#scullystrash

[scullyswritingblog]

Loved and Forgotten

HERE’S THE FINALE GUYS HOPE YOU ENJOY IF U DO PLZ RB IT HELPS A LOT THIS TOOK ME OVER AN HOUR 

DEDICATED TO MY WIFE @styxetal AND MY PLANT @styxxandersss

[part one] [part two] (part three)

Every jab, every taunt, every insult and every time he was ignored put silky petals in Thomas’s throat. Alexander came from a less fortunate place, causing him to dislike those who flaunt their riches and spend it on useless gimmicks, meaning he despised Thomas. Every time Thomas pretended to step on his foot, break something of his, or anything else of that matter, he would ‘reimburse’ Alex. But Alex would always shove his money back, saying “I don’t want your damn charity”.

Thomas didn’t get it. He was rich, famous, attractive. He could give Alex a much better life, pay for all his textbooks and the part of his tuition scholarships don’t cover. That was good enough for his ex-girlfriend. Yet here Alex is, constantly arguing with Thomas over the smallest things. Criticizing his glamorous choices of coffee, his fancy collections of watches that could pay for the student loans of half the kids in the state. Even called his choice of fashion ‘too flashy’ and ‘tacky’.

He knew what was happening to him, from the countless movies and television shows he’s been it based around it. He knew the consequences, he knew the options. He had the money to hire a private operator to keep quiet if needed. Yet, the very idea of forgetting about the person he loved was disgusting to him.

It was easy to hide at the beginning. Walk around with a handkerchief, spit out a few petals here and there. It was always worse when he hung out around his old campus, inevitably coming across Alexander, and when that happened, everyone knew shit was going to go down.

Today was different. Today was February nineteenth, the day Alexander’s mom died. Of course, Thomas was not one to know this, in fact, nobody did except Alex’s closest friend, John. This was not a day for Alex to be confronted. On this day, all Alex wanted to do was be left alone.

Thomas didn’t want that. Thomas came across Alex more than once in the hallways, and was curious as to why he didn’t strike up a debate. All Thomas needed was for Alex to pay attention to him. Just a little bit. And attention is what he got.

“You look terrible.” Thomas called to Alexander upon seeing him for the fifth time in the past couple hours. When he didn’t get a response, Thomas continued. “What, no comeback? No ‘yeah well you look like shit every day’ statement in your whiny ass voice?” To this, Alex clenched his fists, still looking at the floor, John at his side, shooting Thomas a glare.

“Pathetic.” Thomas held out his hand in front of him, tanzanite ring glinting a royal blue in the light. “You could’ve at least had the decency to give me a response. Guess your whore mom didn’t teach you better manners.”

Everyone in the hall stopped dead in their tracks. Whoever was there that day could unanimously agree that when Alex turned around slowly, the atmosphere seemed to darken tenfold, and the look on his face was the scariest shit they’d ever seen.

Alex dropped his books and started swinging wildly, and nobody had the courage to stop him. Between throws, he screamed at Thomas.

“Don’t you fucking dare speak about my mother like that!” He caught Thomas’s watch with his fist, snapping the catch, causing the watch to fall to the floor with a loud clunk. “At least she loved me, which is obviously a feeling nobody will ever have for you!” Alex dug his  chipped fingernails into the skin next to Thomas’s eye, and dragged them down his cheek, leaving raw flesh exposed in four lines.

“Your friends are only there because you’re rich and famous, just like your girlfriend was!” Thomas felt warm blood run over his lips and drip onto the sleeves of his fur coat.

“Nobody loves you and nobody ever will!” Alex landed the final blow between Thomas’s ribs, and fell into a heap, sobbing uncontrollably, John comforting him. Thomas covered himself with his coat and hurried out of the college into a chilly winter scene.

There was a small stretch of woods next to the campus grounds, which is where Thomas spent the next hour. He didn’t suffer many physical injuries from his encounter with Alex, but the blood-soaked snow surrounding him would say otherwise. Thomas was on his hands and knees, violently coughing up blood and, of course, nearly complete Begonias.

Your friends don’t even care for you. These words kept ringing in Thomas’s head. They’re only there because you’re rich and famous. In a way, Thomas always knew this was true. Your girlfriend just cared about publicity. Thomas never loved her anyways. Nobody loves you and nobody ever will.

The last thing Alex said to Thomas hurt the most, and it was the one Thomas couldn’t get out of his mind. It became louder and louder the more difficult it was for Thomas to breathe. He felt like he was hundreds of feet deep in the ocean waters. He couldn’t hear anything. The air he was breathing felt thick. He felt pressure on his chest, on his lungs. He couldn’t control his body.

Thomas was quivering, heaving, coughing. He didn’t know where his mouth was getting all that blood. He didn’t know where his lungs kept getting those stupid, stupid flowers. He would cough up one, only to feel the need to cough again, leading to another flower. Beautiful flowers of the darkest hues and values rested in a cluster at Thomas’s hands, enough to make five bouquets. One after another, he crushed the flowers between his palms, burying them under layers of snow and dirt.

The blood only flowed faster, and the flowers only got darker. Tears streamed down Thomas’s cheeks, stinging the scratches given to him by his beloved Alexander. The wind whipped at his face and chilled his damp, stained clothes. Thomas’s fingertips were tinted blue and his breath fogged in the cold. His jeans were thoroughly soaked through and his boots were rendered useless, but Thomas couldn’t feel any of it.

As dawn broke, Thomas couldn’t carry his head anymore. As the world went black around him he fell face first into a bed of bloody flowers, and Thomas Jefferson would have to suffer no more.

[scullyswritingblog]

Will Never Love Again

A fic for my wife @styxetal based on her ‘filthy rich’ au also hanahaki because wHy nOt 2n1 bby

(part one) [part two]

Pain. Pain ripped through his stomach, needled in his throat, tore at his mind. His lungs ached with every breath, his eyes burned at the bright lights he couldn’t seem to get rid of. This wasn’t how it always was. He normally could bear the pain, but upon seeing the two of them..

Alexander couldn’t bring himself to take another look at the cheery couple, plastering their photos around social media. They looked so.. so happy, as if they didn’t need anything other than each other. Something he would never get with him. 

He was a fool. How could a handsome, famous and wealthy person ever fall for a struggling, sloppy college student such as himself, who was born poor? Impossible.

 Alex choked, sitting with knees drawn to his chest, surrounded by petals. Dark red petals littered the floor. Coughing violently, he spat out a carnation. Alex gave a silent chuckle. Crimson. Like all of the others, it was a deep shade of red. Dark red carnations. A symbol of deep love and affection.

It didn’t bother Alex that he was never going to be the one at his side. He saw it coming, from when the first petals appeared on his tongue upon seeing Thomas strut down the street. He’d just hoped that he would’ve been noticed. At least once.

But alas, there Thomas was, posing with his new girlfriend. She was attractive, popular, everything that Alex could only dream of being. She seemed perfect for him, like they were meant to be. 

Alex was suffering, and nobody knew. Nobody knew about his migraines, his difficulty to breathe. Nobody knew about the real reason he kept rushing to bathrooms during class, or why he avoided Thomas so much. He pushed too many people away because of this, this disease. 

He needed a solution, and he needed it now.

Alex looked up. This was the place, he was sure of it. Hanahaki Hospital. Flowers of different shapes, colors and designs were painted on the inner walls, and red carpet lined the floors. A doctor peeked her head out a room with a clipboard.

“Is there a Mr. Hamilton here?”

“T-that’s me…”

“Come in and we’ll begin the operation.”

[scullyswritingblog]

A Date In Red

An unsettling feeling washed over Alexander as he walked home after a long night at work. He’d missed all the buses, and frankly, did not feel like paying for a stranger to pick him up past midnight. Besides, his house was only about four miles away. It’ll be fine, he thought, just like every other night.

Of course, it wasn’t like every other night. He had decided to work late on the night before Halloween, and didn’t stop until it was well past twelve, making it the early morning of All Hallow’s Eve. As he walked the sides of the road, eerie decorations stared at him, from automated skeletons to broken dolls. It was almost abnormal the way their eyes seemed to follow his every move, always watching.

He walked past a witch decoration, a motion sensor one, which let out a blood-curdling screech and a cackle, eyes lighting up, illuminating her matted hair. Alex jumped, as many people would, being caught off-guard like that. What really was out of the ordinary that night was a book, thrown against his side, seemingly by nobody.

He started, looking down at the book that had fallen on the floor. It had a worn-out black suede cover, with burgundy accents, including a silk bookmark stuck between the pages. It was moderately thick, with a couple yellowed pages falling out the front. Alexander picked up the book gingerly, taking care not to break anything, as the book looked nearly on the brink of falling apart. It was marked, 1970-2010, italicized in a corner. Alex looked up and around, and when he was sure nobody was there to claim the book, he opened it.

Names. The book was full of names, ones he didn’t recognize, ones he lost touch with. Next to each name were two dates, a date in black and a date in red. The dates ranged from minutes apart to decades. One in there he recognized. Rachel Faucette Buck. His mother, who had passed away when he was thirteen. These dates. They were the day she was born and the day she passed away. It was accurate down to the very minute, it couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Flipping through the book, Alexander found his son. He was injured in the hospital, still alive, yet there was a date in red next to his name. November 24, 2010, 5:15 AM. If these were dates of birth and death, it must be...

He shook his head. Impossible. Nobody could accurately predict someone’s upcoming death. Yet, somehow, in the back of his head, he knew it was real. It had to be real.

All logic would tell someone to not look up their own name, not carry that kind of burden, knowing their end was coming up, from anywhere. Or maybe someone would risk the chance to avoid it. However, in the end, it’s all laid out. Everyone’s fate is ‘set in the stars’, as the cliché goes. With shaking hands, Alex flipped, page by page, until he read Alexander Hamilton. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his hand, revealing those dates.

What Alex saw almost made him drop the book in shock. He recovered, pulling the book close as he slowly slid on down to the concrete ground. There they were, the time of his birth, and his supposed death. The problem was the ‘death’ date being marked a couple months after his birth.

May 29th, 1980, 10:16 PM. July 12th, 1980, 2:43 PM. Alexander wasn’t supposed to be alive. He wasn’t supposed to be here, right now, sitting near this automated Halloween decoration, breathing heavily. He wasn’t supposed to be breathing at all.

Alexander didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, his only clue being the streaks of violet and coral emerging along the horizon, signalling the sun’s arrival in an hour or so. If anyone had passed him in this dazed state, they didn’t care to notice, just stepped as if he wasn’t there.

What am I? Alex thought to himself, slowly pushing off the rugged ground underneath him, searching for the distinct silk red accents on the black cover. It was gone, however, and in its place was a single sheet of thin birch bark, with a barely legible message scratched messily into the inner layer.

‘You’ll find out in due time.’

based on this prompt by @writing-prompt-s  

[scullyswritingblog]

All Too Late

@styxetal ‘filthy rich’ and ‘hanahaki’ aus (concepts linked in part 1)

[part 1]   (part 2)

Thomas had never really paid attention to people other than those infatuated with him. If you didn’t care about him, he didn’t care about you, unless you were incredibly attractive.

Which is why Thomas couldn’t understand how he’d never noticed him before.

It wasn’t easy to get Thomas to notice someone. They could blast 70s metal while prancing around in tap shoes and ballet skirts for all he cared. They wren’t worth his time.

That’s why it was peculiar he couldn’t stop staring.

Clad in his worn-out favorite (and only) hoodie, Alex was passed out in a courtroom procedures book, a cheap ballpoint pen resting lazily between his fingers. 

There was something about this boy that seemed familiar. Like Thomas had seen him in his peripherals but he always walked away or something, and this was the first Thomas had actually paid attention.

Alex’s calm, sleeping face was alluring to Thomas. So much so that a single Begonia petal made itself known in his mouth.

When Alex blinked awake, he was surprised to see an extremely well-dressed and handsome man standing a few feet from the table he was sleeping on. Alex wiped his mouth with his sleeve and noticed he was staring.

“Can I help you?”

This caused Thomas to blush slightly and shake his head. He looked away, and coughed, a couple more petals rising in his mouth. 

Taking out his 24K gold plated phone, Thomas dialed a number.

“Yes Tommy?”

“Claire, babe, we need to talk.”

a/n: sorry this was short writers block is a bitch

[scullyswritingblog]

Correction: You're wrong.

Based off @styxxandersss's teacher au (there's more to it I promise)

“The concept of the current American flag was designed by Betsy Ross, who was born in 1752-” Thomas was interrupted mid speech by a chuckle coming from the open doorway of his classroom. “Is something funny?” He asked with a hint of annoyance, cocking an eyebrow. The person by the doorway was a man, seemingly in his mid twenties. Thomas would've found him handsome had he not disturbed his teaching. “Actually, yeah. Your facts are wrong.” He stated, smug look on his face. This infuriated Thomas. “They are? Care to tell me how so?” Thomas gestured to the class, who was in shock. Thomas was a highly respected teacher with a reputation for winning every debate he's been in. Lazily, the man leaned against the door and crossed his ankles, hand in pockets. “There isn't proof that Betsy Ross designed the flag by herself. She was described as having a major part in the process, and the evidence tilts well in her favor, but it isn't definitive that she worked alone.” “Who even are you?” Thomas asked, cheeks slightly flushed from being proven wrong in front of his entire class. “I'm Hamilton, the new History teacher.” Alex said, winking to Thomas on his way out.

[scullyswritingblog]

Point for team Jefferson

This was supposed to be for @styxxandersss (Amber)’s birthday but I got writing block and then @styxetal posted that beautiful drawing so I’m like mmokay it’s not that great and kinda short but I’ll finish it off and post it

part one

“Who the hell do you think you are, barging into my classroom like that?” The bell for lunch rang as Thomas marched up to Alex, a thick history study book in hand.

“Well, I couldn’t just let you teach kids false things, you know. Plus, I never really did set foot inside your class.” Alex absently picked at his nails, not showing the slightest interest in what Thomas had to say.

Thomas scoffed. This arrogant, pathetic excuse for a teacher really just did that. He was going to give this guy a piece of his mind when he noticed the younger male had disappeared into the jam-packed hallways, blending in with the crowd.

Alex could be seen messing around with his hair and pointing finger guns at students as he walked down the hall. He swung into the conference room, coffee in hand, and took a seat across from the teacher he had met earlier that day.

Thomas shot Alex a glare, and he responded with a wink, causing Thomas to blush slightly and turn his head towards the principal, Washington.

“Thank you all for joining us. First off, I’d like to say welcome to our new American History teacher, Mr. Hamilton.” Everyone but Jefferson politely nodded their heads towards the smiling teacher in acknowledgement.

“Now then, the issue on the table. Hamilton proposed we supply the classrooms with smart boards instead of projectors, and have a couple tablets in each room in case a student needs one. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

Thomas was the first one to pipe up. “But sir, don’t you think this money could be put to different usage, like textbooks and school supplies, maybe trips to museums? That would certainly benefit my classroom.”

“If we got smartboards and tablets there’d be little need for more classroom supplies that the students couldn’t just bring on their own. Plus, the boards provide an interactive experience for the students.”

The two debated for another quarter hour, looking at each other with such intensity that everyone thought they were trying to blow each others brains out with their mind.

In the end, Washington and the board agreed to save it for a later date, frustrating Hamilton. He let out an exasperated sigh and walked out the staff room. If that’s how Jefferson wanted to play it, that’s how it would be.

[scullyswritingblog]

Dumpster

This was made using a sentence @styxetal​ originally gave @styxxandersss​ for her one shot, but I stole it cause she didnt want is and im a thief. Special thanks to @tellajosie​ for helpin me out and @styxxandersss​ bc i stole her tumblr friendly paragraphing style mine was too bookish

“BITCH!!” Yelling and screaming echoed through the narrow alley. Loud clanging cut through the air, ringing in Alex’s ears as he jogged by. Skidding to a halt, he tilted his ear towards where the sound seemed to be coming from.  A cry of agony so familiar that Alex did a double start made him narrow his eyes and shield them from the sun, trying to get a better view.

A figure was hunched over a large green metal box, gripping a glinting knife so violently one would wonder if the dumpster cheated on them with every relative imaginable. Alex took a step closer and immediately recognized the mass of kinked dark brown curls that topped the person’s head.

“Tommy?” Alex called out, half concerned, half nervous.

Thomas didn’t acknowledge his presence, just clutched the metal lid of the dumpster with his left hand and traced out words with the knife in his right.

“That’s some cult lookin’ shit.” Alex mumbled to himself, as he lowered the volume of the music playing through his neon green earbuds and slowly approached his boyfriend.

Thomas had moved from scratching letters in the rusty paint to violently jabbing his knife into the lid multiple times, which Alex connected to the noises he heard earlier.

“Babe,” Alex paused, looking at the frantic expression of Thomas, “why the fuck are you stabbing a dumpster?”

Yet again, he didn’t respond. Alex peeked over to see what he was so focused on, and found the name “Laurens” scratched into the paint, and Thomas was denting, chipping and in some shocking cases cutting through the metal lid.

“Tommy, babe, you’re scaring me.” Alex said warily, having gotten less than a metre away from his anxious lover. Of course, like the oblivious shit he is, Alex asked: “What’s this about?”

Thomas suddenly stopped and faced Alex, eyes full of hurt and anger. “Like you don’t know.” He spat in a harsh tone, pointing his knife towards the sort of graffiti he created. “I told you my thing with him was over, and you forgave me months ago-” Alex was interrupted by a voice full of pent up disgust.

“I saw you two this past month. I know this has been going on for longer than that. I was just wondering how long you’d lie to me, keep this a secret. But,” Thomas dragged the knife in a circle through the paint around the name scratched on the dumpster, producing am agonizing screech, “when you said you loved him, that you’d leave me for him, I had enough.” Thomas held out his worn out knife that was held so tightly his nails drew blood from his palm when he gripped the handle and frowned. He raised his arm and threw it to the side so violently, Alex could’ve sworn it ricocheted off the wall onto the other.

“You’ll find your stuff in ashes inside this dumpster.”

[scullyswritingblog]

I love your writing and your blog! Can you toss me some angsty lams?

tysm!! I have like no self esteem but I’m glad people seem to like my shit lol here we go 

Hercules had barely finished fitting John’s wedding dress, an empire line ball gown with silver beading forming flowers, when John’s cell rang. He picked up the phone, ignoring the look Herc shot him. “Laurens speaking.” “Hello Mr. Laurens. I have some bad news concerning your fiance, Hamilton.” A monotone voice responded. John’s bright expression immediately fell. “What is it? Is he okay?” “Decidedly not. It’s best you come to the Morristown Hospital immediately.” In a panic, John raced out of the dressing room in his flats, and hailed a cab outside the church.

It seemed to take forever to get to the hospital. John kept spiraling, thinking up the worst case scenarios, no matter how unlikely. What if he got hit by a bus? Maybe he was shot trying to stop a robbery? Was it a bear? Oh no what if it was a bear? Right when he had gone so far as to wonder if it was an attempted alien abduction, the cab pulled up along the curb. John threw open the door and dashed inside, not bothering to pay the cabbie. He ran up to the front desk and started talking in a frenzy. “Where’s Alex? Is he okay? What happened? When can I see him?” The receptionist just pointed to a seat in the waiting room, face blank. John stood there, mouth agape, eyes glistening from tears threatening to make their appearance.

John had paced for hours until a doctor finally approached him. “What happened?! How is he?!” he yelled, not caring about how people saw him. “Alexander’s been involved in an accident. Drunk driver hit the backside of the limo he was in. The driver got out with a couple of scratches, thanks to the length of the vehicle, but I’m afraid the same can’t be said for your fiance.” “But he’s okay now, right? He’s alive? He’ll live?” Two tears left streaks on John’s face, which glistened in the bright hospital lights. The doctor took off his glasses and sighed. “He is alive, but he’s in a coma. I’m afraid he might never wake up. Here, I’ll take you to his room.”

John followed the doctor, a dazed expression on his face. How could this happen? He was led through a door and entered a room filled with machines. The soft beeping heartbeat sliced through the agonizingly silent room. The doctor silently left, leaving John with the unconscious Alex lying on the hospital sheets in front of him. He slowly walked to Alex’s side, and held his hand. John knew there was little chance for Alex to come out of this state. He could wait for eternity, hoping for that miracle, or he could pull the plug and let Alex rest. “We were supposed to get married today.” John murmured softly, tears streaming faster now. “I know you probably can’t hear me, but in case you can, I want to tell you everything.” John sat on the edge of Alex’s bed. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m wearing my wedding dress. The one Herc made for me, for us.N-now you probably won’t ever get to see me in it.” He started sobbing. “Why, why did this have to happen? Why you, why us? What did we do to deserve this? On our wedding day, no less!” John went stopped talking, body wracked with sobs. John just cried, and cried, and cried, the world spinning, until it all went black.