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halaboyz · 4 months

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to yours, jongho

ateez busker! jongho x gn! reader fluff, angst wc: 1.8k warnings: injured reader (wheelchair-user and is said, described a few times) a/n: another inspired by one episode in the kdrama called 'tomorrow'; song has no connection to the storyline! only this song was used for the plot in the kdrama itself, and it's good! + lyrics used in the fic are from random songs, i will input it after the fic. thank you!

"How was everyone's day today? It's almost time to finally rest our eyes and end the day. There is a saying by Talmud, that rather regretting things that happened, regret the things that have yet to happen and haven't done yet. The last song for today is..."

The lady behind the radio solemnly introduces the song but it quickly fades as the bus zooms away, leaving you alone under the heavy drops of the pouring rain.

Just there. Sitting on the your wheelchair beside the bus stop, letting yourself get rained on, hopeless, tears mixing with the drops of rain in your cheeks. It was almost midnight and not even going home was on your mind, nor finding a shelter to be under in.

It felt like it was you against the world. The only thing that made you happy, dancing, was now impossible and out of reach just because of a single injury.

You glance at your casted foot and braced knee, prompting more tears to flow out of your eyes. You thought you've ran out of tears when you got your injury, your eyes seemed to always prove you wrong.

Your thoughts come to a stop when someone reaches out an umbrella over you, letting the rain fall on his back. You reluctantly and emotionlessly face the person, quietly asking him what he needed.

Surely, he's not a thief- if he wasn't dumb enough to see you still on your hospital dress.

"I'm busking near Han River tomorrow night, same time. Do you want to come?" He tries to be cheerful as he offered, his voice soft.

"Sorry. I don't have time for that." You turn, ignoring his presence again and facing in front.

"You have a whole day to decide, you shouldn't give me an answer now. It feels like you're not interested and it hurts. Do I look like I'm not a good singer?" He jokes around, but your face doesn't even budge for a small smile. He awkwardly coughs, regaining his composure. "Come on, I'll give you a VIP spot, just for you!"

"I told you I don't have tim-,"

"If you go around the corner of the convenience store there, you'll find me. Not if it's raining this hard, though! I'll have to cancel and move it to the next night. I'm a pretty famous busker there, so make sure you go early! I'm expecting you!" He blabbers, almost not making you understand.

He quickly hands you his umbrella and runs through the rain, crossing the road safely as your eyes only follow him.

When he's out of sight, your eyes trail to his umbrella, yellow brightly lighting under the lamp post.

Tomorrow's another day. Written on one side of the umbrella, with a drawing of a sun plastered beside the words, you sigh.

"Right. Another day."

It felt like it was just a blink. Did you even sleep? You rise on your hospital bed, finally zoning back in reality.

"Good you're awake. I just finished your discharge papers. Secretary Jeong will be outside after you've changed. I need to go to my office for more paperworks. Make sure you're not a pain in the ass like last night." Your mom only carelessly caresses your hair before leaving, leaving you on your bed.

Your eyes trail outside the window, sun brightly beaming its last hour.

You sigh, calling a nurse to help you around to change your clothes instead. When you were done, you were assisted out of the ward in a wheelchair, getting passed onto your family's secretary.

By the time you got home, there was nothing to do but to stare outside the window. Doors locked, eyes were on you 24/7. The sun sets in front of your eyes and it makes you dread the incoming day once again, the moon isn't even up yet.

You hear a knock outside your door, but you didn't bother even answering, knowing all too well that it didn't matter if you did. They'll force their way in, anyway.

"It's Secretary Jeong, y/n, it's late and you haven't taken any meals for today." The second you glance at the clock, it was already eight in the evening. Your eyes go back to the window, and the moon was already up. Although you swore you just saw the sun setting a minute ago. "Do you want anything?"

The secretary doesn't even expect any answer from you, but stays behind you anyway.

"Fresh air. Outside." You simply say, not even glancing at the secretary.

"You know I can't do that."

"Then try not asking next time." The oh-so-sweet attitude of yours was now long gone. As you glared at the window after being ticked-off, Secretary Jeong sighs.

"Fine. As long as this doesn't reach your mom, okay? And please, no wheeling away."

You and Jeong, as you like to call him, drive to the nearest park in your house, which is coincidentally the Han river park.

He takes you around to get the fresh air you've been wanting, holding your wheelchair tightly at all times. You do nothing and plan nothing but to admire the night view, trying to cheer yourself up.

"..Mic check, mic check..." A loud and clear voice followed by numerous cheers perk your interest in one corner of the park, and you let out a small chuckle. Jeong double checks if he hears right, furrowing his brows.

Your eyes wander around and you see the convenience store in another corner, and a forming crowd in another side.

"Right. Can I watch?" You go back to having a poker face, glancing at him. He reluctantly nods and pushes your wheelchair on a side where the crowd can't trample on you, but the singer is visible anyway.

"Then, I'll start now. Please look and listen to us prettily," He smiles and points at the people behind him having cajon and a piano on the side. He looks around first with the goal of finding someone before sighing and prepping.

A rose blossoming among the concrete Please be alive Thrive and grow, don’t snap A blanket of thorns How tough it must’ve been Thank you for standing strong

He starts off solemn, cheery. He gains a few more people to listen and interestingly look at him, singing along and waving along. The lyrics hit you like a brick, making you sigh. You enjoy the way the words flow out of his lips melodically, like it was so easy to do in real life.

“I didn’t want any of this” I can say I can hate but nothing will change Looking back now I see the me with eyes forward Standing strong getting’ by moment to moment Didn’t think much just believed in me ... I’m a rose among the concrete Until this bleak city becomes filled with color I’ll keep my head up, stand my ground until the very end Until they get drunk off of my scent and smile

When he finished the song, he gained a loud cheer and applause, making him shyly succumb behind the thin mic stand while muttering continuous thank you's.

"Okay. That was our first song," He smiles, eyes still looking around. When he finally sees someone sat on a wheelchair just behind the crowd, he finally heaves a sigh of relief and smiles at you. "It's not the end of the world. You can bloom even in the smallest things, unexpected places. You can cry, you can take a break. As long as you don't give up, the world will be a better place."

He doesn't break eye contact as he says everything, smiling at you and then back to the crowd as if he didn't do anything such as change your life by helping you.

"Okay, next song!"

Jeong takes a good look at you, because finally, after weeks, there was a smile on your face and as much as his phone was getting bombarded by your mother's calls, he couldn't care a second.

"Let me finish another song and then we'll wrap up for today. Again, tonight too, it has been Choi Jongho, everybody. Thank you!" All that mattered was his name. He still introduced the ones that came with him, though. You just didn't care.

Though a permanent scar May be the price of holding you I'll give my all to you, to you ... So you won't get any scars, I'll hold you Even when I'm hurt, I'll guard you No need to worry, I'm here for you Look at my smile, it's my all for you When all lights fade When I sink to the ground When I drown in despair I'll still hold you close

"Did you enjoy? I thought you didn't have time?" Jongho, after fixing his things and bidding goodbye to his group, has come and smile brightly at you. "I told you I had a place for you. If you came a it earlier and where I can see you, I would've placed you there beside us."

Jeong only walks a few steps away in confusion for your privacy, still keeping his eyes on you.

"Who did you come with? Who's he?" Jongho curiously looks at the man, and Jeong only looks back. When he gets no answer, he takes his eyes back on you. "Are you that starstruck?"

"Thank you." You smile, "I actually didn't remember until awhile ago, when I was already here and you were already starting. I'm glad I wanted fresh air. I'm glad I was taken here. I'm glad to hear you sing. But most importantly, I'm glad that you had the most melodic voice I ever heard." You joke around, chuckling. He also laughs wholeheartedly, smiling at you.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it too, then."

"Those songs too... Thank you. I'm not saying you sang it for me, but it definitely did its part for me. So thank you, Mister Choi Jongho." He gives you a small smile and extends his hand for you to shake.

"I believe I deserve an incentive." He sharply inhales and glares jokingly at you.

"Oh. Right. I don't have anything on me, but Jeong will." You were about to signal for Jeong when he takes your hand, shaking it.

"I was joking. Your name will do. So let's start again. Hi, I'm Choi Jongho and you're...?" Jongho smiles expectantly, waiting for you.

As your name slips out of your lips, he shakes your hand mumbles a nice to meet you.

"Don't you think you owe me another one for my umbrella?" He shakes his head, looking down on his feet. You chuckle, asking him what he wanted.

"Is it finally money because I can call Jeong,"

"Your number and maybe a few dates?" He mumbles, looking wherever except your eyes.

It takes you a few seconds before you break into a genuine smile, reaching for his phone in his hand.

"There." You give it back to him and he squeals internally, giddily on his toes and checking his phone.

"Okay, maybe that umbrella- I just found it on the lost and found area. But it served great purpose!" You gasp at the confession, finally laughing at your heart's content.

Because finally, even when you thought your world has just been broken down to pieces, an angel has come and saved you.

h1key - rose blossom young k - guard you

*i got all english lyrics from genius!

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pynchkilledme · 3 months

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One Day at a Time ✧ Yunho

✧ Pairings: Jeong Yunho X fem!reader ✧ Genre: angst; ✧ Word Count: 3.3k ✧ CW: established relationship; major character death; mentions of suicide; depressive thoughts; ghost encounter (kind of); ✧ Synopsis: When an accident changes the course of your life forever, your husband takes his last days on Earth to make you love life again.

[Author's Note]: Hello! It's my first time posting my work here so I hope you appreciate it. This oneshot started as a simple writing exercise, but I fell in love with it and decided to share it with the world. If you find any typo or you think something more should enter the content warning section please let me know.

The poorly lit road that leads to your summer house in the mountains always made you apprehensive, but on this rainy night, you couldn't stop your hand from sweating and every little thing made your tension grow.

The lampposts half hidden by the forest, the foggy windshield, the radio buzzing without signal, the heavy raindrops on the car hood; all these made you lean over the panel, trying to predict any abnormality on the road, even though it wasn't your turn to drive.

Yunho, behind the wheel, seemed perfectly calm. Almost like he had prepared himself through all his life, just to drive old cars on stormy days.

“Hey… chill out” he said while passing his right hand on your thigh between gear changes “,we are almost there!”

And that was the last sentence before that curve. The last words before a sudden flash blinds you.

“Hello, how are we feeling today?” the blonde woman inside your computer screen promptly asks as soon as you open your camera, but your sunken eyes give her the answer she needed. “Dreamt about the accident again?

It’s been 9 months and 18 days since the accident. 9 months and 4 days since you woke up in a hospital bed just to find out you would never hear your husband's sweet voice again.

“I know I said I was getting better and almost never had nightmares, but in the last 3 days…” you begin to describe in detail what makes your dream more and more real, waking you up out of breath every single morning.

Your monologue follows for a couple more minutes, remembering the sensation of Yunho’s arm holding your body against the seat instinctively. The doctors said the seatbelt would already prevent a fatal impact in your case, since the collision happened in the driver's side, but for you, that single gesture had saved you.

“Sometimes I wish I didn't come out alive” you dropped without thinking twice. After all, that’s what the two therapy sessions a week were for “I could be with him now, wherever he is!”

“I’m pretty sure that's not something he would want, Y/N” something in that soothing voice made you want to cry and you could already feel a lump up your throat “it’s a long process, painful and irregular, but…”

“You know, I think at this point he doesn't have to like anything” your crooked laugh mixed up with the teardrops flowing discreetly by the side of your face “It’s all too quiet, too boring, too empty!”

“And how is your adaptation to your medication?” Susanna referred you to a psychiatrist around 3 months ago and you were finally out of the sickening phase of the medication.

“Well, I didn’t kill myself yet!” acid humor was your way of dealing with all this situation, but of course your therapist did not approve 100% of your methods “I think it's finally stabilizing in the right dose, I’m already quitting the complementary medicines!”

“It’s awesome to hear that, Y/N! Soon you will be able to see everything more clearly” looking down, your therapist took notes. ‘You just need time to do its work’ you completed in your mind. Damn time. “Our time is up, see you on Thursday at 3pm?”

You nod your head yes and kiss her goodbye, going back to your loneliness as soon as the video call disappears from the screen. Seated there, in the kitchen of the house you bought together with such hard work, the feeling was overwhelming. You even thought about moving out, but leaving your memories behind didn't seem right to you.

Whether you want it or not, Yunho was in every detail of that house. The colors on the walls that you chose together; the funny food illustrations hang in the kitchen; the office in a mix of games, books, Spider-Man (his obsession) and sad movies' posters (your obsession). A penetrable structure of everything that you were together, everything your love conquered and dreamed of conquering. Structure that, despite being packed with all sorts of things, each day felt more abandoned and lifeless.

Without anyone humming made up songs; without anyone laughing out loud of a video they just sent you; without almost ineligible messages in the fridge door and without anyone pulling you to dance to the cheesiest songs ever written. It was an endless list of things that were and would never be again. Things that only made sense because of Yunho and that had gone away with him.

The thoughts were so suffocating that you didn't even realize you were standing there for 15 minutes, in front of the notebook screen, screen that was already black due to the lack of interaction. It was when you finally gathered your strength to stand up, closing the notebook on the kitchen table and going to the sofa.

Your days were mostly like that. Sometimes laying down in your bed when you couldn't get up, other times you could at least drag yourself to the sofa, changing the atmosphere a little.

Your friends started a rotation where at least one of them called you every day, but you couldn't keep a conversation for too long anyways. It always ended up in tears and you didn't like to be a burden to them, so you started making up things to do, be it an imaginary food in the oven or an hypothetical postman ringing your doorbell. Not that they believed you, but they decided that it was better to give you space.

About 3 weeks ago Susanna asked you to do a "homework" for the next session, a request that became more and more latent in your head as Yunho's birthday approaches. You couldn't convince yourself to do it, not when the exercise to deal with the grief involved writing a letter to your husband. One he would never read.

The estrangement also came from the fact that it didn't seem natural for you to write letters. The last letter you wrote was telling how your vacation was in 2006, on the first day back to kindergarten classes. 'Does email reach heaven?' you thought, giggling. If Yunho was here, he would probably suggest the simplest way possible to solve this. 'Send me a SMS' would be his first advice. 'If you have no data you could try via messenger, honey' he would say mockingly, but it would be solved.

Without a second thought you searched for your cell phone under the blankets. In your lockscreen a picture of the day you decided to take the train to the other side of town, just to visit a library that someone told Yunho sold coffee and a corn cake fit for the gods. After a few seconds of contemplating, you unlocked it and the screen opened directly on the bright wallpaper of Yunho’s chat. You had done that a billion times before, but you could never go past the last message. A picture of his passenger seat covered with 8 boxes of your favorite candy and an audio right above.

It was a 13 second audio and even so you couldn't press the play button.

'You just need a little courage…' your thoughts were interrupted by a weird noise in the back of the house, and you got up to search for it. The backdoor was locked, so you unlocked it just to take a peek out there. But there was nothing besides overgrown grass.

The sound of a door slamming and someone laughing broke the silence of the house.

‘Honey, you won't believe…’ that sound was enough to make everything around you stop in time. It was his voice. ‘I got into this store and your favorite candy was on sale!! Buy 3, get 1 free!’

The screen of your phone was bright on the sofa, showing the audio that just played. You didn't understand how, but while your tears flowed you just wanted to hear it again. And that's what you did. Over and over again.

In the audio before that, Yunho apologized for forgetting to fill the water bottles, but promised to reward you with kisses. All you wanted most was that everything got solved with the shower of kisses that Yunho always gave you when he got back from work, but it was impossible and in your subconscious you just wanted to scream.

“Why did you leave me here?” you said softly, against your impulses. When you closed your eyes, you tried to control your breathing, before all that ended up in crisis.

“I swear I tried to stay, Y/N” said the sweetest voice you’ve ever heard. The voice that made you shake with nervousness when you were just getting to know each other, and the voice that made you cry from happiness when proposed to you. A voice that only existed in your head and in the 2G of memory that your chat with Yunho occupied in your cell phone. Or at least you thought.

“But I’m here now…” this time the voice sounded almost real and a shiver went up your spine. An inexplicable fear of opening your eyes and realizing it was only your fertile imagination. “I was always here!”

You couldn't believe the trick your head was playing on you. Yunho, with his 1.85cm, was standing in front of you. His brown hair parted in the middle, falling over his tired eyes; the long sleeved white shirt you ironed in the morning of the accident was intact, fitting perfectly on Yunho’s body.

You couldn’t believe it, but you wanted to. Your body relaxed, leaning on the sofa. Your shaking hand inevitably covering your mouth, as if any uttered word could make it all disappear. That man, who you knew by the back of your hand, kneeled in front of you, his eyes sadly smiling, like someone who mourns.

“Are you going for a ‘Ghost’s’ remake?” you said jokingly, still unsure of what was all that. Yunho seemed exhausted, as if he didn't sleep for days, but he gave you a crooked smile showing he understood what you were talking about.

“Are you saying I’m as pretty as Patrick Swayze?” his hand on his chest showed he was flattered. Of course he was pretty. Even prettier than the actor and his answer made you laugh a little, releasing all the tears you were holding back.

You raised your hand to reach him, but they trembled as if electric shocks ran through your veins. He brought his hands under yours and you could see how your hands were smaller next to his, but you couldn't feel anything. This just intensified your cry, because all you wanted was his touch.

“I’m sorry that we can’t feel each other,” he said quietly, getting closer to you. - “I wish I could wipe away your tears and say that everything will be fine”

You didn’t know what was happening, but the voice that had always the power to soothe you wouldn’t have a different effect now. Your breath slowly returned to normal and you used your wristband to clean whatever was running from your nose. So many questions in your head, but for a while you just wanted to absorb every little detail of what was in front of you, just like the first time you saw him.

“I found out that you needed to talk to me,” Yunho jokes. Your mind was quite funny today.

“Well, it wasn’t- how are you even here?”

“I was always here, Y/N” tilted his head to the side, closing his lips in an almost unnoticeable smile “you just couldn't see me”

“And why now? A-am I dreaming?”

“Well, you can see me now ‘cause I kind of convinced the ones up there to let me help you. My time here is almost over and I started to feel a little desperate because nothing I did was actually working and-” the way he started to babble was too real even for a creation of your mind.

“How come… it wasn’t working? What were you doing here?”

“Uhm, I kind of couldn't let you here, not when everything around you was so gray. They said I couldn't be here past my birthday, ‘cause that would bring me problems and then I passed the last 9 months trying to push you out of bed, opening the windows so the sun could come in,'' now Yunho was the one crying and it was impossible to ignore the pain in his voice “it's been so hard to show you how life is still pretty… how there's a lot of things to live out there!”

It had become evident to you a long time ago how life wasn't worth it without Yunho in it. And well, it came to you way before he couldn't actually be there.

You remember like it was yesterday the path your bare feet made through the white clover lawn. A simple altar in the end of a corridor of mismatched chairs reunited the most important people of your life. On the sides your friends, the family life gave you, and in the middle your soulmate. The one on the other side of your red string and from that moment would be your forever.

You could see through your wedding veil how Yunho was beaming from ear to ear, his eyes resting on his red cheeks. You felt like running to the altar, so you could be by his side as soon as possible, but you held back as you smiled at your few guests, mostly from your families, who smiled at you with teary eyes.

When you finally got to the altar and raised your dress a little, Yunho looked at your dirty feet and laughed. And when he lifted your veil, your eyes connected just like when the two of you first met at college, as if there was a new constellation of possibilities. “You look like an angel” Yunho whispered tenderly and then you turned so the ceremony could follow.

“But I miss you. I miss you ‘cause you are in absolutely everything. Your smell is in the clothes hanging in the closet, your smile is all over the pictures on the walls. I hear you when I turn the radio on your favorite program and I see you when I wipe the mirror clean. My mind is always bringing you back to me as if it tortured me with your absence, as if it reminded me all that time that I can’t have you.”

He didn't say anything, just stared. His wrinkled forehead and lips so tight they turned white, denouncing the pain you both shared.

“There’s so many things I should live with you, so many places we would visit. It 's not fair! It’s not fair that the sweetest person I've ever met is not here to appreciate every second of the most banal things in the world…” the venting went out of your mouth like a thunderstorm. You wanted to scream and cry, but also wanted to utter the most beautiful words ever created.

Yunho wanted to touch you. Wanted to feel your soft skin one more time, caress your face and wipe away your tears. The ache he felt seeing you suffer was bigger than any physical pain he had ever felt in his 28 years of life. It felt like his heart was being crushed and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“We will never-” your voice fails with the thought. The matter that hurts you the most every time you think about your future. A dream that will never come true, at least not in this life. “I will never know what it would be like to have a family with you…”

“But we were a family, love! Nothing will ever change that”

“But I will never know what it's like to be a mother, Yu! I will never know what it is to look in the eyes of the purest form of love we could create. I won’t see you become a father and I won’t know how your eyes and my nose combined would look like in this little being.”

And suddenly he didn't know what more to say. He knew how much of a dream that was to you and how that specific wound would never heal with time. He knew that even though you could deal better with his absence one day, your heart would never get used to the impossibilities of the future. The part of you and of your dream that would go away with him, leaving a bitter taste behind.

“I am so sorry, honey. And I know that nothing I say will make this hurt stop. And it's gonna be tough, almost impossible, for a long time, but one day it will be less painful. And the next day less and less, till a day it will be just a little piece of your heart” the words barely came out of Yunho’s mouth and you already imagined how it would be to not feel anything at all. Never feel the thrill of a joyful day again if it meant you wouldn’t feel not even a second more of that pain.

“If you can't do this for you right now, please, do it for me. Live one day at a time, holding to the monotony of a routine till everything gets more tolerable,” you could see his hands caressing your thigh. “You're so strong, my love! One of the strongest people I've met. You gave me the best days of my life without much effort! Your smile brightened every moment, even when everything around was cloudy. My life was the most beautiful and the most complete with you and, despite being short, I wouldn’t change a second of it to live more if it meant not having you.”

At this point you tried to hold back your tears and a huge knot clung to your throat. Would you be able to do it for him? One last request that only you could fulfill?

“Promise me that you will try and I promise to meet you again. I promise to follow each of your steps regardless of how long it takes. I promise to find you in our next life, even if our thread gets tangled and the path becomes longer. I promise that this won’t be the last life we share,” you closed your eyes pondering if you could keep that promise. “Promise you will live everything you can live, always remembering I will be by your side”

Yunho raised his hand so he could place it over your heart. He didn't want to go, but he needed to. He just needed you to promise.

“I-I promise I will try” your voice was like a whisper and your fists clenched, your nails marking the palm of your hand as if it could remind you that this was real.

With your eyes closed you could feel soft lips touching your forehead. “I love you forever, Y/N '' this time his voice sounded like a thought.

When you opened your eyes, your living room was empty again. The wall was yellow with a small beam of light coming from the window. It looks like it's just you once again. The cell phone vibrated by your side and you picked it up to see the notification, but there was nothing. When you unlocked the screen and the white wallpaper of your chat lit up your face, you could see the selected message from 1 year ago.

[Yuyu]: I LOVE YOU FOREVEEEEER!!!

You were not alone and would never be. “Love you more, Yu” you thought while you brought the phone close to your heart. Maybe you could even live.

One day at a time.

#jeong yunho #yunho x reader #yunho angst #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez oneshot #jeong yunho x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez fic #yunho oneshot

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cricketnationrise · 5 months

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5pm, Balmoral, King James, change by Taylor Swift please?

interestingly, this will be my first movie-verse piece. (this is why i love the ficlet fests i always get a huge range of prompts).

I focused more on the first stanza of the song, especially And it's a sad picture, the final blow hits you / Somebody else gets what you wanted again for this ficlet, because the rest of it feels more like Henry than his grandfather to me. I hope you like it, and thank you for all your enthusiastic comments in my inbox, they brighten my day! 💜🦗

want your own ficlet? followers can submit their own here using these guidelines through January 31, 2024.

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

5:00pm, balmoral

The world outside the windows of his private den is dark.

Not the streetlight-reflected dark of nights at Buckingham, no. Balmoral has always been remote enough to see a bevy of stars on a clear summer night. Tonight though, the Scottish weather seems to be mockingly imitating James’ mood. A violent summer storm had risen up shortly after he’d arrived on the property this morning, dumping rain and harsh winds battering the stone fortress he’d retreated to. Tonight, the stars will be out of sight, and even the moon likely to be hidden away by dark clouds. The howling wind had finally died down a few hours ago, gentling to the occasional rustle of wet leaves.

His den is only lit by the dying fire.

James stares into it, unseeing, and lets his mind race. A log finally gives up its structural integrity, collapsing into embers at the bottom of the grate with a shower of sparks. He’s too lost in his thoughts to stoke the flames up in reaction. The grandfather clock in the corner chimes five in the evening and James finishes the last dregs of his drink with a heavy sigh. The empty bottles on his bar cart mock him just as much as the full ashtray at his side.

The staff will be laying the table for dinner right about now, but James is far past eating, his mind still stuck on yesterday’s events. The news reports play in his head in an unceasing loop; he wishes he had the energy to find another pack of cigarettes, to refill his drink—anything to drown out the echoes.

“The Prince of England’s Hearts embraced his own today…”

“...a revolution for this country…”

“No member of the Royal family has ever been publicly out, but Prince Henry…”

“...Royal glass closet shattered today when His Royal Highness, Prince Henry stepped onto Buckingham’s balcony, hand in hand with First Son, Alexander Claremont-Diaz…”

“...leak that prompted protests in support of Prince Henry all of last week…”

“...Prince Henry’s appearance with the First Son today sparked celebrations in the streets across the whole United Kingdom.”

The voices of the news anchors swirl and layer over each other in his head until he can’t separate individual words any longer. James hunches in his leather chair, elbows on his knees, and grips his forehead between his hands, hard, in a futile attempt to make it stop. The pressure allows the noise to recede to a murmur, like someone listening to the radio in the next room.

It’s enough to let him breathe again, to take stock of himself, but once he starts, he wishes he hadn’t. Because now, all he can think about is the look on Henry’s face when he and the American had come back inside yesterday afternoon, flush from both the sunlight and their joyous reception.

Henry didn’t even look at him full-on, but a glimpse of his profile had been enough to knock the breath from James’ lungs with an agonizing jealousy. He himself had never felt even a fraction of what he’d seen on his grandson’s face:

Pride. A fundamentally uncaring air for anything other than the boy at his side. And a blinding, aching, incandescent—

Happiness.

#cricket writes #shygryf #ficlet fest 500 #rwrb #post waterloo letters #and post balcony scene #king james pov #shout out to shygryf for reminding me who tf king james was #as i fully forgot henry's grandfather had a name in the movie #whoops

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quaranmine · 1 year

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The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Three)

In which Grian is not immune to the good times, and both fire and watching happen.

Chapter Three: 8,718 words

<< Chapter Two | Masterpost | Chapter Four >>

hiiiiiii! welcome to chapter three! this is the other half that i had to split off of chapter two and as you can see by its wordcount, i probably could've split it again if there was a place to do so. lots of firewatching related things in this one, so it was fun to write!

CW: mild conversational talk of past injury, conversation/story involving alcohol/drunkeness. Continuation of the themes of loss/grief. This chapter may contain spoilers for Top Gun (1986)

May 1989

It’s a sunny day, like the day before it and the day before it. Summer is creeping into the mountains, slowly taking the frigid edge from the wind that whips around Grian’s lookout tower. And although temperatures often still dip below freezing at night, the stream in Thunder Canyon is fuller and fuller with each passing day as the snow melts off the southern slopes of the peaks.

There’s wildflowers on the alpine meadows in the distance, dotted between fresh green grass. There’s birds in the trees. When Grian steps outside, he hears the sounds of running water wherever he goes–little trickles of ephemeral streams borne from the snows of the winter.

Grian is cleaning his tower today. It’s a day he’s working, so his process goes a little like this:

Sweep part of the floor. After a minute, look up and scan the horizon. Go back to sweeping, sweep the dust out the door, start to scrub on the dirtiest parts of the floor, and realize you’ve got no water.

Go fetch water for cleaning, and haul the heavy bucket up the four story tower from the spigot on the ground. Do an in-depth scan around the tower since it’s been a while since the last time you looked. Work on the floor some more, get bored, set the bucket aside and begin organizing shelves and supplies. Stand up every so often to look again.

You get it. Grian’s not fully sure yet what the best rhythm for looking is–he doesn’t want to miss anything, but surely there isn’t much opportunity for changes if he does it every few minutes. It’s a little jarring to have your attention so split between tasks, but that’s the job. You can do whatever you want in the tower as long as you remember to look. The looking is the reason he’s paid, and as distracted Grian may be, he still intends to do this job with a determination to make Mumbo proud.

Grian is just about to set out to clean the windows when his radio goes off again. It’s Scar. He sets down his supplies to go pick up the radio.

“Good morning, Two Forks,” Scar greets breezily. “What are you up to this fine morning?”

“Are you feeling separation anxiety already?” Grian snipes back. “We only spoke an hour ago when we did morning weather reports with the rest of the Forest Service.”

“No! Can’t a man be curious?”

Grian rolls his eyes. “I’m just cleaning. It’s amazing the amount of dust that gets blown in here.” Or tracked in here from his boots every time he ventures into the forest, oops.

“Hm. At least that’s something to do,” Scar says, before complaining: “I’m bored.”

“I don’t think this is the job for you if you’re bored,” Grian says.

“Hey!” Scar cries. “I’ve done this job a lot longer than you have. I’m allowed to be bored. Rookies aren’t allowed to be bored.”

Grian’s been here for three weeks, but he’s already accepted his fate that he’s now Scar’s go-to person to talk to when he’s bored. He wants to ask if Scar has ever tried to strike up friendships with the other lookouts in the area, or if he always talks this much to the lookouts he’s supervising, but he feels like that question will only put Scar on the defensive. And really, he doesn’t mind the guy–it’s just this is nothing like what he anticipated when he took the job.

For some people, the isolation of it all is precisely the draw.

Grian starts to clean the windows, sticking the radio in his pocket for easy access since Scar’s in a clearly talkative mood again. The windows must always be clean, lest some spot or smudge on the glass make it difficult for smoke to be spotted in the distance.

After a minute or two of silence, Scar speaks again. “Do you like movies, G? What’s your favorite movie?”

“I don’t know,” Grian says. “I don’t have one.”

Movies were always Mumbo’s thing, not Grian’s. He hasn’t paid attention to anything that came out in the past year or so. It just wasn’t important anymore.

He smiles a bit though, remembering how Mumbo was always dragging him to the theater near their university back in England. They’d try to sneak into movies without paying sometimes, and had gotten kicked out on three separate occasions. But the owner of the theater had liked Mumbo, with his endearing smile and nervous habits, and had never tried to ban him from the theater. When Grian thinks back on it, he wonders if sometimes they had just been allowed to stay.

“I can’t believe you don’t have a favorite movie,” Scar says. “My favorite movie is Top Gun! Did you ever see it?”

“Um, no,” Grian says, although he remembers the name. It was everywhere, for a while. Entertainment about the American military didn’t exactly spark any patriotism in him though, dual citizenship or not.

“Oh my goodness,” Scar says. “Not only do you not have a favorite movie but you’ve never seen Top Gun! You’re in worse shape than I thought, G-man.”

“How will I ever survive,” Grian says.

“It’s only the greatest movie of all time,” Scar says.

“Uh-huh,” Grian says. If he plays this right, he’ll be able to finish cleaning the windows without having to reply at all. “What’s it about?”

“Wait, you’ve never even heard of it? You don’t even know what it’s about? Top Gun? It was like the biggest movie of the year?”

“I guess you’ll just have to tell me about it,” Grian says, and ah–that’s done it. He’s bought time.

“Oh my goodness,” Scar says, and Grian can’t help but smile ever so slightly at how excited he seems. “So it opens with this amazing synth score, and like–the score on the whole movie is incredible, really. And it opens with the great music, and the whole intro is just the jets flying around–it’s about Navy pilots–and they’re real planes! They actually filmed in F-14 fighter jets–”

Grian sets the radio on the deck and carefully steps around it, cleaning the outside windows, sun warm on his back. When it’s time to step inside to look again, he picks the radio up and takes it with him, carrying Scar’s voice along.

He’s talking about some volleyball scene that’s apparently iconic, although Grian had been under the impression this was a plane movie, not a sports movie. He also talks about which actors were his favorites in the film–some Grian has heard of, others not so much. Mumbo’s probably heard of them all, though.

Grian frowns at the streaks on the window. He thinks that next time he’s asked to report any feedback, he’ll ask if they can supply his tower with a new squeegee, since the rubber on this one is very worn. He’d been a little surprised that such a specific tool had been in his tower at all given the distinct lack of other amenities–like running water, for one–but it made sense for a room surrounded on all sides by windows.

The next time he tunes in, Scar is giving him a demonstration of that highway to the danger zone song he’s heard all over the radio. Grian stops what he’s doing and puts a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, as if there’s anyone around at all to hear him laugh. The thing is, Scar wouldn’t be half bad at it if he was taking it seriously but this rendition of the song is…distinctly not. It has no right being as charming as it is.

Grian lets him ramble for a long time. The exact length of time doesn’t matter, because a location like this lays the very nature of time at your feet, rippling out infinitely along with the hills. There’s just the warm spring sun and cool spring breeze and the clouds in the bright blue sky and the cry of birds and the whisper of wind in the trees and the sound of Scar’s voice. They’ve got forever and a day out here, where Grian measures the passage of time by the length of the shadows on the deck.

“You have to watch the movie,” Scar concludes his spiel with.

“I feel like I’ve seen it already,” Grian says, and he isn’t exaggerating.

“No no no,” Scar says. “Something like this has to be seen with your own eyes! Experienced! Felt! It’s about the atmosphere, the music, the feelings! You gotta go rent it whenever you go home.”

“And if I don’t?” Grian says. He’s walked back inside temporarily to scan the horizon once again. There’s no little wisps of smoke to be found. “You’ve done such a good job explaining the plot to me already.”

“Then you aren’t allowed to come back as a lookout next summer,” Scar says petulantly. “I will remember, you know. I’ll ask you every time until you see it. Eventually it’ll get so annoying you’ll have to watch it. ”

And it’s–it’s at this moment where the reality of this hits Grian once again. The wind feels colder than it did a moment ago. Scar thinks Grian might come back next year. And maybe that’s some of Grian’s fault, because he’d played up how much he wanted this job when he was interviewed for it. When he answered the newspaper ad with his resume and application, he’d asked for placement in Shoshone National Forest as his first and only preference. He’d emphasized this location specifically. They must all think of him as particularly enthusiastic for fire-watching.

But the only thing that mattered about this location, this national forest, this tower, this job, was Mumbo. He just has to get close. He was sent home empty-handed last time, the search parties had eventually turned from “rescue” to “recovery,” searches were altered and stopped due to fires and eventually stalled altogether when the weather finally turned in the fall. So he just…he has to get close, because Denver is too far away, but as long as Grian is right here it’ll all be fine and he can fix it.

Grian has plans to skip town the moment he finds Mumbo.

“Do you think I’m coming back?” he asks quietly.

Scar seems to interpret the question a little differently than Grian meant it. “I think you’re doing great G-man,” he says. “You’ve learned everything so quickly. I don’t see why they wouldn’t hire you for next summer. You’re so thorough and determined to get things right that the Forest Service would be dumb if they weren’t glad to have you.”

“Uh,” Grian says, a little unclear on how to accept a compliment. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Scar continues, “as your supervisor, I can report any issues I see with you, so you’d maybe wanna think about seeing Top Gun. Wouldn’t want me to mark you as deficient, of course.”

“This is manipulation,” Grian says. “I’m telling everyone that this is an unsafe workplace. I’m being coerced! Coerced into seeing a plane movie!”

“Grian,” Scar cries, scandalized. “How could you possibly call it a ‘plane movie’ after everything I’ve just told you! Were you even listening?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grian says. “Synth, danger zone, F-14s, motorcycles, need for speed, volleyball. Is that all?”

“There’s so much more than that! But, well, maybe that too. It’s a lot of fun.” Scar pauses for a moment, and Grian uses the space to try and think of something else to banter back with, but before he gets a chance Scar speaks again, softer this time.

“I liked Goose’s death,” he says, before quickly walking that statement back into something a little less shocking. “Or–I didn’t like it, it made me sad but…things happen, I guess. It was an accident. It was preventable. It wasn’t Mav’s fault. But he was still…guilty, when he grieved. And we watched him grieve.”

“Oh,” Grian says, and he doesn’t really know what else to add to that. “That sounds nice.”

“It is. I told you it’s my favorite movie.”

“Maybe I should watch it.”

»»———-　　———-««

June 1989

Some hikers stop by in the early morning, just after Grian makes his weather report of the day. They are the first people he’s actually seen since he started not quite a full month ago, although Scar told him there’d likely be more as they got deeper into the summer. Particularly, he said, there might be more tourists this year since people want to check the extent of the damages from the severe fires last year. A lot of people had been concerned that the whole Yellowstone area burned to the ground after the media firestorm, you see, and wanted to see it for themselves.

The hikers are keenly interested in the tower and happy to ask Grian questions about it, which he answers to the best of his ability. He lets them briefly tour the lookout tower–it’s a small room so there’s not much to see and it’s cramped with three additional people in it. They look out the windows at all of the country they’ve been hiking through and trace their paths along the mountains. Grian points out Jonesy Lake, the place they’d been camping, to the west.

It feels like being put on the spot though, to answer all these questions with so little experience in the job, so he’s happy when they decide to get going a few minutes later.

“I saw some hikers,” Grian says into his radio, watching them hike away until they disappear into the forest again.

“Are they on their way out?” Scar asks.

“Yeah,” Grian says. “I told them about the storm this afternoon and they said they knew about it and were heading back.”

“Hm, that’s good at least,” Scar says. He sighs. “They were leaving on your trail?”

“Yeah.”

“That trail is difficult,” Scar says, and Grian agrees–it’s one of the reasons he’s opted to not go back into town on his days off. It’s just too much trouble. The other reason is that his days off are already preoccupied with a more important activity. “Maybe you should contact the rangers and give them a heads up that these people are on the trail.”

“Like what?” Grian asks. “You don’t think they’re going to make it?”

“They might,” Scar says. He sounds tired. “They might not. Last thing we need is a couple of drenched wet freezing hikers on that trail. If you give the rangers a heads up, they might be able to check the trailhead to make sure they got back to their car on-time.”

“Copy that,” Grian says. “I’ll be back.”

He flips the radio back to the official frequency, the one that broadcasts forest-wide, and calls in. He always feels a little self-conscious on this line, never quite sure of who can hear him. It goes out to dispatch, fire crews, other lookouts, rangers, and any hobbyist who might know the frequencies to listen in on. There’s dozens of unknown ears listening to his every word.

He waits a moment, making sure he isn’t interrupting any priority call taking place, and proceeds when the channel is silent.

“Dispatch, this is Two Forks.”

“Two Forks, proceed,” comes the response.

“Reporting three hikers that stopped at the tower this morning around 9:30 am,” he says. “They were traveling from Jonesy Lake onto the Thorofare trail back to the trailhead. It’s a long hike and I’m concerned they might get caught in the storm this afternoon before they make it back so I’m giving a heads up.”

“Copy that,” Dispatch says. “We’ll check the trailhead after the storm to make sure they made it back. We’ll be able to find their permit too. Pay attention this afternoon, Two Forks, it’s officially fire season now.”

“Affirmative,” Grian says.

He flips his radio’s frequency to the now-familiar channel he and Scar use exclusively.

“I reported the hikers to the Service,” he says. “They said they’ll check the trailhead later to see if they made it back. I didn’t know their vehicle, of course, but I doubt there’s any others there right now besides mine.”

“Oh, good,” Scar says.

There’s something brushing the back of Grian’s mind today. Scar just sounds different. “How are you this morning, Thorofare?” Grian asks. “It’s been so long since we did the weather report an hour ago.”

“I’m fine,” Scar says with another sigh, which really isn’t like him at all.

“You sound bad.”

“Thanks, G-man,” Scar says sarcastically before admitting: “It’s the storm. The weather changes always make everything hurt more.”

“Hurt more?” Grian asks. It’s something he’s heard people complain about, but nothing he’s ever experienced.

“It makes my joints hurt,” Scar says. “More than usual, I guess.”

“Do you have any pain medicine in your lookout?”

“It doesn’t really help,” Scar says. “Not anymore.”

“Oh,” Grian says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” he says, but the slight edge in his voice is telling Grian that used to it doesn’t mean can’t feel it.

“Why does it hurt?” Grian asks.

“What do you mean why?” Scar replies. “Like, in general? No clue. Weather changes seem to make it worse. It’s also worse in the winter but I’m not in this tower in the winter so I’ve got a little more control over how I deal with it then. But as for why me, it’s because of old injuries.”

“That sounds awful,” Grian says. “Can I help? I mean, I don’t know how since I’m all the way over here but…if you think of anything.”

“You could talk to me,” Scar says. “It’ll either distract me or overwhelm me but we could try.”

“Okay. Um, what do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me a funny story from England,” he says.

Grian stops for a moment to think. What’s a good funny story? He probably has many of them, but it’s hard to pick one specific scenario out, so he narrows it down to his university years and immediately remembers a good one.

“Right,” he says. “I had a lot of friends in university.”

“Showing off?” Scar says. “Mr. Popular?”

“Shush,” Grian says. “I’m telling you a story. A lot of people I knew in college, and even a few from secondary school went to the same university as me so I basically already knew them.”

Grian slowly spins around in his tower, giving the hills near and far a glance over. There’s no smoke to be seen, but he can already tell that big clouds have built on the horizon. They won’t all be storm clouds, but the weather is clearly right for it. He goes back to his story.

“I had this one group of friends: Timmy, Martyn, and Joel. Most of us were studying different things but we had some overlapping time and liked to hang out after class. Joel had made really close friends with a girl named Lizzie, and we’d ended up spending a lot of time with her too. Anyway, in this story though, we’d gone to the pub without her.”

“I don’t think anything has ever gone wrong at a pub,” Scar says solemnly.

Grian laughs. “Yeah, alright, we all got super drunk at the pub. It’s 11 pm, we’re all drunk, and Joel announces he wants to confess his love for Lizzie. And this is like, the best idea we’ve ever heard, because Lizzie is super cool, maybe even cooler than Joel is. So we’re like, let’s go now.”

“Oh no…”

“Have no fear, Scar,” Grian says. “I told you it was a fun story.”

Grian continues. “We leave the pub and decide to go find her flat near campus. We got turned around once or twice because Timmy’s awful at navigation and the one person who actually knew where she lived, Joel, was too busy trying to come up with poetry or something. I don’t know. It was nearly midnight when we finally found her flat, but her light was on so we knew she was home.”

“Did you guys throw rocks at her window?” Scar asks. “Like a modern Romeo and Juliet?”

“I thought about that actually,” Grian says. “But she had a ground floor entrance so Martyn just said we should knock on the door instead. Which was probably a smarter option, honestly.”

“Did she answer?”

“Her roommate did, actually, but she just rolled her eyes and went to go fetch Lizzie. The rest of us stood back while Joel presented her with a gift, which was actually just some small yard ornament he stole off of someone’s front garden a little down the street. I didn’t actually remember that part, Lizzie told it to me. She made him go put it back the next morning.”

Grian sighs and shakes his head a little, a smile on his face at the memory. They’d been so dumb, but he’d give anything to be back there right now. Back then, he had all his friends–now, they were all either across oceans or in different countries, or both. Or…or they were missing.

He shakes his head again, this time not at the thought of his previous shenanigans, but to dispel the darker thoughts from his mind before the cloud out the funny memory.

He continues, “When she answered the door, Joel had some great speech planned. Well, I don’t know if it was actually great. I did mention we were all pretty drunk. It sounded good to me, though. He said he was in love with her and she was so smart and so pretty and he wanted to go on a date with her. And then she started laughing, so hard she almost started crying.”

“What?”

“We were all confused too. But then she wiped her tears and said, and I remember these words as clearly as if it was yesterday. She said, ‘Joel, we’ve been dating for three months now.’”

“Wait, really?” Scar says. “They were already dating? Did you just not know or forget?”

“Dude, I don’t think I could have defined what was going on with the two of them if I tried. I'm not convinced Joel knew how to define it either until then.”

“That was a good story,” Scar says. “I gotta know, though! Did it work out?”

Grian grins. “Well, they got married a few years later, so I think it did.”

"Aww! I love a fairytale ending," Scar says.

"Did you go to university?" Grian asks. "We were all so stupid then. I’m not convinced we’re any less stupid now, we just know how to act like we aren’t."

"Uh, no," Scar says. "I did some work in landscaping though. Before all this."

"I was an architect."

Grian wonders if that career is all but shot. It’s an unexpectedly painful thought to have, but it had been his dream job for so long. He'd only been just done with certification and doing his own clients during the time they'd been in Colorado. He wasn't exceptionally experienced or anything.

He hadn't left the job on good terms either, with a string of no-shows, subsequent disciplinary actions, and a final letter of resignation wherein he specifically wrote he planned to take this lookout job because "nobody believed in Mumbo but him."

He winces. All his past coworkers probably thought he was insane. Maybe he was.

"Ooh, now that's a fancy job," Scar says.

Grian wants to move on from this discussion, before Scar has a chance to ask why he's here instead of at that fancy job, so he quickly says: "It's your turn for a question now. Ask me anything."

It occurs to Grian after he saysvthis that maybe telling Scar to ask him anything didn't exactly save him from the potential of awkward questions and just opened him up to a wider world of awkward questions. He's already tossed the ball back to Scar though, so now he just has to wait.

Scar is silent on the other end of the line for a while, and when he speaks again there's a more somber quality in his voice.

"What's the worst pain you've ever felt?" he asks.

Yeah, he should have just asked Scar to trade another funny story instead. Because he just…can’t answer this. He sucks in a breath, trying to steady the way his heart rate spiked with just that one question.

It’s a question that pulls him back into that black hole that threatens to break open his chest everyday. He's circling the event horizon. They should've stuck to funny stories.

Grian scrambles for a safe answer, one that doesn't involve the marked up topo maps in between the books on his desk–hastily slotted out of view from the earlier hikers–or missing posters. An answer that keeps his head above water for this conversation.

There’s just, there’s just a certain kind of whiplash from talking about funny experiences with his friends in university –friends who weren’t even Mumbo–and then being reminded of the elephant in the room once again. He carries that pain with him wherever he goes now.

He isn’t the person he used to be in university in England, or when he was an architect in Denver.

He looks down at the radio in his hand that demands his immediate reply, and his attention flicks to his forearm.

“I broke my wrist two years ago,” he blurts out. “It’s a funnier story than it sounds, I promise.”

This is a safe memory. It’s even a safe memory of Mumbo, because even though the edges of it are vignetted with pain, the memory still sticks out brightly as something that makes Grian smile. It still hurt, of course. Grian didn’t enjoy breaking his wrist. That wasn’t why it made him smile.

It’s just that the memory of Mumbo following him around their flat like a puppy for a week apologizing to him sticks out more than the white-hot shock of pain when it happened. It’s Grian calmly navigating them to the ER because Mumbo was the one who was almost too freaked out to drive, something Grian teased him about endlessly.

“Ouch,” Scar says. “I sure know that feeling.”

“I fell off a bike,” Grian says. “Well, that makes it sound too simple. It was more like I lost control on a steep hill, drove it off trail, crashed, and my poor wrist took the worst of it when I tried to catch my fall.”

“Oh no! Did they do surgery?” Scar asks.

“No, it healed by itself, fortunately,” Grian says, and decides to tell the rest of the story anyway since it makes him smile. “I’d gotten my roommate a mountain bike as a gift, since he was really interested in that stuff. He loved it–although we actually had to take it back and get another one ‘cause he was too tall for the one I bought, but he said it was the thought that counted. He was so excited to try it that he made me come with him and rent my own bike.”

“Which you then immediately crashed?”

Grian sighs. “Pretty much. You should’ve seen his face, though. I think he was panicking more about it than me. I was like, okay, we’ll just walk back to the car and go to the ER, you can help me walk the bike up this hill. But I thought he was going to pass out!” Grian smiles. “I got a lot of leverage out of that, though, since he’s the one who talked me into it.”

“Oh, I have no trouble believing that,” Scar says. “So no biking for you?”

“No,” Grian says. “I’ll just walk, thank you. Besides, I had to pay for repairing that rental!”

“Mm, more options for hiking trails that way anyway.”

Grian scans the horizon again, eyes lingering on Scar’s lookout just a little longer than necessary. “What’s yours?” he asks. “The worst pain, I mean.”

Scar doesn’t answer for a moment. It’s not a long enough moment to assume he didn’t plan on answering at all, but right after Grian speaks it hits him. He wants to slap himself. “Oh. It’s the old injuries you mentioned earlier. The ones that still hurt right now.”

“Something like that,” Scar replies.

“What was it?” Grian says. “Can I ask?”

“I was in a really bad car accident a few years ago,” Scar says. He’s miles away but sounds more distant than usual. “It nearly killed me, actually. I broke a lot of bones, spent a lot of time in the hospital, recovered for a long time, you get it.”

“That’s awful,” Grian says. “I’m really sorry.”

“Well,” Scar says. “It happened, I guess. Nothing you can do about that.”

“For what it’s worth,” Grian says, “I’m glad it didn’t kill you.”

When Scar speaks again, it’s quieter than before. “I don’t know if I always felt the same,” he says. “But I think I do now, these days.”

Oh. Grian doesn’t even have words to say to that, but he doesn’t need to, because Scar is still holding his radio’s button down. Still on the line, preventing Grian from responding.

Scar sighs. “Listen, it’s been nice chatting with you G, but I have to go feed Jellie and do a few things before this storm hits, so I gotta let you go.” His voice is brisk now.

“Um, okay,” Grian responds. “Do you feel any better? Did it distract you?”

“It gave me something else to focus on,” Scar says firmly. “But now I need to go. Talk to you when the storm hits, okay?”

“Okay.”

»»———-　　———-««

The National Weather Service in Riverton has issued a severe thunderstorm warning for Park County in Northwestern Wyoming, Teton County in Northwestern Wyoming, Fremont County in Northwestern Wyoming, Hot Springs County in Northwestern Wyoming until 6:00 PM.

At 4:26 PM, a severe thunderstorm was located over Yellowstone National Park moving west at 40 miles per hour. Hazard…60 miles per hour wind gusts and quarter sized hail. Impact…Hail damage to vehicles is expected. Expect wind damage to roofs, siding, trees, and/or power lines.

Locations impacted include Yellowstone National Park, Canyon Village, Shoshone National Forest, Wapiti, Cody, Powell, Teton Village, Jackson, Meeteetse, Dubois. For your protection move to an interior room on the lowest floor of a building or get inside a sturdy structure and stay away from windows.

Along with large hail and damaging winds, continuous cloud to ground lightning is occurring with this storm. Move indoors immediately. Lightning is one of nature’s leading killers. Remember, if you can hear thunder, you are close enough to be struck by lightning…

The message ends with a harsh beeping tone, and Grian turns the volume down before it can repeat itself. The message had cut in and out with static the entire time, probably due to the distance and the mountains, even though it was being transmitted from Cody. A moment later, Grian flips the channel from the National Weather Service frequency back to the one he and Scar use, which is surprisingly stable.

Grian steps out onto the deck surrounding his tower. The sky is dark blue to the west, and the tops of the trees are already being picked up by the wind. It’s a little disconcerting, actually, to be way up in the top of the tower. The thick wooden support beams still allow a little bit of sway when the winds are strong enough.

There’s suddenly a CRASH from rolling thunder, and Grian flinches involuntarily. Right. The radio had just said that if he was close enough to hear thunder, he was close enough to be struck by lightning. Grian decides that he should step inside, instead of standing around outside.

Although, if he’s being honest with himself, inside doesn’t seem much better either. All this talk about moving to the lowest floor of a building and staying away from windows doesn’t mean much when your only shelter is a four story wooden tower on the highest mountain top around, encased on all sides by windows.

But that’s the job, isn’t it?

He doesn’t get to take shelter–if there were a place for him to take shelter in the first place–because his job is to watch from this perch. He’s supposed to be noting and locating every lightning strike he possibly can and looking carefully to see if any of them start fires. Lightning causes even more fires than humans, typically.

He’s been provided a wooden stool with glass feet to use during the storm since both of the materials are not very conductive, but that isn’t really sparking a lot of confidence in him. And there are some lightning rods and other protective grounding measures, but it’s still a little…disconcerting.

Grian’s glad he turned his radio back to its normal frequency, because Scar calls in a moment later. “Here she comes!” he cries. “I know you heard that thunder too.”

“It’s getting so dark,” Grian says.

The lights aren't on right now–although he doesn't normally need them midday anyway–so the rapidly approaching weather fills the tower with almost palpable shifting gloom. Earlier Grian had switched off the generator at the bottom of the tower and covered it with a tarp in preparation for the storm.

“This might be an interesting one,” Scar says. “We might see some of the first fires of the season in this area today.”

“That’s what they said this morning when they reported the fire risk. And what the ranger told me after I reported those hikers.”

“Lightning starts most of our fires out here,” Scar says. “They might let it burn if it’s a lightning based fire, but I’m not sure after how bad it was last year. They might want to suppress it to keep the public happy. Generally though, human-caused fires get suppressed but natural ones might be allowed to burn.”

“Yeah, you told me a few weeks ago that the ecosystem needs fire or something.”

“It gets along pretty well by itself without our help,” Scar says. “We just…like to keep the pretty parts to ourselves. Don’t wanna see ‘em get destroyed.”

“I get that,” Grian says. He sighs. “Do you feel any better?”

“Um,” Scar replies. “Not particularly.”

“Oh. I thought you sounded better.”

“Thanks, I’m good at that.”

"You shouldn't have to be good at that."

"I'd never get anything done otherwise," Scar says.

Grian turns to watching the leading edge of the storm roll in. It’s really beautiful up here, on his little perch. The sky is a dark blue-black to the west and clear to the east. The thunderhead is high and lofty. Grian can see the slopes in the distance disappearing in a curtain of rain, the same blue-gray color as the clouds.

“Keep an eye on that cloud and right around it,” Scar says a few minutes later. “We might lose visibility when it passes over us but it’s close enough now for us to count the lightning strikes.”

Just as Scar speaks, Grian spots the first one in the distance, darting down quickly to the ground and branching as it goes. It’s beautiful too. Grian quickly lines it up in the sight of his firefinder, spinning the circle around until it’s pointing directly at the strike area. He marks down the general area with a pencil on the map in the center of the disc.

Just after he finishes doing that, thunder claps and it feels like it rattles the whole cabin. Grian decides maybe it’s time for him to stand on the stool, just in case.

When the storm draws closer, the lightning will probably be too fast to keep up with. Grian’s already having issues finding them in the firefinder before another strikes. For this reason, he has a profile map of the area around his tower too, with the peaks drawn exactly in the way he can see them from the center of his tower. He marks little X’s in pencil on the areas of the slopes the lightning strikes.

“This storm has a lot of lightning,” Grian says into his radio. “How do you keep up?”

“Just try your best,” Scar says. “The profile map helps. We’re mostly trying to just remember the areas where it struck, so that later we can keep an eye on them for fire.”

“Do you think it’ll cause a fire?”

As soon as he lets go of the call button, he spies another strike, way off near Scar’s tower to the North. He dutifully marks it down. It dances down from the sky, landing somewhere in the mountains between them.

“We might not be able to tell until after the storm,” Scar says. “And sometimes it’s hard to tell right after because of fog and stuff. You’ll figure out what real smoke looks like soon enough.”

“Doesn’t the rain put these fires out?” Grian asks.

“Sometimes,” Scar says. “Sometimes they smolder for a while. We might need to keep an extra eye on these lightning strike locations for a few days in the future, which is why we're marking it down."

The thunder continues to rumble all around him, and soon rain starts to fall. They're big fat drops too, and it takes no time at all for the deck outside to be completely covered. They start to hit the windows too, so Grian squints around them as best he can. Sometimes the lightning just flashes all around him, no discernable ground contact in sight.

"I'm losing visibility," Grian says into the radio.

Scar replies, but the words are lost in the background noise of the rain and the wind and the thunder.

It's pouring buckets now, and Grian sets down his pencil. He can't see anything but rain now, and maybe the softest outline of the next closest hill, so there’s nothing to report. Experiencing the storm in this little glass cage is unique. It’s chilly, with the wetness and the clouds bringing the chill back into the normally sun-warmed cabin. It’s also very loud–the rain hitting the glass and the wood and the thunder rattling the window frames nearly drown out Grian’s own thoughts.

Grian shuts his eyes against the sway of the tower in the wind, as if he can keep it grounded by willpower alone.

The air feels charged and buzzing. Grian’s fingers feel a little tingly, and the hair on his arm starts to stand up with the static. He’s got enough presence of mind to think huh, that’s weird, before–

CRASH!

There’s a horribly loud noise all of a sudden, and Grian flinches so hard he nearly falls off the stool he’s standing on. It’s accompanied by a flash of bright light that he instinctively closes his eyes against. It’s blinding even against his eyelids. When Grian blinks them open and steadies himself, heart beating wildly out of control, everything just looks…normal. The tower is fine, and so are the misty treetops he can see closest to the tower.

It must have been lightning, it had to have been. Maybe not on the tower or in his obscured sightline, but close enough to nearly send Grian to an early grave from a heart attack. He feels horribly shaky now, and it takes him a few tries to firmly depress the button on the side of his radio.

“S-Scar,” he says. “I think there was just–there was lightning.”

He can barely hear Scar, but he thinks he says, “Did it hit the tower?”

“No–no I don’t think so,” Grian says. “But it had to be close.”

“As long as you’re okay,” comes the muffled reply.

It isn’t long before the rain begins to taper off. It isn’t long at all, actually–it’s sort of surprising how quickly the worst of it passes, but the storm had been moving quickly according to the weather service. Through the mist of rain, he can once again see the Thorofare Lookout through his northern window. With the visibility restored, he goes back to marking down lightning strikes. His map is full of them now.

“It seems like it passed,” Grian says, once the rain is just a sprinkle. “What do we do now?”

“For the rest of the day? Probably not much–the ground is really damp. But we’ll keep an eye out on the lightning strike areas for the next few days for smoke. They might send planes to inspect the forest after the storm.”

“Planes…” Grian says. “You know, it’s a wonder they still hire these jobs with all that technology available now. Why don’t they just use planes, helicopters, radars, and satellites?”

“Well, they do,” Scar says. “This is kind of a dying job? But–the difference with us is that we’re here all the time. You and me, we can get more familiar with this area by looking at it everyday than a pilot could from a couple of flybys. They’ll still need us, for a while at least.”

“For a while,” Grian repeats. “Until they replace the jobs with something cheaper.”

Scar laughs. “I’d be shocked if they can find a piece of technology cheaper than my salary,” he says.

“God, if that isn’t true,” Grian says. “I don’t know how people afford anything. My roommate wants a computer so bad but they’re, like, all a million dollars so we couldn’t get one. He’d be good at it though, he was learning computer-aided design at work. Best in the office!”

“Maybe you’ll get one eventually,” Scar says. “Not on this salary though.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Grian says. “I didn’t choose this job for the money, that’s for sure.”

The sun is breaking out behind the clouds now. Everything looks fresh and shiny and bright, glittering with illuminated raindrops. There’s a steady drip-drip from the lookout tower’s roof. With the strength of the sun, it’ll be no time at all before it’s all dry. The sky is still a deep blue to the west behind the storm, and the golden sunlit trees against the dark sky make a pleasing contrast.

Everything feels just a little new, a little fresh. He basks in the feeling.

»»———-　　———-««

It’s 11 AM. The sun is bright and the sky is blue.

"I see smoke," Grian says. "I know I was wrong last time but I'm not this time."

The smoke is rising, thin and wispy, from a forested section on the southwestern flank of Trout Peak.

"Confidence, I like that," Scar says. "Go on and give me the reading, then."

The motions are getting familiar now. The firefinder is a disc that sits in the middle of the tower on a small table. The edge of the circle, its arc, is covered in little degree markings. The firefinder is a type of alidade, which is a turning board that allows someone to determine line of sight for triangulating locations. They date back to ancient times–astronomers used a version called an astrolabe for navigation, telling time, and to locate the position of celestial bodies.

It's fascinating how, when surrounded by emerging technologies, we can turn to the very tools humanity has been using for millennia.

The disc has two sights opposite to each other: an upper sight with a peep hole and a lower sight with two crosshairs. Grian spins them around the arc until he is in the vicinity of the smoke, and then looks through the upper sight. He marks the degree that the opposite crosshair has landed on around the arc. That’s the azimuth of the fire. The azimuth is the horizontal angle from a cardinal direction–this fire sits northwest of Grian’s tower, and its azimuth is 321°. For a more precise measurement he takes the minutes off of the vernier, another set of markings that rotates around the base of the firefinder. His final reading is 321° 45’.

Then he looks at the map that is permanently fixed to the center of the disc. His lookout tower is situated in the middle. Grian can estimate the distance on the map from a metal tape that stretches across. Given the scale of the map, two miles is represented by an inch–Trout Peak is 5 inches on the map, so it is 10 miles away.

The upper peep hole has markings that are used to determine the vertical height of the fire, but which ones to use are dependent on if the fire is above or below the lookout. This fire is below Grian’s perch on the mountaintop, so when he looks through the sight to the crosshair on the opposite side of the firefinder, he uses the bottom crosshair.

It’s measuring -8°, so Grian does a little math. He knows the height of his lookout, he knows the distance of the fire, and now that he knows the vertical angle he can determine how much lower the fire is than him. Once he gets the number he subtracts it from his own elevation. Now he knows the fire is at an elevation of 7,150 feet.

So to recap: he’s got a fire northwest at 321° 45’, 10 miles away, at 7,150 feet above sea level.

He relays this information to Scar on the radio.

“Excellent!” Scar cries. “Here, I can see the fire so I’ll give you my measurements too. Where our azimuths cross will be the exact location. With all of this information, they’ll definitely be able to find the fire.”

Scar already has the numbers ready, indicating he did his own measurements while waiting for Grian to complete his. Scar probably made them faster, too, but Grian’s choosing to be proud of himself instead. This work is a lot more complicated than he expected it to be in the beginning. He writes down Scar’s information on a stray piece of paper nearby.

“Do you want to make the report?” Scar says. “I mean, you sighted it so it’s yours. It’ll look good for you.”

“Alright,” Grian says, “talk to you in a bit.”

He goes back onto the official channel and reports the fire to the Forest Service. He gives both his and Scar’s measurements, along with a general description of the area and nearby landmarks. He includes information on the probable cause of the fire–lightning from the storm two days ago–and the sort of landscape it is burning in. He gives an approximation of the size of the fire too. It’s a small one.

They thank him for his report and promise to give updates through the official channel. Scar’s got a second radio tuned to that all the time, so Grian flips his channel back to the one he and Scar use exclusively.

“I did it,” he says.

“Good job!” Scar says. “And good eye to notice that smoke.”

“I don’t know if I have good eyes,” Grian chuckles. “I wear glasses, you know. The Forest Service wasn’t very happy with that but I passed the eye test as long as I could wear them so they just made me bring two pairs in case one gets broken.”

“Aw, you have glasses? Are they those big silly ones? I hope they’re those big silly ones, you’d look good in them. So fashionable."

“Scar, you have no idea what I look like.”

“I’m correct though, aren’t I?”

Grian rolls his eyes. “No comment.”

“By the way,” Scar says. “You did good reporting those hikers earlier in the week.”

This snags Grian’s attention immediately. “Did they get lost?” he asks.

“I don’t think they were lost, but they were definitely unable to get back to their car before the storm hit. A ranger went up the trail after the storm passed and found them part of the way down, soaking wet. He helped them warm up and get back.”

“They must have been cold,” Grian says. “It’s warm out but not warm enough to be caught in a thunderstorm.”

“Oh for sure,” Scar says. “It’s possible they would have made it back fine but it’s also possible that being wet and cold could have slowed them down enough to be in big trouble. It just got colder over the evening and they might not have been able to start a fire with all of the tinder being wet.”

“It’s weird how badly everything can go wrong,” Grian muses. “And how quickly.”

“You did a good thing, though,” Scar says. “You helped someone. That’s what we’re here for.”

“I’m glad they’re safe,” Grian says, and for some reason he has a lump in his throat again. It’s like he can’t get away from it, this pain that rubs against his every movement. He can’t even be happy with a compliment to his work, or proud of himself for spotting a fire, because it always boomerangs right back into despair and self-pitying.

It’s a hole he can’t escape. He helped someone, but he can’t help himself, can’t help Mumbo.

He hopes Mumbo is somewhere warm, right now.

»»———-　　———-««

There’s nothing but the soft wind in the trees and the crunch of Grian’s boots in the gravel as he steadily climbs the hill to his lookout. The late afternoon light slants on the ground, throwing shadows across his path. But it’s well into summer now, and the sun doesn’t set until 9 PM, so there’s hours of warm light left.

It’s a little strange that the small cabin feels like home now, but after sleeping in a tent for three nights that’s exactly what it feels like. Grian’s work schedule grants him days off just like any job–sometimes he works 10 days on for 4 days off, like he did this week. Further into fire season, his hours will probably lengthen.

Most lookouts go into town on their days off for a taste of civilization, but Grian doesn’t. His reasons are twofold. First, he’d rather not sacrifice two days of his break just to hike that difficult trail in and out.

Second, he’s still not lost sight of his original goal: finding Mumbo.

He spent most of the last few days searching an area on the edge of his lookout territory called Deer Creek. On paper, it’s a perfect spot–there’s a year-round water supply close by, some sheltered areas between rocky outcroppings and forest, and perhaps even some very old structures from historic homesteads or ranches.

Of course, he’s coming home once again empty-handed. He saw several hawks, an elk, a fox, and some deer, and no Mumbo.

As he approaches the tower, the generator is turned off, so Grian goes to turn it on again. The Forest Service had assigned a temporary volunteer lookout to cover his shift while he was gone, but that person had left early this morning in order to get back to the trailhead. They must have turned off the generator before they left to save propane.

Grian will have to ask Scar if the volunteer was as interesting to talk to as he is. He hasn’t spoken to Scar in several days, in order to save the battery on his radio. His radio’s charger is plugged in at the tower, although he has extra batteries for emergencies.

The first thing Grian notices when he walks up to the base of the tower is that there’s an object leaned against the stairs. It’s a bicycle of some sort. He first wonders if it’s something the volunteer lookout left behind, but that doesn’t make any sense. It’s too perfectly placed for him to find it.

It’s too…familiar?

It’s a bicycle of some sort, except that when Grian really looks at it for the first time he freezes, because it’s the sort of bicycle that Grian recognizes instantly. Grian stops in his tracks, and suddenly his heartbeat is loud in his ears. His eyes dart all over the bike, taking in every tiny detail.

It’s painted in what was once bright green and yellow, but the color is faded from the sun and rusty from exposure. There’s scratches on it, and the chain looks clearly messed up.

It’s a lot worse for wear than the day Grian bought it, but he’d never forget what it looked like. He’s been looking for it for a year now.

Why is Mumbo’s mountain bike leaned against the Two Forks tower staircase?

<< Chapter Two | Masterpost | Chapter Four >>

#hermitcraft #grian #goodtimeswithscar #gtwscar #hermitcraft fanfic #quara fanfic #hc_firewatch_au

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dumbeddiesimp · 2 years

Text

eddie, do you copy? part one.

pairing: eddie munson x plus size fem reader

word count: 6223

summary: as a nomadic traveler that lives in a van, your only source of socialization is talking to strangers on a ham radio.

You woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the sun shining brightly in your face. It was your first week back on the road after a long winter, longer than you had anticipated but it had gotten strangely cold in Texas that year. Usually, until the rest of the country defrosted, you could be out in your van almost all year but you had bunked with your parents over Christmas.

The second the sun came out, though, you were packing your bags and heading out on the road to ring in 1985.

You had been living this nomadic lifestyle for only two years now, ever since you had finished fixing up your dad’s old VW camper van. He gave it to you for a graduation present and you were off that very summer with the goal of visiting every state and all the Canadian provinces. Being January still, however, you were sticking to the southern states to avoid frostbite.

Rest stops and RV parks were your home, and you adored it. You kept to yourself, and you filled your time with reading, crocheting, cooking, and talking on your state-of-the-art ham radio. Your dad had put in the unit, bought brand new from the shelves at Radioshack, so you could talk to your family no matter where you were in North America.

It was nice. You loved your family and missed them whenever you were away.

However, you could only talk to your family so much before the events in their life started to repeat themselves. So, every once in a while, you would sit at your radio and switch through random channels in hopes to talk to someone new. A stranger, someone you didn’t know personally. They always had amazing stories.

So, when you woke up that morning, you sat up in your bed and stretched out your arms with a big yawn. You had a late night last night, staying up talking with your family, so you felt drained even though you slept in. You didn’t want to do anything today, not even cook, so you crawled your way into the driver seat of the van and turned it on.

To the McDonald’s drive-thru you went.

Having the convenience of fast food while on the road was dangerous. You were already chubby before you left home, but the ease of drive-thrus made your weight go up a little bit. Nothing drastic, but your family always felt the need to comment on it whenever you went home.

You parked in one of the spaces once getting your breakfast, unwrapping the McMuffin as you turned on your radio. The signal could pick up anywhere but it always worked the best in more populated areas like towns or cities. You cleared your throat as you took a bite of your sandwich, then picked up the speaker and clicked down the button. “Hello, is anyone out there?”

When no one responded for several seconds, you switched the frequency and tried again. Repeating yourself with each new frequency, you began to grow frustrated with the lack of response. Usually by attempt five, someone would come in but there was no response. On your tenth try, you had finished your breakfast and tossed the bag out the window and into the garbage can right outside your window.

“Okay, assholes, this is your last chance,” you spoke into your handheld speaker, taking a sip of your coffee. “Is there anyone out there?”

“Well, this isn’t what I would necessarily call a good first impression, but it’ll do,” a sultry voice responded through the radio, making you jump a little in surprise with your eyes focused on the radio. “Who am I talking to?”

You breathed out a sigh of relief when you finally got a response, and this person sounded young. You usually got fifty year old truckers so this was a nice change. You pressed down on the button. “Sorry for calling you an asshole,” you said first. “Well, I was just talking to the wind but you get what I mean. My name’s Y/N.”

“Y/N,” the voice repeated, and you could hear the smile in his voice. Your name sounded like sugar coming from him. “A pretty name for a pretty girl, I’m sure. I’m Eddie.”

The blush that rose to your face was almost immediate. Despite this man being completely unknown to you, the way he spoke to you gave you chills. He could be forty for all you knew, but someone you knew that wasn’t the case.

“Eddie,” you repeated softly, a smile spreading across your face as you pressed the button down once more. “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie.”

From that day forward, you checked on that specific frequency every day. You had written it down after your first conversation with Eddie Munson. It differed slightly depending on where you traveled, but you were always able to find him again.

March of 1985, you were driving through Wyoming. While the state paled in contrast with things to do than other states, it more than made up for it with the beautiful skyscapes. You had never seen such beautiful sunrises and sunsets before.

“Y/N, are you there?” Eddie’s voice suddenly crackled through your radio, making you avert your gaze from the gorgeous sunset for a brief moment before looking back out the windshield. You were driving, after all, so you technically had to focus on the road.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know you’re there. You live in that damn van, where else can you be? Come in, over.”

You playfully roll your eyes as you pick up the speaker, clicking down the button. “Sweetheart, huh? Getting awfully comfortable, aren’t we?”

The sound of Eddie’s chuckle coming through the radio had you melting in your seat. The way you two had gotten to know each other over the last couple of months was astonishing. You basically trauma-dumped on him the first day you met, but he was still a bit reserved when it came to his past. He told you plenty about himself, just not much about his life. It was easy for you to tell him everything, as you didn’t know what he looked like, but he seemed a little more apprehensive.

You didn’t mind, though. All in due time.

“Well, we’ve been talking every day for the past two months so I say we’re in pet name territory,” Eddie continued, a slight roughness in his voice that could either mean he just woke up, smoked a huge bowl, or finished a show. Considering the time of day, as well as the fact that it was a Tuesday, you guessed it was two out of the three. “Where are you today?”

You hummed softly as you leaned forward a bit, one hand on the wheel and the other on the speaker, to get a better look at the approaching road sign. “About ten miles outside of Riverton, Wyoming. I am staring at the most beautiful sunset.”

Eddie let out a little whistle. “Wyoming, huh? That’s not too far from Indiana. Why don’t you come by for a visit, sweetheart? I could show you something even more beautiful to stare at.”

“Oh yeah?” You responded with a giggle, taking a turn down a road just outside city limits that directed you towards an RV park. “What do you have there in Hawkins, Indiana other than a batshit crazy lab that killed a girl and a brand new, shiny mall?”

“Ouch, sweetheart!” Eddie laughed, his voice crackling through the radio as you came to a slow stop at a free spot within the park. You adjusted the damn thing to hear him clearer. “There’s more to Hawkins than just those. There’s also hicks and douchebags galore.”

“And where do you fit in, dear Edward?”

“Well, with the freaks, of course.”

You smile a bit to yourself, shaking your head fondly. The thing you loved most about your unconventional friendship with Eddie was that neither of you needed to say “over” when you were done talking. You two just knew when each other was done talking.

“You and me both, Eddie,” you responded to him in a soft voice after a moment, finally parking your van at a spot and relaxing back into the driver seat. You smiled a little to yourself, wondering briefly how you got yourself into this weird friendship. But you didn’t mind.

“You and me both.”

July of 1985 was so strangely hot, especially since you were in the middle of Canada. You were in the boonies of Saskatchewan in a town called Moose Jaw, staying in a campground within the city limits. You never knew Canada could get so hot.

Due to the heat, you only wore a pair of high-waisted jean shorts and a neon green bikini top. It was completely tame and everything was covered, so you didn’t understand why some people were staring at you as you walked around the town.

That was until a group of teenagers moo’d at you.

You slammed the sliding door to your van, hiccuping as you tried to force back sobs. Normally, you didn’t let digs at your weight get to you but being taunted like that was too far. You furiously wiped your eyes as you crawled into your driver seat, grabbing the speaker and pressing down the button.

“Eddie,” you croaked out softly, immediately cursing yourself. You didn’t want Eddie to hear you cry. You cared for him way too much and were scared of what he would think upon hearing you cry. “Eddie, do you copy? I need to talk, Eds, please…”

“I’m here, sweetheart, I’m here,” Eddie responded immediately, literally under a second after you finished talking. He sounded so concerned, his voice sweet and comforting. “What’s wrong, princess, what happened?”

You sniffled softly to yourself as you looked down at your lap, remaining quiet for a few minutes before pressing the button down. “I know we agreed to not say anything to each other about what we look like until we meet, but I just need to. F-For context.”

“As long as you’re alright with that, darling.”

You breathed out softly as you gathered the courage, and Eddie thankfully gave you the time you needed. He was always so good about that. “Okay, so,” you spoke up after a moment. “I’m not…I’m not the ideal image of beauty.”

Eddie was quiet for a little bit. He wanted to let you speak without interruption, but he couldn’t keep to himself. “Sweetheart, I haven’t seen you yet but I just know you’re drop dead gorgeous. No matter what you look like.”

Your lower lip quivered a little as you took a deep breath. He knew exactly the right words to make you swoon, but today was different. You didn’t believe him. Eddie sounded so handsome that you were sure he deserved a bombshell. Not someone whose thighs touched and whose arms jiggled when they waved.

“Eddie, you don’t understand,” you finally let out a soft cry, hands trembling as the attempt to hold it in finally failed. “I was moo’d at today! Like a fucking cow, Eds! It’s so fucking hot here today so I wore my favourite shorts and a bikini top and these fucking teenagers moo’d at me!”

You just sniffled softly to yourself now, tears falling down your reddening cheeks as Eddie remained quiet on the other end. You didn’t know what he was thinking. Hell, if you had to guess, he was probably going through what you looked like in his head to determine if he even wanted to still talk to you.

“I’m not skinny, Eddie. Far from it,” you murmured softly into the speaker after a minute of silence. “I don’t know exactly what I weight but if I had to guess–”

“Don’t,” Eddie interrupted you, making you look at your radio in surprise. He never interrupted you before. “Don’t. It doesn’t matter, darling, okay? People who think weight matters are fucking assholes. You can still be drop dead gorgeous and have a few extra pounds, yeah? Which, by the way, I’m sure you are. A little extra to hold at night is such a plus, too. It gets cold up here in Indiana.”

The blush that adorned your cheeks was downright embarrassing. If you had been in front of Eddie at that moment, you were sure he could figure out your crush for him in under a second. “Eddie Munson, you really know how to make a girl feel better,” you replied after a moment, a smile returning to your face as you wiped your eyes. “And you’re sure you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Eddie’s laugh was music to your ears. “No one here in Hawkins wants to date the freak, darling. Besides, I have someone far better for me in mind than any of these hicks.”

Your eyebrows immediately shot up and jealousy began to bubble in your stomach. Your one hand clenched the speaker tightly, pressing the button down. “Oh yeah?” You ask, trying to hide the jealousy in your voice. “And who would that be?”

“Well, my dear Y/N, all I know is that they have the most addicting voice I have ever heard,” was his response, and that made butterflies erupt in your tummy now. “I mean, I talk to her every single day. She’s kind, funny, and beautiful. Even if I don’t know what she looks like yet, I know she’s beautiful.”

Your face was now bright red, and you were unable to control yourself as you burst into a fit of happy giggles. “So, what are you saying, Munson? You got a crush on me? Ew.”

Your laugh grew louder as Eddie let out a dramatic gasp through the radio, throwing your head back against your seat. “You’re damn right I do!” Eddie shouted, just making you laugh louder.

“Well, good,” you responded with a kind smile, wiping away tears of laughter now. “Because lucky enough for you, the feelings are mutual.”

On Halloween of that year, you were in Louisiana. So far in your trip, you had gotten to twenty states and five Canadian provinces. While you were making better progress than you anticipated, Indiana was still far down on your list. You weren’t sure if you were even gonna get there before March.

Eddie understood the fact that you wanted to stick to your plan, since you had family things to work around, but it didn’t mean it didn’t frustrate him.

“I wish you were here tonight,” his voice crackled through the radio, making you stop crocheting so you could grab the speaker. The two of you had been dating for three months now and you still talked every day, just with an extra special type of call that took place at night.

“Tonight would be the perfect night to curl up with my best girl in front of a scary movie, drink a couple of beers,” he sighed longingly, making you smile softly. “Are you sure you can’t squeeze in a visit to Hawkins before you head back home for the winter?”

You hum softly, placing your crocheting into your lap so you can press down on the button. “I head back to Texas first thing in the morning,” you told him with a little sigh. “Hawkins is already twelve hours away. I’ll freeze my tits off in my van, Eds.”

Eddie whined like a child in response, making you laugh at his childish behaviour. “Life is so unfair,” he huffed after about fifteen seconds of annoying yet adorable whining. “You can’t get to me until March? That’s bullshit.”

“You are my first stop when the weather in the Midwest gets nice again,” you assured him, a smile on your face as you could imagine the cute pout on his. “Besides, me being there will distract you from studying for your first semester finals. You’re gonna graduate this year, Eds.”

“I know, I know,” Eddie replied sadly, and you so wanted to somehow jump through the radio and into his room so you could squeeze the life out of him. God, did you wish that was possible. “Hey, uh, I finally got my hands on Live After Death. Did you wanna listen to it with me?”

You smiled softly. You could hear the disappointment in his voice, but you both knew it would all be worth it in no time. “Sure, Eds,” you replied softly. You then picked your crocheting back up as Eddie taped his button down, smiling as the sound of Iron Maiden began to fill your van.

Your two months at home seemed endless. You still talked to Eddie every day, at which your parents were fairly confused, but you ignored them whenever they raised their concerns. They were valid concerns, like how you didn’t really know Eddie, but you didn’t listen. Even without meeting him, you knew he was genuinely who he said he was. And you loved him all the same for it.

You left home once more in January, travelling around the warmer states as usual while keeping your daily conversations with your boyfriend. As March approached, you two got more and more excited. Spring break was finally coming up for Eddie and that meant at long last, he got to meet the woman behind the voice he fell in love with.

Until everything went to shit.

“Eddie, do you copy?” You said into the speaker. You had been trying for the better part of two hours to get a hold of him, as you were just entering Indiana and therefore would be in Hawkins by early that morning. “Eddie, I’m really starting to worry here. Eddie, pick up, for the love of god.”

After only receiving more static, you placed the speaker back in its hook with a frustrated sigh. You didn’t know why he wasn’t answering, as he should all the time in the world to answer you, but it just made you begin to worry. So, you began switching the frequencies again in hopes to get any of the radio stations from Hawkins. After twenty minutes of getting different towns’ stations, you finally hit the jackpot.

“--rocked the small community of Hawkins once again last night. A Hawkins High student was found murdered in a trailer in the Forest Hills Trailer Park and police are now on the lookout for their prime suspect. Edward Munson, age twenty, was the last person seen with the deceased and the Hawkins Police are asking all citizens to keep an eye out for–”

You turned your radio off. Your face was sheet white. Eddie was wanted for murder? Murder? You couldn’t believe it. No, you didn’t believe it. You wouldn’t. Eddie couldn’t harm a fly let alone a person. You were silent as you pressed your gas pedal to its limit, deciding that you needed to get to Hawkins as soon as humanly possible.

You tore into town so fast, you were sure the cops were going to be called on you but they were still busy at the trailer park when you arrived. Your original plan had been to go to Eddie’s trailer to meet him, but he was at large and so you had no idea where to go.

After driving around for thirty minutes, as it did not take long to drive around Hawkins, you parked along the downtown area and placed your head on the steering wheel. It was nine in the morning and you were lost, so lost on where to start looking for your boyfriend. You had no idea if he was even safe or not. Hell, he could’ve already been arrested and you’d never find out. This situation was bad.

Movement out of the corner of your eye made you look up. Two young teenagers, one boy with shaggy brown hair and a girl with fiery red hair, rode up to the store you were parked in front of and ditched their bikes right outside of it in such a hurry, it made your eyebrows go up in surprise. You watched the two as they stormed into the store, Family Video, and immediately began harassing the two young workers inside. You watched curiously, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to catch glimpses of their conversation.

Your eyebrows raised, eyes widening a little bit, as the younger boy said the name of the man you had been panicking over for the past ten hours.

Eddie.

You got out of your van so fast that you almost tripped onto the pavement, but you were able to catch yourself before hurrying into the Family Video. The four people inside, the female worker picking up tapes and the two boys arguing, all stopped what they were doing and looked at you in confusion. You had run in like your life depended on it, so of course they were confused.

“Uh…” the older girl said, her voice slightly raspy as she stared at you. “Welcome to Family Video?”

“Are you guys looking for Eddie Munson?” You asked before any of them could get anything else out. “Do you know where he is?”

The boy with the curly hair straightened his posture, face filled with what could be described as concerned as well as a little bit of shock. “How do you know Eddie?” He asked, a slight lisp to his voice.

You ran a hand through your hair with a soft sigh. You knew this was going to be weird, since you were not from Hawkins so none of these people knew you or perhaps even knew of you, but you had to tell the truth. With a shrug of your shoulders, slapping your hand down on your thigh, you looked right back at the kid. “I’m his girlfriend. And I have no idea what’s going on but I’m really worried, okay?”

“Girlfriend?!” All four people shouted at once.

While Max, Robin, and Steve ran the investigation from inside Family Video, you and Dustin sat in your van fiddling with the radio. Dustin knew ham radios like no one’s business so you had your full trust in him as he messed with it. He had the idea to try and contact Eddie the way you had before: fucking with the frequencies. Even if Eddie didn’t have his walkie-talkie, maybe he was still in the vicinity of one.

“Eddie, do you copy?” You repeated into the speaker for the millionth time, sighing softly as you received nothing in return yet again. You hit the speaker against your forehead gently a few times, before pushing down the button again. Licking your lips, you breathed out softly as you closed your eyes. This situation was so stressful for you, but you just couldn’t imagine what Eddie was going through. He must be so scared.

“Eddie, baby, I’m here. I’m here, okay? I don’t know what exactly happened, but I want to help,” you said, voice as soft as silk. If Eddie was there, anywhere, you needed him to know that he would be safe if he chose to reveal himself. “Even if you don’t want my help, just…just let me know that you’re alright. I know something really scary happened to you, and I know that you’re innocent. Okay? Please, Eddie…do you copy?”

Dustin glanced at you as you two awaited a response, your leg shaking anxiously as you listened to the radio silence that came through the damn thing. After thirty seconds, both of your shoulders slumped as the kid reached to change the frequency again.

“Y/N, you need to go home…” Eddie’s voice finally said, making both you and Dustin jump but then look at each other in excitement. The kid quickly left your van to run into the store, needing to alert the others that they found him.

“No, Eddie, I’m right where I need to be,” you replied quickly, buckling up in preparation to leave whenever he gave his location. “I met your friend, Dustin, and a few others and we all know you’re innocent, alright? We all wanna help you. You just have to let me know where you are.”

It was silent for a moment before your radio crackled back to life. “Baby, it’s not safe, okay? Y-Y-You have to go home, it’s not safe! If you get caught with me, I-I don’t know, I don’t want you to end up like her! Okay?! An-And if you’re ever caught with me, you’ll be arrested!”

You raised an eyebrow in confusion when he mentioned some “her”, but you just let him continue talking. He obviously needed to talk out whatever happened to him. “Eds, it’s okay. No one in this town knows who I am, they’ll never suspect anything,” you explained to him gently. “Please, baby, tell me where you are. As much as I wanna see you, I know you need support now more than ever. I love you, Eddie. I love you so much.”

“Oh my god…” Eddie sighed out softly, and you could just imagine how stressed he was but unable to hide the smile on his face at your confession. “Sweetheart, you can’t do that to me, damn it…fine. Fine, alright? You’re lucky you’re cute.”

When Dustin looked back over at you, you were frantically waving your arms to get his attention while also frantically around the front seat area for a pen and paper. The four inside quickly got the hint and sprinted from the store, Robin locking it behind her before they all piled into your van. The way your tired screeched upon peeling out of the parking lot made you cringe slightly, but you had bigger things to worry about.

Reefer Rick’s house was definitely out of the way. Not being a local of Hawkins, you had no fucking clue where you were going and had Steve yelling at you nearly every turn you missed. Finally, just after the sun fully set, you arrived at Reefer Rick’s house and parked in front of it.

You breathed out softly as you leaned against the steering wheel a little bit, looking at the slightly decrepit lake house in front of you. “Yeah, this isn’t creepy at all.”

“I’m not the greatest fan of this either but what other choice do we have,” Steve sighed from the passenger seat as he unbuckled, Dustin opening the sliding door so the three in the back could hop out. You and Steve followed, and the five of you approached the house with Dustin going first. Max, Steve, and Robin carried flashlights and shone them in front of your group as it was pitch dark. You stood slightly behind Dustin to his left, arms crossed anxiously as he pressed the doorbell once.

Then a second time five seconds later.

Followed quickly by a more impatient third time, which was then proceeded by the kid pressing the button repeatedly with no break in between. If Eddie had been hiding there, he was definitely way too spooked to come out.

Steve sighed, raising his shoulders as he did so. “Okay. Well, that’s settled. I guess he’s not here,” he said in a monotonous voice as Dustin began pounding on the door and yelling Eddie’s name. “Great.”

“It’s Dustin!” Dustin continued, completely ignoring Steve. “Look, we just wanna talk, okay? No cops, I swear! We just wanna help. Eddie!”

Dustin pounded on the door again as Max and Robin began to quietly move around the side of the house, you following a bit behind them, but Robin was quick to shush Dustin despite the kid continuing to press the doorbell.

“Rick! Reefer Rick!”

“Don’t scream that!”

Dustin continued shouting into the dark house while Steve tried to shut him up, the three of you girls now venturing a bit more into the property to look around. Since you didn’t have a flashlight, you stuck close to Robin while Max approached a rickety looking boat house.

“Hey, guys!” She called out, mainly to get Dustin and Steve’s attention as those two were sharing a brain cell and it wasn’t enjoying being shared at the moment. Nevertheless, the rest of you hurried to where she was standing to look at the boat house. While you were all silent, you all knew that if there was somewhere a criminal would want to hide, it’d be in that building. So, you all hurried down towards it.

Robin shone her flashlight through the window as you began to make your way around the outside to get to the door, leading your group as she pushed it open. “Hello?” She called into the darkness. “Is anyone home?”

The rest of you followed her inside, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet as you looked around the small shack. It was filled with what a typical boat house usually had, like fishing gear as well as a few random pieces that definitely gave the hint that a drug dealer owned this property. In the middle of the boat house was a boat suspended over the water, covered by a tarp.

“What a dump,” Steve commented with a slight scoff. He then clicked off his flashlight and walked over to one of the walls, grabbing an oar off of it. You watched in curiosity as he began prodding the tarp covered boat, raising an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?” Dustin asked as he turned to his friend, as he was standing right behind him and Steve’s sudden movements had spooked him. “What are you doing?”

Steve shrugged slightly as he continued practically stabbing the boat and whatever contents were hidden under the tarp. “He might be in here.”

You crossed your arms as you looked at him. “And you think it’s a good idea to repeatedly hit him with an oar?”

“Just take the tarp off!” Dustin shouted.

“If you’re so brave, you take the tarp off,” Steve snapped back at him.

He continued to prod around the boat with his oar, causing you to roll your eyes and continue walking around the boat house while Max and Robin approached a workbench. Max shone her flashlight across the surface to show some extremely recent food wrappers.

“Someone was here,” she said quietly as Robin moved over to stand next to her.

“Maybe he heard us,” the older girl theorized. “Got spooked and ran.”

“Don’t worry. Steve will get him with his oar,” Dustin commented sarcastically with a shit eating grin, making you giggle quietly as you stopped to stand next to Robin and Max.

Steve was quick to respond, obviously fed up with the constant teasing from Dustin. “I know you think you’re being funny Henderson, but considering the fact that everyone in this room has nearly died about a hundred times, personally, I don’t find it funny in the slight–”

The tarp that Steve had been stabbing suddenly burst upwards as someone stood up underneath it, and the person quickly leapt out of the boat and grabbed Steve by the collar. The figure pushed him back into the nearest wall, and you could see the glint of the knife pressed against his neck. Your group was loud, with Steve repeatedly shouting for the assailant to wait while Dustin was shouting at said assailant.

“Woah, woah, woah, Eddie! Eddie, stop!” Dustin shouted.

You froze right in place as you stared at the scene in front of you. The figure that had burst out of the boat was your boyfriend. And he was holding a knife to someone’s throat. Dustin continued to shout for Eddie while Robin and Max went to stand to the kid, who was standing next to Steve and Eddie with his hand outstretched. Eddie quickly looked over at him, obviously on edge and very stressed. Dustin quickly looked over at you, eyes wide and begging for help.

You quickly cleared your throat and hurried to stand next to him, arms up slightly in defense as you walked into his line of sight. “Eddie, it’s alright,” you told him. Now that you could see his face fully, your heart did a little flip. Now was not the time to get flustered, but this was the first time you were seeing your boyfriend’s face. “Eds, it’s just us. It’s me.”

Eddie’s shoulders visibly relaxed when he heard and recognized your voice, eyes never leaving yours as you stood a mere six feet away from him. His hands were shaking, one hand gripping Steve’s shirt and the other to the knife. His lower lip began to tremble, but he was still scared so he continued to just stare at you.

“I know you’re scared,” you told him gently, arms still up but you moved them down slowly with every slow step you took towards him. “But we’re only here to help, okay? You know Dustin, okay, you talk about him so much. The curly-haired weirdo in Hellfire. Would he ever betray you? Or Robin, from band? How she blew her trumpet in Jason’s ear so loud, he went deaf for a whole period? Trust us, baby. Trust me.”

By the end of your little speech, you were mere inches away from Eddie now. Tears were brimming his eyes as he just looked at you, before finally letting out a defeated sniffle and dropping Steve and the knife. “Y/N,” he croaked out pitifully as he stepped towards you, and you were quick to wrap your arms around him and hold him tight.

The two of you sunk to the floor, you holding Eddie as close to you as physically possible, as he hid his face in your neck. Your heart broke for your boyfriend. He was usually so confident and you knew that in different circumstances, he’d still be that Eddie, but things were different. He was wanted for murder. That would fuck with anyone’s head. So, you just held him and kissed his forehead while he silently cried.

After a few minutes, Dustin approached the two of you with the rest of the group behind him. The kid crouched down next to you, making Eddie look over once he had wiped his eyes. “Eddie,” he spoke softly. “We just want to talk.”

Dustin reached towards Eddie to place a supportive hand on his arm, but he flinched away and further into your arms. Robin then crouched down next to Dustin, looking at Eddie despite the man avoiding eye contact with everyone. “We want to know what happened,” she added, voice quiet and reassuring.

Eddie was quiet for a moment, before sitting up a little bit so he could finally look towards them. He sniffled, his voice a bit broken as he spoke. “You won’t believe me.”

Max shrugged her shoulders a little bit. “Try us.”

Eddie looked confused for a moment as he looked at his neighbour, but once he saw how serious you all looked, he just nodded and began to explain what had happened the night prior. The head cheerleader at school, Chrissy Cunningham, had gone to Eddie’s trailer to buy drugs. She had been dealing with some shit at home and wanted them to essentially give her a little relief, but that’s when something straight up paranormal happened.

“Her body just, like, lifted into the air and uh…and she just, like, hung there. In the air,” he said near the end of his explanation, this part obviously really hard for him to get out. You sat next to him now instead of holding him, but you still held his hand. “And her bones…uh, she…her bones started to snap. Her eyes, man…it-it was like there was something, like, inside her head, pulling.”

You gently placed your free hand on his shoulder, giving him a supportive squeeze. While this story really was hard to believe, Eddie was terrified and traumatized. How could he be lying when he was so obviously affected by this?

“I-I didn’t know what to do, so I…I ran away. I left her there,” he continued, shaking his head a little bit as he sniffled. He then scoffed after a moment of silence, looking away from all of you. “You all think I’m crazy, right?”

“No, we don’t think you’re crazy at all,” Dustin responded immediately.

“Don’t bullshit me, man!” Eddie shouted, nearly interrupting Dustin. His voice was cracking like he was on the verge of tears again, and the sound of it broke your heart. “I know how this sounds!”

“We’re not bullshitting you,” Max told him seriously.

“We believe you,” Robin added.

Eddie scoffed like he didn’t believe that they believed him. How could they? It sounded batshit insane. You looked at the four people in front of you, wondering what they knew to make them sound this serious. The way they were behaving just confirmed to you how real this was.

“Look, what I’m about to tell you might be a little…difficult to take,” Dustin said to Eddie softly, then looked at you. “You need to promise that you don’t tell anyone about what I’m going to say. Got it?”

You and Eddie both nodded. “Okay,” you both said simultaneously.

And that was the night where you learned how fucked up Hawkins, Indiana really was. And you were going to get Eddie out of there even if it meant that you died trying.

#eddie munson #stranger things eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #EDDIE MY BELOVED #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic

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5sosfanfictioncatalogue · 3 months

Text

AU Fics (3) Masterlist

part one, part two

all i want (ao3) - lourrygum michael/luke E, 15k

Summary: Luke is a camboy and Michael has to have normal conversations with him like he didn't watch him come untouched just last night

Or, Lush isn't Luke's only place of employment, Calum is falling in love with the curly haired dork that comes in to his coffee shop on a daily basis and Michael's going to stop watching Luke's videos soon, he swears.

Beginnings (ao3) - thenewbrokenscene michael/luke M, 45k

Summary: [College/University AU] Michael Clifford was a sophomore transfer student, trapped living in the dorms again after a technicality dropped him back down to freshman status. He had requested a single room, determined to focus on his school work, get out of university housing as quickly as possible, and start his real life, but of course, on August 1st he received the obligatory "Get to know your new roommate this summer! You can contact Luke Hemmings, freshman student, at his school email..." message in his inbox.

Whatever. Let's just get this year over with.

Boys Only Want Love If It's Torture (ao3) - aalexandravictoriaa Michael/Luke, Ashton/Calum M, 57k

Summary: Luke and Michael meet at college and getting to know Michael is the best and worst thing Luke has ever done.

burnt eggs & broken promises (ao3) - kingscrossinseptember luke/ashton, background michael/harry, background michael/ashton G, 4k

Summary: Ashton's always found his roommate, Luke, nothing but aggravating, but when they make a deal where Ashton has to pretend to be Luke's boyfriend for a night, his opinion starts to shift slightly...

Coy Fish - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) calum/ashton E, 19k

Summary: “Please don’t fuck our yoga instructor.” Michael massages his forehead, eyes squinting shut. “We’ll lose our discount.”

But that certainly won't keep Calum from trying.

Crossfire (ao3) - cthink michael/calum, luke/ashton N/R, 9k

Summary: Today was the day. There was no going back on the plan now. After months of preparation, they were finally going to escape. They were finally going to be free.

Or an apocalypse au where Ashton, Calum, Michael and Luke escape a corrupt containment camp only to find that the world outside is so much worse. Based on the song Crossfire by Stephen.

hello, hello (ao3) - bellawritess luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 30k

Summary: For one long, blinking minute, Luke stares at Ashton and wonders if he’s hallucinating. Because that’s definitely Ashton. That’s Ashton Irwin, his former best friend from Sunny Days, the show they co-starred on as children.

But it’s also definitely Ashton Fletcher, professional film actor worth many millions, possibly hundreds of millions, of dollars, standing on his doorstep, wind ruffling his hair.

if i knew from the start, would it change a thing? (ao3) - acetominophen luke/ashton N/R, 35k

Summary: "All I painted was you, Ash. It was always you." But Ashton wasn't listening to him at all. His silver-lined eyes were trained on the hand-written words at the bottom of the canvas, unblinking.

Luke's gaze followed his and his lips parted because shit, he'd forgotten. He'd forgotten that he'd titled this one.

'Poisoned myself again. LH'.

Artist!Luke Cowboy!Ashton

if you're going to san francisco (ao3) - HeyHeyArnold, mukelftv ot4 M, 10k

Summary: In 1970s San Francisco, a rally brings together four somewhat unlikely friends. This is their story.

Jumping before the Gunshot has Gone Off (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine michael/luke, calum/ashton, luke/louis E, 128k

Summary: (In which Michael’s hated Luke since they met, and Luke’s hated him back—except, somehow, they can’t stop having sex with one another. To make matters worse, Luke is dumb enough to go and fall in love with the man who hates him.)

Lullaby (ao3) - thesaltyspice calum/ashton N/R, 4k

Summary: Calum hosts an anonymous radio show and Ashton is obsessed

Mixology (ao3) - dafeedil luke/ashton, michael/calum E, 23k

Summary: In which Michael is reeling from a recent breakup, Calum has just flunked a semester of university, Luke has never taken a risk in his life, and Ashton has taken too many.

One night, four boys, one Los Angeles bar. A recipe for...well, quite possibly, not disaster.

(or, they all meet at a bar and fall hopelessly in love for the night. Only, it's actually a lot more than that.)

Playing With Chemistry (ao3) - fourdrunksluts michael/ashton, luke/calum E, 17k

Summary: It's the busiest week of the year at the escape room Ashton manages, and it's hard enough without Michael Clifford tempting him at every turn.

Scene 14 - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) luke/ashton E, 128k

Summary: It's one of the first lessons you learn. There’s a difference between performing and acting.

Actors are intellectuals; they’re poets with their expression and the way their voices hit the air. Performers, by comparison, are children, ignorant and too bright for their own good. No one wants to admit to being only a performer. If you’re anyone worth anything, you want to be an actor.

And Luke is not an actor, but Ashton is.

Or, the one where Luke hates Ashton but has to pretend to be in love with him for five months for his acting final except for the fact that maybe he isn't pretending anymore.

Survivor's Guilt - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) calum/ashton T, 9k

Summary: No one's left but the three of them. Just Ashton, Calum, and his tiny yappy dog.

Oh, and all the zombies, obviously.

takeoffs and landings (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/ashton T, 7k

Summary: It’s been Monday for an entire week. This might sound like an exaggeration. Like something Ashton would say to Calum after a long day at work. But it’s really just Ashton’s life right now.

***

a time loop soulmate au.

That's Money, Honey (ao3) - senioritastyles luke/calum, ashton/ofc E, 22k

Summary: "Excuse me?" Calum calls, gesturing for the bartender and waiting for him to come over before continuing. "Who is that, over there? The boy on stage."

Michael doesn't even have to look, already smiling and nodding as he tops off Calum's already half-gone whiskey. "That's Luke." Michael explains and Calum nods, sipping at his whiskey again as he watches Luke dance, body swaying fluidly in front of several men dressed pretty similarly to how Calum is. "He tends to attract the uh, black card crowd." Michael says, handing Calum back his own black card.

Or: Calum makes Luke his sugar baby.

there’s no need to run and hide (when the world leaves a scar) (ao3) -haveufoundwhaturlookingfor luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 10k

Summary: Luke is a new intern, and he gets along with pretty much everyone he works with. Well, everyone except for Ashton Irwin. Ashton is cold, and doesn’t give him the time of day. Certain events keep on bringing the two together whether they like it or not, and eventually, Luke finds out why Ashton is so cold.

two can play that game (but you win me every time) (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/calum T, 10k

Summary: When Calum tells people he works at IKEA, people tend to respond enthusiastically. Some of them joke, did you have to learn Swedish?, or make a crack about the meatballs. Some of them ask how many marriages he’s seen end amongst the aisles. Basically, everyone turns into a comedian the moment Calum mentions his job.

walmart sonata (ao3) - kaleidoscopeminds Luke/Calum M, 33k

Summary: Luke shakes his head. He doesn’t really understand Calum. What is this beautiful man doing being sweet and kind to him in the Walmart he works at several times a week? Luke’s life doesn’t include things like this. He just smiles at Calum slightly disbelievingly, it's not like Calum will ever really see him perform. He’s just a hot stranger from his grocery store.

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #5sos fanfic #masterlists #au #au masterlist

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motownfiction · 2 years

Text

county fair

Sadie has a list of happy memories on rotation for when she’s feeling upset. Today, it’s one of her favorites: going to the local street fair with Lucy in 1982.

It’s not a county fair – too many burgeoning artists and not a carnival ride in sight – but it’s about as close as two girls with city-slicking dreams will ever get to one. This year, Sadie suggests they try to be as cliché as possible. She says they’re going to do it ironically, poetically, something they can write about when they’re older. Lucy agrees. Many years later, they’ll both confess they were being sincere.

And apart from their eclectic purchases (a handbag made out of Coca-Cola bottle caps for Lucy; a lightswitch cover with lemons and limes painted on it for Sadie), they live up every cliché in the book. Sadie eats two corn dogs – one for each hand. Lucy eats French fries out of a paper cup – says she’s always been curious if they taste different that way. They try on scarves and full-length gloves like it’s not almost 100 degrees outside; spin around like they’re in the kind of movie montage that doesn’t quite exist. In the high afternoon, when a nearby radio blasts “Abracadabra,” Sadie grabs Lucy by the shoulders and sings, “I wanna reach out and grab ya!” along with Steve Miller Band. Later that night, as the sun goes down and the oldies cover band plays a clumsy rendition of “Dearest,” they sway side by side, pretending they’re listening to the real Buddy Holly. Their seven-inch height difference comes into focus, but they don’t care. It’s a perfect suburban summer night, the kind of night that girls like Sadie and Lucy are supposed to be afraid of.

As they venture down the block, back toward their houses, Sadie asks Lucy to re-swear that they’ll always be best friends. Lucy laughs and says that once you swear something, that’s it. No renegotiations needed. Sadie looks at her solemnly and asks her to swear again, anyway. So, Lucy holds out her hand and promises. This time, she adds a few extra curse words to really seal it. Sadie laughs as she walks up the porch and into her house.

1982 was the last time they went to the street fair like that – just happy-go-lucky best friends, just the two of them. By the next summer, Lucy was pregnant; by the one after that, she was strolling a one-year-old Elenore up and down Park Avenue. They kept going to the fair, but every year, Sadie makes Lucy re-swear they’ll always be best friends. Every year, Lucy obliges.

That was twenty-two years ago. Since that last carefree street fair, the girls have grown. They’ve been to each other’s weddings, held each other’s children, moved out of their childhood homes, grieved Sam. It’s been a long time since two girls with city-slicking dreams went to the local street fair. Today, that changes. Lucy’s home for a visit, and they figure they might as well.

As they meander from booth to booth, vendor to vendor, Lucy asks Sadie if she’s going to make her re-swear that they’ll always be best friends. This time, Sadie shakes her head. Walking up and down the street fair, still side by side after all this time, is swearing enough.

(part of @nosebleedclub july challenge -- day xvii!)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: sadie doyle #ch: lucy callaghan #dynamic: sister christian #year: 1982 #year: 2004

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colleenmurphy · 1 year

Text

"Colleen..."

"You don't ever get to call me that ever again."

An audible sigh as Dave Sullivan shifts from foot to foot nervously. He had broken her heart in front of virtually everyone they knew plus some summer people so he deserved everything she could throw at him and more, he rationalized with himself.

"Mary..Miss Murphy.."

"Mary'll do. Spill it because I've got shit to do today, Mr. Sullivan."

He noticed that the woman he remembered was gone. Her soft curves had melted away and in its place there before him stood a woman that was akin to every legend of a battle ready warrior he'd ever heard. Her body had toned and firmed and she was much more tan that he'd seen her in either of their lives. Her eyes even seemed to change from their luminous green to a light blue green that reminded him of tropical waters. Her long dark hair had lightened a little in the sun revealing its hidden red undertones to the naked eye. Even in the beat up t-shirt advertising Guinness beer to the cut offs and flip flops she wore he knew that he had to choose his words wisely. His jaw still ached from the last time he'd opened his mouth.

"Florida was good to you wasn't it?"

The rhythmic polishing she was doing to the bar top stopped and then started again, this time harder as if she was about to wear a hole into the top. Her jaw was set in a way he'd never seen. She brought her eyes up to his and pinned him to the spot.

"Out with it!"

Her words rang clear as a church bell in the empty tavern.

"I just wanted you to have the original paperwork for the bar. Lawyers got all the signatures he needs to make this official. I..I can't tell you how sorry I am. About everything."

She had gone back to putting clean glasses up on the over hang and she nodded.

"Y'know I'm sorry too..."

For a second Dave's heart leapt into his throat.

Would she take me back?

He wondered to himself as he watched her work. This time emptying ashtrays. The last of the ashes swept off the bar top she took out her own cigarette case from her shorts pocket. He noticed that she had painted her nails a very vibrant shade of red. Flicking the gold tone zippo with her initials engraved in script on it she took a deep inhale.

"I thought that we were going to grow old and grey together. Raise a family, run this place die here."

He now knew she wasn't smoking just any normal cigarette. The heady smoke enveloped him as her arms once did once upon a time. He felt himself being pulled closer.

What the hell..

Grabbing a bottle from the second shelf up he watched her pour herself two fingers of Bacardi 151. He had only seen her drink when her father had passed. She took another deep drag from her cigarette and a generous sip of her drink before she sat down on of the Naugahyde barstools.

"Now..I'm just sorry I ever met you."

If you must go I wish you luck You'll never walk alone Take care, my love Miss you, love

The sound system came blaring on overhead nearly making him jump out of his skin. She snorted as she finished her drink and held out her cigarette after taking one last puff.

"Jesus. Didn't think it was that loud last night. Think you may need this more than me. See you when I see you."

He watched as Mary got up and walked quietly into the back kitchen area. He was left with nothing to do but to stand there. His chest seized for a moment and he could have sworn he'd heard something shatter.

It was with that David Sullivan realized that he had lost the best woman to ever walk into his life. As she disappeared into the back he saw all the could haves that would have made their life here in the town they're grown up in. He now knew that he had lost his only chance at true contentment and happiness. He made the trek back out to his pick up, loaded down with everything he owned and set out southward. Flicking through the radio stations as he pulled away he thought he saw her one last time.

She wore faded jeans and soft black leather She had eyes so blue they looked like weather When she needed me I wasn't around That's the way it goes, it'll all work out

He was not the praying kind, he conversed with God regularly as he put it but he wasn't one for strict prayer. He pulled to the side of the highway in Annisquam.

"Please let C..Mary find true happiness. Let it all work out for her."

#drabbles #Dave Sullivan x Mary Colleen Murphy

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ajcrwl · 1 year

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tw death, illness

it seems like my mum will die this week.

me and the dog are going to be alone.

she's been showing symptoms of decline for a few months now, but last month everything started snowballing so fast, it became clear that there's nothing anyone can do anymore. literally a couple of weeks ago she was still talking and even tried to eat a little, and today she can't even drink through a straw anymore.

it's so fucked up that she's the first person i've ever met in this life, and she's the first person i will lay to rest soon.

her apartment has only one room, the whole year i had to sleep in the same room with her, and still have to sleep there even while she's dying. i'm spending most of the day in the kitchen, because i just can't bear to be with her all the time and see her like this, and i've still been crying non-stop for a few days.

she used to be super restless and wouldn't let me sleep, i slept at best 5 and a half hours at night. but now she mostly just grunts and moans, and i don't wake up that often, so i started sleeping better and seeing dreams. and oh boy my sleepy brain still hasn't caught up with reality - the dream that i had today was so lovely and full of hope and good feelings, and then i woke up, looked over to where she is, and she's all bruised, thin, smelling badly, and making random noises, and i started crying again.

i had this weirdly comforting thought, that technically i've been alone since the end of january '22, and i've been living with this strange memory of mum this whole time. she hasn't been here as a person since she fell ill. her personality has changed so badly, it was crazy. there was only one moment in the summer when i felt like she was back, and it lasted for exactly a day. and then another time recently after she had a seizure and came to, and was so lucid and kind to me and the dog, and then it faded the next day as well. and that's it.

had i known that she would struggle this much, i'd never push her through the operation, and radio-, and chemotherapy. but i couldn't have known. and ultimately, brain cancer won anyway.

they told me the statistics was 11 months. it's been a little over 13 months since first symptoms, 12,5 since we saw the tumour on a scan, and will be a year since the op on March 11th, but i don't think she will make it.

#mine #i'll update my side diary as soon as i can #there's so much i didn't post and stuff that i left sitting in drafts

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davisbette · 2 years

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♥️🌌 15, 17, 19, 85 🌠♥️

🚂🚃 asks

15. Is there a song, book, movie, or other piece of media that has drastically altered your life? What was it, are there multiple?

There are multiple, yes. *cracks knuckles*

Novels:

1. The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton.

I will never be able to explain what this book means to me. It's a fabulous, ineffable feeling that no other piece of media has ever made me feel. I'm so different from Lily Bart, and yet i find her so relatable, so easy to understand. Her incapacity to reconcile two conflicting ideas, her lack of drive, her lack of self-worth beyond being a beautiful vessel; how her mother's influence has shaped her ideals, how Selden challenges them and why that appeals her so much. The world Lily's mother built for her is crumbling, and she's helpless. She's her own worst enemy.

I had to microdose this novel because it made my heart physically ache. I knew from the start she was doomed, and at the end i cried for her, and i cried for myself fearing i will suffer the same fate.

2. Notre Dame de Paris.

A shallow reading of this novel won't make it justice. The Disney movie is like: the monster is actually human / the human is actually a monster yadda yadda yadda, boring (still a good movie tho). The book doesn’t have such a stale dichotomy. Claude Frollo is terrifyingly human and terrifyingly well portrayed. I remember getting goose bumps when i read the boat scene in which Frollo —like Charon ferrying the souls of the dead across the waters of Hades— ferries Esmeralda to the other side of the shore, where he (also as the role of judge) will decide her final sentence.

3. Of Human Bondage.

The movie does not do justice to the book. Yes, Bette's performance ✨️talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before✨️, etc. But the book is better. In the novel Philip himself is incapable of understanding why he's so frightfully in love with Mildred, he's in a constant struggle to get over it. He hates Mildred, he desperately loves her, he hates himself for loving her. *Insert ouroboros encircling Cupid: love is self devouring here*. And Mildred...well, I can't figure her out, she confuses me. In the movie (as with Frollo) she is just plain bad. But in the book she's a constant ????? she's petty, she's mean and manipulative, but she is also capable of being incredibly naive, of giving in to passionate impulses and of feeling compassion. I think Mildred is far more stupid than evil, which once again makes her more human.

Poetry:

Devotions.

Mary oliver was right: You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

Completely changed my view of the world and shaped me into the person that i am today.

Shows:

The x Files.

I have nothing to say that hasn't already been said by the x files meta writers on this app.

Movies:

The Sound of Music.

It somehow feels like a movie adaptation of Mary Oliver's poetry. 174 minutes of pure joy.

17. What's the most interesting coincidence you've had happen to you (or someone you know)?

Sorry to disappoint you querida but i have no idea.

Many interesting coincidences have happened to me! almost all of them related to coincidentally meeting a key person in my life.

19. In general, is there any historical event you desperately want to witness?

85. What memories would describe as your "core" ones?

My mom clumsily playing videogames just for the sake of spending time with me. My dad sleepily reading Donald Duck comics to me at night and me asking him to not fell asleep and to go on, go on! bc i was a such a restless, full of life child and couldn't understand how the people around me was so drained. My childhood summers. ABBA on the car radio while travelling. The first time my cat looked at me with his big baby blue eyes. Meeting you. My last year of highschool which was the only one good.

100 questions to talk about on the late night train at 11:04 pm

#toñi no te perdono que me hayas hecho hablar tanto en inglés #shame on you #toñi #ask game

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guerrilla-operator · 2 years

Text

I had to fire off a “do you need me to back off?” text today to the woman I love because I have been largely been ignored for the last month and consistently within the last two weeks. It wouldn’t bother me so much except I have been working on getting this off the ground for almost two years to basically no avail. I have CLEARLY not been a factor in the decisions she makes ever since she decided to stay in Nashville for work, and I’ve especially been feeling that since she decided to move to Seattle because she needed a break from travelling. My emotions got the best of me about a month and a half ago when we were talking and I said something petty and stupid and it’s been downhill ever since. I even wrote up a whole list of things I was willing to do to change! I even revisited a past traumatic experience and explained why I get the way I do in relationships when I feel like I’m being ignored! I was willing to work on myself and put things in the rearview entirely by addressing them and fessing up to my own issues in life. We still have barely even addressed it.

We have only truly spoken once since then, and while other things have happened to her that have caused issues in her own life I thought we could’ve at least worked on it once I got back from my vacation. She even called me once while I was up there, but all I seemingly have now is a voicemail where she sounded like she was in distress and said we would talk another day. I told her I would call back when I got home because my service is truly shit up there and all I can do is text. Since that brief exchange it’s been radio silence. I called last night instead of texting because I figured I needed to take the initiative instead of asking when she is free, but I had to leave a voicemail. I truly know I am being ignored now.

I do not understand why I am constantly taken for a ride like this by people who claim to love me and claim to care. I understand people are busy in life, but it should not take this much effort to get someone to talk to you and tell you what is wrong. It should not make someone who you claim to love feel like they’re pathetic and a burden. It should not make me feel guilty for trying to reach out. It should not make me feel like a fucking fool to see if she was still planning on coming back to the northeast for an end of the summer trip we’ve discussed. Now that it seems like she’s unwilling to even give me the satisfaction of an answer, I’ve had to hide all alerts from her because I might as well play the same game.

If this needed to end, the least one can do is say it. The longer I am being held out to dry, the more and more I’m getting angry at not only her, but everyone else around me. My best friend reached out to me a few days because I know that she can see me withdrawing purely because I’m fixating on it. I got into an argument with another friend over the contents of a fucking tweet he sent me. I’m straight up alienating and losing all those around me because I keep telling myself that fixing this debacle is my priority and it’s slowly and surely killing me now.

I have been toying with getting offline entirely several times within the last year, but once I turn 30 in a few weeks I think I’m finally going to be gone. I’ve even started putting my phone on DND because I can’t keep checking my phone to see if I’m still being ignored. It’ll be better if I’m gone entirely I think just so I don’t have to keep firing off online when I’m angry and upset about this whole thing. It’s clearly not doing me any good. I can’t repeat the same mistakes I did in my 20s. I can’t live another decade where I constantly feel like I am nothing to anyone. I cannot live another decade feeling nothing but animosity towards those who have succeeded in life while I’m in limbo, waiting for someone who clearly does not care about me. I will make sure I will never fall in love with anyone again just to prevent myself from being hurt for the millionth fucking time.

I can’t take it anymore.

#shit i say #personal #read more because it's a lot and nobody should deal with this unless they want to

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yuseonghqs · 26 days

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🌊 GREETINGS FROM YUSEONG BAY !

JUST LANDED: VUONG, NHU HA. / / FROM: UNITED STATES. / / AGE: 28.

–––– ( FOLLOW ? ) / / ( READ MORE ? ) / / ( MAILBOX ? )

THE MOST IMPORTANT RECOLLECTIONS written by: [redacted]

VUONG NHU HA as… maggie

DAD as… himself, left behind

MOM as… a passing voice

YOON “ERIC” SEUNGMIN as…. summer ‘19

05. she prefers impermanence. it’s comforting to know that everything will pass and a new season is around the corner. maybe it’s why moving to yuseong on a pseudo-break doesn’t feel as daunting. it’s hard to tell if you’re running away when you always seem chasing.

mom calls on a sunday to check-in. maggie keeps the conversation short and promises to call again when she’s better settled. when the last box is unpacked, she plants her hands on the kitchen countertop and looks out the window.

summer beckons, and she anchors her gaze to the last light of dusk.

04. in their last few weeks together, eric tells her about home. she stands there in his arms and lets him sway her to the mix of shoegaze songs that pull from the radio. something about heading back for a bit and tending to those firmly planted roots. maggie buries her senses against the musk of his worn shirt and the steady pulse of his patient heart below. outside, the leaves are changing color.

03. it’s the second time she meets him when she gets a name. not that it matters. in a few years it’ll blur with everything else.

“i just always want change.” smoke webs between each word as she looks at him. they’re stripped down to their underwear and her hair is slick from the pool water. there’s a ring on her skull where the sun beats down and she hangs her head to the side to no avail. “i don’t think my mom gets it sometimes."

there isn’t a prelude to this or an epilogue. it's a mere statement of fact and an acknowledgement. eric hums to her words, pulls the cigarette from her fingers and turns his face to the sun.

02. her teenage life is one summer to the next. every memorable moment is accompanied by sweltering heat and endless days bleeding into endless weeks. she likes looking for excuses to chase after it. with some money in her pocket and a vacation in mind, she makes her home scattered.

dad drives out during a summer night in those two good hours when the sky is pitch black and the streets look absent of life. she hasn’t spoken to him in a couple days and the last thing she had to say was nasty. dad doesn’t have work today, she knows that much for sure, so when the unease settles in, her natural instinct is to shift toward the phone.

it starts ringing before she gets to it.

01. at nine, the world is her oyster. every summer afternoon is a date with the warm sun in her dad’s backyard and the tennis rackets they’ve stored in the shed. at nine, she slips on the stairs of their porch and falls several feet to the ground. the bones in her ankle don’t stand a chance. above, the sun rolls on and leaves her behind. maggie lays there, waiting, her cheek kissing concrete. she hates this kind of living.

#yshqs:arrival #ngoc minh duong

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wildmtthyme · 2 months

Text

Chapter 5: Check Mate, Mate.

Warnings: Jealousy if you squint? Simon being kind of a jerk and Morgan being kind of a punk.

Chapter Note: Originally, this was going to be 'Indian Summer' but that chapter's leadup was getting way too long so it just ended up its own chapter all together.

Chapter Characters: Morgan "Indiana" Turner, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Bravo 6" Price, Mentions of Stacy.

Story Synopsis: Ghost and Indiana have been best mates for years, partners on and off the field. And she's loved him for just as long. But she's never let on that she's felt anything more than friendly towards him. That all starts to change when Simon starts seeing someone for longer than a single night. Indie decides she's going to try and get over this annoying crush once and for all. Simon realizes that maybe he's been feeling more for his partner than he thought. Maybe a lot more. Partners to lovers with a sprinkling of smut, some fun and humor, a team that won't leave them alone, and a car that seems to weave it all together.

<- Chapter 4 - Chapter 6 ->

Series Masterlist

Simon’s brow furrowed as he glanced over at the Judge again, parked in Price’s usual spot, the car looked entirely out of place. He had… so many questions. And absolutely none of them doused the odd discomfort he felt over seeing his Captain pull up in that car. He respected Price, had known him for a long damn time but in that moment, he’d felt the urge to charge over and jerk him out from behind the wheel and throw him down onto the pavement. He checked his phone again. Nothing. He’d texted Indie as soon as he could see straight. -WTF is Price driving the Judge?- It’d been radio silence from her. He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand down his face, the fabric of his ‘on base’ mask shifting but not revealing anything. An hour later, he heard the unmistakable rumble of her Indian in the parking lot. He forced himself not to go out there and meet her, confront her for not answering him.

Morgan sighed behind her desk, tapping out the last few words on the report she was finishing up. It was nearly lunch time and she was starving but she was also avoiding going to the mess. Because she knew Simon was waiting somewhere for her. Probably ready to jump her as soon as she left the office she shared with Soap and Gaz, both of which were currently on a mission. She had just saved the file when she about came up out of her chair, her door bursting open… she looked and immediately glared at Simon- who was balancing two trays and making his way gingerly into the room before kicking her door shut again. He wasn’t doing it to be loud or anything, just the result of not having hands to wrestle the thing with. “Well, hello to you too.” She muttered before she readjusted her chair.

Simon clinched his jaw, reminding himself that he’d agreed (with himself) that he wasn’t going to come in here all pissed off. That bringing her lunch was just a way to keep her contained and that she wasn’t the enemy. She was his best mate. He could just bloody talk to her. He set her tray down and ignored her side-eye as he settled into the chair in front of her desk, balancing his tray on his lap. “Figured this was the only way I was going to see you today.” His eyes flicked up to gauge her reaction to his statement. The sigh and the way she frowned slightly gave him a lot of information.

Morgan shook her head slightly and leaned back in her chair, grateful for the food but not looking forward to the discomfort the conversation was going to bring. “Been busy.” She inched her tray around just a little and ignored his huff of breath. She heard him peeling back the seal on his salad dressing, watched as he doctored up his lunch… and ignored the way he pulled his mask up to perch on his nose. She got busy doing the same when he didn’t say anything else.

Simon ate in companionable silence for quite a while… until half his lunch was gone. He was busy stabbing repeated layers of lettuce onto his fork, licking the oily feeling of the dressing off his molars when he decided to finally speak, knowing now that hunger wasn’t the cause of his anger, still – he’d keep it under control. “You and Price seem to be getting pretty close.”

Morgan scoffed through her nose and finished her bite of food. “Guess so.” You let him drive the Judge. She nodded, stabbing more aggressively than she had to in order to get the greenery onto her fork. You two fucking? She straight up choked on a bite, having to beat a fist against her chest. Her eyes wide as she looked at Simon with disbelief. He was just staring at her in that nonchalant, cool, don’t give a fuck kind of way of his. “What?!”

Simon lifted a single broad shoulder, his mouth twisting into a sort of shrug. “Just askin’.” Jesus, Simon, no! He took another bite of food even though it all tasted like ash now. “Would you tell me if you were.” He flicked his eyes back up to her, looking up at her from under his heavy brows.

Morgan was looking at him like he had grown a third fucking arm. “The fuck.” She couldn’t help but breathe out before she blinked rapidly at him. “It’s not any of your fucking business who I’m fucking, Simon.” She saw the way he slowly rested his fork down, his spine slowly straightening as he took on that air of Ghost for that brief moment. “But what the fuck? Price? You think I’d fuck my Captain, are you out of your fucking mind?”

Simon shrugged, keeping that ice cold exterior intact. “Not sure what to think. You’ve been blowing me off left right and fuckin’ center for weeks. Spendin’ all this time with him and now he’s driving your precious fuckin’ car.” He knew he was being way out of line with this but there was just… something about the amount of time her and Price were spending together that just… rubbed him the wrong fucking way.

Morgan set her fork down entirely and eased her tray away from her, a clear indication that she was done eating, not that she expected him to take her tray or anything, she’d do that in a bit. “Last I checked… I’m not your fuckin’ girlfriend.” .Check. She paused for effect. “Last I checked…” She perked a brow at him. “You already have one of those.” She stood up and picked her tray up, holding it in one hand easily. “So, how about you worry about her business instead of mine.” .Mate. She walked out of her office easily, she didn’t storm out or stomp, none of that. She just went to the mess and returned her tray before heading over to the gym to get some PT in before returning to her office, hopefully to find it empty.

Simon clinched his jaw tight as Morgan said her piece and left him sitting there in the wake of those pointed words. Check mate, indeed. And her point was made. True… he’d not really talked to Stacy a lot lately, in truth… he’d been too caught up in what the hell was going on with Price and Indie. But maybe that should change. Maybe he would call her and spend the weekend together. He got up and took a different route to the mess to return his tray, feeling a strange emotion somewhere between anger and discontentment fuel him as he texted his girlfriend.

Price held the punching bag and grunted as Indie landed on hell of a punch. “Hell, what’s got you so pissed off, love?” She shot him a heavy look, one thick with warning and he shifted his weight to be more behind the sandbag rather than beside it. Not because he was scared or anything… but… still, she had one mean left hook. He’d found her here when he went to her office, looking for one of the reports she was supposed to have done for him earlier but… there was no sign of her. He checked the parking lot and her bike was still here so he went to the next logical place and found her here wailing on this poor punching bag like it had disrespected her Momma. He spotted her and kept quiet until that devastating punch. “C’mon, Indie. Talk to me.” He grunted again when he had to brace his weight against another heavy hit, a kick this time. Nothing. “Liar.” He said pointedly. Another hit. Just… Simon. She panted between the words and he sighed because of them but braced again.

Morgan had worked up a good sweat and wasn’t even feeling the burn in her muscles at this point. What the hell had gotten into Simon today?! Price and her?! HA! It wasn’t always about sex! He, of all the god damned people on the planet, should fucking know that. Like she wasn’t allowed to have another guy friend. -hit- Like she wasn’t allowed to spend time with someone else. -hit- While he was off fucking some woman every whenever, however often he did it! -hit- And did she pitch a royal fit? No! -hit- She didn’t! -hit- She blinked when Price staggered back, realizing that he wasn’t quite ready for that hard of a kick. “Shit. Sorry.” He shook his head, waving the apology off. C’mon. It’s after six already. Let’s head out, let me make you some food and you can tell me about what has you all… he gestured between her and the bag. Homicidal. She smirked and gave a slight nod before she headed to the locker room.

Two hours later, John found himself sitting on her couch, his legs laced with hers as she sat against the opposite armrest. “You and me? Fucking?!” His brows were so high up that they nearly touched his hair, his blues sparkling from the wine he’d been drinking and the amusement both over the very idea of such a thing. She threw another piece of popcorn at him, which he batted away and which Sam ate readily. She gestured to him though and nodded, her expression similar. I know! What about any of this gives that impression?! He couldn’t help the laugh that barked out of him as the idea presented itself again. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was acting jealous.” She got quiet after that and he sighed, his hand settling on her shin. “Simon’s never been one for change, Indie. You know that.” She nodded.

Morgan picked through the dwindling bowl of popcorn that was perched on their knees. “I know. I just…” She shook her head at the whole thing. “I mean, I don’t get it. Even if we were, which… ew, just to be clear…” He nodded in agreement to her sentiment. “But even if we were… why would it even matter to him? I mean, really.” She felt his hand tighten on her leg. It would still matter, at least some. You are his best mate, love. She nodded and let out a heavy breath. That’s probably all it was. She watched as John took another sip of his wine… something she still found kind of funny. While she? She took another sip of her beer. What time do you leave tomorrow? She sagged down into the cushion. “Probably going to head out about three or so.” He nodded.

John tilted his head as he studied her. Indie was about to head off on her annual summer leave, a biking trip she took every single summer. Only this time… she wasn’t going with Simon. They’d already talked about it at great length, the guilt she felt over it and the fact that she felt like she needed the space – needed the clarity. He just said she should do whatever she felt was right for her. And that Simon was a big boy, he’d be alright. In turn, he’d agreed to watch Sam for her. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken care of the K9 and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. It was, however, the first time he had house set before. Granted, it wasn’t to be on a daily basis but he was going to come out here every few days so Sam could get a good stretch in and he could check up on the place. “Speaking of Simon… have you even told him that you’re leaving yet?” She sighed and he gave her a chastising look. “You need to at least tell him, it’s four weeks, love.”

Morgan groaned as she let her head fall back. “I know.” But she knew Simon was going to freak out about it and she couldn’t explain to him why she needed to go alone this year without giving herself away or further hurting his feelings by saying she needed to go specifically without him. “I figured I’d call him tomorrow night. Or… text him or something.” The look John gave her made her throw her hands up. “I can’t tell him that I need to take a break from him without hurting him and I can’t tell him why so it doesn’t hurt him without giving it all away!” She threw her arm over her eyes and groaned again before she felt the soft pat of a piece of popcorn landing on her face, glancing off and landing on the floor before being devoured by Sam. She looked at John sharply only to have to bite another piece out of the air. It’ll work out, love, don’t worry. Take the time to clear your head. She nodded and tossed him another piece, which he actually caught this time and the bright look of victory on his face was actually kind of adorable. John slept in the spare bedroom that night, having had way too much wine to drive back to his flat. He fell asleep with a small smile on his face over the memories of the evening… after the heavy conversation, their talk turned to lighter… far more entertaining topics. They told funny stories and just generally had a good time… which was something that was so damned easy to do with her. And he’d never seen himself as one to sit there throwing popcorn into someone else’s mouth like that – especially someone whom he wasn’t even seeing. Simon was so off with his question… John just didn’t see Indie that way. It was as simple as that. He didn’t see her like a sister or… a daughter or anything, she was a friend but… was quickly growing into one of the closest ones he’d had in… many years. Lenore would be happy that he had found someone to spend some time with, so he wasn’t buried in his work or sacked out on his sad sofa. He was certain she would… and she would have loved Indie, truly. She really would have.

#judgement story #call of duty #cod writing #simon ghost riley #captain john price #morgan indiana turner oc #my writing

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