Killian Hayes

I'm an open book, honest.

[killianhayes-blog]

Memories

Sneakers hit the ground in practiced rhythm. The streets were empty. The sky was dark, damp, and cold. Sneakers hit the ground in practiced rhythm. Killian paid little heed to his surroundings as he jogged through the dewy spring morning, dressed in sweats, hood pulled over his head, covering the wireless earbuds in his ears.

As Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers played, Killian’s mind drifted to another time.

*****

Killian looked at his hands. They weren’t yet calloused from his years of training. They were fresh, he was eight. Outside of the basics, his grandpa hadn’t shown him much yet. His knuckles were bloody, his right hand was swelled a bit. He had a black eye, a bruised cheek, and a busted lip.

Jim Hayes, Killian’s grandfather, sat a bucket of ice in front of him.

“Here, put yer hands on that. It’ll bring the swelling down, yeah.”

Killian obeyed, pulling his hands back automatically as they felt the cold sting of the ice. Slowly, he managed to set his knuckles on the eyes. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

“So... gonna tell me what got ye so ruffled, ye needed to box them boys up with yer little wee hands?” His grandfather spoke slowly, carefully. Killian could smell the whiskey on his breath. He’d been out at the local pub. His own fists were red, but they were too tough to get split or hurt. Unlike Killian, though, his face was unblemished.

Killian hurumphed. “I dunno, ye gonna tell me why yer fightin?”

Jim Hayes smiled at his grandson’s fire.

“I will if you will.” He sat next to Killian, hands in his lap, hunched forward.

“They called you a has-been...” Killian said, feeling a little embarrassed, he looked down at his hands.

“Yeah, they said you wasn’t worth nothin’ n’more. I told em you was still better’n anyone they knew. They laughed... so I whipped em bad.”

Jim looked down at his own hands, his smile faded.

“So, who’d you touch up, granpa?”

Jim sighed. “Just some punk.”

“Why?” Killian looked at him, intently.

A sad smile tugged at Jim’s lip.

“He called me a has-been...”

*****

Killian stopped. Jim Hayes threw the bottle away that day, spent the rest of his days teaching Killian to box... and through boxing, how to be a man. Sometimes, Killian would hear his voice in his ears. Sometimes, he’d swear his bells of laughter were just around the corner. When the world was still, and the only sound was quiet, he even swore that he could smell that musty leather jacket he used to wear... the same one he’d been buried in.

“Don’t put a suit on me when I die, yeah? I don’t wanna go out like a puffed-up dandy. Just throw me in the ground in what I’m wearing and pour a last drop of whiskey on me lips... for the road.”

Killian pulled a note out of his pocket. Supposedly written by his mom. The only thing he ever got from her after she left him to be raised by an old drunk bare knuckle legend. It was the letter that helped him find his half brother, Trevor... but his mom was long dead, now. She was the one subject his grandpa refused to talk about. He’d never know why she’d left him with a old, drunk, bare knuckle legend.

[killianhayes-blog]

Ghosts - Killian and Sarah

[killianhayes-blog]

sarah-tamm :

“Good point… it’s true, though!  Pastor’s kid, here - The Reverend was prolific in the child-department.  I shared my space with so many fucking kids; fortunately I’m nocturnal and we lived in a parsonage next to the church… it’s the Mount Zion Missouri Synod church down the… down the road, once you get to the pavement ‘T’.  Yuh turn left, it’s around there.  Just outside, but within visual range of ((The Town)) ((how ‘bout “Winthrop”))… on that road.”  Sarah pointed towards the paved one she’d be heading towards once she felt inclined to leave.  “I’d like to say ‘everyone’s welcome’, but that’s a thinly veiled facade - and I coulda told you that when I was seven.”

“Know when I was welcome though?  After hours.  Especially if I cleaned.  I could climb out of the parsonage like a pro - never got caught.”  It was even harder than she made it sound, considering all the female children shared the attic, and not all of them could be trusted to keep secrets out of fear of having to take the same amount of blame and punishment as the actual perpetrator.

“HAH!  Oh st-hop!”  With a dismissive wave of the hand, she rolled her eyes and chuckled, albeit in a flirtatious enough way for him to likely pick up on.  “If you only knew.  If only…”

“If only I knew, eh?” His smile never wavering, Killian looked away from her for a moment, thinking.

“So, tell me.” He said plainly.

Killian bounced to his feet in a single, smooth, motion. “Let’s go grab a burger and drink at the pub, and you can tell you why you’re not an angel, and in return, I can tell you whatever it is you’d like to know about me. I’m buying, yeah?”

He stretched his left arm out to help her up. His hands were large for his size, the palms smooth and soft. His knuckles bulged, pressing out against calloused skin. The outside of his hands looked rougher than a worn out truck tire.

“I promise to be completely honest, if you do, yeah?”

[killianhayes-blog]

Ghosts - Killian and Sarah

[killianhayes-blog]

sarah-tamm :

“Now, don’t get me wrong here; to be sure, man, them reoccurring dreams make for a weird-ass experience…”  Straightening up from her somewhat slumped, crosslegged position, Sarah continued combing the patch of weed her fingers were tangled in - the creeping charlie that naturally overtook any unkempt turf in whole the area; it’s purple flowers shying away in the night, but the saturated deep green ((looks brighter in that picture, but wtf ever)) of it’s strangely shaped, very pretty leaves still did justice to her favorite grave.

Still shifting as she finally looked up, Sarah animated her face a little further and quit bringing her focus down at the plant quite as much so she could take more glances straight at the guy’s inquisitively friendly, blue eyes - overly friendly, if anything… eyes that were curiously intrigued, in fact, seemingly over something having to do with with Sarah herself.  She could hopefully read him more accurately if she paid less attention to her own fidgiting.  Almost unbeknownst her, this was also in an effort to cheer him up a little - despite Sarah’s little joke apparently landing, she could still feel a heavy sadness that undercut the guy’s now more outwardly cheerful demeanor.  Yeah, she could’ve completely changed the subject, but she only pivoted slightly.

“… but fuck, yo… they don’t hold a candle to lucid dreaming.  Experiencing that once was enough to make me understand the crazy fucks who so adamantly insist that, like, aliens come abduct them at night all the time, with probes for, all them alien experiments and shit.  I get it.  And if that happened to me all the time?”  For emphasis, Sarah took a pause and ran her hand through her thick, amber hair.  “Fuck dude, I don’t even know what I’d do.  Sleep is just… ”  

After trailing off, Sarah pivoted her position 90°, which put her in front of the guy instead of beside him.  To her, the subject matter was interesting, so she spoke somewhat excitedly, with small flashes of her smile, but her voice also pivoted.  It now came out drained of it’s friendly excitement, sounding softer and more sad, but also loving. 

“Sleep is the best.  It’s like… nothing else matters when you’re there.  You’re in control of everything.  You’re motherfuckin’ God in your own imagination, you’re….” She trailed off again, unsure as to how she should finish, but also reminiscing in her favorite past time.  She’d usually had her her own bed that she didn’t have to give up or share; foster kids legally couldn’t boot anyone out of an already occupied bed, which was a law Sarah found herself quite grateful for in the past..

Sarah ((if I ever call her “Grace”, that’s because it was her original name)) chuckled and peered around. “Your aunt mighta been full of shit man.  I’m not seeing a whole ton of movement outta these wretched fucks.”  Hopefully they were at peace, resting in their eternal sleep, emulating Sarah’s existence (or rather, lack thereof) before she’d been born.  “Not sure if this is relevant…. but did you know I’m a pastor’s kid?”  Some folks made a big-ass deal about it, and the label likely came with all kinds of presumption, and she was curious about what it might mean to this kid.  She’d clued him in on her beliefs - those being that much of what The Reverend (Dad) spoke of involved eternal torture, and it never make much sense to her.

“Hey, Killer.”  Not that she was laughing hysterically, but Sarah clearly amused herself with the obvious word play she’d made on Klillian Hayes’ name; she reached up, accepting the greeting of his outstretched hand with her own left hand, which, relative to his, was lanky, bony, highly decorated, what with the polish and the rings and what-not, though the long sleeves of her sweater covered the abundance of decorative (but often also useful) hair binders riding up each wrist.  Hers was a brief touch of the hand, and she squeezed his for a moment, dipping it down and up once before pulling away; in the process, she also offered a wide, genuine, smile and a wink.

“I’m not familiar with the ‘emerald dress poem, man.”   Not that Sarah wasn’t well read, but poetry wasn’t her favorite, so she wasn’t familiar with almost any poem ((assuming he said that out loud - otherwise, just disregard this)).  Her handshake had been almost too quick to’ve been friendly, but she also nudged his shoulder and scooted closer.  “How’re you doing tonight?”

Killian listened, intently. He smiled and played with a vine. But, when she spun and got in his face, his hand stopped and he looked directly at her. He could move his eyes away from hers. It was almost like gravity, pulling him towards her. Their noses must’ve only be a hair’s width apart.

His smile faded, he blinked, and shook his head. “No, don’t think I knew that. How would I? We’ve only just met.” He gave her a wink, chuckling softly at a joke he was telling himself. Without thought, he leaned slightly against her when she scooted nearer to him. "Can’t imagine he’d’ve approved of you hanging out with strange boys at the cemetery at night, though.”

She fit the bill, though, so far as Killian thought. In his life, short as it might have been to this point, he’d noticed a bit of a rebel-streak amongst the children of clergy. It was inevitable... prisons create a desire for freedom within the prisoner. Naturally, they seek it where they can.

He shrugged a little bit when she mentioned the poem. “I wouldn’t expect you to’ve heard of it... It’s just a little something I wrote me-self, not world famous or nothin’ like that...” Killian looked away for a moment, staring at a spot of dirt between his legs, stopping shy of mentioning that he wrote it about her.

“Interestin’ question... How’m I doing? Well, I’d say, as weird as this night’s going, I’m either doing really, really well... or I’ve finally gone off the deep end and found me-self where everybody always said I’d go... crazy.” His face seemed to slowly remember how to smile. “I guess the best answer to that question is this....” He turned to look at her again. 

“I was lost in the dark, stumbling around, scared... then an Angel came from heaven and chased the darkness away.”

There was no helping it, though. As he looked at her, all he wanted to do was lean in and kiss her. The distance between them was already negligible at best... it would only take a small bit of effort. Without even realizing that he’d moved, he felt his lips brush against hers.

[killianhayes-blog]

Ghosts - Killian and Sarah

[killianhayes-blog]

sarah-tamm :

Something about his initial answer seemed dead serious - almost uncomfortably so.  ‘Someone’…. the ominous way he said that spoke volumes, though it didn’t wasn’t specific enough to help Sarah understand what the fuck he meant.  He headed towards where she prompted him to sit, stating while doing so that his ‘attempt to avoid someone’ was ‘failing miserably’ - as if it was Sarah herself whom he was avoiding.  Must’ve been a joke… not one she got, but instead of prodding him about what it was he meant, she chuckled out of courtesy, despite whatever the fuck that was going over her head.  Chuckling was also a good disarming mechanism that could often effectively stave off awkward vibes.

Though his inquiry towards Sarah might’ve been rhetorical, apparently alluding to some significant other, or significant part of his own life story, his pause allowed her time to answer.  

“Yeh- yeah…”  There was an airiness about her voice signifying that she was deep in thought, but Sarah managed to conceal the lingering, crippling guilt for having fucked it all up that came and went seemingly at random, and was very heavily weighing on her at the moment.  

With a slight furrow in her brow, Sarah’s gaze grazed the flat, marble grave sitting before them that marked it’s respective departed soul and the overgrown brush surrounding it causing her to reflect on own, very recent experiences… and her brow to furrow a little more intensely.

But she caught it; ‘I guess when they die’… when the guy said that, Sarah’s head swung towards him, fixing her eyes, now widened with surprise, on his face instead of downward.  Fortunately he continued speaking, because for a few moments, words eluded her entirely.  

By the time he asked a direct question, Sarah’s mouth was already slightly agape, as if she was trying to silently mouth an answer; it was a terrible question that again was likely rhetorical and suggested some specifics about whatever awful experience he’d just had involving the death of his lover.

“I - “ Sarah’s initial attempt at an answer produced half of a one letter word that cut itself off with a staccato.  “… yes.  I’ve been, um… I’ve been imagining that for, like… it’s just… it’s just, my brother was in a car crash a few years ago, and he pulled this lady out the other truck and she died in his arms.  We didn’t know her, or anything, but… it stuck with him, you know?  Really shook him up.  I have a very vivid imagination and, um… “  As she pictured what was describing, Sarah pulled in a very deep and slightly shaky breath.  “… sooo, I started having reoccurring dreams about it.”  

The point of the paint on her nails was to dissuade her from chewing or picking at them, and it worked, but the urge to do it still persisted, and she looked down again, this time at her hands as she ran the tips of her fingers over the neatly manicured nails on her other hand.  “It’s been… I mean, I haven’t had that dream for awhile now.”  Unfortunately, her nightmares as of late were now reflecting an experience of her own. 

“So, you think maybe a graveyard might not be the best place to run to when your tryna escape the memory of… “  Figuring they could finish both finish her morbid sentence without her having to vocalize it, Sarah cut herself off before saying ‘a dead girl’ and shot a quick look back up at the guy, smirking a bit playfully

Killian watched as she examined her neatly painted and cared-for nails. He looked back at his own nails. Long ago, in a different time, he would let a girl pain his nails. She loved to paint them, just like she loved it when he danced in a dress. “Reoccurring dreams? I know what that’s like. The emotions weigh you down so much, and all you want to do is sleep, but that’s the trap. That’s when the memory is most vivid.”

He sighed and turned to look at her again. In truth, despite the near-identical features she shared with his Nadya, she was older than Nadya would ever be, now. The slight aging of the face did little to tarnish her beauty, in fact, it seemed only to enhance it. That flirtation with the thought that this girl might be more beautiful than Nadya brought him a strange mixture of pain and relief that he couldn’t quite understand.

Despite the tension, and whatever internal suffering had brought both of them to such a morbid place, he laughed when she made her joke.

“Yeah, probably not too smart to run into a graveyard. The dead are always restless, after all, least that’s what me aunt used to say.”

Killian looked back down at his hands, no matter how many times he washed them, they always looked like they were covered in her blood when he saw them. Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh. When the breath escaped him, almost visible in the air, he felt his shoulders relax. When his eyes opened, his hands looked normal.

With a shake of his head, he spoke for a moment only to himself. “I close my eyes, I see your face, I feel your soft caress... How still the world became the night you wore an emerald dress...” A sad smile played at his lips before he finally turned to look at Sarah again.

“Life has a funny way of working out doesn’t it? Name’s Killian Hayes.” He offered her his left hand.

[killianhayes-blog]

Ghosts - Killian and Sarah

[killianhayes-blog]

killianhayes :

sarah-norcross :

Absorbed in her own thoughts, Sarah had been staring blankly forward at nothing in particular; the new company pulled her attention out from within herself, and Sarah’s slightly concerned, if not almost completely deadpan gaze was drawn upwards, right at the guy’s face, which she studied intently the whole time he studied hers - this attentiveness registered on her own expression, drawing out of it more obvious and readable concern.  The guy’s pause was maybe a little strange, but his fixation on her was what really struck Sarah’s interest; a whole array of emotions appeared to flash across his features while she watched. He seemed to be recalling something - something painful, from the looks of it.

“Doesn’t matter… what the fuck ever.”  

The time wasn’t important, and she hadn’t asked out of the need to know.  It clearly wasn’t 5a yet; dawn would be cracking it’s rainbow of lavender, light orange, sky blue and pale yellow over the mountainous horizon surrounding everything within sight if it were.  But it had to be late as fuck - not that it mattered, since she had nowhere to be, and neither did he, apparently.

Even after exchanging a sentence with her, he guy kept looking at Sarah with a peculiar intensity… while it wasn’t intimidating, per se, it wasn’t exactly disarming either, and Sarah’s brow furrow with curiosity.  “Naw man, I don’t mind… no way you know anyone here, right?”  Sarah motioned her hand across the graveyard; she didn’t know any of the people buried there, so she tried to sound a little tongue and cheek, framing her inquiry in this manner because it felt like a stupid question.  It was such an old graveyard, and, even though Sarah hadn’t seen it in almost five years, it’d likely been decades since a fresh body had been buried here… so why the fuck would some random dude from Ireland (’Irish’ being just a guess; fuck if Sarah actually knew) personally know any of the poor souls correlated with the each tombstone scattered about, like the one allowing him something to lean up against?  

She didn’t say anything, but Sarah was pretty sure that the tall, impressive looking Gothic-style tombstone was awkwardly shaped and old enough to crumble under his weight at any moment - though if that happened, it would make for a pretty cute and super funny, if a little morbid, icebreaker.  To prevent this from happening though, Sarah gestured for him to come sit by her with a little more urgency than the situation seemed to maybe call for, and patting her hand, adorned with freshly painted nails and almost too many (cheap, but pretty) rings to count, on the soft patch of soft, dark green creeping charlie and it’s gorgeous purple bloom coiling shyly in the night, immediately next to her. “Sit here… “  

“… so you didn’t actually tell me… what are you doing out here?  Avoiding something?  Some place?  Someone?”  Accompanied with a head cock that sent a ripple through Sarah’s long, shiny waterfall of bone straight, chestnut-colored hair ((it’s this length and color atm)), she flashed the guy a warm, and hopefully disarming smile.

For a second, Killian tried to look anywhere but directly at the girl in front of him. When she spoke for him to join her, he moved over to her and sat down almost automatically, without him ever reaching a conscious decision on the matter. “Someone…” The words were almost a whisper. His tone, questioning, as though he weren’t sure that was the appropriate answer.

“If I was avoiding someone… I sure failed miserably.” His usually quick speaking cadence was slow now, and there was something missing in his voice. Much like his movements to sit next to her, his words were automatic. There was no thought, no emotion, to them. Hell, Killian wasn’t sure what he even felt right now. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure what he should feel in this sort of strange, unimaginable, situation.

“You ever love someone… Not like a hot passionate summer that fizzles out, but, you know, love someone. Love them so much it hurts when you have to look away from their face. Love them so much that every second away from them feels like you’re drowning, and when you’re finally with them again, like you’ve finally been rescued and you can take in a huge gulp of air. Love them so much that you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’d jump in front of a bullet to save them… I did. Do? I guess when they die, that love just get’s bigger and harder to bear. Like, you’re drowning again, but you know that you’ll never get that breath again. Like you’re drowning and you know that it’s just a slow sink to the bottom and that’s all you have left in your life.

“Friends, family, they breath into your mouth, but it just stops you from dying… and secretly you hate them for it. You spend so long drowning… you forget what it feels like to breath.”

Killian’s heart was zooming in his chest. His face seemed a mask, void of emotions, save for the muscle’s in his jaw tightening and loosening as he clenched them on and off, trying to spend his nervous energy while also avoiding destruction to his teeth. He felt like a rabbit, with a fox watching him. She must be a ghost after all, and soon she would turn into those bloody images from his memory.

“Could you imagine what it would feel like to see them die? To dream about their bloody, dead, body every night? To never be able to forget it, because you keep getting your nightly reminder? And then…”

Killian turned and looked directly at her. His mouth, still agape, quivered.

After but a moment, he turned away

“So, guess I’m less running from a person… and more running from a memory…”

[killianhayes-blog]

The Fun Arrives

[killianhayes-blog]

gracieceleste :

She could have whacked the back of his head, but, luckily for Killian, her hands were busy bringing the beer up to her lips. Grace’s eyes were wide with shock as she took a few gulps of the piss-coloured liquid, feeling the fizz tickle the back of her throat as she swallowed. “Parklife!” Grace repeated, shaking her head in astonishment, “by Blur! Come on. And you call yourself a Brit.”

“You know. Nineties southern boys. Damon Albarn’s the frontman. Now in Gorillaz… What d’you kids listen to nowadays? That Katy Perry shit?”

Killian clicked his fingers together and pointed. “Gorillaz, yup, know them.” He took a huge gulp of beer. 

“I dunno, I listen to all kinds o’ music. I just don’t remember names of people in bands and I don’t get over fond of any single artist or band, you know. So I might know songs by bands whose names I don’t recall, and I might know a band’s name and not be able to place a song properly. I think getting caught up in liking or not liking a band just leaves you... incomplete. Makes you listen to songs you don’t like, just because you want to be loyal to the band, you know?”

[killianhayes-blog]

Reading Between the Lines - Bertie and Killian

[killianhayes-blog]

bertiehumble :

“Well- well, uhm, actually roses, r-red ones, they tend to mean passion,” he told the other, clearing his throat a little at the wink and the nudge he received. “If you wanted to– to show someone you loved them, you’d, you’d buy them red tulips.”

He paused in thought, not registering that he was the one being called pretty before there was a bright red blush burning into his cheeks. “My- my brother and I, we, uhm, we decided to go on an, an adventure,” he said, shrugging a little. “I liked it here, so, so I stayed. Why are you here– in– Devil’s P-Point?”

“Roses, just passion, eh? Not sure I agree. What should make a Rose the best symbol for love would be the thorns, yeah? Love gives you great joy but at a cost of great pain. You have to sacrifice for love, you have to give something of yourself up, because you belong to the thing you love. And then, should it ever slip away, it leaves you feeling hurt.”

He gave a little smile. “I moved here to help my brother with his gym. If you mean, the US, well...” His eyes got distant for a second. When they came back he grinned, “got sick of all the noisy drunks in Ireland, I guess.”

[killianhayes-blog]

Ghosts - Killian and Sarah

[killianhayes-blog]

sarah-norcross :

Absorbed in her own thoughts, Sarah had been staring blankly forward at nothing in particular; the new company pulled her attention out from within herself, and Sarah’s slightly concerned, if not almost completely deadpan gaze was drawn upwards, right at the guy’s face, which she studied intently the whole time he studied hers - this attentiveness registered on her own expression, drawing out of it more obvious and readable concern.  The guy’s pause was maybe a little strange, but his fixation on her was what really struck Sarah’s interest; a whole array of emotions appeared to flash across his features while she watched. He seemed to be recalling something - something painful, from the looks of it.

“Doesn’t matter… what the fuck ever.”  

The time wasn’t important, and she hadn’t asked out of the need to know.  It clearly wasn’t 5a yet; dawn would be cracking it’s rainbow of lavender, light orange, sky blue and pale yellow over the mountainous horizon surrounding everything within sight if it were.  But it had to be late as fuck - not that it mattered, since she had nowhere to be, and neither did he, apparently.

Even after exchanging a sentence with her, he guy kept looking at Sarah with a peculiar intensity… while it wasn’t intimidating, per se, it wasn’t exactly disarming either, and Sarah’s brow furrow with curiosity.  “Naw man, I don’t mind… no way you know anyone here, right?”  Sarah motioned her hand across the graveyard; she didn’t know any of the people buried there, so she tried to sound a little tongue and cheek, framing her inquiry in this manner because it felt like a stupid question.  It was such an old graveyard, and, even though Sarah hadn’t seen it in almost five years, it’d likely been decades since a fresh body had been buried here… so why the fuck would some random dude from Ireland (’Irish’ being just a guess; fuck if Sarah actually knew) personally know any of the poor souls correlated with the each tombstone scattered about, like the one allowing him something to lean up against?  

She didn’t say anything, but Sarah was pretty sure that the tall, impressive looking Gothic-style tombstone was awkwardly shaped and old enough to crumble under his weight at any moment - though if that happened, it would make for a pretty cute and super funny, if a little morbid, icebreaker.  To prevent this from happening though, Sarah gestured for him to come sit by her with a little more urgency than the situation seemed to maybe call for, and patting her hand, adorned with freshly painted nails and almost too many (cheap, but pretty) rings to count, on the soft patch of soft, dark green creeping charlie and it’s gorgeous purple bloom coiling shyly in the night, immediately next to her. “Sit here… “  

“… so you didn’t actually tell me… what are you doing out here?  Avoiding something?  Some place?  Someone?”  Accompanied with a head cock that sent a ripple through Sarah’s long, shiny waterfall of bone straight, chestnut-colored hair ((it’s this length and color atm)), she flashed the guy a warm, and hopefully disarming smile.

For a second, Killian tried to look anywhere but directly at the girl in front of him. When she spoke for him to join her, he moved over to her and sat down almost automatically, without him ever reaching a conscious decision on the matter. “Someone...” The words were almost a whisper. HIs tone, questioning, as though he weren’t sure that was the appropriate answer.

“If I was avoiding someone... I sure failed miserably.” His usually quick speaking cadence was slow now, and there was something missing in his voice. Much like his movements to sit next to her, his words were automatic. There was no thought, no emotion, to them. Hell, Killian wasn’t sure what he even felt right now. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure what he should feel in this sort of strange, unimaginable, situation.

“You ever love someone... Not like a hot passionate summer that fizzles out, but, you know, love someone. Love them so much it hurts when you have to look away from their face. Love them so much that ever second away from them feels like your drowning, and when you’re finally with them again, like you’ve finally be rescued and you can take that huge gulp of air. Love them so much that you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’d jump in front of a bullet to save them... I did. Do? I guess when they die, that love just get’s bigger and harder to bear. Like, you’re drowning again, but you know that you’ll never get that breath again. Like you’re drowning and you know that it’s just a slow sink to the bottom and that’s all you have left in your life.

“Friends, family, they breath into your mouth, but it just stops you from dying... and secretly you hate them for it. You spend so long drowning... you forget what it feels like to breath.”

Killian’s heart was zooming in his chest. His face seemed a mask, void of emotions, save for the muscle’s in his jaw tightening and loosening as he clenched them on and off, trying to spend his nervous energy while also avoiding destruction to his teeth. He felt like a rabbit, with a fox watching him. She must be a ghost after all, and soon she would turn into those bloody images from his memory.

“Could you imagine what it would feel like to see them die? To dream about their bloody, dead, body ever night? To never be able to forget it, because you keep getting your nightly reminder? And then...”

Killian turned and looked directly at her. His mouth, still agape, quivered.

After a moment, he quickly turned away

“So, guess I’m less running from a person... and more running from a memory...”

[killianhayes-blog]

Reading Between the Lines - Bertie and Killian

[killianhayes-blog]

bertiehumble :

“I, uhm, I didn’t choose it but I like it. It’s very– very sweet. If you need flowers,” he smiled, looking up at Killian happily. “It is. Each flower m-means something different,” he said, his nervous tripping over the words begin to lower a little as he settled into the conversation. 

“My mum loved gardening too. I think she was going to have called me after flowers if I was a girl, instead– I was named after Ein-Einstein,” he said, wetting his lips a little.

“Each one means something different? Like, roses for love, yeah?” He gave Bertie a wink and nudged him, gently, with his elbow. “Well, that’s a good’n to be named after. Smartest man ever, yeah?” A grin spread across his face.

“So, what brought such a pretty thing like you to the good ol’ US?”

[[please ignore subtitles]]

[killianhayes-blog]

The Fun Arrives

[killianhayes-blog]

gracieceleste :

Luckily, it was late, meaning that the line for The Viper Room stand had become shorter, what with the tipsy townspeople having made their way to the actual bar. Grace felt a relieved breath deflate her lungs as she caught sight of it, and she waved Killian to continue following her to the back of the queue, where she firmly planted herself.  “Fun bags,” Grace laughed, almost cringing, “I haven’t heard that one before. Alright, plan: a few tinnies, then back to mine for some shit tunes. I’m requesting Parklife.” 

“Barkeep!” He shouted over the throngs. He drew the person’s attention with a fistful of cash. “I need four beers, in mugs!” After the bartender nodded, he turned to Grace with a grin.

“Money talks, yeah? Of course, fun bags... they’re fun cause of the money!”

Killian put down the money for the bartender when he sat the beers down and tipped him big. Then he turned with two mugs and handed one to Grace. “Parklife? Not sure I know ‘em. They a band? Cheers.” He offered a toast before throwing back the beer and guzzling it all down like a practiced drunk, wiping his mouth off with his sleeve immediately after.

[killianhayes-blog]

broke-down-brooklyn :

“So when people ask you about yourself is that how you describe yourself? I’m that loud guy you see shouting all the time? Even if you haven’t seen me you’re probably heard me…from like…a distance.” She laughed to herself and lit up a cigarette with one hand, rolling down her window with the other.  He listened to Killian tell about how he and Trevor bonded and she nodded her head, pulling on a pair of sunglasses while starting up her car, opening the bag of edibles and setting it into her lap she started eating a cookie on her drive down the road.

 “I have a brother too. Well, two actually. Michael and Drew. I first met them when I was twelve, Michael was sixteen and kind of a douche, and Drew was eight. I was a love child. I started visiting my Dad when he found out about me, but I never really got close with anyone. I didn’t get close with Michael until he found me a few years ago.” She shrugged. “Trevor might know where he is. He was coming here to tell Trevor something about…well, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to Trevor yet, but Michael never came to check in on me and that is very odd so I’m worried he might be in trouble.” She didn’t bother looking over. It wasn’t as if she were making real conversation. She was stating cold facts. She took a large bite of cookie and smiled. “Any-who. We’ll park at the motel and walk down to the cabin. I’ll probably rent a room tonight anyway.” She offered Killian a cookie and took a drag of her cigarette. “Want one?”

Killian listened as the car made it’s way through the town. “Well, I mean, yeah. Pretty much just the loud, Irish, boxer. There’s not a hell of a lot more to me than that.” He listened about Michael, nodding along as she spoke, thinking it best not to say anything about it. She seemed a bit tense about it, and Killian figured prying wasn’t the best idea.

“Sounds like  plan to me. I have no idea where we’re going, so I’ll just follow you.”

When she held out the bag, he grabbed two cookies and smiled widely before shoving them both, whole, into his mouth. He barely chewed before swallowing. “The only thing that’d make this better would be some milk. But, all I’ve got is this.” He pulled out a pre-rolled joint from inside a metal cigarette container that he had fetched from his pocket. After a quick second, he had it lit up and started puffing on it before passing it over to Brook.

“On a side note, Trevor once threw me out of a window.”

[georgedixon3-blog]

Ringside

[killianhayes-blog]

georgedixon3 :

George let out a snort of a laugh at the statement, listening afterwards to the progression of the training. Admittedly, it did sound like it was quite uninteresting at the beginning seeing as he’d been standing since he was younger than one year old, but he understood the need to learn the right way to do so for boxing. He couldn’t imagine his normal half-slouch approach cut it for this. “How not to get hit… You’re not going to test out the if you can dodge a wrench thing, are you?” Of course, George was somewhat joking, but he still figured that might be the most painful of the parts.

The gym was rather busy, and that finally registered again with a look around the room. The intimidation was replaced with a fair amount of excitement with a mix of disdain about what George had gotten himself into, but seeing as he had run into Killian at the door, he ran his fingers through his hair. “Well then, when’re you free to start teaching me how to stand? I’d be good now or whenever, but I can work to your free times. My shifts at the bar are generally at night seeing as that’s when it actually gets decent business, so daytime is always fair game.”

Killian smiled and shrugged. “If ya like, I can throw wrenches at you. It’s not where I’d start, but the customer’s always right, as they say.” He walked a little bit past George, into the gym proper, unblocking the exit. “Unfortunately, I’m still setting up me equipment. It’ll probably be a few more days ‘fore I can get it all put together. How’re for starting in three days? Sound good, yeah?”

[killianhayes-blog]

Reading Between the Lines - Bertie and Killian

[killianhayes-blog]

bertiehumble :

Bertie chuckled fondly at the sound of the start of the joke even though there was a lack of a punchline. Still, a fond smile pulled at the edge of his lips and it didn’t show any sign of fading anytime soon. It took Bertie a moment or so to realise that his new acquaintance was attempting to make a joke about English people’s inability to drink but, then again, Bertie didn’t drink usually. So, this man was probably incredibly correct about that.

“Albert Humble but, uhm, every-everybody calls me, uhm, Bertie,” he smiled, taking the hand, shaking it as his other hand nervously carded through his hair. “I work at ‘In Bloom’… with the flowers.” He paused, “I’m a-a florist.” He slightly winced at his own idiocy. What else would he be if he worked with flowers at ‘In Bloom’? 

After the handshake, Killian slid up next to Bertie. He leaned back, sitting just on the edge of the table, his hands posted on either side of him. “In Bloom? That’s a smart name for a flower shop. Not sure I’ve ever much talked to a florist before. Is it interestin’ work?”

“I’m not much versed in the art of gardening, that was more me gran’da’s thing.” His eyes got sad for a moment, but he brightened up so quickly it might not have happened at all.

[killianhayes-blog]

The Fun Arrives

[killianhayes-blog]

gracieceleste :

“Only in the way you both act like twats.”

She winked at him, the comment made only in jest. Grace nodded for him to follow her, turning back to the crowd. “First stop,” she began, elbowing her way through the masses of indignant people, some of whom yelled after her in vexation, “Viper stall. First round’s on you, money-tits, don’t think I can’t see them Ben Franklins in your padding. Then… Karaoke… Not sure about that, but there’s an out of tune guitar at mine, if that’s any good?”

Killian nodded and shrugged. “Twats about sums it up, yeah?”

He grinned and nodded, following her as she lead him on. As a counter to Grace’s brute force, Killian took the crowd with more of a ‘go with the flow’ approached. He slipped through people, and moved around them with seemingly practiced ease, though the spaces made by Grace’s elbowing gave him plenty of room to work.

“First round’s always on the Irishman! And me fun bags aren’t real, so they’re the next best thing, yeah? Out of tune guitar! Wouldn’t want it any other way!”

[killianhayes-blog]

Ghosts - Killian and Sarah

[killianhayes-blog]

sarah-norcross :

In the beginning, Sarah’s family moved around quite a bit; back then, her father wasn’t the sought after emissary for God’s Word’ than he was now.  The prestige he acquired with time, charisma and talent eventually allowed The Reverend to chose where to preach and how long he’d like to stay - effectively being granted ‘tenure’- though the perish he picked was ‘fixer upper’, or a less-than-prestigious perish in an unimpressive building. ‘Humble buildings’ was what wins the approval of Jesus, and the virtues of a humble lifestyle were thoroughly hammered into all the Norcross children.  

Being too young to recall things other than still snapshots with little-to-no context of those early days, Sarah had effectively resided in the same town her whole life.  The small town, which when compared to the ‘dangerous’ Decatur IL ‘ghetto’, as The Reverend ((Dad)) always made sure to call it, while isolating his children and his perish from their neighbors, was a ‘child sanctuary’ of sorts, entirely free from black kids ‘danger’, where Norcross kids as young as 3 (accompanied by a couple ‘older’ children, so no worries [talking 5 or 8… though as time passed, everyone obviously got older anyway]), were free to roam around as much as they pleased, and as far from the parsonage and  it’s (supervised) graveyard as they little hearts desired.  There was a newfound freedom that moving from the rougher part of a large city to a clean-cut rural-esque small town allowed, which cropped up a whole bunch of fun (and often, unbeknownst to their folks, gruesomely violent) games to play, and with 7 siblings total - and often times one or two foster kids and even some neighbors - a crap ton of shit was possible… they could blow up and die and scream bloody murder to their twisted heart’s content, going as far as their collective imaginations could take them - which was pretty fucking far.

Just outside  town, a small, unkempt cemetery was adopted by the Norcross kids the minute they found it.  That amazing piece of crap graveyard perfectly served every single purpose it was needed for - being that it was within reasonable biking distance, but not within visible range of their father’s church, the parsonage, nor the graveyard that occupied the premise, it provided them with privacy.   Real privacy, without looming threat of being watched, being that the neglected grounds lacked any sort of caretaker, allowed their collective imaginations to run loose; no limits of on the ‘sinful’ playing they were often criticized for indulging in.

Now, as a grown woman, having just crossed the 21 year threshold, Sarah could do little more than sit by herself in their old favorite graveyard -  hers and her siblings - which was not the one immediately adjacent to the church or their parsonage.  She didn’t feel welcome over there, and she couldn’t play night games all by herself.

Not wanting to hang out in the moldy cockroach haven she, mostly out of pride and the general feeling of being a disappointment, had to currently call her ‘home’, Sarah went for what she assumed upon leaving, was an aimless drive.  Instead, her shit sedan brought her directly to the graveyard - that of her and her siblings, their child hood, where she could sit in a flood of memories where she used to hang before anything really bad ever happened to her, making her feel a little warm with nostalgia.  Keeling by her favorite grave - that of a girl Sarah had at this point almost outlived, who’s story about what landed her there was the most interesting and, naturally, the most grotesque - Sarah occupied her hands by fiddling with the creeping charlie overgrowth on the girl’s gravestone while she tried to clear her mind; Sarah didn’t want to think about the body below her, nor about an of her own recent, traumatic events.  She wanted to surround herself with nostalgic familiarity.

After quite some time - upwards of an hour, if she had to throw out a guess (though she could’ve been completely off in either direction) - Sarah found herself listening to the unmistakable sound of someone approaching, unflinching and feeling nothing as they did so; no fear, no excitement, no curiosity, just a continued cold peace that was slightly more peasant the the void of feelings that had been plaguing Sarah as of late.  She didn’t move or look up until the guy acknowledged her, beckoning for her attention with a thick, Irish accent,

“That’s a good question.”  Sarah’s voice was as deadpan and emotionless as her face.  “I wish the answer was some kind of profound shit… but, to be honest, I shook, like, three too many roaches off my PJ pants before putting them on.  Three fewer, and I wouldn’t have been grossed out enough to leave.  But here I am… ”  Not the whole truth, but not a lie either.  

“Yuh know, I could ask the same of you, though; what time even is it?”  Sarah had lost track completely; it could’ve been 9:45p or 3a, and it wouldn’t surprise her.

Killian just stared at her. She spoke, but Killian barely registered what she was saying. All of a sudden, he was at a dance. There she was, dressed in the same emerald dress that was currently sitting in his closet. She was smiling at him from across the room. They’d known each other since they were kids, but something had changed.

When he blinked, Killian found himself alone with her. They were both stammering. That was so unusual. The two of them could usually banter for hours without a breath, and without missing a beat. Now the two could barely string two words at each-other. Then she kissed him and the world stopped spinning.

When she pulled away, she blushed. Killian had never seen her blush, no matter what happened. His own cheeks and ears began to feel hot, and he soon realized that he, too, was blushing. It was also something that he never recalled himself doing, either.

A question drew him back to the moment, Killian shook his head and looked around. “I’m not really sure of the time, me-self.”

Killian stood, dumbfounded for a moment. This girl, whoever she was, looked exactly like his Nadya. Seeing her face again, on another person, like a the metaphorical knife to his gut all over again. The pain was exquisite. His heartbeat felt suddenly loud in his ears. There seemed to be no sound in the stillness of the chill night air, save for his heartbeat.

He hesitated, looked around the graveyard a second time, and then slowly sat across from the stranger who looked familiar. He leaned back against a tombstone. “You don’t mind, do you, if I join you for a while?”

[georgedixon3-blog]

Ringside

[killianhayes-blog]

georgedixon3 :

George licked his lips slowly as he absorbed all the statistics that the man was spewing, to the best of his ability. Of course, he had no clue who Jim Hayes was, but Killian’s records definitely sounded impressive. That being said, in the way of trainers, he imagined he would fair pretty well. The corner of George’s mouth quirked up at the final statement, bantering back as he would in a setting he was more familiar with. “I mean, it sounds like it’s heavily implied, but then the existence of God is heavily implied and there’s still a fair number of disbelievers, not confirming or denying my stance on that. Nothing’s set in stone until it’s proven. Aren’t there competitions for that kind of thing, toughest of the tough?”

George reached his hand out without hesitation to shake the other man’s, offering back a grin. “Pleasure’s mine. Not that often you meet Killians, especially ones that are willing to teach you how to fight. Moreover, even rarer to find one who meets both criterion when you have no clue where one even starts in a place like this…” He looked around once more, less intimidated by the place since the other’s reassurance. “Guessing you don’t just jump into the hitting stuff?”

Killian’s grin spread further as he shook the man’s hand. “See, yer such an absorbent sponge that’cha’re already pickin’ up know-how just by bein’ around me.”

He nodded. “Yer exactly right. Hit the nail on head, you did. No, we don’t just start with the hittin’ stuff. First, you learn to stand. Then, you learn to walk. Then, you learn how not to get hit. Then you learn how to hit things. In that order. I know it don’t sound fun, but i’ll make it fun with training games.”

Killian was glad he had a student that was smart enough to know that boxing was more than just hitting stuff. Better than that, he had a good sense of humor, too. He was definitely interesting, and Killian was sure the two of them would be fast friends.

[coltthatcher-blog]

Sh*t Happens

[killianhayes-blog]

trevor-lloyd :

coltthatcher :

Colt eased himself off of the roman chair, where he’d just finished his workout with a burnout of roman chair sit ups/crunches. He wiped down the apparatus with his towel and headed to the locker room. It was near closing time, so the locker room was completely empty.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he answered. “Yeah… Yeah, I called because there’s been an interesting development, Killian showed up in Devil’s Point… What do you mean you know? Then why didn’t you tell me before now? So then we know it’s our guy, yes?”

Colt listened for a moment. “Alright, so just stand by and await further orders? Alright…” He hung his phone up and let out a dissatisfied sigh.

After his shower, he found himself staring at the duffle bag in front of him. Things had felt off for the whole job. His one million was already deposited in his account, but Dimitri wanted him to stay. On top of that, if Dimitri had really had Killian followed, he would have been able to guess that he was headed to Devil’s Point. Colt didn’t like being kept in the dark like this.

Colt looked up, surprised that he was standing outside. He must have been on autopilot while he was thinking.

“God,” he said into the night air, “I really need a cigarette.” He unzipped the side of his duffle-bag and pulled out a black cigarette pack with a skull and crossbones pictured over the word death. He quickly lit up and took a drag, the smoke exiting his lungs bringing a sudden wave of relaxation over him.

“Trevor loved down time. The time he could play with his dog and relax around his house. He turned on Life Below Zero on Netflix and lit up a cigarette. Stepping into the kitchen, carrying a glass of whiskey with him. He listened to the t.v. and poked around in his fridge, looking for something good to eat. While he watched the show he fantasized about living in Alaska himself. Off the land. Hunting his own food and building his own home. Surviving, and thriving at it. He could change all his money in for equipment. Give it all up. Killian, Grace, and Frankie flashed in his mind. He has friends now. People who relied on him. People who cared if he disappeared. How he had that now after all this time he couldn’t explain it. For the longest time, he was a nothing that nobody wanted, and Killian was family, and to was Blake. Grace was his closest friend even though they barely knew anything about each other, and Frankie…something about Frankie made his head spin like a top.

"Killian you want something to eat? I’m gonna make London Broil. I started marinading yes…ter…day? He pulled the meat out and was obviously unsure of it, but willing to risk it. Opening up the bowl it was in and sniffing it. He glanced down at Rampage at his feet. "You want some London Broil to don’t you?” Rampage barked back and Trevor laughed “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He started pulling out stuff for a salad as well and looked around, setiing the stuff on the counter. ‘Killian?“ He glanced back down at Trevor. "Where did he go, boy?” He shrugged and took a big sig of his whiskey. 

Killian found himself out of sorts. He spent the day training, having a clear schedule as a trainer, and still waiting for his ring. A lot of his small equipment, though, had made it’s way to the gym. He had set up some of it, It ended up filling a relatively small space in the gym. When he had finished setting it all up, he started his training day.

It wasn’t until nearly the end of a three hour session that he noticed Colt was sharing his space in the gym. When Colt took off, he waited a beat and abandoned his workout to go ask the man directly what he was spying on him and his brother for.

He spotted Colt leaving through the exit from the opposite end of the locker room. After taking a large breath and exhaling slowly, he began to twitch with his hands, and then he was stalking forward, a predator following the trail of his prey.

Kilian blasted open the exit door.

“Hey! Long tim no see? Yer the one what sicked them weak-ass thugs on me, yeah?”