anyway. So, you might as well bite the bullet.” He sighed, wound his jaw. “Put me out of my misery. Please.” He just wanted it to be over, maybe even more than I did, but for different reasons. We were both in agony for different reasons and it needed to end. “I don’t wanna do this here.” I started to cry. I felt like all I did was fucking cry. “Fuck, don’t get upset. Oh shit. I don’t want you to feel guilty or sad, please don’t cry. If it’s not right, then it’s not.” He reached to grab my hand, pulling it away from my face as I tried to hide my tears. “You’ve just gotta be honest with me about it. I knew I was running a risk when I asked you, I just wanna be kept in the loop!” “Lin, it’s not that easy!” I wept. “I care about you so much and I didn’t wanna hurt your feelings. And I’ve had such a shit couple of weeks. I’ve been so sad and-” “That’s… the opposite of how I want you to feel!” He wailed. “C’mere. Wipe those bloody tears away, eh? I don’t wanna see you sad. Don’t be sad, not for my sake.” He held my cheeks steadily in his hands, wiping his thumbs beneath my eyes to dry my tears on my behalf, shaking his head like I was being silly, which made me laugh. He was good at that. It was obvious he was irritated with how I’d handled things since our date, but he was still trying to keep things sweet between us in any way he could, whilst also getting his point across. I sucked it up as much as I could as he wiped away a few more tears, talking calmly as he did. “Are you crying because of me? Did I go in too hard?” “No.” I shook my head. “I just feel bad. I didn’t want it to go like this.” “No… I can’t say I did either.” He chuckled uneasily. “It just… It doesn’t feel right. I wish it did, but it doesn’t.” He dropped his hands whilst my tears terminated progressively. “I don’t want-” “LIN, WHY’RE YOU MAKING ALFIE CRY?” Niall yelled from across the room. “NIALL, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Lin yelled back, proceeding to mentally block him out. “For fuck sake. Someone needs to tell that lad that it’s not always appropriate to drop a joke.” Despite the fact that I agreed, we were both still sort of laughing, shaking our heads and rolling our eyes. “I think we should probably do this another time.” I whispered, wiping away the last of my tears. “Sorry for getting mad.” “Sorry for avoiding you. I’d be mad too. And sorry for crying. You should be able to be pissed off without me crying and making you feel bad.” Abruptly, he moved in and wrapped his arms around me, releasing a swell of air that had be stuck in his chest. We could hear Niall whinging whimsically about how they were all waiting on their drinks, which were now sitting on top of the bar waiting to be paid for and waiting to be carried over to their consumers, but we had things to say. After quite some time, Lin pulled out of the hug but remained close, pressing his forehead against mine and speaking quietly, still trying to block out our surroundings, his hand latched against the back of my neck. I breathed him in, eased. “We’ll be okay, I promise. I don’t really know where we go from here, but-” “Harry?” I heard Louis yell through the bar, and I knew. Before I’d even turned around, I knew. I could tell from the sound of his voice, the perfect blend of surprise and terror. I knew and yet it didn’t seem real. Not until I watched Lin lift his head to gaze over the top of mine, eyes and mouth wide. “Holy shit, Harry’s here.” I whipped my whole body around a second later so I was facing the right way, so I could see for myself. That was the moment I locked eyes with Harry for the first time in over a year. He was completely motionless, so still and beautiful and perfect I could hardly comprehend that he was real, an image frozen in time and likely captured in my mind forever. He was stood in the doorway staring forward, right at me, as though he wasn’t conscious of anything else. It was just me and him and the static canvas we had become. His emotions were difficult to decipher, looking as shocked as I must have even though it was him who’d turned up out of nowhere. He hadn’t stepped foot in that pub since the previous May, but he was gazing right at me as though I had entered his space, like it was my presence that was the cause for alarm. He looked hurt, in ways. Those seconds felt like a lifetime, only able to snap out of my daze when Niall crashed his body against Harry’s, threw his arm around his neck. “What the hell are you doing here?” Libby howled excitedly as she approached him. “Are you moving back?” Niall asked whilst hugging the life out of him. “Please tell me you’re moving back.” It was then that Harry managed to pull his eyes away, and so did I, darting my vision to the left to look at Louis, who was already staring at me with wide eyes. “What the fuck?” He mouthed mutely. I found that my eyes drew back to Harry within seconds, like a magnet. His were back on me. He looked amazing. He always did. Even when he was exhausted and drained, his body had a certain shine to it that I’d never seen the likes of before and would never see again. Maybe I saw him in some divine light, but staring at him then I felt sure that simply, he was magnificent; radiant, powerful, immersed in splendour. “Uh…” Harry eventually began to grumble as Niall detached himself, looking away from me but not looking at anyone else, his gaze shooting down to the floor. “I dunno why I’m here. Sorry, I… I should go.” “What? You just got here?” Niall keened. Lin tried to edge past me to get closer to Harry, attempt to convince him to stick around like the rest of them were doing, all confused and stunned by his presence but desperate for him to stay. As he moved, Lin placed his hand on my waist gently, tenderly trying to edge me closer to the group to help with encouraging Harry to stay, but that minor action seemed to have the opposite effect. Harry witnessed the trivial exchange and withdrew completely. “No, m’sorry, I can’t do this.” He walked backwards, pushing his weight against the front door to open it without looking. “I dunno why I came, I’m sorry.” “The fuck, Harry?” Niall, Libby and Louis were all so dumbfounded they could barely move, just watching him back himself out of there. “What is going on?” It was rather clear he was overwhelmed, and I didn’t necessarily think it was the sole reason, but I knew that he was piqued by what he’d seen between Lin and I. He’d always had his paranoias, and though they still felt rather misplaced, he hadn’t been entirely delusional. The last time we had been together, we had kissed and held one another so intensely, the situation overflowing with passion and heartbreak. That was the last physical contact we’d had. Following that, he’d sent me a painting that was closer to his heart than most of the people in his life could ever hope to be. No matter how we’d ended or the complications we’d faced, I predicted that he saw me in a similar way to how I saw him – that in some way, we would always belong to one another. I would never be okay seeing him with someone else, and he didn’t want to see me with another man. Our history was too strong. For him to see me for the first time over a year later, another boys hand in my hair and lips close to mine. I knew I wouldn’t have wanted to see him and another woman like that, whether it meant something or not. I knew that was one of the reasons he desired a swift exit. “I shouldn’t have come. I don’t wanna interrupt, m’just gunna go. I promise I’ll see you soon, I promise, I just… Fuck.” With that final curse word he was outside, the door closing behind him. There were only a few seconds of shocked silence before Louis turned and bellowed to me. “Alfie, for fuck sake, go after him!” With no plan, no thought process and nothing to guide me, I ran out the door to catch him. I could barely make sense of a single thing, all I knew was that I couldn’t let him walk away without putting up a fight. I was terrified that if I let him walk away, that would be the last of it. Harry was sometimes hard to read, difficult to predict, and despite recent actions, I knew the chances of him disappearing from my life completely, never to seen or heard from again, were large. I knew there was a chance that this could be the very last time I saw him, and that was more likely if I didn’t go after him. I had too many questions that needed answering; why he was there, why he’d sent me the painting, how he had been for the past year. I wanted answers, and then if he wanted to leave he could. I could only hope that he desired the same closure I did. “Harry!” I yelled as soon as I could. He had his head down, walking central down the countrylane, heading towards town, towards the house where he used to live, towards a history he didn’t want to face. He tried to ignore me, not wanting to acknowledge my presence. I was so fucking confused. “HARRY!” I yelled again once I was out on the road, and he had to stop then, coming to a complete standstill but not turning to look at me. “What the fuck are you doing?” He didn’t answer. “Why’re you here?” “I… I don’t know.” He slowly turned around, but kept his line if vision right on the ground ahead of his feet. “It was stupid, m’sorry, I’m just gunna leave. I thought I was ready for this and I… I’m really not, so-” “Ready for what?” “Being back here. Seeing… I-I can’t. I have to leave.” He set off again, running his hand through his hair, clearly wanting nothing more than to get away from me. Though I could feel my frustration bubbling, I kept it locked down, remaining still and watching him walk away. “Why did you send me that painting?” I asked tersely, breathless, and that brought him to a standstill once again. I was surprised by how calm I sounded. Even when he turned back around and lifted his head to look at me, I remained still, serene, patiently awaiting his answer. He blinked, strangely acting as though he hadn’t been expecting me to question him on that, like he thought we’d both look past it, like it was regular, expected. “Because… it’s yours.” He eventually managed an answer, speaking as though it was obvious. “No one else deserves it.” “Har-” “I need to go, Alfie. I’m sorry.” He started walking backwards once again, not wanting to delay his departure. “I’m sorry for showing up, I-” “Wait… Fuck, I’m so… Don’t you think we need to talk?” “No. I can’t. Just… Forget about it, okay?” He shuddered. “I’ve got so many fucking questions, Harry! How do you expect me to just forget this?” “Will you tell them I’m sorry?” He said, and when I remained silent, stunned, he turned around and picked up his pace. I wished he’d called me Fee-Fee. I didn’t fully understand why that was my first thought, but all I knew was that I craved to hear him call me by that nickname he had so fondly adopted. I longed for that familiarity, that sense that we knew one another, that we had a history, because as he was walking away from me then, he truly felt like a stranger. The only thing that felt the same was the way he was running away from a situation that was more complicated than he’d bargained for. Exasperated, I picked up the pace and followed his footsteps, diminishing the space between us and then jumping so I was directly in front of him, forcing him to stop. We were mere inches apart. “Alfie-” “I don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to talk to me, Harry, that’s fine!” I fumed, retrieving my phone from my pocket and searching through it, unable to look him in the eye now we were so close. “I stopped expecting things from you when you fucking left, I’m past it. But you need to speak to your mum. Here.” I held my phone out ahead of him, keeping my eyes on his chest but putting the screen right before his eyes, the contact information for his mother brightening his face. “Wh-what?” “It’s your mum’s number. Take it. Call her.” “But-” “If you don’t, I fucking will. Please step up and do it, Harry. She’s desperate to hear from you.” “How… How do you-” “I spoke to her about you, and I don’t even care if you’re angry with me. I really don’t fucking care anymore, because this is your way to reach her and that’s all that mattered to me. And now you know that she does want you to reach out for her, she tried to reach you, so you’ve got no excuse. Take it, call her. Please.” He was shell-shocked for a little while, taking his time before he reached into his pocket to retrieve his poor excuse for a phone, some old looking thing that didn’t look like it would still function, typing the number he could see and then hopefully saving it to his phone, but I didn’t check to confirm that. I just had to hope he was listening to me, and that I’d said enough for him to finally get in touch with Julia again. “You done?” I asked bluntly. “Uh… Yeah.” “Okay, I’ve done my part, so leave. I don’t care.” I huffed, moving past him, my shoulder colliding with his rather lethally. I had spent the past few months of my life trying to pick him away from my memories, some sort of survival technique I had attempted to adapt, tearing even the tiniest detail from my thoughts. Even down to the simplest thing, like the exact colour of his eyes, the precise shade of green. I had almost forgotten that colour, and the second I was close enough to reacquaint myself, I daren’t look, daren’t remind myself. Or maybe I daren’t acknowledge that I’d never really forgotten. I never could. One last thing held me back before I left him there alone, went back to trying to forget. I rotated to face him again, seeing he hadn’t moved. “And I’d fire your agent, if I was you.” I said. “What?” He turned slightly, enough so he could see me. “Your mum got in touch with him and he never told you. Fire him, he doesn’t give a fuck about you.” His hurt and his horror were clear within his face even though he didn’t say a single thing. I didn’t give him much of an opportunity to reply, really. I had done what I wanted to do, placed the responsibility and the knowledge within his hands, and then it was his to handle, his to deal with however he felt was best. I had hopes, but I certainly didn’t expect anything from him. Not after everything. As I walked away from him, I could feel tears building, like my heart was breaking all over again, like I was losing him all over again even though I’d never gotten him back. Truthfully, he had never been mine to lose.

#Happy Bloody Sunday #enjoyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #HBS45

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stray-wanderer · 4 years

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Sudden new blog for Polytheist stuff made spontaneously at 3AM? Sure, why not? But whyyyy

BIG STORY TIME

For one, I used to have a blog dedicated to spirituality, but for some reason I deleted it (if I remember correctly it was something like, "I don't use this, so I'll just... yeah."

However, I've been recently really throwing myself into doing more research than ever and I was thinking about making a new blog, so again sure why not, right?

But I procrastinate like nothing else

The past few days I've felt like another deity has been trying to get a hold of me. My patron is Hermes though and he didn't seem like he was really for me reaching out to someone else and I l got a, "you need to wait" vibe from my tarot readings

Lately I've been working on astral projection/lucid dreaming/meditation exercises in general

I've also been doing other stuff with the tarot to try and learn more about my own path which seemed to point me towards learning more about healing, which gave me pause because I thought maybe Apollo was reaching out, but I still had those wait vibes going so I was *patient (is it still patience if you ask for hints? Lol).

Then I go through a thing where I pull cards on trickery, which not uncommon for Hermes, but then I go with a nice solid, "if I guess right will you tell me?"

He gives me a nice thumbs up, with some, "go ahead vibes" I guess Apollo first because I usually get some little vibes from him, but I'm still pretty new to tarot and I've only really talked to Hermes through them. The next deity I guess is Aphrodite because I had a tarot reading done for me a few months ago and someone told me she was reaching out to me. He says no, it isn't really her at the moment, or at least she's not the one I'm asking about (because yeah, he knows who I'm asking about I just don't). And st this point I'm gonna guess randomly and I shoot for Ares. I've never ever really spoken to Ares in any regard outside of prayer here and there. I usually pray to him right before I go to the gym or if I need strength/courage or just wanna thank him for being awesome. Hermes gives me a yes and a yes on if I can contact him. However the trickery cards from earlier kind of made me wonder if this was a trick by Hermes, but I try seeking out Ares through the tarot anyway. I had a red candle set out and I was ready (or I thought I was anyway), I go back forth for a bit with Ares trying to figure out what's up. For some reason I can't get my red candle to stay lit no matter what I do, nothing was wrong with the wick or anything it would light, be good for a few cards then out, as if someone was saying, "yeah, he wants to talk to you, but that isn't whose reaching out to you" moving on, sad face because that red candle won't light at all and I really liked its scent.

Yesterday I tried to practice a mantra to get me to remember my dreams more (it isn't a huge problem for me, sometimes I remember other times I don't, but I would like to remember more often if that makes sense)

I woke up and nothing was there, but I woke up in a really good mood so all I could do was hope I had a good dream

Today, I go to meditate (using guided meditations from youtube because I'm not great at it on my own yet, I get ridiculously sidetracked or randomly tense which is just counterproductive), good job to me I fall asleep

When I wake up still no memory of any dreams or anything, so I go on with my routine for the rest of the day

TONIGHT (yes, we are finally getting to why I made this blog)

I have dream (not lucid), I'm telling a story to someone but I can't tell who it is and I'm not sure if it's important. But me and my childhood best friend (we've known each other since we were 4 and we are still best friends, so her being in my dream isn't weird to me) and another person I couldn't make out or really see, there was definitely male energy though. We were playing hide and seek, but like kinda mixed with tag because if the person looking for us saw us, we'd run. Nothing malicious here we don't seem scared or anything, it's a good time, but distinctly 2 things, not a memory and not somewhere I'm familiar with. For a moment I think it is the park around the corner from my house we used to go to, but the area is just too wooded and I've never seen the places we were at before in person.

The last place we hide is an arching tree, it's as if we are hiding in a large hollowed out tree, I'm wearing a blue shirt which I don't realize the seeker can see and that is when he finds us.

After this we all agree (mind you I still can't see this third person, in some regard he is like a shadow or just not there at all) to go down to the river. Actually, the figure asks if we want to and my best friend says yes, and I said no, but then tell them we can still go (something tells me my initial no came from not feeling like walking down and up again which means I need to do some serious soul searching on just how lazy I am because wow). We go down to the river and just I lean down to put my hands in the water everything changes. Now there's still three of us, but one of them is my uncle (the only father figure I've ever had in my life) he, Jessica, and I have gone to the beach together before, so now I'm like, okay memory time! But then still no, because again I've never been to this beach and I've never seen the ocean so rough. Like nothing about the ocean in this dream seemed really inviting, but I wasn't scared to be on the beach, I just didn't think it was safe to get into the water.

We see another man (a man I couldn't recognize but had a face and stuff) in the water and a few other people staggered in the water, they're letting themselves be pulled in and out by the waves. Which yeah it looks fun, but the sea isnt stormy but definitely rough enough for dream me to make the call not to get in the water.

My uncle is a water baby and practically launches himself to the ocean. My best friend and I watch him walk into the water, we tell him he is too far, but he is hard headed and doesn't listen, after he moves to his waist a very small wave comes. He seemed disappointed and I vaguely remember hearing someone whisper, "sea god."

Then an epic wave comes, it's huge, like even from where Jessica and I are on the beach it should definitely be coming right for us. My uncle rides on top of it, because for some reason the wave is narrow as if it is just pointed at me. My uncle tumbles out of it at the shore line and gives a cheer saying, "that was awesome!" And for a moment the wave seems to be "looking" at me looking in quotes because it's water and I don't see any faces or anything

I wake up and it is abrupt I'm kinda shaking and I just ask myself in my head, "who is this? Whose there?" And I get a (in sort of a no duh kinda tone, mind you, which hey it is 3AM sorry for being disoriented I usually get my 8 hours in) "Poseidon"

In conclusion, it's now 4AM I have a new tumblr blog, and I wanna go back to bed and I'm sorry this is so long I'll make sure to add a "read more" thing as soon I wake up and get on my laptop in probably like 2 hours.

Update

1. I added the read more bar, I am so sorry to anyone who had to scroll through all that

2. I tried to go back to sleep and as I did, guess who almost had sleep paralysis? Me! Guess who got scared and was like wait no, not right now! Also me! So, work needs to be done. On the other side of things just as I was trying to resist sleep paralysis I heard a voice say either: breathe, sleep or three, I really couldn’t make it out. It sounded like someone trying to calm me, so I lean towards it being breathe, which would make sense, if only I had listened lol

#poseidon*#poseidon deity #hermes devotee #hermes deity #hellenic polytheistic #pagan polytheism #dreams #witching hour #I'm sorry this is so long #if this made no sense im sorry #Looking for other blogs to follow #hermes*#ares deity #ares*

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foreveryourinspiration · 4 years

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House Sitting Nightmare

Okay, so I’m house sitting for a family that I work with a lot. I’ve house sat for them several times over the past few years whenever they go on vacation. and let me just say that EVERYTIME i have house sat, something sketch has happened.

The last time, I had issues with weird noises coming from nowhere (and I’ve practically lived in this house so I know what noises it makes on the reg), and a man’s shadow outside the back windows when there wasn’t a man there.

WELL this time I was binge-ing scary tiktoks (because the algorithm seems to think that’s what I need at 4am) and the lights in the room I was in just WENT. OUT. like completely dark! My phone screen automatically adjusts brightness, so my phone dimmed too, which was incredibly unsettling when I’m watching a scary tiktok.

My reflex was to just say “no” out loud as I stared at a wall in the room. A second later and the lights came back on. I slowly got out of bed and opened the bedroom door to make sure there was evidence that the power in the whole house went off and not just selectively the room I was in. Thankfully, the downstairs printer started making its noises which let me know I was not being targeted by some angry something or another.

BUT then I started hearing this strange noise. It was like a humming, but very faint. I decided to put my white person detective skills to the test (ya know, the ones that get us killed or should be why we die in horror movies) and follow the sound with only my phone. I turned the camera on, too, because I just had to catch this noise on film.

It was coming from the room across the hall from mine. the doors in the house were all closed because they have animals that they don’t want in them, so it was super eerie to hear humming from a dark, closed off room. But alas, I pushed through that little alarm in my head saying to “just text them about it later, and stay in your zone”, and opened the door. But instead of being smart about it and turning on the light that was RIGHT INSIDE THE DOOR, WITHIN REACH, I turned on my phone’s flash and started filming my way into the room.

The door started to close behind me because the way the airflow in their house is. I quickly chose then to reach for the light.

By now I can clearly hear the noise for what it’s making. It’s a squeaky instrumental version of “Rockabye Baby”. Which contextually makes sense when you remember they have a baby, and that it’s probably one of their toys. But in the moment, I was wigged.

So I follow the noise to the top of an armoir. It’s the baby’s foot monitor. I had never heard it go off, because ideally it only goes off if something is wrong with the baby’s heart of breathing during their sleep. The baby had never had issues while I was watching it, so I didn’t know it would make noise. Much less something so terrifying in my moment of weakness.

I clicked off the monitor and now I’m way too terrified to see what the video I took looks like.

Also, it isn’t storming. So I don’t know what caused the power surge.

pray for me.

TL/DR; The house I’m house sitting isn’t actually haunted ( i don’t think), but I’m still creeped out nonetheless.

#scary story #kind of #not really for you guys #but for my soul #i am terrified #send help #tiktok #scary tiktok #house sitting #scary house sitting #personal

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

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A/N: I can’t wait to hear your thoughts after this chapter! A lot of vital information is contained in these 3k words, and I’m curious to see how your theories have changed after reading it!

Synposis: Your boyfriend, Kim Namjoon, has gone missing. After acting erratic for a few weeks, spending all his time locked away in his studio, he suddenly vanishes into thin air, leaving only an unreleased album behind. Zodiac.

Chapter Five – 이 모든건 우연이 아냐 (all of this is no coincidence)

It’s Monday morning, not quite 4am. That means it’s Day 4 of your boyfriend being missing, Day 4 of no news and seemingly nobody caring.

Jin had kept you mostly inside for the remainder of the weekend, trying to keep you occupied, it seemed, with food you had no appetite for and visitors you weren’t interested in chatting with. Just last night, his youngest brother had come over with a couple of DVDs and some microwave popcorn, like it was a fucking sleepover.

Quickly, the two of them had realized that your despondency wasn’t going to be solved by the latest superhero flick, and Jin had muted it and left to go make some dinner while Taehyung shuffled over to your side of the couch, resting his head on your shoulder.

“You know,” he said conversationally, but ever so softly, “us Kims have always been a strong bunch. We stick together and we’re loyal to a fault. In fact, the biggest tension between us since I can remember has been Jinnie not showing up to our Christmas dinner. Family is incredibly important to us. So, I know how you must feel right now. Because trust me, we’re all feeling that way.”

You leant into the weight of his body on your side, enjoying the small comfort it brings as you stared blankly at the flashing colors on Jin’s oversized television. “It doesn’t feel like that. It feels like I’m trying to find my missing boyfriend and you all are planning what hymns to sing at the funeral. I don’t understand why you’ve all given up so soon.”

He stiffened. “We haven’t given up,” he said, voice gravelly, “not a single bit. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to…see him again,” he pushed out through a voice thick with tears, “to hear him laugh, to give him a hug, to tell him how much I need him right now. There’s nothing. But right now, I can’t do anything except hope and pray that the detectives do their job. Because what else can I do?”

You twisted your head lightly to stare at his orangey-red hair, dull and flat compared to what you knew was his normal brilliance. “Maybe there is something,” you whispered.

He froze. “What?”

You eyed the doorway. “Listen, I…there are lots of things I can’t explain right now, but there’s something seriously fishy going on, and I think Namjoon knew whoever took him was going to take him. He wrote a secret album and I think if we really listen to the lyrics, we might be able to piece something together.”

He lifted his head off of your shoulder and blinked at you in confusion. “He wrote an album saying that someone took him?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, here,” you fished the USB out of the pocket you had stubbornly kept it in since you were in Namjoon’s studio and handed it to him. “Listen to it, but don’t tell anyone else but me, okay? Maybe you’ll pick up on something I didn’t. I thought I could figure this all out on my own, but I can’t. I need you to trust me and trust Namjoon, okay?”

He stared down at the hunk of metal and plastic in his hand. “Sure. Yes, okay.” A noise in the kitchen startled you, and you shoved his hand towards his pocket, insisting he hid it, and then the rest of your night with the two Kim brothers went uneventfully, Taehyung luckily not mentioning what you had told him.

Now, though, it was a couple of minutes before 4, and you found yourself roaming Jin’s house in socked tip-toes, unable to sleep as was now usual. In fact, you don’t think you had slept at all since Namjoon went missing apart from those few hours on the first night.

The house was freezing, and apart from the whistle of the wind outside, and some branches scratching on window glass, it was silent.

Being a lawyer certainly had its perks, and an insanely big house was apparently one of them. You had only just begun to realize now how big it was. This past weekend had seen you remaining on the ground floor, with no need to venture further, but after getting sick of sitting in your bed and thinking for hours on end, you had snuck out of the guest bedroom and had a little snoop around.

The excess of windows provided some moonlight to see by, but it wasn’t much, and you moved slowly up the stairs to the second floor, finding a study and a couple different storage rooms as well as his laundry, but nothing else of interest. The third floor looked technically more like an attic judging by the narrow, steep wooden stairs leading up into darkness. You decided to leave exploring that until daytime, knowing that you wouldn’t deal well with the cobwebs and spiders you were likely to encounter.

You remained on the second floor for what could’ve been minutes or hours, sitting in front of the large bay window that looked out onto the street. Streetlights made puddles on the dark road glimmer, and it looked more like a still-life painting than reality. It was peaceful staring at the shifting of bushes and trees all down the road and were it not for a sudden noise you could’ve stayed there until the sun rose.

The noise was a plank creaking, and you shot around, convinced it was Jin coming up the stairs to yell at you. Squinting into the shadows by the stairwell across the hall, you thought you saw a black figure, and your heart leapt into your throat.

It was hard to tell with how shadowed the area was, and your distance, but you froze and stared wide-eyed at a vaguely humanoid area that was darker than the rest. It didn’t move. Neither did you.

You forced yourself to breathe again. “Jin?” you called out quietly, weakly. No response. “Jin, is that you? I’m sorry, I just couldn’t sleep.” Still nothing.

You groan, letting your face fall into your hands, rubbing at your tired eyes. When you look up again into that void, you can’t make out the space where you thought you had seen something before.

Fuck. Namjoon’s sleeping pill prescription sounded fantastic right about now.

It had taken you a long time to work up the courage to approach the stairs in order to return to your room, but when you did, your worries were dissolved. There was nothing there. After tossing and turning in your bed until it reached an acceptable hour to get up, you got dressed in a warm sweater and some fur-lined leggings and made your way out to the kitchen.

Jin was there, eating a piece of buttered toast while in full lawyer get-up: suit, briefcase, slicked-back hair to expose his serious brows. He looked up when you walked in and gave you a cheery nod.

“Back to work?”

He nodded again, finishing his bite before he spoke, dumping his dishes in the sink as he went. “’Fraid so. Duty calls. Will you be alright here by yourself?”

“Of course.”

He wipes his hands delicately on a hand towel. “I’m always a call away if you need me, okay? No problem is too small; if you need me, if you feel scared or upset and you need to talk it through with someone, I’m here.”

You forgo a verbal response, nodding instead. He grins at you, walks over, and places a hand on the back of your head, bending down to land a gentle kiss on your forehead. You blink in shock, but he just sends you another soft smile, waving a hand as he exits the kitchen.

Once he’s gone out the front door and the house falls silent, you exhale noisily. “Man,” you mumble to yourself. But there’s no time to think on the sweet intimacy of the gesture, because today you have a two-step plan: discuss the album with Taehyung and confront Hoseok.

Taehyung is on the agenda first since you know he works afternoons at a nearby café, and so you call him to arrange a meeting over breakfast. He comes by shortly after you finish cleaning up, and the two of you take a walk over to the park down the road, sitting side-by-side on a bench opposite a frozen-over duck pond.

“What did you think?” you ask finally, breaking the silence you two had gotten stuck in.

His hair is a little shinier today and the tip of his nose is red from the chill. “Why didn’t you come to me with this sooner, Y/n? Namjoon’s been gone at least three days.”

“I didn’t know who to trust,” you fire back defensively, “I just needed time to see things straight.”

“And can you?”

“Can I what?”

Tae sighs. “See things straight now?”

You consider. “Somewhat. Maybe.” You bite your lip and turn to face him, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets to fight the cold. “Anyway, what did you think? Do you believe me now?”

He rests his chin thoughtfully on a gloved fist. “Namjoon definitely thought something was going on, alright. Some lyrics are clearer than others, but on a first listen I could tell that he knew something was up.”

“Good, so we’re on the same page about that, at least. Things…I’ve found out some things, along with the lyrics, that make me suspect Hoseok.”

Taehyung’s face immediately breaks into a frown. “Hobi? Hobi’s an angel, he and Namjoon are closer than anything.”

“I know,” you ease, “but just hear me out. Detectives Jeon and Park told me Hoseok said Namjoon and Yoongi fought, which is a big reason why they suspect Yoongi. But Hoseok told me that he was angry at the detectives for locking up Yoongi without looking further.”

“So the detectives were lying?”

“No. Well, I thought that too, because I trust- trusted Hobi, but when I told them I’d talk to Hoseok about it they didn’t even flinch. If they were the ones that were lying, they wouldn’t want me to cross-reference and catch them out. But they didn’t care. Hobi must be the one lying.”

Taehyung puffs out his cheeks and rubs his cold ears. “Y/n, that’s not evidence. Maybe both things are true, you know? Hobi did hear them fighting but he still wants the detectives to be thorough. That’s perfectly reasonable.”

You huff, reaching into your pocket to retrieve a piece of paper you had folded away that morning. “Look, I went through ZODIAC and found some lyrics that really point to him.”

“Y/n…”

“The title of the whole album is ZODIAC,” you interrupt, “so what zodiac sign is Hoseok?”

“Uh, Aquarius, right?”

“Chinese Zodiac, Tae.”

“Same year as Joon. Year of the Dog.”

“Exactly. Track five: ‘you better keep the wolf back from your door.’ Wolf like dog.”

A pained look flits across his face. “Y/n, I don’t think this is healthy.”

“Track eight,” you continue stubbornly, “’what had you expected? Me to make my art and make you a star and get you connected.’”

“They broke into the industry at the same time, Y/n,” Tae protests, staring down at his shoes and ignoring your gaze.

You frown at him. “You just told me you believed that Namjoon put clues in his lyrics and now you’re ignoring them! Look, track two. ‘I’m trying to land this airplane of ours gracefully.’ What was Hoseok’s first single? Airplane.”

“Come on!” Tae sits up at glares at you, eyes shining. “Do you know how hard this is for me, Y/n? My big brother has disappeared off the face of the fucking earth and you’re putting on a tin foil hat and playing conspiracy theorist? Either someone took him, and we hope to God the detectives have gotten the right guy, or he just ran away. All this,” he waves at your piece of paper bitterly, “isn’t helping. It’s just upsetting me. So please, stop.”

You bite your lip and shift in your seat. “I- I’m sorry, Tae, I’m not trying to upset you. But there’s more, here, track nine: ‘dreaming of a place and time where you and I remain the best of friends, even after all this ends.’ You can’t deny that one, Taehyung. It all points to Hobi. I want to talk to him, try and see if he acts guilty or maybe has some motive. This is our chance to get Namjoon back, T. Don’t you want that?”

Taehyung stands up suddenly, pacing back and forth a little before stopping in front of you. “I’m not doing this, Y/n. I can’t believe that Hobi would do something like this, I’m sorry, but I just can’t. Detective Jeon called me and told me what you did the other day. Said that I should call him if you acted strange. I won’t tell him, because I think maybe this is just your way of grieving, but you need to stop.”

Your grip slackens on the piece of paper. “Jeon called you and got you to spy on me for him?”

“Seriously, Y/n, it’s not like that! He’s worried about you, we all are! Just talk to us!”

You scoff. “I did try and talk to you and look where that’s gotten me.”

“About your feelings, Y/n, not about who faked the fucking moon landing!”

“Oh, fuck you, Taehyung,” you spit, standing up off the bench and glaring at him. “This isn’t my grieving process, this is me trying to get your brother back, so give me a fucking break. Tell Jeon whatever the fuck you want. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it when I see him later. Goodbye.”

You’re so furious you’re practically steaming out your ears, but you know that this fury of yours is just a front for the betrayal and uncertainty you feel. This morning, as you prepared your thoughts, you were sure of yourself, and looking forward to having someone to affirm you and someone to trust. But now you felt more alone than ever, and Taehyung’s rejection gave you concern that perhaps your ideas weren’t as solid as you had once thought.

Nevertheless, you found yourself making your way to Hope Studio, where you now stood, knocking on the door less confidently than you had intended.

Before the door opens, you send off a text to Park, not interested in dealing with Jeon’s attitude. I’ll be at the station by midday, just stopping off to speak with Hoseok first.

Hoseok opened the door after your second knock, and immediately went in for a hug. You let yourself relish it for a moment but pushed him away and sat down on his couch. “Hobi,” you begin, “Jeon and Park told me you heard Namjoon and Min Yoongi fighting.”

His eyebrows raise in the center. “Good morning to you, too. But yeah, dude just showed up one night and went apeshit on Nam. It was last Wednesday. You know, after Min lost the Album of the Year award to him.” He collapses onto his desk chair with a smile, mouth closed but cheeks still raised. The expression is familiar to you.

“I saw in Park’s notes that somebody filed a noise complaint. Was that Yoongi?”

That same tightlipped beam, completely at odds with the topic. “Yep.”

“Hoseok, you’ve never been good at lying.”

His face falls. “I’m not lying,” he insists weakly, “not completely. Yoongi did come over that night, I swear. But…the noise complaint was me.”

You frown. “You filed the noise complaint.”

He sighs. “No, I was the one being noisy.”

“Oh.” You open your mouth to ask him why, but your phone vibrates violently against your thigh. You tug it out of your pants pocket and check the screen, a message from Park flashing up.

Don’t let him get you alone. Leave now and come to the station, Y/n.

Your eyes widen, but you manage to school your expressions into general annoyance rather than suspicion and fear. “Dammit,” you groan, “sorry, Hobi, I have to head off.”

He stares at you in confusion as you stand up. “How come? You just got here.”

“Tae thought I was at Jin’s house still and he’s waiting outside without a key.”

He frowns. “So? Can’t he just leave?”

“We were meant to be hanging out and it totally slipped my mind. I’m sorry, Hobi, is it cool if I come back tomorrow?”

He pauses. “Yeah. Sure thing, sweetheart, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You smile at him placidly and try not to rush out the door.

Once in the hallway, your heart begins to beat again, and your breath returns. You flick a message to Park. What the fuck? I’ve left now, what’s going on?

It’s a couple minutes before he replies, long enough that you’re out into the open air of the street, thanking your lucky stars that the Cypher studios and the police station are both in the same area of the city center. We’ll explain at station. We told you not to get involved.

You roll your eyes and groan. Seriously? Tell me something now or I’m not coming to the station. You need to stop lying to me.

Instead of Park, it’s Jeon that responds, again a few minutes after you sent off your message.

Don’t act like you don’t know. Min Yoongi is being framed.

You reel back, coming to a halt ten or fifteen meters from the doors of the police station. You blink at your phone, rereading the message, then stare at the tall, imposing building in front of you. This whole time, they knew. They knew Min Yoongi was innocent and still they were preparing to lock him up. And with the way they reacted to you visiting Hoseok, you knew he must’ve been the one to frame him.

Both parties complicit, and every other person didn’t seem to care at all. Perhaps you were walking into the lion’s den, but at least there were answers on the other side. You take a deep breath, resolve your courage, and make your way inside.

TAGLIST Message me or send in an ask if you wish to be added to the taglist. You’ll receive a notification every time I update ZODIAC.

@itishebihime-samaforyou || @hoodiebangtan || @sunnysideupsmile|| @emilypkuzu || @youngmsfts

#bts x reader #bts fic #bts au #namjoon x reader #jin x reader #yoongi #jimin #hoseok #taehyung #jungkook

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theclanscript · 5 years

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the five keys to lee hoseok

⋈ pairing: hoseok x reader ⋈ word count: 3,704 ⋈ genre: fluff ⋈ notes: as promised ♥

1. He likes to share his time with you, for better or for worse

The slim silver bar was hanging over your head like a guillotine. You were flat on your back, your knees angled, your feet firmly pressed to the ground. There were voices, laughter, but they seemed so far very away and the bar so very close. You were sure that any second it would come crashing down on your throat, crushing your windpipe, snapping your neck.

A real guillotine seemed like the preferable option.

“There we go.” Hoseok leaned over you and gave the bar a reassuring slap. You flinched and looked to your left where your boyfriend had just adjusted the second round weight, making sure it sat tightly on the round piece of metal.

Bench pressing.

Of all the things Hoseok could have chosen when you had suggested that morning that you could come to the gym with him, for once. He usually went considerably late on Sundays – you would never, ever be up for his 4am workouts – and he had been dilly-dallying around the house in the morning, following you around, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and whispering into the skin of your neck how he had so little of you these days, how he missed you, loved you, and every sweet word had been accompanied by a brush of his lips and an invisible pout.

You know, you could show me that new gym you’re going to.

Foolish.

Rookie mistake.

You should have just made him ditch the gym to help you pick a new TV show to binge watch.

Even when he had marched you past the treadmills, ellipticals, and other machines straight into the weight room, you had anticipated a few light dumbbells and maybe some squats. You had seen cute videos on the internet where one person would hold down their partner’s feet as they did sit ups and were rewarded with a kiss and a silly little giggle for every exertive movement. Instead, Hoseok had done some light warm-up exercises with you, and less than twenty minutes later you were lying face-up on a cushioned bench.

And now you were expected to press.

“Alright, babe.” Hoseok stood at your head, smiling down at you as if he was having the best day ever. You swallowed a sigh. The things you were willing to do for this man. “Grab the bar, but don’t put out your elbows too far. You want them closer to your body to make sure the rotator cuff can do its job. Also, make sure your thumbs are reaching around so the bar can’t slip from your hands and fall down.”

Your eyes widened but Hoseok didn’t notice. He was busy emphasizing his words by positioning your hands the exact same way he had just instructed you to. When he was satisfied with his work, he bent down to steal a kiss from you while you were gripping the metal as if it had already been released from the rack.

“Don’t be scared. I only put on 50lbs, 25 on each side, that’s a fairly low weight to start with.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, far from convinced.

“I’ll spot you.”

“Does that mean you’ll keep me from dying?”

Hoseok chuckled. “Yes.”

You released the sigh this time and braced yourself, which effectively consisted of you pressing your back into the cushion and flexing your calf muscles close to the point of cramping. Just when you were about to accept your fate and lift the bar from its secure position, you heard a voice coming from outside of your field of vision.

“Hey guys.” Hyunwoo leaned over you just like Hoseok had earlier and offered you a friendly smile, his crescent eyes curling in the opposite direction as the corners of his mouth, as if they were going to meet halfway.

“Hey,” you greeted and relaxed your body. You could barely keep yourself from dropping your arms and turning into an upward-facing pile of humiliation.

“I didn’t know you lift,” Hyunwoo said and gave Hoseok an impressed glance.

“I don’t, really,” you admitted shyly. “It’s my first time so Hoseok went easy on me.”

Hoseok beamed at you, not noticing Hyunwoo’s pause. Hyunwoo narrowed his eyes and touched the tips of his fingers to one of the weights clinging to the bar as if he could confirm something he had noticed earlier by making contact with the black iron.

“Easy?”

“Yeah,” you replied hesitantly. “25lbs on each side isn’t much, is it?”

“It’s not,” Hyunwoo agreed.

“Good.”

“But these weights are in kilograms.”

Hoseok’s smile froze. Hyunwoo raised an eyebrow.

“What?” You sat up so fast you hit your head on the silver metal and could barely stop yourself from cussing out the bar, the bench, the pressing, and your boyfriend. Hyunwoo immediately rushed off to get an ice pack for the bump forming on your forehead, and Hoseok was already kneeling next to you, stumbling through a tirade of oh my god’s and are you okay’s and I am so sorry’s. Once the pain started to subside you reached for him and made it a point to laugh and kiss him and tell him it was alright. You knew the swelling would go away on its own, but it was in your hands to ensure Hoseok wasn’t going to be the one to scar.

Still, you made him buy you junk food on the way home and spent the rest of the day on the couch with him, your head in his lap, watching a new show until you blissfully fell asleep with his hand in your hair. And on days when you felt dramatic – or when he suggested to take you to the gym again – you were quick to remind him of the time you had almost fallen victim to a vicious bench press murder.

2. You’ll know he’s truly comfortable with you when he can finally be selfish

The bus was racing through the streets despite the considerable amount of traffic. It was raining heavily and sometimes it felt like the metal monster you had entrusted your life with was lifted right off the asphalt, floating on water for a few feet before regaining traction. You were used to it, unlike some tourists who were clinging to the plastic handles, probably praying they’d make it to their destination in one piece. Your fingers where ghosting over the screen of your phone without much purpose, to the point where your whole hand froze when the display suddenly changed to an incoming call, your idle brain needing time to process the unexpected interruption.

Hoseokie.

“Aren’t you at work?” you said after you had picked up without a greeting. You had been dating for far too long to still bother with formalities.

“Yeah.”

You frowned. His voice sounded tired, heavy, like the rainclouds over the city, and just as triste.

“Are you okay?”

Hoseok sighed. You listened. You already knew you were about to get an answer he rarely let himself give.

“No.” Another moment of silence. “Can you come here?”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t you meet me at home?”

“I can’t leave, I have work to do.”

Your first thought was then why do you need me there, but it quickly occurred to you that one had nothing to do with the other.

“It’s late.”

“I know.”

You held your breath. In your mind, you were trying to remember if this had ever happened. Not the fact that Hoseok needed you – that was pretty much a daily thing. But the fact that he disregarded your comfort, your convenience in favor of his own needs. He had never summoned you like this, never demanded you like this. He was a man of compromise, a man who always made sure that you had it easy, simple. It was almost unheard of that you didn’t get your way when it came to restaurant choices, dates, or movies, even if you didn’t particularly insist on anything. He was always just giving, giving, giving you everything.

And now, finally, he was ready to take.

It made you smile against your phone.

“I’m on my way. I’ll bring food.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Another moment of silence.

“I love you.”

3. He’s bad at fighting. Like, really bad.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Angrily, you kicked the covers off yourself and planted your feet on the soft carpet next to your bed. With sleep in your eyes and fury in your stomach you stomped out of the room, through the hallway, into the kitchen. Hoseok’s hands immediately stilled when he saw you, his eyebrows rising in confused surprise.

“You’re up?”

“Am I up?” you huffed. “Am I up?”

“Yes?” Hoseok said, suddenly sensing that he was in quite a bit of trouble.

“You’re running the blender like a madman at 2am and you’re asking me if I’m up?”

Hoseok squinted at you. “I just made a protein smoothie. I do that every morning, you know that.”

“Yes, I do, and usually I don’t even hear it. What were you blending? Small animal bones?”

“Frozen-“

“That was a rhetorical question!”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok snapped and grabbed his tumbler. “You can’t get mad at me just because you feel like it. I didn’t do anything differently. Maybe you weren’t sleeping well? Maybe you were already awake?”

“No, I wasn’t!” you protested, knowing full well that he may have had a point. But at 2am you were too drunk on the last remnants of the little sleep you had gotten to further explore any possible points that were being made.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s not my problem.” Hoseok stared you down from across the kitchen, his face and nerves worn from long busy days and short restless nights. You crossed your bare arms and stared back, the tiles cold against the soles of your feet.

“Maybe you should just sleep at the gym,” you growled, annoyed and hurt. “I’m sure they’ll let you blend all night long if you want to.”

“Yes, they would!” Hoseok yelled and stormed past you, pushing hard against your shoulder in the process. You stumbled aside a bit more dramatically than necessary and watched him disappear into the living room. Not even ten seconds later, he came back out, his wide frame seemingly filling up most of the hallway as he stopped in front of you.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he said, his voice still raised. “I hope that didn’t hurt. I’ll just make my shakes in the evening before I go to sleep. Okay?”

You couldn’t hide a small smile.

“Okay.”

“Now please go back to bed, you’re going to catch a cold out here.”

“Okay,” you repeated without moving. When people asked you if you and Hoseok ever fought, you always had to think for a moment before answering with a vague I guess. Your fights generally consisted of the two of you blowing up in each other’s faces and making up less than two minutes later because neither of you could bear the thought of being angry at the other – or them being angry at you.

Hoseok looked at you expectantly, then he rolled his eyes and smirked. He planted a quick smooch on your lips before putting his hands on your shoulders and physically turning you toward the bedroom.

“Goodnight, babe,” he said lowly, giving your butt a tiny slap to get you going. You giggled and went back to bed, sleeping better than you had all week.

4. Suddenly all his songs are about you; you’re his favorite melody

You were sitting in the old office chair in Hoseok’s studio, swirling, twirling, barely paying attention to what was happening on the computer screen. He had explained some of the knicks and the knacks of his soft- and hardware to you about a million times, but you were still astonished by how he was able to piece all of the little snippets and tracks together to create a beautiful, unique, stunning song, like he seemed to do all the time. His creativity was a well that never dried up, his resources as endless as his ambition. You were fascinated by everything Hoseok was and everything Hoseok did, his humble passion, his dreams deeply rooted in reality. You were convinced that he could do anything he set his mind to – after all, he had done it time and time again in the past.

The chair stopped when you got too lost in your own thoughts to move your body. You blankly stared at your boyfriend’s back, his concentrated shoulders, his nimble fingers, the line of his jaw. Despite the fact that you had nothing to do, you loved watching him work, loved watching his eyes and his expressions as he combined notes and melodies that only reached you as muffled sounds from his headphones. He was so enthusiastic, so genuine, so beautiful you couldn’t help but reach out your fingertips and touch him. Hoseok immediately slid the headphones down to his neck and turned around, a patient smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry, are you bored, babe? I’ll be done in a second, I just want to finish arranging Jooheonie’s rap on this.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you replied softly, inching closer with your chair to put a hand on his cheek. “Take your time. I’m okay.”

Hoseok looked at you for a moment. Then he turned slightly to free his right leg from under the desk.

“Come here,” he said and pulled you toward him, guiding you by the waist until you were sat on his leg. “I’ll show you something else.”

You wrapped an arm around his neck as he put the headphones on you, making sure not to cover your left ear so you could still hear him. He snaked his right arm around you to operate the mouse. With a few clicks he opened a new file and soon a quiet melody filled your ear, filled your head, filled your heart. You swallowed hard.

“This sounds so sad.”

“I was sad,” Hoseok admitted and pressed you closer to him. “I started composing this when I was on tour and had somehow convinced myself that we couldn’t last. We had only been dating a few weeks and then I was gone for a couple of months. It was a really hard time. For the both of us, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, not wanting to remember all the times your relationship had been put to the test, and not wanting to think about all the times that were still ahead of you. “But we made it.”

“We always have,” Hoseok added. You looked down at him and met his eyes, your own pain and hope mirrored in them. The melody still tugged on the strings of your heart and you felt tears burning their way up your throat. To stop them, you leaned down and kissed Hoseok; a kiss to ban all the sad memories and seal the promise that you would always, always make it.

“It’s a nice song, though,” you said once you had parted. Hoseok smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah. But I prefer to write happy songs about you.”

“Oh? How come I don’t know any of them?”

“Oh, baby,” Hoseok chuckled, his eyes boring into yours as if they could tell you everything before his words even got the chance. “You know all of them.”

You couldn’t help but blush a little. There were times, times like this, when Hoseok got so sincere, so intense, it froze your body and set your soul ablaze. His steadfast arms around you, he had a way of making you feel so safe, safe from harm, safe from the world, safe from yourself. You had become a stronger, a better person because of him – and, in part, for him. He was your favorite motivation, your favorite inspiration.

Your favorite reason.

“I wrote another one about you,” he suddenly said, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist. “It’s not finished yet, but you can hear bits and pieces of it. Like Jooheonie’s rap.”

“Sure!” You sat up again, shimmied a little to find a comfortable position on his leg, and waited for him to start the track. The song was upbeat, fun, and you found yourself humming along to the music within seconds. You watched the screen as Hoseok skipped part of the base melody to get to Jooheon’s rap that made you laugh from the very first line.

“What do you think?” Hoseok asked, grinning at you swaying and humming along to the melody – a melody that reminded him of you so much. It was clear, cheerful, playful, simple; as simple as his feelings: he loved you. There were not conditions, not fine print, no ifs or buts.

It was just you.

“Speak of the Devil,” Hoseok mumbled when his phone started ringing. He grabbed it from where it was lying on the desk and picked up.

“Hyung!” you could hear Jooheon’s voice blaring from the other end, but Hoseok was quick to cut him off.

“Sorry, friend, don’t call me.” He swiftly pulled you into his chest again and his hot breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine. “I’m a little busy right now.”

5. He deserves nothing less than everything

From the moment Lee Hoseok met you, he knew he wanted in. He wanted in your life, in your head, in your heart. He wasn’t the type to come on strong or confidently, Lee Hoseok was shy smiles, stolen glances, standing a little closer to you than he probably should have. He was sweet text messages all day and night, he was have you eaten’s and let me know when you get home’s. He was the type to listen and remember because, well, manners, but also because nothing was quite as important as you. He knew that it would eventually have to balance out a little, but as long as he could, as long as it was humanly possible, he would give you everything.

Because you were his everything.

Hoseok was no fool, though. If you hadn’t reciprocated his feelings, if you hadn’t let him into your life and your heart, he would have simply walked away. Or tried to, anyway. He knew the pain of cutting you out of his life would have been shorter and more bearable than having to face the constant reminder of everything he wanted but couldn’t have. It would have been easier to never see you again than to have to see you as a friend.

But, much to Hoseok’s secret bewilderment, you loved him back.

You had opened all the doors for him, quite literally; he thought he was going to burst into tiny pieces of happiness when you had given him the code to your apartment. You held nothing back, and Hoseok was more than willing to place his heart at your feet. You had no doubt in your mind that he would be by your side forever.

When you had found love with Lee Hoseok, you had found the love of your life.

And he loved you just as much, deeply, desperately, devastatingly.

It wasn’t hard to give him everything because it never felt like you were losing anything. All the love you gave, you received tenfold, all the sacrifices you made, he made up to you a million times over, and you knew that all you had given was safe with him.

I have another thing to ask of you, he had whispered the night he had proposed; a night of the brightest stars and softest touches.

What more could a man want, he had breathed into your ear on the day of your wedding; a day of the most precious firsts and sweetest promises. His arm had been holding you close to his body as he led you across the floor, the song you had chosen filling the air, your movements effortlessly matching as you danced surrounded by your loved ones. There had been tears in his eyes, or maybe your own. They were tears of happiness, tears of pride, tears of reassurance that everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.

In the years that followed, you would sometimes catch Hoseok staring at you absently, his fingers hovering above the keyboard or the plate or whatever he had been in the middle of, and when he noticed you staring back at him, he would smile, gently, almost shyly, and look at you, behold you, with love and contentment and calmness. The way that only Hoseok could look at you, and the way he only looked at you.

I truly have everything.

You gulped and took a deep breath. You got up, walked out of the room and into the living room. You sat on the sofa next to where Hoseok was watching YouTube videos about the myths of protein. He kept watching for a minute or so until he noticed you weren’t assuming your usual slouching couch position, instead sitting straight like an arrow and staring firmly ahead with your brows knitted together. He paused the video and sat up himself.

“Something wrong, babe?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“You’re not feeling well?”

“I feel fine,” you replied and cleared your throat. “For now.”

Hoseok inched closer to you, visibly alarmed now.

“Babe? Will you please look at me and tell me what’s going on?”

Finally, you turned toward him, barely able to contain the feelings raging in your chest. Your fingertips were tingling, your stomach upside down, and you were sure rainbows would spill from your mouth if you opened it.

“Hoseok, you were wrong.”

“I was?”

“Yes.” You almost giggled. “You do not have everything.”

Hoseok seemed a little relieved at your smile. He leaned in to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours, his hand finding your waist and squeezing it tenderly. He looked like he thought you were making a joke and he had to wait for the punchline.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded and held up the pregnancy test in your hand.

“Positive.”

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