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methylphenidating · 4 years ago

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I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Chapter 9/?

Carmilla fanfriction | also on AO3

Pairing: Hollstein

Wordcount: 2.801

Rating: M

Warning: physical violence

Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

A/N: Chapter 8 revised for continuity, additional chapters will be posted soon

Kirsch gently laid Laura down on the nursery bed, while LaF searched the room for towels.

“Uhm, is it like normal that her face is the color of white frosting?” Kirsch asked with a concerned voice.

LaF just grabbed everything they thought could help stop the bleeding.

“We need to put her on her side. Grab her shoulder and move her slowly. ”

Even though Perry had shown them a million times how to bandage a bleeding wound, Laf sure wished they had paid more attention to the emergency response officer classes.

Ok LaF, come on. This isn’t rocket science. You got this, they thought.

They slowly lifted the shirt, exposing Laura’s back and cleaned all the blood off with towels, before bandaging the large cuts the dean had left with the whip.

During this whole procedure, Laura didn’t make one move.

“Ok, she’s lost a lot of blood and her pulse is weak. Kirsch, hand me over those needles and the small tubes that are laying there. And grab a blood bag from the fridge. A positive.”

Kirsch hurried to the counter and grabbed whatever he thought that LaF would deem as needles and small tubes.

After handing it to them, he started panicking.

“Dude-bro, is she like going to be alright? She’s not looking like her hottie self and hasn’t moved since we brought her in.” Kirsch said with a trembling voice.

“She will be fine, we just need to keep an eye on her the coming few hours. Boy, am I glad Perry forced me to take these training sessions.”

LaF swiftly inserted the needle and tangled the tubes and bag at the side of the bed.

“Come on, Laura. Stay with me.” LaF whispered desperately while holding Laura’s hand.

There was no movement coming from the tiny brunette.

Suddenly, the door to the nursery barged wide open. Perry was standing in the doorway, holding the Sumerian book under her arm.

“LaFontaine, I know what we have to do.”

Will tried to bury his large canine teeth in Carmilla’s neck, but Carmilla scratched his face with her claws and threw him off of her. Will growled from the pain, but recovered fast, leaping towards her once again.

Will might be bigger and stronger than me, but he’s slow. I need to stay sharp.

Carmilla jumped out of the way at the very last minute, leaving Will surprised.

They danced around each other for a while, with Carmilla jumping away from his attacks every time, taking advantage of her speed over his bulkiness. Will started to get annoyed and his movements started to become erratic.

“What’s wrong, kitty? Not in the mood to spar with your brother like old times?”

His voice was unrecognizable from the Will she used to know. But it was still him in there.

He lashed out at her with his giant claws, but she swiftly avoided him, scratching his face in the process, harder this time. She heard him scream in pain and saw she had hit his eye, three massive red lines going over his now closed eyelid. He backed away from her, his face grimacing from the pain of losing his eye.

Carmilla felt like she had the upper hand. She could hear his breathing getting heavier, meaning she was wearing him down.

“Oh please, like there was anything to spar. You haven’t learned anything, have you, little brother?” Carmilla said mockingly.

Will let out a beastly growl.

“Shut up!”

He circled around her first before jumping towards her. Carmilla anticipated the move, but was caught off guard when he jumped higher than she expected and she couldn’t move away in time. He jumped over her and Carmilla rolled away swiftly. But before she could get her balance back, Will buried his claws into her right hip and Carmilla growled from the pain. He laughed menacingly and dug even deeper. Carmilla could feel his nails scraping against her bones.

She bit the front leg buried into her skin and Will let out a growl, but he would not let go, curling his giant paw inside her gaping wound.

“Try worming your way out of this one, kitten!” Will spat mockingly.

Even in his disfigured form, a victorious smile was visible as he kept digging his claws deeper into her.

Carmilla growled again and tried to get free from Will’s grip. He looked even more menacing with his left eye shut and covered in her scratch marks. It didn’t seem to faze him anymore as he now had her squirming under him.

Carmilla felt her strength lessening and her vision started to blur.

He put all his weight on his front leg buried inside Carmilla and she thought she was about to pass out from the anguish.

She could hear his menacing laughter getting softer and she just wish she could lay down in Laura’s arms and-

“Hey hotdog, over here!”

Danny’s voice felt a million miles away to Carmilla and before Will realized what happened, he felt an intense pain go through his chest and howled. He let go of Carmilla and squirmed on the ground.

Danny had watched intently at the fight between the two beasts and when seeing an opening, had plunged the spear right through Will’s back without hesitation. The pointy end of the spear was sticking out of his chest as his movements were slowing down.

Carmilla shifted back to her human form and Danny ran over to her. As she did, the redhead felt a slight sting on her back.

She knew for a fact that Will didn’t touch her, so it must be a scratch from the rocks.

The blood was seeping out of the vampire’s leg, which was gaping with an open wound, bones clearly visible and she couldn’t stand on it.

“Come on, fang-face. We’ve been through tougher patches than this.”

Carmilla leaned on one leg and clung to Danny’s neck as she lifted her up.

“Well Xena... I gotta... give it to you... You do... put the warrior... in the princess...”, she said, her voice barely audible.

Carmilla tried to laugh at her own remark, but winced as soon as they tried to walk.

“Yeah, cut the smartass shit and save your strength. Let’s get you out of here.”

As Carmilla tried to stand up with Danny's help, she immediately fell back down. Danny was about to carry her out of the cave, when she saw the enormous pool of blood practically oozing out of her leg.

“Wait, you're still losing blood, why aren't you healing?”

"As it turns out Xena, vampires can't run endlessly on a drop of blood for weeks and I haven't exactly fed during all this mauling.", Carmilla said as sarcastically as possible without trying to give away the weakness in her voice.

“You idiot vampire.”, Danny mumbled.

She quickly shoved her tank top to the side of her shoulder and looked impatiently at Carmilla.

Carmilla’s smug face was gone and any retort died in her throat as she stared, hypnotized by Danny's neck.

Eventually Carmilla tore her gaze away. She could see her veins clearly, hear the blood pumping through it now.

"Wait, Lawrence... No…"

Danny pulled a knife from her belt.

"Don't flatter yourself. You take one drop too much and I'll drive this knife right through your smug face. And besides, I’m not doing this only for you."

Danny gave her a determined look.

Carmilla still hesitated.

Danny sighed and practically shoved the vampire’s face in her neck.

Carmilla growled.

“Drink!”

“Stop!”

She tried to push her away, but was too weak. As she smelled the blood going through Danny’s veins, it was like time was slowing down and her environment closed out around her. All she could concentrate on was Danny’s pulse point. After what seemed like forever, she felt her impulse control slip away.

Before Carmilla realized what she was doing, she bit, harder than she intended to, and Danny let out a grunt.

Carmilla tasted the warm red liquid entering her mouth and felt all her senses come back to life.

She put her arms around Danny’s back and gripped her tight, sucking harder at the seeping blood coming from the redheads neck. She could feel her trembling.

Carmilla’s healing started to kick in and she knew she should stop.

Just a little more...

“Alright that's enough.”

Carmilla just hissed and didn't loosen her grip on the redhead, so Danny yanked her off by her hair and pointed the knife at her neck.

“That’s enough.”, Danny repeated with a low voice, giving the vampire a death stare.

Carmilla looked back at her, some of Danny’s blood dripping down her chin. She licked it off, then gave the redhead a smirk, the knife still at her throat.

"Never imagined a Summer girl could taste like this."

Danny just gave her a menacing look and Carmilla backed off. Her leg was closed up and so were the wounds in her back.

Danny put the knife back and they both got up. Danny felt dizzy and lost her balance for a second, but Carmilla held her up.

They both looked at each other, their expressions now different.

"Thank you, Xena.”, Carmilla almost whispered.

Danny just nodded.

“...Mother...”

Carmilla looked over at Will. He had shifted back to his somewhat human form. He was barely moving anymore.

Danny must’ve pierced his vital organs.

“...Mo-ther… help… me…”

Carmilla looked around, but the Dean was nowhere to be found. O fcourse, Carmilla thought. The Dean had fled to save her own sorry ass, leaving her precious “son” to rot. Of course Will, always thinking highly of their so-called mother, expected her to stick around still.

Poor weasel.

“Wait.”

Carmilla lowered Danny to the ground and got closer to Will. She slowly ran her hand through his furry hair. It was softer than she had expected.

“There. It’s ok. It’s over.”

Will eased into Carmilla’s touch and seemed to relax. Then Carmilla tore her hand through his chest and yanked his heart out.

Danny let out a gasp.

His breathing stilled and Carmilla dropped it on the ground.

She pulled the spear out of his back and gave it back to Danny to hold. She lifted her back up and put one arm around her.

“Let's get out of here."

“Perry, thank god, you got my text.”

“How’s Laura?”

“Her heartbeat is stabilizing, but we had to leave Carmilla and Danny behind. I hope they are doing ok. What did you find in the book?”

Perry looked at LaF, hesitantly.

“Well? What’s going on?”

“Ok Su- LaFontaine, since I can’t really read Sumerian, I didn’t really find anything.”

LaF just stared at her blankly.

“But someone else guided me through the pages.”

“Quick, there’s not much time. The Dean is searching for Laura.”, Ell’s voice echoed through Perry’s head.

“Yes, yes, I’m getting there. So it turns out, Carmilla’s… ex… knows exactly what’s going on, so she explained it all to me, of course with pictures from the book. And had me look for a spell to undo the spell that the Dean has put on Laura.”

“Ok Per, that's amazing. What’s been going on?”

“It wasn’t the spell we thought it was at first. The Dean actually used two different spells and disguised it as one. One spell she used was the Bloodlust spell, putting it on Laura and Carmilla. It’s a spell between lovers and amplifying their weaknesses for each other. In this case, well it was Carmilla’s bloodlust for Laura that triggered it. The part where they both… felt the same things, in this case, pain, was just a small adjustment to it. The Dean lifted this part of the spell after she tortured Laura in front of Carmilla. As she didn’t want to hurt Laura’s body more before taking it over.”

“Oh right, so they weren’t really doing that kinky stuff to each other then? It was the bloodlust controlling Carmilla.” Kirsch said enthusiastically, proud of himself for understanding that bit.

“Yes, well in this case it was. Ofcourse, we don’t really know what they do in their own private personal space and time, nor should be judge them for it, obviously-”

“Per, back to the point, that’s one spell, what is the other one?”

LaF was starting to get impatient. They felt Laura squeeze their hand faintly as they heard Perry continue her explanation.

“So the other one is the Sumerian binding spell. The Dean used this to bind her and Laura’s soul together. This was done before Carmila killed her in the pit. She used the amulet, the possession and a drop of blood to do this. Had Carmila killed Laura during her bloodlust stage, then Laura’s soul would have been gone and the Dean’s soul would have taken over her body and her supernatural powers would return, as the Dean is now human. In any other situation, if one of them dies, the other dies too. This is how the two spells come together.”

“She’s coming. You need to go and take Laura to safety.”

“Wait, but we already undid the binding spell?”

Laf and Kirsch just stared at Perry as she was talking to herself.

“Is Carmilla’s ex talking to you?” Kirsch asked hesitantly.

“It doesn’t matter, the Dean still wants Laura dead and Carmilla is hurt.” Ell said in a panicking tone.

“No. I’m not running anymore.” Laura said with a weak voice.

She had come to and had heard everything that Perry said. She could also hear Ell speaking.

“Laura, you’re ok!” LaF said relieved, but their face turned to worry soon after.

“No wait, Laura, you’re hurt really bad, you can’t get up yet.”

Laura ignored them and got up from the nursery bed.

“I’m fine.” she said firmly.

To LaF’s surprise, she actually was. It turns out her wounds had healed when Perry did the unbinding spell.

“Where is Carm? And Danny?”

“We… had to leave them. To get you out.” LaF said. They didn’t have the courage to meet Laura’s gaze.

“We have to go back for them, right now!”

Before anyone could answer her, two figures were standing in the doorway.

“Easy cupcake. I’m right here. Glad to see you’re up and about.”

“Carm...”

Laura couldn’t stop herself from lunging herself at Carmilla, crying from relief.

“Hey Laura, it’s ok. I’m ok. Just a few scratches from Willy boy.”

“What? Will? But I thought he was-”

“Me too, cupcake. But it turns out Mother doesn’t know when to stop using puppets. Luckily it was still silly old William in there, so no real challenge.”

Carmilla gave a quick glance at Danny, who had covered her neck with a bandage.

Laura slowly turned and her eyes met Danny’s. She gave her a thankful nod and Danny smiled in return.

Laura pulled back and looked at her vampire girlfriend. Both their clothes were covered in blood, mostly in the same places.

“Look, matching wounds and scars. We really turned out to be the couple you hate.”

Carmilla just smiled and kissed Laura. She was tearing up, thinking back on how the Dean tortured her right in front of her. How she still managed to stay so strong. The vampire pulled back and cupped the brunette’s face.

“You turned out to be everything I love and so much more.” Carmilla said sweetly.

LaF scraped her throat.

“So, when you two are done reuniting, maybe we should come up with a plan now?”

“Will is gone, but the Dean got away before we could do anything.” Danny said. She was holding the spear she pulled out of Will after stabbing him, ready to take the old hag down.

The annoying stinging in her back wouldn’t stop though.

“The Dean is human. Which means without spells and magic, she can just easily be killed. She ran out of minions to command, but that doesn’t mean she’s stupid. We need to still be careful.”

Laura looked around and before she could call her name, Ell spoke to her.

“She’s back in the pit. You will find her there. But please, be careful. She managed to get a talisman to cast spells.”

“Thank you, Ell.”

Laura looked surprised at Carmilla.

“You can hear her too?”

“Yes.”

“Please, keep each other safe. You are so strong together, Carmilla. I’ve always been proud of the person you were and who you’ve become. I’ve never blamed you for anything. Maybe, we will meet again someday. Until then, goodbye my love.”

“Goodbye.” Carmilla replied softly.

“Wait, what did she say?” Laura asked her.

Carmilla looked at Laura. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“Just something I needed to hear many years ago.”

Laura just smiled.

“Alright, let’s take down this old witch, once and for all.”

Carmilla led the way back into the pit, followed by Laura, Danny, Kirsch, LaF and Perry.

#carmilla #carmilla fic #hollstein #carmilla x laura #carmilla fanfic #iwfyd #carmfic #text #mine #carmilla karnstein #laura hollis #ctws

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 5 years ago

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you’re not the poison; it’s me.

... um. titans 2.07 absolutely WRECKED me you guys, and i would like to tell you why in excruciating detail:

SPOILERS ahead

(and before i go ahead, i just want to say this: this episode deals with ptsd and psychosis and suicidal ideation explicitly, in ways that even i found difficult to watch. it’s very intense. please keep that in mind if you decide to watch it.)

1. usually genre tv shows like to pile on the trauma but deal with its fallout either rarely or in oblique ways--shots of the character brooding, a couple of ‘candid’ talks filled with frustrating euphemisms, then it’s on to tackling the next plot point. not titans tho--for this show, the trauma is very much the point. the plot is wafer-thin and takes a backseat as the show takes episode after episode to break down its central characters and hammer it in that there are no easy fix-its for complex trauma, and that Dealing with it is a continuous, sometimes lifelong process. it forces you to keep re-evaluating and re-contextualising the actions of these characters and challenges your assumptions.

1.5. for instance: let’s take donna troy. in s1 she was the put-together big sister to dick, content with living her life outside the superhero community while giving sound advice to dick about how he can get his own life back on track. now? she’s a stressed, paranoid wreck, plagued by horrible memories and taking her insecurities out on dick and jason and whoever else is available. deathstroke’s machinations aside, there’s something deeply dysfunctional about the way the original titans operated, the ways they brought both the best and the worst out of each other. it seems like none of them really understood the seriousness of what they were doing until they did something truly terrible that they couldn’t take back, and it was earth-shattering enough that donna completely abandoned her old life to live as a civilian. trigon’s vision for her in 2.01 reminded her that she was fooling herself; coming back to titans tower and actually having to face what made her run away in the first place has broken down the walls she’s spent five years putting up. it’s not pretty to watch, but... it tracks.

2. after having written post after post about dick cracking under relentless stress and the weight of his own guilt complex, it was startling to see him actually fall apart. halluci!bruce was absolutely brutal and really brought home the fact that Good Lord, Dick Grayson Is So Far From Okay That It’s Not Even Funny Anymore.

because here’s the thing: dick is deeply unwell, and however the show proceeds with his character from here on out, this episode made absolutely no bones about that fact. his single-minded dash to find and kill slade is framed as both irrational and suicidal. he’s visibly on edge, bursting into bouts of uncontrollable rage. he’s shown to carry a guilt complex the size of mount everest, to the point where it actually seems delusional. he’s fucking terrified of abandonment, to the point where he’d rather cut off ties on his own rather than have others leave him. he’s constantly berating himself and this doesn’t give him a moment to sit down and think and try to form a rational plan. halluci!bruce even mentions meds and “uppers and downers” to cope, and i am genuinely concerned that that was what dick actually did to cope in the immediate aftermath of whatever the fuck went down with him and joey and deathstroke. maybe it’s ptsd with a secondary psychosis triggered by nearly losing jason the same way he lost his parents (and massive sleep deprivation, i imagine), or maybe there’s another underlying chronic mental illness. either way, he needs help.

man but halluci!bruce was vicious. if this is what dick has running in his head at all times, no wonder he broods, and no wonder he takes others admonishing his choices with barely any protest!

2.25. looking at this from a different perspective, tho, here’s another way in which bruce wayne functions as a symbol on this show. phantom!bruce is how dick normally externalises everything he hates about himself, and this dynamic plays out very literally in this episode.

interestingly, and somewhat heartbreakingly, it took dick accepting and internalising his low opinion of himself and his veritable ocean of guilt for judgy!bruce wayne to turn into loving, concerned!bruce wayne, who would comfort dick and wipe his tears. (it is entirely heartbreaking that that’s what dick subconsciously craves from bruce.) dick must debase himself for love and acceptance. it’s fucking tragic.

2.55. and what does it mean--for dick and for his friendships with the og titans--that he’s so convinced that they would leave him if he told them the truth about jericho? for one, even back then, it seemed like dick was doing a lot of the emotional labour for the team: as a leader he both funnelled and executed the team’s plans, with responsibility for the fallout falling unevenly and mostly on his shoulders; he acted as the go-between for the team and bruce, for donna and garth, probably for hank and dawn, given he was dawn’s rebound. later, hank and dawn are visibly concerned by how viciously he fights. after re-forming the titans, he continues to shoulder responsibility for the shit-show that deathstroke rains on them, although he didn’t know deathstroke was alive when he re-opened the tower. of course he thinks that the team will think that he’s beyond redemption if they find out the truth; of course he’d want to go and finish off deathstroke on his own--or die in the process--before any of them finds out.

2.75. but guys, here’s the thing: in spite of all of this, dick grayson still went around to check on conner and jason and assure the latter that he didn’t blame him for running off on his own. he saw jason standing there on a precipice right at the end, and decided he was going to be opaque anymore, or fall back on what he learned from bruce. he sits down with jason and finally divulges the secret that he had been willing to die to protect--making himself vulnerable to save jason’s life. he’s trying so goddamn hard even though his brain is rioting against him right now and probably has been for years. it’s just--i can’t imagine a truer, more sensitive portrayal of dick grayson than this.

3. watching jason reach his breaking point was,,, Not Fun. it’s one thing to be seemingly passed on like unwanted baggage from guardian to guardian. to be viewed with contempt and impatience when he just wants to make sure his voice isn’t lost in the constant shuffle. to be looked at as an impostor by the very people he looks upto. to be assigned the role of hot-headed fuck-up despite all his attempts to be useful, to prove himself. but to have all of that fall on him all at once on top of (poorly) dealing with a near-death experience? yikes.

3.25. and the horrible, tragic, human part of it all is that donna and the others probably didn’t even know what they were doing to jason by piling on him like that? he’s a relative outsider to both rachel and the og titans. he’s an arrogant prick that’s easy to hate. without dick and gar to stand up for jason, he’s cornered by people who haven’t even gotten to the point of seeing him as a vulnerable kid that’s struggling, just like the rest of them.

3.5. and so the two robins perch on the ledge, each convinced that they are poison that will either kill or drive their friends away. it’s a fraught moment of connection that stops jason from jumping, but he doesn’t step away. both of them are on a precipice in more ways than one; i can only hope they help each other land on the right side.1

also, bruce wayne? send your sons to therapy MY GOD

4. kory and rachel using their awesome powers in concert to cure conner! kory using her cultural background to connect to and help conner! conner mumbling in kryptonian! krypto fucking shooting across the sky with eve on his back! in such a sad and intense episode, it’s important to remember that some fantastic things happened as well!

5. here’s the thing: i don’t think dick killed jericho in the way that he probably thinks he does. dick is a hugely unreliable narrator--that’s been his Thing since s1. part of me thinks jericho should be dead; whatever happened with him and the titans has been built up to be such an earth-shattering event that it would kinda be cheating if he survived anyway. the other bigger part of me says: fuck that noise. JOEY WILSON LIVES, and that’s that

6. gar was sleeping? are you kidding me??? i’m assuming deathstroke drugged him or something so that he wouldn’t be there to Talk Sense and stop these melodramatic fools from tearing into each other. i can only hope that there’s some Big Plans for him down the line.

#titans #titans spoilers #dick grayson #jason todd #donna troy #bruce wayne #cw suicide #cw mental illness #meta

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kumkaniudaku · 5 years ago

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NSFW Alphabet

A/N: This wasn’t planned, but I found this WIP, so I finished it. Enjoy.

"Are you recording?"

"Yep."

"You wanna move the camera up from between my legs?"

"Nope."

CoCo playfully smacked her husband's arm and adjusted the camera on her own while he sported a goofy smile off-camera.

After their evening excursion and almost getting caught in the throes of passion by fellow tourists, the couple decided to move the party back to their private villa. Forty-five minutes later, after they were both tired and sore, CoCo decided to add more to their home movie.

"Why are we doing this, baby? I'm tired," Chadwick yawned behind the camera.

"Because we should have memories of how we liked to "enjoy" each other in the bedroom. Who knows when we'll have to stop for good!"

"I'm never stopping. And, judging by the way you like to act up when it's time to get down, I know you won't stop either."

CoCo chewed her bottom lip as she raked her fingernails down Chadwick's chest. If he hadn't declared that he was tapping out, she would've requested another round.

"Well, just in case we do, I wanna be able to look back and see what we were into. So, will you please open your eyes and participate for 20 more minutes?"

"What do I get out of it?"

"You can lay on my chest, and I'll rub your ears even after you fall asleep."

Chadwick took in the proposal with careful consideration, tapping his chin in prolonged silence to agitate his wife. CoCo smacked her teeth before pinching one of his nipples between her thumb and index finger.

"Ow! Okay, okay! I'll do it," he laughed. "What are we doing anyway?"

"I found some not safe for work questions on Tumblr. Have you ever been on there?"

"I don't even know what that is. Is that a porn site?"

"It damn near used to be," CoCo laughed. "That's beside the point. I'm gonna ask some questions about our sex life, and we'll both answer them honestly. Okay?"

"I'll do whatever you ask if you take this robe off so that I can see your whole body." CoCo rolled her eyes as she shimmied out of the sheer black lace robe, receiving a nod of approval from her husband. "Perfect. Continue."

"You're annoying. Anyway, first question: What's your favorite body part of mine?"

"That's easy. These." Chadwick ran his fingers up and down his wife's legs with a smile. "You have great legs, and they look good from all angles."

"What's your favorite angle?"

"Next to your ears."

Chadwick winked at CoCo's impressed expression. "I like that! I would've guessed my boobs."

"I like those too. But your legs attracted me to you."

"You're so mushy," she laughed, earning sour expression in response. "I'd say my favorite body part on you is your chest."

"Oh, really? Even after you called me Parrot for two years because of my bird chest?"

"Look, things change. Your body started catching up to your age, and I had to fight the demon of lust!"

"A whole demon?"

The pair shared a belly laugh at the phrase, allowing the silly demonstration to continue for as long as they saw fit.

"Okay," CoCo panted as she tried not to laugh again. "Next question: What's your favorite position? I already know the answer to that."

"Well, what is it, since you know so much?"

"You looooove backshots, babe. I'm starting to feel like you think I'm ugly."

The camera bobbed up and down in time with Chadwick's laughter, catching the half-smile/half pout that Tasha sported.

"I do not think you're ugly," he affirmed between gasps for air. "You're beautiful, but you like to run from me when it's getting too intense."

"I never run," Tasha exclaimed before allowing her face to relax into a smirk. She knew she tended to shy away from the action when the rumble of eruption started in the pit of her belly.

"Yeah, right. Why do you think I always tell you not to fight it? I love it when my put-together wife loses control." His voice dropped to the same sultry baritone that was responsible for each of their children and their current post-sex glow, igniting a small shiver that he could feel beneath the warm skin of his palm on CoCo's leg.

"I'll, uh... I'll keep that in mind," she whispered." Now guess mine. What's my favorite position?"

"You like being on top, and I like seeing you on top. But if we're specific, you like to reverse cowgirl while I'm sitting in a chair or something."

"You know me so well! I'll make sure I reward that later." The two shared a wink and lustful touches before continuing. "Okay, tell me your favorite place to cum that isn't inside me."

"Easy, your ass. Next."

"Any secrets you wanna share?"

Chadwick thought for a moment, "I know I said I was against the toys in the bedroom thing at first, but I changed my mind. I like that wand shit you got and the thing with your birthstone on it. What is it again?"

"My butt plug?"

"Hate the name, but, yeah, that. It looks nice," he laughed. "Let me ask you something."

"Oooh, we're switching it up. Shoot!"

Tasha could sense the trepidation as her husband took timid glances around the room before looking back at her. "What's your favorite way to receive and give head?"

"That's a good question! I love getting head in the shower when you lift me under the showerhead. I'm so glad we listened to the sales guy and got the big expensive one."

"You ain't lying," he laughed. "And giving?"

"When you're standing, and I can look up and you from my knees. You always give me this little look, these soft love drunk eyes, that let me know that I'm satisfying you. And that's all I want…to satisfy you."

Tasha's eyes were round and innocent in the way that sent Chadwick's brain into overdrive as it recalled every moment she'd ever given him 'the look.'

"Keep talkin' like that, and we won't need to adopt. We'll leave here with a baby from scratch."

"Mmmm, I like that." Her face left the camera's view for a second, leaving behind the wet smacking of lips tangled in sweet kisses. "Two more, and we can stop. What do I do best in the bedroom?"

"Tasha, baby, your mouth is filthy in bed. Fuck, I love it."

"Really," Tasha questioned with a mix of shock and embarrassment.

"Hands down. I could listen to you read the phonebook and be turned on. I'll ask you the same question. What do I do best?"

"It's hard to pinpoint. You do a great job of adapting our sex to what we both need at the moment. I've never been left unsatisfied."

"Trust me; it's a pleasure, baby." Being in such close proximity allowed the couple to feel the heat of the other growing with each question. Already impatient, Chadwick took a sweeping look over his wife's body and anchored a hand on Tasha's thigh.

"Next question, where is your favorite to have sex or that we have had sex?"

He thought for a moment before a huge grin spread across his face. "You remember that time we snuck and did it at your mom's house? Right before we got married?"

"Please, don't do this."

"Don't act shy now," he exclaimed as Tasha hid her face behind her hand. "You gave me the instructions on how to sneak up there and have your head buried in the pillows. As a matter of fact, how many times have you done that?"

"Only once! And it wasn't for sex. It was to help out a friend who was staying over… as an alibi before she left to have sex."

"Yeah, right. Same question, Sneaky."

"Easy! Our first time in our current bedroom." Chadwick wasn't fooled by Tasha's cookie-cutter answer, evident by his eye roll and the loud kissing of his teeth.

"You think I'm stupid?"

"What!"

"Don't play, Co. What's your real answer?" He watched you feign innocence for a few seconds before landing a hard smack to your thigh.

"Okay, okay! The time we snuck away from my parent's house and almost got caught in my sister's car in the culdesac the next street over. I think that I should've won an Academy Award for Best Performance in a Quickie."

Despite the soreness already present in their faces, the two of them laughed until tears trickled from Tasha's eyes, and Chadwick was gasping for deep breaths.

"Alright, I'm gonna be honest and say I take back what I said earlier. I got the best 3 minutes of your waiting for you when this is done. Make this the last question."

"Okay, baby. Last question: When we look back on this in 20, 30, 40 years, what will you remember most about this time we spent together?"

Out of every question that had asked throughout the night, this one was the easiest for Chadwick to answer. He grabbed Tasha's hand to bring to her knuckles to his lips for a kiss.

"I'll remember how much I love Tasha, the person. Outside of Tasha the mother, the sister, the friend, the wife, Tasha the mother is my favorite person to ever exist. Not for what you do for me and others, but for who you are every day when you think I'm not looking. I love Tasha the goofball that makes a song out of everything. Or compassionate Tasha that I have literally seen take the clothes off her back to give to others. All of this other shit might fade, but I'll never forget the way I love you."

'Are you...are you trying to make me cry," CoCo asked as she wiped tears at her waterline.

"Not like that, but it helps." CoCo's fresh tears came to an abrupt halt, replaced by a brief flicker of annoyance to match the swatting motion she made at her husband's chest. Chadwick caught blow in his much bigger hands and use the leverage to pull his body up. "I love you."

"And I love you," she added with a kiss that he readily returned.

"Good. Now, I'm about to turn this shit off, and you're about to turn over."

The camera caught audio of Tasha's excited squeal before Chadwick pressed stop and ensure that recording saved. Seconds later, the camera was opened to begin a new movie. If they were supposed to capture everything, they couldn't miss a moment, right?

------

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stevenismyboy · 4 years ago

Text

I like me better when I’m with you ~Part 4.

This fic was posted first on my main blog which is captainelsaeverdeen. I started my own blog only for my imagines and I moved all my work from there to here. Hope you guys would enjoy my work! <3

Hello my bumblebees! I think we’re in the middle of this au so there would be four parts more! I already have plans for another series but let’s just end this one to write another. Let me know if you like it! Song: “Your Love” by The Outfield.

summary: based on ‘To All The Boys I Loved Before’. Y/N Henderson used to be in love a couple of times. This time she’s sure it’s something bigger, something serious. Her love for Jonathan Byers is unlimited, untamed and endless. At least she thought so. You can find my Masterlist here.

The fries were hot, too hot to grab them with your fingers. Despite that, Robin grabbed a few carefully in two fingers and put them in her mouth. You waited impatiently for what she would say, tapping your foot under the table. Your friend sighed.

“I have a solution” she said, trying to reach the salt on the other side of the table. “Thank goodness” you sighed. Robin looked at you with a serious face. “It involves fire”. “Absolutely not” you’ve resisted firmly. Robin rolled her eyes over and started eating.

“If you’d come to me earlier, I’d tell you you shouldn’t have done that” she murmured, drinking a sip of her chocolate milkshake. The bar was filled to the brim with kids like you who hated school dinners and saved money for fast food. “But since tragedy already happened and you had to make a quick decision without my generous intervention, we have… you, in fact, have no choice but to survive these two months. After all, the contract was signed. You must cure yourself of unrequited love.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad. Steve… Steve was quite nice today”

“Because he is nice” Robin rolled her eyes again. “That’s why girls stick to him like a fly to the syrup. One smile, and they’re already dreaming about rubbing his long hair. Of all the boys at school, you had to tell him that he’s your boyfriend?” ”Maybe it would be better if I said I meant Tommy?” you raised your eyebrow. “I would’ve strangled you. You wouldn’t even get turned on because I’d only do it to really kill you” Robin snorted. You grabbed a handful of fries from your plate and threw them into her blouse, leaving fat stains on her. The waitress sent you a warning look. Robin opened her mouth wide.

“You’re lucky there wasn’t ketchup on them. What do you have to do, as Mrs. Harrington?” “Not much. I’ve pledged to come to his matches and of course his parties. He has the right to drive me to school and he’ll be spending movie nights with us.”

“Sounds good” Robin leaned her head on her hand. “His car is insane. Anything else?” “Well… he’s gonna have lunch with us” you said slowly. Robin moaned, her head leaned against the worn couch she was sitting on. “I don’t know if I can survive this. I’ll try to look at the food, not the two of you. If you start kissing when I eat, I swear to God…”. “We’re not gonna” you answered quickly by taking a sip of your drink. “I told him he can’t kiss me”.

“Like… no kissing at all? At all? Zero? Nothing?” Robin squealed her eyes wide. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I wish that… all my first times, first dates, first kisses wouldn’t be fake”. “Maybe they won’t be if you fall in love with him” Robin shrugged her shoulder. You twisted your head. “I’m not gonna fall in love. I don’t know if I can cure from Jonathan. But even if, me and Steve… it’s never gonna happen. We don’t fit together”.

“Never say never. Maybe you’ll like it so much that you’ll stop pretending in a while”.

You turned your head to the window, looking at the world outside the diner. There was this risk. Old feelings could come out, Steve could dig them out of your heart and brutally re-activate them. But even if he did, would he feel the same? Of course not. Each of you has a purpose in this. You don’t want Jonathan to find out the truth, and Steve wants to show people that his breakup with Nancy is long overdue. It’s just business. There’s no room for feelings in business.

“How do I keep getting into these situations?” you sighned. Robin slipped some fries under your nose, almost forcibly stuffed it in your mouth. She laughed so much that she shaked the table, and a little bit of her milkshake landed on your shirt. You opened your mouth wide, watching your friend roll out of laughter. “Two years of friendship and I still don’t know,” she said, wiping the tears caused by laughing in her face.

Dustin was always distracted, but in the morning he passed himself off. His hair was in disarray, he walked around the house looking for books, clothes, or money while you or Mom made him a second breakfast. One minute he was in the kitchen and the next he was upstairs because he forgot his hat. Each day of the week.

When he finally sat down at the table to eat his cereal, he looked at his watch.

“Son of a bitch. If I don’t leave right now, I’ll be late. I’m gonna eat something at school”. “Eat your breakfast” you puted him back in the chair. You gave him a spoon in his hand, biting your lower lip. “We have a ride today”.

“Ride?” he asked surprised. “Mom didn’t go to work today?” “She did, but I don’t mean mom. Someone else will take us”. “You mean Jonathan?” your brother was so emotional that he didn’t have to ride his bike that he completely forgot about his breakfast, while you were chewing lazy your toast looking out the window. “Oh no… it’s Robin. I don’t get in if it’s Robin, the boys are already waiting for me…”.

“Sit down” you pushed him back in the chair again. “It’s not Robin, it’s just… just wait”. “Wait for my own death? I don’t think so” Dustin snorted when Steve’s red BMW finally showed up on your street. You grabbed your backpack and your brother and you fell out, hearing the sounds of song of The Outfield from a distance. The boy got out of the car in full sunshine, with blushing cheeks, partly hidden behind sunglasses. He rested one of his hands on his hip, looking at you and Dustin, who desperately tried to close his mouth open out of surprise.

“Ready?” Steve asked impatiently. You were the first to run off the porch, running into the car and opening the back door for your brother. Dustin walked slowly into the car and got inside. “Since when do you drive Y/N to school?” Before Steve could put the keys in the ignition, Dustin leaned forward and the seatbelt was probably sticking in his neck. “You’re friends again? You’re dating? Is Y/N your girlfriend? Y/N, is Steve your boyfriend?”

“Shut up and lower down, because your face is all I see in the mirror” Steve sighned. You stopped laughing by leaning your forehead against the window glass when brown-eyed boy pulled your ear gently. Enough gently that it didn’t hurt, but enough to push you away from the door to turn around.

“Don’t breath on that, it’s expensive” the boy joked, moving off the driveway. “More expensive than your glasses?” Dustin snorted, already pulling sandwiches out of his backpack. “It should have been your second, not your first breakfast” you raised just one brow. “I didn’t get to eat the first one. I was too dazzled by the glow of that red paint” he said, looking around the inside of the car in admiration. “Why are we going with you?” “Steve… Steve suggested yesterday that since he drives every day in the same direction…” “I’m dating your sister” Steve blured out, answering you'r brother’s earlier questions. Dustin’s face was smiling wide, revealing his braces. He happily hit the back of your chair, sticking his little fists in your back.

“Holy shit!” Dustin whistled loudly into your ear. “Our little girl is grown up!” “I hate you” you looked at Steve with a killer eye, and he just shrugged his shoulder. “Why? I’m adorable” he snorted. “He should know. That’s how his morning’s gonna look every day from now”.

“Don’t shit” Dustin’s eyes went out. “Everyday? Troy will literally break out of jealousy”. “That’s what it’s all about. You don’t even know how the girls will react to you when you show up in a car like this. And in this company” Steve smiled proudly. A few minutes away and rocking your heads to his favorite pieces on the tape later you found yourself under the middle school building, where usually only parents would come, or the school bus. Steve looked outside with a disgust. “What’s the word for that infestation of tiny creatures over there?” “Those are children. That’s a school” you explained, blinking slowly. Dustin got off with looking like a ray of sunshine, he said something that sounded like goodbye and ran to his friends, looking at you with delight.

“I thought you told him” Steve shrugged his shoulder. “He would have guessed”. ”I know, but… he’s in love with you enough anyway. I don’t want him to be sorry afterwards when… you know” you said, like you didn’t care. Once you break up. Someday it will happen, and Dustin will be devastated when the red car and Steve are gone. He was his idol.

“Woah, slow down, slow down. We just started. We have a wonderful two months ahead of us. My company will light up your life. You’ll see. And the kid… kid will always be important to me, you know? I don’t know what will have to happen to change it” Steve said, drumming his fingers into the wheel. You smiled at yourself. Guess every girl would want her brother and boyfriend to get along, right? The two most important men in her life…

Except Steve’s not your real boyfriend. Why did it get so hard to remember every step of the way? Forgetting it is dangerous.

People’s looks are an integral part of going to school, so over time you can get used to them, but certainly not now. Not when literally everyone is staring at you with a laser in their eyes, when Steve embraces you with his shoulder, leaning in your ear from time to time to say something funny. His hands were everywhere. Of course not literally, but there was no way to go next to him without holding his hand, not to feel his arm on your waist. Physical contact was a priority if all of this was going to work.

“You’re doing pretty good” Steve said when you got to your locker. “I’m impressed”. “Thank you. Given that I don’t have any experience, it means a lot to me” you said, hiding books in your locker. “I still think it’s crazy, but I think it works, so…” “Crazy would think it wouldn’t work. You’ll see that Jonathan…” Steve broke off half the sentence. All of a sudden, the pictures and stickers inside your locker have become interesting to him. “Jonathan what?” you asked quietly, pressing the book to your chest. Steve coughed and took off his sunglasses, cleaning them with his T-shirt.

“Nancy is a great girl. But if he had looked around earlier, he would have found one, too” he murmured under his breath, without raising his eyes. He put his dark glasses on your head, and when they fell on your eyes, he laughed sincerely, correcting them again. He tried to get serious and pointed his finger at you, although the smile was still lurking in the corner of his mouth. “If you lose them, if you destroy them or scratch them… you’re ass is grass, Henderson. Is that clear?”

“Of course” you admited quickly, not wanting to upset him. Steve smiles brightly and leaned down to kiss your cheek. You heard the girls sighing behind you. Becky was standing by her locker too, clenching her hands firmly on her black pen, seeing the two of you. Steve stood back and pinched you in the nose. “I’ll see you later?” he asked, and you nod your head slowly. He left his way (without his glasses this time) but he turned around to wave to you at the end of the hallway. Your heart jumped a few times, banging on your ribs. That boy was so beautiful. And for a moment… for a few weeks, he could only be yours.

You twisted your head to drive the intrusive thoughts out of your head again and turned to go to your class, but you couldn’t go on. You were blocked by Nancy.

Bathrooms in schools are not the best place to talk, but the ladies’ bathrooms at least were cleaner than the boys’. Nancy sat with her legs crossed on cold tiles on the floor under the sinks, drawing tiny hearts with a pink marker on her notebook, listening to your story.

“I’m sorry that I only told Jonathan. He found out by coincidence” you said, suddenly feeling ashamed. A gentle smile appeared on your friend’s face, the marker froze over the white paper. “I hope you’re not angry at me”. “I’m not” Nancy twisted her head so hard that her curls covered her face for a moment. “For not telling me and for being with him. I wish you both the best. Steve is a wonderful guy. And you are a marvelous girl! I was just hoping you could give me some spicy details”.

“Spicy… details?” you repeated slowly, praying for someone to go to the toilet. “Oh, don’t be shy” Nancy kneeled down on her knees, leaning her hand against the sink above her to keep her balance. “How did that happen? Jonathan said you invited him on a date, so you have to tell me what happened. What were you doing? You guys already kissed each other, right?”

Details. How could you both be so stupid to not set a common version? If you say something else to Nancy… and he’ll say something different to his mates, you’ll bring suspicion on yourself. The school’s gonna start to be filled with false rumors. Think like Steve. What would Steve think…

“It’s just… somehow work out, you know?” you shrugged your shoulder innocently. You gave her a fake smile, feeling your thoughts trying to get ahead of each other on the highway in your brain. “We talked for a while during his training, so I suggested we can have lunch together the next day… and since then we’re inseparable”.

“You don’t even know how happy I am” Nancy squeezed your hand tight. Her small fingers have been warmly wrapped around your pale hand. “Since I started dating Jonathan… I was afraid you’d feel uncomfortable with us. Although you assured me that it’s not like that, I know how you must have felt sometimes. That doesn’t mean we didn’t want to spend time with you, don’t get me wrong. I just… I didn’t want you to be alone. Now I don’t have to worry anymore, right?”

“Yeah” you smiled at her. Nancy was always there for you, and she always wanted the best for you. Lying to her is not right. But if she doesn’t find out about Jonathan being more than friend that to you… you won’t break her heart. It’ll be worth it. Your own misery, for the happiness of a friend. Life is constant sacrifice. And you don’t always have to act selfishly. You’ll make sure Nancy is happy. You’ll make sure she’s happy like no one else.

“Y/N, someone’s ringing the doorbell!” Dustin screamed from his room, interrupting you from reading the book. You put it on your stomach. Mr. Darcy was just about to confess his love to Elizabeth Bennet, and there’s no way you’re gonna get out of bed until he does. If Mom was at work and her friends knew about it, it was definitely someone to your brother. Or to you.

“Why can’t you open the door?” you yelled, taking your legs off the wall. “I’m a little busy here! Just open the door!” your brother shouted. Mr Darcy had to wait for your reading to move forward. You came down the stairs, almost stepping on your cat, who, strangely enough, liked the lowest step. You opened the door wide, seeing Steve on the other side. He was wearing a black jacket, dark jeans, and his hair was perfectly up. If Mr Darcy had existed in the ‘80s, he’d probably look like him. But you’re not Elizabeth Bennet, so you shouldn’t allow yourself unnecessary comparisons.

“We supposed to see each other?” you asked, surprised, unable to take your eyes off his. “No, but I didn’t have your number, so I thought I’d come. Can I come in?” “Sure” you smiled, leading him inside. God, when was he last here? You remembered that his favorite hiding place was between the wall and your mom’s chair. That he once couldn’t reach the shelf in the fridge with the chocolate milk on it. Now he was taller than the fridge. He watched everything with curiosity, as if he wanted to see how much of what he remembers had changed. You didn’t know he saw the biggest change in you. He remembered when you once hit your head so hard on the stair railing that a big purple bruise stayed on your skin for weeks. Now there was no trace of it. Even if there was, it wouldn’t matter. Looking at you, in a striped shirt with flushed cheeks, Steve thought you were just adorable.

“As I was saying” Steve leaned lazy against the table top. He took an apple from a fruit bowl and tossed it a couple of times in his hand. “I didn’t have your number, and my teammate Evan is having a party today. I was gonna go, but… but if you can’t, or don’t want to, I’ll understand”. “Why can’t you go alone?” you asked, genuinely surprised. Steve stopped tossing the apple.

“Because, Henderson, you’re my girlfriend. I’m not going anywhere without you” he said. The corners of your mouth turned up. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Isn’t it too early to introduce me to your friends?” you asked. Of course it wasn’t too early. But the vision of Steve coming with you to the party, drinking alcohol with him, leaning lazy on his chest while sitting on the couch literally terrified you. “I don’t know if Jonathan’s going there, but parties are in the contract. A deal is a deal, Henderson. I’ll wait until you get changed”.

“Okay… but I can’t be home late” you said firmly, going up the stairs. “What do you mean by saying 'late’? You need to be a little more specific”. “Midnight. We’ll be home at 12:30 pm, and I’ll go to bed at 1:30 am. So we have to go out at midnight” you smiled proud of your own calculations. Steve twisted his head with disbelief. A corner of his mouth lifted. How could he disagree? He’s gonna bring you here at midnight, even if he’s gonna go over the speed limit to do it.

“Let it be, Cinderella. Before your carriage turns into pumpkin, you’ll be home”. “I thought your car was red, not orange” you joked, running up the stairs. You stopped halfway up and turned to the boy who bit into the apple. Mews only now turned her attention to him, raising her head from over her thick fur.

“Are you legal to drink yet?” you asked, squinting your eyes. Steve moved the fruit away from his mouth. “You’re serious? The fake ID in my wallet says I am” he said, raising his shoulders. “I can work with that” you nodded your head and ran upstairs. Steve laughed quietly, unable to be not surprised. He and Y/N Henderson are going to a party together. This is going to be an interesting night.

Taglist: @krazykatkay456 @mochminnie @ghostineleven @sydzygy @queen1054

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #jonathan byers imagine #jonathan byers #stranger things #stranger things imagine

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swansongffxiv · 5 years ago

Text

LFRP : Takakage Sasaki [ Balmung | Crystal ]

THE BASICS ––– –

Full Name: Takakage Sasaki

Age: Unknown, as a result of his amnesia. However, he appears to be in his mid to late twenties at the least.

Birthday: Another mystery, as a result of his loss of memory.

Race: Hyur, Midlander

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Single

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ––– –

Hair: Mostly Jet Black with the exception of a Snow White patch at the front.

Eyes: Black ( Right ) | Violet ( Nearly always kept concealed )

Height: 6'3 fulms

Build: Toned and athletic, due to a life as an adventurer.

Distinguishing Marks: His white patch of hair. A pair of facial scars, one across his face and the other his left cheek. Mismatched eyes ( when visible) .

Common Accessories: It’s rare to catch him without his bandana on. He keeps a weathered omamori charm with him, sometimes wearing it as a necklace.

PERSONAL ––– –

Profession: Adventurer

Hobbies: Fishing, exploring, training, reading

Languages: Eorzean, Hingan

Residence: None at present. Living on the move.

Birthplace: He’s not sure, but feels like it might be Doma.

Fears: Being powerless to protect others or failing them. Losing sight of himself. Deep darkness. His nightmares.

RELATIONSHIPS ––– –

Spouse: None, currently.

Parents: None known given his condition.

Siblings: None he can recall.

Other Relatives:

Takeshi : As the first person whom he met shortly after awakening with no memory, and the man who helped him when he was on the verge of death, Takakage looks upon the elderly sword smith as the closest thing he has to family in this world.

Pets:

Tokumatsu : Upon a chance meeting shortly after beginning his travels, Takakage rescued the otter from the fangs of a very angered wolf. Ever since then the critter has chosen to remain by his side as his most faithful and wise companion, as he himself puts it. Despite outward appearances, one would be a fool to underestimate this guileful little otter.

TRAITS ––– –

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ––– –

Smoking Habit: While he did try it once, he found it wasn’t quite for him...

Drugs: Hard pass.

Alcohol: If it’s a special occasion he’ll have one drink, but that’s it.

RP HOOKS ––– –

Need some help? Say no more! - As adventurer, Takakage’s always eager to help those in need with what ails them. While this is the main way he manages to get by as well, there have been numerous occasions where he’s helped an individual simply because no one else would. Spreading good is its own reward to him.

Come one, come all and enjoy the show! - Good will alone unfortunately can’t sustain ones self, as Takakage has learned. Luckily for him, Tokumatsu’s cleverness and natural talent when it comes to showmanship has often saved them both from going hungry! By putting his companion’s skill with a blade on display for the masses, the little otter often saves both their skins.

Have you... seen my otter? - Being an otter of particular taste, it’s not unlike Tokumatsu to split off occasionally on his own in the process of seeking his interests. When he wants something, he’ll get it! Unfortunately, this often leads to sending Takakage on a search for him after.

Something amiss - While it is unbeknownst to Takakage himself, for those with the appropriate devices or even talent for reading aether, they may find something about his to be inexplicably “off”.

Friendly wanderer - It’s not unlikely for one to simply encounter him on the road. Often when he finds himself going in a similar direction as someone else, Takakage takes up on the chance to strike a conversation and make a new acquaintance.

OOC ––– –

Hello! Thank you to whomever’s read thus far, I really appreciate it! I’m a returning EU player (GMT+3) to FFXIV trying to get in contact with the RP community again on Balmung ( or rather Crystal as a whole now ) and set about making new friends to enjoy the game with and weave fun stories together. While I mentioned I’m searching for contacts, I suppose I should also mention I’m currently looking for an FC into which Takakage might fit in well thematically for RP. On which note: In terms of RP, I’m looking for long-term connections with other characters to really help him develop and drive the story I have set out in my head forward, while building and participating in others. I’m fine with with M/RP, however would prefer more sensitive topics, character injuries or romances are first discussed OOC. When it comes to lore adherence, I tend to be fine with most lore-bending as it is something I myself do/ have done in the past, as long as it’s supported by lore and not out of the realm of possibility in terms of canon. That’s my own subjective view on it, and it’s fine if you disagree. In terms of writing style I often tend to mirror my present partner’s so they feel more comfortable, or stick to shorter posts when in a bigger group/ event. Of course, text RP through Discord is also fine. Though while I do enjoy the freedom of it, I am somewhat more partial to the feeling in-game provides. As for myself, I tend to be a laid back fellow most of the time who just enjoys spending time with friends and having fun, be it doing content or RP. Please don’t be shy and feel free to message me on here if this sparks your interest or you have any questions, as I’d sure love to meet and befriend all of you and answer them! Once more, thank you for reading! \o

@xiv-lfrp @mooglemeet @balmungrp

#ffxiv #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv balmung #crystal lfrp #lfrp #mooglemeet #xiv-lfrp #balmungrp #looking for rp #balmung #crystal #Takakage Sasaki #final fantasy xiv

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a-baleful-howl · 6 years ago

Text

I’m about to go full-on petty mode. So if you don’t care about my personal gloating and back-patting, scroll on by lol

This post contains spoilers for episode 1 of season 8, and also spoilers for my fic The Lone Wolf Dies.

I recognize this post is really only for me. I’m a salty bitch.

This is fanart the wonderful and lovely @cathcacen drew for me when I was at my lowest and receiving the most hate I’ve ever gotten for a fic.

I ranted about it for a bit, deleted the worst of the flames I could off of FFN, and I haven’t actually been back to FFN since this all happened. Don't think I havent noticed the love and support I got from the JonsaFam, either. I very much appreciated it, and I know many people enjoyed my fic (and are begging me to finish it...).

Here’s some highlights of the comments I received on FFN accusing me of being “unrealistic” or of committing “character assassination” (sad thing is, these aren’t even the worst reviews I got):

“Arya would never let Sansa or the Northern Lords do that to Jon[...]This story is making Jon a bit of a wimp and Arya willing to betray him even though she loves him more than Sansa.” [saphirablue25 on chapter 1]

“Another story about Jonsa, and Anti-Dany, and pro-norte and pro-stark? these crap stories are becoming common since season 7.[...]and this kind of stories, without any artistic or literary value, just deserve to be vilified. is just another excuse to be myopic and criticize character without reason, especially when it is already something practically canon that Jon / Daenerys will be in the books too, as one producer of the HBO series said, who was told George Martin. waste of time.” [flayjunior15 on chapter 1]

“this story is rubbish, more crap without sense…” [guest on chapter 1]

“This is character assassination. Arya Stark would never betray Jon Snow; no matter what;[...]Of course now it’s a Jon and Sansa pairing ignoring everything that happened in season 7 b/c why not?[...] The leaps you Jonsa writers take to mischaracterize daenerys just b/c you’re not getting the ending you want in the show or the books is a little ridiculous. You can’t write a story that’s based on show-canon and then ignore all obstacles presented in said canon just to put your two favorite characters together. That’s not how good storytelling works.” [FanofLogic (lol) on chapter 1]

“I don't think Arya would ever betray Jon, it's just not plausible.[...]There are gaping plot holes, that need to be seriously addressed, the writing and the punctuation are fine, it’s well spaced and makes sense in a linear sense, but in terms of plot and story, it crumbles to dust before you even finish reading the chapter in its entirety.[...]I don’t want to stop you from writing, that’s not my intention, you just need to sit back and ask yourself, if it really makes sense.” [carpenoctem20 on chapter 1]

“Well, I read your story. It is sad really because your writing style is good and enjoyable but the stupidity of your character's actions[...]Too bad, your writing is promising but the story lacks logic…[...]Also, thank you for butchering Arya’s character - she is my favourite and you completely ruined her.” [malb901 on chapter 1]

“I realize that this story is an AU because our characters are written not how they are portray in television or books…” [GUEST VIII on chapter 1]

“If your goal was to write Arya completely out of character and Sansa as a short sighted idiot with the northern lords as her peanut gallery...then good job. Otherwise your characterization needs a lot of work.” [guest on chapter 1]

“Arya...well how she is written is so absurdly offbase from canon you would have been better off write my that part as an of to avoid having preconceived about the character.” [guest on chapter 1]

“What a load of complete garbage. So much character assassination across the board is an injustice to GRRM’s work!” [guest on chapter 1]

“Another junk Jonsa story, I see that many of these losers, are very salty, because their crackship (because that’s the Jonsa, a crack) shipwrecked last season.[...]The author of this story is another salty loser with no sense, just like all the Jonsa fans of this crack ship.[...] even Arya has a stronger relationship with Jon than with any member of her family, she would care less about the North, even threatening to kill the Northern Lord, if they hurt Jon. Only two idiots of Jonsa, defend this story.” [JonsaSucks on chapter 1]

“Highly questionable characterization and plot holes big enough to fly a dragon through...pass” [guest on chapter 2]

“With Arya, she's so OC in this that it would have made more sense to make her a new character. She would never choose Sansa over Jon.” [saphirablue25 on chapter 2]

“So disappointing! This story is a complete disservice to anyone who is not a blind Sansa worshiper.[...]The plot holes don't do you any favors either.” [Zmrzlina763 on chapter 3]

“Poorly written, plot holes, unrealistic” [guest on chapter 3]

“What a pile of crap. So many plot holes and character assassination. You should be ashamed to publish such garbage.” [guest on chapter 4]

“I hated this story...thought it was really ridiculous.” [guest on chapter 4]

“I would highly recommend rereading GRRM’s work as it’s obvious you are basing your characterizations on contrived reimaginings with no basis in the work you claim to be a fan of. Please do us all a favor and quit polluting the fandom with this nonsense.” [guest on chapter 4]

And finally, for the piece de resistance!

“Oh boy that story became retarded real quick” [guest on chapter 1]

Now, I might be biased but my brain kept pointing out similarities to the first episode of season 8 and my fic - which I never claimed to be writing what I thought was really going to happen, but that this what I wished in a best case scenario would, my interpretation of all the info we got from Season 7, and it was always only ever supposed to be a Jonsa one-shot but it kept growing.

Now, one of the biggest complaints I got was “character assassination” - saying that the characters would never behave the way I wrote them to. This is mainly what I want to focus on as clearly the fic is not exactly the same as the episode - and I never expected it to be. Fanfic is fanfic for a reason. For one, Sansa and the North refuse Jon and Dany, and that's kind of the catalyst to everything else that happens in the fic. Thats a big change - so I’m not saying “My fic was exactly like the show!!” I just wanted to point out all the moments while watching the show I was like “See! I didn’t assassinate anyone’s character!” since that’s apparently a crime I was committing against all of fandom.

If you haven’t read the fic, I highly suggest you do since many of these quotes are small snippets taken from a bigger context.

All the text is from my fic, the pictures are the moments I thought were similar from the show.

Daenerys had chosen to forgo her dragons to mount a horse instead, as a show of equality and peace to the Northern people.

The Hound, Sandor Clegane, rode beside them, seemingly reluctant to be there, in his own way.

“Greetings,” she announced. “How gracious for you to meet us.” Though her words were not sweet - they never were - and she measured the air between the two parties cautiously.

“You’ve traveled very far,” Sansa responded, her horse shifting impatiently under her. Her voice did not waver, and it carried loud and clear across the void. “It would be rude of me to not turn you away personally.”

Daenerys remained silent.

“We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark.” Lyanna Mormont bellowed from her own steed. Her eyes were glowering, stern and furious. Not little Lyanna…

“First the Wildlings, and now a foreign whore,” Lord Glover spat, his horse just as wide as he was. “You’re not a Northerner. You’re anything but.”

He looked to Sansa for an answer. Surely Sansa would not leave him to the wolves. Yet she avoided his eye.

“I missed you too, Jon…” she called back, and his heart knew that she meant it. “But Starks stick together. I know that now. What would Father think?” His heart broke. If only they knew…

Jon had warned her. He knew before heading to Dragonstone that the Northerners were not likely to kneel to a foreign ruler. Sansa had said so herself many times. He resisted the urge to gloat, to remind the Dragon Queen of his words.

“Sam?” he whispered. Surely he must be imagining it. Sam was here? In Winterfell? The round man came stumbling towards him, his arms waving madly by his sides to catch Jon's attention.[...] The two clasped each other in a strong embrace for a moment before Jon pulled back. [...] “Gilly?” Jon asked absently. “And the baby?” “They're fine!” Sam answered, finally with a dim smile. “They’re here.”

Arya . Oh, Arya! She’s safe. He frantically grabbed her, sweeping his hands over her hair and face, feverishly kissing the top of her head, thanking the old gods that she was here. Thank the gods his little sister was alive. She had wrapped her arms so tightly around him he could barely breathe.

“You leave him alone!” Arya barked, running swiftly down the hall towards them.

“Don’t you understand what this means, Jon?” Sam insisted. “You’re the heir to the Iron Throne.”

Jon didn’t care about that. Not now. Suddenly everything he thought he knew was a lie. His father- no, his uncle... had lied to him his whole life. This meant that Daenerys was his aunt by blood. And Sansa was his…

He suddenly felt very ill.

[...]Everything tasted bitter to him now. Everything he had ever known was a lie, but oddly, it made sense. Eddard had gone south to save his sister and had returned with a child. It made sense. How - how - had he not seen it before?

[...]People die and stay dead. That was a fact. Unless he had believed more lies than the one his uncle had told him his whole life.

He had traveled on horseback many times, but never alone. [...] When he drew nearer to Winterfell, the snow and winds were so strong he was forced to cover every inch of skin but his eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen the seven hells.”

“You don’t look any better,” Sandor replied. Jaime tried to ignore the slight. It was true he was unshaven, unwashed and frozen to the bone.

“It’s too late,” Bran interrupted. Jon’s blood ran cold at the words.

“What do you mean it’s too late?”

“The Wall is gone. Eastwatch is gone. There is a dragon that breathes blue fire.”

Now, I’m not trying to say “I’m Nostradamus and I guessed the entire first episode.” No. That is absolutely not what I’m saying. I thought I made an informed guess into how the characters might react to the events in season 7 and amongst each other, and used my own opinions on the characterizations to write a story based around one thing: Jon realizing he loved Sansa because she died. Everything else was secondary to me.

It’s only because I got such immediate and hostile push back to something I saw as obvious foreshadowing that made me feel so vindicated when the first episode had so many similarities to what I wrote. Anyone could have come up with these same lines as I did - because the evidence was there and the Jonsa fam was pointing it out the whole time.

I just reallllly hate how fanfiction, especially in ASOIAF and on FFN, has the default accusation of “character assassination” to use when you just hate a story, when all fandom characterizations are just opinions. Only the author of the original source material can decry character assassination. Fanfiction is everyone’s personal choices when it comes to things like this, and it appears that a whole shitload of Dany Stans descended on my story, and instead of saying “I hate Jonsa and Dany can do no wrong” they personally attacked me for horrible writing - when in fact I was the one more on point than they were. I never expected Sansa and the North to literally turn Dany and Jon away at the gates - but thats why I wrote a fanfic about it. Because that was the only way I was going to see it told.

I was so upset by this (can’t you tell? lol) that seeing this episode really made me feel good and feel more proud in what I wrote.

okay. rant over.

#original #text post #s8 #8.01 #my fics #the lone wolf dies #long post

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hanaisnumber1 · 6 years ago

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@anxiety-mushroom I’m sorry it took me so long to get to this! I hope it’s worth the wait. <3

I’m still working on other requests, but I’m also currently participating in the Bleach Big Bang so my Overwatch fanfiction is being pushed to the side a little… Sorry about that, dearies!

I also think this particular piece might become a prequel/prologue to a much bigger Overwatch fanfiction that I’m working on, I will keep you all posted!

A Morning at the Monastery

Summary: Genji and Zenyatta have spent many mornings at the monastery. Here are a few of them, leading up to the last morning spent at the monastery before the Overwatch recall. Light and fluffy Genyatta. ^_^

Words: 3081

AO3 link will be in a reblog, since I’m not sure if Tumblr still hates links or what

1 Year Ago

Zenyatta’s eyes were closed. His thoughts drifted like the wind and his body was motionless. He didn’t breathe upon entering a deep meditation, not like a human did, anyway, but his body still floated up and down.

This morning’s meditation was soon cut short, however, upon the crash of metal against a brick wall and the sounds of Zenyatta’s student storming off.

Zenyatta’s eyes slowly opened, or rather, the lenses beneath the slots for his eyes in his mask slowly opened. There was a whirring noise as he woke up and his gaze followed Genji as the young warrior stormed away from the training grounds, his sword left resting at the bottom of the wall he’d thrown it against.

Zenyatta moved over to the sword and picked up the blade. There was a scratch on the once perfectly smooth surface, a dent that fortunately wouldn't disrupt the effectiveness of the sword. Still, to damage something so important to the young warrior… Zenyatta decided that he’d better see what the matter was.

He slowly made his way after Genji, deciding to give Genji time to think before Zenyatta arrived. Disturbing someone from one’s thoughts was always a dangerous task, at least, that’s what Zenyatta believed. Thoughts were precious - they were all Zenyatta had that proved he was more than just a program that had been placed into an empty shell. To disturb one’s thoughts was not something Zenyatta enjoyed doing, especially if that someone was too lost in their thoughts, as Genji often was.

And disturbing the young warrior when he was angry? It was an even more delicate operation.

Zenyatta found Genji sitting by the edge of a small cliff which overlooked part of the town below. His legs hung over the sides. Zenyatta had once expressed concern for Genji doing this, but Genji explained that drops like this didn’t affect his body, and Zenyatta decided it was a battle to save for another day - to teach Genji to appreciate his metallic body as much as his flesh one.

“Are you all right?” Zenyatta asked before he got too close. Another thing Zenyatta learnt was not to sneak up on Genji or invade his personal space.

“I don’t wish to talk about it,” Genji answered.

“Then we don’t have to,” Zenyatta replied. “May I come sit with you?”

Genji almost said no. “Of course,” he said without looking back at Zenyatta.

Zenyatta approached his student. He sat down next to him, about half an arm’s length away, and he didn’t speak for a few minutes.

“It’s a nice morning,” Zenyatta finally said.

Genji sighed. “I suppose it is.”

“What do you think the people in the village are doing today?” Zenyatta asked.

Genji shrugged. “Shopping? Working?”

“Making breakfast, I’d think,” Zenyatta added. “What’s breakfast like, Genji?”

Genji blinked, turning to look at Zenyatta. The omnic didn’t look back at him. Zenyatta waited in silence for Genji’s answer and it only took a moment before Genji replied, “It’s nice. A warm meal after a deep sleep… something to give you the energy you need for the day.”

“Ah, like charging?”

Genji chuckled a little. “I suppose so.” He slid back from the edge of the cliff and then stood tall. “I’d like to get back to training now if that is alright?”

“You will need this.” Zenyatta held up Genji’s sword for him to take.

Genji sighed and cautiously took it, as though the blade might hurt him. “Thank you.”

6 Months Ago

A cool breeze drifted in from the mountains. The glow of the sun could be seen coming from behind a mountain, but the sun itself had not yet peeked out.

Genji easily ignored the chill. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d worked hard enough during his morning training to make his face turn red and heat up, but here he was anyway. It was nice… knowing that his heart was still pumping blood through him. He didn’t feel… inhuman.

And, he admitted to himself, maybe sticking around to finish his training in the morning instead of storming off mad helped to work up a sweat too. That, and actually being willing to wake up earlier in the morning to get his training done on time… The point was, he actually completed his training now and the effects of training were visible on his body.

Genji sighed, okay so maybe he used to be a pretty bad student. He was at least trying harder now.

“You’re losing focus, Genji.”

“What?” Genji blinked when an orb was held out in front of his face, purple swirls creeping out of the carvings in the orb.

Genji sighed and bowed his head, signalling that he accepted his defeat.

Zenyatta took back his 'weapons' (Genji considered them more for self-defence than for fighting, but his master could really use them to fight if he wanted to).

“I think we’re done for the morning.”

“We are?” Genji asked.

Zenyatta nodded. “It has been a long morning. Let’s take a break and then we can resume training later.”

Genji nodded, still confused but he didn’t argue. He placed his sword on his back and followed his master as Zenyatta went back into the monastery. He followed behind Zenyatta, stepping a little closer to his master when they started to move past other omnics. Genji wasn’t scared of them, but he felt more comfortable around Zenyatta. It helped that Zenyatta was one of the only monks here who didn’t look down on Genji.

It was a strange attitude that many of the monks had - that humans needed to be lectured rather than they needed to learn to live amongst omnic kind. Zenyatta was different. In many ways, he was impatient with his brothers and sisters, but Zenyatta never seemed to run out of patience with Genji.

When they seemed to be leaving the monastery altogether is when Genji finally asked, “Where are we going?’

“To watch the sunrise.”

Genji frowned. “Isn’t there… something more important we should be doing?”

Genji heard what he thought was Zenyatta chuckling. “If you don’t take the time to properly observe what’s around you, then you’ll never be able to defeat me or anyone else in combat, Genji. You’re too distracted. Thoughts are wonderful, but if you let them wander when you should be focusing, you won’t be able to get the task at hand completed.”

Genji huffed. There was simply no arguing with Zenyatta when he was like this. Even if Genji thought it was a waste of time to watch the sun, he understood what Zenyatta was saying about him being distracted.

But how could he not be distracted? Between thoughts of his past, his brother, Blackwatch and… accepting that he could never go back to the person he once was - how could Genji possibly keep his mind focused?

Zenyatta stopped near some steps. He lowered himself so that he could sit, and he looked at Genji to see if he was doing the same.

Genji slowly sat down on the steps next to Zenyatta.

“Now what?” Genji asked.

“Now we wait.”

And so they waited. As the air warmed slightly around them and the sun began to touch the snow, making it melt, they watched.

The sky went from an endless dark blue to a bright yellow in what seemed like only seconds. The sun peeked over the mountains and Genji averted his eyes. He noticed that Zenyatta did not look away, and he supposed that the omnic didn’t need to. His eyes didn’t work like Genji’s after all.

“How is it?” Genji asked.

They both sat in silence. Genji chuckled a little.

“What’s so funny?” Zenyatta asked.

“Just… usually, you ask me how I’m feeling or how I see things,” Genji explained. “I don’t usually ask you.”

Zenyatta felt intrigued, perhaps even a little excited. He would call this happiness if he had to take a guess. “That’s interesting.”

“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Genji replied.

“Oh…” Zenyatta glanced around once more, thinking for the right word. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

1 Month Ago

Genji was awake and ready for training precisely as the sky began to grow lighter. He knew that he had at least an hour before the sun would show itself, and that was plenty of time to train. He was used to fighting in the dark by now. Even though the night vision in his mask was of the highest quality, he still liked to rely on his nature eyesight, but he had gotten used to both.

He waited at the training grounds for Zenyatta. Genji did his stretches and tested each part of his mechanical body, just as Zenyatta had showed him how to do, and he knew he was in peak condition by the time that Zenyatta should be arriving.

Except, Zenyatta wasn’t here yet.

It wasn’t like his master to be late, but he had been late once or twice before. Genji wasn’t concerned until the sky was really starting to get brighter and there was still no sign of his master. He left the training grounds and sought out Zenyatta’s room.

The spot where Zenyatta usually meditated was empty.

Genji scowled and - rather than simply using the door, he left through Zenyatta’s window and ran towards the courtyard. He relaxed a bit when he found Zenyatta sitting off to the side of the courtyard at the top of the cliff. He was staring down at the village below.

“Master,” Genji called.

Zenyatta turned to face him. “Oh… Genji, my apologies, I must have meditated for longer than I intended to.”

Genji moved towards Zenyatta. He sat cross-legged beside him, about a meter away from the edge of the cliff. “Master, is everything alright?”

“I think I had a nightmare,” Zenyatta replied.

“I didn’t know that you could dream.”

“They’re not exactly dreams…” Zenyatta explained. “Sometimes I meditate on a thought, other times I meditate on a memory. I think I dream once I have fallen into a restful state because the memories change from how they actually occuried.”

“That sounds about right,” Genji said. He shivered as he recalled the nightmare he had a few nights ago. He had met up with Hanzo and tried talking to him, but his brother was still the same unreasonable and unreachable man that he had been all those years ago. Unwilling to respond or listen to Genji, Hanzo took his life. All Genji could think about were the people he was leaving behind. He owed Angela and Jesse apologies for his behaviour… he needed to help them save Gabe and stop Moira. Genji needed to speak with Hanzo, even if it would result in something similar to his nightmares - Genji needed that peace. But most of all, he just wanted to live. He owed Angela for saving his life and he had a debt to pay off to Zenyatta for making his life worth living.

Speaking of Zenyatta… Genji noticed that his heart was still frantically beating from how scared he’d been when he couldn't find him. Genji knew he should say something, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say other than, “I was worried when I couldn’t find you at the training grounds... Are we going to begin our lessons for today?”

“Perhaps we’ve earned a break for today.”

Genji nodded and frowned with worry, feeling only a slight chill as his lip touched the cool metal that covered his face. He, ever so slowly, removed his mask. He could just barely register the cold air brushing against his skin.

“You haven’t taken your mask off in a long time,” Zenyatta commented.

Genji smiled.

Zenyatta observed the curling of Genji’s lips. “You’re smiling, what for?”

Genji blinked, feeling a rush of heat spread to his face. “Oh… I was just thinking that it’s true, I haven’t taken it off in a while. The metal gets too cold against my skin sometimes.”

“Why don’t you take it off more often?” Zenyatta suggested more than asked. He knew the reason why.

Genji didn’t like taking off his mask around omnics since he felt like it made him different from them. But most of all, he didn’t like revealing his scars. It had taken some time, but Genji now knew that he could trust Zenyatta with seeing the difference between himself and omnics and with seeing his scars. Zenyatta never made Genji feel like an outcast, even if everywhere else Genji felt like one.

Genji didn’t belong with omnics, but he didn’t belong with humans either. And, every once in a while, Genji thought he sensed that Zenyatta felt the same way.

The sun touched the skin on Genji’s face and he sighed a little from the warmth. Genji and Zenyatta sat in silence for a while longer before bells began to ring in the distance.

“I do believe the town is waking up,” Zenyatta said.

“Yeah,” Genji replied. “I feel like I could go back to sleep, however.”

Zenyatta chuckled, the metallic sound echoing around them.

Genji remained there for a while longer. His eyes closed, his cheeks warm… the sun felt nice. For the first time in a long time, he could really appreciate it.

And although Zenyatta couldn’t feel the warmth the same way Genji could, Zenyatta appreciated it all the same.

Present

Genji hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the communicator on his wrist. It had been silent for so long that he’d forgotten it was even there. So, when it was beeping this morning, he checked it right away. Now he was regretting it.

“Genji?”

Zenyatta’s voice finally snapped Genji from his thoughts. He looked up from his wrist, the video closing. He blinked and looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the room. It was light out, the sun was already up.

“How long have I been sitting here?” Genji asked.

“You missed training this morning,” Zenyatta answered. “Is something the matter?”

Genji frowned and opened the message he’d gotten. He let it play for Zenyatta to see. Once it was done, the new silence that had taken over the room was almost haunting.

Zenyatta moved into Genji’s room and sat across from him. “Are you going to join them?”

Genji gulped. He started the video over, listening to Winston speak once more. “I do not know.”

“You could if you wanted to,” Zenyatta encouraged.

Genji sighed. “This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I have wanted to make amends with everyone for a long time.”

“You sent a letter to Angela, right?”

Genji nodded. “For Christmas. She got it and wrote back. She said she was happy to hear from me, so… I guess that means she isn’t mad. Still, a letter is just a letter. There are more things that can’t be done or said through just words.”

Zenyatta reached towards Genji and Genji didn’t stop him as he removed Genji’s mask. “She cannot see your face in a letter.”

Genji nodded, a small pout to his lips. “Expressions sometimes say more than words.”

“How so?” Zenyatta asked.

Genji smiled a little, happy to answer his master’s questions. “Well, a smile can show that someone is happy. A frown shows that someone is upset. Crying is a way to know that someone is very upset.”

Zenyatta nodded. “Yes… you’ve told me about these before. I remember.”

Genji’s smile widened, his eyes narrowing just a bit. “Omnics have expressions too.”

“We do?”

Genji nodded. “Your head looks down whenever you’re upset. You just did that. So, why are you upset, master?”

Zenyatta hummed in thought. “I know this is important to you. I want to see you happy.”

Genji leaned back against the wall. “But?”

“But I’m worried that if you go, I won’t see you again.”

Genji felt a small jab to his chest when he heard those words. “Well, there’s an easy solution to that.”

“There is…”

Genji frowned. “Do you not want to come with me?”

Zenyatta noticed Genji’s expression change and he found himself unable to keep looking at him. “I would like to, but…”

“Are you scared?” Genji asked, partially teasing but mostly serious.

Zenyatta didn’t answer.

“You are.” Genji leaned forward, taking Zenyatta’s free hand, the other still holding his mask. “Don’t be. You taught me a lot while I was here with you, now let me teach you while we’re out in the world.”

Zenyatta turned back to stare at Genji. “You truly wish for me to come with you?”

Genji tried not to get caught up on the wording. He absolutely wanted Zenyatta to travel with him, but he couldn’t admit that it was because he… well, it wouldn’t be the same without Zenyatta there with him. Zenyatta was a comfort to him, like his rock that kept him from floating away and becoming the angry person he used to be. “You said you always wanted to travel the world, right? To be with people and teach them, learn with them… this is how you can do that.”

Zenyatta knew that he was feeling happiness now. That absolutely must have been it. “I will come with you if only to make sure that you don’t get into trouble.”

Genji scoffed. “I don’t need you to keep me out of trouble.” I need you to keep me company…

“I don’t doubt that, but just in case, it’s necessary that I accompany you. As your teacher, I must watch out for you, my student.”

Genji’s smile widened at that. “Oh, is it because if I left, you would miss me?”

“I would,” Zenyatta said bluntly.

Genji’s smile softened. “Good, because I would miss you as well, master.” Genji took his mask back and used it to hide his face which was growing warmer by the second. “So, when shall we leave?”

“The sun is already up. I believe now would be a good time.”

Genji hadn’t expected that response, but then again, living here had never truly felt like home. The other monks didn’t keep many personal belongings and they didn’t need clothes or other items to keep them from growing bored. They also didn’t collect things since they rarely left the monastery.

It was easy enough for Genji and Zenyatta to gather what they needed for the trip. They said goodbye to Zenyatta’s brothers and sisters before they simply left, leaving behind their old life and embarking on a new adventure.

#genyatta #genyatta fanfiction #overwatch fanfiction #genji x zenyatta #zenyatta x genji #fluff #fluffy fanfiction #anxiety-mushroom #request #fanfiction request

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ikonicsvtgeneration · 6 years ago

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♡ svt: christmas ♡

writers note: this has taken forever to write, can’t even count the hours. Tumblr kept fucking my shit up by doing everything possible to not make me post this is the way I want it posted :) thank for that tumblr. Also sorry some of these are shorter than others.

Seungcheol; my christmas prince uwu. You would be decorating your christmas tree together with mulled wine and christmas music in the background. You would both be wearing woolly socks and the ugly christmas sweaters you had brought home that day. Cheol secrectly thought that they were embarrasing, but seeing how much you wanted to match, and the glow in your eyes, he couldn’t say no. Your tree was almost ready now, missing only the star. You scrambled around the box of decorations and pulled it out. Tip toeing, you tried to reach the top of the tree. Cheol melted at the sight. “Need help yeobo?” You nodded, pouting a little. He got behind you, bend at his knees a little, wrapped his arms around you securely and lifted you up. This way, you could easily reach the top, and placed the star on it, adjusting it a little so it was at the perfect angle. He put you down carefully. You turned around and gave him a kiss thank you. Turning back around, you leaned against him, and you both looked at the finished tree. “Looks pretty good I think.” You smile, and he kissed the top of your head.

Jeonghan; It was the evening of the 24th of december, and you and Jeonghan decided to take a break from the hustle and bustle of the dorms, to take a walk outside. The city looked beautiful this time of year, with snow and fairylights everywhere. You were both bundled up in your matching Lafuma padded jackets, hands held tightly together. “Wait a second jagi, I’ll take a picture of you in the snow” He said, motioning for you to walk forward. You agreed and continued walking. After a few seconds, you felt something hitting your back. You turned around shocked, only to find Jeonghan bending over in laughter. Bending down yourself, you gathered a quick snowball into your hands and threw it at him, before he could react. Now it was Jeonghan’s turn to be shocked, the snowball hitting him right in the chest. He looked up at you, first in shock, then his face turned into a look of mischief. Sensing what was coming, you ran in the opposite direction, laughing hard. “Jagi I just want a kiss!” He’d shout after you, trying to catch you with a snowball in his hand.

Joshua; You and Joshua were spending a very typical evening in December for you two, on the couch with hot chocolate, watching a christmas movie. Around half way through the movie, Joshua excused himself to go to the bathroom. You paused the movie, and did whatever you could think off to pass the time, checking your nails, reminded yourself to book a time for a manicure, put your hair in a bun. Your eyes darted to your tree, and you couldn’t help noticing the little package underneath it, that wasn’t there that morning. You glanced towards the bathroom, no movement, and tip toed to the tree quickly. You picked up the little package, turning it around in your hands. It was gorgeous, with silver wrapping paper and a purple bow. You turned around the small card on it, and your heart nearly burst. For my love, Josh x. You couldn’t believe him, you had told him not to buy you any christmas gifts. How could this small package make you so emotional? Hearing the tap closing, you placed the gift back under the tree and jumped back onto the couch, just as Joshua opened the bathroom door. He plopped back down next to you, and took the natural position of having his arm around your shoulders. You cuddled closer to him, and pressed a loving kiss onto his lips. He was clearly suprised, but recovered quickly and kissed you back. You pulled away, but went back in for another quick kiss. “What’s this for?” He asked, with a smile playing on his lips. “Nothing, I just love you.”

Jihoon; There was flour everywhere, absolutely everywhere, and you smelled burning cookies. You coughed entering the kitchen. “Jihoonie what is this?” He was taking cookies out of the oven. You noticed he was clearly stressed, by the set of his shoulders and the furrow of his brows. “I tried making cookies for the christmas party, and I don’t know what went wrong. I kept the cookies in the oven exactly as long as the recipe said, and the flour... I have no excuses for the flour, I spilled the bag.” You turned the oven off, noticing it was around 100 degrees hotter than it should have been, but deciding not to mention it. “But Hoonie, I said we could make them together tonight.” He blushed. “I thought it would save you some time, you had so much other food to cook too.” He hated admitting to stuff like this, so you giggled at his bothered expression. “Thank you baby, it was such a sweet thought.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “But... maybe next time only cook something, if you’re sure you know how to.” He kissed you, and mumbled an okay against your lips. “Now come on, let’s clean this up and go to the store.” You said. “Why?” Jihoon asked. “Because you used all the cookie dough, and spilled all the flour.” He slapped his forehead and started apologizing, on top of your laughter.

Soonyoung; You and Soonyoung were out for some last minute christmas shopping. You had just happened to pick an outside mall, on the coldest day of that year, and you had just happened to decide that looking cute mattered more than staying alive. You two had already stopped for a coffee break twice, in hopes of warming you up. But now you were shaking from the cold, again, and getting scolded by Soonyoung for it. “Aish, why didn’t you dress warmly?” Deciding he probably didn’t want the honest answer of I wanted to look pretty and not like a snowman, you opted for aegyo. “I’m sorry Yoonie.” He rolled his eyes at your cuteness and tried looking away, his gaze being pulled back to you soon enough though. “Stop looking so cute.” He said, and took off his own fluffy hat, pulling it over your head.

Jun; “Stop being nervous, they’re gonna love you!” You tried convincing him. Jun couldn’t stop fiddling his thumbs and pacing around all day. He wasn’t one to get nervous that easily, but he had already tried on 3 different outfits, and asked you which one was the most son in law-material. He was meeting your family for the first time, as you were going home for the holidays. “You don’t know that, you told me your brother was mean.” Shit, you did tell him that. “But he won’t be now, because he knows how much you mean to me!” You reasoned. He started to argue back, but you cut him off. “They all know I love you so much, so they’re gonna love you too, because they see how happy you make me jagi.” You said gently, and wrapped your arms around his waist. He visibly relaxed from your touch. “I just want them to like me.” He mumbled, effectively breaking your heart. “I promise they will. I know you don’t see it yourself, but everyone likes you. You’re impossible not to like!” He let out a little grin and leaned down to kiss you.

Seokmin; You tapped your foot impatiently against the hard flooring of the airport. He was late. Was he okay? Did they get into an accident? No, don’t be stupid. The flight shouldn’t be late. You forced yourself to tear your eyes from the terminal door, remembering the phrase a watched pot doesn’t boil. However, you thought to yourself, whoever made this saying up, probably wasn’t waiting for their boyfriend to come home for the holidays. You checked your messages again, just to check if he had texted you. At that exact moment, you heard his familiar voice. Not even registering what he had said, you looked up, and he looked gorgeous. And you ran. Ran, as hard as you, straight into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. “You’re here, you’re here” You kept mumbling, stunned. He chuckled against your neck and tightened his arms around you. “I’m here, and I’ve missed you so much jagiya, so much.” He was your home.

Wonwoo; Opening christmas presents with the boys was hilarious. You were at the dorms now, watching Vernon open his present from Minghao. They were pink hued sunglasses. “These are so cool hyung, thank you!” He tried them on, and you had to admit, he pulled them off. Noticing a bustle on the other side of the living room, you looked at what Mingyu was was opening. Santa’s little helper, aka Chan, placed a present in your lap. You thanked him and without thinking too much about it, turned back to Mingyu. “That’s a weird shape, wonder what it is.” Seungkwan commented, and everyone, including you, laughed hard, because the package looked... well like a package. Before you had a chance to see what Mingyu got, Wonwoo nudged you, bringing your attention to him. “Open your gift babe.” He said, indicating to the gift on your lap. You smiled and teared the wrapping paper off. It revealed a beautiful little tiffany blue box. Opening it, you found two of the most gorgeous, delicate rings you had ever seen. Tears welled up in your eyes immediately, as you read the date engraved into the rings. It was the day you had met Wonwoo. You tried to say something to him, but couldn’t find the right words. “This” he said, and slid the smaller ring on your index finger, “is for you to remember me when I’m away, and to know that I’m always going to come back to you.” He took the bigger ring and slid it on his own index finger. “And this is for me. I wanted to have rings for the two most important things in my life, Seventeen and you. Now I have both, and I promise that one day, I’ll change ours into engagement rings.”

Mingyu; This was exactly what you had wanted for christmas. After months of both you and Mingyu being super busy, you finally had time for yourselves, just being at home, without worrying about schedule or dieting or school. You were in your living room, after eating a good christmas dinner, swaying along to Michael Buble’s christmas music. You pulled away from the comfort of his chest, to look up at him. He looked angelic in the candlelight surrouding you, happy and rested. “I adore you” He smiled at you and leaned down to press a slow kiss onto your lips. “Merry christmas my love.”

Seungkwan; You were trying to make your way to Jeju island, Seungkwan’s hometown, with him. It was the 24th, you were supposed to be there for tonight, but the flight had been first delayed and then canceled. It was beginning to look like you were going to spend your christmas at an airport. You could see that he was disapointed, though he tried to hide it from you. He doesn’t get to see his mom and sister too often, and was really looking forward to this. You had gone to the bathroom, and on the way back to where you were sitting with Seungkwan, you happened to walk past a store and spotted his favourite chocolate. Thinking it would cheer him up, you bought some and walked back to him. Sitting down, you slid the chocolates into his lap. He looked from the chocolates to you and back, then took your hands in his. “I’m so sorry we’re not gonna make it my love. I know you were looking forward to this.” He took a few seconds to think about it, and nodded. “Yes, I am, but the most important thing is that I’m with you. I don’t care about anything else, even if we’re spending our christmas at an airport, as long as I’m with you.”

Minghao; You were sat on the couch, talking about christmas traditions in China. “So Santa Claus isn’t called Santa, but Shen Dan Lao Ren.” You repeated after him, and he complimented you when you pronounced it right. “Did you have christmas trees?” You asked. “ In department stores and tourist attractions, but usually not at homes. There’s other christmas decorations around the city though.” You listened to him ramble on. He was clearly happy you showed an interest in his home country. “What do people give each other as presents? In my country they often give chocolates.” You wondered outloud. “People give apples on Christmas Eve because in Chinese Christmas Eve is called Ping'an Ye, which means quiet evening. And that has been translated from the song 'Silent Night'. The word for apple in Mandarin is píngguǒ which sounds like the word for peace.” You smiled up at him, getting an idea of what you’ll get him for christmas.

Vernon; He was nervous as hell. Kept checking his phone, pacing around and around, checking his hair. He kept thinking he was making a stupid decision, he only met you a few weeks ago, and here’s the catch, online. But when he found out that you were spending christmas in the same city he was, he couldn’t resist. But what if you catfished him? What if he was about to meet some middle aged man? Although you had talked to him on the phone and snapped each other... but still? He turned around, hands pulling at his hair in frustration, ready to walk away. Until he saw you. Your big bright eyes looking at him questionably. You cute hands fumbling together out of nerves, that little sliver of skin on your ankle, between your sneakers and jeans, your tank top, your oversized cardigan. You were beautiful. No, beautiful didn’t quite cover it. He couldn’t think of words to describe you. Then you walked to him and smiled, and he thought his legs were going to give out. You looked up and saw a mistletoe.

Chan; The boys and you were doing secret santa this year. You got Wonwoo, and had no idea who got you. Watching Wonwoo open your gift for him, you tried not to give yourself away by your excitement. He pulled the rest of the wrapping paper off the Kate Spade cat bluetooth speaker. “This is perfect! I needed speakers!” He smiled, making you react the same way. “Who got it?” You placed your hand in the air. “I did.” He looked you in the eyes. “Thank you so much.” “You’re welcome, glad you like it.” You then started opening the gift in your lap. It revealed a bracelet you had shown Chan through a shop window, a few weeks ago. It was rose gold, and had little hearts dangling off it. It was perfect. You looked to him. “Chan?” You said, phrased into a question of, was this you? He blushed, pinker than you had ever seen him, and nodded. “Thank you.” You said. Chan? Chan. Your best friend, who you’ve had feelings for forever. You scooted closer to him and pressed a light kiss onto his cheek, maybe a little too close to his mouth, but no one was looking thankfully. He grinned like an idiot, blushing even pinker, if possible. And then, turning his head, he placed a quick cheeky kiss onto your lips, before you could react.

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livlepretre · 6 years ago

Note

WIPs—1, 3, and 22.

1. What made you write your WIP?

The shameless answer is The Reckoning. Which basically gave me a shipper heart attack then and there, after a long slow summer of speculation post-The Sun Also Rises. I think I watched the episode at like 3 am because I was living in Europe and I had!to!watch!it!live! and like, woke up in a haze for class at 7 and started writing.

But also, I got a lot of encouragement to write it from other writers back in 2014-16, and finally I just took a deep breath and went for it. Honestly, support and feedback from other writers and readers and friends is what keeps these things breathing.

3. How has the WIP changed between starting it and where it is now?

You’re going to think this is hilarious but, the original version of this story:

Elena didn’t reciprocate towards Klaus like, at all. In the original version of this fic, Elena is kind of peripherally aware that maaaybbee Klaus is building up to an unhealthy obsession with her, but she’s overly distracted by Stefan and various other romantic entanglements to really evaluate the six alarm fire she finds herself engulfed by. In the original draft, she is not discreet about either Stefan or Tyler and it’s amazing to me that she was so oblivious.

The dreams were an impromptu decision I made while writing chapter 11. I was impatient for them to hook up and sort of willing to put up with reader whiplash in order to write that scene. And the decision for the dream to be real was something I came up with while writing chapter 12. Which really says a lot about my ability to plot things out ahead of time, ie, that I have no ability.

The entire New Orleans arc and everything that’s happened because of it was a lark. Like, a lark that I took extremely seriously once I decided to do it, but I had no idea it was going to be a thing until I got to chapter 15. Which is why it took so very long to write. I’d originally had a different sequence in mind for how Elena would win Klaus’s trust so that he would start to fall for her, which did involve her saving him, but did not involve her doing it for reasons of self-preservation. After turning that scene over for a while it became clear pretty quickly that I needed to rework it into something with bigger stakes, and into a more complex setting wherein Elena might have more agency. (And honestly I scream in agony every time I write myself into an action corner because writing action and plot and trying to weave together all of the TVD machinations just horrifies me. It’s so much easier for me to write about epic angst and art-making!)

Original version had no scheming in it. Elena was actually pretty passive, save for some daring romantic decisions. Chapter 5, which is up there amongst my favorite chapters, is where that idea that she actually needed to become a player of some sort developed. That was one of those scenes that really wrote itself, and I was totally loathe to unwrite it once it was there– there’s something terribly romantic to me about the fact that Stefan has such faith in Elena’s ability to plot and outmaneuver and find a way to play the game even when she has nothing with which to play– and that last line, maybe she should be plotting something, could practically be read as me, the author, wondering what on earth Elena could possibly be plotting. Thank God a few answers have revealed themselves over time.

22. How many projects do you usually have going at once?

Well. I would suppose that I usually have at least 4 or 5 fics going at once, although, I usually only update one of those at a time with any regularity. I do spend a lot of time pondering and outlining and writing odd scenes here and there for what I’m not writing.

Right now, for Klena, I’ve got:

Fairytale Ending

Symbiosis

That prompt fic I’m writing that features some Marcel x Elena in addition to Klena

Four more ficlets for Power Plays, including one for the scenario of what if Klaus had met Elena before Stefan introduced himself, which is getting to be quite long. Like, it’s obnoxious. And a fairie AU that I’m potentially going to lose my mind while writing.

Eh I’m also working on a roommates/there was only one bed/fake dating au because wtf why not

#ask away #fairytale ending

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natasha-cole · 7 years ago

Text

That’s What Friends Are For Chapter 8: With Friends Like These

Pairing: Rob Benedict x Reader

Chapter Summary: It seems as if everyone that Reader has considered to be a friend is pushing her out of their lives. Decisions are made, no matter how painful they may be.

Word Count: 2964

Warnings: angst, swears

Notes: A short chapter to move things alone. Not a lot of Rob here.

Also, I love the entire cast. They are the sweetest. I don’t honestly think they act this way, but every story needs someone to drive the angst.

Catch Up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

You really didn’t want to be at this convention. You had considered cancelling your appearance altogether. It was bad enough that you and Rob were in such an awkward position with each other, but it also didn’t help that you knew everyone else still had their opinions about you and what had gone on between you and Rob to begin with. The fact that you were no longer talking to him wasn’t going to make you look any better.

You arrived at your hotel anyway, trying to decide the best way to avoid Rob for the weekend. You were still angry and you weren’t even sure what you would be feeling when you had to see him again. You hung out in your room that night, bored and alone. Usually, you’d get together with the rest of the group and do dinner or something; but no one had called or texted at all, which really wasn’t a surprise to you.

You stayed in, ordering room service and watching TV. You held onto a small sliver of hope that someone would call you or text you to hang out. You knew that the few people who had your back weren’t here yet, so you knew deep down that you would be on your own tonight.

Later that night, your phone buzzed with a notification from Twitter and you checked it, seeing that Briana had posted a picture. You hesitantly went to her post and then felt your heart drop. It was a photo of everyone at some restaurant having dinner together. “The gang’s all here!” the caption read. Sure enough, everyone that was always a part of the first day of the cons was there. Everyone except you. You studied the picture for a moment, taking note of how happy everyone looked to be together again; mostly your eyes fell on Rob as you felt your heart break all over again. He looked as if he hadn’t just lost his best friend. He looked like he was enjoying himself just fine without you. You didn’t know why it hurt so much to see him given the way he had treated you, but seeing his face hurt worse than you could have ever imagined. You exited the app, putting your phone aside as you pulled the blankets over your head. You didn’t want to cry; but the frustration and loneliness that you were feeling was really building up.

You didn’t sleep well that night. You thought a lot about how things had gone with Rob. While you had done well in pushing the thoughts from your mind while you were back home, lying here alone in the deafening silence of your hotel room left you vulnerable to the intrusive thoughts. You let it all replay in your head; the way he didn’t hesitate to call you for a hookup after you had given in once. You recalled the phone call in which you told him to fuck off and that you were done with him. You relived the way you had felt when he told you to back off and how he had called you clingy. Mostly, you thought about what it had been like to be with him after so many years. You had been single for so long, losing yourself in trying to meet someone, dating and feeling disappointed with any man that you fell into any sort of intimacy with.

Being with Rob had been a relief given the limited dating scene that you had experienced. You knew that sleeping together had simply been a way for him to move on and get over his ex. For you, even though you didn’t want to admit it, it had felt comforting and… right. You had thought at one point that maybe things could work out differently between you. The sex had been amazing, you felt a connection to him that you hadn’t felt with anyone else that you had encountered during your tireless attempts at dating. Maybe it had been the fact that you were already so close and he was something familiar to you. Maybe you might have started to fall in love with him, thinking that since things had ended for him and Julia, maybe now things would work between the two of you.

Sitting in the green room the next day, you kept to yourself. No one acknowledged you anyway; so you put on headphones and pretended to listen to music to make it look like you weren't a total loser. You waited rather impatiently for the day to start, knowing that you had a busy schedule that would at least keep you busy enough so that you wouldn’t think to much.

You played on your phone, switching between apps mindlessly and nervously now that you could feel occasional stares in your direction. Briana, Kim, and the other guys from the band were sat at a table on the other side of the room; and you knew that they were looking at you. You kept pretending as if you didn’t notice. You might have been better off actually listening to music, but you wanted to be aware if someone was talking to or about you.

The others must have been trying to test you, because you definitely heard your name mentioned as you sat there. You didn’t look up, didn’t even give a hint that you could hear them. Unfortunately, ignoring the situation left them to believe that you really were deaf to their discussion, and it quickly turned into free-range for them to talk about you.

“I can’t believe she’s even here still,” you heard Kim mutter, “After what she did? How can she even show her face anymore.”

“It’s because she has no shame,” Briana added. “Poor Rob obviously doesn’t want her here.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him not talk to her,” you heard Mike say. “They used to be inseparable.”

“Well, I think he’s realized his mistake,” Kim offered. “It’s for the best, him avoiding her.”

“I just can’t believe she did this. She seemed so supportive of the two of them.” Billy spoke up now, sounding a little bit sad as he talked. You’d almost believe that he seemed to be more apprehensive in believing everything than anyone else.

“She was until she realized she was going to lose him,” Briana replied. “I just didn’t think she was the type to break up a relationship just because her friend was caught up in someone who wasn’t her.”

“It’s pretty selfish.” Stephen agreed.

“Well, I don’t think he’s any less guilty of what happened.” Again, Billy sounded as if he might be sticking up for you.

“Maybe not,” Briana agreed, “but he wouldn't have done this if she hadn’t seduced him. We all know that he was always way more into her than she was with him. She just waited until he was happy with someone else to fuck his life up. Obviously she doesn’t care about him that much. You don’t mess up someone’s life if you love them.”

You still didn’t believe the fact that apparently everyone thought Rob had been interested in you as more than a friend. How was it that they all saw this and you never did? You felt your face heat up as you listened to them ramble on. There were a lot of sour words said about you, a lot of disappointment in their voices; at least Billy continued to sound as if he wasn’t one-hundred percent in agreement that all of this was only your fault, or that it had gone the way that everyone else believed it had.

You wanted to cut in, you wanted for them to know the truth finally. You wanted for them to stop hating you and being misinformed about all of this. You almost did say something, until you thought back to how humiliated Rob had been by the fact that he had been cheated on. You knew you couldn’t be the one to talk about why things had ended with Julia. Even though you were furious with him and you devastated by his treatment of you, you still cared for him. Your love for him was more important than saving face with everyone else. You decided to be the bigger person. No matter how badly you wanted to call Briana and everyone else out on their treatment of you, you kept quiet. They were angry with you, you understood that. But you’d be damned if you sunk to their level of pettiness.

During a moment of downtime, you watched as everyone discussed karaoke for the night; who would sing what, what costumes each of them would wear… you said nothing as Matt volunteered himself to wear the tiger costume, the only costume that you ever wore to karaoke. You bit your tongue, still understanding that they were gradually trying to push you out.

“The tiger is your costume,” Rich said to you. For some reason, he didn’t appear to be upset by you or your presence here.

“Yeah, I mean, I always do that one.”

“Matt, maybe you should do something else,” Rich said as he glanced to Matt.

“It’s okay,” you blurted out, “I’m not going to karaoke. I’m uh- not feeling well.”

“Too bad,” Briana mumbled.

You blushed, noticing the snark laced in her voice as she spoke. You glanced over to Rob out of habit, but the man was doing well in pretending that you weren’t there.

You wanted him to look at you. You wanted him to acknowledge that you were still here. Yes, he was going through some things, but you wanted him to recognize that you were hurting as well; and most of that hurt stemmed from the way that he had treated you.

When the discussion shifted to the concert, you perked up sightly. SNS was always a treat, it was the one night that you all made sure you were involved in. You had found yourself during your first performance when you had joined the show and the con circuit. Music was one thing that you and Rob shared a love for, and he had supported you in pursuing it a little more than you had ever considered. You singing with the band on stage was just something that was expected now. There was never a convention in which you sat on the sidelines.

As the set-list was discussed, you of course being excluded from the conversation, you quickly learned that this would be the first time you would sit on the sidelines. The realization hit you hard as you paid attention to the fact that the set-list was pretty much ready to go, and you were no longer included on it.

Before the meeting ended, you hastily gathered your belongings and darted from the room. You felt humiliated and alone. You felt angry and sad. You decided to call it a day since you were done with your responsibilities for now. You needed to be alone, and nobody objected as you left.

The last day, it was more of the same. You had been left out of karaoke, rejected from the concert, and continued to wander alone as you made your way to photo ops and autographs and panels. It was as if you were in a dream most of the time and everyone in that dream didn’t see you.

At the end of the day, you sat alone for some time until a familiar face approached you. You smiled up at Mark as he joined you. It felt strange really to have someone take notice that you still existed.

“And why are you sitting over here all alone?” Mark asked as he took a seat next to you.

“I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but literally everyone is going out of their way to avoid me this weekend.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. The whole thing with Rob, right?”

“I’m beginning to think that everyone still believes that he cheated on Julia with me and I’m the reason his engagement ended. Everyone still thinks I’m a homewrecker.”

“You could just tell them the truth,” he replied, “screw what Rob thinks.”

“Yeah, I guess I could. But, I’m not sure that anyone would believe me over sweet, innocent Rob.”

“So, what? You just sit here all alone every convention weekend? You let them drive you out of all of the extra stuff? You allow them to give you looks and talk about you? I’ve seen it, you know. I’ve been hearing everything. I try to tell them that they’re misinterpreting the situation, but no one seems to care.”

“See, it’s not worth it,” you chuckled. “Thanks for having my back though.”

“Even Rob isn’t talking to you,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, we sort of had a falling out.”

“Over what?” He looked at you sympathetically, waiting as you considered how to word this.

“I’ll just say… it’s best to stay friends with your friends. Taking things any further is a mistake and it ruins things.”

“Hmm, that’s very misleading. I thought the two of you didn’t do the things that everyone is saying you did.”

“I didn’t hook up with him while he was in relationship. I was simply a good friend who was there for my best friend when his relationship ended.”

“Ah, that makes more sense. Still, you should probably clear the air,” he insisted. “Otherwise, it’s going to get more lonely when you’re sitting in a corner by yourself every other weekend.”

“Nothing to worry about. This is my last convention.”

He stared at you in disbelief. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m done with all of this. I have a used-to-be best friend who used me and now doesn’t talk to me, a bunch of I-thought-they-were friends who talk about me and treat me like shit, probably a lot more ex-fans who say and do even worse. What’s the point?”

“You don’t have to do that. I still like you. Ruth and Osric still like you.”

“I’ve already talked to the organizers. Luckily I’m not contractually binded to these things, so I was able to back out easily.”

“What about the show?” He asked quietly. You studied him, realizing that he already knew your answer.

“I’m finishing out the season, then I’m done. I think they wanted to kill me off anyway, it works out for everyone.”

“Oh, Y/N,” he sighed, shaking his head when you finished speaking.

“It’s fine. I’m just going to move on to other things. Hopefully better things.”

“It won’t be the same without you.”

“It’s not the same now,” you said with a forced smile. You felt yourself tear up and Mark looked at you sadly. He said nothing else; he simply wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him so that he could hold you. You let yourself cry silently, not wanting to bring attention to yourself, but knowing that at least he would comfort you. If nothing else, at the end of it all, you knew that a few people would care.

As the con came to a close, you wasted no time in collecting your things and heading out of the last green room you would ever share with these people. You took a brief moment to look around before you walked out, stopping on the faces of the people that you had grown to love and know; the same people who you had lost just as easily. None of them knew that you were done, they certainly wouldn’t care either. You let out a sigh, turning to leave finally. You admit you felt a bit of regret and heartache as you walked away, but you knew that no one would miss you.

Once you boarded your flight, you took solace in the fact that you would at least be going home for a while to be alone without having your friends ignore you and talk about you. You could finally be alone without scrutiny and without having to see Rob’s face every day.

You stared out the window of the plane, just thinking to yourself even though you didn’t really want to. You were lost for a moment until you remembered that you had to put your phone on airplane mode. You got your phone out, making the move to shut it off when you noticed that you had a text message. No one had texted you in days, so you opened it only to see that it was from Rob. you hesitated, wondering if you really wanted to hear from him again. You wondered what other horrible things he had to say to you. You opened the text and read it, confused and angry at the fact that he was still acting this way.

Rob: Are you okay? You seemed off this weekend.

That was it. Just a general observation that downplayed the fact that you were miserable. It was almost friendly, despite the fact that you knew this friendship was over. You were certain that he knew that too. You thought about answering him; telling him that you were not okay and that it was his fault. You were angry at the way he kept on acting oblivious to all of this. Everyone hated you and you knew damn well that he saw that.

Again, you chose not to stoop to that level. You shut your phone down, tossing it in your bag as you propped a pillow up against the window. You steadied your breathing as you felt your chest ache again, reminding yourself that it wasn't worth it to keep letting him play games with you. He could easily say terrible things to you, ignore you for weeks; you could do the same.

Tag List: @destielschild @sorenmarie87 @smoothdogsgirl @kocswain @culturebay @itsfunnierin-enochian @typicalweirdbookworm @angelsandhuntersgalore @riversong-sam @emoryhemsworth @hunterpuff @camelotandastronauts @laffytaffyhumor @cyrilconnelly @jpadjackles @waywardswain @sirraxa @thewordsmithofhell @atc74 @shanghai88 @onlyanothersocialcasualty @chocolategate @sleepylunarwolf @perksofbeingafangirl26

#that's what friends are for #rob benedict x reader #rob benedict rpf

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wordsaremybestfriends · 7 years ago

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Didn’t Ask For This Chapter 3

Hey friends!! Back again for another chapter of this thing…

I’m not sure how active I’ll be around the holidays but I really hope I can post one more chapter next week. After that, I’d like to post every Tuesday if my schedule permits it, but I’ll figure that out later. Thanks for reading!

Warnings: Cursing, child abuse, vocal abuse, violence, *TELL ME IF YOU FIND ANYTHING ELSE*

Dustin royally fucked up.

I mean, unknowingly bringing a baby demogorgon into the house was already a fuck up, in heins sight, but now, he completely, 100% fucked Hawkins over.

After school, he had made sure everyone met at the AV club, including Max. He didn’t care about the dirty looks Mike had given him about their newest recruit and opted instead to focus on the angry blob that he had found on the table in front of them.

Everything was fine, of course, until Dart decided to jump a little bit, and out the front door. Though the five kids were in pursuit of the slug creature, he was nowhere in Hawkins Middle School, and it was already past time to head home for all of them.

Dustin wasn’t surprised to see Emma home already, eating a peanut butter and jelly at their counter and flipping through a book of Greek mythology. When she looked up, however, the pure fire in her eyes froze every cell in his body.

Though she had changed into a pair of tight jeans and a heavier red and purple sweater, a scarf wrapped around her hair to keep it out of her face, the girl looked like she could level cities with one look. She rose from her barstool, arms crossed, and she looked more like their mother than her loving older sister.

“You didn’t think to wake me up this morning, dorkwad.” She was less angry than she was this morning, but the look on her face was certainly not a pleasant one. “I missed calculus, physics, and homeroom!”

He paled. “I was… I woke up and was going to, you know… kill the thing I found last night.” He said it with a straight face, no smirk or wry smile as usual, and it didn’t escape her sister’s intense eye.

“Where did you kill it?” She asked, arms crossed over her chest. “They’re not easy to kill, especially without Eleven with us.”

“Bat.” He replied quickly. His hands began to sweat nervously in his pockets, as his sister rose from her seat, leaning against the tiled countertop. Her usually bright amber gaze was dark from her stare, and even though he knew she wasn’t really angry at him, he couldn’t shake the fact that she might just kill him if she knew what was going on. “S-Steve Harrington. H-His bat. The one with the nails in it, from last time.”

With an unmanicured hand, she flicked a lone chocolate-colored curl off of her shoulder, and began to round the counter. “Funny that he didn’t mention anything at school today. I could always call him up and ask, you know. He lives about two miles down the road, he could be here in an instant.”

“F-Fine!” Dustin said, hands suddenly raised to his head in surrender. He didn’t know Steve super well, but he knew the boy could easily bullshit a lie, just to save some face. “Call him! He’ll just say what I told you!”

Emma wasted no time picking up the landline and dialing the Harrington household, fire in her eyes. Her little brother was going to pay big time if he was lying. The only thing she hoped was true was the fact that the mini demogorgon was gone, and they could go back to life as usual, as if nothing had ever happened.

The line only rang a few times before she heard it connect, the pleasant voice of Mrs. Harrington on the other side. “Harrington residence, Mrs. speaking…”

“Hi Mrs. Harrington, it’s Emma, a friend of Steve’s,” Emma began. “I was just wondering-”

Instantly, Mrs. Harrington, like most mothers, launched herself into a whole speech about ‘oh, Emma Henderson! What a lovely surprise!’ and ‘I was hoping someone would help him with his writing, he’s not doing so well’. Emma impatiently tapped her fingers against the cord and turned to find Dustin missing from his spot in the living room. If that little snot left me mid-argument, I’m going to shave off an eyebrow tonight.

“Mrs. Harrington!” Emma almost shouted over the line. “I need to talk to Steve, is he there?”

“Oh, no sweetie!” She cooed over the line, and Emma wanted to either disconnect the phone or run straight to the Harringtons to disconnect theirs instead. “He left a bit ago to work on a history project with Nancy Wheeler at her house. I don’t think he knows any of our presidents, so he really needs all the help he can get-”

Emma threw the phone back on it’s dock, marching straight into the living room, where Dustin’s bag still sat. “Dustin Peter Henderson, you get your butt here RIGHT-”

The form of her brother barreled straight into her stomach, launching them straight into the couch. The fear of God seemed to be radiating from Dustin, a hand clasped over his sister’s mouth as he looked back to his room warily. His entire body shook, as he kept repeating the same phrase on a loop, like some kind of broken gramophone. “I messed up, I messed up, I messed up!”

Another glare was shot at her brother as she wrenched his slimy hand off her mouth. “What the hell, Dustin-”

“You need to shut up, Em, like right now!” Dustin hissed as he looked warily down the hall where his room was. “Look, you were right and I should have listened to you, but I didn’t and I really really messed up this time, okay?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” She hissed as Dustin looked rapidly from his room to his sister, hands squeezing her arm tightly. “Did you clog the toilet again or something?”

“Um,” He murmured, Emma still trying to wrench her hand away from him. “I’m sorry in advance, okay?”

Her eyes followed his, seeing the closed door. It didn’t take long for her to put two and two together.

“You kept the demogorgon, didn’t you?” She asked, voice eerily slow and calm as her body went still.

Dustin nodded beside her. “It ate Mews, Emma.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“And it’s bigger this time.”

The soft sound of a growl, or at least, something akin to that, echoed through the empty house and both kids were glued to their spots.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Emma mumbled, eyes closed as she let her body fall against the wall..They were either about to die, or unleash a beast that wanted to feed on every person in Hawkins. Both were probable, and both were mostly unavoidable at the moment. “You let a monster into our house that we’ve already fought. You let it live in your room, then lied to me about killing it. You also let it eat the cat while we were at school.”

He turned to his sister, reaching to grasp her shoulders. “Look, we can talk more about me being an idiot later, but for now, Em, please, you have to help me trap it.”

A laugh escaped her lips, quiet and high, as if he was delirious from too many painkillers. “Trap it? The beast that ate Barb and kept Will in the Upside Down? The one that Eleven gave her life up for?”

“It came from the same place as the last one, right?” He hissed, eyes wide with the probability of catching the beast. “We could make it take us there, maybe rescue Eleven, figure out what’s going on-”

“You want to talk to a monster that ate our CAT?” Emma squeaked, tears of stress and frustration clouding her eyes. “You think a monster that killed a bunch of people is willing to have a conversation with us?”

He shrugged. “We could always burn the house down, like at the Byers.”

Emma was silent as she kept switching from looking at Dustin’s closed door to her little brother, wishing this entire mess was just another bad dream. Some twisted, awful dream that ended with her and her brother lying dead on their horrid cream couch, awaiting the same fate as their defenseless cat.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Emma shook her head, eyes boring into Dustin’s. “But… We cleaned out the storm cellar last summer. And in case you haven’t eaten it, we might have the bologna Mom bought the other day.”

Her little brother’s eyes brightened as he suddenly launched into a plan, his sister’s incredulous expression never deterring the detailed explanation.

———

With thirty seven slices of bologna laid out in a perfect trail from Dustin’s door to the storm cellar, the two siblings were ready for the mostly idiotic plan that might just kill both of them. The small clubhouse Dustin and Emma made in the side yard would be their base, with a clear view of the opening to the cellar. Hockey stick in hand and fifteen pounds of weight strapped across his body, the youngest Henderson was waiting for his sister, drawing the demogorgon’s attention to the bologna (and their most likely imminent death) with her old shin guards from soccer, umpire mask from softball, and a pair of football pads Dustin had gotten at a yard sale once. Eyes trained on the blue door, she shifted weight from side to side, spinning the trash can lid in her right and clenching an old guitar she had learned to play at one point. Billions of scenarios ran through her head as she waited for confidence to fill her, eagerly tiptoeing towards the bologna trail through the living room.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” She murmured to herself as she took another silent step towards her brother’s room.

She passed seven slices of bologna, arriving to the last slice that was placed just next to the door. The shake in her hands was hardly contained now, and she doubted she’d stop it anytime soon. Not with a bloodthirsty monster in the house.

With a breath held tight in her chest, Emma slipped her guitar into her free hand, thin, nimble fingers free and ready to pull the gold handle back. Her fingers grasped the cool metal, and without a second thought, she tugged it open, bolting straight down the hall, out of the living room, and straight to her brother in the shed.

“You did it?” Dustin asked as Emma pressed her body against the door, eyes straining to look through the wooden slats. “Is he coming?”

“Shut up and watch for him!” She hissed, and his body velcroed itself towards the small openings, eyes looking straight into the yard for any sense of movement from the front of their house.

Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. Emma felt her hands shake, the trash lid clattering against her mismatched armor. There was no sight of the slimy slug that had apparently grown since the last time she saw him. It almost would have been nicer to die than to have to wait another few agonizing moments here, helpless and hopelessly awaiting the possibility her brother’s plan had actually worked.

“Maybe he likes real meat, not the processed stuff?” Dustin whispered, and Emma let her eyes slip closed for a moment. There was no way in hell she was going out to be a lure for that damn thing.

Come on, you stupid thing. Get out here. Get in that damn cellar-

The glint of sunlight on the moist skin of a dog-like creature caught both the kids attention. Silence filled the small clubhouse as they kept their eyes focused on the slug like it was magnetized to their sight. It sucked up another piece of the sliced meat, then another, until it was three slices from the cellar.

They were so close. They were feet away. They might actually survive. All they had to do was keep quiet, and all would be okay.

Of course, until Dustin coughed quietly, softer than the drop of a pin to a passerby.

The demogorgon snapped it’s neck backwards at them, hissing and growling. It had found them.

They were going to die.

They were going to be killed because of a cough.

They were in deep shit.

“Plan B!” Dustin screamed, launching himself out of the small door and swinging his hockey stick at the green creature. It fell a few feet backwards like a lifeless doll, though never ceasing it’s disgusting scream out. Emma ran out past him, taking a wind up with the back of her guitar to launch the hideous being straight down the flight of stairs into the dusty darkness below.

With both hands, Emma smashed the metal doors down, trapping the creature with a triumphant scream. Her body fell atop the handles, holding the doors down as it fought back, hissing and screeching as loud as it could. Dustin grabbed a chain, one they had from the garage, and looped it through the handles as much as he could, securing it with a lock for sure, and after a moment, the fight stopped, silence coming from the cellar instead.

Emma let out a breath, rolling backwards on the doors with her football pads clattering against it. “We almost died right now.”

“Yup.” Her brother answered, breathing still quick. His eyes were a bit unfocused as he slid to the ground beside his sister.

“We just caught a demogorgon.” She added, voice eerily calm.

“Yup.”

“Our cat just died.”

“Yup.”

“We need backup.”

“Yup.”

After completely locking up the storm cellar with a lock and chain as well as at least fifty pounds of other junk to keep the door down, the two began the trip to the Wheeler household. Emma was on her old moped, Dustin hanging off the back with her helmet on as he watched the quiet houses fly by. The trees were already beginning their change into fall, filling the yards with a kaleidoscope of colors that were anywhere from the skin of a crisp apple to the shine of her honey bee yellow moped, small bits of clover green spread throughout.

It was just enough to make her forget about the bloodthirsty monster that was locked in her front yard that had just killed her cat.

The Wheeler house looked empty from the outside, as usual. Now that trouble was once again stirring up in town, it was a shot in the dark for where the rest of Dustin’s friends were. Will’s house was almost three miles out from their house, and since Erica had told Dustin that Lucas was out for now, it seemed like Mike’s house was the best option at the moment. The family car was out front, though the lights seemed dim and life didn’t seem to course through the house like it did with the kids around.

Emma came to an easy stop at the base of the Wheeler’s front yard, letting her younger brother jump off. He threw the helmet back at her as he dashed up to the door, ringing the doorbell as obnoxiously as he could.

The entire situation was incredulous to her. She had a mini demogorgon, one that she had captured with her younger brother, stuffed in their storm cellar, and none of her brother’s friends were around to help them figure out what the fuck was going on. Last time, it was easier. Of course, Nancy and Jonathan were stuck with starry eyed gazes at one another, Steve trying to apologize for being a giant dickwad to Jonathan and replace his broken camera, and Emma was just trying to pass her sociology class, but those were the biggest worries of them. When Nancy and Jonathan had first started their plan to catch the monster, Emma began to tag along. She was the smartest, most resourceful one out of all of them, and could help them out in a pinch if needed.

The two girls had gotten into too many messes to count, though being stuck in the Byers’ home trying to catch a creature from another dimension that had supposedly took their friend Barb was definitely one of their biggest. When the creature disappeared, only to reappear moments later in the living room, she had gotten pulled under the creature, it’s flowered face mere inches above her as she felt a bit of it’s slime spread onto her face. Flashes of her father’s enraged face passed through her gaze, and she was pinned to the ground. Her body was rigid, breathing rapid, as slime had begun to drip against her cheek. She could only stare at the hundreds of teeth from within the mouth, wishing that maybe, just maybe, she could have a quick and painless death, one that wouldn’t haunt Nancy and Jonathan for the rest of their lives.

And then, there was nothing but the hazy roof of the Byers’ house above her. Her hands shook as she could only think of her father’s face in front of her, screaming at her and beating her until she couldn’t bear to stay awake for the rest of it. Tufts of the carpet were gathered into her fingers as she curled onto her side with tears gathering in her eyes. Raspy, uneven breaths came out from her mouth as she tried to compose herself in front of Steve and Jonathan, even though nothing could quell the shake in her body. The only sound she could hear was the ringing in her ears, as she let her eyes close, tears leaking onto the ground below her.

Nancy had broke from the two boys as soon as she realized that her best friend wasn’t right by her side. Emma’s state was one she had dealt with before when the memories came back of the screams and the hurt her father would cause. In one motion, Nancy gathered her friend into her arms, holding her small, tremor-filled state as tight as she could from her lips. Small whispers fell from her lips, ones that Emma nodded along to for a few minutes until she could finally raise her head, just to look at her best friend and utter out a few words to her, a watery smile on her face.

“We won?”

“We won.”

And that should have been the end of it. She should have been able to sleep since that night, no more nightmares of what could have been. No more fear creeping out of her each time she drove home from the library in the dark. No more constant glances over her shoulder. No more screams that fell from her lips, every time she found herself pushed on her back.

But it’s started again. And if it took them a few weeks to get over the last one, Emma could only imagine what it would be like to have to deal with a dozen of these suckers.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She shot her head up, her soft curls bouncing along with her. Only a few feet in front of her was Steve Harrington’s car, him just emerging with a textbook in his hands. He wore his signature brown bomber jacket, his hair as wild and messy as it was this morning at school.

“Why do you care?” She replied as he rounded the front of the car, face solemn.

“I’m studying with Nancy today,” He muttered, eyes flicking back to his textbook. Emma didn’t waste her time to gaze longer at her, watching her little brother repeatedly ring the doorbell to make at least one of the Wheeler’s get to the door. “History.”

“Glad it’s not human anatomy,” Emma said with a smug smile, flattening the chuckle in her chest.

Steve glared from beside her as he began to grit his teeth. “Look, I told Natalie I didn’t want to be with her, like in a relationship.”

“So that’s why she was crying to me at my locker between classes, right?” Emma asked, eyes never looking over to him. “Because, as I told you before, all your little flames come to me for advice, whether you want them to or not.”

He scoffs. “So what, you just know exactly what goes on at school, at all times?”

“Only the interesting stuff,” She shrugs as she goes back to checking her chipping nail polish instead. “Which most often concerns you.”

“You know what?” He snapped, eyes locked in a glare at Emma’s temple as she barely moved a muscle. She had dealt with more frightening things than an insecure teenage boy. “I don’t get why you’re so mad at me for living my life. For God’s sakes, you’re not perfect either!”

“I never said I was perfect,” She drawled, smirking as she turned to face the boy. “And I never said I was mad. You did.”

Before he could reply, Dustin began to cross back from the lawn, groaning to himself. “Neither of them are home, and Mr. Wheeler’s about as useless as a pile of bricks.”

“I could have told you that,” Emma said, mounting her bike once again as she tossed the helmet to her brother. “So I guess we’re going to the Byers’s next?”

“What’s at the Byers’s?” Steve asked, eyeing the two. “Is everything okay?”

“Peachy,” Dustin replied with a roll of his eyes. “I mean, if you call having a baby demogorgon in your storm cellar peachy…”

“Dustin!” Emma barked from the bike. “We’re not even supposed to be talking about that out here. There’s ears everywhere, kid.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve asked as Dustin slipped the helmet over his baseball cap and stepped onto the back of his sister’s scooter. “There’s another one?”

“In our basement, yes,” Dustin said as his sister swatted at his leg, aiming a scowl at him.

“And you guys need help to kill it?” He asked, smirking. “‘Cause I still have my bat, you know-”

“We don’t need your help, Harrington,” Emma shouted as she pressed her foot onto the gas and began to speed down the street. She barely gave him a second glance as she turned down another street, and disappeared from his sight.

With a small smirk, the boy began to climb back into his car and tossed the textbook into his backseat. He threw the car in drive and began to pull away from the Wheeler’s lawn, following the two Henderson kids.

If they had really found another demogorgon from last time, they’d need as much help as they could get.

And a bat with nails was pretty handy in a time like this.

TAG LIST: @luv2reade16 @lillie-writes @harringtonwife @tiarrasmith @sarahmariedesserts @kararanae23

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smolgaysnake · 7 years ago

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ftwd: gently, gently, to the sea.

happy birfday to ashlee! here is a kidsquad ghost au >:3. It can be read as shippy (and is meant to), but is very... gen, actually? Unless I’m forgetting something. Great thanks to @trashbb for helping me.

for @favvnsongs

Kidsquad no apoca ghost AU, FTWD, 10k.

“It’s for the best,” his mother had said, smaller and frailer than anyone Chris has ever seen, nevermind his mother, always so bigger than her frame, strong and his, always. Now she’s brittle and and wasted away and using the last of her strength to lift her trembling hand to his cheek and tell him she loves him. “Be good for your father, but only if he’s good to you.”

Two days after the funeral, Madison shows him to his room. Tells him to make himself at home and there’s casserole in the blue tupperware in the fridge. Then she and Travis go out to the movies.

He touches the post of the bedframe, wooden and chipped and the paint gone from white to something grungy over time. The closet smells like dust, and there’s lining paper in the old dresser, faded pink florals. He makes the bed and sits on it. Stares at the four boxes, two duffel bags, one suitcase, and a backpack in a lopsided pile against the wall. All the things he has left in the world.

He pokes around the house while he’s got it to himself. Cracks open the door at the end of the hall just long enough to confirm it’s the master bedroom. Takes a piss in the bathroom and notes with satisfaction there’s already shampoo in the shower stall, still-packaged razors in the mirror cabinet above the sink.

The second bedroom is clearly occupied, rumpled bedcovers and a towel slung over the back of a chair, shoes kicked over messily by the closet, a hoodie on the floor near the window. Madison’s got a son, he vaguely remembers, and there are pictures of one on the mantel, the walls.

He pauses on his way out, by the doorway. There are notchmarks carved into the doorjamb, varying heights, and he can only just make out years-old faded dates written beside them, Nicky, and then another name he can’t make out. He touches his fingertip to it, rubbing like he can wear away the grit of time like dust. An ‘A’, for sure, and maybe--

The door slams shut, Chris rearing away to avoid losing a finger. He gasps, heart thundering, and wrenches it back open, looking up and down the hallway for the perpetrator.

The windows are closed and the hallway is empty. He’s alone.

Chris stays in his room. There’s two weeks until school starts, another new school., another year of being the new kid. Chris has no illusions it will go any better than his last school. Travis asked him at dinner one night if he’ll try out for the football team and he actually laughed in response; he’s since stopped going to the painfully performative family meals.

He keeps the windows open, he walks down to the liquor store three blocks away to buy air freshener. It doesn’t matter, his room always smells like it’s been locked up for years and years, mothballs and layers of dust and linens beginning to rot. And still, lying on his mattress staring at the ceiling, the stench thick in his nose, it’s far more preferable than anywhere else in the house.

“I know you’ve got a mother already,” Madison tells him, coming into the kitchen while Chris is foraging in the fridge for leftovers, startling him upright, clutching tupperware to his chest and his fork falling to the tiled floor with a metal clatter. “Even if she’s gone now, that doesn’t change a thing.”

Chris is silent.

Madison smiles at him, the sweetest she’s looked since Chris has met her. “My son is coming home tomorrow. He’s been… away for a while. Sick. He needs stability.” She steps forward, gripping Chris’s shoulder before he can withdraw out of reach. He feels pinned, trapped, her gaze keeping him frozen in place. “This is a chance,” Madison says, almost softly, “to be part of a family. Is that what you want, Chris?”

“I,” Chris stutters. The handle to the freezer is digging into his shoulder.

“You need,” Madison says, taking the tupperware out of his suddenly limp grasp and stacking it neatly on the counter. “To decide what you want. And what you’re willing to do to get it.”

Travis tells him to wear a tie. “Where’s he coming back from,” Chris mutters resentfully, “New York’s Fashion Week.”

“This is important,” Travis says shortly. “I told you to iron that.”

Chris shrugs. His suit jacket is rumpled; it’s been lying on the floor of his closet since he took it off after his mother’s funeral.

Madison is in a cookie cutter dress, the perfect wife, the consummate homemaker. Pie warming in the oven and a roast waiting on the table for Travis to carve. If they’d owned bowties Chris thinks he and Travis would be wearing them. By contrast, the boy who shuffles through the door is in a two shirt two sizes too big, sweatpants that hang off his too thin hips. He looks fragile, he moves like an old man. His hair is lank and his eyes are vague. He eats slowly, fumbles with his water glass. It’s possibly the most awkward meal Chris has ever had in the entirety of his life.

He picks at his pie, just trying to get through the experience and escape back to his room. Madison is clearing the table, pouring coffee, tousling Nick’s hair and kissing Travis’s cheek. Chris looks up and Nick is staring at him. It’s an unnerving, flat, unblinking stare, like Nick’s staring straight through him.

“Um,” Chris says.

“Who’re you?” Nick says, strung out slow and stumbling. “Who… where is she?”

Chris blinks. He points with his fork to the kitchen. “She’s… dishes?”

Maddie comes back out, beaming to see Nick engaging with the world. “More pie, sweetheart?”

Nick blinks, finally. His eyes focus. “Mom? Where is she?”

Maddie’s smile freezes. Her hand clenches on Travis’s shoulder. “Go to your room,” Travis orders, and Chris, for once, doesn't need to be told twice.

“Where is she,” he hears faintly, from behind him, Nick’s lost little boy voice.

Chris dreams that he’s short. He can’t see over the counter so he drags a chair over, climbing up and peering at the stove. His hands are very small and chubby and clumsy but he can see the cookie jar, heavy and porcelain and juuuust out of reach. He climbs up onto the counter, knocking his ankle against the sharp edge, and wiggles on his belly, arms outstretched.

His fingers nudge the jar, he’s so close--

He’s scooped up. Nick’s face swims into view, younger and happier and cleaner, hair cut short and no lines in his face. Chris can hardly recognize him against the boy who had dinner with them the night before. He giggles when Nick swoops him around and kisses his nose, sets him safely on the floor and tsks at him. And then Nick’s exaggerated finger to his lips, a chocolate chip cookie passing from his hands to Chris’s. “Our secret,” Nick says, and winks.

Travis and Madison are going on a trip. Madison fusses about, clucking about leaving Nick alone so soon after he’s come home, packing the freezer with frozen casseroles and carefully laying out medication organizers, each filled with bright capsules and little round pills. “He needs stability,” she keeps telling Chris, when she catches him in the hallway (and once, the bathroom, standing in the doorway blocking his escape. “He needs calm, and routine, and twenty minutes in the oven at 350 should do it.”

“Do it,” Chris repeats, his towel clutched around his waist.

“The casseroles,” Madison repeats, impatiently. She touches his shoulder, except it’s bare this time, her nails into his skin, against his bone. “I know you’re younger, Christopher, and that it’s not right. But this family needs you to step up. We’ve got to look out for each other.”

Chris dreams he’s a little girl. He knows because he can see his reflection in the pool water. Chubby cheeked and dirty blonde hair starting to turn brunette. He’s dangling his legs in the pool, kicking his feet and watching the ripples it makes while the sun beats down hot on the back of his neck.

He’s sweaty, and uncomfortable, overheated and there’s a reason he’s not supposed to get all the way in the pool but it slips away when he tries to remember it. He plants his palms on the hot concrete rim of the pool and pushes himself forward with a splash.

It’s perfect for the first twenty seconds, refreshing and welcomingly cool. Then he kicks his legs and moves his arms and realizes the glowing dot of the sun, distorted through the water above him, is getting smaller and dimmer instead of bigger and brighter. He flails, panic sparking in his chest when he tries to shout and all that comes out is bubbles. His chest gets tighter and tighter, his vision narrower and narrower.

And then a hand, plunging, gripping his forearm tight enough to bruise. Lifting him up into the sunshine, the first big gasp of air into his lungs like being born again. Cradled against a bare chest, Nick peering down at him with his bangs in his eyes. “Careful,” he murmurs to Chris, lifting him up to sit on the edge of the pool. “What’d I tell you about waiting for me?”

“Sorry Nicky,” he says, except his voice is higher pitched, his hair too long. “I didn’t mean it.”

Nick kisses the tip of his nose. “It’s okay. I’ll always be here to save you, Lee--.”

Chris wakes up in a cold sweat, his stomach flipping like someone had yanked the floor out from under him. He flails, falling off his bed and landing painfully on the wooden floor. “Fuck,” he mutters, when he’s managed to catch his breath. He feels damp, he can smell chlorine.

“Christopher,” someone whispers, and he shouts, sitting upright, kicking to free his legs from the tangle of his sheet.

It’s Nick, standing by his bed like a ghost, thin and wan and shadowy in the dark of the moon slanting through the window.

Chris’s dream wells up again, vivid and visceral. “Nicky,” he says, before he can stop himself.

Nick moves snake strike quick, a fistful of Chris’s shirt, hauling him to his feet and slamming him into the wall. “That’s not yours to name!” he shouts. And then, quiet and hissing: “You’re not supposed to be here. This isn’t your room.”

Chris’s breath catches. Then he exhales, hard, and shoves NIck away from him. “Get off me, man. Get ahold of yourself.”

Nick rocks back, releases his grip on Chris. Lifts one corner of his lip in a snarl, then turns and shuffles away. The door swings after him, back and forth, back and forth, creak creak creak even though there’s no wind blowing through the house, until Chris crosses the room and slams it shut.

Chris’s room is fucking freezing. Not just in the early hours of the morning, when his alarm has just gone off and the lure of his thick duvet is strong. But in the middle of the day, when the heat is sweltering and he’s sweated through his deodorant on the sofa. A cold that sinks into his bones and makes them ache, a chill that sets his teeth on edge.

“Is your room cold?” he asks Nick, while they’re standing in the kitchen staring at the stove clicking away, the timer counting down for the latest casserole to be ready.

Nick is looking at the four pills in his palm, taken from the plastic organizer on the counter. “It’s hot as fuck,” he says, and lays the medication on his tongue, crunches them between his teeth.

It’s Friday night and Chris is alone in his room, boxers and thick wool socks and oversized hoodie and goosebumps raised on his thighs, his laptop humming away on the bed in front of him. Free internet porn and a handful of tissues and it’s a grainy shitty video but he doesn’t need much, a squirt of lotion and his own palm and the sound turned low.

He chokes out a soft noise of his own, spreading his legs, leaning back against the wall and rocking back and forth into the loose grip of his hand, thumb playing over the tip just the way he likes. He’s close, he’s close, the tissues ready--and his laptop goes suddenly dark. He yelps as a sharp chill strikes him, ice right on his bare dick, and he squeaks, high pitched, flinging himself sideways with a desperate noise, curled in on himself in protection. He falls to the floor, and after a moment, sits up with a groan.

He stands, fumbling to his feet. His breath is fogging out in white clouds; there’s frost on the inside of his window. He shoves it open, sticking his hand out into the night air: it’s balmy, the warm air making his cold sweat feel colder. A breeze ruffles through the room, through his hair; he can hear the echo of a feminine giggle.

He wrenches the door open, stepping out into the hall, the wooden floor creaking under his bare feet. “Who’s there,” he snaps. “Who the fuck--”

The door of the room beside him opens. Nick sticks his head out. “Can’t you jack off quietly, like everybody else?”

Chris feels his face flush. “No, I--I heard someone, I heard…” he trails off. “Nothing. Sorry.” He blushes a little harder. “You could hear me?”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “Your dick is out, baby brother.”

Chris looks down. He spins around, fire engine red, and he tucks himself back into his boxers. “I’m not a baby,” he mutters.

“Big boys xyz,” Nick drawls. When Chris turns around Nick is much closer. He ruffles Chris’s hair, dodges Christopher’s swat. “Come on, kiddo. I’ll look under the bed for you.”

He’s past Chris into his room before Chris can stop him, yanking open the closet. “No big bads in here,” he sing songs. It’s the most present in-the-moment he’s been since Chris has met him, and he half-wishes Nick would go back to being spacey and ambling.

He steps forward, into the room, to tell Nick to fuck off, and stops short. His room is in thaw, the back of forth of warm and cold making his nose run. “How’d you do that?”

Nick, now shamelessly rummaging through Chris’s desk drawers and pocketing a loose dollar bill he finds within, looks up. “Do what?”

“You--nothing. Nevermind.” Chris sits on his bed with a sigh. “Just… go away.”

“Don’t be like that.” Nick flops onto Chris’s bed, on his back. “You’ll hurt my feelings.” He pauses. “I’m not in a wet spot, am I?”

“Fuck you,” Chris says, without heat. He lays back, arms outstretched. “This house is weird,” he says. “This fucking room…” He turns his head to look at Nick. “And you.”

Nick is staring at the ceiling, abruptly absent in a very different way. “This fucking room,” he echoes.

Chris falls asleep, just like that, watching Nick keep watch.

When he wakes up Nick is still there. Sleeping, his face softer, his chest gently rising and falling. Chris follows the lines of his body, his shirt slightly rumpled up from his hips, his sweats hanging low, the waistband of his boxers. Pale biceps, dotted scars inside his elbow, the blue of the veins in his forearm. The thin bones of his wrist and his fingers, loose and unfurled. They twitch occasionally, like they’re grasping for something out of reach.

Chris stretches, actually enjoying the faint sensation of being too warm, the blanket over his legs, his room a normal fucking temperature for one goddamn day. His bladder interrupts his comfort, and he sighs, levering himself up and going into the hall bathroom. Flips the shower on and kicks off his boxers, tugs of his shirt. He pisses with a little sigh of relief, the sound of it tinkling against the porcelain, the faint noises of gurgling water through the pipes. He flushes the toilet with a yawn, shuffling to the sink to wash his hands and drink from the tap.

There’s a splash to his right. He looks and pauses, blinking blearily as his gaze focuses. There are pills, floating in the toilet water.

“What,” he manages to say, and then a pill bottle flies out from the the cabinet above the sink, hitting him in the center of his forehead as the mirror shatters, glass flying. He yells, flailing and trying to step back, tripping over his own underwear on the floor and smacking painfully against the wall before lying, sprawled and knocked breathless, on the tile. He groans, getting to one knee, hands outstretched to grip the counter to stand, before a figure steps out of the bathtub. Dripping water and formless, shaking at the edges, it walks with dragging steps, leaving puddles in its wake.

“Mine,” it groans, throated and hard to make out. “Mine,” it repeats, “Mine.” With every iteration the voice focuses, becomes more human. “Mine,” it says again, angry. “You’re trying to take it all away from me.”

“No,” Chris says, hands outstretched in a plea for mercy. “No, I--please.”

Its hand closes around his throat, lifts him. Its facial features shift under the mist, rippling. It looks… girlish. It looks sad. And then it contorts: furious. Its hand squeezes around Chris’s throat. “You’re trying to take him away from me.”

The door bangs, hammered under Nick’s fist. “Hey! What the fuck is going on in there?”

The figure sways towards the door, Nick’s voice calling out. “Mine,” it says, lost like a child, and disappears just as Nick crashes through the door, forcing it open by splintering the cheap lock out of the frame. Chris drops to the ground, limbs askew.

Nick surveys the room. The shower running, steamy, the broken mirror, the water on the floor, Christopher sprawled out naked. “Do you ever put your dick away?”

Christopher grabs a towel off the rack on the wall. “What the fuck!” he shouts. “What the fuck is this fucking house!”

Nick ignores his freakout, peers at the toilet, the medication slowly dissolving in the water. “Dropped it?” he asks dispassionately, shrugging a shoulder. “Been there.” He nudges a shard of mirror with his toe. “Barking up the wrong tree, though. Can’t get high off that shit, just muddy.” He smirks sideways at Chris. “Trying to be my muddy buddy?”

“What?” Christopher lurches to his feet. “No!”

Nick shrugs again. “Did me a favor, I guess.” He reaches out a hand. “C’mon. I’m finally hungry again.”

“So you weren’t at college,” Chris ventures, sitting at the dining room table in a towel while Nick stands in front of the stove, humming an odd song. “I thought maybe… that you were at college.”

“No,” Nick says with an amused snort, stirring a pot. “Not college.”

“Rehab,” Christopher guesses, remembering the bruised looking scars on the inside of Nick’s arm, prickmarks between his toes.

Nick makes a buzzer sound. “Wrong again.”

Christopher is silent. The third night he was alone in the house with Nick he went out into the kitchen at night, creeping on the creaky floors, and googled the names on the orange pill bottles, neatly stamped with Nick’s name and long long lists of side effects and warnings. “The hospital,” he says, his tongue thick in his mouth. “The mental hospital.”

Nick brings him a bowl of macaroni and cheese, thunking it before him cheerfully. “I always thought you were bright. Well, actually I thought you might have been a hallucination, but this is better.”

“Why were you there?” Chris asks, so far past politeness and feeling like he may be in a prolonged hallucination himself.

Nick waves a hand, a spoonful of pasta falling with a wet plop to the tabletop. He licks it off, tongue on the sticky placemat. “Why is anyone?” He nudges Chris’s bowl. “Tuck in.”

Christopher takes a bite, the food feeling like heavy cardboard. “I think I’m going crazy,” he tells his sauce streaked spoon.

Nick shrugs, taking a big bite and speaking with his mouth full. “Get in line.”

Chris waits until he can hear Nick snoring through the wall. His room is cold again, but he ignores it. Goes into the bathroom with his shoes on, crunching on the glass. Runs the shower, same as before. Sits on the closed toilet lid. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“I just want to talk,” he calls out. “Please. I’m not trying to… I’m not trying to take anything away from you.”

Silence greets him, the echoey sound of the shower spray against the tub.

“I don’t want to be here either,” he says quietly, a secret whispered into the steam. “I’m just as stuck as you are.”

He crawls onto the mattress beside Nick, knowing how fucking weird it is. Nick stirs, looking at him incredulously. “You’re cute,” he says, “but the boys are still waking up from Big Pharma’s Sleep, if you know what I mean.”

Chris is silent, picking at the threads on the edge of the sheet. “I can’t sleep in that room,” he says. “That room, I---please.” His voice cracks.

Nick looks at him for a long time. Then he surges to his feet, walking with purpose towards Chris’s room while Chris scrambles after him.

Nick throws the door open, keeping his hand out to prevent it from rebounding against the wall and striking him. “That room,” he repeats. “This fucking room, this--” he stalks forward, lifting the mattress with both hands and flipping it. “This fucking room!”

Chris has his back against the wall. “Nick,” he tries, but Nick can’t hear him.

“This room,” he says, legs folding under him, slumping in on himself. “This… this room.”

Chris takes a hesitant step forward. He touches Nick’s shoulder. “C’mon,” he says, and draws Nick to his feet, catching Nick’s arm around his shoulder as Nick stumbles. He drags Nick towards the other room, but Nick catches a hand around the doorframe, halting their progress, a fingernail in one of the notchmarks.

He presses his thumb to the name Chris can’t make out. “Her room,” he says softly, and then goes pliant, stumbling with Chris back to his room, his bed.

Nick is gone when Chris wakes up again. There’s a post-it on his forehead: ‘Rock out with your cock out, I’ll be back later.’

Chris goes to the attic. It’s a trapdoor one, a ladder that rattles down full of dust and makes him choke, makes him cough. But the rungs hold under his weight, and he climbs up into the rafters, testing each step gingerly before he eases himself forward, inch by inch, to the boxes taped up and labeled along the walls.

‘Nick, Elementary.’ he reads. ‘Christmas.’ ‘Nick, Little League.’ ‘Nick, Little League. ‘Nick, School Projects.’ ‘Nick, High School.’ And then a few others. Christmas ornaments and Halloween decorations, boxes marked ‘Steven’ and ‘Old Books’ and ‘Winter Things’. He settles on one of the high school boxes, rifling through faded project folders, PE uniforms--and then, at the bottom of the box, yearbooks.

He digs one out, hand smoothing over the cover. It’s generic, titled with the name and the year and a picture of the front of the school, the same one Christopher registered at near the beginning of summer, that he’ll start in less than a week. Tries to do the math and realizes he’s not sure how old Nick is, when he would have graduated. He flips to the index in the back, finger tracing the names. Clark, he finds, but right above Clark, Nicholas there’s a Clark, Alicia. His fingernail rests under it, surprised. It doesn’t sound like it’d be an uncommon last name, but for there to be only two…

He flips to her school photo, Clark, Alicia, Sophomore, and searches the small black and white square for a family resemblance. She does look a little like Nick, he supposes? A tad like Madison? He rubs his finger on the glossy cast of the paper, thoughtful, and it’s the page just before the class photos that makes him realize: a full size spread, with color photos of the same girl. And the cursive ribbons that frame the collage: In Memoriam. Chris does some math based on the dates listed at the bottom of the page. Sixteen, he thinks. She was sixteen when she died.

He barely has time to realize the chill falling across the attic, the frost in the air, before the yearbook snaps shut on his fingers. He yelps, recoiling in pain, falling backwards onto his ass. The wood of the attic is freezing through his jeans. He’s gasping, panicked breaths, and they fog out in white clouds. A wind whips through the attic, its chill a knife’s edge, and slashes at his face, his throat. He opens his mouth to cry out and can’t catch his breath.

He ducks to the floor, covering his head with his arms, and inhales deep, tasting dust and something rotten. “Alicia,” he calls out, muffled into his forearm. He raises his head as much as he can. “Alicia Clark!”

The wind dies immediately, but the cold remains. Chris sits up fully, on his knees. The attic looks empty, but…

“Hello?” he calls out quietly. “Are you here?”

A box, in a shadowy corner, rustles. Like someone's brushed up against the open flaps, or leaned against the rafters behind it. Chris shuffles towards it, still on his knees. He stretches out a hand, a plea and a supplication. “Alicia?”

It rustles again. “You said my name,” she whispers. It’s still raspy, deep. Almost androgynous if Chris hadn’t know it was a girl speaking. “You saw my picture?”

Chris picks up the yearbook where it had fallen to the side. The last few pages are covered in scrawled messages, phone numbers, empty promises to stay in touch. “Where’s your copy?” he asks, keeping his voice soft.

The wind roars to life, ripping the book from his hand and throwing into the wall with an angry bang. “Gone,” the voice groans. “Gone, gone, gone--” her voice raises, it roars. “She threw me away! GONE GONE GONE--”

Chris flees down the ladder, tripping over his own feet and missing the last two rungs; thumping to the hallway floor.

Chris spends the next two days on tenderhooks. He starts talking: at first he thinks it’s for himself, his own peace of mind. But it shifts, more quickly than he’d like.

“I like the crusts,” he says, while he’s toasting bread for peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. “Did you?”

“Blackberry,” he says, while he’s spreading jam on wheat bread for pb&js. “Fancy. No lowbrow grape for you, huh?”

“You guys need some spice in your life,” he says, while he’s eating their boring low salt low fat potato chips.

“How about taking a fucking nap,” he mutters, while he’s huddled in his room under four blankets.

Nick comes back on the third day. Chris comes out for something to eat and he’s sprawled on the sofa, in the same clothes he left in, smiling unfocusedly at the ceiling. “Hello,” he drawls, when Chris walks over and looks down at him. “It’s good to be home.”

He’s high, Chris realizes, looking at Nick’s pupils and the way he reaches twice for the glass of water Chris offers before he can grasp it. “I thought you were clean,” Chris says.

Nick sighs. “I am. I was. I will be, again.” He turns his head, reflected in the dark screen of the television, and looks at himself. “I had to… just one more time. I thought, if I could--just one more time, then…” he trails off. Then he laughs, hollow and aching.

“Alicia,” Chris says, his voice loud in the silence.

Nick’s gaze catches him like a wire. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Alicia,” Chris stammers. “I--I found this book--”

Nick grabs him by the wrist, bruising, grinding his bones together. “What book? Did you go into my room?”

“In the attic,” Chris says, twisting in vain to escape. “The--the yearbook.”

Nick releases him. “Oh.” He rolls over, smushing his face into the couch cushion. His hair, lank and unwashed, spills over his collar, grown too long. There’s something there, under the strands, on the nape of his neck, but Chris can’t quite make it out. “Shouldn’t go snooping,” Nick mumbles, clearly about to drift away again. “Not in this house, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Chris says, but Nick’s eyes are glassy, turned away, his chin nodding off.

“Alicia,” Nick repeats, so full of longing. “You’d have liked her.”

Alicia Clark, Chris thinks, and goes to the library.

There’s not much there. Too big of a town for a full news article, not about a sixteen year old girl who died alone before she could see seventeen. There’s a tiny obituary, static and stiff, for one submitted by a presumably grieving mother. Or so Chris thinks, until he imagines what Travis would write about him.

She leaves behind a grieving mother and a devoted brother he reads, his finger tracing the words on the old newspaper, on its wooden dowel.

He goes online. Three different cemetery directories and he can’t find a listing for her. He remembers her howl: She threw me away!.

Nick isn’t on the couch when he gets home, tiny bouquet clutched in his hands. The florist winked at him, asked if it was for a pretty girl, laughed goodnaturedly when Chris had blushed. He’d only been able to afford daisies.

He climbs the rickety attic ladder, one handed, approached the yearbook lying in the dust against the wall, open to the memoriam page. She was very pretty, he thinks. Strikingly so. “I’m starting school,” he tells the chill in the air. “I won’t be around as much. I’m sorry you have to be alone again.”

He lays the flowers atop the yearbook, under her smiling face.

He’s packing his bag the next morning: pencils, notebook, binder, bus pass, schedule.

“You’ve got Mrs. Newman for english,” a girl says, right in his ear.

Chris shrieks, flinging himself backwards, catching his knee against the bedframe and falling to the floor. He’s spending a lot of time falling over onto the floor.

“She’s a bitch,” the girl says, matter of factly. “But she keeps everyone quiet, and she grades fair.”

Chris stands, quickly, coughing slightly. “I--okay.”

A coldness trails over his shoulder, like a friendly caress. “You brought me flowers.”

Chris doesn’t know what to say. He nods.

She blows into his ear, to make him jump, then giggles again. “Good luck,” she sing-songs, and he’s alone.

That didn’t take long at all, Chris thinks, slamming into the house and hurling his backpack at the wall. Not even a week. He shoves into the bathroom and braces his hands on the sink, fighting the urge to sob or scream or punch the wall or throw up. “You look like shit,” she whispers from behind the bath curtain.

“Not now,” he snaps, slapping the extra toilet paper roll off the counter in a burst of emotion. There’s silence for a moment, just the trickle of water out of the faucet where his hand nudged it on. Then the mirror cabinet squeaks, opening on its own. The small first aid kit, in its white plastic case, floats out and bumps against Chris’s chest.

He closes his hand around it, swallowing. “Thanks.”

He makes the bed up with fresh sheets. Lays out an extra pillow and takes his own, with his blanket, to the floor. A breeze ruffles through his air, oddly curious. “It’s your bed,” he says, scuffing a nail on the wood floor. “I feel bad taking it.”

There’s dead silence, long enough that Chris fluffs his pillow and settles onto the floor. Then someone pokes him in the ribs; the sheet on the left side of the bed pulls down.

“Okay,” he says, and slides in beside her.

Well shit, Chris thinks, his feet pounding on the concrete, his backpack discarded behind him, arms pumping. He can hear the jeers behind him, see the faces of bystanders turning away. He doesn’t bother calling out for help, he’s been down this road before. It’s a different street and different pursuers, but he doesn’t have any illusions it’ll end any different than it has before: a split lip and a black eye and without the ten bucks he’s got stuffed in his sock.

And just there--hope, perhaps. The front door and Nick’s home and they’re not blood brothers by any stretch but he thinks Nick would object to teenage assholes rampaging through the house, other than himself.

He vaults the side gate, heading for the back sliding door and hoping Nick’s not throwing up into the sink the way he was when Chris left for the bus that morning. A hand grasps his ankle and he kicks out; he makes it just over, falling hard to the patio tiles. He groans, hearing shoes thump down around him, the jeering laughter.

A foot nudges under him, flipping him over onto his back. A boy in a baseball cap and a toothpick playing between his teeth: the ringleader. And how was Chris supposed to fucking know he’d be the kind of boy who’d chase him off a bus five blocks and over a residential fence just for stepping on the back of his sneaker on accident in the locker room.

“Fag,” the boy in question jeers. Chris takes a breath; curls his fingers into his palms and tucks his thumb in tight, reminds himself to keep his wrists straight. Just because it’s inevitable doesn’t mean he has to roll over and take it.

It’s different this time, he realizes, when he feels the chill on the back of his neck. He’s relieved instead of scared, and he laughs when frost crystallizes on the scrabbly crabgrass of the lawn.

“What,” the boy starts to say, and then he screams, the toothpick jutting through the bottom of his mouth, the bloody tip through the bottom of his chin. A paving stone flies off the wall it was propped against and smashes into one of the other’s boy’s knees with a wet crunch; he howls as he crumples, a high pitched wail of pure pain.

“Stop!” Chris is shouting, as a vine whips from the trellis, thorned and oozing black to sink viciously into the side of the third boy as he tries to flee. “Alicia!”

Everything goes still in an instant. Nothing except the sun, erasing the frost and the sobbing of the three boys.

“They hurt you,” Alicia says in his ear, sounding wispy weak again after her show of strength. “You’re mine.”

Travis and Madison are less than pleased to be called back early from their holiday. “I thought I could trust you,” Travis says, one hand on the back of Chris’s collar, hauling him upright with an angry shake from the metal police station chair. “One week of just going to school and doing what you’re supposed to do, Christopher, and it was too much to ask?”

“They fell,” Chris says, staring at his shoes, repeating what the officers had assumed had happened when they’d finally arrived. “Fell chasing me.”

“Alicia,” he calls into the dark, later at night when he’s in bed, his blanket tucked up over his head. “Are you there?”

A flutter along his forehead, a weak creak of the floorboards. A whisper he can’t make out.

“Thank you,” he whispers, just before he falls asleep, and feels cold lips against his temple.

Chris brings the yearbook down from the attic. Keeps it tucked under his pillow and talks to her at night. What happened at school, how the boys went pale on their crutches and in their bandages and kept away from him. How Mrs. Newman went and had a baby and is no less a bitch, but is somewhat sleep deprived. He picks jasmine from the bush beside the bus stop and keeps it on the windowsill for her.

“I bet you’re cute,” he muses, laying out an empty plate next his bowl of reheated casserole. “I mean, in person. Some people are photogenic, but they’re like… cardboard in person. I bet you’re not like that.”

He leaves the plate out until he’s done, eating at the table instead on the sofa, and washes it with his own.

He dreams of the pool again, the chlorine and the bubbles and Nick fishing him out. Wakes up in a sweat and creeps through the house, out the sliding door. To where the tarp is spread out over the patio, held down by concrete blocks. Moves them in a haze, feels like he’s dreaming. Peels the tarp away like a scab on a wound.

And underneath, the filled in pool. He finds the spot where he sat in his dream, where Alicia pushed herself into the pool and Nick saved her. When he finds the exact spot, he sees her.

Cross-legged in the center of what used to be the pool, wispy about the edges and translucent, but clearly recognizable. Her fingernails scrape on the rough stone. “You found me.”

“Alicia,” Chris repeats, greeting her properly for the first time. “Alicia Clark.”

“Christopher Manawa,” she names him, and cups his face in her hands.

He wakes up shivering in the early morning grey, the dew on his skin. There’s a braided bracelet around his fingers, too small to fit over his wrist. Baby pink and pale green and when he brings it close to his face he can smell chlorine.

Alicia sits on his bed while he does his homework. “Wrong,” she sing-songs, and he sighs, erasing the entire problem before tossing his pencil aside. “Poor boy,” she teases, her giggle floating in the air. His desk drawer opens on its own, exposing the tissue box, the lotion.

He slams it shut, blushing. “Jesus!”

She’s stronger every day, he’s noticed, and today enough to pat the bed next to her with a solid sounding noise. “Christopher Manawa,” she calls, and he answers.

Flops onto the bed beside her and sighs at the cold touch to his hair, the tickle of nails under his chin. “Play hooky tomorrow?”

He tilts into her caress. “But I have trig tomorrow.”

She hums. “I’ll tutor you.”

His eyes are heavy, his body heavier. His head slides further into her lap, the duvet under his cheek and his nose where her hip would be. He can feel something more than sleep tugging at him. “Stay with me,” she murmurs, and when she kisses his forehead all the hair on the back of his neck stands on end.

He’s in the pool. In the pool proper, floating on a plastic raft, sunwarm and his fingers trailing in the water. He blinks at the sun, stretches out his toes and rolls his ankles. The water next to him splashes, Alicia emerges. Alicia as she must have been, as he’s never seen her. Solid and opaque; vibrant and so alive. “Wow,” he says, before he can stop himself. The pictures had nothing on how she looks in person.

She grins. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“We’re dreaming?” Chris asks, wiggling his fingers in the water.

“You are,” she replies. “You said you’d play hooky with me.”

“Hmm,” Chris agrees. He looks down at his bathing shorts. “This Nick’s?”

“Not my doing,” Alicia says, vague and a little knowing, her grin sliding into a smirk. “He is charming, isn’t he?” She taps the side of the raft before Chris can respond. “Budge over.”

She lifts herself onto the raft, dripping on him and giggling while he flails, trying to move over without upending them both. And then she’s tucked against his side, damp and slick and making him shiver, her head against his shoulder, his arm around her.

Chris can see the water droplets on her skin, the goosebumps from the air. Feel the curve of her smile against his neck. He feels brave; he touches her arm, sliding down to her elbow. The lightest of caresses, and his held breath. She sighs, wiggles a little closer. He exhales on a smile.

“This is nice,” he says, soft. And they float, under the sun.

When he wakes up, he’s still in the pool. He blinks. The sun is still high in the sky, the same place it was before. Hours before. He yawns. Then yelps, as he’s abruptly dunked into the pool. He opens his eyes underneath, moving his arms to keep himself submerged. He can see her legs, pale and distorted through the water. He grabs one and yanks, hearing her muffled yelp, seeing the splash and the bubbles.

And then her eyes, opening. Her hands on his face, bringing him close. And her lips on his, blowing air into his lungs.

She makes peanut butter banana sandwiches. “Needs chips,” he says, coming up behind her. And it’s the easiest thing, the most right, to prop his chin on her shoulder and lean some weight on her.

“Keep your gross chips out of my brainfood,” she says, turning her head and blowing a raspberry against his cheek.

He wrinkles his nose at the slobber and sticks his tongue out at her. “It’s a crunchy surprise.”

“It’s a crunchy surprise,” she mocks, high pitched.

His mouth is open to respond when the world tilts sideways.

“--Christ,” Nick is saying, leaned over him. “I thought you were dead, Jesus Christ.”

Chris tries to ask him what’s wrong but his tongue is thick, stuck to the roof of his mouth. He gurgles weakly and lifts one arm, sluggish and uncoordinated. “Wha,” he manages, after a great effort, and Nick helps him sit up.

“You were sleeping,” Nick offers, hesitant and oddly careful, easing Chris upright and then hovering. “And I thought--but you wouldn’t wake up.”

“I was dreaming,” Chris mumbles. He feels stronger by the second, but the sleepiness is hard to shake, his eyelids drooping.

“You were comatose,” Nick mutters. He runs his finger through his hair. “Scared me,” he says gruffly, then coughs to cover the admission.

Chris yawns. He eyes his pillow longingly.

“Nope,” Nick says, yanking at his arm. “Get up, we’re going to the store.”

Chris scowls. “I don’t want to go to the store.”

“Cheer up kiddo,” Nick says, ruffling Chris’s hair and then tossing his shoes into Chris’s lap. “You can buy oooneee candy.”

Chris wakes up in the middle of the night because someone is crying. “Licia?” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes and shivering from the chill as his blanket falls away. The floor is like ice on his feet. He tiptoes into the hall, teeth chattering. “Licia?”

She’s kneeled on the hallway rug outside Nick’s room, her hand pressed to the doorframe, her hair around her face. She’s keening, a low noise of pure grief. She looks less solid than she has before, and she wavers around the edges as her hand passes through the door. Then she flinches, and withdraws into the hall.

Chris creeps closer. “Alicia?”

“It’s not fair,” she says, low and rasped. “Not fair.”

Chris hovers a hand over her. “Are you okay?”

She makes a lost noise, and then--her hand in his. “What,” he sputters, staring. “How--”

“Just a little,” she murmurs, her face tear-streaked. “Just a little, I promise.”

Her cold lips touch his.

Chris wakes up in the car, Nick’s fingers against his throat. “What,” he croaks, trying to sit up and only getting halfway before slumping back down.

“You stupid fuck,” Nick curses. The car’s tires scrape against the road when he takes a turn too fast. “What did you take?”

“Nothing,” Chris protests.

Nick snorts. “Sure. I collapse in hallways and don’t wake up because of low blood pressure.”

Chris slaps his hands away. “You’re the junkie,” he snaps. “Not me.”

Nick flinches.

Chris rubs at his face, tired and drained. “Where are we going?”

“The hospital.” Nick pulls over and cuts the engine. “You wouldn’t wake up. I heard, like… a thump? And my bed shook, the walls…” he trails off, then refocuses. “You were in the hall.”

“I passed out,” Chris realizes. “I must have--I just fainted, I guess.”

NIck frowns at the steering wheel. “That house,” he mutters, and then: “that fucking room.”

Nick moves Chris into his room. Drags the pillow and the blanket in onto the bed and makes Chris stuff some clothes into a duffel bag and leave it against the wall.

Chris wakes up the next morning and realizes how groggy he’s been lately, the heaviness in his limbs lightened, his eyes less gritty. He mashes his nose into the pillow, stretches his toes under the blanket, and enjoys a lie in, Nick’s warm bulk against his side.

After they get up, Nick makes pancakes, barefoot and shirtless at the stove, yawning and scratching his hipbone while Chris watches drowsy soft from the kitchen table, cheek leaned on his hand. Nick makes his in the shape of dicks, because being an asshole appears to be an inherent Clark trait.

Alicia finds him in the shower, when he’s alone. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, wispy and shapeless with him under the spray, bringing barely any chill with her. “I didn’t mean it.”

Chris closes his eyes really tight. “Alicia Clark,” he names, “Go away.”

“The parentals are gone again,” Nick announces, barging in holding a wad of cash. “Topping preference?”

Chris shrugs. Nick rolls his eyes, grabs his wallet and keys off the dresser, tells Chris to throw a few soda cans in the fridge so it’ll cold by the time Nick gets back. Then he sprawls out over the expanse of Nick’s bed and half-heartedly does his English reading.

A car honks outside and he drops his book, muttering a curse as it bounces off the mattress and falls half under the bed. Wiggles on his belly over to the side and reaches a hand, feeling blindly for it. His searching fingers hit the edge of a box and he flops over onto the floor to drag it out. Cardboard and dusty, the flaps worn and tape holding the bottom of it together. He opens it.

The first few items are cards. Happy Birthdays, mostly. The odd Christmas tree craft, one of those turkeys that’s drawn by tracing a hand. Blocky letters and childish scribbles. Stick figures on lined paper, starting to yellow with age. A stuffed bear, the ear falling off and one eye replaced with a black coat button. Nicky, it says in faded permanent marker on the foot. Nick’s childhood bear, Chris supposes, and sets it aside next to his knee on the floor.

A red baby blanket, a cassette tape, a hair ribbon, a sweater. It’s the ribbon and sweater that makes Chris pause, the sweater so clearly not Nick’s. It makes him unfold the blanket to find the name stitched onto the corner: Alicia. Chris’s breath catches. He fumbles through to the envelope, a locket spilling out on a delicate chain, the letter folded up neatly and Nick’s name at the top. He skims it: looks at her handwriting and her turn of phrase before he starts to parse the words.

His attention jumps around the page, but it’s the bottom half that catches his eyes. A story about summer camp, about saving her. How she loves him, and she’s sorry. She wants him to get better, wants him to be happy. She forgives him and she’s so sorry.

“What are you doing,” Nick says coldly form the doorway, and Chris looks up, startled. Realizes he’s sitting on the floor surrounded by the last things of Alicia’s life, saved from the trash heap and the rubbish bins by Nick and carefully collected, the sweater and blanket neatly folded, everything arranged--and Chris has spread it out on the floor around him in a jumbled heap.

“I…” Chris stutters, but he doesn’t eve get the chance to try and justify his actions, Nick crossing the distance between the immediately and snatches the letter from his hands. There’s a rip of paper, and then Chris is just holding a scrap, ‘love you always, Leeshy’ in blue ballpoint ink.

Nick makes a sound like Chris stabbed him. “Get out,” he says, gently scooping up the stuffed bear and smoothing its fur away from its button eye. “Before I kill you.”

Chris stumbles out on jelly legs. “I see her,” he tries to say, but Nick slams the door in his face.

Chris waits outside Nick’s door. “I see her,” he insists, when Nick glares. “I’ve talked to her.”

“You are cruising for a bruising,” Nick warns, trying to sidestep him into the hallway.

Chris blocks his route. “She’s talked to me. She--”

Nick grabs a handful of his collar and slams him against the wall. “You shut the fuck up, I swear to god.”

“She bites her lips,” Chris babbles, “she closes one eye when she laughs, sometimes. Her bathing suit has polka dots--”

Nick punches him in the gut, knocking the breath out of him, then releases his grip, allowing Chris to collapse into a heap at Nick’s feet. “Do you think I didn’t try?” he asks, and from Chris’s crumpled position all he can see is NIck’s clenched fists. “Psychics, seances, LSD…” he takes an unsteady breath. “I know how this house is. I know how it can seem… but I tried. I tried everything, and in the end it was just me. Just me screaming at an empty house.”

He crouches down beside Chris, who’s still wheezing for breath. “Alicia Clark is dead. And if we have to have this conversation again, I’ll send you across the divide to confirm it.”

Chris dreams he’s sitting with his legs in the pool. There are dead leaves around the edges of it; the pool cleaner stutters and moves sluggishly. There’s six white pills in his left palm and and a razorblade in his right. The envelope behind him in the grass, Nick’s name across the front of it, tucked against his Nicky bear.

There’s a quiet peace in his head. The water feels nice around his ankles and he lays back, feels the last of the sun’s warmth through the patio tiles into his shirt, seeping into his skin. His long hair tumbles around his shoulders and tickles at his neck.

“Nick,” he thinks quietly, and falls asleep.

Nick is odd, the next few days. His anger seems to have faded, but he’s odd. Staring into the middle distance, standing at the sink staring out the window at the tarp that covers the filled in pool.

“Alicia,” Chris hears him call at night through the walls. “Are you there?”

“Alicia,” Nick screams in Chris’s dream, bent over him beside the pool. “Licia, please god--”

Chris in Nick’s arms, weak and limp, Nick loading him into the backseat of the car. The screech of the engine and the blare of the horn. “Leesha,” from the front seat, begged. “Leesha please--”

And in the hospital, Nick’s shirt red and sticky, his hand dripping, carrying Chris inside and screaming for help. Chris on a gurney, and the bright glare of a doctor’s penlight. And Nick’s whisper plea, as the doors close him away and he watches Chris disappear down the hall. “Please don’t leave me all alone.”

Chris wakes up screaming. Nick bursts through the door, wild eyed and hair on end, his gaze casting around the room. “I’m not lying,” Chris says, and bursts into tears. “She slit her wrists,” he says, “by the pool. She left you that note and the bear and she took six of your pills and I’m not lying.”

He rubs at his inner forearm, feels the echo of a vein slit open. Nick’s broad palm catches his fingers. “Where did you get this?” Nick asks, his thumb brushing the braided bracelet around Chris’s wrist.

“She gave it to me,” Chris mumbles, wiping furiously at his eyes.

Nick is pale, his throat working. “She was buried in this.”

“I’m not lying,” Chris mumbles, petulantly victorious.

“No,” Nick agrees. “You’re not lying.”

He moves Chris back into his room.

Nick has questions. Chris answers him the best he can. “I saw her once,” Nick admits. “I had--I was pretty far gone. But I saw her.”

Late at night, just before they fall asleep, in the quiet comfort of the deep dark night, Nick asks: “Does she ever… it was my fault, I know that. Do you think…” he trails off again. “Is she angry with me?”

Chris remembers her kneeled at Nick’s door, her mournful cries. “No. I don’t think so.”

Nick exhales, long and low. “Tell her I miss her,” he requests softly, and is gone when Chris wakes up.

Chris goes into his old room. Alicia’s room. “Hello?” he calls out.

The air vibrates. “You sent me away,” she says sulkily. “Left me alone.”

“Nick believes me,” he says, settling crosslegged onto the bed. He pats the mattress in front of him. “C’mere.”

A breeze ruffles through the room. “What do you mean he believes you?”

“He knows you’re real,” Chris says. “I told him, and he believes me.”

Alicia appears in front of him, her eyes bright. “He does? Does he--” her brow furrows. “I can’t see him,” she says, lost. “I can’t even be near him. Is he mad at me?”

Chris touches above where her knee would be. “No, Licia. He’s not mad.”

Nick comes back with a ouija board. “Buckle up,” he says, and tosses it at Chris when Chris isn’t looking, so the edge hits him in the back of the head. Chris glares.

They set up in the living room. Nick carries out the box that was under his bed, the stuffed bear and the child’s drawings. The note, lovingly smoothed out and taped back together and gently eased back into the envelope, worn around the edges, Chris realizes, with many readings and re-readings.

Alicia’s things spread out around them, the oiuja board under their fingers. Chris takes a deep breath. “Alicia Clark,” he calls out.

Nothing.

“Leesha,” Nick pleads. He turns to Chris, scowling. “Why isn’t she answering?”

“I don’t know,” Chris admits. “I’m not--she did, before. She moved things, spoke.”

Nick stands in one motion, throwing the board against the wall in an explosion of frustration. “Leeshy,” he says in a whisper, shoulders slumped.

Chris remembers her kneeled outside Nick’s door. “I don’t think she can,” he says slowly. “I think something’s… stopping her.” He frowns, thinking. “You said you saw her?”

Nick blinks. “Yeah. A long time ago, before I went away.”

Chris taps his fingers on his knee. “Before you got that tattoo?”

Nick stares. “I don’t have a tattoo.”

It’s Chris’s turn to blink. “Yes you do.” He’s seen it up close now, lying in Nick’s bed, sitting next to him on the couch. An odd sort of glyph looking thing, or maybe a celtic knot of some kind. Just under his hairline on the back of his neck.

“I would know if I had a tattoo.”

Chris shoves at Nick’s shoulder, turning him. “I’m literally looking at it right now.” He moves Nick’s hair aside, preses a fingertip to the center of the black mark.

“What?” Nick bats at his hands. “Get off.” He beelines to the bathroom, Chris on his heels, and contorts in front of the mirror above the sink. “I can’t--”

Chris raises his phone, taking a few quick snaps with the camera, then passes the device over for Nick to stare at.

Nick swallows. “Madison,” he says, heavy like a stone.

Chris sits alone on the patio while Nick and Madison scream at each other over the phone.

“Licia?” he asks, tentative.

“She keeps me away,” she whispers in his ear. “She took him from me.”

“I’ll go to library,” he promises. “I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”

He sits in silence for another moment, then, suddenly, she shouts in his ear, startling him out of his seat with a yelp.

He bursts into the bathroom, heart pounding from the sprint, and his foot smears the blood droplets on the tile. Nick is at the sink, handheld mirror in one hand, a knife in the other. There’s blood all down the back of his shirt, soaked through. It’s dripping from his fingers.

“Jesus,” Chris says, yanking a towel from the rack on the wall.

“It’s the only way,” is all Nick will say, over and over. “The only way,” a whisper while Chris holds the towel to his wound and takes the knife out of his hand, fumbles with the first aid kit and leaves blood on the clasp of it, the edge of the counter, on his own clothes and the white towels and streaky in the sink basin.

“You should go to the hospital,” Chris says, but all Nick will let him do is layer gauze over it and tape down the edges.

Chris picks up the ouija board from where it’s crumpled against the wall on the floor. Smoothes it out on the coffee table. Nick, carefully, props Alicia’s bear in the center of it. “Alicia,” Nick murmurs, his fingers curled around a tattered ear.

“Alicia Clark,” Chris echoes, and just like that, she comes.

Sitting on the floor across from them, legs folded up and her chin on her knees.

“Licia,” Nick says, gutpunched. He lifts a trembling hand to her cheek, his fingers passing through her.

“Hi,” Alicia says, more timid than Chris has ever heard her. “I missed you.” She blinks, owl eyed. When she touches her bear the fur moves under her fingers. “You’re hurt.”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees, starting to list to the side. “It uh. Really hurts.”

Alicia turns to Chris. “Under his bed, by the window. The third floorboard from the wall.”

Chris trots down the hall, dutiful and quick, pries the floorboard up with his fingers. There’s a black zip case inside, slim; when he opens it there’s a syringe, a loop of hose, a spoon and a vial.

Alicia appears at his shoulder, visible when he turns his head but not in the reflection in the wall mirror. “Do what I say,” she murmurs, and lays her cold translucent hands over his as a guide.

Nick is lying in his bed, eyes pinched and face lined. Chris and Licia walk in step. He can feel her, around his bones and laid into his muscle, as they slide the needle into Nick’s vein and push the poison home.

“You’ll be alright,” Alicia says through Chris’s mouth. “Sleep now.”

Nick reaches out. “Alicia.”

“Sshh,” Chris says. “I’m here.”

Chris wakes up because Nick is crying. “I’m sorry,” he’s saying, and Chris is thinking he should check Nick’s bandage when:

“Shh,” Alicia murmurs, and then, impossibly soft: “I missed you.”

Chris keeps his eyes closed in the dark, his hands outstretched. He leaves them alone together and sleeps in a curled up ball alone in the bed that used to be hers.

Chris dreams Nick is making them pancakes. Alicia and him perched on the counter, Alicia distracting Nick while Chris sneaks pancakes from the plate and passes them to her under the counter. They nibble bites when Nick isn’t looking and blink innocently when he pauses, staring at the plate and counting in his head before shooting them an accusing glance.

Licia likes hers drowning in syrup and so pale blonde they’re only half a second from raw. Nick likes them deep brown and studded with chocolate. Chris likes a pat of butter on top and grapes cut in half, just like his mom used to do.

They sneak bites from each other’s plates with sticky fingers. Nick washes, Chris dries, Alicia puts away.

Chris wakes up because the alarm has been beeping in his fucking ear for sixteen and a half minutes, according to the clock. He groans. “I gotta go to school,” he mumbles, slapping his hand out. “Fuck, I gotta--”

Nick barely stirs by his side. He groans.

Alicia slams the front door in his face three times, Chris’s fingers rattling the knob. “I gotta,” he says, frustrated and exhausted and teary. “I’ll come right back, I promise.”

He rests his palm on the wall beside the light switch. “I promise, Leesha. As soon as it’s over.”

The doorknob turns, the door opening a crack. He kisses the doorjamb. “Soon,” he promises, and runs to the bus stop.

Chris bursts back in, winded from a straight sprint. “Nick?” he calls. The house is still, unnaturally so. “Alicia?”

He walks down the hall and his shoes echo on the floor. The walls groan as they settle onto the foundation. His fingers, splayed out, on the wood of Nick’s bedroom door, thawing the thin layer of frost that covers it. And the slow creak as it opens, centimeter by centimeter.

Nick on his back on the bed, hands folded on his belly. Pale and waxy, his breath a weak white cloud. Chris remembers how Nick said he wouldn’t wake up, how heavy and sluggish he was after his dreams with her, how he couldn’t remember his schedule as he stood just inside the front door of his highschool and didn’t know a single person he saw.

“You’re killing him,” he says, his voice shaking. “Leesha, you’re killing us.”

The window rattles in its frame.

“There’s a shop,” Chris says. “We can--I know what that symbol looked like. And there’s rituals--sage.”

The window shatters.

Chris flinches. “I don’t want to!” he shouts, as the debris settles. “That’s just--we can do more research. We can figure out how to help you, I’ll--”

Alicia appears, curled around Nick’s back, the big spoon. She’s more alive than Chris has ever seen her, even in the dreams. Her smile rosy and glowing, her hair in perfect loose curls. She kisses Nick’s forehead and his breathing gets weaker.

Chris steps towards her and--

He wakes up in his bedroom. But it’s not his bedroom. The paint isn’t faded, there’s no dust or that thick mothball smell of disgust. The marks on the doorframe are bright, there’s polaroids strung up on Christmas lights on the walls and a flowerpot on the windowsill.

Alicia sits in the middle of her bedspread.

“This isn’t real,” Chris says, getting to his feet. “How did you… this isn’t real.”

“Ssh,” Alicia says. She’s rosy, her smile glowing. “Can you hear the rain?”

The light coming in through the window is grey, dull. The house is dark and the world is gloomy.

Alicia extends her hand. “Do you want me, Chris? Do you want us?” She rises, her bare feet on the floor and shorter than him.

“I,” Chris says, and can’t think of anything else. Unbidden, his hand rises up, until there’s just a grasp of distance between them.

Alicia unfurls her fingers. “Aren’t you tired?”

Chris is in Nick’s room, upright, facing the window. The skies outside are dark, the clouds heavy, the concrete wet and dark. Nick breathes, weaker and weaker, and Alicia is still there, hand outstretched.

Chris is tired. He can hear the rain. Her palm is soft against his, his eyelashes gentle on his own cheeks. He lets go.

And wakes up in the sun.

#alyramble #kidsquad otw #ftwd: kidsquad #tw: incest

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