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Hair & Harley Davidson.
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@owenrx
Charlie Hunnam ABC
Hair & Harley Davidson.
(insp)
Her eyes lit his starless nights.
six word story /// the-typewriter-is-holy
rory--sinclair:
Rory shook her head at Owen’s offer to release her from her commitment. She’d said she’d go and so she would. As painful as it was to visit James’ grave, lately, it seemed to bring a sense of relief to her, especially when Owen was there. She didn’t say as much, though, not sure how exactly she could phrase or explain it. She thought, perhaps, that so much of visiting James was feeling regret and anger and pain and a lot of that had stemmed from Owen, from not knowing and from hating what he’d done to blaming him to blaming herself for something neither of them could change. But recently? Well, things were on unsteady ground, certainly, but they were no longer in a constant free fall about each other, they were moving toward solid ground and Aurora couldn’t help but feel that that’s something James would have wanted. And maybe it was a final act of sorts she could do for him. Forgiveness had always seemed so impossible but with Owen standing right there, it didn’t seem too far off a concept. Once she’d forgiven him, that fist gripping her heart every day seemed to loosen its hold and the pain had begun to recede, slowly but it was still going away and that was more than she could say for the past six years.
“Look, I said I’d go with you so I’m going.” Her words were said with a small smile, letting him know that she wasn’t upset, that this was good. In a way, it was as though she was relearning him. As though they were relearning each other. All the quirks, all the tell-tale signs and giveaways of happiness and discomfort. The frown lines and the creases from smiling too much. She used to look at Owen like he was the sun– blonde haired boy with blue eyes too bright for their own good– he’d been part of her life for so long and to suddenly be faced with him again– sometimes it was as though she had to take a step back and refocus on one thing instead of trying to take it all in again.
“Hey,” she said softly, standing as she took a sip of coffee before walking over to him and tentatively taking a calloused hand in her own, uncertain if she was even allowed this much but doing it all the same, “stop worrying about me, yeah?” Aurora looked at him with sincerity– knowing that her worries were probably his own but she couldn’t assume that for sure. Still, she knew his nervous ticks, the wringing of his hands and the unsteadiness in his voice. Squeezing his hand slightly before letting going, “let’s go before it rains.” She gave him a haphazard smile, brown eyes conveying a small bit of warmth as she learned to let her guard down around him once more. She moved around him then, grabbing her coat and keys, “Thanks for inviting me, Owen.” Because, while she could have easily gone to James’ grave on her own, the fact that he’d invited her meant he wanted her there and maybe she wasn’t some knife reopening his wounds again and again after all.
There was almost something sacred about the silent pact that had since formed since all had calmed down. The tension had long since past between them and with that, his own nerves stopped churning so constantly in his head. Yet still, Owen had his moments and it was with that where obstacles ran high. He just wanted her to be happy. To avoid any ounce or probability of conflict. The anxiety and complacency of his own attitude intermixed to a chaotic clusterfuck that had him at cross roads more times than not. Ever since Aurora’s forgiveness, there was that sick feeling in his stomach. It was good and it was bad -- all at once. That vying want to spend time with her, yet leave her alone all together. Give her the space that somebody with such trauma could deserve. And yet, within that, Owen could sometimes forget that he had suffered trauma, too.
“I know--” he gave a soft laugh, shaking his head at how headstrong she always appeared to be. A tornado of conflicting emotions was what she was. It was the way in which they were so chaotically alike. Both could never make sense of what they were. Of the emotions they held inside for they always seemed to contradict. Things had surely darkened over the years. How they were now would always be a pale comparison to the hell they had both gone through. The hell he had surely caused. But with that, came forgiveness. Came light. And the light that shoved through his bleak view of the world ever since the accident --- was more than he could ever grasp. Like a glutton who had been starved, Owen could only so desperately wish to hold on to the good he was now so easily handed. He never wanted to let her go again. Rory was his best friend in her own way. Nobody could ever replace James for the either of them. And yet, both so easily fell into sync with each other. It was a comfort that Owen had missed desperately over the years. One that he now clung to with opened arms.
The physical touch she allowed surprised him, evident in the way his head cocked up at her, mouth slightly pursed. Yet Owen smiled, biting on his lip in almost a sheepish manner. Cerulean hues dancing back down to the table, where hand lay on top of his. Even if it was for a mere moment, it was long enough. “I have to.” The words felt strange coming out of his own mouth. As if it wasn’t his place. Over the years, it wasn’t. But god, it should have been. If James had passed in any other way, it would have been. It was Owen’s obvious transition to look out for her, always. To help keep her safe in all the ways James would have done to protect his twin sister. And now, Owen in regards to his best friend, would try his best. All that mattered, was Rory’s happiness. And he could only hope, it would come.
Standing as she began to move around once more, he gathered himself. Pulling his own jacket across his shoulders, he moved to the door, opening it for Rory to step out. “Let’s go, then.” A smile -- one not held by tension or awkward fear graced his features. Perhaps, his own happiness would surely come soon.
@harleykincaid, @harleykvncaid;
A hand rested over Harley’s, both of them splayed out lazily in his own bed. There was a thick silence that lay over his own mood, a certain depth of ups and downs that always weaseled itself into his life. Ever since prison, Owen was never entirely the same. Not with that same angelic hue he used to hold himself to. Now, there was only one negative label he found himself returning to. How horrible it made him feel most days than not. The definition of a monster. Yet being able to hold Harley and to know she was there --- she wasn’t going anywhere --- was enough to soothe that horrid voice inside his head.
There was no defining what they were. At least not now. All Owen knew was that he was so terribly fond of her. More times than not, his heart ached for her company and he was glad for that. Sometimes, it was okay to feel that desperate ache for somebody. And for Harley, it just made sense. Having a history with somebody never meant it had to go unfinished. And to know that after all those years apart she was still here, rooting for him; well, it meant more than the world to Owen.
Finding Harley again was like coming up for fresh air. She was clarity that his own heart desperately needed again, after being so whittled down to shame and guilt. Harley was somebody that could give him adventure back; could bring him happiness. And that was all that mattered. They weren’t children anymore. They weren’t pricked with the stagnant jump of insecurity and jealousy. All they had each other. And furthermore, all they had was time. That, in itself, was all Owen could ask for anymore.
Fingertips brushing against her skin he just lay there, attempting to pull himself out of his reoccurring slump/ “Thank you for just being here.” His voice finally broke the silence and really there was nothing more to say. Harley saw him. She didn’t try to push things that shouldn’t be shoved out of place. All she could do was what she always did; make Owen a better version of himself daily. Show him that he wasn’t all what history had made him believe to be. And there was no way in this world that he could ever thank Harley enough.
I have survived, but I have not been spared.
Deathless, Catherynne M. Valente (via sylviaplcths)
@quinnhathaway
Things were hardly repaired with the people he had broke in regards to his past decisions. Quinn and Rory were still granted the space both needed and he was not about to step on any toes. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel he had to try. He just couldn’t stay so complacently waited for a moment that may never come. A moment that could happen only by chance, unless he took action. There was only so much one could do in waiting. And after laying wait and suffering for six years --- suffering he deserved in his own mind ---- he had to do his best to repair the mends he broke.
Owen had run into her quiet a few times. And while tensions between them had dissipated; it seemed --- he still did his best to walk on egg shells. It was his own fault. To pigeon hole himself into these situations where he felt tense. Where he built the tension and the need to be so careful in how he went about life. He didn’t have to be so tentative and yet there he remained. For Quinn deserved her peace to grieve, even as many years later as it had been.
Yet despite his own mind telling him otherwise, Owen knocked on her door. It was early afternoon. The warmth of the sun cascading over chunks of his own honeydew colored hair. Despite the warmth, a sweatshirt hung over his shoulders heavily and another one lay sat in his hands. It was James. Long since left at Owen’s parents house since the accident, since his imprisonment. When his father had brought leftover boxes over from his childhood home, Owen could break at the sight of such a collection. James sweatshirt was not his to keep. There was sentimental value in such a familiar scent that clung to the fabric that Quinn would likely cling to more appreciatively than Owen ever could. To him, such an item would drag him down more if he held on to it, rather than letting it go. Giving it to Rory, James’ sister had been a thought. But Owen figured in this case --- such item belonged in Quinn’s arms.
Once the door swung open, Owen could shrug sheepishly as if he didn’t know where to start. “---Hey...” He murmured, allowing eyes to gaze back at Quinn in the doorway. “Can I come in?” It was almost pitiful how the words were mumbled so timidly, but he just didn’t know how to go about this. How to produce such commodity that could hold such memories of the man Quinn had once loved so fiercely before. Before Owen took him away.
“You know, we don’t have to go today if you don’t want to.” The words are placed out gently, as if such statement would be overstepping. Things were taken slow lately. Their friendship, mending the scars and wounds they had both suffered from James’ death. It wasn’t likely that things would simple tune back into shape. And yet --- it sort of had in a way. Soon enough, tensions melted away and it was almost as if they were back to how they used to be, despite a few tender spots along the way. Lately, it was like they had since made a silent promise to one another. Even as tough as it would be along the way, they would try to do as many things that involved James as possible. That meant visiting his grave with one another weekly. He had done it for so long by himself yet now --- it almost felt like second nature to go with Rory; the only other person besides Quinn that truly mattered to James.
Despite the progression of forgiveness, wounds could still be ripped open again. Perhaps it was why Owen was still so tentative and soft spoken in light of her. He was scared. But who could blame him? It had been a long while, it had been a dreary path. A path filled with hardships and scorn. It was finally as if he was on a path to his own figurative redemption, despite how much he still felt he didn’t deserve such. Yet today, Rory seemed swamped with her own issues.
There was that craving that one had to disregard. For he had felt he didn’t deserve to try. And so, taking a figurative step back and allowing her space was all he could do. Owen was gentle in both his disposition and presence. Fear of souring things further or fright of taking ten steps back, he’d rather keep quiet and let her take the ropes then step all over things. That was the problem with coming to terms with all that had happened. He still felt voiceless. Though it wasn’t anybody’s fault but his own. And he’d just have to deal with that.
“You just seem rather stressed, Rory. I’d rather not add more to your plate.” A awkward smile twisted onto his features, wringing his hands together. A cup of coffee had long since been placed on the table for her, as if some long overdue peace offering from their troubles. He wasn’t trying to buy her back, win her back or anything of the sorts. Owen long knew and suffered with the fact that he didn’t deserve such warmth and forgiveness. However, here he was latching on to anyway and with fierce gratitude for the fact. He would have the rest of his life to prove how grateful he could be and he knew that feeling would not go away.
SCOUT COOPER:
“It’s hotter than Hades’ bedroom in here, so I will complain until I can no longer stand the sound of my own voice. And that will be a long time!”
“You know, the more you talk the hotter it’ll get, right?”
HARLEY KINCAID:
Harley knew it was a little more difficult than asking if he wanted to go. They’d need to ask permission or take the risk and just go on a quick road trip. Either way, she knew it wasn’t her decision to make or her life on the line. If he didn’t want to risk it, she would willingly put it aside for a time when they could. He smiled, and she instantly mirrored it, almost jumping up and down in place. “I promise I won’t kidnap you and try to smuggle you out. We’re just going to visit places we haven’t seen before and get out of here for a little while. I think it would do us both some wonders. I guess now we should just figure out when we’d be able to go. I can easily take time off of work. What about you and school?”
Owen was beginning to get ahead of himself. That impulsive nature to not care for the compromises itched at him, but he inhaled a sharp breath in thought. There was nothing he’d rather do more than hit the fuck it button and go off on a road trip with Harley. To just be able to forget all the pressures life was tossing at him. “I mean ----” Owen gnawed on his bottom lip, catching thoughts that flew by in his mind, “We don’t have to necessarily leave the state. Hell, Tennessee may not be the prettiest place out there. But there’s plenty of country side for miles.” A sloppy grin tugged at his lips, happy at the thought of getting away. Even if just for a few hours. “Schools out for the summer. I mean I gotta work out everything for next semester but I’m all clear. Parole is the only hassle.” His grin could falter at the mention of parole -- always holding him back. But he tried not to let the thought dampen his mood for too long. The thought of a road trip was what he clung to, reaching out to grab her hand and give it a firm squeeze. “I want to go with you. Gotta pull some strings, but I wanna do this, Harls.”
WHITNEY RICHARDSON:
Whitney shrugged slightly and smiled. It was nice that Owen was willing to stand up for her. That was one of the best things about having a cousin so close in age to her. Reaching up to hook a lock of hair behind her ear. Scoffing, she rolled her eyes. “Sorry ‘bout that I meant to call I just got a little caught up in stuff. You wouldn’t happen to know how to assemble a crib, would you? I’d just call Jon but he and Brandi are still not quite seeing eye to eye.” Whitney paused then and bit down on her lower lip. “Do you need help finding a job?“
The fact that Whitney was only two months older than Owen ( --- well, 1 month and 29 days) was surprising, but he was always grateful. It helped him a lot growing up. For even with their parent’s differences, she was like a sister he never had. “Look, it’s not easy being an adult,” he reasoned with her excuse, nodding his head. Hell, Owen hadn’t made the means to call either -- so he could call it even. “Call Jon? No way. I’ll do it, no problem.” Owen had no idea what had happened with Jon and Whitney, though he preferred not to poke about such a topic. All he knew was that Jon had ended it and it wasn’t good. But if Whitney was happy with Brandi, then why would Owen pick apart the past? “I mean I can do it -- I just, I dunno. It’s hard. I’ve got a good thing, doing this and that around the city. But parole officer is far from happy about it.”
AURORA SINCLAIR:
“Wasting? I think of it more like exploring– where’s your adventurer’s spirit, Owen?” Rory shot back good-naturedly as he joked. It was strange to be able to do this but not a bad strange– not at all. It was a nostalgia filled strange– the type that Rory wasn’t sure she wanted to go away because it had been years since they’d been able to do this and she hadn’t realized how much she’d actually missed his presence (though she knew it was a lot) until she had it back and it was like everything she’d lost came into focus. But not in a bad way, more in the I’ve-found-something-I-didn’t-know-I-missed way. She’d missed him, of course, but it was times like these that made her realize how much– when they could go hiking and joke around and spend time together with James or without him. He’d been their person and without him, Rory had been in a free-fall and now it felt like she finally had a somewhat solid footing and she wasn’t about to question it. “You only got us back because you’re one of those people,” Rory teased, “can never get lost along the way and where’s the fun in that?” Her taunting words were said in good-nature as they kept walking and the woman skipped over some stones, glancing over her shoulder at him with a grin, “I can’t believe you said it was going to rain, it’s beautiful out.” The sun was shining and there was a warm breeze blowing and she was with someone she’d thought she’d lost for good and they were hiking through familiar trails like they had once upon a time with her brother and things…well, things felt right for the first time in a very, very long time.
Owen shook his head, brows raised at her. It was as if Owen gave her a look on purpose, as if that was enough instead of words. Of course, it was just teasing and yet it was all so strange at how natural it could feel. He had spent so long wishing for this type of moment. A moment that he thought could never be reality again. At the beginning of their hike, Owen could have sworn that he’d wake up any minute, looking like some fool. And yet --- he was still here. Slipping back into place so easily was something unexpected, but he embraced it with open arms. If such a friendship could ever be ripped away from him again; Owen wanted to relish in it. For last time, he had taken for granted the little things. Back then, he had no idea such graceful things could be ripped away in such a flourish. And with that life experience, Owen knew he had to hold on tighter. Just in case. “Exploring is only the term when you know where you’re going---” He quipped, hands stuffed into his pockets as he strolled along. It was as if life was breathed into him all over again. A natural smile was placed almost permanently on his lips and even the way he walked. Well, it was as if he had a bit more pep. Another life lesson he’d have to remember. Everybody has something worth living for. Without that something -- what the bloody hell was the point? “Hell---” Owen chuckled at her comment, snorting, “Just call me Hansel then. Maybe I was stocking up breadcrumbs to lead us back as a kid. Now, I just know these trails.” It was as if such trails were embedded in his head. For all his years in prison, childhood had been the only safe thought he could latch onto. And he was grateful for that. For there was no hatred in his heart towards Rory or what he did. At least, not in such a moment as this. Strolling the trails like he had done as a child. It was a constant battle but today: Owen was winning. And it felt damn good. “When have I not been a pessimist?” A self conscious stemming of him made his head bow down, before his eyes wandered back up towards her. “Still --- you were right. Way too beautiful out.” Think of it as if James was smiling onto them. Bringing peace after so many years of rain and heartache.
“I warned you I didn’t have any AC in the house, so you can’t actually complain.”
CHRISTIAN DOYLE:
It was that old box that was haunting him. Before he sold his grandmother’s house back in Massachusetts after her death, Christian had discovered the cardboard box in the attic. He wasn’t expecting to find much – his grandmother had dozens of useless trinkets that took up every nook and cranny in the house, although Christian wouldn’t have had it any other way. It seemed to make her happy. But after peering in to view the contents, he was more than unnerved. His grandmother always told him she didn’t have much from his parents, at least not from what she could remember. She gave him the spiel that they were lost in the clutter somewhere. Perhaps it was for his own good, shielding him from dwelling on the past for too long if he knew. He finally grew enough courage to open the box that he kept stowed away in his own apartment. It held dozens of photographs, letters, objects – things that held sentimental value to his late parents. It was a lot to take in, and Christian couldn’t make it through most of the stuff before he distanced himself completely. His head was spinning with thoughts and images of his family, or lack of, and Christian had already been on his third drink before getting into a brawl with another at the bar after he witnessed the person harassing the people beside him. In the midst of the scuffle, the bartender managed to throw both of them out onto the street. Christian wiped the blood from his lip, leaning against the side of the building for a moment to gather himself. It wasn’t until he heard footsteps coming through the bar door and out onto the street beside him that he looked up. “I uh… guess they really mean it when they say to pick on someone your own size, right?” he said, the nervous laughter escaping his lips.
Owen had been out just a bit too long past his curfew for parole. Now many times -- since he was a year in -- his parole officer wouldn’t bother to check in. But it still didn’t make Owen any less nervous to be late coming home. He wanted to do good and succeed, yet lately he had felt distracted. Forgiveness from Quinn and Rory was all he had ever wanted for the past six years and finally achieving such a blessing to his sanity was humbling. And yet now he was late. Late to go home. And continue this tedious strain of a curfew for the next two and a half years. It was a solid reminder for every time he got too comfortable. Being reminded of parole was humbling but not in a positive way. For it reminded him of the best friend that wasn’t there anymore. The best friend he lost from his decisions. Yet as he rushed home, Owen watched as a bar door kicked open, two men stumbling out. He watched as one argued off, angrily drunk whilst the other used the brick wall to brace themselves, clearly winded from whatever scuffle happened behind doors. As Owen approached, despite his fear of screwing up, he could vaguely remember the face. And yet he couldn’t quite place where he had seen him before; not yet. Without any clue if this man was the antagonist or the victim, Owen could just offer out some help on a hunch. “--Hey man, you wanna go get all that cleaned up? Looks like a nasty amount of blood.” No matter how deep a grave Owen could dig for himself, his will to help always got the best of him.